#and of course. how much of those odd changes in memories are meant to be apart of his fears. or just how he remembers the events himself

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

[o-sachi]

Roses and Thorns ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ you always wondered what what his tattoo meant... and now you know

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; angst, more angst, but comfort at the end, depiction of Kaiser's trauma, no y/n, gn reader

Roses naturally came in colors of red, pink, yellow...

But never blue.

Yet, that was the same flower that adorned his arm. From his neck and down to the back of his hand, a beautiful blue rose littered his pallid skin. You always thought it was a captivating tattoo and in many ways—it was what made Kaiser... Kaiser.

Throughout your relationship, your perception of him changes and so does your idea about what his tattoo might mean. You could have asked him directly why he had it done, but where's the fun in that?

You liked the mystery and besides, he never talked about it in the first place.

That led you to think that it was one of those tattoos that people get on a whim. Not all tattoos had a deep meaning—sometimes it's just cool to look at.

Kaiser doesn't seem like the sentimental type after all. The only thing he probably cared about in this world was football and hopefully... you.

However, that view changed the longer you've been together. After seeing more sides to him, you realized how naive and insensitive it was to box him as the kind of person who had no capability to feel deeply for anything else.

The world may know him as an arrogant prodigy, but only you knew everything else behind that. You knew the tireless dedication he had to the sport—spending many restless nights watching replays of previous matches. You knew the vulnerable Kaiser whenever he'd spend weeks away from you—missing you all the way from his fancy hotel room.

But even then, you still had no idea what his tattoo meant. In fact, the more you got to know the true Kaiser, the more doubtful you became of the countless theories you've conjured up about his ink.

Nevertheless, you were firm in your belief that you knew him inside and out. The tattoo could remain a mystery for all you cared.

But roses always came with thorns and you had to learn the hard way.

It had been a couple of weeks since you've last seen each other. Being a football superstar was cruel. What people don't see behind the glamour are all the lonely nights he spends away from your arms.

As soon as he saw you standing in the doorway of your shared condo, he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. He swayed you side-to-side, inhaling your scent that had dulled in his memory after all this time being apart from each other.

After being absent for so long, all he wanted was to sit back and relax with you—no fancy dinners or grand dates. None of that. All he wanted was to be cooped up in your arms until he fell asleep, only to wake up again in the morning.

You indulge him, of course. You wanted it too anyway.

Both of you were now sat on the sofa. It was one of those L-shaped sofas you'd see in home magazines. They were large, but the space was wasted on the two of you since you'd much rather be cramped together in a suffocating embrace. It was better that way.

You absentmindedly traced the black stems of his tattoo as you held him—as you always did. Although, it was a bit odd. Normally, at this point he'd be going in and out of sleep—fighting back the drooping of his eyelids so that he could keep talking to you.

But he was wide awake.

"You don't seem tired tonight huh?"

He huffs out. "Chugging 2 energy drinks after lunch wasn't the best idea."

"Seriously? 2? What for?" you asked, a bit puzzled.

"I figured it would give me enough energy to at least hang out with you a bit before dozing off again, but I miscalculated. That shit was strong..."

Oh... How can you be mad now?

You could only chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "We could always catch up in the morning, y'know? It's not like I'm gonna disappear."

"Eh, still," he retorts, stubborn as ever. "We haven't had a movie night in a long time anyway."

He a had point. Back then movie nights were frequent. Both of you loved it—chilling, eating popcorn, and watching a good flick before bed.

It was good timing. Before his long-awaited arrival, you had been planning on how to surprise him in little ways. You wanted to keep him on his toes and it just so happens you figured out a way to spice up movie night.

You downloaded a bunch of old romantic German movies. It would be a lot different from the usual movies that you'd watch, but he might appreciate watching a movie from his own country. He had a preference for English movies, that much you knew. It was the only thing he'd watch for some unknown reason.

Excited—you hopped off the couch at lightning speed, ready as ever to retrieve the hard drive with all your downloads. As soon as you set everything up, you were back in your earlier position with him on the sofa.

"What's up with the hard drive? You forgot to pay for your streaming account?"

You shook your head with a smile. "No, I just have a surprise~"

"Surprise huh?" A small smile formed on his face at the thought. What could be so surprising about a movie?

The film starts off with a pitch black screen before a soft song filters in. He quickly recognized that it was German—it was a German love song.

He only needed to hear that to know what the "surprise" was.

Kaiser bit his lower lip in anticipation, not that you knew what exactly he was anticipating in the first place.

He wanted to be wrong—so wrong. He hoped that he wouldn't have to see her. The woman with beautiful long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes... the woman who most resembled him.

His mother.

But fate had a funny way of curbing expectations because she was right there on screen, smiling at him.

How cruel was it that the movie you chose—out of all the German movies out there—it had to be this one.

You were quick to notice the resemblance too. The eyes... the smile... they were practically the same. Perhaps he was aware of it too with how he stiffened in your grasp.

But before you could point it out, he had excused himself. "I'll just go to the bathroom for a sec... don't wait up for me."

The sudden change of the air around him was one thing, but for him to let the movie playing without him was another. He'd always ask you to pause it if he had to leave even for a millisecond.

...Did you do something wrong?

Worry filled you to your bones. It was unusual, sure. Maybe you were overthinking it. But the longer you stayed alone on the sofa—in the darkness of the room—the less you believed that you were being melodramatic.

Maybe there was something wrong with the way he turned rigid upon seeing that woman. Maybe there was something wrong about the way he abruptly stood up and left.

Your thoughts got the best of you and you decided to check up on him. In his haste, Kaiser forgot to lock the door. So, there you were—standing by the door and staring at him.

There was something definitely wrong with the way he clutched the bathroom sink as he breathed raggedly.

You could see how his fingers turned white as he gripped his arm, almost as if clawing at the rose etched on his arm.

"What's wrong?"

Your voice snapped him back to reality. Truthfully, he didn't know what was wrong. He thought he had gotten over it all—how his mother left him and how his father treated him. But he was wrong.

There was a reason he avoided those kinds of films. He was scared she'd pop up... looking happy.. acting happy—in a world where she didn't have to be concerned with her own son.

But that's precisely it. He chose to run away from it all instead of confronting it. So now that he was faced with her after all this time of avoiding anything that evoked the concept of her—he broke down.

And he hated that he had to do it in front of you.

But it was involuntary. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

His silence told you enough—all you had to know was that he needed your embrace. To which, you indulge him again.

You cautiously made your way over to him, hovering your arms around him at first before finally pulling him into you. The air stilled around you and time stopped for a moment. Neither of you moved a muscle or spoke a word—feeling content to stay like this for however long.

Eventually, he let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. He turned around to face you, unbothered if you had to see how glassy his eyes became or if his mouth was fixed in a frown.

All this suspense caused a pit to form in your stomach. Your chest felt hollow and your hands were clammy. If he stayed silent another second longer, the water works would've kicked into high gear.

"Sorry... did I scare you?" he asked while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Sniffling a bit, you wiped your eyes as if tears have already rolled down—though, it definitely felt as if it had. "I... no, I was just worried about you. What's wrong? Please tell me."

The way you pleaded at him clenched his heart painfully. Kaiser pulled you in, planting your face into his chest. His hand caressed your hair with his chin poking the top of your head as he embraced you softly.

"Do you believe in the impossible?" he asked.

All train of thought stopped in an instant. You didn't like that this confrontation you were having was slowly turning into one of those philosophical discourse about the meaning of life and whatnot. All you wanted to know was what happened to him—plain and simple.

"That woman on the screen," he continued. "That was my mother."

The normal reaction would be shock, but it made sense. Perhaps this wasn't developing into that philosophical discourse you dreaded.

"Back then I thought I'd never have to see her in person. Maybe in one of her films, but in the flesh? I would only dream of it. But then..." he chuckles, reminiscing of the past. "Not long after that thought... I came across her on the street. Well, more like I was loitering and she was surrounded by fans while she made her way into a hotel."

His expression dropped at the recollection of such a bittersweet memory. "She never looked my way. She only smiled at the people vying for her attention. But it's funny isn't it?"

You had no idea what was so humorous about it. The revelations were coming too quick for you to let it all sink in. Silence was the only response available from you.

"Then, a week after that, the police took me away from my father." He lets out a stifled laugh out of disbelief. "And back then I thought I'd never get away from him."

"The impossible always seems to happen," he adds.

His past was just too sad, almost like it was taken from a sappy telenovela. But the fact that it was real rendered you speechless. All you could do was hug him tighter to show him that you were still with him.

With an ear to his chest, you could hear how his heartbeat went from erratic to steady. Letting that all out had calmed him down, thankfully. You felt yourself growing relaxed as well. Your eyes wandered to his arm—to the rose that entangled his limb.

To answer his question earlier—no, you didn't believe in the impossible. It's called impossible for a reason. But the sincerity in his voice had you thinking otherwise.

Blue roses... those are impossible too, you thought to yourself as your eyes trailed his tattoo. It could be another one of your silly theories, but the coincidence was hard to deny.

His hands stopped caressing your head, choosing to find purchase on your lower back instead. This prompted you to look up at him and the sheepish smile on his face.

"And..." he started again. "I thought it would be impossible for me to be loved..."

"Yet, here you are."

[🐟]: HELP THIS IS SO CHEESY I'M SORRY. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[dragonwitch77]

Tiny

Chapter 2: One Month

One month.

That was how long Syringeon ordered him to rest. One month for his arm to recover properly.

Which was too long in Bittergiggle’s opinion.

A whole month without using his arm? That was impossible!

How was he supposed to do his jokes without his arm?! Without Philbert?! Philbert was his right-hand man in-jokes! Hehehehehe.

Jokes aside, Bittergiggle needed his arm back in working order. He had a lot of stuff that required two hands to handle them, and being reduced to only one arm was a serious setback to his plans.

And a hindrance to his normal escape routes in the Kingdom.

An arm that was in recovery wasn’t something he could work around, especially if he ran into the Sheriff. Bittergiggle was fast on his feet, but Toadster was pretty quick with his throwing stars, and the jester wasn’t keen on having more injuries to his body just yet.

Not until his arm was fully healed first.

Which meant that he couldn’t risk being on the same floor with the Sheriff.

For a whole month.

It was torture.

Bittergiggle loved company.

He loved being around other living, breathing, talking beings. Beings who could talk back and share conversations with him. Beings who could tolerate his presence. Beings who, if they were being nice, would only roll their eyes in disinterest of his jokes instead of telling him outright how bad his jokes were.

Beings who didn’t outright hate him.

Of course, the only being Bittergiggle could think on the top of his head who could possibly fit all those things was his minion/pet Kittysaurus, and she was still in the Kingdom back in her room. And that was too much of a risk to take.

So weighing his options, Bittergiggle decided to stay on the floor below the Kingdom until his arm healed enough to go back.

And it was torture.

For someone who strived on social interactions, Bittergiggle had a hard time keeping his sanity in check. It didn’t help that his clothes were in a bad state and he couldn’t change them, but the surroundings reminded him of old memories.

Memories he wished not to revisit as they tended to open some nasty wounds.

Yet it was pretty hard to ignore most of them, so Bittergiggle chose to stay in the one place that had the least amount of fond memories. The Introduction Sector.

It was really the only place Bittergiggle didn’t have any fond or grand memories. A room with a big screen? Hardly anything to look at. And since the humans didn’t bother to come down to the lower levels these days, Bittergiggle was left to his own devices to do whatever he pleased in the place.

Which, to be honest, wasn’t very much.

With only one arm that wasn’t in a sling, Bittergiggle had, and could, literally nothing to do except sit around telling jokes to an empty room. 

An empty room wasn’t a great audience, mostly due to the lack of an audience to hear his jokes. As much as he was aware of how bad his jokes were, Bittergiggle still wanted someone’s opinion on some of them.

Kittysaurus always liked them, but she was his loyal friend, and she couldn’t really tell him what she thought about his jokes. His two clones back at his hideout never gave him their opinion.

In fact, they never spoke a word to him, and he was starting to think that maybe they weren’t even alive at this point.

Which was disappointing. Two more failed potential ultimate jokesters. Four dead clones out of six. Seven? He wasn’t sure if he should count the one that could split into two as a single being or two separate beings who could merge into one.

Bittergiggle wasn’t sure where he messed up on the cloning process with that one, and sure as heck he didn’t miss their bickering. And he certainly didn’t miss Bittershiggle’s odd speaking mannerisms. Bittergiggle could never tell if they were being threatening, honest, or joking when they spoke.

He was glad those two (Three?) were gone. 

Though, as time slowly passed, Bittergiggle was starting to wonder if he could actually tolerate their presence right now. He wouldn’t mind having someone tell him how bad his jokes were just as long as he had someone to talk to.

He was beginning to debate if he should go find Bittershiggle or the split jester, just so he wouldn’t be lonely anymore, when the seat he was sprawled out on was suddenly kicked over.

“Wha–HEY!” Bittergiggle shouted, scrambling to sit up. To his surprise, he found Syringeon staring down at him.

Or rather, glaring down at him.

��Syringeon? What are you doing up here?” Bittergiggle asked, perplexed and startled to see the four-armed Mutant here instead of his home. 

Ever since the failed rebellion, Syringeon had been permanently moved down to the lower levels of the facility. The humans kept him under strict watch, meaning he couldn’t go to the upper floors without the humans being notified of his movements.

But to see him out of Cityngeon? That was surely something Bittergiggle would never think Syringeon would risk!

The jester’s eyes widened, looking around in worry. “Not that it isn’t great to see you, but you know you can’t be up here, right? The humans might spot you and think there might be another rebellion in the making!”

Syringeon didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t say anything.

The surgeon’s eyes were in a deep glare, piercing Bittergiggle down with a cold, almost murderous gaze that the jester couldn’t help but feel small under the older Mutant’s glare.

Bittergiggle’s eyes darted around. He wasn’t sure what was going on. He was glad to see some company, even if said company wasn’t currently glad to see him, but he didn’t understand why Syringeon was giving him such an ominous stare.

He hadn’t seen the surgeon since he reattached his arm. And that was a month ago!

A month ago.

Bittergiggle’s eyes darted to his arm. He hadn’t paid it much attention, but now that he thought about it, it had been a full month since the surgery. Which means he was all better to return to the Kingdom.

And try to think of the ultimate joke to tell the Queen.

“Are you here because of my arm?” Bittergiggle asked, wiggling the said arm. “That’s nice, but it’s really not worth risking coming up here to see me–”

“I’M NOT HERE BECAUSE OF YOU!” Syringeon roared, startling Bittergiggle enough to flinch back and cover his face.

Syringeon was well known for his hair-trigger temper, and Bittergiggle was not keen to be on the receiving end of such temper from the surgeon.

“… Well, no, actually I am.” The sudden shift in tone startled Bittergiggle, peeking through his hands to curiously glance at the surgeon. “Though I really wish it wasn’t such the case. Especially with you involved.” He growled, narrowing his eyes at the jester.

The frowning half of Bittergiggle’s face fell deeper, drawing a thin line on his grinning side. “Yeesh. Feeling the love here.” He rolled his eyes as Syringeon hardened his glare back on him again. “Tell me, what exactly did I do? The last time I saw you was when I needed Philbert reattached, and that was a month ago! I haven’t seen you till now!”

“And yet, you manage to do the unthinkable.” Syringeon growled, tapping his foot on the ground.

“Unthink–? What are you talking about? What did I do?” Bittergiggle asked, more confused than ever. He really had no clue what Syringeon was saying. He really hadn’t been back down to Cityngeon since his surgery. Bittergiggle knew Syringeon could only tolerate him for so long as a patient, and the jester knew it was best to leave the surgeon alone if he wanted to keep his arm on.

He hadn’t been back to Cityngeon since then, so he had no clue as to why Syringeon was angry with him. Even as he tried to think back on anything he might have done, Bittergiggle couldn’t think of anything he did that could possibly earn such ire.

“You really have no clue?” Syringeon asked, earning a head shake from Bittergiggle. Rolling his eyes with a disgruntled scowl, Syringeon pointed at the jester. “Hold yer hands out.”

“… what?”

“Do it.” Syringeon hissed, his tone hinting that he wouldn’t tolerate the jester’s lack of cooperation.

Wordlessly, Bittergiggle held out his hand. He quickly figured he wasn’t holding them out the right way when Syringeon’s glare became deadly, and quickly adjusted their position till he was holding them right out in front, looking like he was asking for something.

He wasn’t asking for anything, but Bittergiggle got something anyhow from the surgeon.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now Bittergiggle had taken notice that Syringeon’s lower set of arms carried something. It was small, and wrapped in a cloth, and it was quickly passed to the jester’s waiting hands.

“Don’t drop it.” Syringeon commanded as Bittergiggle stared at the bundle in confusion.

The jester glanced curiously at the surgeon before turning his focus back on the bundle. Getting in a more comfortable seating position, Bittergiggle lowered the bundle to his legs, wondering if this was some sort of trap or something Syringeon cooked up and wanted to test out on him instead of one of his tens of hundreds of children.

He wanted to be more cautious, but couldn’t do much under Syringeon’s dark watchful glare. At least he was certain that the Mutant wouldn’t kill him… probably. The surgeon had offed a few of his own kids before, so Bittergiggle wasn’t so sure if the mad doctor would be so merciful to him. Even when he had no clue as to why he was so angry to begin–

Bittergiggle jumped, yanking his hands away from the bundle.

Did he imagine it? Or did he just see movement?

His eyes darted to Syringeon, but the Mutant just glared at him, all four arms crossed across his chest and giving him a gaze that dared him to try anything stupid.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Bitergiggle looked down at the bundle, now more cautious than ever as he grabbed the fabric. Slowly, he pulled away at the cloth, his nerves on high alert as each fold of the cloth was pulled away as his mind ran a million miles with questions.

What was it? What could it be? Why did Syringeon give it to him? Why was he so mad? What did he do to make the surgeon angry at him? He couldn’t recall anything that might have made him mad, so why was he angry at him? Had he done something without knowing? And if so, why give him a bundle instead of outright using his surgical hands on him? And what was so important that he had to leave Cityngeon just to give it to him?

Questions circled Bittergiggle’s mind as he slowly unraveled the bundle, becoming more and more nervous as the last of the cloth was pulled away.

It all came to a crashing halt when Bittergiggle saw what was hiding inside the fabric. He looked at Syringeon, fear, shock, and alarm clear on both halves of his face.

“Yep.” Syringeon scoffed. “Congratulations.” He continued in mock praise as Bittergiggle stared in horror at his lap. “Yer a father.”

🧪

Givanium.

A rare, highly potent chemical that, if handled correctly, could bring certain inanimate objects to life.

Ever since he first woke up, Syringeon was obsessed with studying the substance. A chemical that could bring things to life? Who wouldn’t be interested in such a thing that had brought him and other Mutants into this world?

It was incredible. The possibilities were almost infinite.

Almost, but not quite.

Givanium was rare. It was hard to come by, even when he demanded more to work with, threatening the humans many times to have even a barrel delivered to him. They might have the capabilities to destroy him, but humans were prideful greedy creatures, and when he realized that they viewed him as too valuable to lose, he made sure to put his intimidating appearance and tools to good use to get exactly what he wanted.

It didn’t work all the time, but it worked just enough for the humans to supply Syringeon with enough Givanium to make a few Infants to keep him company. It was always disappointing when Infants grew up to their Citizen form and showed just how incompetent they could be, but they still served a good purpose here and there.

As long as they didn’t prove to be too incompetent and were actually useful.

Syringeon hated wasting precious Givanium on resources that were of no use to him.

And what he REALLY despised was when others so carelessly wasted such valuable resources for no such reason.

Namely to try and make sub-cases, or create new creatures that turn out wrong, or set the blasted thing on fire.

Or create tiny versions of certain annoying jesters.

Syringeon had been disgusted when he laid eyes on the small creature.

A tiny Bittergiggle? From the machine that crafted his Infants? It was one of the biggest insults to his face! It was an even bigger insult that it came out perfectly when his own children always came out as spheres with nubby feet instead of his own likeness.

Syringeon had wanted to repurpose the creature the moment he realized that Givanium had been wasted to make this… thing.

But something had held him back. Something that halted his tools and made him think twice as he stared at the abomination that stole his limited resources.

He deeply wanted his Givanium back, but as he stared at the tiny mini-Bittergiggle, an idea popped into his head. One that would surely teach the jester a lesson about messing with his property.

“W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?!” Bittergiggle’s scream echoed in the room, snapping his head up and down as he looked between Syringeon and the small bundle in his lap that had a tiny Bittergiggle curled up in it. “WHAT?! NO! NO NO NO NO! I’M NOT A–! THIS ISN’T! I CAN’T BE A–! TH-THIS HAS TO BE SOME SICK JOKE OR SOMETHING, RIGHT?! RIGHT?!”

“Oh believe me. This ain’t no joke.” Syringeon hissed.

“BU-B-B-B-BU-B-BU-BU-BUT HOW?! AND WHY?! AND WHEN?!” Bittergiggle stared at the mini version of himself, his hand reaching up to his fur and tugging on it. “WHY DID YOU MAKE A MINI ME?!”

“I didn’t!” Syringeon growled, taking a menacing step forward to loom threateningly over Bittergiggle. “You did.” He jabbed one of his tools at the jester’s chest.

“M-ME?! HOW?!”

“That’s what I want to know.” Syringeon demanded, grabbing Bittergiggle’s shirt. “How in the world did you manage to sneak in your contaminated genes under my radar? How did you slip some of yer Givanium into my machine?”

“Hey! I’m not contaminated!” Bitergiggle protested. “And I don’t know! How should I know?! I never asked for a kid!”

“Well you should have thought of that before!” Syringeon scoffed, shoving Bittergiggle harshly. “A waste of resources is what it is! That machine is only meant fer MY creations. Not fer makin’ smaller versions of yerself!”

“I don’t want a mini version of myself!” Bittergiggle cried, grabbing the tiny him and holding it out to the surgeon. “Here! Take it back! Get your resources or whatever! I am NOT being held responsible for! For! For this THING!”

“On the contrary, it IS yer responsibility.” Syringeon hissed, leaning his face down to glare right in the jester’s face. “You made it, you take care of it.”

“W-who-wait-wait-what?! Me?! My respons–I DIDN’T MAKE THIS!” Bittergiggle glared down at the tiny jester. “I didn’t even know it existed till now! Take it back!” He held it out to the surgeon, but the four-armed Mutant jumped back.

“Hell naw!” Syringeon hissed. “It’s made of yer genetic code, which makes it your responsibility! I’m not wastin’ my time and efforts on your offspring.”

“Off–?! It’s not mine!” Bittergiggle jumped to his feet, trying to force the tiny him back into Syringeon’s arms. “I don’t want this thing! I have other problems to deal with! I don’t want a kid to be added to the list!”

“Well I don’t want anythin’ to do with it!” Syringeon backed away with a hiss, keeping a distance as Bittergiggle tried handing the child back to him.

“Take it back!”

“No!”

“Syringeon!”

“No!”

“I don’t want it!”

“Too bad!”

“I’m not crafted for childcare! I was made to tell jokes!”

“Yer not even good at it!”

“DON’T REMIND ME!”

“You made it, you deal with it!”

“I didn’t make it! And I don’t want it!”

“Too bad!”

“Syringeon! Please!”

“SHUT UP!” Syrigneon roared, yelling directly in Bittergiggle’s face. “IT’S YOUR MISTAKE! So it’s your responsibility!”

“B-B-B-B-B-But I didn’t do this!” Bittergiggle protested, looking at the small him in alarm. “Why would I ever think to have a kid?! Because I thought it would be fun seeing how you enjoy it?! Na-ah! No way! Nope! That’s only you! I’m content to never be a single parent for the rest of my life! So take this! This! This! This THING back! Get your Givanium or resources or whatever! I don’t want it in my life!”

Syringeon stared at him, giving him an odd look for a long while. “… you really had no idea about this?”

“No!” Bittergiggle affirmed loudly. “No I didn’t! I’m a jokester! I’m not a father!”

“Well now you are.” Syringeon turned, heading for the doors.

“What?! NO!” Bittergiggle hurried after him. “I can’t–! You can’t just dump this on me! I-I don’t! This is some sort of mistake! Someone must have set me up or something! Syringeon! You can’t do this to me! I have a life–!”

“And so does everyone else!” Syringeon spun around, glaring down at Bittergiggle once again. “And I’m not goin’ to waste my time with raisin’ your when you’re more than capable to do so yourself.”

“B-but. B-B-But I don’t know the first thing about raising kids! I only know jokes! Twisting my body around like a pretzel! I’m not capable of this!”

Syringeon let out a scoff. “And you think I was? It’s a trial-and-error process. You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Syringeon!”

“Look, Bittergiggle, I’m a busy person. I have stuff to do. Important stuff. I can’t run meself ragged lookin’ over your spawn.”

“It’s not my spawn!”

“Too bad. Your mistake, your mess.”

“But. But.” Bittergiggle looked at the tiny jester in his hands. The tiny, almost doll-sized jester creature that slept in his grip. “But. But I can’t! I don’t have the capability to! There. There must be someone who can. One of your kids? Another Mascot? Or a Mutant? Maybe even a human? They should be willing to raise–”

Bittergiggle let out a choked gasp, kicking his legs as Syringeon yanked the jester close, glaring his dark brown eyes into Bittergiggle’s own jade and amethyst eyes.

“You. Will. NOT. Under NO circumstances. Hand your spawn over to a HUMAN.” The surgeon hissed dangerously in Bittergiggle’s face. “You and I both know fully well that handin’ them over to a filthy human is nothin’ but a guaranteed certainty life of pain, misery, and sufferin’ in their hands. You remember all the awful thin’s they’ve done to you, don’t ya? To all of us? All those days and nights of torment under their kind. And you think they’ll be nice and raise it without question?”

Bittergiggle stared at Syringeon, taking a small glance at the mini-him in his hands.

He knew the answer. Syringeon knew it too.

Humans were nothing but monsters. They both knew it. Ever since their kind woke up and opened their eyes, their lives had been miserable under their creators’ hands.

Bittergiggle still couldn’t stand being confined in dark rooms by himself.

He could still hear himself screaming somewhere in his mind.

“… I can’t raise a kid.” The jester looked back up at Syringeon. “I’d me… I won’t be any good at it.”

Syringeon stared at him for a long moment before letting out a scoff, releasing Bittergiggle and wiping his gripping claw on his coat. “Good or not, this child is yours, Bittergiggle. And I will certainly not waste any of my precious time being roped into raisin’ it.”

A look of sickness crossed Bittergiggle’s face, staring in mute horror at the tiny him.

He didn’t know what to think. He was never made to be a parent. All Bittergiggle knew was to make jokes. Terrible jokes, but that was all he knew what to do. Raising kids was never part of his plan and he certainly had no idea how to!

Bittergiggle wanted to cry. To demand Syringeon to take the small him back and get rid of it. He had no desire to be a parent, and he certainly didn’t want the duty to be dumped on him with no reason. But the glare Syringeon was giving him offered no room for compromise or reconsideration, nor did it hold any sympathy towards the jester.

Did he really believe that Bittergiggle had done this on purpose? Make a small him for no reason other than to cause some sort of chaos?

… Well, that did sound like something he would do if he thought about it that way. But making a baby?! Nope! Na-ah! That draws the line!

“… Maybe I can find someone else?” Bittergiggle suggested, shifting the tiny jester to his arms. “There are other Mutants and Mascots. Maybe someone will take him in?”

“Him?” Syringeon said, squinting his eyes at Bittergiggle. “Him who?”

Bittergiggle gave the surgeon a quizzical look, pointing down at the mini-him in his arms.

Syringeon raised an eyebrow before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh, wait, you think? You think it’s a boy?” He scoffed a little. “No, no. It’s not a boy, it’s a girl.”

Bittergiggle’s eyes widened, looking down at the tiny jester in shock.

A girl?

A Girl?

A GIRL?!

“GIRL?!”

“Is there a problem with that?” Syringeon’s voice became hard with a sharp edge to it, giving the jester a look that could fill a river with poison.

“Isn’t it… isn’t she supposed to be some sort of carbon copy of me?” Bittergiggle asked, staring at the tiny girl in his arms. “Shouldn’t she be a boy instead of a girl?”

“What’s wrong with her being a girl?”

“Nothing! Isn’t that how it works with cloning? They’re the same thing right?” Bitergiggle asked, which Syringeon shook his head.

“The new batch of Givanium Infants were all set to be girls. Figured I had too many sons so I wanted a few more daughters. The machine was set to inject female chromosomes instead of male. Hence why she came out a she instead of a he.” Syringeon explained.

“… oh.” Was all Bittergiggle could say, looking back down at the mini-him.

Well, not exactly mini-him.

Gender aside, she had different coloring. Instead of indigo and green, she was a royal azure and dark purple, looking almost like the eyeless clone back at his hideout. Aside from that, her appearance was exactly like his.

Only, she was smaller. Chubbier. And fluffier. Very very fluffy.

In fact, she was a fuzzball!

How did that happen? He wasn’t this fuzzy… maybe. God he hoped she wouldn’t have problems combing her fuzz like he did. It was a nightmare to get all the knots out when his fur gets matted. He doubted any of his combs and brushes would be the right size for her.

“And with that, I bid you adieu.” Bittergiggle snapped his head up, his feelings of fear and horror of his situation crashing down on him as Syringeon began leaving.

“W-What?! That’s it?!” He cried out. “You’re just going to leave?!”

“Not my problem, not my mess to fix.” Syringeon said. “She’s your problem now.”

Bittergiggle’s jaw was hitting the floor, looking back and forth between the surgeon and the child.

“Oh, one more thin’ I should mention.” Syringeon stopped at the doorway, looking back at Bittergiggle. Something in his eyes made the jester freeze in the spot. A cold gaze that made him feel ten times smaller and a hundred times more vulnerable to the four-armed Mutant than he had ever felt towards him in all his life.

“If I were you, I’d keep your offsprin’ a secret. The humans might not come down here much anymore, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have eyes and ears everywhere. So it’s best if ya keep them hidden somewhere where they won’t be found.”

Won’t be found? Well that was easy. Bittergiggle could just dump her in one of the rooms that were abandoned long ago. She could easily live with the Givanium in her body. She didn’t need him.

“And,” Syringeon’s sharp tone cut through his thoughts, interrupting his memory of where the best room to dump her in would be. “Be sure she stays a secret. If one of them finds out about her, who knows what they’ll do… though, I can guarantee that it wouldn’t be pretty fer the both of you.”

“… both?” Bittergiggle echoed. What did he mean by that?

A smile curled on Syringeon’s face. One that made Bittergiggle feel cold with dread and fear.

“… Both.” He repeated, chuckling in a dark tone as he left the Introduction Sector, leaving Bittergiggle standing in the room with his new problem.

< Previous / Next >

[meyousing]

𝐵𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊, 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒴𝑜𝓊

𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼: today (february 1st) is my birthday, and i wanted to write something special for the occasion! ᵔᴥᵔ happy birthday to me!

𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: your yandere captor surprises you on your special day, in such a sentimental way.

𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼: this is meant to be an insert of whichever yandere character x reader you want! sfw, slight hurt to comfort, fluff. not super proofread, too excited to get this out on time :P

Never could you have imagined living to see the day where you’d find yourself alone in bed, cuddled up with a book, and dearly missing your captor. Uncharacteristically, he had awoken you this morning with a soft kiss, telling you that he had a lot of plans and errands to run today; he would not be home until later that night, likely when you’d be sleeping. He ensured that you had your usual entertainments and devices nearby before taking his leave, but not before tenderly telling you that he loved you, and that he hoped you would have a pleasant day in his absence. If you had to admit it, pushing all of your feelings aside–he had never mistreated you. Aside from the whole kidnapping and controlling everything that you were allowed to do, of course. With those aspects not in mind, you could only say this was uncharacteristic to an extent. 

He was always showing you distant affection, holding you very gently as if you were something fragile, and letting you go when he could tell that you wanted to be detached and alone. Today, he was acting more affectionately with you than he usually did; so thoughtfully, what with the kisses and sweet wishes. Could it be that he knew what day it was? He hadn’t said anything, though…maybe he was just in a particularly good mood, from some other reason that he felt wasn’t important enough to mention. 

You chose not to dwell on it for too long, as wondering for an extended period would only allow your mind to run free, and too far. You knew that you would start to recall bitter memories of your past birthdays, of your so-called friends and uncaring family who would respond to your rhetorical inquiries of “Do you know what day it is today?” with “...Wednesday?” Not to mention how, the older you grew, they would only hum in response to you telling them that it was your special day, or they would think you were joking, telling you that this attempt at gaining their attention was so odd, such a weird excuse to use.

Ah, see? You let your mind run off again… you did not want to remember any of that. But you continued to think about it, to let it eat away at you; too occupied inside of your own mind as your eyes scanned over the first sentence of your book’s current page over and over again, not really taking any of the words in when the ones being spoken in your mind were too caustic and distracting. It wasn’t until something fell down onto the page that you blinked out of this self-induced stupor. It was a wet spot… oh, you had started crying. 

You began to contemplate your feelings as more tears fell, and the more that you did, the more you were able to reassure yourself these memories were just that: memories. Figments of the past, things that have been said and done, that were no longer a problem for you now. So why were you so upset? 

Perhaps it was due to the fact that the one remaining person in your daily life had not done anything to change these recollections for you. He who claimed to be so devoted to you, to know everything about you, to have your best interests at heart and would do anything if it meant a benefit to you… had also forgotten your birthday. And what made you feel so much worse was how badly you craved his company right now, in such a disquieted moment, whereas on any other day you would banish him from trying to look at you when you were in such a state. 

“Y/N? I’m home.”

His voice was distant, you had time. You lifted a quivery hand to your face, clumsily shooing the tears off of your cheeks and wiping that same hand on the pillowcase beneath you to dry your fingers. What impeccable timing he has, you thought to yourself. 

As you heard the door grate open and his footsteps as he entered the room, you looked up to his frame in the doorway and could only pray that your eyes were not bloodshot, that your nose was not too swollen following so many sniffles. He returned your gaze after closing the door behind him, trekking over to you--he had not yet mentioned anything about your face looking different, and it didn’t seem like he would be once he gave you a soft smile. Safe, you told yourself. He sat down on the bedside by your feet, resting his hand on your blanketed knee and giving it a light squeeze.

“Did you have a good day?” 

How could you answer him without giving away the truth? You were sure that honesty would lead to endless questioning about what he could do to make you feel better. Anyone else would certainly appreciate that, but in a moment where you were made so sad by a topic so vulnerable, you only wanted your own company to cope; perhaps it was the countless years of being left alone on this day that made you crave loneliness. 

He squeezed your leg again, bringing your attention to the lingering silence in the air upon your lack of an answer. You blinked a few times, mustering a phoney smile in return to his as you nodded your head. Your response being nonverbal shouldn't have been anything he wasn’t used to, but it didn’t stop him from gazing at you for a bit longer than what seemed acceptable in that moment. Oh no, could he tell something was off? 

You had to restrict a deep sigh of relief when he turned away from you briefly, once more indicating that you were safe from his hounding since he had said nothing else. But when he turned back around, your body tensed on the spot.

“This is for you.” He almost sounded awkward, his eyes downcast as he slid a small, hand-sized box in your direction, stopping when it bumped against your hand. 

Was this… a gift? It took you a second to rip yourself away from the shock-induced paralysis of seeing what looked like a present being given to you today. Surely you were getting ahead of yourself, you couldn’t get too worked up over this just yet, even though your hands moved to unwrap and open the box faster than you could process the velvety feeling of it in your palm.

Inside was a delicate bracelet. And not just any bracelet, this was the one that was given to you earlier on in your life. It was the only gift you had ever received from your family, even though you had received it when you were an infant. It had sentimental value; the memory of an experience you had never felt since then. 

When he had torn you away from your everyday life, forcing you into captivity at his side, you were forced to leave behind all of your personal belongings. Not only was this bracelet important to you, but it was the first item you had touched from your old home in over a year. Could he understand just how much this meant to you? Did he even realize what exactly he had just returned to you?

“I remember the story you told me about it.”

Oh, right. You had spoken about it once before, when you were in a mood to open up to him. You wound up crying into his arms and falling asleep in them, something that you pretended never happened when waking up the next day, since it had still been so early on in your time here. 

“I’ve had it in this home since the day I brought you here, but I wanted to give it to you on your birthday to make the reunion special. Sorry for making you wait so long…” his words were almost cheeky, the grin he shot at you holding the slightest hint of guilt. 

The way that your eyes and nose appeared to him now could no longer concern you, they were going to become bloodshot and swollen once more as tears welled up on your waterline. Your body acted before your mind could, a sob from your chest wracking both of you as your arms met around the back of his neck in an uncoordinated hug. 

“You remembered,” you whimpered into his shoulder, pressing into him as tightly as you could. At first, he didn’t make any moves to return your embrace, but you knew that he must have been momentarily surprised by your sudden lack of apprehension towards him, for once. His arms found your waist seconds later, welcoming you to him by pulling you closer and nudging his cheek into your neck sweetly.  

“Of course I remembered. I just wish I could have spent my day here with you. I could hardly stand the image of you being alone in here all day long, on your special day.” 

Such words made your heart flutter, you could barely believe them. Nobody had ever wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, especially by their own choice. As your eyes dampened his shirt the more you let out such joyful tears, a feeling swelled deeply inside of you that you never could have imagined experiencing towards him, had it not been expressed by him in the first place. He only made it known that your feelings would not be unrequited. 

You could swear that by him and for him, you felt love. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[shootingstarwritings]

FEStival Fiasco

Part 7

The Puppet that Played at being a Star

A lie.

That was all Centaurus could think when Professor Polaris said that.

“Y-You’re lying to me,” he said, wincing and chiding himself as he heard how shaky his own voice was. Why was he so nervous? His heart was pounding. Every pump was like a hammer to his temple. “You can’t be telling the truth… the whole war, being a lie?!”

It was far too ridiculous to be true.

No, it wasn’t just that.

If there truly was no war, then why was Centaurus born, nameless and abandoned, in those mines? Why did so many others before and after him? Why did so many of his fellow brethren die cold, hungry, alone, and in pain?

‘Did my suffering not matter? Did theirs? Did they all have no meaning?’

To believe the professor would be to accept those thoughts. And if Centaurus did accept them…

Why was he even here? Why was he even alive?

“Liar…! You piece of shit, I oughta kill you right here!”

Polaris’ expression remained unchanged; unwavering even as Centaurus charged him and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Where the hell do you get off mocking me?!” Centaurus demanded, spit flying. “Huh?! You bastard, you better tell me the truth right now or—!”

“You already know a way to see if I’m lying or not.” Polaris quirked an eyebrow, licking his lips. “You’ve seen your hosts’ memories, haven’t you? Well, it works for each other as well.” He smirked. “It really makes you wonder what was the real purpose behind our species’ ability to interact and share with each other’s neural networks. Maybe we were meant to communicate better with each other this whole time, huh…? Centaurus, what do you think?”

Centaurus’ grip slowly loosened as he took in Polaris’ words. “You want me to bite you, as though I was possessing someone,” he said, arms fell to the side, hanging limply as though they were lead weights. “I’ve… I’ve never done something like this.” When had his host begun sweating so much? When did he start trembling? What was Centaurus so afraid of?

‘Why am I even here?’ Once more, that question came to him, but he quickly shook it away.”

“Curious?”

“… Of course I am.”

“Well? Are you going to do it or not?” Polaris, still smirking, tilted his head forward so as to touch Centaurus’ borrowed forehead with his own. “I have high hopes for you, Centaurus. Search my mind, and don’t hide away from the truth.”

“… Are you taunting me…? Centaurus asked, drained enough that he couldn’t even remain angry at Polaris.

Professor Polaris let out a chuckle, pulling Centaurus in for a tight embrace. “I saw your potential, y’know? That’s why I fought hard to allow the board of our academy to allow you to attend. And more specifically, to allow me to become your teacher. Haven’t you ever wondered why a former military commander became a professor? It’s because I insisted.”

Certain details made more sense, but there was still someone odd about all of this. “But, why? Why did you want me to join the academy? Y’know I was a worm, so then…?”

“Because whether they like it or not, it’s only by meeting another with widely different circumstances that these students’ worlds actually expand. Without you, there’s no way that any of them will ever grow. But the reverse also applies to you. There’s no way you will the true injustices of the world without witnessing those who inhabit it. This is how the seeds of revolution can be planted. It’s the only way that society will ever change.”

Centaurus, frowning, scoffed and pointedly looked away. “This is such bullshit,” he muttered. “So I was just a puppet for you to manipulate? A tool for your little play at a revolution?”

It always felt as though he was being pushed and pulled by forces beyond his understanding. Whether it was the Elites who looked down on him from their ivory world or the coach who stood before him, Centaurus was just dancing to a tune that only he couldn’t hear. “What am I, Polaris? Am I just something to be used, or am I someone who can choose his own fate? Am I… simply a worm…?”

Coach Polaris’ expression grew grim. A heavy silence spread throughout the dark room. To Centaurus, it felt like “Judgment Day,” an event that held considerable importance in his host’s mind. Yes, Centaurus’ world felt like it was about to crumble before him. His purpose seemed scattered in the wind, as though it was about to vanish when it was so close in his grasp. He thought that he was building his own fate, a path that he crafted with his own hands.

Yet… that was never the case.

“Who am I?” Centaurus asked again.

“You’re… you. That’s all. That’s what you decided for yourself, right? ‘Centaurus,’ named after the sun that everything in our world revolves around. That was the point, wasn’t it?”

Centaurus hesitated, just for a moment. “Yeah, but not quite. I… I loved that sunrise that I saw, the first time I ever left those tunnels. And, I wanted to be that for others. Other worms that had spent their lives underground. I wanted to be like that beautiful sight that inspired me to finally live—finally retake myself. If just another one of my brothers and sisters was inspired, then I’d make it all worth it.”

That settled it. The truth was right before him, and Centaurus would sooner die than allow it to escape his grasp. He carried not just his own life, but all of those that came and died before him in those damn tunnels. Centaurus nodded and stepped forward.

It began.

“Allow me to show you,” said Coach Polaris, walking in a circle as Centaurus slowly spun, eyes glaring down at Polaris’ host. They moved as though following a rhythm only they could hear. Somehow, it felt right. The two moved and swayed as they approached, their fingers intertwining as they waltzed in the dark. “Is this instinct? Fate?” asked Polaris.

Centaurus shut his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.” He was leading for whatever reason. Was it his host’s idea? Muscle memories that were flowing out in this moment? “I’m doing what feels right.”

“It’s a forgotten dance in our people,” said Polaris. “We were meant to share our minds, our souls, with each other. But this hierarchy prevented that. This is the dawn of a new age, Centaurus. This is—”

“I don’t know if this is true or not yet,” growled Centaurus. “Let’s… Let’s just do this.” Deep down, he was trembling, but he threw himself towards the fire anyway. Centaurus leaned in and kissed Polaris’ host. He slithered through their intimate kiss into Polaris’ borrowed body.

The host choked and struggled as yet another creature slithered into his body. It was difficult for his body to withstand it as Centaurus crawled into his brain. The two snake-like creatures danced and chased the other's tail, following their instinct like always. An ouroboros. A dragon that would wrap around the world.

Centaurus' vision grew dark as foreign sensations flooded his body. It was a trade. Their minds, memories, souls, and hearts were all shared. It was an electric experience, somehow more intimate than sex yet somehow more universal at the same time. It was like he was ascending to the heavens or reaching Nirvana.

When Centaurus’ vision returned, he was staring up at a starry sky on unfamiliar soil. This wasn’t his memory, he had never seen this sight before. Yes, this was from Polaris. It was a hazy sight and he couldn’t move. It was like he was watching an old film that had been rescued from the clutches of being lost forever.

The stars looked more like streamers zooming by as fireworks lit up the night sky.

“You promised you would come home soon.”

Those weren’t Centaurus’ thoughts, but he heard them all the same.

“You promised you’d come back to them; and promised to come back to me. I waited for you on the ground, wishing on the stars that flew next to you to bring you back safe.”

A shooting star came barreling down the sky, a trail of smoke and flames right behind it. Centaurus’ heart raced as terror and despair flooded his mind.

“Why did you have to die…? I loved you. I loved you so much…”

His heart broke. Not Centaurus’, but Polaris. These were Polaris' thoughts. And the ship he Centaurus focused on carried the one whom he had longed for ever since he could remember. “I didn’t mind you finding another mate and building a family as long as I could remain by your side. How was I supposed to tell them you were gone? How could you take my love and leave me behind…?”

Zathina’s father, Altair, died on that day. His son, Vega, perished soon after in the same dogfight. There was little of each body to bury, a right both of them had.

Polaris mourned and suffered, and Centaurus felt each heartache as though they were his own.

‘So that’s why he wants to watch over her,’ thought Centaurus.

“All that remained of you was that child—Zathina. So I tried to help her, tried to keep her safe. She became hardened and strong, but I could still see the scars in her heart. She stood on her own, but it had crushed her completely to do so. It was like a vase that had been shattered and put back together. Though it still stood, it was far more fragile than ever before.

“And, I wanted to find out the truth. I wanted to know why you had to die, why this war that took you away continued to drag on despite victory after victory.

What was found… was schematics of the enemy’s ship, military plans based on their battle tactics, and receipts for expenses that had been kept secret. When Polaris found them, only one conclusion made sense.

“The ships you had fought that day… were built by our very own military. Not just on that day, but every combat you had ever flown on, and even before that. None of them were piloted by our enemy, the Carinos. In fact, they were more than likely extinct. Wiped out by us.”

When had the conflict ended…? For how long had the war been fabricated. How many of their own did the Emperor sacrifice for the status quo to continue? Those were the questions that raced through Polaris’ mind all those years ago. He had discovered the truth; he understood that there was no reason behind Altair’s death. He died for nothing. And a part of Polaris died along with him.

“I couldn’t stand being in that department for much longer. I left. I had to leave. If I didn’t, I was certain I would kill someone. Most of us there didn’t know the truth, but some of them did. Yes, the higher-ups must’ve known. I needed to leave and go elsewhere before I tried to make them pay. If I got myself killed before exposing the truth to everyone, I wouldn’t be able to avenge you, my love. So I left and joined the educational department. If I could make a difference with our youth, if I worked to change everything…”

It wasn’t long before Polaris discovered and joined an underground revolution. His eyes were open, and his mind would follow soon after. So much of life, even among the Elites, was hidden and censored by the Emperor and his council.

“Did you know, my dear Altair, that they no longer wish to be called ‘Worms?’ That’s right, they want to be Cosmopolitans; those who are found everywhere, those who are ubiquitous. Elites and Worms are to become useless terms. We all want to become Cosmopolitans. That’s what freedom is, right?”

Time passed, and eventually Polaris came to find someone named ‘Centaurus’ trying to apply to the academy. It had taken urging for the school board to accept him, but Polaris’ reputation was a major help. Perhaps his young one would join the revolution. Perhaps he would be a good influence on those Elites that had little knowledge of the people that were forced below them.

‘It was him… Polaris had been… guiding me along…

‘And… it was really a lie…

‘A lie… the war… the society that had been shaped by it… it was all falsehoods.

‘They died…

‘For nothing…’

“I’ll kill him. The Emperor. I swear I’ll kill him. I won’t rest until my hands are around his thorax.”

The last sight The Emperor would see was a shining star sending him to hell. Centaurus swore on that.

[iamnmbr3]

Maaaaaaan ever since I followed you you've brought up such good points I never even considered.

like how Snape actually SHOULD be allowed to remain bitter about his childhood and the abuse from James because it was genuinely awful

or the fact that Tom's genuinely terrified reactions to dumbledor when they first met essentially made him even more resentful of adults and possibly beyond the point of no return on that front considering how he feels and reacts later on. (Which honestly that whole scene just from dumbledors perspective sounded very biased to manipulate Harry and if Harry wasn't so focused on trying to stop Tom he probably would have empathized with Tom there)

I low key kinda feel like JKR forgot what she wrote halfway through the books because she actually did write some interesting characters just not in the way her current self agrees with (also how does someone's own opinions of characters change that much and that bad??? I still don't understand, tho the guy who wrote Ender's game was homophobic and he literally wrote a book about the gay experience soooo who knows anymore)

Anyway thanks for your interesting takes!

What a delightful message to get!! Thank you so much! I'm really glad you've having a good time with this blog and that my posts have been thought provoking and enjoyable for you. That's so nice to hear.

I definitely think if Harry had witnessed the memory of Tom and Dumbledore's first meeting in a different context he probably would've reacted very differently - especially given his own history of unhappy experiences with adults arounds him during his pre-Hogwarts childhood. Harry is primed to be biased against Tom for the very understandable reason that Voldemort killed his parents, tried to kill him in 1st and 4th year and caused the death of his godfather in 5th year and on top of all that he met diary!Tom in second year and that didn't go well either. So of course the memory Harry sees is filtered through the lens of those experiences and traumas and doesn't raise any red flags.

If the diary had shown him that memory in an attempt to turn him against Dumbledore or he'd seen it in another context without knowing who Tom Riddle became things might well have been different.

And yeah. It's weird. The characterization in the books is actually very good and interesting. It's the strongest aspect of the series in my opinion and why I feel so drawn to the fandom surrounding these characters. The interesting thing is in general the characterization is internally consistent and complex. So it's not just a matter of wasted potential (though there is some of that too) where a character is shallow but could've been interesting or even a case of wildly inconsistent characterization that can be fixed with fandom.

Rather, it seems that what she created was accidental and wildly at odds with her intent. So what she wrote, isn't what she meant, but it's also a lot more interesting than what she meant.

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Death Does Not Part

Meera pesters Vanessa about the odd bond between her and Sydney; a Faustian contract is involved...

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

.

Meera slid into the booth and came to an easy stop beside Vanessa as the blonde worked on filling out her first set of records on the opening of Radical Eats. With a grin on her face, the owner of Circus Baby’s Pizza and Parties rested her cheek on her fist and waggled her eyebrows at Vanessa, the younger woman lifted her head from her work to blink back at her in confusion.

“Soooo,” Meera drawled out, glancing out at the dining area where Sydney drifted on the fringes of the room like a phantom, silent but observant in his security uniform, and then glanced back at Vanessa, “you and my cousin, huh? Been meaning to ask how long you’ve been a thing but I wanted to wait to see if it lasted.”

Vanessa squinted her eyes at her, still confused. “A.. thing?” she echoed and tilted her head a bit, “What are you-?”

“I mean, getting trapped together for some years tends to mess up a person’s perspective on relationships, so I wasn’t sure if that was what was going on with you two,” Meera went on with a shrug, “But you’ve been going to therapy, right? And you have this business now so you can technically stand on your own and not need Sydney around anymore.” She grinned again, a mischievous slant to the smirk. “But you’re still living together, still doing a lotta things together.. so I’m a little curious on if and when you hooked up with my cousin so I can do my familial duty of giving the shovel talk.”

“Oh! That!” Vanessa remarked with a sheepish laugh, “No, no, it’s not like that at all! He’s my best friend!” Meera’s expression only changed a bit, one eyebrow raising in disbelief of her words. Vanessa’s smile became a bit strained. Of course there was more to it, but not in the way Meera was thinking. If only it was as simple as the claim of ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ or whatever…

The slip of paper bearing two signatures, folded neatly and tucked into an envelope, safely secured in a lockbox at home. A notarized copy folded up and carried around on her person at all times. The weight of what those words placed in her hands.. she tried not to think about them at all if she could. How could she explain any of it?

“Then why,” Meera began, her voice lower, darker, her smile more menacing than friendly as she leaned closer, “is yet another Afton interested in keeping yet another member of my family so close to them?”

Oh.. right. Alex had told her about Meera’s goal, didn’t he? Vanessa swallowed, eyes widening as she tried to weigh her options. What could she say that wouldn’t result in turning her friendship with the other woman into a renewed fight?

“Okay, first of all, not a blood relation to the Aftons,” Vanessa began hurriedly, holding up a finger and chancing a glance to the dining area herself. If Sydney caught a whiff of this, what would he do? She had no idea. “Second, I had no part of it and no idea until Elizabeth brought it up.”

Meera sat back, a deep frown on her face as she narrowed her eyes. “So.. you don’t have feelings for my cousin,” she said but her tone was questioning, unsure, “But the way he is around you.. it doesn’t really give me ‘just best friend’ vibes.” Her fingertips drummed on the tabletop of the booth. “How is Elizabeth involved? What did she do?” she muttered.

Well, at least she didn’t look like she was going to immediately jump to murder. Vanessa let out a small sigh of relief, setting down her pen and sitting back herself as she gathered her thoughts. So much time spent trying to ignore that paper and what it meant for her and Sydney and how truly fucked up everything turned out to be that she’d been oblivious to until that night.

“She wanted me to be Emelia’s body, and she wanted me protected until then,” Vanessa began, cringing at just the memory of Elizabeth’s explanation, how proud she sounded, how arrogant. “Or more like she wanted my body protected until Emelia took it over, and then she wanted Emelia protected so she could have that second chance at life in safety.” She looked up again to spot where Sydney was in the dining area. Freddy was taking to the stage with a new show concept, so of course the man was on the opposite end of the room, watching the performance.

“She wanted Sydney to be that protection,” Vanessa muttered, “A personal bodyguard and pet hitman for her precious daughter. He refused at first, but then changed his mind when he offered some conditions for a better term of service in Elizabeth’s favor.” She swallowed the lump in her throat at Meera’s faintly horrified look but it did nothing to move the sour weight in her stomach. It took a while for her and Sydney to turn that contract into an inside joke between them, coping with humor and playful teasing and acting. A silly shield put between them and the awful truth.

“What the hell happened in there?” Meera breathed, eyes wide with alarm, “What did he agree to?!”

“A contract between Elizabeth and Sydney, assigning him to me as personal guard and ‘cleaner’,” Vanessa replied numbly, picking at a napkin to tear tiny pieces off. Keep them busy, so she’s not pulling at her hair. Keep them busy, so she’s not clawing at her skin in screams. “If she stopped trying to get information from him on who he was protecting before being taken by her, then he’d agree to a lifelong term.. and beyond.” She laughed, a nervous giggle that cracked partway through as she ripped a larger piece of napkin free. “He wouldn’t be able to escape it by dying; she’d just force him back to life in some manner to keep serving. Crazy, right?” she laughed too brightly.

Words that burned themselves into her eyes, unable to be removed, while her idiot best friend just grinned at her with a sheepish little shrug, like he just made a silly goof and wasn’t it just so funny, why wasn’t she laughing?

“So he’s mine, literally,” Vanessa whispered, and oh god she wanted to throw up, she didn’t want this, she’d destroy the contract if she could but the fact that two copies of the thing existed meant there were legal copies stashed with Fazbear Entertainment and they would never let Sydney go as long as they existed. And what kind of loopholes did Elizabeth’s lawyers wiggle through to make it bind without tripping over half a dozen laws against it? She read it top to bottom over and over until she was hugging the toilet and still couldn’t grasp how it worked. “Mind, body, soul, he belongs to me.”

“Like a fucked up marriage contract,” Meera muttered, looking a bit green as she sat back too. “Can’t it.. be nullified, or something? You’re the legal loophole finder!”

“You think I haven’t tried? Or looked?” Vanessa countered bitterly, throwing down the shreds of her napkin. For a moment she wished the scraps of paper were that contract, torn to bits and freeing them both from Elizabeth’s last kick of spite at them from the collapse of the Pizzaplex. “I even asked Sydney to terminate it on his side; he’s got grounds for coercion to negate his signature!” she added in irritation, throwing up her hands. If she thought about that moment for too long, she’d just get pissed off at him again. “He just brought me a sandwich and kissed me on the forehead and then went out to mow the lawn. Why is he so infuriatingly uncaring about his own agency?!” she ranted, “It’s his goddamn life and he just signs over control of himself to some random woman he’s never met before on a chance that another random woman won’t go hunting down his little brother for retaliation?! Does he not see the insanity of that?!”

Thinking about it made her head hurt, throbbing pain spreading from her temple to behind her eyes, making tears well up in frustration and agony. Her jaws felt tight, her fists clenched for lack of something to rip into, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to scream. The sound of it was bubbling up. Every memory she had of time spent in the Pizzaplex with Sydney, moments of quiet companionship, of happy little spots of time where he kept her spirits up or showed her something fun or sweet, all of it slowly tainted by the contract Elizabeth had pressed into her hands when she invited her to join as a second Vanny.

Did he do those things because he was ordered to? Was expected to, as her personal bodyguard? Was their friendship ever real?

Was he still with her because he wanted to be there for her, with her? Or because he couldn’t get away from the legal noose around his neck?

Arms suddenly wrapped around her shoulders, one hand burying itself in her hair and cradling her head as she was pulled against a body in a comforting hug. The familiar scent of Sydney’s favored cologne drifted around her and she felt herself relaxing even as she still wanted to scream. Her head pounded and Vanessa turned to press her face into his chest to hide from light and sound, eyes squeezing shut as a few tears escaped.

Her best friend hugged her in silence, his heartbeat stable and rhythmic and lulling her into calm. Here was her security and comfort, this idiot soothing her worries when he’s the cause of her worrying. And maybe it was selfish and horrible, but Vanessa couldn’t help the flash of gratitude that such an awful contract meant she was guaranteed to keep him close by, meant she could always reach out to grab him when she needed him and Sydney would be there to give her hugs and comfort.

Her memories wiped, no past connections beyond what little she could get from her unwanted name and each time she leaned on ‘Afton’ was a risk of being dragged back into Elizabeth’s clutches; she would be lost if she tried to move forward alone with Gregory. But at least she had Sydney. Her own pet mercenary, willing to feed her a home-cooked meal or traffic illegal weapons for money for her, all with the same warm little smile.

“How do my family members get themselves into such fucked up situations?” Meera sighed. Oh right, she was there, Vanessa almost forgot she started all this. “What a mess. Are you both gonna be okay? I don’t think the lawyer I know can help with this.”

She tuned them out, keeping her face hidden in Sydney’s chest while he scribbled out responses on her notepad with her pen. Let them both argue over a contract she’d already fought and lost against. Elizabeth could have her one stupid victory, but at least Vanessa could enjoy the results on her own terms.

As soon as she pushed all the horrible thoughts about it back to the dark corners of her mind so she would ‘forget’ and be happy with things again.

[redrobin-detective]

I keep turning over a sad little thought in which if all of Simon's memories from the time he put on the crown were stored in it. So when he is magically separated from the crown in CAWM, he retains no memory of any of the events while he was controlled by it. One minute he was teasing Betty in the 20th century and the next he's surrounded by candy people, vampires and talking dogs. How absolutely devastating would that be to everyone involved?

Simon is in a state of shock and it probably takes him months if not years for his brain to mentally catch up with the fact that his civilization died and a new magical one sprang up in what was to him the blink of an eye. Not to mention he knows he lived and experienced in that thousand year interval but when he pokes that spot, it's all a blank. People keep talking to him like he's familiar, bringing up stories and it's like they're talking about a different person. And they ARE in a way, Simon Petrikov PhD student was a very different person after the War and the force of the crown's madness.

Can you imagine Marcy's devastation, that she gets her father figure back and he once again can't remember her? He's normal and sane but he looks at her like she's a stranger. They're back at the same point when he was Ice King. They both work at the relationship and Simon cares for her, but this man didn't raise her, didn't give up his sanity to keep her safe and keep coming back to her even when his mind was gone. They make it work but it's different than what it had been. Marcy looks at him and sees a friend and a mentor but not a father.

Finn too had slowly, despite himself, become fond of Ice King. Especially when he learned of his tragic story. They had developed a relationship and Finn was eager to meet the human behind the magic. Much of his life is defined by loss and here he experiences another one. A man he had beat up, then pitied then against all odds befriended looks at him like a lost kid. This Simon doesn't understand Ooo and Finn's status. He's a man in his 30's to 40's, it will be hard for him to see a teenager as an equal without having developed the relationship over time. He would probably try to fill in the mentor/father role like he did Marcy but Finn would feel cheated. This man was, but also wasn't, the friend Finn knew.

Just a Simon who has to crash course adjust to the literal entire forces of the world changing under his feet with no prior knowledge. He has to cope with the joy and the grief of people who loved him (this other him) dealing with his existence. He has to learn about Betty's sacrifice all over again and not really comprehend just what she went through for him to return. Simon will lie awake at night and try his hardest to remember being scared and starving in the apocalypse, losing himself to madness and becoming a joke, a pointless nuisance, for the people of this world for centuries.

He suffered under the crown but he would give anything to have those bad memories back if it meant he could actually feel connected to the new world he was trapped in.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hey! @sonyawix

This is an interesting take and I had to consult with the Holder of the Jalice Braincells (@volturialice) to really break this down.

It sounds like the author of that take is kind of more interested in perfect, idealized relationships and might not be a fan of Alice, honestly. Plus SMeyer made a lot of the relationship dynamics in canon a really odd thing - we see all three Cullen relationships as very one-dimensional because of the relationship triptych I've ranted about before.

Because of Alice's backstory and her gift, we know that she's going to be a bit of a weirdo. She's essentially bet everything she has that the pictures in her brain are a path to happiness, that Jasper will make her happy. She has no reference point to interpersonal relationships beyond her visions, she has no memories of humanity; we really aren't shown exactly what level she was functioning at when she woke up. Those 28 missing years would be fascinating in how she built herself into a functional individual, honestly.

She bets everything on Jasper, and I think that shows what an optimistic, determined person she is. She could have gone to the Cullens straight away and probably would have been welcomed warmly - there's nothing in canon indicating that wasn't an option. But for whatever reason, Alice commits to waiting for Jasper. That's loyalty and dedication and love.

Just because their meeting was fated/planned doesn't mean it isn't meaningful.

So Alice seeing Jasper for all those years is not going to necessarily match up with him in real life. It's one thing to know a person has trauma, it's entirely another to meet that traumatized, depressed person. It's one thing to get the greatest hits of the relationship pumped straight into the brain, it's another to have all those small moments, those in-between times.

We know from Jasper's time with Maria that he tends to deify the women he's involved with. He put both Maria and Alice on a pedestal. That's just how he loves and commits - fully and totally. His 'hyperfocus' on Alice is a sign of how much he loves and treasures her. I honestly don't think it would have mattered how or when they met, Jasper would have treated her the same - the most precious thing he has.

We also know that Jasper has spent the best part of one hundred years in a high-stress environment where nothing was guaranteed. He didn't trust Maria at the end. So being introduced to someone who could tell him which path would be safe? Where there was no risk or fighting? I think that would be an incredible support for Jasper. I imagine in the early days, he'd probably ask Alice to check the future more than necessary because of his PTSD. And I can imagine Alice checking every time he asked, and going over all the details with love and patience.

And we know that Jasper does go against her wishes - he disagreed with her decision to return to Forks when Alice thought she had died, and Alice went alone (side note, if Jasper had gone with her, there was an opportunity for a lot of Eclipse set up right there.)

As for dehumanizing all her relationships, Alice is very distinctively trying to help throughout the series. It might be over the top, and it might not go to plan, but all of her visions and guidance are meant to help the people she loves. Alice has never known life without her sixth sense, so of course she uses it like we use our five senses. Does it give her a God-complex? Yes. Do I think it's meant to be more of a nod to Meyer's insistence on calling her a 'pixie' and utilizing fae imagery since fairies in lore are supported to love helping? Absolutely.

I think it's pretty disingenuous to say that people are 'ideas' to Alice when she was changed and abandoned. It's more likely that Alice is more intensely aware of what makes them happy so that they all stay together and she's not left alone again. If she didn't see people as people, but as chess pieces, then she wouldn't have go to see Charlie when she thought Bella was dead; she wouldn't have gone to Volterra to save Edward; she wouldn't have taken Jasper with her to find the hybrid.

So yeah, I disagree pretty strongly with this because it feels more like a way to minimize and dismiss Alice and her relationship with Jasper. But this is just my take on the character, and I'm sure there are dozens of different readings and interpretations out there!

[right-brain-left-brain]

Can you tell us anything about the secret boss you shared under the reblog of Veratus and @mercair's Quiddo?

I wish to hear more about your secret boss who's been over taken by plants and vines.

This is my first time sharing my secret boss ocs' lore, so I'm fairly excited. Alright, hope you like my ramble session. Here goes.

In the Light World, Rainie is Asriel's old raincoat. The memories of that raincoat alone is enough to be the basis for teru-teru-bozu-like darkners called Raindolls (temporary name?), of which Rainie is one of them.

For context, Chapter 6 is focused on the Dreemurr family, specifically Asgore (and Asriel somehwat). It's still a rough idea, but it's going to test him as a person and his will. Fittingly, Asgore is the 'Flower King' himself, while his subordinates are the Fun Gang (plus Asriel) and Darkners from this world.

So, for their backstory. You know how Jevil has Seam, and Spamton has Swatch? Rainie has Steambert (who in the Light World will be a watering can or one of those spray bottles for wall plants). Steambert doubles as both the head scientist/inventor of the Flower King Dark World and its 'main' shopkeeper.

The Raindolls were built to assist, and they would help whoever they're assigned to. Rainie happens to be an assistant to Steambert. Whether he's building something or managing his shop, Rainie would lend a hand as much as they could. The calm, persistent Raindoll would always help the eccentric inventor-shopkeep when there seems to be a dead end. With their help, the Dark World's cities prospered with steam powered machineries. A perfect combination of nature and machine.

One day, the shop by proxy of its assistant received a special customer; a strange man (you know who). This man, proclaiming himself to Rainie as a 'traveling scientist' visited the shop in hopes of talking to Steambert. Rainie looked for and found Steambert. The mystery man discussed with the 'fellow scientist', seeing great potential in the bright mind behind the country's machines. The discussion, however, shifted slowly from scientific matters to more... Weirder ones.

Things like the world being weaved from strings of 'codes', and how every single thing is a predetermined course of action. Just like the very machines that the shop's owners built and programmed. And with this odd message, the strange man offered Steambert a dark, dark crystal.

Raindolls are sensitive to changes in the atmosphere, and Rainie is no different. Sensing something dangerously off about the crystal (and the mystery man), they rushed to their master and snatched the crystal away. Even if it disrupts the otherwise (seemingly) fine discussion, they will protect Steambert; a master and a friend. If only they didn't make the mistake of looking at the crystal itself.

They saw too much. Things no living being should see or feel or think about. Things like how the world are codes and files and animated images and-

It's been days (weeks?) since the little, calm Raindoll left the workshop. While still well managed and visited, it hung by a thread when compared to its better days. Whispers amongst the crowd and light rain says that the little Raindoll can be seen peeking from behind the sprawling flora just on the outskirts of the Blumengeschäft's Castle and the Downtown. Though they were said to be seen wearing a raincoat made seemingly of petals, and the strings emblematic of the Raindolls seem to now be purple-red vines. In fact Raindolls aren't meant to have a purplish tint; could it be moss or fungi?

They waited and searched for so long that they've merged with the nature. Waiting, biding their time to search for someone who they can (and will, no matter what) help in freeing the people of this Dark World from their fates set in stone.

If you've reached this long, thanks for reading and hopefully you enjoyed the ramble session.

[deepspacedukat]

Ruination

Blah blah blah, busy days, you’ve all heard this a billion times from me. Very sorry, love you all, and I hope that the level of filth in this fic will make up for how late it is. 💖 And yes, I know I have a ton of asks and things to reply to. I am getting to those. Plz don’t hate me.

Day 22: Felching

SoC prompt list here. SoC Masterlist here. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Valdore (ST:ENT) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies sex, Human/Romulan sex, unprotected sex, felching, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, everything is consensual.

~*~

Saved from the burning wreckage of an Earth vessel, tossed into an interrogation room, and just barely allowed the privilege of remaining alive, Admiral Valdore couldn’t help but admire her courage. Outside of the skirmish that damaged her ship and killed the rest of her crewmates, he was quite certain that she had never seen a Romulan before they’d snatched her from the jaws of death, but she never once flinched. She was clearly afraid, but she showed no sign of giving in.

Her people thought she was dead, of course. His spies had been monitoring transmissions long enough to know that there had even been a memorial service for the poor souls who’d been aboard her ship. ‘A doomed battle, courageously fought, which sadly left no survivors’ - that was how the Humans had described the vessel’s destruction.

That was, perhaps, a small mercy for the people of Earth. If they knew that the Romulans had occasionally picked up Humans for study or interrogation, they likely would have been more cautious in their maneuvers. However, never had they done so openly, and never before had they allowed their subjects to survive without being experimented on in some manner. The final say about her fate had been given to Admiral Valdore as he’d been the one to capture her in the first place.

Now, two years later, Valdore grabbed his lover’s thighs, dragging her hips to the edge of their bed as he thrust inside her. The desperate cry of his name that issued from her throat made him growl in pleasure. After all the nights they’d spent together and all the secrets they’d shared under cover of darkness, she still made the most sensual noises for him. It was almost as if their people had never been enemies to begin with.

Never in all his days had the Admiral been intimate with someone who tugged at his heart - and his loins - the way that his little ex-Starfleet officer did. What had he done to deserve such a devoted lover?

Once he’d seen how terrified she was - and how beautiful - he couldn’t simply allow her to be executed. After the interrogation, he’d entered her cell and given her a choice: she could continue to be docile and cooperative or he could give her to the Tal Shiar. Even in the face of his intimidating stature and high rank, Valdore could see her steeling herself and attempting to prove that even though afraid, she would not falter.

And she hadn’t. She’d asked what being docile and cooperative entailed, and he explained with a small smile across his lips that at that moment, it meant she would not fight them...would not attempt to escape.

He could still remember the way she raised an elegant eyebrow and spoke with such an odd mix of defeated, dry humor, and seriousness.

“Admiral, given that your people are physically much stronger than me, I highly doubt I’d get more than a few feet. I’ve cooperated, so far. Have I given you any reason to believe that I would change that behavior any time soon?”

She hadn’t, of course. Just because she didn’t have any of the information he sought didn’t mean he would start behaving monstrously. He’d given the Romulan government notice that the prisoner was under his watchful eye and installed her in a small set of quarters aboard his ship. There was nowhere safer on all of Romulus for her. He kept her under guard at all times, and slowly, over the course of a year and dozens of dangerous missions, he came to know her as more than just a captive.

“Jol-ao au,” she whimpered, and that sent Valdore over the edge. His fingers held onto her more tightly, ensuring that when his lok twitched and spurted his pleasure, he did so deep within her. The shout he let out could easily have been mistaken for pain, but she’d heard it so often that he knew she’d understand.

She had to know what she did to him after spending such a long time together. 

Valdore was not naïve. He knew there was a chance that she was simply doing what she believed would keep her alive long enough to give her a window of opportunity in which to escape. He was acutely aware of that possibility, and every time he pondered it, he felt sick to his stomach.

But there was something in her eyes that made him believe that perhaps she really had fallen in love with him just as he had with her. Maybe there was a chance, however slim, that his foolish emotions weren’t as unrequited as he’d originally thought they were.

“Jol-ao au, e’lev,” the Admiral murmured as her pretty little hands skimmed down his abdomen.

It wasn’t intentional, this gradual reduction in his defenses. He hadn’t meant to befriend her...or fall for her, for that matter, but as he’d shared a story with her over dinner a little over a month after the anniversary of her residence on his vessel, he found that he couldn’t deny it any longer. She laughed - a rare, but beautiful sight - and the inescapable truth of his emotions planted itself firmly within his chest. Admiral Valdore, one of the most respected and esteemed military personnel in the entire Romulan Empire, had lost his objectivity and his heart to a Human.

The evening seemed to somehow pass both faster and slower than he wanted once that revelation had settled itself in his mind. What was he supposed to do now? The wise course would be to ignore his feelings. They were inappropriate given the circumstances and the political ramifications. Throwing them aside was the smartest thing to do.

And yet, as she stood and walked him to her door like she always did after sharing an evening together, something felt different. Her gaze was gentler than he remembered. Her demeanor was so much more relaxed than it usually was.

Or was he imagining things? He couldn’t trust his own judgment regarding his little Human guest anymore. He could be imagining all of this as a product of his own wishful thinking.

“Admiral? Are you alright?” She asked before he could even think of opening the door. For the first time in years, he had been rendered speechless.

He’d taken a horrible chance that night. Stepping into her space, Valdore grasped her hands and kissed her.

The gush of their combined fluids wetted his lips as he pulled her to sit atop his jaw. Large, strong hands kept her hips in place as he drank from her like a finely-made crystal goblet. Her delicate little fingers tugged at his hair, Valdore couldn’t stop himself from smiling against her most sensitive area.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded shaky and breathless, just the way Valdore liked it.

He wouldn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Romulans valued honesty, after all, and nobody deserved the truth more than she did. With a hungry hum against her clit, the Admiral resolved to keep her squirming above him until she lost her voice. Perhaps that would prove to her how much he enjoyed this.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani​ @android-boyfriends​ @attention-bajoranworkers​ @bigblissandlove1​ @darkmattervibes​ @emilie786​ @horta-in-charge​ @live-logs-and-proper​ @slutty-slutty-vulcans​ @starrynightgardens​ @toebeans-mcgee​

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Chapter 2

Translation notes:

The map in the first page is not the one seen in the final game, but the early version released during development. More info on my pre-release page as usual.

The enemies in that page are also enemies announced early before release: Rune Knights, Dark Priests, Dark Dwarves, Goblins, and the scrapped Mimic of course! That's fun to see.

Save for Lowe's odd age here, the training with Varios is very similar with how it goes in the actual game, with Lowe singing praises of how Max is on par with the knight captain. If none of that sounded familiar to you, you are welcome to hate the localization as much as I do.

Like, you think we're done with this? No way baby, Max's speech on memories is also a reference to a NPC in the start of the game! I legit got angry while doing the comparison on that one, it's a very iconic line that matches both Max's amnesia plot and the series' whole theme of forgotten evils resurfacing, it did not deserve to be replaced by generic slop. I'm glad I get to bring it back here and that it gets space in the manga as well.

Nova seems to have ears instead of horns in his brief cameo during the castle audience scene. Could be an old design, or the manga artist taking liberties or misunderstanding things. I find it curious though, because in the final version he's classified as dragonewt, however the GBA version will notoriously declare Elliot the last dragonewt on earth instead. This would make sense if Nova was intended to be something else at some point, and the GBA version tried to restore that, though it was nonetheless very badly explained.

Let's talk a bit about Max's speech patterns. In the original game, he obviously doesn't speak much, but the ending still shows him using the formal pronoun "watashi" for himself, and speaking casually to Adam, while more politely to the stranger they meet there. This continues in Final Conflict, where he's pretty casual to the team but sticks using watashi at the same time. This changed in the GBA version, where he switches between the more casual and masculine pronouns "boku" (softer) and "ore" (rougher) depending on who he's speaking to. I'm not knowledgeable enough to discuss this in depth but I do get the feeling that the choice of "watashi" for him in the original was a bit unusual. In any case, this manga just makes him use "ore" constantly. At the same time, he's pretty much always polite, even to his teammates. So he definitely doesn't come off as rough.

As example of this politeness, Max here also uses the usual "-san" honorific for basically everyone except Lowe, a literal child. I usually ignore those since they don't flow very naturally in english (at least for dialogue between friends/close teammates), but I did keep a couple instances when he has barely met Tao and Hans, because it felt fitting for a first meeting, especially with him being so notably polite in this version.

Let's talk about the rest of the team now! I've translated their in-game introductions in case you're not aware of how their personalities differs from the english version.

Hans was announced since the early coverage of the game, so every design difference you see here is the artist's choice. At no point was his personality touched upon however. So could it be that we were meant to have edgy rival Hans at some point? I find it unlikely given Hans' cute face, but my theory is that Hans had zero official personality at this point, so the manga artist just threw some elf stereotypes in and tweaked the design to fit that. It's hard to not associate Hans' attitude here with Mae's in the final game though. There's a lot of evidence in the pre-release page I keep linking to for Mae and the other centaurs' prejudice against Max to have been added late in development. So could it be that at some point elves were supposed to be the arrogant ones? Maybe! Could it be that the artist just shoved Mae's personality on Hans instead to erase her instead? Also possible! It should be clear already that the guy is not decent about female characters, and mild spoilers but, Mae is simply not gonna be around for this one save for small background cameos, which is mind boggling when she was clearly the main female character at this point in development. But could it be this has nothing to do with Hans and it's just a coincidence that his personality matches hers here? Also maybe! If it's not obvious I'm just rambling ideas at this point. To close the topic on Hans, he would eventually be confirmed as a noble in Shining Force Gaiden, as his son is mentioned to come from a noble family in the manuals. Though this is just the standard background for most characters in this game.

Tao is a curious case. She is seen in screenshots since the game's announcement, but it took longer until her art and profile were revealed. Said profile also says nothing on her personality, so my take on her here is the same as Hans. I doubt she was meant as the spunky girl we see here, but it's possible that the artist isn't warping her final personality, and she was just a blank state at this point. But it's hard to tell for certain.

Ken, on the other hand, was announced from day one to admire Max, which is probably why he's very much the same as his game version here.

Luke is the only one of the starting team to not be seen in early screenshots, and there's some evidence that Gort was meant to be the first warrior of the team instead. So the manga here gives us a better idea of when Luke was worked on during development.

The fighting tournament Ken mentions is brought up in the ASCII guide book as a tradition of Guardiana. Always fun to see little worldbuilding tidbits like this were planned from the start. And while nowhere else mentions this as the place where Ken first saw Max, it makes a lot of sense.

Finally, the battle at the Gate taking place on the inside, so dark it needs to be illuminated by torches? That's how the place looked in early builds as well.

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 18: Fish Out Of Water

Rating: T

Word Count: 635

Warnings: None

Summary: Akira made a bargain with Emet-Selch that ended with her joining the Ascians. But despite the fact that no one has made her feel unwelcome, in the hours leading up to her official induction she still feels as if she doesn't belong. [Ascian WoL AU, EmetWoL but only a little]

Master Post

The dark realm where the Ascians made their home was…comfortable. The darkness was ever present in the air, weighing heavy over everything like a blanket. Akira wandered the halls of endless doors, peeking in a few as she passed. Some refused to open; she assumed those must belong to individuals, their own little sanctuaries. Some opened to show libraries, offices, training halls, just about anything one could need. After a while, the realization settled in that the doors were magically repeating. Satisfied that there was nothing more to see, or at least not while she still was just a ‘guest’ anyway, Akira let her mind wander as she walked the halls aimlessly, just needing to move.

Regardless, Akira still didn’t feel like she belonged here. Every breath said this wasn’t where she was meant to be. No matter how comfortable. No matter how polite the other Ascians had been. No matter that the animosity between her and Emet-Selch had softened into something…else. She felt like a fish pulled from water and commanded to breathe and walk. And, against all odds, she did. She breathed. She walked. But it was all wrong.

“Well, Hero,” she heard a familiar voice from just behind her. “It’s just about time.”

“This is wrong,” she mumbled, knowing it would make no difference. “I don’t belong here.” But she had made a deal. She wouldn’t go back on it, and he knew that. Emet-Selch moved closer and pulled her against him, draping himself over her in an overly friendly manner she’d long since adjusted to. She didn’t understand it, but his proximity soothed a part of her soul she didn’t recognize.

“That’s just your Mother still hanging on. She never was a graceful loser.” He meant it to be soothing, but it only turned her stomach over. Why had Hydaelyn so thoroughly abandoned her? Hadn’t fought for her at all? Akira was constantly listening, hoping to hear what she should do next, but only silence greeted her, over and over again.

“I don’t know about that,” Akira shrank into herself, shoulders hunching up. He turned her to face him, taking her face in between his clawed hands; ceremonial, he’d called them, when she commented that the robes she’d seen Ascians wear looked so different from the one they had provided her.

“You’ll see,” he insisted. “Once you have your memories and your title, you’ll see you belong as much as any of us.”

Not her memories, of course. Akira knew he was referring to who she used to be. The person he seemed so intent on getting back. And despite the constant assurances that she would still be herself, just more, she couldn’t help but fear that this was an even more permanent end than if she’d just allowed herself to die.

She supposed she would find out shortly. She tried to call on the courage that had served her so well against Primals and Lightwardens alike, but in this unfamiliar realm and minus her usual abilities, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. No matter how much she was told that she would be far stronger than she’d been before. She rested a hand over one of his, and fought against the fear clawing its way up her throat. Emet-Selch pulled her against his chest, holding her close like she was something precious. Something she couldn’t understand, as she’d been repeatedly told.

“Come now, Hero,” he rumbled lowly. “You’ve gone through far worse than this. It’ll be no worse than one of those Echo visions of yours.”

She nodded — it was easier than arguing and there was no changing it now — and let him lead her away, one hand on her lower back. She wasn’t sure if it was out of fondness or to make sure she didn’t try to run.

[spiderwing-nightman]

Crowley hated thinking about the Fall. He hadn't particularly liked heaven, he definitely did not miss it, but if he could have chosen a way to get out, the fall would not have been it. He meant it when he said he hadn't meant to fall, he never even spent that much time around the others who fell. He was always the odd one out, no matter where he went. He had too many questions, too many ideas, too much pride in his work, too much love for things other than Her to fit in with the other angels, especially the high ranking ones. He was too nice, too well meaning, too bubbly to fit in with the others who fell. He was alone. That didn't change when he fell, in fact it got easier to deal with. Now, at least, he wasn't alone surrounded by others, he was just alone.

The Fall burned. He hadn't felt pain before, but he was sure that this was worse than anything he, or anyone else, would ever feel. And yet, it was wonderful. Of course he didn't think so at first, but, after a while, he came to love his new form. The Fall he realized separated him completely from her and the angel he had been, allowing him to become someone new, someone who could ask questions, someone who could do what he wanted without fear of punishment. There was still downstairs to answer to, but he could get away with enough to stay true to himself. There was the added benefit of the Angel. His memories from Before were hazy at best, but he remembered making the stars and an angel helping. It was the beginning of the end. He couldn't be sure that it was the same Angel, but somehow he knew that this angel who gave away his sword to help the humans was the same one who allowed him to become himself.

Six thousand years passed. The world almost ended. The Angel almost died. They almost talked about the dance they had been doing since the beginning. Almost. The world didn't end, the Angel didn't die, and they didn't talk. Crowley saw the hope in the Angels’ eyes when he asked him to come back, to go back to how things were. He saw the devastation when he left. He didn't understand, he couldn't. How could he? He didn't know how Crowley became himself After. It was one of the things Crowley should have told him, would have told him if it hadn't gone so wrong. There was so much the Angel didn't know about Crowley after six thousand years of hiding, and so much Crowley didn't know in turn. Now it was too late. Four years they had had, four years of freedom, yet they did nothing but dance around each other anyway.

The opportunity was gone. Crowley was alone again and somehow it hurt more. It hurt more than even the fall. He had been wrong all those years ago, this was the worst pain he would ever experience and this would not remake him. Neither had it destroyed him, but there was still time. He was alone in this awful world, and nothing, not plants or vintage cars or fine wines, would make eternity worth it if he had to face it alone without his Angel. That didn't mean he would give those things up, as far as he was concerned he had lost more than anyone should ever be forced to lose. His plants suffered more abuse than they had in nearly four years, and they remained beautiful, his car was hidden in the garage of the building he had recently returned to, and, while his selection of alcohol was decidedly not fine, it remained available to him in copious amounts. 

In the past few weeks, he didn't know how many, since the conversation that wasn't, he had not left the apartment. He drove for a long time at first, but he found himself at the bookshop many times at first, until finally he drove far enough that he was surrounded by familiar colorless walls. His apartment had fixed all the damage Shax had done and returned itself to the state it had been in when he left because he expected it, but he spared it barely a glance. He organized his plants, stripped, and fell into bed. He woke up a few times when his phone rang, his heart filling with hope, but the calls were all just telemarketers, an invention he had been proud of at the time, but now wished he could unmake. The cycle repeated until one day he could not fall asleep again and stumbled out of bed trying to find something to numb the unending pain. He remained like this, trying to fill the void, for days.

He spoke to the Aziraphale in his head occasionally. Sometimes he cursed at him, said awful words he wished he never meant. More often, he begged him to come back. He told him about the spinning world, the gaps he was trying to fill without the Angel there. With no end in sight to the spinning world, he fell back into bed and tried to ignore the holes slowly taking over it. 

[smokeybrandreviews]

Speed Run V: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

I actually participated in Barbenheimer when it originally happened but found that i had way to much to say and the entire energy surrounding that event just kind of drowned out my analysis. I wanted to give that phenomena room to breathe because it absolutely deserved it. Barbenheimer will go down as a legit cultural flash point and it deserves every bit of that adulation. It's rare something so weirdly attractive, brings all form of society together in an effort to just enjoy. Barbie is set to hit streaming on September 5th so i figure now is as good a time as any to dig into what turned out to be two of the best films i have seen in years.

Barbie

If you would have told me that the Barbie movie would be the one to deal with existential dead, i would have laughed in your face. Yet, here we are, talking about a film that has done more for the feminine experience than any third wave feminist podcast to date. When i was watching Ben Shapiro burning Barbies in protest to this excellent film, i just couldn't help but laugh because that type of sh*t was the point. As a film, Barbie is easily one of the best. It has great direction, a brisk pace, fantastic performances, and a clear vision. It's messaging is never bogged down by shallow identity politics, as much as terms like "patriarchy" are thrown around but, let's be honest, of course a film about Barbie is going to focus on the female perspective. It's Barbie. What else would this film be about? Whether you like to hear about the realities of our world or not, the messaging in Barbie has rang true to the tune of a billion dollars at the box office and a number one spot for four weeks straight. Barbie clearly resonated with people across the gender spectrum and party lines so it's always odd to see people bash it for it's "feminist" messaging. Seriously, telling me you hate Barbie at this point is basically telling me you hate women without telling me you hate women. The weakest part of this film was Will Ferrell and his weird Mattel cabal of goons. You could have cut that sh*t right out of this film and nothing would have changed but whatever. Barbie is much, much, better than it has any right to be and it's weird people hate it for being exactly what Barbie has represented herself to be since the goddamn Sixties.

Oppenheimer

So the enheimer half of Barbenheimer was what got me into the theaters. Barbie had to grow on me but i was on board for Oppenheimer last year after that teaser. It was gorgeous and haunting and everything i never knew i wanted in a biopic of the man who created the Atomic Age. This film did not disappoint. Obviously, the cast as exceptional and weird that Best Supporting Actor can very legitimately come down to RDJ versus Ryan Gosling, but that speaks to the quality of both these films. That said, between Margot Robbie and Cillian Murphy for best lead performance of their respective films, I'd give the edge to Cillian. This man kills this performance, acting his ass off. You get a real sense of who Oppenheimer was during each phase of his life; A Stark contrast between before and after those bombs were dropped on Japan. Seriously, that ending was haunting. I've always subscribed to Oppenheimer knowing exactly what he had done. He knew exactly what it meant to drop that bomb. He saw what was coming and that exchange with Einstein at the end of the film was haunting. And he was right. I remember seeing the old footage of Oppy quoting the Mahabharata about how it felt to see his work succeed. The way his face dropped and his eyes glazed over, pulling that locked away memory forward. The say he very methodically spoke those words “Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” J. Robert Oppenheimer believed that of himself and Cillian Murphy absolutely embodies that energy in the back end of this film. Absolutely stunning performance and i cannot wait to watch it again.

[smokeybrand]

Speed Run V: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

I actually participated in Barbenheimer when it originally happened but found that i had way to much to say and the entire energy surrounding that event just kind of drowned out my analysis. I wanted to give that phenomena room to breathe because it absolutely deserved it. Barbenheimer will go down as a legit cultural flash point and it deserves every bit of that adulation. It's rare something so weirdly attractive, brings all form of society together in an effort to just enjoy. Barbie is set to hit streaming on September 5th so i figure now is as good a time as any to dig into what turned out to be two of the best films i have seen in years.

Barbie

If you would have told me that the Barbie movie would be the one to deal with existential dead, i would have laughed in your face. Yet, here we are, talking about a film that has done more for the feminine experience than any third wave feminist podcast to date. When i was watching Ben Shapiro burning Barbies in protest to this excellent film, i just couldn't help but laugh because that type of sh*t was the point. As a film, Barbie is easily one of the best. It has great direction, a brisk pace, fantastic performances, and a clear vision. It's messaging is never bogged down by shallow identity politics, as much as terms like "patriarchy" are thrown around but, let's be honest, of course a film about Barbie is going to focus on the female perspective. It's Barbie. What else would this film be about? Whether you like to hear about the realities of our world or not, the messaging in Barbie has rang true to the tune of a billion dollars at the box office and a number one spot for four weeks straight. Barbie clearly resonated with people across the gender spectrum and party lines so it's always odd to see people bash it for it's "feminist" messaging. Seriously, telling me you hate Barbie at this point is basically telling me you hate women without telling me you hate women. The weakest part of this film was Will Ferrell and his weird Mattel cabal of goons. You could have cut that sh*t right out of this film and nothing would have changed but whatever. Barbie is much, much, better than it has any right to be and it's weird people hate it for being exactly what Barbie has represented herself to be since the goddamn Sixties.

Oppenheimer

So the enheimer half of Barbenheimer was what got me into the theaters. Barbie had to grow on me but i was on board for Oppenheimer last year after that teaser. It was gorgeous and haunting and everything i never knew i wanted in a biopic of the man who created the Atomic Age. This film did not disappoint. Obviously, the cast as exceptional and weird that Best Supporting Actor can very legitimately come down to RDJ versus Ryan Gosling, but that speaks to the quality of both these films. That said, between Margot Robbie and Cillian Murphy for best lead performance of their respective films, I'd give the edge to Cillian. This man kills this performance, acting his ass off. You get a real sense of who Oppenheimer was during each phase of his life; A Stark contrast between before and after those bombs were dropped on Japan. Seriously, that ending was haunting. I've always subscribed to Oppenheimer knowing exactly what he had done. He knew exactly what it meant to drop that bomb. He saw what was coming and that exchange with Einstein at the end of the film was haunting. And he was right. I remember seeing the old footage of Oppy quoting the Mahabharata about how it felt to see his work succeed. The way his face dropped and his eyes glazed over, pulling that locked away memory forward. The say he very methodically spoke those words “Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” J. Robert Oppenheimer believed that of himself and Cillian Murphy absolutely embodies that energy in the back end of this film. Absolutely stunning performance and i cannot wait to watch it again.