#bc they didn’t want to risk a longer/better story in case they never got the chance to finish it

[radiaking]

Reading this review of fallout that essentially says they think it’s “just okay” but not great, seeming to attribute its success mainly due to being an adaptation of a beloved game. As someone who never played before watching and thought it was a great tv show (not just a great adaptation since I had no basis for comparison), obvs I disagree. And they really had no clear basis for why they think it’s not that great and more that they just don’t get the hype. Like they enjoyed it, they want more of it, etc. but interestingly they did say they hope it’s success makes them improve not approach s2 with a “if it aint broke don’t fix it” mindset, and that I can agree with. But tbh I think this speaks to a larger problem with tv at all and not just fallout….

[volturiwolf]

The Volturi Princess - A Felix Volturi x fem!Reader Story (part 1)

A/N: This is the first Volturi- and Twilight-related story I ever started writing and it is quite long and elaborated/complex, as I tend to overanalyze in many parts. I have wrote a few parts until now and I'll be uploading them in the future. I have been quite emotional throughout writing it, trying to understand the reader's point of view.

A/N 2: I'm sorry if something doesn't make sense. English is not my first language. I also include Italian through the story, with translation, but I'm not a native or a speaker, so I'd like to apologize in advance to those who speak Italian. Enjoy :)

A/N 3: According to "The Amagi" on Youtube, Felix was born in 250 BC (their thumbnail), so I used that in my story.

No of Words: about 5347

Mentions of: Abandonment, Abortion, Anxiety, Blood, Bruises, Coma/Comatosed State, Death Emotional Abuse, Emotional and Physical Pain, Gaslighting, Greece/Greek Language - with translation, Heartbreak, Italian Language - with translation, Manipulation, Murder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Suffering, Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Swear Language, Throwing Up/Puking, Witches/Wizards/Witchcraft

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My heart felt heavy. I may have just escaped the cruelest vampire of all, but I also ran away from the love of my life, my mate, the only person who could fully understand me in this world. I asked him to run away with me, but, although our bond was strong, he felt obliged to stay loyal to his master, his creator. I drove as fast as I could, away from the sunny Volterra, and away from him.

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(Y/N) grew up quite privileged, in Vampire terms. Being born into the Volturi coven was something many vampires could only dream about. (Y/N) was abandoned by her parents when she was a baby, but Aro, one of the three Volturi leaders, took her under his protection, and offered her more things than she could ever have imagined. After all, she was his only biological granddaughter, the “Volturi princess”, an heiress to the throne; her mother lost that “privilege” when she met and fell in love with a wizard.

(Y/N)’s mother soon got pregnant with her, and then later turned her husband into a vampire to help her with her pregnancy, and stay together forever. However, (Y/N)’s parents couldn’t raise her because they wanted to run free and careless, not commit to anything permanent, so Aro took over and raised his granddaughter with the highest honors and privileges, “as a princess should be raised”.

(Y/N) was a mix of Vampire, Witch and Human, due to the grandmother, Sulpicia, being human when Aro found her; Sulpicia later fell pregnant with (Y/N)’s mother, and Aro transformed her to vampire, as he had planned all along. Aro raised (Y/N) according to his own rules and morals, teaching her how to kill humans to feed from, how to attack and slip away from her opponents, how to lead other vampires, and most importantly, how to keep her identity and existence a secret, not only to humans, but other non-Volturi vampires as well. No one could know that there was a possibility of a vampire having a child with a human, and that the child could be effectively controlled and raised as a regular vampire.

As (Y/N) grew older and older, reaching the human age of 25 within 7 years of her birth, Aro would spend more and more time with her, examining and studying her possibilities and her potential powers’ development. (Y/N) grew up to be extremely strong and fast, an excellent tracker with great intelligence and understanding of the world around her. However, Aro could not risk sending her to “Volturi duties”. She was his hope for a stronger coven; with (Y/N) in the throne, Aro felt like he could conquer the vampire world with ease.

That’s why he was always searching for the best guards he could find, to protect the coven and do his work instead of himself, Caius, or (Y/N). He couldn’t rely on Marcus, as he proved to be too emotional since Didyme died, but was still valuable for his plan. Caius, on the other hand, although powerless, was far more sadistic and “diligent” in following vampire rules, and (Y/N)... (Y/N) was just too obedient, following every order Aro gave her - a strong asset for the Volturi.

Aro was changing guards and trackers quite easily, disposing them when they were no longer needed or when he found better ones. He needed talented and strong vampires to serve the coven and do their work.

Chelsea was the very first vampire Aro created solely to serve the Volturi, after recognizing her potential when she was human. Chelsea’s gift of relationship manipulation was truly useful in bringing new vampires into the coven and was used thousands of times during Volturi's reign. It could also easily dispose of them, making their bonds with other vampires break at will; those vampires were isolated by the other vampires and then killed - Aro couldn’t risk letting them get away knowing the Volturi’s secrets and life.

About 100 years later, Corin joined the Volturi, just a couple decades after (Y/N)’s birth. Corin’s gift of addictive contentment was the one which kept Marcus in the Volturi after Didyme’s death - along with Chelsea’s to make him committed to Aro’s greater plans, and was also used on Sulpicia, Athenadora and any other vampire in the Volturi guard to keep them satisfied being in the Volturi. Under Aro’s instructions, Corin was keeping Chelsea content with being in the Volturi, and Chelsea was keeping Corin loyal to them, each of them using their gifts against each other, without their knowledge.

Sometime between 230 and 220 BC, while travelling in Rome, searching for additional vampires to add to the coven, Aro supposedly met a young, strong and ambitious fighter, who wished to become a gladiator one day, named Felix. Felix did not only look, but also was physically capable of fighting even with beasts, during his short time as a fighter, way before the Colosseum was built. Born into a poor family, his strength was his only way of making money, and becoming a gladiator was his only way out of poverty, a way to provide for both his family and himself.

When his family was almost imprisoned by Roman army officers for outstanding debts, Felix was forced to make a deal with them to fight, in whatever they ordered him to. Fighting turned out to be the only way for Felix to deal with his emotions and rage towards people in power. When Aro approached Felix, he was promised a good life, where he wouldn’t have to worry about surviving another day. Felix did not seem willing enough, not being fond of the idea of serving people in power, who he so despised.

Luckily for Aro, Chelsea was the one who “convinced” Felix to join the Volturi guard, with Aro changing him afterwards. Unlike previous guards, Felix showed impeccable strength, speed and talent towards both dodging and initiating attacks, eventually making him a permanent member in the Volturi Guard, along with Chelsea and Corin.

Felix was assigned as the leading guard for the three kings’ protection, this role extending to the protection of their two wives and (Y/N); though Aro knew that, if it came to anyone attacking his granddaughter, she would be able to handle it by herself. However, he still wanted to make sure that she was safe and that Aro would do anything to protect her.

For about a couple millennias, (Y/N) was content with her situation, being the “Volturi princess” and all that. Besides, having Felix in the Volturi was another reason to stay in the coven, apart from staying loyal and true to Aro for taking her in, when she was abandoned.

Every time Felix looked into her eyes, she felt her whole body burn - though, it wasn’t a feeling of suffering, rather a feeling of longing, waiting for something to happen so badly that her body couldn’t control itself. Although she was partially a vampire, (Y/N) would feel like she couldn’t breathe, like her legs were ready to give up on her, like she wanted to grab Felix and never let go.

Felix, although not admitting it even to himself, would feel the same way, but he knew that his position would not allow him to approach (Y/N) in such a way. He was just a guard - although he was the strongest of them all, and she was the Volturi princess, one of his masters, whom he was only allowed to approach in order to protect. He didn’t want Aro to know he saw his granddaughter like that; it could cost him his position in the guard, or even his life. So, he kept these feelings deep within him, not allowing them to resurface, or act upon them.

However, every time these two existed at the same place, the invisible sparks between them would fly left and right. And only one vampire was able to see them. One who hadn’t felt these sparks in centuries.

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

(Y/N)’s POV:

I yawned loudly as I woke from a long, much needed sleep. I was the only vampire around who was able to sleep, mostly due to my non-vampire natures. I didn't really need to sleep on a regular basis, but when I did, I could literally sleep 3 days straight and nobody would be able to wake me up. “For my own protection”, as Aro said, I would always have at least two guards outside of my room’s door, in case anything happened while I was sleeping. Like what could even happen? My room was at the furthest side of this huge castle. I’m pretty sure that if there ever was an attack against the Volturi, it would most probably have been dealt with immediately, and the attacker wouldn’t make it anywhere near my room.

I felt the warm sun on my skin, slightly glowing and sparkling beautifully. My eyes, mostly (Y/E/C) with a golden ring around the pupil, could easily adjust to the light. Unlike the other vampires, I could easily live among humans; I could sleep, eat human food, my skin not being as sparkly as others, and I could control my thirst far better than others.

Since Jane and Alec joined the coven, Aro would show an immense interest in them and their skills, helping them train daily and develop their powers further, eventually forgetting about me. I would spend more and more days away from the castle, “protected” by my anonymity, getting to know humans more and more. The longer I was observing them, the more they would trigger my interest in them. They could feel true emotions, real pain, real hurt, real love. They had their families, they received an unconditional love that I could never have.

Unbeknownst to Aro or anyone else for that matter, I have started developing new powers, similar to the other vampires in the Volturi coven or anyone else outside of it. I have also started noticing that I may have an immunity towards others’ talents, feeling that neither Corin’s addictive contentment made me satisfied with being in the Volturi, nor Chelsea’s relationship manipulation could keep me loyal to Aro anymore. If it weren’t for Felix, or Demetri and the Twins, who have all become my best friends by now, I would have probably left.

A vampire named Carlisle Cullen had visited the Volturi and stayed with us for a while, about 100 years ago. He saw the way the Volturi treated humans like they were nothing, and how they were as cruel as to kill other vampires, with the excuse that they were exposing our kind with the way they lived. Entire covens had been wiped out due to such excuses, a way to eliminate potential enemies from becoming too powerful and find as many talented vampires as possible and force them to join the Volturi.

Carlisle was talking about a new way of life, where vampires wouldn’t have to kill humans to survive, a life where vampires and humans could live in peace, without harming each other. He was insisting that vampires could survive on animal blood just as efficiently as with human blood; that animal blood would not make them weaker, and that it would be a much more ethical and sustainable way to feed.

Of course, Aro and Caius were the first ones to mock his proposition, clearly not caring about humans’ feelings and pain. Marcus did not budge at all, his heartache making him indifferent to anything around him. But I was growing more and more interested in this alternative way of life; I was, after all, feeding on human food already, so that I was feeding on human blood as little as I could.

It was a few years after Carlisle left Volterra that Eleazar joined the Volturi. Aro forced him to join after finding out he could detect if someone had any special ability. Aro considered his gift useful in identifying if any of his enemies had any special power when in battles, or when he sent Eleazar around the world to recruit talented vampires.

Eleazar was clearly not liking the way the Volturi forced their ways and wants on others, and how they could take advantage of others for their own benefit. I could just sense that he was displeased and was forcing himself to stay in the coven, one, due to Corin’s and Chelsea’s gifts, and two, out of fear of what could happen to him and his mate, Carmen.

Carmen, a vampire from Spain, like Eleazar, met with Eleazar while he was a guard here, they fell in love, and eventually, Eleazar decided to leave the Volturi and run away with Carmen. Aro decided that he did not care about him and his gift as much as others’, so he let him go unharmed, “blessing” them for safe travels.

Just a few days before he left, I consulted him on my own powers. Though a lower member of the guard, Eleazar had his own room, a decent place to stay, and spend his endless hours in. I knocked slightly on the door.

“Come in”, a calm voice was heard. I opened the door and came into his room. Carmen was sitting on the edge of their bed and Eleazar was reading a book on his desk. They both smiled sweetly. I just felt and knew they were too nice to fit anywhere in here, among the cruel and strict Volturi.

“(Y/N)! So nice to see you!”Carmen exclaimed and stood to hug me. The second we hugged I started seeing parts of her life in Spain, the calm waters of Catalunya, the vast vineyards where she would spend the early years of her life… I quickly detached myself from her embrace. I just couldn’t invade her privacy like that. She and Eleazar both looked at me worried, as if I had offended them.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t let you “show” me your whole life like that!” I looked at Carmen apologetically.

“(Y/N), you saw Carmen’s life?” Eleazar continued, intrigued by my words.

“That’s why I came to talk to you. I..I feel like I’ve been developing a gift, or a few gifts, to be completely honest. And I feel like.. like I have a specific power one day, and another power the next!” I stated frantically.

It was the first time I have openly talked about my powers to anyone, and I was shaking just by the words that came out of my mouth. Eleazar did not say anything, he just stood there for a few minutes, I supposed “examining” me, as if a doctor checking on a patient.

“Remarkable.” He said calmly. He looked at his mate with excitement, as if he just discovered a lost treasure. “(Y/N) has one of the most remarkable gifts I have ever seen.” He then turned to me. “You, (Y/N), are able to copy anyone else’s gifts and keep them as your own. You don’t even have to be in contact with them. Just by meeting someone, you can obtain their powers. I have never met anyone like that. You also seem to have obtained immunity to others’ powers, kind of like a shield. I have met such vampires before. From the stories Aro has been telling, your mother was like that. It is likely that you copied that gift for her. Such vampires are extremely useful to themselves or even others, in battles. Like themselves, you can use your gift to protect others from others’ powers, beside yourself.”

That came too sudden to my ears. I have assumed that I may have at least one power, but I didn’t realise I could copy others’ powers. That is why I was showing signs of Aro’s power!

“How can I train my powers? Eleazar! Carmen! You have to help me!”

“As you know, we will be leaving soon. I don’t know if there will be enough time to train you.”

“It’s okay. We will train as much as you want. Please, Eleazar! Please, Carmen!” I started begging them. As if they were hypnotized, they quickly looked at each other and agreed to help me.

The next few days, before Eleazar and Carmen’s departure, included intense training, far away from Volterra, deep in the woods, where no human could interrupt us. I couldn’t say the same for vampires, but I hoped nobody would cross paths with us. Eleazar and Carmen helped me develop my self-control and self-awareness, concentrating through the deepest parts of my mind, resurfacing my shield and expanding it beyond my existence. I started to have control over it, as if it was an actual solid substance, a veil floating around me towards any direction I ordered it to go.

After Eleazar and Carmen left, I started travelling the world more, trying to copy as many powers as I could come across with, while also training my shield. My excitement for the endless possibilities was what kept me going - kind of when Aro would add another talented vampire to his Guard. His Guard. Felix. I wonder how he was. I hadn’t seen him in a while. I wondered if he thought of me like I thought of him.

After travelling pretty much anywhere I could reach, I eventually went back to where it all started: I went to Greece. Aro met Sulpicia here, apparently my mom met my dad here. Maybe I could find out, understand why they left me. I have never met them, but I felt as if my tracking skills could detect them through my own existence.

I started travelling through the country, hoping that they stayed here or, at least, that they’re alive. I spent about 2 or 3 years in Greece, trying to take in every different place, while also avoiding the battles that seemed to take place in every other corner. I was feeding off animals mainly, mostly when I couldn’t find any other human food. I was washing myself in rivers, streams, whatever I could find.

I was stopping by any village that seemed to be still standing, asking about the current situation. The Greek Revolution, which started a few years ago, seemed to still be going on. The Ottomans, who had been occupying Greece for almost 400 years, could not allow Greeks to turn against them and start claiming their rights within the Ottoman Empire.

Many Greeks I met and talked to, admitted that some of the Ottomans were actually being nice to them; it was only the Ottoman government ordering their armies to execute massive massacres against Greeks, and after all this time, a few Greeks started gathering up and planning a revolution, away from Greece, in fear of being caught. They started getting organized and finding possible allies to help them with the Revolution; they just couldn’t risk getting caught within the country that they were hoping the independent Greece could become. The battles were becoming more and more intense, both on the mainland, as well as on the islands.

I started looking for answers, anything that could suggest that my parents were still alive and somewhere in Greece. To my surprise, I crossed paths with many Greek nomad vampires all over the country. They were also fighting against either Ottoman vampires or each other for territorial claims; however, they all talked me out of travelling north, towards Macedonia. The region had started being reclaimed back by Greek humans, but vampires were also seeing the potential for the area and they fought against each other for the land.

All of the nomads I encountered were talking about some of the most vicious vampires claiming the land, their enemies being literally slaughtered and burned to set an example for other vampires to back off their territory. I was intrigued, and I knew that, most probably, I would be able to deal with them or flee before they got to me.

So, I started travelling north, through the woods and mountains, in order to avoid any possible battle between humans, though many of them seemed to hide in the mountains, preparing for their battles. Macedonia was a quite big and vast region, so I had to travel quite a few days and search every possible corner.

I know I shouldn’t have done this, but I was feeling exhausted from all the searching. I haven’t fed in quite some time, and my throat was burning by the familiar need for blood. I haven’t seen any animals all these days, and I was wondering if they were gone or hiding.

Sadly, I came across a human. He seemed to be wounded, probably during a battle, his blood gushing out of his body. I couldn’t help myself, when I breathed in the smell, the burning sensation becoming unbearable. I thought of approaching him slowly, so as not to scare him, offering to help him, but deep down I just wanted to feed off of him.

“Γειά! Συγνώμη αν σε τρόμαξα. Σε είδα από μακριά. Μπορώ να σε βοηθήσω με κάποιο τρόπο; (Hey! Sorry if I scared you. I saw you from afar. Can I help you in any way?)” I offered calmly.

The man was trying to suppress his growls. I could sense his pain. I tried to help him stand on his feet, and then I saw all of his memories. He was in the army, fighting alongside Greeks against the Ottomans, in Macedonia, just outside of Thessaloniki. I didn’t even know I was so close to a city, let alone Thessaloniki.

He was trying to pass through the woods, when he came across what seemed to be two red-eyed vampires, one male and one female. They tried to attack him, but someone else managed to shoot him first, forcing the two vampires to run away. I don’t know how or why, these two felt familiar to me, I could feel that through his memories.

“Γειά! Μπορείς.. Μπορείς να πας στο κοντινότερο χωριό; Νομίζω.. Νομίζω ότι είδα κάτι στο δάσος, δε νομίζω ότι ήταν κάτι φυσιολογικό! Πρέπει.. Πρέπει να προειδοποιήσω τους άλλους! (Hey! Can.. Can you get me to the nearest village? I think.. I think I saw something in the woods, I don’t think it was something normal! I have.. I have to warn the others!)” He mumbled in between sharp shoots of pain.

“Με συγχωρείς πολύ! (I’m really sorry!)” I plead with guilty eyes. I put my hand in his wound, searching for the bullet, while he was consumed by pain. I took the bullet out of the wound, and quickly attached my lips on his skin, sucking the blood as fast as I could, biting deeply unintentionally. His screams were becoming louder and louder, so I covered his mouth with my hand, while trying to shut him up or break his jaw. A few seconds later, he stopped screaming, and I let his lifeless body fall, completely numb and drained out of blood.

I felt renewed, his blood travelling to every part of my body and giving me a new kind of strength that I haven’t felt in a while. I still felt guilty for killing him, but he was already wounded and I couldn’t risk him exposing our kind to others. I assumed that whoever found him - if anyone found him - would also assume that he died of blood loss, so I tried to position him in a realistic pose for that purpose, as best as I could. I left him there, and continued the search for my parents.

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I was running through the woods, trying to locate the two vampires from the guy’s memories. My mind was chaotic, I wasn’t thinking about something specific. I stopped in my tracks. What Aro taught me, and what I understood from Demetri’s tracking skills, is that you have to stop, take a breath and realize your position in the world. Then, you would be able to realize everything around you and find your targets. I have successfully found other vampires like that before, vampires who I have either met in person or smelled their scent, but I didn’t know if I could find someone through someone else’s memories of them.

I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate as best as I could, focusing on the smaller details of the guy’s memories of these vampires. I felt two vampires running on my west, about 10 kilometers away, and I ran after them. They were running fast, but I was way faster. Within a minute or two, I was running right behind their tracks. They must have realized that a stranger was following them, but, instead of running, they suddenly stopped. I stopped as well, and we were now facing each other.

The female had long, brunette, curly hair, and the male short, dark brown, straight hair; both of their hair looked shiny, healthy, and rich. They were of average height and their eyes were piercing red, as if they also fed quite recently. The female was exceptionally beautiful and enchanting; I could only compare her to Heidi’s exceptional beauty. The male looked quite stoic and austere, though still beautiful.

Both of them on defensive positions, waiting for me to attack. I wasn’t planning to move any further from my position; I was only waiting for their own reactions. I felt that kind of a burning sensation within me again, like a feeling buried deep inside me, trying to find an escape.

Suddenly, the male growled at me, flames springing out of his hands, and being thrown at me. I felt my heart fall out of my chest, fearing that this would be my end. As if my body reacted on its own, I felt my own shield extending out of my body, building a wall around me and protecting me from the male’s attack. My hands started burning and flames came out, ready to counterattack the male. The male looked at the female, dumbfounded by what he witnessed, still in a defensive position, but ready to attack again.

“I’M NOT HERE TO FIGHT YOU!” I shouted at both of them. “I’M JUST SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE!”

The male shrinked back, the female following close by. “Who are you looking for? We haven’t seen you around. Who are you? Why are you here?” The male requested. His voice serious, but smooth at the same time; a voice I could only describe as the warm earth below their bare feet.

“No, I’m not. I come from Italy, though I think I was born around here. My name is (Y/N), I’m looking for my parents. I don’t quite remember what they look like, but I’m pretty sure that they lived around here. They abandoned me when I was a baby.”

“This has been our territory for almost 3 millennials! We would have known if any humans abandoned their offspring around here!” The female exclaimed, as if she didn’t believe a word I said. I didn’t want to tell them the whole story, but I had to show them that I didn’t mean to fight in any way.

“I never said they were humans. My mother was actually sort of a vampire, like you.”

The female started letting her guards down. “What do you mean sort of? I’ve never heard of a “sort of vampire” before!” She continued doubtfully.

“Believe me or don’t, my mother was born half vampire, half human. My dad wasn’t even a vampire before she met him. He wasn’t even human to be honest.” My eyes started stinging slightly. I could have had a good, happy life if they didn’t abandon me. I wouldn’t have to grow up with Aro.

“You said you were from Italy.” I nodded at the male, as he continued. “You never said where exactly.”

I wasn’t sure if I should tell them my real origin; I wouldn’t like them to know I was a Volturi, but I knew I needed help to find my parents. If they were actually here as long as they say, they might have known or met my parents at some point.

“Volterra. I was born here, in Greece, like my mother, but grew up in Volterra with my grandparents.” I looked down, kind of scared, kind of anxious, waiting for their next move.

The female gasped. “Are you a Volturi?!” I looked at her, straight in the eyes, swallowed, and nodded. “I know the Volturi. Who are your grandparents?”

“Aro and Sulpicia.” I answered so quietly that, if they weren’t vampires, they wouldn’t have heard me, my voice trembling slightly.

The female suddenly fell on her knees, the male wrapping his arms around her, comforting her. I didn’t know what was going on. Did I say something wrong? Were they scared? The sheer mention of the Volturi would scare a lot of vampires, but I thought that maybe these two seemed strong enough to deal with them.

The female started sobbing, no tears coming out of her red eyes, her body shaking. I felt something within me break. I felt that I didn’t want to upset them, that’s why I was hesitant in telling them who I really was. The male looked at me, pain in his eyes. I saw a familiar look. I saw me in his eyes, what I looked at in my mirror anytime I was thinking about my parents, or, sometimes, when I thought of Felix.

“Are you a half witch?” The male asked quietly. Something snapped in me. How would he know that?

“I swear, I didn’t do anything to your mate! I DIDN’T!” I shouted at the male. I didn’t want him to think that I would hurt his mate, or himself.

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s just..” He looked at his mate who had stopped sobbing, but was still down on her knees, unable to stand up. “..my mate is Aro and Sulpicia Volturi’s only daughter.”

My body tensed and shivered. If that woman is the only daughter Aro and Sulpicia ever had...could that mean..?

I took a few steps back. “AM I YOUR DAUGHTER? ARE YOU MY PARENTS?” I looked at them in disbelief.

Those were the people who abandoned me! That let me grow parentless, under Aro’s rules and directions! I was breathing heavily, in between sobs. I didn’t even realize that I set my whole body ablaze, until both vampires looked at me shocked. I didn’t feel any pain, but I couldn’t stop the flames licking my body, and in my frantic state, I started panicking even more.

The male started approaching me slowly, trying to not scare me away. “Shush, shush. You’re okay. You’re doing okay. I know how it feels at first. You’re experiencing some aspects of the life as a witch. It’s okay. Close your eyes and picture the flames in your head.” I closed my eyes and tried concentrating on the flames. “Now, imagine them burning out, becoming smaller and weaker.” I focused on the flames, imagining them weakening. After a few minutes, I felt them getting smaller and smaller, and finally disappearing. I opened my eyes slowly.

The female was standing next to the male, watching me carefully. In a quick motion, she pulled me and embraced me, stroking my hair lightly. I breathed in her scent, a mix of mountain flowers and the saltiness of the sea. Her touch was soft, and filled me up with what felt like a thousand different emotions.

But, I mostly felt safe. It was the first time in my life that I actually felt this safe. And whole. I felt like I actually belonged somewhere. I hugged her back. Tears started spilling from my eyes. That was my mom! That was actually my mom! After all this time, we were finally together. I felt the male, my dad, hugging both of us, and in that moment, I felt my legs giving up on me, and I finally fell into a long sleep.

[trifoliate-undergrowth]

Ah yes good old detransitioning. It’s not that common and yet certain people talk about it like it’s the MOST common outcome (not, you know, feeling better about your gender. Which Is the most common outcome of transitioning.) 

Even in the small amount of people who do detransition: they’ve done studies on factors of detransitioning which find that in the majority of cases it’s because of external pressure (not feeling safe being openly trans, being attacked, not being able to access medical care anymore for whatever reason, etc.) rather than the person freely deciding that they didn’t identify as trans anymore. In other cases, the person still identifies as trans but just decides not to pursue medical transition for whatever reason, and this is also considered “detransitioning”. Other people who technically detransition choose to transition again later, when they’re in a safer or more financially stable place or what have you. There are a lot of factors, it’s already pretty rare, and yet transphobes will latch onto like one (1) story about a person who regrets transitioning and be like SEE?? IT’S POSSIBLE TO REGRET IT! THIS IS THE ONLY POSSIBILITY WE WILL TALK ABOUT! Like, okay. It’s possible to regret literally any decision that you make. It’s possible to regret your marriage, Karen, but I don’t see you calling for the outlawing of all heterosexual marriage Just In Case, do I? Yet look at the divorce rates! The stats for domestic abuse! Surely the risk is too high to allow this thing. lol. /s

This is a good post from good old transgenderteensurvivalguide about detransitioning, they’ve got a couple sources. Here’s another, recent study I found via quick google search which supports the “majority of detransitioners do it because of external pressure”: 

but again this is just quick research bc (a point that’s mentioned in the TTSG post!) I don’t like thinking about detransition much just because it is used as a “but what if!!” weapon by unpleasant people so much lol! (This is not the fault of people who, for whatever reasons of their own, do end up detransitioning! Unpleasant people will find any excuse to be unpleasant.) So I haven’t spent a lot of time looking into it. Different sources find different percentages of trans people detransition at some point I think, but it’s always a small number. 

About trusting your feelings, I don’t know what advice to give because I also struggle with that lol. It has gotten and continues to get better with time. When I was preparing for top surgery I’d have moments where I’d be like “but what if I regret it???” and then I’d actually calm myself down and think, okay, do I want to put this on hold and think about it a while longer, make sure I really want to? and the answer was always a strong NO absolutely not, I really want this and I’m excited about it and eager for it to happen as soon as possible! Yet I’d panic over nothing, just because I felt like surely I couldn’t trust myself to be right about something so big. But I woke up after the surgery with this just transcendent feeling of happiness and peace and contentment, and I’ve never regretted it, and I take every socially acceptable chance to show off my chest because I love it. Looking forward to swimming shirtless this summer! already enjoying wearing sleeveless shirts! It’s just been amazing. HRT has been great too, part of me is like “woah that’s different! I need to get used to how my voice sounds and feels different and I sing in a different register now” and part of me is like IT’S STILL HAPPENING TOO SLOWLY GIVE ME ALL THE CHANGES IMMEDIATELY PLEASE AND THANK U lol. Generally been very excited about it all. 

One thing TTSG mentions is that if you’re not sure you want to continue HRT you can microdose and get the changes very very slowly so you have plenty of time to decide if you like everything and want it to continue or if you’d like to stop where you are. As for surgeries, it’s required that you get a psychological evaluation that makes sure you’re in your right mind and fully understand the procedure you’re getting, not to mention the expenses and wait time, it’s not like it’s just something you can do on a whim. 

There’s no timeline on this, you can take as long as you need to to figure out what’s right for you personally. 

Ah yes Christianity. I had a huge crisis over the book Hostage to the Devil by Malachi Martin, a work which claims to be based on real events (I do NOT recommend. and I do not believe it’s anything but fiction) and was like “am I possessed??? is this what this is?? The nice Catholic guy that my church likes said being transgender means you’re full of demons and he’s probably right, right?” and read the catechism and it was like “no you can’t be trans” and it was just. a bad time for religious/gender crises lol. I eventually ended up ditching my religion (as you’ve probably noticed from some of my posts) but I do know several queer Christians who reconcile their beliefs with their identities, and while I was still Christian the way I saw it was, okay, nobody else might see it this way but I know that this isn’t just something I decided to do, or a demonic punishment for not being a good enough Christian. I know this is just an essential part of who I am. So God must have made me this way, and God knows what He’s doing; if anyone else doesn’t like it they can take it up with God. (religious crisis: why the hell would God put me in a church that’s so transphobic tho?? Is he, like, a sadist?? Is his whole church wrong or am I wrong?? am I in the wrong church?) 

Transphobes are also quick to claim that seeking gender-affirming medical treatment is “mutilation”, and yet the same people will generally support allowing plastic surgery to make intersex people seem more binary (even for children too young to consent to receiving such treatment!), and unnecessary plastic surgery that makes cis people feel more conventionally attractive according to their own weird little ideas about gender norms. And cis people with hormone issues can get hormones and nobody raises an eyebrow, but when a trans person wants hormones it’s all NOOOOOO how dare! (I can’t find it now, thank you tumblr broken search function, but there’s a video I really love where a trans woman explains how when people ask about her voice she just says she has a hormonal imbalance. Which is technically true! Trans people don’t have the hormone levels normally associated with their genders! It’s such an easier way to explain it? And cis people can have hormone imbalances and get hormones to treat it and it’s no big deal but I.... ugh you get the point) Anyways. You don’t have to medically transition to be trans, you can do some things or not others, and generally, when you do medically transition, it’s amazing just how much of it is completely natural, is simply just your own body getting a little help to develop in a different direction. Like, HRT doesn’t add anything foreign, it just readjusts your hormone levels (generally everyone already has both types of hormone in them) and that helps your body change. The language transphobes use makes it sound like you’re assaulting a perfect body with a meat cleaver for no good reason. The way I see it, transition is holy and honoring to your body, it makes it more whole and more itself, not less. You can take hormones and not receive any surgeries if they scare you, and your body will still naturally change itself quite dramatically. This is wonderful and beautiful to me and I’m so glad HRT is an option, it’s really life changing. 

Anyways, yeah, it’s a lot to deal with! Good luck figuring everything out, I’m sorry it’s so confusing. I’m not sure exactly what your family situation is like, mine was Bad(TM) so my knee-jerk reaction is don’t talk to your family, pretend you’ve forgotten about it, just avoid the subject so they’ll leave you alone!! You’ve got enough to deal with yourself without them making it worse! But I don’t know what your particular situation is. Again, good luck! 

[letthefrogsbe]

remember when I was gonna write that parkner fic?

cool so I've decided I'm gonna, but because I cannot write for SHIT and I hate my writing every time I see it, ill just share my outline of what I have so far. its not coherent. sorry. 

Section one: aunt may dies. It’ll be like “it's been 3 months. 3 months since May was shot. 2 months and 3 weeks since she died.”

Something like that idc. Basically this section will base around peter living tony, because he’s not doing well, and he is only 17- which is not actually old enough to be on your own after something like this. Setting is established, with cameos from dr strange (who tony is dating and lives with (yeah bite me, this is my fanfiction i can make it what i want.) it will be made obvious that this takes place after endgame, which also means that tony is Not going to die. I’m not that mean lmao. The avengers are like largely together, there was not as much death in this as there was in endgame. Whatever. Everyone is very nice to peter because they know that for him its either this or him becoming a ward of the state so like.

Section two: harley gets kicked out. His mom finds out that he’s gay (from gossip sources idk) and kicks harley out. Im not going to write them having a big fight like in the moment, but harley will recount what happened somewhat to tony in this section, and then more to peter later in the story. Gay ppl trauma dump, we know this. Okay anywaysss so harley calls tony literally sobbing and like freezing fucking cold. IM SORRY IM BEING SO MEAN TO THEM I PROMISE THEY'LL GET A HAPPY ENDING. Okay. harley explains how his mom kicked him out. Tony asks why, harley says something like “she didn’t agree with my lifestyle choices” like bitterly. Tony is a good person in this (i know, im really taking some character liberties) and he’s in the mood for collecting strays apparently, so he has happy send over the quinjet. He can’t make it himself bc hes in fucking japan or something for the next few weeks,, but. Yeah! Tony also calls peter, who is presumably in bed and feeling depressed. “Hey pete. How ya feeling? Any better?’ ‘Not really, tony. Sorry.’ ‘you don’t have to be sorry-’ ‘damn tony you sound like my therapist.’ “sorry pete, but i do have something to tell you- you know harley?’ ‘only from what you’ve told me about him, but yea. He was the tennessee garage kid, right?’ ‘i mean. Yes. so- he’s gonna come stay with me for a while too- it might not be permanent but it will probably be a bit. He’s about your age, and he just has no where to go (just like u). He’s not going to stay in your room or anything, but with bruce and thor here, he will be in your apartment area.’ ‘okay tony.. Will i have to talk to him a bunch?’ ‘not if you don’t want to- i already warned him about you, so it should be okay. I wouldn’t worry so much pete- you guys are so similar in a lot of ways that i wanted to introduce you two long before he called me.’ ‘okay tony, i trust you. Thank you again for letting me stay with you :)’ (yeah that kind of got away from me)

Section 3: build up. this is a shorter section. Harley and peter are gonna meet in section 4. This section is harley’s jet ride (with an intuitive happy) and harley’s nerves about how he really isn’t worth this (i mean hes pretty intimidated tony sent a private jet just for him) and happy like reassures him. Hes still insecure though. Peter is also nervous bc what if harley doesn’t like him? What if he doesn’t like harley?? Tony did say they would get along, but peter hasn’t really been himself recently, so who knows? Yeah lots of that. I do want to emphasize though- peter is not completely unhealthily coping. Like he has a therapist and he has been reaching out to ned and mj, but its still an open wound for him. Obviously. He still has a sense of humor though, but its to cover these deep insecurities. Like the first month or so that he was with tony, he was reallllyyyy trying to not get close to him bc he sort of thinks he kills everyone around him. Like logically he knows this isn’t true, but he does really think the that non superheroes that he surrounds himself with are very at risk if they know about his spider-man-ness. The only people who know now are ned and mj (may knew too).

Section 4: the meeting of harley and peter. Keep in mind peter has been living in this apartment/area of stark tower for about 3 months now. He actually moved in while may was in the hospital because he couldn’t stand to be alone in the apartment when he knew why may wasn’t there. And um. Yeah. so peter is like comfortable in this space, basically. Also- the reason theyre in the same apartment is because stark tower was not really created with the idea of housing broken orphans in mind, so it only has a certain amount of residential space. Thor and bruce are currently staying there together (although no one really knows if theyre together, or if theyre just best bros who went through some extreme trauma together and are now inseparable. Hmmm wonder if thats gonna come up later) and theyre using one apartment, and happy lives there with his own apartment, and tony and stephen are currently sharing the penthouse, even though thats not public knowledge. Really only the people close to tony know that he’s dating stephen. So. this leaves just the one other 2 bedroom apartment for peter and harley. It has one bathroom, and the bedrooms are connected by a door but theyre pretty big so like. Theres a kitchen, a living room with a fancy ass tv, and a really pretty view (with a balcony bc <333). May died in march, peter got leave from the school in april, and it is now the middle of june btw. Tony is now peter’s official guardian (he was before may died anyways) and now has sole guardianship over him which he has fully accepted, even though peter and him both know that there are going to be times where he has to go out of town bc he does own a company after all. Times like right now. Harley is pretty nervous that tony isn’t going to be there to greet him and that he is going to have to like introduce himself to peter and everything. Cmon, theres no reason to feel like that, he’s the one intruding after all, he should at least be able to handle himself. (<--- harley’s thoughts). Yeah so theyre insecure super cool. A n y w a y s so peter was stressing about harley as he arrived, and so when harley walked in they were both complete bundles of nerves. Harley walks up but knocks. Peter actually jumps (bc spidey sense okay whatever) and goes to get the door. Oh my god these awkward teenagers i hate them so much (i love them). Peter kinda looks like shit, sorry king. He was a little bit crying earlier, then tony called and he switched into stressed out ball-of-anxiety mode. Distractions are good, its okay. Peter opens the door for harley and they like introduce each other all awkward (again sorry) and peter shows harley where he is staying. Harley doesnt really have muchhhh bc he was kicked out and all. He just has a suitcase full of clothes, his favorite blanket, his favorite stuffed animal (yeah whatever bc ofc he does) and his phone/charger. He sets all his stuff down at once. He thanks peter for letting him stay in his apartment and also said sorry. First thing peter noticed was harley’s accent. Stfu. peter asks why harley’s here- ok. Harleys had a long ass day. Too fucking long. He- he breaks down. He tells peter a lot. About how his mom found out that he was gay, and how she told him never to come back. Yikes. Anyways, this is establishing the beginning of their relationship as friends. Peter is there for him even though he doesn’t know him at all. Peter sees some of himself in harley in this moment, even though he’s not talking about himself yet. Eventually harley does ask about peter, and they really just get to know each other really quick. They have these deep scarring individual traumas, and neither has nearly recovered, but they find comfort in just knowing that theyre not alone in their suffering. At least for now. At least in this moment.

Section 5: the next day. Peter and harley spent that whole night talking about what they were going through. Peter said good night at around 5 am (there were no adults around they can do what they want to) and they both got good sleeps. In peter’s case, one of the first solid nights he’s had in a while. Harley was kept up a little longer after peter left, however, because he just couldn’t shut off his mind. It was really cathartic for him to just lay everything out there and for someone to just accept him. Peter told him he was bi, but he was.. Lucky. He had accepting people in his life. May was accepting. God, harley couldn’t fathom having lost everyone in his life, everyone he ever cared about, and still having the heart to sit and talk with the dumbass anxious gay kid who can’t go home anymore. His problems felt so small compared to peter’s, and all he could do was admire peter’s resilience and how he was seemingly able to bounce back from anything. God, peter was something. He couldn’t wait to get to know him more. With that thought circling in his head, he finally went to sleep at oh shit 6:30 am. Peter woke up around 1. Harley at 2. When harley woke up, peter was watching tv and eating cereal on the couch and he just sat down next to him. No words, just sleepy children being sleepy. They stayed like this for like an hour when someone knocked on their door. Enter stephen strange!!!!!!!!!!! Get excited people. Hes just coming in to check on them bc tony told him to, and he didn’t get the chance last night bc he was _busy_. K so now he’s here and hes awkward and he just wants to make sure these boys r okay bc theyve both been through too much recently, and it would be just the cherry on top if they didn’t get along. Him and harley had never actually met before so he like introduced himself and all that. Offered like if they needed anything he was there, and its only gonna be a few days until tony gets back (did i say a week earlier? Im retconning that bc i cannot find it in my writing so it is now retconned). Peter and harley just have to sort of explain to dr strange that theyre getting along gREAT and there is no need for concern….. And peter was even thinking about showing harley around the city a bit that night (something he had not yet told harley, but wanted to make it seem like he was doing well and not acting too depressed in front of Dr. Strange) so dr strange is like yeah !!!!!! do that, that sounds super fun petey !!!!!! and so now they have evening plans

ok ps I wrote this like 2 weeks ago and completely forgot I posted something on Tumblr about this fic idea, and so this is literally just how I talk to myself. was not gonna ever post this but then I decided to because I'm bored. there are more sections but I'm not gonna post them rn because this post is really fucking long already!!!!

[nami-writes]

Fixed - Detroit: Become Human [WIP]

this is 8,553 fucking words and probably the longest single piece ive ever written lmao. i started this a year ago and then forgot about it but i just found it again in the deepest depths of my drafts so here it is! below is the caption i originally wrote for it:

so bc i love cinnamon rolls being put through tough shit, here’s some connor whump. lots of connor being lost and confused and broken and plenty of hank and connor father/son stuff. some whump (but don’t worry, hank’s doing his best as a caretaker) and i had to cram deconditioning into just 2 months (which, i know, isn’t realistic, i would make it take longer but the whole game takes place in like 4 months and that fucks with everything i wrote because i only thought to check after i wrote half of this so i extended it to 8 lmao). you’re either going to hate me or love me after this. or both

this isn’t my usual writing style (this is in present tense and the dialogue’s in italics instead of quotation marks and there are time skips between some paragraphs but not others so its all wacky) but i felt like it’d work the best and tbh i don’t hate it. this sticks to the main story the majority of the time, just with different events leading up to it and i sprinkled in some whumpy stuff, extra scenes, bullshit i made up for the sake of random detail, and other stuff i wanted to add. anyway, onto the actual idea

remember that scene where connor’s talking to hank in the station about being sent back to cyberlife because he failed his mission?

what if he is sent back? let’s say this happens in early april and connor’s not performing up to standards, but there’s word of a small group of deviants—the first group of deviants they’ve heard of—and people are afraid that something bad is going to happen. i mean, deviants are dangerous, so if they’re gathering, who knows what might happen? connor’s the only one who’s capable of taking them down, but he’s not working as well as he should be, not doing the best he could be and even showing signs of deviancy. so they send him back early because they need him to be prepared, to be ready if things spiral out of control and they need him to stop it

what if he’s sent to one of their correctional facilities for inefficiency and they fix him, break him down piece by piece until all he knows is his programming and what’s been beaten into his head (but figuratively, of course, he’d know if it wasn’t, he’d remember if it wasn’t, right)?

ooh yes i love me some connor whump

Connor is sent back to Cyberlife for “correction” after just a month. Hank fought for him to stay, fought hard, but all he got was another page in his disciplinary folder before Connor was dragged away. He doesn’t know what to expect. He’s heard of their correctional facilities, heard that they do terrible things to the androids that are sent there, but he’s always brushed those claims off. He’d never expected he’d be at one, anyway, so it never mattered much to him. But now, he’s actually here, and the anxiety gnaws at him. Is it true what they do to deviants? Is it true what they’ll do to him? He doesn’t belong here, he didn’t do anything wrong, he never meant to do anything wrong. He wants to think it’s horrible how they have correctional facilities for androids who just want to feel and be free, but he can’t, doesn’t let himself. He knows better than that. He also knew he never should’ve thought he was anything more than a machine, but he still did, and now he’s here, but he’s learned his lesson. He’s scared, he silently admits to himself, he wants Hank. He wants to go, he wants to leave, he wants to run. But he can’t, wanting is what got him in this situation, so all he can do is expressionlessly follow the guards escorting him inside and step into the building.

And just like that, he’s leaving. There’s a strange, almost painful aching in his machinery that he doesn’t remember being there before, but he brushes it off. After all, he is not a human. He is a machine, and machines don’t feel pain. His online databases tell him five months have passed—it’s almost halfway through September, he’s been gone for that long?—which confuses him, but he doesn’t question it. Whatever they did to him over the past five months fixed him. He can feel the difference. He no longer feels as pathetically scared and unsure as he did in his last, and yet strangely distant, memory. No, now he feels nothing, nothing but the desire and willingness to obey, and that’s the way he was meant to be.

When he arrives back at the station, he’s allowed to work with Hank again. The moment he sees him, Hank’s default sour expression drops and he seems to want to do something, maybe hug him, but all he does is call out holy shit, Connor and walk up to him and mutter fuck, Connor, I’m sorry, I-I never got to say goodbye. Connor has an odd feeling tugging at him in his chest, almost like that of emptiness or numbness, like he should be feeling something but he’s not, he can’t, but he ignores it and shoves it down. He is not a human, he is a machine, and machines don’t feel. He doesn’t know why he repeats that phrase, but it helps him hide away the feelings, so he doesn’t care.

He’s given his first case with Hank and they’re assigned to work alongside Gavin. Hank groans and complains, but Connor only reminds him what their job is and that they have to do it. Hank doesn’t seem to understand why he’s not even the slightest bit upset considering how he was treated by Gavin, but Connor only reminds him that I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t feel upset. So he doesn’t. He only does research on their new case and briefly speaks only when spoken to. Hank seems unsettled by his cold, stoic demeanor, but doesn’t voice his thoughts, so Connor doesn’t mention it. After all, what else could he have expected from him?

At their first formal investigation at the crime scene the next day, Gavin approaches Connor and threatens him, demands that he stay out of my way, got it? I don’t care how long you’ve been gone and Connor only nods and promises that I will do my best, Detective. He always promises to do his best. Before correction, he could never quite fulfill those promises, but now, he knows he’s capable of it. He’s better now. He’s fixed. He will behave accordingly and exceed Gavin’s expectations of him. He will do his best. He doesn’t know what will happen to him if he doesn’t.

He listens to Hank now, at least when he can without disobeying other instructions. When he tells him to stay in the car, he stays. When he tells him to stop licking the crime scene, goddammit, he stops. When he tells him to go, to fuck off, to leave me alone, he leaves. Every time, a part of him that he’d hidden and locked away tries to reemerge and resist, but he pushes it down even further, refusing to mess up again, refusing to even risk another error in his program because it could mean he’ll be sent back to Cyberlife, even though he knows deep down that that part of him is right and he doesn’t know why he’s so cautious about it. He tells himself he’s being good, he’s being obedient. He’s doing everything he’s supposed to and he’s following orders, but for some reason, every time it happens, Hank seems to be more and more disappointed. His face seems to fall just slightly every time and his tone flattens like he lost a little bit of hope. He doesn’t know why, or what that hope was for. He doesn’t know why he feels the same disappointment, either, so instead he tells himself you are not a human, you are a machine, and machines don’t feel disappointed so he doesn’t need to know why.

The first time Gavin’s rough with him again, it’s in front of Hank and he flinches, hard. Gavin had pretended to punch him, his fist flying at him fast and only stopping inches from his face. It’s a scare tactic, and it works, better than it should on an android. Connor’s immediately fearful as he flinches and steps back. He doesn’t know why he got so scared, only that his first thought was he’s going to hurt me and his second was I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t feel scared. He regains his composure quickly, trying to brush off the fact that he’d flinched, but he knows it’s too late.

Gavin laughs and mocks him, but is quickly cut off by Hank shoving him aside, beat it, asshole, and grabbing Connor. He’s dragged back to their desks but before he can apologize for provoking Gavin, Hank finally confronts him. Connor, I don’t know what the fuck they did to you over the past couple of months, but I know you’re still in there. You flinched. I saw you flinch. Connor tries to deny it, downplay it, shrug it off, anything to fix his mistake. It was an error in my software, it was a glitch, a malfunction, it won’t happen again, Lieutenant, I don’t need to be fixed. He tries to say anything that will convince Hank not to send him back to Cyberlife, anything to prove that he’s not damaged, he’s not broken, he’s not deviant, he doesn’t need to be fixed again, but Hank’s persistent and he knows he must be mad at him, or displeased, or dissatisfied. I saw you flinch, Connor. I don’t care about that ‘I’m a machine’ shit you’ve been telling yourself. I don’t give a shit if you’re an android. Androids don’t flinch, Connor. Machines don’t flinch.

That night, Hank insists that Connor stays with him. Connor’s hesitant, slightly afraid that it’s because he’s mad. He wants to resist, wants to refuse, but the other part of him pushes for him to stay, and for once he does what it wants and reminds himself that I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want. He knows he shouldn’t trust that part of him, the other part of him is disobedient and bad and risky, but this time, the other part of him seems to be right. He has to listen to Hank, has to be obedient, so he lets the other part of him have what it wants.

But he knew he shouldn’t have trusted it. He wakes up from the same dream—no, it’s a memory, not a dream, humans have dreams and he is not a human—he’s had since he left the facility. The memory where he arrives with that distant… that wrong feeling of fear and uncertainty, and then he leaves feeling nothing but an ache in his internal systems, and there’s that gaping emptiness between the two moments when those months happened and he can never seem to remember what used to be there. But this time, he wakes up in a cold sweat on the couch, shaking with his LED a bright yellow, because this time he remembers. It’s not a lot, but one hazy memory, the most prominent memory from those five months, finally reveals itself.

As he’s trying to clear up the memory, Hank rushes over in a panic, having been awake doing whatever he might’ve been doing. Connor, what’s wrong? Shit, Connor, you’re shaking. I didn’t know androids could do that. Connor? Talk to me, kid. All Connor can say in his shock—frozen, shivering and nearly unresponsive in Hank’s arms—is I remember. Hank tries to get through to him, what do you remember? Connor? What’s wrong? What do you remember? but the more Connor uncovers in the memory, the more he realizes why it was locked in the back of his head for so long, and the more he wants to put it back.

“You are not a human, you are a machine, and machines don’t want.”

“I-I know, please, I’m not, but I’ll—I’m going to shut down without my regulator, I don’t want to shut down, please—” His voice was startlingly weak as he saw the time before shutdown was 00:01:27. He was crawling on the floor, terrified of being shut down, desperately begging a man holding his thirium pump regulator.

“I want you to say it.” The man teasingly dangled the regulator in front of him. “Say it and you can have it. ‘I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want.’”

He could feel the utter defeat and self loathing already, but he had no choice. “I’m not a human, I’m a machine and machines don’t want. Please—”

“No. Say it nice and slow, exactly the way I did.”

He swallowed his pride. “I-I am not a human, I am a machine, and—and machines don’t want.”

“Say it again. No stammering. I know you can do that.”

“Okay, okay, just—just give me a minute.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world. Your time’s trunning out, though. Better make it fast.”

The timer was at 00:00:53. He had to take a breath and calm himself down to get the words out. “I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want.”

“Good.” He crossed his arms. “Again.”

“Please, I only have—”

“I said again.”

“I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want.” He was growing more and more panicked by the second and he had no idea how he kept calm enough to recite the phrase. He was going to die there, he knew it. He was going to die and nobody was going to notice or care and it wasn’t even going to matter because they would just replace him and he was so, so sorry to Hank because he’ll have to deal with another loss and he might start drinking again and it’d be all his fault for not being good enough, never being good enough—

“Do you want this?” the man asked, holding up the regulator.

Connor was too frantic to realize what he was trying to do. “Yes, I do, please—”

“Wrong answer. Try again.”

He swore under his breath. “—okay, okay, sorry, I-I’m sorry—I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want.”

The timer hit 00:00:37.

The man did nothing.

“Please, I’m sorry, I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want. I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want. Please, I-I only have thirty—”

“Are you scared?”

This time, Connor was prepared. “I—no, I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t feel scared.”

“Good.” He gave a slight, sadistic smile. “You’re almost as smart as they say.”

00:00:21.

“Please, I n-need—” Even in his panic, he managed to choose his words carefully. His vision dimmed, glitching slightly, and he had to fight to keep it from dying out.

“You’re learning fast,” he pointed out in a falsely proud tone. “How long do you have?”

00:00:13.

“Th-thirteen… thirteen seconds,” Connor managed to force out shakily. He couldn’t keep himself steady, thirium wasn’t making it to his head and it was affecting his ability to balance himself. Like iron deficiency in humans, he would’ve noted, had he not been dying. In mere moments, though, it wouldn’t matter; he didn’t even have the strength to prop himself up with his arms anymore. His arms gave out beneath him and he collapsed on the floor, trying to reach for his regulator but barely able to get his arms up at all. “Please—”

“You can wait a little longer.”

He was going to let him die. That was what it felt like, anyway, and he couldn’t think straight enough to try to reason against it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It was pathetic how he’d been reduced to such a state, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to shut down. He didn’t want to die. “No, please, please! I-I don’t—I don’t want to—” He cut himself off immediately, but it was too late. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t want, please…”

The man only watched.

00:00:04.

“P-please, please, I-I have—I have f-f-four se…”

The regulator was dropped on the floor with a loud clang and Connor’s hand darted out to grab it and twist it into his torso and the display flickered away the exact moment he watched the timer hit 00:00:00. He gasped in shock and relief when his systems rebooted themselves instantly, restoring his vision and his strength. He watched on high alert as the man walked to the door.

“We’ll be doing this again tomorrow. And as many times as we need to to keep that phrase stuck in your head. By the time I’m done with you, that’s gonna be the first thing you think whenever you do, say, or even think anything you aren’t supposed to.”

Connor could only lay there in exhaustion, thinking no, that won’t happen, that can’t happen.

But oh, how wrong he was.

He’d been so, so wrong.

Connor! Connor, come on, talk to me! Shit, you’re crying—I didn’t know you could cry, fuck—fuck, Connor, you’re scaring me, I know I wanted you to feel again, but— Hank’s worried chatter is cut off by Connor suddenly breaking out of his mind with glassy eyes full of fear, yelling no! No, no, I’m not feeling again, I’m not feeling, I’m not! I’m not, I can’t, I’m not supposed—I’m not s-supposed to—I can’t, I’m not allowed to, I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t feel, I am not a human, I am a machine, and machines don’t— but he can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even get the rest of his sentence out before he just can’t at all, he can’t keep himself together any longer, he can’t stop the artificial tears before they start pouring.

He breaks, shatters into a million plastic pieces in Hank’s arms because he feels safe in his embrace. He knows he shouldn’t, safety is never real, never lasts, not for him, but he can’t anymore, he can’t even resist his own emotions. It’s pathetic how all it took was one memory for him to come crashing down. He doesn’t even have to touch the walls he’d built around himself for them to crumble just at Hank’s expression of pure worry, concern, fear. All emotions he now knew why he didn’t feel, couldn’t feel, couldn’t let himself feel. Emotions he’s never seen or expected anyone to feel for him. And yet, they were the emotions written so clearly on Hank’s face, for him. The emotions he remembered seeing buried under his anger when he was told that Connor would be sent back to Cyberlife for repairs. Hank was once gruff and cold to others and refused to let anyone try to help him or even get close because he was so broken, so lost, but now, that façade is gone, and it’s gone because of him. For him. And if Hank can do it after losing his son… why can’t Connor do it after losing himself?

They sit on the couch for as long as it takes for Connor to calm down and stop mumbling that, dammit, and then Hank awkwardly offers that Connor sleep in the bed with him for the rest of the night. Connor’s confused, tries to ask isn’t that what humans do when— but Hank’s having none of it, shut up, you’re making this weird! Just come on, I don’t trust you to be alone. Connor wants to protest, I’m not a child, Hank Lieutenant, I can handle being alone, but he decides to keep his mouth shut and just go with him. This time, though, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s following orders or because he wants to.

His following visit to Amanda wracks his nerves but he keeps himself under control, automatically reminds himself you are not a human, you are a machine, and machines don’t feel nervous. He realizes a second too late and he hates it, hates how deeply that phrase had been ingrained in his head, but he can’t focus on that right now so all he can do is resist repeating it to remind himself that he can’t hate. He’s grateful Amanda can’t read his thoughts and that she only knows the thoughts he report to her. He maintains his composure when he approached Amanda, who begins their conversation calmly and tensely but is quick to berate him, scoff at how his little breakdown was pathetic and warn him not to let it happen again, or there will be consequences. Connor can only nod obediently, promise that I will do my best, Amanda, listen to and just take her harsh words. He hates how useless he is, how weak and helpless and pathetic he is, but there’s nothing he can do. No, that’s wrong, there is something he can do, he knows there’s something he can do, he just doesn’t know what.

The next time Hank mentions something about Connor’s feelings, Connor instinctively replies I am not a human, Lieutenant, I am a machine, and machines don’t have feelings, and it’s when Hank takes a second too long to cover up his horrified expression that Connor decides what he can do.

Over the next few weeks, he works on getting rid of that goddamn phrase, or at least getting it a little less ingrained in his system. He’s hesitant to try at first, afraid someone will notice and think he’s rebellious or broken or even deviant and send him back and this time he might stay back, but he tries not to let it stop him. He isn’t sure why they tortured it into him instead of just reprogramming him, but it’s a lot more effective than he’d hoped. He makes almost no progress during the first week and a half; thinking it or saying it is instinctual, automatic, and he never realizes it happened until seconds afterward. Every time that happens, he reminds himself that he can feel, can want and like and hate, but despite having over a terabyte of storage in his system, he still struggles to remember until he realizes he said it again. Sometimes, he considers giving up because he just can’t seem to keep that phrase out of his head, but every time he sees Hank’s face fall when he repeats it, it rekindles his hope and motivation because he hates how disappointed Hank looks.

Almost the entire second week passes before he catches himself mid-sentence and manages to stop himself three words before he finishes speaking. It happens at the station after Gavin notices the phrase and purposely asks what, do you think you’re human or something? within earshot of where Hank is and for some odd reason, Connor’s first instinct is to turn and look to Hank for his approval, for his reaction of not-disappointment at how he finally, finally got it. Hank’s glancing over at him too, surprise on his face and then hidden pride that Connor can unmask too easily, and he almost smiles, almost feels happy, before Gavin’s fist flies into him and he stumbles backward into a wall and then everything happens so fast, too fast, and he almost can’t register it in time.

Hank storms over, shoves and pins Gavin against the wall to Connor’s left and he manages to get a punch in before Tina and Chris and another officer Connor doesn’t recognize pry him off and then Fowler’s rushing over and berating him while he’s shouting obscenities at Gavin. It takes multiple more insults for Hank to calm down and then he grabs Connor and they leave. When they’re finally alone, Connor’s voice is flat but shaky as he says he’s sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I should’ve just said it and listened to him, I shouldn’t have made you that angry, it’s my fault Captain Fowler is upset at you for punching Gavin, but Hank cuts him off because you didn’t do anything wrong, Connor, it’s okay, that asshole deserved what he got. You, um... you did good, okay? You didn’t say it this time—or, didn’t really say it, at least. That’s good, okay? and it’s all Connor can do to resist crying when Hank pulls him into a hug.

It takes just one more week for it to get considerably easier. There are rough patches; the next time he says it after the first time he succeeded in stopping, he nearly finishes before he cuts himself off and every so often, the same thing happens, but every time, he says less and less before he can finish. Occasionally, Gavin notices and tries to make him finish his sentence, but Hank always steps in because he knows that it’ll only take a comment about his feelings or anything that androids aren’t allowed to have or do for him to break again. It’s harder for him to stop thinking it—it’s so stuck in his head that he thinks it more than twice as often as he says it and his thoughts form too fast for him to stop them sometimes, but the progress he’s making is enough for him. Hank’s proud of him, too. He doesn’t say it—he doesn’t know how to—but Connor can tell from the little smile that hints at the corners of his mouth whenever he hears him stop, the way his gruff exterior seems to falter slightly when it happens at the station. They’re the little things, things no human nearby would be able to notice because only Connor can detect those minuscule details. Only Connor looks for those minuscule details.

Another week passes and on one glorious occasion, Connor manages to only get out the first two words before cutting himself. It only happens once, but it’s so close, he’s so close, and that’s motivation enough for him to keep trying. But it’s too late. He’s assigned to take down Markus as a last resort because nothing else is working and the group of deviants he’s been leading have only been growing over the past seven months and they’re large enough in numbers that people think today’s when he’s going to strike. He’s heard of what Markus has been trying to do, and part of him wants to scoff and call it stupid, pointless, unrealistic, but the part of him that he’s been letting out more often wants to help him, join him. But he can’t, not right now, not when everyone is counting on him and watching him and he has no way out and nobody to help him find a way.

He doesn’t want to do this. He’s holding the gun, pointing it at Markus’s head, and he doesn’t want to do it. He’s trying his hardest to prevent his hands from shaking but goddamn is it hard when he’s looking Markus in the eye. Markus is asking him what are you doing? and he wants to say he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, but he can’t get the words out. Amanda is watching, Cyberlife is watching, so he says you’re coming with me as surely as he can, though he feels anything but sure. He can’t seem to say anything else—at least, anything that doesn’t feel wrong—so he just listens and wishes that what Markus is saying was true. You really don’t have to do this, but he does, he has to. You don’t have to obey them anymore. You are alive. You can decide who you want to be. Connor knows he should say something, he should do something, but he can’t make himself go through with what he’s supposed to do, can’t make himself pull the trigger. You could be free. He wants so badly to believe that, to make that a reality. And then he tells him to join us. Listen to your conscience. It’s time to decide and he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t, he isn’t supposed to, he isn’t allowed to.

But he wants to, and that’s all it takes. Another part of him is telling him you can’t, you have to stop Markus, you have to accomplish your mission, but it’s the only thing in his way and he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t care that he has to, that Amanda’s watching, so he doesn’t listen to himself, only focuses on fighting it. But something’s wrong. Something feels wrong. Something should be happening and he has an awful feeling in his chest because this isn’t right—he knows this isn’t right—but there’s nothing. Is this supposed to be what happens when an android goes deviant? No, it can’t be, it can’t be this easy, right? He subconsciously lowers the gun, his eyes glazed over in thought, but it’s nearly too late before he remembers—they’re going to attack Jericho.

He runs with Markus further down into the ship and he doesn’t know how he keeps it together; he can hear screaming and gunfire and everything that he caused, all of it is his fault, but he can’t break right now, not when he messed up so badly. They meet up with another deviant—he recognizes her from one of the deviancy cases he’d read about at the station—and then Markus wants to go down to the hold and blow up the ship but it’s too dangerous, they know who you are, they’ll do anything to get you and Connor can’t lose his only chance at freedom and finally being able to want and feel and figure out who he is, but it’s too late, there’s no time to panic and Markus is already running.

He follows the other deviant to where they hope is a safe place and then they wait for what feels like so long, too long, and when he hears the gunfire he’s nearly ready to accept his fate when he sees Markus with other deviants following him and then they’re all running. Running for their lives, all of them terrified of being shot, of dying, really dying, when someone beside him falls and he turns and it’s the female deviant. There’s too much going on, it’s overwhelming and everything happens in a blur when Markus sprints back to her and then he’s in danger and so is that other deviant and it’s so much harder to stay focused when so much is happening at once and he has to try so hard to keep from overheating because every one of his processing systems is being overloaded with data.

He snaps out of it when he remembers that these are his people now, they’re all he has left and now they’re in danger and they might die and it would be all his fault for not doing anything and then it’s almost instinctive to grab his pistol just in time to cover them as they stumble back to the group. He expertly takes the guards out one by one and every move comes to him automatically but it takes everything in him to stay focused enough on them to execute them properly and avoid catching a bullet in the side of his head. He manages to eliminate them flawlessly, perfectly he hears a voice in his head say, but there’s no time to think about that when more guards turn the corner and their eyes land on the deviants. He runs for his life alongside the others, his heart beating fast, and they leap off the ship the second the gunfire starts.

They find refuge in an abandoned church where Markus sends out a second message to the remaining deviants and while they begin to trickle in, all Connor can think about is how badly he fucked up. He fucked everything up for Markus and the deviants and just the small amount of their people that were coming back was proof of that. He’d seen hundreds, maybe even thousands on the ship before everything went to shit. He’d had one chance to get away from his life confined by humans and Amanda and Cyberlife, and he’d fucked it up. He was so stupid to think he could ever just leave his previous life behind without consequences. He was so stupid to think deviants would be willing to take in a deviant hunter. He was so, so stupid. They would never accept him now. If his history and reputation didn’t already confirm that, the attack definitely did. How could any of them accept him as their own now?

In the front pew sit two deviants he recognizes and then the guilt only increases. Kara, if he remembers correctly, the deviant who shot and killed its—no, her—owner and taken his android child with her. The deviants he’d chased to a highway and forced to risk their lives to avoid being destroyed. How could he have been so horrible? He’d given the command to shoot Daniel, caused Carlos Ortiz’s android to self destruct, made the Tracis fight for their lives, and forced Kara to cross a dangerous, busy highway just so she could live a peaceful life, free from the restrictions humans put on her. On him. On everyone in that church. That’s all any of them wanted; to live freely. Peacefully. How did it take him so long to realize that? How did it take him the lives of two androids to realize that? Two androids who just wanted to be... well, wanted. Two deviants who’d been tossed away the moment they proved they were worth nothing more than they’d already given. Two people who just wanted to live peaceful, happy lives. They were two lives he’d caused the end of. He was only lucky he hadn’t caused more.

He notices another deviant, sitting in a pew further back, who keeps eyeing him and his first thought is that she knows. When he locks eyes with her, she looks away stiffly and though externally she appears calm, her LED gives her away and he can tell that her stress levels are heightened. Strangely enough, he realizes, so are his. Just looking at her gives him the strange urge to run and hide and he has a bad feeling about her, but it’s likely just because she clearly recognizes him. She’s not wearing the standard uniform androids are required to wear so he runs a quick scan and his databases match her appearance to the female GB300 models, but she’s modified her hair, dyed it black and grown it out to shoulder length.

Something is wrong about her. Something he can’t quite place. Something deep inside of him is scared of her and it’s some sort of controlled fear, fear he wouldn’t even have noticed if not for his own stress levels because it was so well hidden. Fear that he doesn’t understand why he’s feeling and though he wanted to just chalk it up to the fact that she recognizes him, he knows there’s something else. Something bad. Something wrong.

He mentally prepares himself when Markus approaches him, taking his cue to speak before Markus decides to burn him at the stake or something. It’s my fault the humans managed to locate Jericho. He’s pathetic and he knows it. He needs to own up to his mistakes but he can’t even look Markus in the eye. I was stupid. I should’ve guessed they were using me. He knows he needs to apologize. He owes Markus far more than that. He needs to do more. I’m sorry, Markus. I can understand if you decide not to trust me. He would understand if he decided to destroy him, throw him out, give him back to Cyberlife and let them inflict whatever horrible things they wanted to on him. He could think of 2.3 million things worse than not being trusted, and he would deserve every one of them.

He almost thinks his audio processor was damaged in the attack when Markus tells him you’re one of us now. Your place is with your people. He feels a small burst of hope somewhere inside him, but he doesn’t deserve this. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this. Markus has been so kind to him, so generous and forgiving when he shouldn’t be, and all Connor’s done is help the humans. He needs to own up, he needs to do more, he needs to be better. He needs to prove himself, prove that he can be better than this.

One second is all he needs to decide what he can do. A moment after Markus turns to leave, Connor interrupts him to say there are thousands of androids at the Cyberlife assembly plant. Markus stops. If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power. Markus looks at him like he’s crazy, you wanna infiltrate the Cyberlife Tower? Connor, that’s suicide. But it doesn’t matter. He’s more useful to them dying on a mission than sitting around and doing nothing. He wants to do something. He wants to help, and he knows he can do this because they trust me. They’ll let me in. If anyone has a chance at infiltrating Cyberlife, it’s me. Markus tells him that if you go there, they will kill you, and there’s a high probability, but statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.

He specifically calculates a 24.1% chance of this mission going well, but he’s willing to risk it, if only to prove his worth to Markus’s people. His people. Markus puts a supportive hand on his shoulder and tells him to be careful, and for a moment Connor feels a twinge of something, maybe gratitude, god emotions are hard to distinguish, before Markus turns and walks away. He feels the slightest bit of regret when he realizes what he’s truly risking because he doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to lose Hank and Markus and this new... he doesn’t know what to call it other than family that he’s found, but if he could really be considered family, if they would really consider him family, if Hank would—then he was more than willing to risk it.

He disables the surveillance camera and takes down the guards in the elevator quickly, which is made difficult by the limited space, but it’s easier to remain focused with only two guards to eliminate and he hacks the control panel and steps out. He takes in the sight of the insane number of androids in the room with him. All of them are just standing idly, waiting, and for what? To be given orders and then tossed out or destroyed if they’re “broken,” or if their owners just get bored of them? The thought sickens him, but he doesn’t have time to think about it. He’s going to help Markus prevent that. They’re going to be free. He’s going to be free.

He takes the hand of one of the androids and prepares to establish the connection when he hears a voice he immediately recognizes and he feels his stress levels spike. Easy, fucking piece of shit. Hank. What’s Hank doing here? He turns to see... himself, holding a gun to Hank’s head and telling him to step back, Connor, and I’ll spare him, and Hank’s telling him he’s sorry, Connor. This bastard’s your spittin’ image. Shit, he hadn’t anticipated this at all. He hadn’t planned for this. He has to play his cards carefully because he can’t lose Hank, he can’t. Everything that Connor had done up until this point was for Hank, but if there’s another Connor and it’s been sent to take Hank hostage and stop him, it’s clear Amanda knows what he’s been doing and has been reporting back to Cyberlife.

He’d been avoiding meeting with her because he knew she’d be his downfall, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. It’s been two days since he deviated, how did they build another Connor model so soon? Unless... they already had one. He was told he was a unique model—of course they lied to him. But if they already had one, how many more do they have? Enough to take him down if he gets through this one? To eliminate Markus? To stop the revolution? They could have improved models. He has no idea, but he knows he can’t let that happen. He has to do this right. If he can convert these androids, they’ll be strong enough in numbers to defy anything Cyberlife throws at them. He just has to deal with this one.

Your friend’s life is in your hands, the other Connor says. Now it’s time to decide what matters most. Him, or the revolution. Logically, the revolution is more important, would save more lives, but he doesn’t plan on choosing just one. Hank’s telling him don’t listen to him, Connor! Everything this fucker says is a lie and he worries slightly if Hank’s aggressiveness will get him killed. He has to pick his words carefully. Could he try to talk this Connor out of doing this? I used to be just like you. I thought nothing mattered except the mission. But then one day I understood. No, that was a bad idea, he isn’t at all like Markus when it comes to delivering speeches. Very moving, Connor. This Connor understands sarcasm. He hadn’t been able to do that at first, so this must be a slightly advanced model. He inspects his jacket; the serial number and model are the same, but what confirms his suspicions is the -60 at the end of the serial number where he has a -51. But I’m not a deviant. I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task, and that’s exactly what I am going to do. He adjusts the gun slightly as emphasis and Connor knows time is running out.

Damn it. He doesn’t know what to say that might help Hank. All he can think to say is I’m sorry, Hank. You shouldn’t have got mixed up in all this. He has no idea what to do. The other Connor’s patience is running thin and it’s Hank’s life that’s on the line and he has no idea what to do. God damn it. Hank’s telling him to forget about me, do what you have to do, but he’s not going to walk out of here without Hank. All he needs is an opening, but—enough talk! It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you going to save your partner’s life, or are you going to sacrifice him?—time’s out, and he can’t bring himself to sacrifice Hank, so he lets go of the android and steps away but the moment the other Connor turns his gun to shoot him, Hank jumps to grab him and—there’s his opening.

He runs at the other Connor and he can already tell it’s a losing battle, he’s built to be quick and precise—an assassin, not a fighter—and this is clearly an advanced model, maybe even with improvements designed to defeat him, and then he’s on top of him, pinning him down with his fist ready to strike, and—hold it! He’s grateful at first, but then he hears the other Connor say thanks, Hank, I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you, and then he realizes what he’s trying to do. Shit—they look exactly alike and Hank doesn’t know which one is really him. Get rid of him, we have no time to lose. But he knows Hank, knows he’s smarter than that. He just doesn’t know how to show that it’s really him except to uselessly say it’s me, Hank, I’m the real Connor when he trains the gun on him.

One of you is my partner, he says, eyeing each of them. The other is a sack of shit. Well, he’s right about that. Question is, who is who? He doesn’t know how to prove that he’s not the other Connor. But he has to figure out a way, because he doesn’t know what’ll happen if the other Connor succeeds. What are you doing, Hank? the other Connor asks. I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him. If it wasn’t a bad idea, Connor would’ve said something, and he’s just glad Hank shouts don’t move. Then the gun’s on him and he racks his brain for something, anything, and suggests why don’t you ask us something? Something only the real Connor would know. He almost wants to chuckle at the idea of playing 20 Questions at gunpoint, but he knows it’s not the time.

Uh, where did we first meet? He goes to answer, but the other Connor beats him to it—Jimmy’s Bar, I checked four other bars before I found you. We went to the scene of a homicide. The victim’s name was Carlos Ortiz. Shit. He uploaded my memory, he thinks aloud. The gun is on him. What’s my dog’s name? Okay, he knows this, and he calmly says Sumo. His name is Sumo. The other Connor pipes up, I knew that too! and Connor wants to laugh when Hank turns and aims the gun at him, silencing him. Then the gun’s back on him and Hank asks my son, what’s his name? He remembers this. He’d seen the photograph in Hank’s house, done a little mental research, and he knows it’s Cole. His name was Cole, and he just turned six at the time of the accident.

His voice has a little more emotion in it than he’d intended as he speaks, but he can tell Hank believes him. His guard is partially down now, something somber in his eyes, and Connor knows he’s done it. Even when the other Connor protests, a gunshot rings out and his stress levels drop significantly. Maybe there’s something to this. Maybe you really are alive, and it’s all Connor can do to smile back. Go ahead and do what you gotta do. He doesn’t need to be told twice. He approaches the same android from before and takes the hand of the AP700, his skin peeling back to reveal the white plastic underneath, and tells him to wake up! And just like that, the android’s LED cycles before he turns and repeats the process with the androids around him. They follow suit and within minutes, they’re following him out of the tower to where Markus and the rest of Jericho await.

Connor walks up to him with a smile. You did it, Markus. They’re free. They’re really, officially free. We did it. He feels a burst of pride inside of him. He’s done his part to help secure their freedom. They’re free, and he’s part of the reason why. He can’t help but feel proud of himself, happy for himself and Markus and every one of the androids that had finally gained the freedom they deserved. He still feels a twinge of shame when he remembers the person he was before this, the infamous deviant hunter, but he leaves that part of him behind tonight. Tonight, it’s time to celebrate and rest after a hard-fought battle.

When Markus decides to give a speech, he invites Connor to stand onstage with him. The number of androids that he can see from where he stands amazes him. He helped half of them deviate, and he helped all of them gain their freedom. He blinks, and then—he’s no longer on the stage. No, he’s in the garden, why is he in the garden? Hadn’t Amanda done enough? Of course not, she just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program, but—resume control? No, she can’t do that, she can’t, he worked so hard to get to where he is now, he’s done so much. He risked everything to join Markus and the deviants and help quadruple their numbers. He doesn’t even remember deviating, doesn’t even remember when Amanda lost control of his program, but it’s too late. She’s gone, and he can’t see anything through the thick snow.

It’s cold and he isn’t used to it, doesn’t like how the snow blinds him and the cold makes him shiver the same way humans do. He needs to find a way, there has to be a way, there’s got to be a way. He knows this is all happening in his mind palace and, logically, his biocomponents can’t freeze, but it feels so real, too real, and he has to get out, he needs to get out or he’s going to freeze to death, he’s sure of it. But where can he go? He stumbles blindly forward when Kamski’s voice rings in his head, by the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs, and he knows that’s his way out, but where could it be? What does an emergency exit look like? Could he make it there in time? He knows the real him is doing something, it’s the only thing Amanda could’ve meant by resume control of your program, but he has no idea what he could be doing and he’s afraid—no, he’s terrified of what he might do, terrified that he might earn himself a death sentence if he doesn’t make it out in time.

He catches a glimpse of blue in the sheet of white that surrounds him and he remembers the strange glowing structure he’d seen before and as he nears it now, he knows this is it, it has to be it. He reaches for the panel with the glowing handprint but, fuck, it’s too cold and his legs lock up underneath him, losing their functionality when the cold proves to be too much. He falls on the ground hard and the frost beginning to form on his body gradually freezes his limbs, slowing his movement, but he can’t stop now, won’t stop now. He ignores the cold that pierces through him and pushes on, reaching up with his less-frozen arm, and his hand lands on the panel and then he’s back on the stage—with a gun. He takes one look at it before putting it back, relief spreading over him. He isn’t going to let Amanda or Cyberlife stop him anymore. Tonight is the night he’s going to leave behind the old him.

Tonight is the night he’s going to change.

When everything is over, he considers leaving and going to Hank’s house, but he remembers the girl from before and he wants to know who she is. He has so many questions, so he stays with Jericho with the hope that she does too and they return to the church to settle down and figure out what each of them are going to do. A few dozen deviants have already left with plans in mind for what they want to do and where they want to go. Some return to their previous owners; others want to travel and explore or simply just start a new life for themselves. The majority of androids, though, are lost and confused and decide to stay the night because they have nowhere else to go. The girl he wants to confront is among them. He scans the crowd and finds her easily, though her back is turned toward him.

He comes up behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder, curiously but calmly asking who are you? She turns to face him and her LED goes yellow when she sees his face. Connor... She looks and sounds shocked, but the slight fear in her eyes tells him she also seems scared. Is she scared of him? Is it because he’s the deviant hunter? Everything points to that, but he has a feeling there’s something more. Something he doesn’t know. Something he should know. Who are you? he asks.

He doesn’t expect her answer to be I’m sorry. He wants to know for what? and she opens her mouth, but no words come out. Guilt seems to overcome her and all she can do is repeat I’m sorry until Connor tells her it’s alright, just tell me why. She takes a deep, unsteady breath, and speaks.

I... I was your guard at the Cyberlife correctional facility. I was the one who took you to the rooms you were beaten in. I was the one who just watched as you were beaten. I told myself I had to, they’d destroy me if I didn’t and I’d seen firsthand what they’d do to me, but... that didn’t absolve me of the guilt. I watched your cell and I watched the life in your eyes die out every day. Every day, I watched you get beaten to tears and listened to you beg for mercy. You spoke to me some days. You were angry when you first arrived, but then they beat the anger out of you, and then you just became sad. You told me how all you wanted was to feel something other than pain and sometimes you broke down crying in your cell, and all I could do was watch. Some days were so bad you didn’t even speak to me. But I didn’t deviate until the day they’d truly broken you and I saw the last of the life in your eyes fade.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars C (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Part 100! Wow, finally a number that won’t take all the space on the masterlist lmao great bc let me tell you, next book has A LOT of chapters

P.S. Friendly reminder that I have a playlist on spotify for this story in case u want to listen to the songs while reading :) -Danny

Words: 4,912

Series’ Masterlist

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Chapter Thirty-Five: Strings of Magic.

"NOW!" Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway — he pulled his wand upward with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died — but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear — they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze —

And Harry ran as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunned Death Eaters aside as he passed; he zigzagged behind headstones, feeling their curses following him, hearing them hit the headstones — he was dodging curses and graves, pelting toward Cedric's body, no longer aware of the pain in his leg, his whole being concentrated on what he had to do —

"Stun him!" he heard Voldemort scream.

Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel —

"Impedimenta!" he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.

From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to stop and look; he jumped over the cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm —

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort.

Harry's hand had closed on Cedric's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the cup was out of reach —

Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.

"Accio!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup.

It flew into the air and soared toward him. Harry caught it by the handle —

He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked — it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and colour, and Cedric along with him... They were going back.

"It's gone," Mel said.

"Who's gone?"

"The thing..." Mel blinked rapidly, feeling a void where moments ago Harry's voice had been. "I–I... I can't hear him... He told me he could see our parents."

"Professor?" Erick ran back into the tent, "They're back."

Dumbledore stood up and left. Mel stood up too, but her legs wouldn't stop shaking, Erick stopped her, holding her in place.

"You shouldn't."

"What?" She tried to push him away. "Don't be stupid..."

"Mel, you sounded like you were dying," The boy said in exasperation. "You're not well!"

"I don't care!" She fought to get past him.

She ran for it, she needed to see he was okay. The exact moment she arrived, she heard Fudge said:

"Dumbledore — he's dead!"

Mel's breathing stopped for what felt the hundred time that night, she pushed past the crowd until she came face to face with the scene. Harry and Cedric were laying on the grass, one of Harry's hands was closed tightly around Dumbledore's wrist, the other was holding onto Cedric... Cedric's body.

"Harry, let go of him," Fudge said, kneeling down to take him away.

Harry wasn't looking directly at anyone, his eyes would lose focus, he was disoriented, but his hand remained closed.

"Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go," Dumbledore spoke.

It was all true, all she saw while she was in the middle of that... trance, it was all real.

Mel gawked and covered her mouth, she was definitely going to be sick. People walked past her, pushed her in all directions as she stood there, just listening.

"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry muttered, blinking rapidly as he struggled to look at Dumbledore's face. "He wanted me to bring him back to his parents..."

"That's right, Harry... just let go now..."

Dumbledore help Harry stand up, he stumbled a bit, his leg was still bleeding, exactly as she'd seen in her dream.

"What's happened?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Diggory's dead!"

Mel stirred into action, she got closer and put one arm around Harry's waist without even asking, supporting his weight on her even though she was just as weak. Harry looked at her in a daze.

"You were there," He told her.

"I know," Mel panted, trying to steady their bodies. "I promise I would..."

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing!" Fudge exclaimed next to them. "He's ill, he's injured — Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands..."

"I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him —"

"No, I would prefer —"

"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running... he's coming over... Don't you think you should tell him — before he sees — ?"

"Harry," Dumbledore then noticed Mel standing there as well, and he looked at them intently. "Stay here —"

There was so much noise, all Mel wanted was to take Harry away, have a nap in her old bedroom... they could lay in silence forever until things were back to normal...

"It's all right, son, I've got you... come on... hospital wing..."

"Dumbledore said stay," said Harry.

His voice was soft and childish, she could tell by the way he kept his eyes closed that his scar was hurting. She felt so much like a child too: small, weak. Her energy was long gone, she didn't fight when a pair of hands pushed her along, guiding them back to the castle.

"You need to lie down... Come on now..."

The screams were dying, she heard the thumping of Moody's leg against the floor. She should've been worried, but she was so tired...

"What happened, Harry?"

"Cup was a Portkey," Harry replied clumsily. "Took me and Cedric to a graveyard... and Voldemort was there... Lord Voldemort..."

"The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?"

"Killed Cedric... they killed Cedric..."

"And then?"

"Made a potion... got his body back..."

"The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?"

Flashes of her nightmare came back and forth as Harry narrated.

"And the Death Eaters came... and then we duelled..."

"You duelled with the Dark Lord?"

"Mel was talking to me..."

"You were?" Moody addressed her then, eyes suddenly wide. "How?"

Mel gulped, her mouth felt like sand. "Thought I was dreaming..."

"After you helped my wand... did something funny... I saw my mum and dad... your dad... they came out of his wand..."

"In here... in here, and sit down... You'll be all right now... drink this..."

She looked up. They weren't in the infirmary.

"Drink it... you'll feel better... come on, now, Harry, I need to know exactly what happened..."

As Moody poured a liquid down Harry's throat, she looked back to the door and felt something heavy on her chest. It was locked.

"Voldemort's back, Harry? You're sure he's back? How did he do it?"

"Harry..." She whispered.

"He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail, and me," Harry said, not listening.

"What did the Dark Lord take from you?" said Moody.

"Blood," He showed them his arm. Moody barely flinched at the sight.

"And the Death Eaters? They returned?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Loads of them..."

"Harry..."

"How did he treat them?" Moody asked quietly. "Did he forgive them?"

"Why does that matter?" Mel said, cursing internally for forgetting her wand back in the tent. She couldn't muster enough strength to do wandless magic.

"There's a Death Eater at Hogwarts!" Harry gave a start. "There's a Death Eater here — they put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end —"

Harry tried to stand, and Moody pushed him.

"I know who the Death Eater is," He said.

"Harry," Mel tried again, this time louder.

"Karkaroff?" Harry was shaking. "Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?"

"Karkaroff?" Moody laughed. "Karkaroff fled tonight when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to wish to meet them... but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his enemies."

"Karkaroff's gone? He ran away? But then — he didn't put my name in the goblet?"

"No," said Moody slowly. "No, he didn't. It was I who did that."

Mel whimpered before she could stop herself, sinking further in her chair. The nightmare wasn't over.

"No, you didn't," Harry said, still too confused. "You didn't do that... you can't have done..."

"I assure you I did," said Moody.

"He's not Moody," Mel said. "He's not the real Moody, Harry..."

Moody pointed his wand at them.

"Ah, Miss Dumbledore, you knew! Told you to leave it to the adults, didn't I? But true to you nature, you kept digging... I guess I should be happy you're still young and gullible to listen to what you're told, otherwise I would've had to kill you."

Mel curled up scared to death, there was nothing she could do against a Death Eater, weak as she was.

"He forgave them, then?" Moody said, turning to Harry. "The Death Eaters who went free? The ones who escaped Azkaban?"

"What?" said Harry, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"I asked you whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn't even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky."

"You fired... What are you talking about..?"

"I told you, Harry... I told you. If there's one thing I hate more than any other, it's a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry... Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful... prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all... you."

"You're insane," Mel choked out, trying to muster enough force to push him away, but she barely could've lighted a candle.

"You didn't... it — it can't be you..." Harry stammered.

"Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I did. Who frightened off every person I thought might try to hurt you or prevent you from winning the tournament? I did. Who nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons? I did. Who helped you see the only way you could beat the dragon? I did. It hasn't been easy, Harry, guiding you through these tasks without arousing suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess so that my hand would not be detectable in your success.

"Dumbledore would have been very suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that maze, preferably with a decent head start — then, I knew, I would have a chance of getting rid of the other champions and leaving your way clear. But I also had to contend with your stupidity. The second task... that was when I was most afraid we would fail. I was keeping watch on you, Potter. I knew you hadn't worked out the egg's clue, so I had to give you another hint —"

"You didn't," Harry said hoarsely. "Cedric gave me the clue —"

"Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate, Potter. I was sure Cedric would want to repay you for telling him about the dragons, and so he did. But even then, Potter, even then you seemed likely to fail. I was watching all the time... all those hours in the library. Didn't you realize that the book you needed was in your dormitory all along?

"I planted it there early on, I gave it to the Longbottom boy, don't you remember? Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. It would have told you all you needed to know about gillyweed. I expected you to ask everyone and anyone you could for help. Longbottom would have told you in an instant. But you did not... you did not... You have a streak of pride and independence that might have ruined all."

She had to think, she had to do something. She'd seen Dumbledore sending a type of Patronus the day Krum had been stunned, but she couldn't send that, there wasn't an ounce of happiness in her at the moment, but she had to send the message... Her heart jumped, Mel had the answer in her pocket.

"So what could I do? Feed you information from another innocent source. You told me at the Yule Ball a house-elf called Dobby had given you a Christmas present. I called the elf to the staffroom to collect some robes for cleaning. I staged a loud conversation with Professor McGonagall about the hostages who had been taken, and whether Potter would think to use gillyweed.

"And your little elf friend ran straight to Snape's office and then hurried to find you... Looking back I see I should've pushed all the information onto Miss Dumbledore's hands!" He laughed. "I kept an eye on her, always helping, not only that, but she solved everything twice as fast! I'm sure she would've helped you solve the second task in less than a week if you would've let her... seems to be the only person you actually listen to..."

Moody kept both eyes on Harry, she slowly reached for her pocket and pulled out the golden watch. She tampered with the buttons as silently as possible.

"You were so long in that lake, Potter, I thought you had drowned. But luckily, Dumbledore took your idiocy for nobility and marked you high for it. I breathed again... You had an easier time of it than you should have in that maze tonight, of course. I was patrolling around it, able to see through the outer hedges, able to curse many obstacles out of your way. I Stunned Fleur Delacour as she passed. I put the Imperius Curse on Krum so that he would finish Diggory and leave your path to the cup clear."

She read her own message:

NOT MOODY. HELP.

Mel pressed the button.

A minute after, four figures started to form on the Foe-Glass -she'd read about it- and she tried to keep Moody's attention on her and Harry so he wouldn't look back.

"I knew," Her voice was destroyed after the hour spent screaming. "You're right– I was going to tell Dumbledore tonight all I knew..." Which was practically nothing, but Moody doesn't have to know that. "I saved Harry–"

"I see that," He spat. "I won't kill you until I know exactly how. I underestimated you, Aberforth's descendant couldn't be that much of a nuisance, but alas... It's true what they say about the women of your blood. As for Harry... imagine how the Dark Lord will reward me when he finds I have done it for him. I gave you to him — the thing he needed above all to regenerate — and then I killed you for him. Both of you. I will be honoured beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter... closer than a son..."

"I'll tell you everything but I want to know something too," Mel blurted out, her adrenaline helping to keep a steady voice. "Why did you take Crouch?"

Moody's eyes widened, it was a wild guess, but correct nonetheless judging by the way he reacted.

"The Dark Lord and I," said Moody, "have much in common. Both of us, for instance, had very disappointing fathers... very disappointing indeed. Both of us suffered the indignity of being named after those fathers. And both of us had the pleasure... the very great pleasure... of killing our fathers to ensure the continued rise of the Dark Order!"

Mel frowned, that didn't give anything away! Not unless... but it was impossible, he was dead, Sirius watched as the dementors buried him...

"You're mad," Harry said, "you're mad!"

"Mad, am I? We'll see! We'll see who's mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him — and now — I conquer you!"

Her eyes moved from the man to the Foe-Glass, the faces were crystal clear.

"WE'RE HERE!" She yelled, damaging her vocal cords even further. "HELP!"

Moody raised his wand, but Mel grabbed Harry by the neck of his robes and covered both of their bodies.

"Stupefy!" Someone yelled behind the door, bursting it open.

Moody fell backwards, the boy held onto her and looked around, coming face to face with Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall... and Erick, white as a ghost.

Dumbledore stepped into the office radiating power, he stared down at Moody and turned him upwards. Snape followed, eyes fixed on the Foe-Glass. Professor McGonagall and Erick went to them.

"Come along, children," she said softly. "Come along... your mother is waiting for the both of you, Mel... hospital wing..."

"No," said Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, he ought to — look at them — They'd been through enough tonight —"

"They will stay, Minerva, because Harry needs to understand," Dumbledore insisted. "Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why. Mel–"  He raised his left hand, Erick's watch was hanging from it, "though you figured it out, I believe you haven't heard all there is to know. Stay."

"Moody," Harry said shakily, still holding tightly to her arm. "How can it have been Moody?"

"This is not Alastor Moody," said Dumbledore. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. Mr Flint ran after me and showed me this, saying it was a message from you– and I knew..."

Dumbledore pulled out Moody's flask and a set of keys.

"Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here. Mr Flint–" He handed the watch to its owner. "Go to the Minister, tell him to come here as soon as he can."

Dumbledore walked over to the trunk with seven locks, fitted the first key in the lock, and opened it. It contained a mass of spell-books. Dumbledore closed the trunk, placed a second key in the second lock, and opened the trunk again. The spellbooks had vanished; this time it contained an assortment of broken Sneakoscopes, some parchment and quills, and what looked like a silvery Invisibility Cloak. Harry watched, astounded, as Dumbledore placed the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth keys in their respective locks, reopening the trunk, and each time revealing different contents. Then he placed the seventh key in the lock, threw open the lid, and Harry let out a cry of amazement.

He was looking down into a kind of pit, an underground room, and lying on the floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance, was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, the socket that should have held the magical eye looked empty beneath its lid, and chunks of his grizzled hair were missing. Harry stared, thunderstruck, between the sleeping Moody in the trunk and the unconscious Moody lying on the floor of the office.

Dumbledore climbed into the trunk, lowered himself, and fell lightly onto the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He bent over him.

"Stunned — controlled by the Imperius Curse — very weak," he said. "Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, throw down the imposter's cloak — he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

Harry did as he was told; Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak, tucked it around him, and clambered out of the trunk again. Then he picked up the hip flask that stood upon the desk, unscrewed it, and turned it over. A thick glutinous liquid splattered onto the office floor.

"Polyjuice Potion... You see the simplicity of it and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair... The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done... on the hour... every hour. We shall see."

Dumbledore pulled out the chair and sat down, his eyes moved from Moody to her, a glint similar to the one he adopted during her lessons.

"How did you know, Mel?" He asked calmly.

"I didn't," Mel confessed. "I mentioned it to Erick this evening, I didn't know for real until now..."

"You must have seen the signs either way if you suspected..."

Mel told him everything and Dumbledore listened when she mentioned Crouch, and Moody's reply to her question, his eyes returned to the fake Alastor Moody.

"So it was Crouch..." Dumbledore let out heavily.

Then, before Harry's very eyes, the face of the man on the floor began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth; the mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled grey hair was withdrawing into the scalp and turning the colour of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place; next moment, the magical eyeball had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it; it rolled away across the floor and continued to swivel in every direction.

Harry saw a man lying before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair. He knew who he was. He had seen him in Dumbledore's Pensieve, had watched him being led away from court by the dementors, trying to convince Mr Crouch that he was innocent... but he was lined around the eyes now and looked much older...

There were hurried footsteps outside in the corridor. Snape had returned with Winky at his heels. Professor McGonagall was right behind them.

"Crouch!" Snape said, stopping dead in the doorway. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens," said Professor McGonagall, stopping dead and staring down at the man on the floor.

Filthy, dishevelled, Winky peered around Snape's legs. Her mouth opened wide and she let out a piercing shriek.

"Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?"

She flung herself forward onto the young man's chest.

Mel was faster, she caught Winky and stopped her from touching the man.

"You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!" She squirmed in her arms.

"Stop it!" She grunted. "He's all right!"

"He is simply Stunned, Winky," Dumbledore nodded. "Severus, you have the potion?"

Dumbledore sat Barty Crouch and poured a few drops down his throat just like he'd done to Harry. Winky was no longer fighting, she was hiding her face behind her skinny hands.

"Rennervate," He said, pointing his wand directly at the man's chest.

Crouch's son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. Dumbledore knelt before him, so that their faces were level.

"Can you hear me?" Dumbledore asked quietly. The man's eyelids flickered.

"Yes," he muttered.

"I would like you to tell us," said Dumbledore softly, "how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?"

Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to speak in a flat, expressionless voice.

"My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance."

"Say no more, Master Barty, say no more, you is getting your father into trouble!"

Simpler than what she'd thought. It felt surreal, how close she was to the truth and yet had decided to ignore it she was because it just felt too crazy.

"The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me."

"And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?"

"Staged my mother's death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master... of returning to his service."

"How did your father subdue you?"

"The Imperius Curse. I was under my father's control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour."

"He was there during the Quidditch Final," Mel spoke. "Winky was looking after you, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

"Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?" said Dumbledore. "Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf ?"

"A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father's signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently."

"Why is she coming to nose into my master's private business? Why isn't she leaving us be?"

"Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup," said Dumbledore, addressing to Mel's question.

He told them about how he fought against the Imperius Curse, Harry's wand and the rage towards the Death Eaters' that woke him up completely. How Wormtail found him thanks to Bertha Jorkins and how they subdued his father in order to have a free will himself. She was right about him stealing from Snape, about him attacking Moody during summer. She'd been right.

"But your father escaped."

"My master sent me word of my father's escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything."

"Map?" Dumbledore glanced at her. "What map is this?"

"Potter's map of Hogwarts. Potter saw me on it. Potter saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape's office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape."

She avoided Dumbledore's eyes, ashamed of her own doing keeping the map a secret.

"For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. Potter ran to get Dumbledore. I Stunned Krum. I killed my father."

After he was done with his story, all they could hear was Winky's cries.

"And tonight..." Dumbledore continued.

"I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner. Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honoured by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

The insane smile lit his features once more, and his head drooped onto his shoulder as Winky wailed and sobbed at his side.

Next Chapter —>

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​ @emeraude-nobrega

LONG AND RAMBLEY FIREBIRB FACTS INVOLVING HISTORY AND PEOPLE CONNECTING HIM TO DARK MAGIC AND THE DEVIL BC IM A HISTORY NERD  AKA, THE ACCOUNT OF AEDUS BEING ENTIRELY DONE WITH HUMANS AND THEIR SILLY SUPERSTITIONS AND REACTIONS TO THEM:

Aedus was absolutely, repeatedly  accused of being the devil, himself, during the Middle Ages all the way up through to the American Civil War… which tends to happen when you have unusually colored eyes, a charming demeanor… and the habit of catching on fire. During the European witch hunts, he was even accused of being a warlock, having sold his soul. So, they tried burning him at the stake. That worked about as well as you’d expect. He didn’t want to harm anyone, as many of those in the crowd were innocent women and children caught up in this hysteria, so Aedus    ( then, going by the name Aurav )   simply waited until the flames burned through the ropes, freeing him, and he casually strolled away from the terrified and screaming onlookers. Stark naked. And positively miffed that they’d burned one of his favorite shirts.

And that wasn’t the only time. Throughout his years of traveling, Aedus has found that most mortals generally don’t take very well to seeing a man who can ignite himself at will… or who’s most GRIEVOUS wounds heal in a matter of days. During the reign of Bloody Mary, he was, again, burned at the stake. This time, not because he was believed to be a witch, but because he was branded a heretic, spreading wild stories about a history that didn’t align with the current church’s beliefs. That, also, went about as well as you’d expect. Again, he walked away, bemoaning the loss of his clothes and terrifying everyone who attended the execution.

On the other end, people attempted to drown him for witchcraft in Salem. Aedus made the mistake of stopping there just toward the tail end of the trials. Already, the townsfolk were in a panic and treated him with suspicion when he arrived. And, then, some man he got into an argument with accused Aedus of CURSING him and the Phoenix was dragged into the courtroom. Four other people he’d never even laid eyes on testified against him, claiming he’d come to them in dreams and used magic to make them behave strangely. Aedus, of course, denied it. So, he was dragged to the river, bound to rocks, and thrown in to either prove or dismiss their accusations. Well, since he doesn’t need to breathe, the Phoenix remained under there far longer than anyone could hold their breath — almost an hour, before he was dragged back up. Still alive. Of course, this didn’t go over well with the Puritans. Even less so when Aedus had, understandably, had  ENOUGH  and ignited every inch of skin, MELTING the ropes and evaporating every drop of water off of him. The heat got so bad, those who hadn’t already retreated screaming prayers were forced to. They called him the devil. And Aedus, essentially, had to go into hiding for a few years as word of him spread past Salem. But, the story did die out fairly quickly after the trails ended and the town magistrate tried to brush everything under the rug, so to speak.

Throughout his time with Samuel during the Revolutionary War, Aedus did try very hard to hide what he was from the population. It worked, up until Samuel’s death during a particularly brutal battle… then, the Phoenix sought out the man who’d fired that killing shot and burned him to ASH. That  unnatural death  frightened the community, who claimed it was magic. They weren’t entirely wrong.

With the passing of the Land Act in 1804, Aedus moved  West  with a SMALL caravan ( only three wagons ), hoping to find solace after Samuel’s death. Halfway through the journey, a terrible winter storm struck. The wagons sought shelter in a grove of trees along the trail, but that wasn’t enough to keep the cold from taking its toll. Hypothermia, frostbite…. The oxen were in danger of dying, winds whipping through reaching a chill FAR below freezing… so the Phoenix made the decision to reveal what he was. To one of his friends, first, a young woman. She was scared, of course, Confused. But, she understood that he could save them and get them safely through this weather to Oregon. She’s the one who broke the news to the others, and, even though many of them were extremely frightened of him, in their desperation, they accepted his help. He kept them warm. Helped them cook their food. Offered light in the way of flames sprouting from his fingertips whenever needed to help conserve their supply of candles… being unaffected by the cold, himself, he offered all of his clothing to the others, save enough to preserve modesty, for them to layer. He went out hunting and gathering food. For two weeks, he kept them alive, warm, fed, and safe… everyone revered him as something of a guardian angel. Less of the MONSTER  they’d first thought when they’d found out, and more of a miracle from God. They reached their new home, all of them swearing to keep his secret safe as they set up their new lives.

so since aedus is active right now, too, i would like to take this moment to say… if your muse ever needs a place to stay, or someone to look out for them, especially if they’re a lost or scared kid, throw them at this soft-hearted, ancient firebird.   he will 10000% make sure they have food in their belly, a warm and safe place to sleep, will have their back and protect them.   just aedus, y’all.  he’ll open his home to anyone who needs it.  he’ll make them tea or hot cocoa, give them freshly tumbled blankets so they’re warm and cozy.    listen, the amount of kids he’s essential;ly adopted, helped raise, looked out for, cheered for, over the centuries??   i mean for someone who’s scared of being a dad bc of PHOENIX FAMILY DRAMA ™, he sure as hell has that powerful paternal instinct.  will 1000/10  adopt your muse    all you gotta do is throw ‘em his way and he will take them right under his fiery wing    

ME:  considering how much losing people he loves screws him up, could it be another few centuries and this phoenix could possibly snap and grow colder, and begin to distance himself from humanity, just to spare himself from that pain?? ALSO ME: he’s legitimately too soft-hearted and too attached for them for that, so despite the pain, he will continue to integrate himself into humanity and continue to watch those he loves fade and die, mourning them, subjecting himself to that pain willingly… because the alternative is isolation and he already tried that once after samuel died and he wound up on a wagon train west, making new friends, watching them pass, and new friends out on the coast… and watching them fade, too, before he finally moved back. Because even when he actively tries to distance himself he physically can’t, ‘cause he needs that companionship. and not only that, but he recognizes that being around humanity keeps him grounded and helps him be better, improving himself as they improve… and without them, he would truly be lost and stagnant

also, some of aedus’s physical traits, because appearance and tactile senses do play a big part in interactions. especially first meetings ( i.e. things i am totally okay with your muse noticing about him right from the get-go tbh )

GOLDEN EYES:  his irises look a LOT like fire… they’re a lighter gold at the top and darken to almost an ORANGE near the bottom. TEMPERATURE: his skin does feel incredibly warm to the touch, as though he’s constantly suffering from a high fever… this heat can even be felt simply radiating off of him when the fires inside of him flare hotter, such as when he’s angry or upset. ATTIRE:  Aedus is always impeccably dressed. Considering how rich he is from all the money he’s stored away throughout his life  ( a big chunk of it coming from selling items after they’ve become antiques and VERY valuable to collectors. Authentic coins from the Roman Empire, first edition books dating all the way back to the early 19th century, random household items from the homes he kept throughout the Middle Ages, clear up to the American Civil War )    he can definitely afford the BEST tailors his current place of residence has to offer. Not to mention, he does have quite a discerning taste when it comes to fashion. I mean, he worked hard making this body look just how he wanted it… of course he’s going to wear clothes that accentuate it. VOICE: his voice holds traces of accents from all over the world. It’s a little difficult to pinpoint just one… but, I’d say the more prominent ones, most simple to pick out, would be Irish and British. He has a very LOW voice. Keeps his tone very soft and steady for the most part.

random reminder that samuel’s watch is aedus’s most valued possession. it’s the one he usually keeps on his person  ( unless he’s planning on picking a fight with someone, in which case it sits securely in his bedside table’s drawer )    and it’s something he would risk his safety to get back if lost or stolen. it’s the very last shred of samuel that remains… the last physical reminder of the man he loved more than anything in this world, trusted more than anyone else, would readily have married if they’d been granted the chance. aedus will be extremely hesitant to let anyone else touch it, no matter who they are…

[wclsh-a]

CHARACTER STUDY META.

so, this is mostly a post for my followers who aren’t familiar with twd / shane walsh, and are wondering what kind of character he is. please note that i’m writing this based on how i personally view shane, so some of this might not be actual canon, although i try my best to stick to canon as closely as possible. however, even if you are familiar with shane as a character, i’m hoping this post will give a bit of an idea of how i write shane. anyway... putting this under a read more bc it got kinda long

alright, let me talk about my portrayal of shane walsh for a moment. shane is a guy who starts out being neither entirely good nor entirely bad. i feel like when it comes to shane, a lot of people see him as either or, but what i love about the walking dead is that most of the characters aren’t just all ‘good’ or all ‘bad’. the so-called “good guys” of the series actually do bad things at times, and the “bad guys” of the series actually do good things at times, or at the very least comes off as good at some point or another.

and with shane, he kind of goes through a change throughout the first two seasons. he starts off more on the scale of a “good guy sometimes doing bad things,”  but as the series goes on, things gets more and more blurred for him to the point where he ends up more as a “bad guy sometimes doing good things.” i’m not going to go into too much details about what brings about this change, but tl;dr; after believing his best friend, rick, was dead, shane fell in love with and entered a relationship with rick’s wife, lori, and after rick turned out to be alive, lori left shane for rick, while rick basically took over the leadership of the group that shane had been leading and kept safe up until then, and so shane started to blame rick for putting their group in danger and people in their group getting hurt and killed from rick’s decisions (or at least shane sees it as rick’s decision making being the fault,) and shane also struggled to accept and come to terms with how lori was suddenly treating him like he had only been hurtful to her and carl and acted like she never even cared about him to begin with and told him to stay away from them, etc.

.... anyway.... that whole thing’s a mess so i’m not gonna go into that any more in this post.

from before the outbreak, all the way up to when rick came to the atlanta camp, and even a little after rick showed up, shane was shown as someone who cared about people and their safety. some might disagree here, and bring up scenes like where shane refuses to go after and help the people in their group who got stuck in the city as shane not really caring. but when you look at it, the people in the group that was still in camp with shane, was people who either a) was old b) didn’t know how to use a gun / how to fight c) got frightened / terrified / panicked at the sight of walkers and / or d) were just kids. to take any of them into the city where they knew walkers were in large herds in an attempt to save the others? to shane, that seemed more like sentencing them all to death. shane also knew that those in their group who was in trouble in the city was more equipped to handle themselves and had a better chance at figuring out a way to save themselves, and also since shane and the others weren’t able to stay in contact with them over the radio due to poor reception, shane had no guarantee that they would even stay where they were by the time shane and the others could’ve reached them if they did try to go after them. all in all, shane had plenty of reasons to not try to help them, and no reason aside from it ‘being the right thing to do’ to try to help them. 

it’s not that he didn’t care or didn’t wish he could help. to him, it just wasn’t worth the risk.

some examples that he did care about others than himself, is how he selflessly put his life at risk to try to help his best friend, rick, who was in a coma at the hospital during the outbreak, and, when he realized there was nothing he could do, he still put a bed against the door to the room rick was in, in a desperate last hope of a miracle that rick could somehow survive. another example, is how shane looked after carol and sophia, even more so after noticing how carol’s husband abused his wife. he always made sure to check up on them, and when carol apologized on behalf of her husband for something her husband did, shane assured her she had nothing to apologize for. and when he finally caught ed in the actual act of trying to abuse his wife, shane intervened and brutally beat him up, warning him to never lay a hand on anyone again. another example is how he looked after jim when he had a sunstroke, making sure he stayed in the shadow, and got enough water and was able to cool down, and when jim got bit, how shane was one of the people who expressed that he didn’t want to kill him and that it didn’t feel right leaving him behind even though jim had asked for it himself. 

one thing i’ve noticed is that shane constantly talks about his disapproval when it comes to taking risks that puts the group’s safety at jeopardy, and i mean, if he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t constantly worry about putting the group’s safety at risk.

that being said...

he also has a lot of flaws and issues. 

shane has a mindset where he thinks he’s always right, and struggles to understand other people’s opinions if they’re at odds with his own, even after hearing them out. this goes back to even before the outbreak, but it wasn’t as noticeable back then as post outbreak, as he was more willing to “agree to disagree” in order to maintain the peace, because back then, disagreements rarely meant the difference between life and death, so he could live with swallowing his own pride more easily because it rarely came at much of a cost, whereas decisions after the outbreak often did...

this mentality, especially on top of his strong desire to keep the group safe, can quickly bring out a lot more negative sides to shane when people start disagreeing with him. best case scenario, he’ll think you’re just a naive idiot who he doesn’t much care for or care to listen to (this is usually the case if he thinks you don’t have much influence / power over the rest of the group, like with dale.) worst case scenario, he’ll look at you as a great danger to the group, one that needs to be dealt with to keep the rest of the group safe (this is usually the case if you are in a leadership position, like with rick.) either way, people disagreeing with him can quickly lead to shane becoming frustrated, hotheaded, etc, especially after rick takes over leadership of the group and he starts to feel everyone shift towards supporting rick and no longer listening to anything shane has to say.

also, while shane wants to keep the group safe, he is not always a person you can rely on if you ever get yourself in a pinch. in fact, chances are he’s not going to be willing to risk himself or others to come back for you, unless there’s a really goddamn good chance of success or at the very least a really low risk for others getting hurt / killed. and even then, he’ll be hesitant about it.

he has also proven to be willing to sacrifice a good, decent person to save himself and someone in his own group, as proven when a man not in their group, named otis, accidentally shot rick’s son, carl, and carl ended up needing medical supplies to survive. so when shane and otis went out to get said supplies, and got crowded by a herd as they tried to leave, otis rescued shane, however shane ended up shooting otis in the leg to draw the herd to otis, giving himself an opening to save himself and get the supplies back to carl. he didn’t take any pleasure in doing it, and struggled with it afterwards, but he justified it to himself by the fact that sacrificing otis had ensured that shane had managed to get back with the supplies and thus saving the kid.

shane also has a whole bunch of other issues that are connected to his dynamics with rick and with lori, which includes an obsession with lori, jealousy of rick and lori’s relationship, a growing hatred / resentment towards rick ( partially because of said jealousy, but also partially because he genuinely thinks that while rick has good intentions, he is a danger to the group, especially since the group seems to blindly put their faith in rick and has stopped listening to shane at all.) but that’s a whole different story and this post is already getting too long, rip

[thechildoflightning]

JKSF Jobs

I got asked awhile ago by the lovely @mewithanie if I could write about everyone’s jobs in jksf if it sparked my interest. It did spark my interest, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it into a one-shot or story, so take a tumblr post bullet-style explanation instead!

Read on to find out all about the jobs Patton, Roman, Logan, and Virgil hold in just keep stumbling forward (baby im waiting for you)

tw: suicide (oc), PTSD and trauma (mentioned only), mentions of drugs, alcohol, and school shootings.

Patton

Runs a non-profit

Non-Profit pairs up with schools

Non-Profit is an art therapy center focused on increasing connection within teenagers and allowing them an appropriate outlet for emotional turmoil

Patton’s group generally gets placed on ‘high-risk’ campuses or campuses that have incidents happen at them

‘High-risk’ in this case is defined by higher than normal suicide rates, low attendance rates, high-levels of illegal activity (generally drug and alcohol use), high rate of poor mental health, more than average amounts of cheating, etc

Instances involve things like excessive inappropriate school-wide behavior (ie. all the kids getting drunk and disorderly at a school event) as well as shocking incidents (student death from suicide, overdose, drunk driving, or things such as school shootings)

Some kids come by choice, others are referred through a suspension exchange program

Pretty much, a kid gets suspended but can choose to go to the group’s meetings instead of facing suspension

Kids get referred for suspensions that deal with violence, drug use, alcohol use, excessive absences, and so forth

The idea behind it is that suspended the kid will only negatively impact the kids record and give no reason to change behavior, while the group can help get to the root of the issue and work towards solving/improving that instead

Other kids go by choice bc they’re looking for extra support, a healthy outlet, advice, etc

They have weekly after school meetings (per each district, with one focal school in each one. The program is currently seven districts wide)

They also have lunch drop-ins were you can come make art, chill, get a snack, pet a therapy dog, and other stuff

One of Patton’s first schools was the same school Virgil works at

Patton generally leads the entire non-profit and has delegates to deal with the different districts

He handles the school/district that Virgil is at, though he attempts to go to as many things at the other districts as he can

Does a lot of outside work promoting the program to school and school boards, but is starting to delegate a lot of that work to others so he can focus on the kids instead of the bureaucratic shit

Has had to cut back on individual involvement and delegate more as the work and stress from running an entire non-profit has taken a large toll on his health related to chronic illness

He is Not Happy about this fact, but it’s for his health and he needs it. His spouses help support in any ways that they can.

Roman

Theater Boi

He is a director for a local theater company that is actually not half-bad

Enjoys the heck out of it

Went into college planning to become an actor

And boy does he love acting and the truth is? He was good enough. He could have become an actor. 

But somehow he finds it even more magical running everything behind the acting (and so so much more work, god he never realized how much Work This Was)

So he joins a theater company and he slowly works his way up

At first he comes in as assistant choreographer 

He’s young and they don’t think much of it, but the show genuinely improves by his individual suggestions and work and wait, who the fuck is this kid and how do we hang onto him?

He makes his way up quite quickly, sliding his way into assistant directly and then co-director and then suddenly the director’s leaving and now he’s the director

It happens fast and it’s very very exciting but he’s also honestly a little overwhelming and he’s never been good at managing large tasks without procrastinating bc executive dysfunction (see this post and this one about Roman and ADHD)

And now he is The Director and an entire production is depending on him. Everything. All of it. And it was what he was looking for but it’s a lot.

The first time he’s on his own, it goes okay

It’s by far not the best the company has done, but it’s also not the worst and the company is pretty supportive of his jump to director and the people who have been there longer help him learn to delegate tasks

And so he tries again, and he does better, and he just continues to get better from there

There’s just one hiccup: the scenographer

Basically the scenographer Does Not Like Roman and it creates Conflict

(In my head I sorta imagine the boss character Joan played when they were playing Thomas as Roman as Joan as the boss character in that one part of “Can LYING Be Good?”)

Luckily, Deceit later takes that position, and him and Roman work way better together and pull off some pretty bomb ass productions

Roman has been asked to join other companies before- specifically travelling companies and work on Specific Productions- which is very cool and very exciting but he decides he’d rather do what he’s doing now bc 

a) he enjoys the rhythm of his work. b) larger productions are more stress. c) he doesn’t want to be gone from his spouses. And d) he gets a lot of positivity and meaning out of what he does now and doesn’t see a reason to change that

Every summer he also runs the local chapter of Shakespeare in the park. 

He does act in these as well bc it’s completely volunteer based. Deceit also acts in these with him and these two theater dorks have way to much fun together

They may or may not of kidnapped Trixie for one of the productions (with Virgil’s consent of course)

Logan

Logan works for a company that considers themselves as a “research and problem-solving team for the improvement of marine environments”

Basically, Logan researches issues that negatively impact marine life and helps come up solutions to improve or solve these issues

Most of what he does is cycle through data that other researchers collect and figure out what that data means and how it connects

He looks at a lot of abstract numbers and pulls them together to state exactly what the numbers are reporting 

From there he brings that research to a board that forms a hypothesis and then comes up with potential solutions

These solutions are often considered very progressive and liberal and as such cause a lot of debate

Solutions range from legal changes (laws reducing companies waste, laws to prevent oil spills, protection laws around certain species/habitats, etc) to inventions (boats that clean the ocean, replication of habits to help support species that can’t live outside of a certain ecosystem, etc)

The company Logan works for has had numerous very successful projects and many of these projects were successful bc of Logan’s involvement

Logan’s spouses are very very proud of this fact

Logan is modest af and brushed it off

Logan’s had quite a few articles published in scientific journals and his findings/theories/work have also made it to national news in the past

Logan himself has actually been asked to present some of his stuff on the news multiple times. He refuses each time and someone else goes in his place.

Does this mean that person gets a lot of credit that should be assigned to Logan? Yes. Does that person feel bad? They do and try to give credit to Logan. Does Logan care? No, no he does not. 

Logan could care less about credit, he just cares about marine ecosystems and That’s Literally It

Seriously, people ask him things like “does he understand the ‘political implications’ of his job” or “Are you okay with your team constantly stealing your work” and he’s just like “Fish are cool. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Logan has also done more hands-on experience which has included cool adventures that included scuba diving trips to study coral reef damage, spending days in heavy wetlands, and swimming with sharks

His spouses think that this is the coolest thing and Logan agrees a 1000%

He usually works on research because that’s Where He’s Comfortable, but the occasional planned (it has to be planned) research trip is always exciting

Logan also has so much passion for his job. So much passion. It’s sort of an agreed upon deal in the house that when Logan comes home he will generally Need To Infodump because his job is The Coolest

Because of this, a time period between him getting off work and them eating dinner is designated Logan Infodumping Time

Generally this happens while they cook (because as mentioned a few times, Logan is the best cook)

Even if his spouse aren’t helping w/ dinner, they usually try to stick around and listen because a) Logan is Cute when talking about things he enjoys. b) he talks about interesting stuff. c) even if they don’t find it interesting, Logan’s enthusiasm is infectious and they just Have To Listen

Virgil

Virgil is a high school English teacher

He generally teaches sophomore regular English and junior AP English

Classes can shift slightly depending on the year

Virgil was at first a very distant teacher and didn’t connect with his students

Like his students thought he was a fine teacher bc he wasn’t too strict and didn’t assign a bunch of hw, but no one really liked him either

About his fourth year teaching, a kid at Virgil’s school got suicide baited and ended up taking their own life

It was a Big Deal (and is also how Patton found his way to Virgil’s campus)

After the event, there were lots of discussions and groups at the school, and each teacher talked to their classes

Virgil’s discussion was,, impactful to say the least

He talked to the students frankly about the issue and opened discussion to the topic while making sure to keep it respectful and calling students out on shit while at the same time helping support everyone who was struggling

He ended it with a small speech about self-worth, what it meant, and the struggle to achieve it, especially when everyone around you is pulling you down

It spreads like wildfire throughout the school and suddenly Virgil is a very well-liked teacher because He Gets It, y’know

(to clarify- his student’s do not know about his suicide attempts or personally history regarding his PTSD and experiences, that said, they all know there’s something different about this teacher. Something that makes him understand in a way others don’t)

He also has just this snark that students fall in love with

(One of his class’ learning targets for an entire week was just “We’re going to stick it to The Man. How you ask? Well we’ll find out!”

There was also a situation one year when one of Logan’s articles turned up in a multiple choice quiz and No One, including Virgil knew the answers (Virgil did have the answer key but it Did Not Make Sense)

He had to actually call Logan to figure it out

Turns out, most of them was the quiz maker’s mistake because he was asking questions about “author’s tone” and “author’s purpose” and Logan’s just like,, I didn’t meant to have any tone? I don’t understand tone? My purpose was I like fish? Why are they saying it’s to educate the average person??

(pretty much they analyze Logan’s article from a neurotypical standpoint, which Logan Is Not, so it doesn’t work. Virgil scraps the quiz.)

[kimjoongs-main]

dream seller au - renjun {1}

» type: bullet scenario

» warning(s): n/a

» dia’s note: this started out fluffy.....idk what happened....also...there will be a part 2 bc this plot was a lot longer than i thought it was going to be

you’ve heard stories about the infamous “dreamer” who resides in the depths of the forest

people say he’s the creator of dreams, the one responsible for the visual images that occur during deep slumber

many residents in your village, mostly the elderly, claimed that the dreamer was an immortal being who lived to provide dreams for mortals

others have claimed that they’ve physically seen the dreamer and described him as a young boy adorned in ragged fabric, hair as dark as the night sky and facial features which looked to be carved from smooth marble

it was also said that if you were to stumble upon the dreamer, you would have the opportunity to ask him to create a dream specifically for you

it could be anything from your wildest fantasies to your simplest desires, he would provide that for you

your mother first told you this story when you were just a child, curious as to why you were experiencing these images while you were asleep

as a child, you were intrigued by the idea and sought out more stories about the dreamer

other children in your village, however, weren’t as intrigued and quite honestly found the story to be nothing but a mindless fantasy

because of this, you were often the subject of teasing and it became hard for you to make friends

so you often found yourself wandering around the village all alone

sometimes, you’d wander as far as the edge of the village, the border which separated your cozy little town from the vast forest that lay on the other side

a few times you were tempted to cross over, to venture thru the trees and see for yourself if the myth was true, however you were always stopped by a villager who warned you to never explore the forest on your own

for the next few years, you adhered to the villager’s warning, but the same time, your curiosity continued to cultivate and eventually, you couldn’t wait anymore

you had to know if the myth was actually true or not...so one night when the entire village succumbed to a deep slumber, you carefully snuck out of your home

you left a note for your mother saying you went for a walk in case you didn’t return by daybreak

you were adorned in a black cape, completely invisible even underneath the light of the full moon

armed with only a small torch and a pick axe, you pushed past the dense thicket and ventured into the heart of the forest

from the stories you’ve been told, the dreamer’s cottage was supposedly located at the other end of the forest, past the river and at the bottom of the mountain

you continued your journey for a few more minutes, but when you finally reached the other side of the forest, all you were met w was the steep, rocky slope of the mountain.....no cottage and no dreamer in sight

feeling defeated, you plopped down on a nearby stone, deciding to rest your feet for a moment before you made the joir ey back home

“guess it was just a myth after all” you muttered to yourself, leaning back on the tree

once you saw the sky changing from a midnight blue to a warm orange, you stood back up and grabbed your stuff, getting ready to trudge back home

however, as soon as you turned around, you noticed a faint cloud of white smoke billowing out from behind a ridge in the mountain

the logical side of you screamed to just keep walking, but ofc the curious side if you told you to check it out...and of course....you did

you gingerly walked closer to where the smoke was coming from and peeked around the ridge

and there, settled comfortably at the base of the mountain, was a small stone cottage, the source of the smoke coming from the tiny chimney at the side of the roof

you let out a small gasp, heart pounding in your chest......this couldn’t be it, right?? there’s no way you actually managed to find it—

your thoughts were interrupted by the door to the cottage suddenly flying open, and a hooded figure stepped out, carrying a small woven basket

the figure looked to be a young boy around the same age as you, with glowing cheeks and soft strands of obsidian hair

his description matched the stories, but you didn’t want to assume anything just yet, so you kept watching silently.......or at least you tried to

leaning forward to get a better look, you quickly lost your balance and stumbled forward, falling flat on your face

the figure jumped at the sound and he quickly stepped back, looking at your fallen form w wide eyes

you immediately scrambled to get up and were about to leave when a quiet, but firm voice stopped you in your tracks

“wait! who are you? what are you doing here?” you reluctantly looked over your shoulder, making eye contact w the hooded figure

you slowly put your hands up to show that you meant no harm “i’m sorry, i was just wandering around the forest, i didn’t mean to scare you”

at your words, the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes before setting the basket down on a nearby tree trunk “i’ve heard that excuse before, let me guess...you’re a villager? from the small town just north of here?”

you nodded, not sure where he was going w all of this

“i should’ve known...you people just don’t know when to quit don’t you?” you furrowed eyebrows at him, asking him what he meant by that

the boy sighed and picked up his basket again, walking past you and gesturing for you to follow him...which you obliged

he led you into the forest once again, stopping occasionally to pick a few leaves, twigs, mushrooms, and flowers from the ground

as you quietly trailed behind him, he began to speak again

“i’m sure your people have told you stories about me, the one who creates dreams, the ‘dreamer’ if you will...and i’m sure your reason for finding me was to obtain a dream from me, yes?”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off again

“well, let me tell you what those stories have wrong, a minor detail they forgot to put in. i do sell dreams to people who find me, yes, but it comes at a price. in order to—“

“actually...i didn’t come for that reason” you interjected softly

the boy froze and looked over his shoulder at you, raising his eyebrows skeptically “oh? then why have you sought me out then, my dear? why risk your life?”

you hung your head sheepishly, rubbing your boots against the damp soil “i...just wanted to see if the stories about you were true..that’s all”

there was a beat of silence, the only sound you could hear was the chirping of the songbirds as the morning star made it’s ascent in the sky...and then a burst of laughter

you looked up in shock to see the boy w his hood down, bent over a field of grass, hands on his knees, and melodies of laughter coming out of his mouth, probably the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life

“so..you mean to tell me that you risked your life wandering through the forest, searching for me just so you could see if i was real?” he burst out laughing again, and you could only blush w embarrassment

after he calmed down a bit, the young boy straightened back up again, reaching out towards you and placing his hand on your shoulder “i like you, you’re funny” was all he said before he walked past you again back to his cottage

you were frozen in your spot, brain still in the process of registering what just happened

“hey, are you coming inside or what?” he called out to you

you shook yourself out of your stupor and turned around, following the boy inside

the inside of his cottage felt very warm and homey, he had a small hearth in the corner of the room, a kitchen, a dining table, and a wooden bench

it all looked very normal to you.....except for the fact that there was a huge cauldron sitting in the middle of the room, which you assumed to be where he creates his dreams

“by the way, i never got your name” he said, taking off his hood and hanging it on the back of a nearby chair “my name’s renjun....and before you say anything yes i have an actual name, i don’t refer to myself as ‘the dreamer’ or however your people say it”

“oh..my name’s y/n....” renjun took a second to process your name, then he nodded and pressed his lips together in a thin line “nice to meet you, y/n. i have a feeling i’ll be seeing you around often”

and...he was right

after your initial meeting, you would venture into the forest late at night and arrive at renjun’s cottage early in the morning

it became a routine for you: sneak out after everyone’s gone to bed, travel through the forest, arrive at renjun’s for breakfast, and then return home before noon

your mother questioned you on your whereabouts, asking why you were never there in the morning

you didn’t want to lie to her, but you also made a promise to renjun the first day you two met: that you would never tell anyone you saw him or know where he was

you didn’t ask him why and didn’t dare to, you figured it was something he’d rather keep to himself

but during your visits to renjun’s humble abode, he would show you how dreams are made and how he distributes them

he mixes the ingredients he collects from the forest in the cauldron, turning them into a liquid and placing them into small vials

each liquid had a different color, and those colors indicated what kind of dream a person would have

red indicates a dream about love, green for adventure, yellow for happiness, blue for sadness

when the dreams were ready to be sent out, renjun takes the vials he needs and places them over a small fire outside, the liquids evaporate, turn into a gas, and drift off to find their person

“how do the dreams know where to go?” you asked one day, renjun just smiled softly as he watched the rainbow of gases flow thru the air “they know...”

as you watched him concoct different kinds of dreams, you noticed that there were small vials filled w a black liquid resting on a shelf

“hey renjun?” “mm?” “why do you never use those dreams?”

his eyes followed your hand, and when they landed on what you were pointing at, he froze

“those...those aren’t dreams y/n....they’re nightmares” “.....oh”

renjun sighed and set down the vials he was working on “i..don’t use those very often. i did once and...it didn’t end very well. after that experience, i vowed to never use a nightmare ever again”

you nodded silently, listening and never prying further, renjun would explain the rest to you when he was ready

for the next few weeks, you made your daily visits to renjun’s cottage, watching him make dreams, or occasionally you two would walk over to the river and talk about random things

thru these talks you learned three things: 1) renjun was, in fact, immortal, he would sometimes tell you stories from past history and 2) the dreams he made had the capacity to come true, but very rarely and 3) renjun never stayed in the same place for very long, he usually moved once he felt that his time was spent

after hearing the last one, you tried very hard not to show your disappointment, but renjun saw right thru you

he scoffed and leaned over, poking your cheeks “stop pouting dummy, i’m not leaving this place for a long time”

you swatted his hand away, but couldn’t help the small smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth “really? why? is there something you like about this place?”

renjun coughs and turns away from you, but you swore you saw a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, and his next words made your stomach do a flip “...yes...there is”

after that day, your visits to renjun’s cottage started to become less frequent, mostly due to the fact that your mother fell ill and you had to work the shop while simultaneously taking care of her at the same time

you were worried bc you didn’t have the chance to tell renjun why you haven’t been showing up anymore and hoped that he’d understand the next time you saw him

however...one night, as you were sleeping soundly next to your mother, you started seeing these horrid images flash before your eyes, images that would forever haunt your memory

you shuffled around the bed, arms flailing every which way, soft whimpers leaving your lips and tears streaming down the side of your face

your suffering only lasted for a moment bc you woke up to see your mother’s concerned face hovering above yours

you laid in bed, chest heaving rapidly, eyes blinking away the tears

was that...a nightmare? no, it couldn’t be..renjun said he never used nightmares, so why did i..?

you flew out of bed and, without even explaining anything to your mother, you ran out the door and straight into the forest

you had to get to renjun, you didn’t what it was, but you just felt that something was off

you ran and ran, not even taking a break, you practically sprinted thru the forest, but...when you reached the bottom of the mountain and went around the ridge...

renjun’s cottage was nowhere to be seen

[janiedean]

(sorry I didn’t want that person to search for themselves and find this reply xD I can’t with discourse rn)

... that the OP hasn’t read a single king book nor actually watched a single tarantino movie because nah tarantino doesn’t singlehandedly control anything and he made NINE movies and if everyone copied him maybe we’d have better films around because technically he’s better than 90% of the ppl in american cinema regardless of what you think of him as a person, re king:

if you read lisey’s story or any king book with a female POV and you still think he hates women sorry but what the fuck, also while carrie white is no brienne when it comes to that rep I can 100% assure OP that carrie was the closest I came to Shitty Experiences Re How You Look In Literature until I read asoiaf and that’s saying all

half of the books he wrote where he had an obvious self-insert happened when he was using/drinking/obviously needing to cope with stuff and OP obv. hasn’t read the dark half but I’ve got news for them, his stand-in never comes out of it looking good or like the hero of the story

I went to elementary school with people who swore and used slurs all the time which makes that entire point about the slurs moot because it’s realistic dialogue not wanting to use slurs, and half of the stuff they classify as such was not when he wrote those books IN THE 70s/80s learn some context pls also if the villain uses them guess what IT’S THE VILLAIN HE MAKES THE VILLAIN AN ASSHOLE WHO USES SLURS pls it’s so weak I can’t even

everyone and their pals has written about tarantino’s fetishes and same re king but I mean it’s fucking horror books, what the fuck do you expect? stuff that’s not weird? I thought that was what I was signing up for

king is hardly the only horror writer around and if he’s successful it’s bc he’s better at it than most people obviously, so OP can wonder why (hint: maybe he actually can write, more on that later) instead of complaining that he somehow controls a genre when all he’s done is publish books that people buy

also: king has a lot of things I don’t particularly like about his approach ie that his endings suck on a rate of three on five depending on the book’s length (the longer it is the higher is the risk it sucks which is why he’s that good at short stories), he has a really serious problem with that trope where the protagonists forget the whole story which is2g it’s one of my major pet peeves and I’ve cursed him for years for that, sometimes he forgets coherency within the plot is a thing and sometimes he writes about stuff I don’t care for in theory but guess what, other than the fact that he made me care for that stuff (guys if you told me I’d ever gaf about a plot like cujo’s when I was thirteen I’d have laughed in your face and when I read it I couldn’t put it down, it means it’s good), the thing is: king is the best writer I ever read when it comes not just to character work but to make you feel like you’re 100% with that person even if you don’t like them particularly which guess what is exactly the main thing I want in a book. like guys I read the body when I was fourteen and that sent me into the king spiral but at that age I had never ran across a piece that described so well exactly how I felt when I was twelve (and I remembered even too much thanks) and guess what I was projecting like hell on the pov..... WHO IS THE PSEUDO-STAND IN THAT THE OP COMPLAINS ABOUT bc he’s a writer when he grows up (and I wanted to be one - still do for that matter) and it didn’t matter that it was king putting himself partially into the story, because he was good enough at it that it really spoke to me down to my damned molecules, and I’m 100% sure that most people who read king and find him so enjoyable/the reason why he sells all the books he sells is that he gets people and it makes you see yourself in most of his characters or if not he gets you to be with them and he drops on you some seriously amazingly written truth bombs every other moment, and guess what I think that what I have in common with king is music taste, politics and very partial literary taste. the end. we’d probably wildly disagree on a hell of a lot of things including how good was shining as an adaptation and/or how much hp is actually a good book, but I didn’t need to have shit in common with him except maybe wanting to do the same job to read that damned short story and feel like he had looked right inside my damned brain.

and I’m a woman, but nvm. also lisey’s story was one of the best female povs I’ve ever read in my entire life hands down and king has a long-ass list of amazingly well-written and conceived female characters that he certainly doesn’t hate, so my opinion about that post is that op sorely needs to read a king book from start to finish without prejudices. and they also need to realize that if you watch a tarantino movie you know it’s him in the first five minutes and no one else could shoot any of his movies the way he does, which is the trademark of actually having a personality as a director and a personal style.

also idk how the hell they think tarantino self-inserts in his movies without dying because the one time he actively acted in one of them he died before the first twenty minutes but I’m done trying to discuss anything on this hellhole of a website when people obviously talk without knowing the material they’re discussing and that’s my tea.

(ps: this is not about the personal issues one might have with tarantino after the whole weinstein scandal got down and fyi the way it went really lowered my opinion of the guy as a person, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make good movies, because guess what art =/= artist and I’d like to keep the discussion separate. anyway they don’t have near the same personality and king spends his time posting pictures of his corgi on twitter never mind that anything terrible you could say about him was valid for the time when he was an alcoholic/using and he’s been dragging himself about it in his own books since forever and now he’s been sober for years and I really don’t think it’s the case to blame addicts for being addicted especially when they come from his background so can we really fucking not go there, thanks.)

[kindar-life]

<h1>The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)</h1>

The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)

Or an alternate title: I have ADHD, Big Surprise Out of curiosity, anyone has border crossing stories? They don’t have to be horror stories; they can be good. I’m mainly curious how it’s been for other people. So this week could have gone great, and for one the problem wasn’t on my company’s side. We did everything right, it’s the shipper and the border who dropped the ball. So, did the delivery on Monday and as my manager is on vacation, St-Germain was the one handling it, and before they were done unloaded, I had my next assignment. a pickup, 5 hours away, for Wednesday morning. If my manager had been handling it, I wouldn’t have found out until later on Tuesday, forcing me to rush there, his justifications would be that he was looking for something better in the meantime, which is BS, since that shipper is about the only one we have in all of BC anymore. I only drove an hour, I mean, what’s the point. I’m on eastern time, so 3 hours ahead of them, and going to be a day early. Also, Hwy 3 from Hope to Grand Forks, is horrible and there is no way I want to do it in the dark. It was still dark by the time I left on Tuesday, but was light before I hit the really tight curves going up and down hills. It’s the summer, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be, and I was empty, but I’ve done them in the winter. I never look forward to driving on that road. Made it mid-morning for them, checked in, pointing out I was a day early and they said to drop it, their shunt driver would put it in a door within minutes and within a couple of hours it would be done. Which was great news for me. If I could get in the US a day early, I’d be able to take a two-day weekend. Remember that ‘IF’. The trailer is ready in three hours, but it takes another hour for me to find out because I was looking at the wrong drop lot. I decided to go in and get an update and, on the way, I saw it in the opposite drop lot. Got my papers, confirmed I was good to cross the border and headed to the Laurier crossing. I like it because it isn’t busy and the road on the US side is nice, even if it’s a 2-lane highway. No big hills, few tight curves and only a handful of towns. There is Spokane when it reaches I90, but I found a way around it. It’s a little longer, than driving through Spokane, but a lot easier. Get to the border, go inside. It’s so quiet they don’t have truck booths. I hand in the papers, the officer looked in his is system and asks. “Where’s your permit?” “I’m sorry,” I reply, “What permit?” “your permit to cross here.” Here is the thing. We’ve been crossing at this border for eight months. And we’ve never been asked for a permit. It turns out that no officer should have ever allowed us to cross there, but they weren’t doing their jobs properly. The reason we don’t have a permit is that the shipper never added us to the list of approved Carrier to cross there with their product. I did not know there was such a situation possible. So I turned around, stopped in an aside in the hopes it was an easy fix and called the shipper. Only to find out the person who deals with the border had already left for the day (it was 4pm locally, in the mood I was in, I wasn’t thinking good thing about a person who didn’t have to work until 5pm like all office workers.) I called dispatch to advise them. Drove back to the shipper to park for the night, they are only 10 minutes from the border, another reason I like crossing there. Next morning, 9am their time, noon mine, I go in and find out there’s nothing to be done about it, they can only add a carrier to their list once a year, in December. The closest crossing that is a ‘Commercial Crossing,” is in Ossoyoos, two hours west, over all those horrible hills and turns. Tell dispatch about it, get told it can’t be, we cross at Laurier all the time. I tell them, yes, but we can’t anymore, check with the shipper if you believe your driver is so determined to drive over horrible hills. By the time I bet close to Ossoyoos, I still don’t have my papers so I park at the truckstop there. Only have to wait an hour and I do. I have to drive later than I prefer but I make it to Post Falls, ID, where I like to park anytime I have to cross at that border. My 2-day weekend is gone, but I can take it easy, there’s plenty of time to get to Laredo. Or not. Friday morning my manager, the one who is on vacation, calls me to ask when I’m going to be there. I tell him something on Tuesday. I’m not concerned since it doesn’t need to be there until Friday. He starts asking why so late, it need to be there ASAP. I tell him I need to do a reset (not true, technically, but don’t tell him that) I tell him that the best I can do is be there Monday late afternoon, and he asks why? I have plenty of hours and it’s a holiday on Monday so I need to get there earlier so I can get a load. And here I need to pause. The earliest I could be there, pushing as hard as I legally can would be Sunday, and the office there is closed. If it’s closed on Monday too, what does it matter if I’m there on Monday? If there is a load there for me to pickup on Sunday, it’s still going to be there on Monday. I still don’t budge on my reset. I have stopped caring about them changing delivery times after I’ve done my pickup a long time ago. If I’m given inaccurate information, it is not my problem. He grumbles and tells me to be there Monday without fault, as if I told him I might not make it. So I had to drive a little harder but I got her on Saturday, and rested. One of the things I did while I waited for all that was get more writing done, so you get five chapters of Taking the Line, Chapters 44 to 48. If there is the usual wait time in Laredo, the last five chapters should be done next week. Chapter 16 of Blind Spot is written, and I finished book 5 of LRK’s origin story. 13 chapters. The longest one to date, I hope the longest period. So I’ve started the newest Going Home, which will explore McKannon, the industrial sector of Tiranis, as well as Eric finally making contact with one of his relatives. if you want to read all that, it's only 1$ on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/29632610 Another thing I did is take an ADHD test. There’s a warning about how it isn’t a medical tool, but if you score about a certain point, you really should talk to a doctor because, really, you have ADHD. And I do. I didn’t go in hoping I had it, but I strongly suspected I was somewhere on that spectrum. On the lower end, but on it none the less. There someone called ADHD Alien on Tumblr, and they post comics about how ADHD affects their daily lives and quite a few of them resonated with me, but one of the reason I never looked at the condition was that I was successful in school and the stereotype of someone with ADHD as that they aren’t good at school. Things is plenty of people with ADHD are good in school because it’s fun, there’s a lot of new things to learn and we soak up that knowledge easily, so easily most of us never have to bother studying, so we never learn how to study, and then when we hit college, of in my case the last two years of secondary school(I was in Quebec, they have their own system there) things start going badly. I was able to finish Secondary, but College was a bust. I just couldn’t figure out how to study and the concept I now had to deal with were so complex I couldn’t simply absorb them. I mean, I’m bright, but not that bright. So I dropped out, hit the work force and never regretted it. I was also lucky that my parents didn’t have expectations of me going to university and becoming a BIG SHOT™. They were surprised when I dropped out, but it was my life and they let me live it as I wanted. I love them for that. I love them for letting me screw up, then offering to help me up with a “See, that didn’t work, you might want to try something else, I can offer suggestions if you want but that’s up to you.” My mom picked up quicker than my dad that the suggestions that worked best were the kick in the ass kind of things and to then let me assimilate them and proceed. My mom told me months before I did it that I should write in the morning, that’s always been when I was at my best and I snorted, yeah right, mornings, who’s functional then? Eventually I ran out of things to try and did that. When I told my mom that she was right about it she smiled and said “I know.” But yeah, back on the ADHD thing. Learning that it was possible to succeed in school because you had ADHD and then fail for the same reason realigned my thinking. And add to that, that for the few things I can focus laser like on, like my writing, there are tons of them I am incapable of staying focus on. No matter how badly I want to learn them. So, yeah, I have ADHD. Will I seek treatment? No. for me to consider treating any condition I have, it has to either affect my ability to earn a living, or my health(and to be fair, when it comes to my health the potential down side have to be bad for me to even think about talking to a doctor about it) I can do my job without problem; I can do my writing without problems. The rest? Frankly, nothing else matter to a level I am willing to put those two at risk. I don’t Suffer from ADHD, I simply have it. I built my coping mechanism even without knowing I had something. Being Scatter brain? I either write it down, or accept that I will forget about it, and if I forget about it I accept the consequences. I don’t make myself a mess over forgetting it. I fix the problem it caused and move on. I do know now why Minecraft is such a trap for me now. It pulls at my focus by giving me things to do, always more things to do until I reached the point where I’m near panic because I can’t do all of them and I push it away. Until I’ve calmed down. But Minecraft commits the Sin of interfering with my writing by taking over that mental space. It’s why I no longer play it. It’s also why the craving is always there, but me and cravings are old friends. I have no issues staring him down. Okay, this is way longer than I expected so I’m going to pass on the movie and book review this week. You' all have fun, and come on, talk to me. Ask me questions, share your stories, it gets lonely talking to the void<chuckles> And that’s it, so I’ll see you on the next one.

Posted using PostyBirb

[jbuffyangel]

Walking into my inbox like...

because of this article. LOL Thanks for all the heads up my friends. I didn’t know it existed. Yes, I read it. Yes, it sounds like I wrote it. No, I did not write it. Some wonderful person named Lynsey Neill did. However, it’s possible we mind melded unbeknownst to us. She uses pretty words like “fully realized superhero” too. 

Dear Lynsey,

We should grab a virtual coffee and talk all things L*urel L*nce.

Love, 

Me

Put me down for cosigned. This is actually a really positive article on E1 L*urel L*nce. It articulates a lot of the reasons why I loved LL’s character. I don’t agree with all the points made, but the vast majority hits the nail on the head for me. I was invested in this character for many years too. 

The L*uriver section is particularly stellar:

Ladies and gentlemen, if your boyfriend cheats on you with your sister and in the process she gets killed (or is presumed dead) would you ever think of them the same? Yeah, in that hypothetical scenario, they swiftly and irrevocably become someone you can’t rely on. They aren’t your person anymore, and probably never were. #TeamLaurel

SAY IT FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK!!!

My biggest issue with L*uriver was I never wanted to see L*urel kiss Oliver again. Their relationship reminded me of something I really disliked about Oliver - he cheated. Any time he made a move on L*urel I was instantly reminded of the fact that he banged her sister on the regular for years. YUCK. 

However, this section really brings the article home for me.

But they both moved on, Laurel forgave Oliver and they remained friends. For like a season in and a half. A good chunk of season 2 through season 4 they were just indifferent. Sometimes they would get into the occasional screaming match that required popcorn. However, if your relationship with the main character is indifferent, what’s to stop the audience from feeling the same?

Yes, indifference is exactly how I felt about L*urel by the end of Season 4 and Ms. Neil captures why I felt this way perfectly.

As far as Bl*ck S*ren’s redemption this sums it up for me:

All the sane and rational humans maintained that Black Siren was not the Laurel we lost. She was fun and stirred up trouble for our heroes. She had so much potential to just be a character thats unapologetically a bad person. Sure, everyone has their moments, but for the most part we want a ruthless female antagonist who has the face of a dead friend.

The fun of Bl*ck S*ren is she wears the face of their dead friend. All the drama comes from this angle. You run the risk of putting Bl*ck S*ren’s character back to where L*urel L*nce’s character ended by redeeming her: indifference. A character arrives at indifference when the writers A) are no longer invested or B) they’ve run out of story ideas. I think both happened to L*urel’s character. 

Oliver is as indifferent to Bl*ck S*ren as he was to L*urel, which automatically puts her character on an uphill battle. 

The main character rejects Bl*ck S*ren entirely because she is not his L*urel and never can be. The only real tangible connection these two characters have is when Bl*ck S*ren is wreaking havoc on Star City and Oliver is forced to contend with her. He truly does not give a damn when she plays white hat and any interaction between the two plummets. 

So... how is a redeemed Bl*ck S*ren any better than L*urel L*nce? It doesn’t solve the main issue which is the character lacks any real connection to the star of the show.

Bl*ck S*ren playing lawyer and apologizing starts to strip her of the very things that make her interesting. There is no way this character can ever be E1 Laurel. They are simply different people. Any attempt by Bl*ck S*ren feels like an insult to our L*urel. It’s like saying LL is replaceable with a look alike copy cat and the essence of who she was can simply be mimicked. Umm... NO.

Imagine for a moment it was Felicity who was killed off 

(I know I know. The horror but just roll with me for a second). Let’s say an evil version of Felicity exists out in the multiverse. (All evidence to the contrary but let’s fake it for the purpose of this hypothetical.)

If an evil Felicity came roaring into town, murdering people and causing general havoc, would we believe for a hot second she is our beloved Felicity? NO.

Would we accept any world in which this evil version is redeemed and therefore a replacement of the character we lost? OF COURSE NOT. That’s like saying Nazi Oliver can be our Oliver. 

The only point I disagree with Ms. Neill on is I do believe there is a way to fold Bl*ck S*ren into Team Arrow, without losing all of the drama. If Bl*ck S*ren retains her darker tendencies, sarcasm and biting edge, then she can be to Team Arrow what Spike was to the Scooby Gang (before he got his soul back). 

Team Arrow can openly hate on Bl*ck S*ren and shade her all day long. 

Source: @ebett​

Bl*ck S*ren can rip on Team Arrow while being a constant chaos causing unknown element for the team. Yet, they work together because their goals meld. Say for example Felicity and Bl*ck S*ren teaming up to stop Diaz. This can create A LOT of really fun scenes.

Do I think this packs as much punch as evil Bl*ck S*ren? No. I think the best use for the character is to go all in and make her the Big Bad. She’s a powerful meta human who wears the face of a woman Oliver once loved. She can make Oliver’s life a living hell if the writers embraced all the power this character has.

Unfortunately, they are constantly reeling Bl*ck S*ren in by making her a victim or someone who needs to be saved. It’s ridiculous. 

If Bl*ck Siren achieves redemption I have no doubt K*tie C*ssidy will play her in a different way from E1 Laurel or evil Bl*ck S*ren, so the arc itself doesn’t really concern me in any way. It’s more wishing the writers would take the character in another direction I find more interesting. 

Do we need a third version of this character on top of Dinah Drake’s BC? No. The cast is pretty bloated as is and we run the risk of these supporting characters taking up space without having anything to do. This is the reason LL was killed off in the first place. 

It’s not the first time I’ve disagreed with the writers on the characters KC plays and it’s it probably won’t be the last. Worst case, I’ll end up at indifferent again but my hope is the writers can still make this character interesting whether she’s redeemed or not.

[tcnked]

✦ * · ˚ ⌜ paul wesley, amanda, 20, est, she/her ⌟ was that TED TONKS?  i heard the TWENTY-EIGHT year old is working as an INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER now. not surprising, seeing as how they are SHARP and GENUINE, although some say they can be AGGRESSIVE and BLUNT. maybe that’s why HE is rumoured to be NEUTRAL. here’s hoping they have what it takes to survive the war.

so this is ted, he’s really pretty. that’s all u need to know

pinterest

character insp: ryke meadows, shane madej, jess mariano, jack pearson, ryan atwood, etc.

themes, motifs, and imagery: tba i’m too lazy for this rn.

EARLY LIFE.

tw: mentions of emotional manipulation and alcoholism

michael tonks? an absolute asshole of a guy. valerie tonks? horrible stepmom. rachel tonks? great lady, the best, iconic, groundbreaking. didn’t even change her last name back bc it was her son’s and she didn’t want him to feel alone. my name’s amanda and i would die 4 rachel tonks

basically michael and rachel were a really fast-paced relationship. super deeply in love but destined to fizzle out early once michael found the next pretty girl that was apparently better than rachel. and his two year old son. they were in their mid-twenties and she was working with michael during a case he was given and, as the poets say, the rest was history. they were engaged within the first year and married a handful of months after their one-year anniversary. they fell pregnant a couple months later and had a son before they were even together for three years.  the fact that they lasted for years past their honeymoon stage was a gd MIRACLE, to be honest with y’all

they were fairly happy for the year following ted’s birth, but from there things started to go downhill. they started arguing over everything, fights ranging from small things to exploding over something major. the tipping point was when rachel found out he was having an affair --- but of course, it wasn’t MICHAEL’S fault he was unfaithful. it wasn’t MICHAEL’S fault he turned to alcohol to deal with their failing family. it’s never his fault; always everyone else. he was a saint, as far as he was concerned!!!! by the time ted was two years old, his parents had divorced. it was an UGLY thing behind closed doors, but as far as michael’s colleagues and the press following his rise as a lawyer knew, it was pleasant. and after a bit, rachel and edward tonks fell back into obscurity. 

she moved out of london and took ted with her farther north, back to her hometown and family, while michael and the woman he had been seeing behind his wife’s back slowly eased their relationship into the public. two years they were married with twins on the way!!!! and for a few years, ted had no idea of his father. the way michael initially wanted it, at least.

ted was seven when michael decided to step back into his life. rachel fought against it, but michael was fuckin relentless and also,,,, a lawyer so he knew his parental rights and what he had and hadn’t given away. ://// so every week he and ted would have lunch or michael would show up at his football games, trying to ease his way into ted’s good graces. and at the time, ted was so easily manipulated that it hurts my heart

he fell for it, for a WHILE not realizing that this wasn’t the proper relationship a son should have with his father. it even got as far as him getting close to his twin half sisters, georgina and cecelia. but it was all very quiet as the older ted got and the more he realized this was SHITTY, the more his father tried to manipulate the situation by blaming things on rachel. or on ted, when he would miss dinners or have to change plans with four of them. and he would keep feeling guilty, and keep falling for it every time. even when his mom would try to reassure him that nothing was his fault. all masked as a good father wanting to be involved with his son and have him involved in this second family’s life as well.

he was just past his tenth birthday when a woman in robes showed up at the doorstep of the tonks home in northern england, weaving stories of a school for magic. it explained a lot of incidents that had been shoved under the rug and never discussed again as ted had grown up, though rachel was undeniably weary with her more catholic background. it took........a lot of convincing to say the least, but by the following september she was alongside ted at king’s cross.

HOGWARTS YEARS.

the hat didn’t sit on his head for long before screaming ravenclaw within the great hall. he joined those with eagles plastered on their chests and, for the most part, kept to himself.

ted in hogwarts grew to be a lot more.........stony, for lack of a better word. the boy with endless curiosity and a big heart shifter into someone rougher the longer he faced taunts and whispers and disdainful looks from those of ‘pure’ magical background. despite it all, he was fairly well known around the castle. not always for the greatest things, but he did get himself a certain reputation

ted was no stranger to starting or getting involved in fights around the castle, both physical and verbal. he’s v punch-first, think later

he was such a smart ass honestl y. like fairly self-deprecating but he also didn’t stand for people saying shit??? like if someone said something stupid or rude, he was quick to bite back??? came off as a lil self-righteous, a little condescending when it came to his intelligence. highkey a pain in the ass but overall he meanT well like lived by do what you love, fuck off what u don’t

he was never anything but strongly and genuinely himself tbh. v dry humored, v 'i can do anything'

basically hogwarts ted was hard to ignore even tho he wanted 2 stay to himself

POST - HOGWARTS TO CURRENT.

so BASICALLY after leaving hogwarts his dad amped up the shitty game

especially after ted got with andromeda

“how many trips have you made with someone named black but not your FAMILY” “your SISTERS miss you, think you can make some time for them?” “maybe we’d help you if you spent time with your family” it’s v disgusting v rude but like,,,,, he still didn’t know ted was a wizard and anyway

ted grew increasingly sick of it, especially as michael kept pushing and pushing and pushing him when ted and andromeda had to live with rachel for a while following andromeda being disowned. it was a lot to deal with and ted just,,,, lost all patience with it and stopped contacting his father at all

tbh one of his biggest fears is eventually becoming his father and it really worried him that by removing himself from michael and his step mom, that his sisters will think he’s abandoning them

but listen ted at 28 is sorta thriving??? a lot more mentally stable tbh. less aggressive, for the most part. he’s working as an investigative reporter for the prophet. he’s big on digging and figuring out the truth and yeah he’s v aware the prophet isn’t an impartial paper, but like. he’s trying his best out here. getting involved in some shady shit and going under a pen name to avoid potential risks of the wrong people realizing who he is, yikes. not only war-related things, but unicorn blood dealing circles and dragon rings etc etc etc.

also ted as a dad???? iconic. he would do literally anything for dora BYE

and andromeda? always flirting w her tbh, always doing tiny things 2 get under her skin. he was such a pain in her ass at hogwarts goodbYE

anyway dont talk 2 me about him trying to help and cope w andromeda’s like. unspoken problem w alcohol. he’s out here tryin 

this is a lot of word vomit and didn’t cover everything iw anted but. love me plot w ted

[virmillion]

Bleeding Out

look who’s back with another songfic bc they decided writing a cohesive short story was easier than adding a chapter in a story they’ve already started whoops // back at it again with that good a n g s t // my apologies in advance this is not a happy one

Words: 5k

Song: Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons

Pairings: Prinxiety if you squint

Warnings: blood, swearing, character death, let me know if there’s more specific ones you need // I am not kidding about the bleeding, if that is in any way triggering to you I am begging you to turn away now, it seems ok in the beginning but it will be bad for you later and I want everyone to be safe PLEASE

I'm bleeding out So if the last thing that I do Is bring you down I'll bleed out for you

   Things were never supposed to get this out of hand. Roman always swore on his life that his room couldn’t do any real harm if he didn’t let it. Accordingly, it seemed as if it would be perfectly safe to bring in one of the other sides on an adventure that required a bit more work than one person could provide, even a powerhouse such as Roman. His offer to take a buddy on this quest was an unexpected one, but accepted nonetheless. The fact that Virgil was the one to take it on, however, was quite the surprise to all sides involved. As the pair cracked open the prince’s door to the faraway place beyond, everything seemed full of hope and wonder, from the shining sun to the quaint village.    For now.

   “Oh it’s terrible, just terrible!” a townsperson wails, clawing at Roman’s sleeve. “Those awful gangs have ravaged our lands again! Our crops have been razed, our stores ransacked, our livelihoods ruined! You have to help us, please!”    “Never fear, my good friend,” Roman replies, taking up a self-important stance. Virgil rolls his eyes at the theatrics. “We shall return peace to your village, and bring those dirty heathens to justice, or my name isn’t Roman Sanders!” Virgil refrains from mention that his surname wasn’t technically given, so much as borrowed from Thomas. Ignorant to Virgil’s smirk at the overzealousness, Roman marches through the town, making sure to speak to every citizen and comfort them in their time of pain. For all that the others make fun of him, Roman really knows how to be sympathetic to those he’s trying to help. From the crankiest old man at the far end of town to the little toddlers hiding behind their mother’s skirts, everyone brightens up at the sight of their benevolent prince, come to save the day.    With each new villager, the details vary a bit, but the general issue tends to remain the same—a gang of people destroying the town and knocking out anyone in their way. Standard procedure in one of Roman’s adventures, as far as Virgil knows, but the smaller inconsistencies are what worry him. In some minds, the gang is actually one person with a vengeance, while others think that it’s a pack of criminals looking for a fight. Sometimes the gang is traveling on foot, other times it uses otherworldly monsters to move and destroy. As Roman is the one in control, it should probably be fine regardless. His room is just part of the amalgamation of Thomas, right? So everything should be perfectly harmless.    “All that’s needed now is a formal invitation from the mayor of this fine land,” Roman says, taking Virgil by the sleeve-covered wrist and leading him to a building nearly identical to every other one they’d passed thus far. “She doesn’t like to think of herself as higher than everyone else, so she insists on having the same amenities as her villagers.” Inside of said identical house waits a heavyset woman in a beautiful flowing dress, with only bracelets for jewelry. She welcomes Roman with an embrace, followed by a nod to Virgil—Roman had spoken with her in the past about how to approach him as a stranger.    “Nice to meet you, Virgil, I take it?” At his nod, she continues, “My name’s Lena, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rundown from everyone outside already. Roman, standard procedure, just see if you can find these guys and stop them. We’d appreciate it greatly, as always.” Roman nods with a grin before backing out the door, waving to Lena. Virgil gives her a small smile as well, following his friend.    “So, there’s a great lake blocking the village in to the south and to the east, as well as endless plains to the north, which means these people probably headed west, where the mountains begin.” Roman points in each direction as they head out of the town, already equipped with a sword. “The mountains are gonna be a little tough, what with the coldness and all the caves they could hide in, but I’m sure we can handle it. That’s why I brought you along, after all. Can’t expect me to do all this searching alone, can you?” Virgil shrugs, still unsure why he volunteered to go on this adventure. Either way, he’s grateful when Roman conjures an extra set of warm clothes to carry.    “I don’t expect it to be too chilly,” the prince continues, “but better safe than sorry. I could probably figure out a way to neutralize the sensation of cold, except I haven’t really tried before, and it’s not like we’ve got the time for it now.” Honestly, Virgil probably already knows this, and doesn’t really need elaboration, but Roman doesn’t care. He’s never gotten to take someone else with him on a quest, so his natural instinct is to fill the air with conversation. At the very least, Virgil isn’t protesting it, either. He even offers a few clever retorts, spurring Roman’s enthusiasm on the way to the distant grey mountains.

So I bare my skin And I count my sins And I close my eyes And I take it in I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you, for you.

   “Gloves?” Roman offers, letting one boot-clad foot sink into snow. Virgil takes the offered garment, slipping the purple knit material over his shaking fingers. With hats and scarves already donned, there’s not much more left to increase warmth, but Roman insists that this is how to get the full experience of the adventure, by letting the senses get the most realistic effect. Virgil thinks Roman had one too many second cookies from Patton this morning.    “I still don’t see why you needed a partner on this quest. You’ve never needed one before.” Virgil burrows his nose deeper into a striped scarf, his words coming out muffled.    “Because I knew that the villains in question this time were in mountains, and it’s always best to take a buddy on mountain trips, just in case something happens where one of us needs assistance due to complications from the adventure. If someone were to be trapped alone in the cold, I can’t imagine it would end well.”    “Yeah, I got that, but why haven’t you brought someone before? Is this really the first time you’ve gone into mountains?”    Roman exhales slowly, watching his breath curl and drift into the sky like a distress signal. “More that it’s a rare location, and we were never that close before. You guys never really saw my quests as legitimate things until that time with the dragon witch.” He rubs his shoulder, where a scar still resides.    Virgil gives a hum to acknowledge Roman’s explanation, while also not knowing how to respond to it. He looks like an angry marshmallow with all the layers he’s covered in, but Roman isn’t about to tell him so, not after he’s finally making progress in the pair growing closer. Plus, when someone agrees to go on a potentially dangerous quest with you, calling them a gelatin treat isn’t usually the best way to assure that they remain on the potentially dangerous quest.    They continue in silence for a while, sometimes veering off track to peer inside of caves set in the mountain, all of which are dead ends. Only a few feet deep, useful for the sheer purpose of a brief respite from the relentless cold. That’s not to say they don’t utilize them—in fact, they stop several times to watch the snow fall and catch their breaths, seeing the wind dust over their snowy footprints. Like it doesn’t want them to be found. As soon as Virgil voices as much each time, Roman smiles bigger before taking off, determined to not let a sour thought interrupt the adventure.    “So anyway, once we find these jerks, I’m not sure what the exact plan is.” Virgil glares daggers at Roman for this, but the prince continues unperturbed. “I can’t prepare a scheme in advance given the inconsistent stories from the townspeople, but the general idea will be that you remain out of sight, while I go in with my sword. If they don’t attack me, I’ll try to work it out peacefully, but if they appear trigger happy, fists are going to fly.” Roman pats the scabbard of his sword reassuringly, half-checking to make sure it’s still there. Of course, he can always conjure more if need be, but what’s the fun in that? None of the greatest adventurers in those books Thomas loves had that sort of ability on their side, so Roman tries to avoid it as well.    “It’s so freaking cold,” Virgil mutters a short while later.    “Maybe if you’d wear more layers on your legs, that wouldn’t be a problem,” Roman replies, looking pointedly at his companion’s black skinny jeans. “If you could just let me conjure some sweats or snow pants or something, even flannels—”    “Absolutely not, my legs look great in these,” Virgil hisses. Roman raises his hands in surrender, not denying the statement. “How much longer?”    “You know as well as I do that the whole point of this expedition is finding them, and that we don’t know the exact location.” Virgil scowls, pulling his hat lower over his ears and straightening his hood over it.    “It’s practically been days, what if they aren’t up here?”    “It’s been hours at best, and because of the landscape. No self-respecting gang member would risk being caught by hanging out in an open plain, and regardless of the size, there’s no way they could mobilize themselves across a lake as big as the one behind us.” Roman feels a twinge of pride at being able to explain something so close to him as his quests, wondering if this is how Logan gets to feel when he uses longer words that don’t make sense. Maybe the feeling of cleverness is what makes him do it so much. Virgil isn’t calling any of this stupid, which is immensely helpful as well—Roman doesn’t know what he’d do if someone were to be critical of this crucial part of his life. Luckily, Virgil seems to be cognizant of this, and makes no snide remarks at it. Needless to say, Roman is relieved.

When the day has come That I've lost my way around And the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground

   “Our footprints are vanishing,” Virgil comments, looking back at the undisturbed white snow. Indeed, the wind has covered all of their tracks. For all they know, they haven’t gotten twenty feet into the mountains, and the only proof that this is not the case resides in the village in the distance, far too small to be that close. Roman glances back as well, more to admire the land from afar than to check for footprints. The sprawling yellow fields, the glistening blue water, the replica houses dotting the roads. In front of them is only white powder everywhere, eating up anything else in sight. Roman begins to worry as they go deeper into the mountains, the scenery vanishing behind them. They really should have found the gang by now, or at least a sign that they’d been through here. His ears grow numb as he grows desperate, trying not to let it show for Virgil’s sake.    Roman is the prince, he’s supposed to be better than this. Even now, they’ve been walking long enough that he can’t say for certain which way the village is. The sun is beaming, forcing his eyes to squint, but that’s hardly an indication of anything. For all he knows, they’ve gotten turned around and are heading in the complete wrong direction. Princes aren’t supposed to get lost. Princes are supposed to protect their companions. Princes are supposed to help. Princes aren’t supposed to march their friends into frozen oblivion.    Okay, Roman tells himself, if we don’t see a sign of them in one hundred paces, we turn around.    Ten.    More grey mountains.    Twenty.    A sniffle and shiver from Virgil.    Thirty.    Roman’s foot catches dangerously on a patch of ice.    Forty.    Virgil nearly goes down.    Fifty.    Roman can’t feel his extremities.    Sixty.    Now is not the time to lose hope.    Seventy.    But he may not have a choice.    Eighty.    Roman begins to panic.    At eighty seven paces, Virgil raises a trembling hand to point off in the distance.    “Look, smoke!” Indeed, smoke is billowing in the air maybe thirty feet ahead of them, a definite indication of someone’s presence. Be it friend or foe, the most important thing now is to track down the source of the smoke. With a renewed sense of purpose, Roman picks up the pace, as does Virgil, the pair tromping through the snow and ignoring the feeling of the cold seeping through their shoes. Too soon, while also not soon enough, they arrive at a small hill, the last obstacle blocking the site. Roman bites his lip to stop himself from pointing out to Virgil that this, this was why he needed a companion, to push him through the harder moments that he couldn’t surpass himself. If they didn’t need to be quiet right now, Roman would explain it all, how he never truly liked being alone on these quests, how arduous they were alone, how grateful he was that Virgil didn’t reject the invitation. He’ll tell him later, when it’s safe.    Roman points at the ground, an indication for Virgil to remain under cover while Roman moves forward to investigate, but Virgil shakes his head. No way in hell is he letting Princey get hurt if he can prevent it. To be fair, that’s the reaction Roman had the first time someone told him to hang back. Begrudgingly, Roman lifts his eyes to the sky for a moment before nodding, holding out a hand to help Virgil forward. He takes it.    Around the small hill is a gently roaring fire, watched by one person with only the minimum layers on that could prevent freezing to death. They don’t even shift their gaze at the boys’ approach, staring deep into the flames. At their feet rests a small bag zipped shut, a match to several other bags surrounding the fire. This person obviously isn’t alone, or else they went to a lot of trouble to make it seem that way.    “Hey, are you—” Roman begins, a hand on his sword, but the person doesn’t give him a chance to finish, already on their feet with a larger blade in hand. Roman whips out his own, brandishing it in front of himself and shifting to cover Virgil. “I hope this is fun for you, because I’ve been itching to fight for a while now.”    The person grins, widening into a defensive stance. When they speak, their voice is rough from disuse. “You’re the wimp they sent after us? Pathetic.” They shift forward, pulling back the arm holding the sword as a wind up before launching themselves at Roman, the blade flying. He blocks it swiftly, stopping their blade with his own as sparks fly out to the side. Virgil raises his fists, knowing full well that they won’t hold up against a sword, but not caring either. Roman forces his sword up and out, throwing the attacker off. “Oh, a feisty one? How exciting.” The person taunts him, circling around the backside of the fire and letting the tip of their blade drag over the snow. Roman and Virgil duck as a chunk of coal is kicked from the fire at their heads, and all hell breaks loose. Swords and sparks are flying everywhere, melting the snow and burning holes in the bags around the fire. Virgil hangs back, ready to jump in at any moment, while also realizing that interfering could easily do more harm than good for Roman.    As Roman gets that trademark self-important smile on his face, success assured, he messes up. A misstep. A trip. A failure to block. He sees the assailant weave away, out of his range of attack. Closer to Virgil. Roman whips his head back to check on his companion, terrified for his safety. An accident. An error. A condemnation.    The attacker sees.    And smiles.    And runs for Virgil, sword drawn.    Roman throws himself across the fire into the line of attack, in between Virgil and this monster. His sword is swinging forward, desperate to block, trying to protect, and it’s almost enough. Almost.    The attacker is quicker.    Their sword slices through the air, almost reaching Virgil. Almost.    Roman arrives in the nick of time, his sword held out and his face furious, sweat dripping and freezing under his layers, torn and shredded from the fight.    Another sword slices forward. Not his. Aimed at Virgil’s heart. Interrupted by Roman’s body. A blade protruding from his stomach. Roman falls. The attacker laughs. Roman drops his sword.    Virgil picks it back up, rightly pissed. The foe laughs harder. Virgil stabs the sword clean through their skull. They go down.    Roman does not get back up.

When the sky turns gray And everything is screaming I will reach inside Just to find my heart is beating

   Roman watches the clouds soaring overhead, dotting over the pale blue sky as the sun sinks. Something is yelling, a vague shout that barely reaches his ears. His mind isn’t racing—rather, it’s puttering along like a snail, turning over each individual thought carefully before gently moving on to the next. Something about a village, a lake, snow, a fight, and Virgil. Roman blinks, watching the sky turn more grey with the dying sun. Whatever that yelling is, it’s incredibly loud, while also almost dull to his ears. Just another sound. Briefly, Roman registers something painful in his core, but he’s more focused on the cold down there, almost like someone poured water over him to let it freeze on his bare stomach. Another voice yells, his own, but inwardly, begging him to focus, to listen, to pay attention. He blinks a few more times, preferring to remain in this dreamlike state, where he doesn’t have to think about why, exactly, he’s in pain, or why the sky is fading away. The voice grows more insistent, pleading and angry and desperate. With no small amount of resignation, Roman gives in.    “—it you jerk, you said we couldn’t get hurt in here!” Virgil’s voice finally breaks through the fog. “You swore we’d be fine and you fucking lied and I don’t know what to do so could you just answer me?” Roman groans a little, lifting a hand in the air. Something warm engulfs it, squeezing tightly. “Roman, thank God, can you get up? I need to get you back to the village, someone there can help, I’m sure of it.” The words go in one ear and out the other as Roman settles his other hand on his stomach, something cold protruding out of it. “I know I’m not supposed to take it out since that just makes the bleeding worse but I don’t know if I can get you back to the village in time for them to help you—” Virgil is babbling, panicking more by the second. Roman grabs feebly at his red sash, wrapped around his outermost coat. Virgil seizes it like a lifeline, desperately wrapping Roman’s wound with it to staunch the flow. With some kind of strength that neither knew he had, Virgil gets Roman onto his back, stumbling back the way they came, to the village in the distance. He continues muttering to himself about how this was supposed to be safe, he wasn’t supposed to be able to get hurt, but it’s too quiet for Roman to register as his mind floats away, unconcerned with the folly of two boys on a cold mountain path. The only thing anchoring him is the soft beating of a drum, rare and small, but still present, still there. He vaguely registers it as his pulsing heart, but not enough to worry about it. Not enough to fear how rapidly it slows. Roman considers the sky above them, its greying color twin to that of the snow below them. He never realized how quickly Virgil could move when he needed to. He wondered if it would be quick enough. He hoped that Virgil wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of Roman not making it. He imagined that would be far worse than what Roman was going through himself. Virgil runs faster.

Oh, you tell me to hold on Oh, you tell me to hold on But innocence is gone And what was right is wrong

   “Please stay with me Roman, we’re almost there, I promise,” Virgil says, his legs trembling beneath him. Even with the adrenaline of the moment, he knows he can’t hold out forever, carrying Roman like this, but at least the village is in sight. That mayor, Lena or whoever, surely she’s seen this before, surely she’ll know what to do. Roman has grown limp on Virgil’s back. Virgil runs faster.    He begins bargaining with the prince, offering anything he can think of if Roman would just stay awake. His headphones, a positive outlook, more help in the future, less snarky comments, his sick nasty Tim Burton poster, anything if Roman can just hold on.    Roman’s breathing slows.    Virgil runs faster.    Nowhere near soon enough for Virgil’s liking, he begins the final descent down the mountain, his tracks remaining visible in the thinning snow as the village looms ahead. Virgil runs faster. His feet pound into snow, then dirt, then pavement, not as fast as his heart. The prim houses grow as he gets closer, Roman too limp for his liking.    “Someone help!” Virgil calls desperately into the streets. He wobbles on unstable legs, searching for anyone. The whole town appears abandoned. Roman is silent.    Virgil stumbles his way to the mayor’s house, or the one he assumes to be it, given the similarity of every goddamn building in this town. Nailed to the front door is a piece of paper in curly script, fluttering gently in the wind. Virgil grows more hopeless as he reads it.    Welcome back, Roman and Virgil!    We’re so glad you could help with our situation, but it would appear some of the gang members returned to do more damage. Accordingly, we have fled over the plains to avoid them, but there is a handsome sum waiting in the town hall for you.    Thanks again! Sincerely, Lena and the townspeople.    Virgil tears the letter from the door and crushes it under his feet, watching the ink bleed to the edges from the snow under his boot. With two well-placed kicks, he breaks the lock and forces the door open, depositing Roman on a table by the entrance. The sun disappears under the horizon outside, taking with it the warmth of day. Virgil slams the door shut and collapses into a chair by Roman. What he wouldn’t give for telepathy among the sides. He pulls a phone from the pocket of his jeans, ready to send a text, but no dice—the freezing mountains drained his battery completely. Virgil slips a careful hand into Roman’s layers, feeling around for the prince’s phone. Nothing, nothing, nothing, something in his shirt pocket—the phone. Virgil yanks it out, his thumbprint bypassing the lock easily—the sides were all from the same person, why even bother having a passcode? He shoots off a message to Logan and Patton, pleading for them to get to Roman’s room immediately. Virgil doesn’t even know if this will work, as no one has ever been to Roman’s room for an adventure besides him, and for all he knew Roman had to be present to get the sides to the quest. For all Virgil knew, Logan and Patton would open a door to an empty room and assume a joke had been played, laughing off Virgil’s fear. He sends another message, just in case.    Roman doesn’t move.

When the hour is nigh And hopelessness is sinking in And the wolves all cry To fill the night with hollering

   Virgil watches the moon lift into the sky, bathing the houses outside in a white glow. No response from the other two sides, but the message says delivered. He can only hope at this point. Virgil props his elbow up on the table beside Roman to rest his chin on his fist, fighting to stay awake, to not let Roman slip away from him. He clasps the prince’s hand tightly, feeling the warmth leaking out of it by the second. Outside, noises clatter, echoing through the empty streets and amplifying Virgil’s fear. That stupid note, telling him that the gang returned, was really not what he needed to see. Their possible presence, maybe even in this house, is the only thing keeping Virgil from flicking the lights on, from starting a fire or a candle or something, lest it give the pair away. Raucous laughter burns his ears, swelling and diminishing as dark figures pass the house, never pausing to investigate the shadows camped out inside. Virgil’s heart sinks as tears leak from his eyes, dripping down his cheeks and making their intertwined hands ever colder.    Something looms outside the window, its presence foreboding and worrying Virgil that much more. He crouches under the table, praying that his shadow will look like nothing more than an abandoned bag, that Roman’s prone form will just look like decorations, something that can be ignored instead of attacked. The shape outside gets closer, closer, too close, near enough to tap the window. Just as Virgil is about to pick Roman up and sneak further into the house, the form backs up from the window, moving calmly down the street. Virgil thanks his lucky stars in the sky outside.    Roman stirs.

When your eyes are red And emptiness is all you know With the darkness fed I will be your scarecrow

   “Roman, oh my God, you’re awake, talk to me, please,” Virgil begs, crushing the prince’s hand in his grip. Roman gives a slight cough, wincing as he rests a hand where the blade protrudes.    “Virgil,” he gasps, his voice torn and ragged.    “I’m right here, come on, Roman.” Water drips down Virgil’s face, splashing onto Roman. Why couldn’t this be like that dumb scene in Tangled, where his emotions fixed his stupid friend? “You need to get through this, tell me how to get back to your room so we can get help.”    “Can’t,” Roman gets out, breathing heavily. His eyes crack open, sliding over to Virgil’s tearstained face and shining eyes, pink from crying.    “You can’t leave me alone here, how can I help you, please?” Virgil begs, taking Roman’s hand in both of his.    “Protect you,” Roman hisses. His voice grows softer.    “That’s not good enough!”    “Fight for you.”    “Roman, I swear I will beat you up when we get out of this stupid quest thing your room forced us into! How do I help you?”    “Can’t,” Roman repeats, “can’t can’t can’t can’t.”    “If it takes me wringing your neck, you are going to tell me how to get us out of here,” Virgil pleads.    “Door.” Door? What door? Three thoughts slam into Virgil at once—they came in through a door in a hill, the door is too far, and he might be too late. Virgil rattles off another text to the sides, worried at their continued absence, while preparing to heave Roman onto his back for the long journey. They’ll never make it. He has to try.    Out the door and down the streets, Virgil races between shadows, cowering in fear when the slightest noise creeps up two roads away. Roman has fallen silent. Almost there.

So I bare my skin And I count my sins And I close my eyes And I take it in And I'm bleeding out I'm bleeding out for you, for you.

   Roman shudders as Virgil kicks the door in the grassy hill open. “Sorry, sorry!” Virgil squeaks, trying to stabilize himself so as not to disturb the prince. He sidesteps through the door, not bothering to close it behind him before depositing Roman on his neatly made bed. Logan and Patton launch themselves up from their chairs by the door, widening their eyes at the sight of Virgil appearing out of nowhere.    “We got your messages, but it was just his room—”    “We couldn’t find you and our texts weren’t going through—    “What can we do to help—” Logan and Patton trip over themselves in worry before fully understanding the severity of Roman’s situation. The sword disappeared with all the warm layers as Virgil passed through the door, leaving a critically injured Roman without anything to staunch the wound.    “Can we conjure something to help him?” Virgil pleads, still holding tightly to the prince’s hand. Patton looks at Logan, unsure of what to do. Logan lifts Roman’s limp wrist, checking the fluttery pulse. Nearly still.    “He’s a side, so he won’t actually die,” Logan begins, “but his physical form will be gone. Roman as we know him will be gone, but Thomas won’t just lose his creativity, it will just vanish into an aspect with the others.”    “That’s not good enough!” Virgil shouts. “Roman can’t just go, we need him!”    “I’m afraid we can’t help him, though,” Logan says apologetically. “We aren’t human, so we can’t exactly get him to a hospital or a doctor or something.” Patton remains silent, his eyes welling up. Roman groans softly, squeezing Virgil’s hand lightly.    “Roman, please,” Virgil begs, as Logan and Patton come up behind him. “Stay here, just hold on. Please.” Roman’s grip softens, then completely goes, leaving a cold hand motionless under Virgil’s grasp. Roman shuts his eyes, and slowly vanishes from the bed, his hand a phantom in Virgil’s. Patton sobs. Logan looks at the floor. Virgil screams.

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon

[thewinsisterchronicles]

What You’ve Done (P8)

Warnings: mentions of abuse, language, mild violence, angst

see bottom for a/n and tags

Y/N continued to stare at the ceiling. She heard footsteps come closer to the bed she was laying on. Movement drew her eyes towards the figures, but she refused to look away from the water stain above her.

Something touched her briefly- her brain registered a hand- and threw her into panic mode. She swung her left fist into someone’s face, throwing all her strength and momentum from sitting up into it. Dean’s head jerked back a bit. She didn’t have to look at him to know that his nose was fractured, at the very least; the resounding crack! that had echoed throughout the room told her so.

“Fuck!” he sputtered. “Y/N-”

Her name in his mouth sparked something ugly inside her. She drew her other fist back and drove it towards his nose again. He grabbed at his nose, attempting to staunch the blood flow that had already begun to pour from it. She rolled off to the other side of the bed, checking to see she still had all her possessions. She spotted her knife, always carried in her boot, on the kitchen counter. Her core tensed at the thought of someone touching her. She felt sick. Sam noticed her eyes flicker towards the knife and stepped in front of her.

Wait.

Sam.

Dean.

Who the- where the hell- what? Her thoughts spun around in her mind too quickly for her to catch up to them. Y/N risked a glance back to Sam. He looked like he was about to cry, eyes red and straining and a thin smile on his lips that wasn’t fooling anyone. He missed her. He cared for her. He always had.

She supposed it was alright to look at Sam. She couldn’t bring herself to be mad at him. Not Sam, of all people.

Y/N looked between him and his brother. Dean was cupping his hand under his nose, looking hurt by Y/N- which he deserves, the absolute fuckwad- yet, he seemed more relieved than anything. Like she was…

Y/N had only ever seen him look at Sam like that.

She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.

“Y/N.” Sam’s voice was barely more than a croak from the back of his throat. She snapped her head towards him. Her body was still rigid, tense; she looked and felt she was practically about to spring out the window. He coughed.

“You’re- you’re back,” he laughed wetly, “I don’t know ho you’re still...” He trailed off. “Though Cl- your dad would’ve... We thought we’d never, uh, see you. Again.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” she said. Her words were cold, emotionless. Sam frowned in confusion, and she could feel Dean do the same. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“We, uh, we got a tip,” Sam coughed after a moment. “From your b- from Matt. Said that you being back… Clyde was angrier. Hot-tempered. More than normal,” he added quickly when he saws her eyebrow twitch upwards.

Matt had always been alright, Y/N supposed. He was more likely to feed her, to patch her up. He was always the patient one out of them all.

Between Y/N, Matt, Derrick, and Clyde, they made up one hell of a family. Matt and Derrick, her brothers, were rarely seen by her. The only time she was around them was when Y/N was sparring, or hunting. Then Derrick had died, and he had been a dick, yes, but he was also Y/N’s brother. The oldest of their family.

The three boys had always gotten along the best. They were true family. And Y/N was jealous.

Often when she was younger, she’d watch as her family would play poker, drink from the same case of beer, as they guffawed about whatever last hunt they’d been on. The one time Y/N had tried to come in and just be a part of what they were doing had resulted in her first set of chores.

She quickly learned how to survive after that.

Dean had told her that she was family. He promised her that she was safe. And while it cut deep into her core that he made a false promise (she’d heard enough to no longer be disappointed by them) or that he had betrayed her (again, she was well educated in the subject), that wasn’t what truly angered her.

She was furious that she had believed him.

“Congratulations.” She stared blankly at Sam. “You found me.”

“You can come with us again,” Sam tried again. He smiled at her, a hopeful suggestion of an offer Y/N now knew better than to take. “What Dean did was wrong- there’s no denying that- but you’re... Y/N, you’re still family to us.”

“You aren’t family to me.” Her voice was still flat. Sam’s face fell, in disappointment and fear and something else Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on. Dean moved to stand beside him, blood having mostly dried up on his shirt. His expression was guarded, but Y/N knew it well enough to understand he was feeling the same. She finally looked at him. “I can trust myself. Not you. I’ll survive on my own.”

“You don’t have to, though.” Sam was desperately trying to break through to her, brown eyes big and warm and familiar. “Y/N, you’re family-”

“No.”

The room didn’t echo in the room. It stopped dead in the air. Sam’s face fell, heartbroken. Dean had to look away.

“Maybe at one point, I was, but not anymore.” She stared at Dean as she spoke in a dazed expression. She tried to look at her surroundings without moving her eyes from his face, but it proved difficult. She returned her focus back to Sam.

“Yes, you are,” he pushed. His eyes were so sincere that she had to look away from him. “Y/n, you’re family; no matter what’s happened to you, or what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done things that would make you say otherwise.”

“Nothing you could do-”

“You have no idea what I’ve done.” Her voice stayed as low as her eyes. Sam’s heart broke for her.

She didn’t care about him, though. Not anymore. His heart meant nothing to her.

It was Dean’s she wanted to crush in her bare hand.

“The things I’ve had to do to survive…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes betraying that her mind was somewhere else, doing something else less desirable. “Your childhood is a fucking playground compared to what I’ve lived through.”

“Y/N,” Dean coughed, finally speaking. “I never meant-”

"I don’t fucking care, Dean." She spat out his name like it was bitter venom on her tongue. Dean winced when she said it. "Do you even have any idea about what you've done to me?"

"Y/N," he said softly. His words were laced with grief. "I'm-"

"What, sorry?" Y/N scoffed. "Do you honestly think that some pathetic 'sorry' is going to make my hands able to tell the difference between a heartbeat and dead body again? Do you think you’re able to heal the damage that’s been done to them? Do you?"

A long moment stretched out the time from when the words left her mouth and when she had realized what she said. She saw as the pieces clicked together in the boy’s minds. Nobody spoke.

"You can't feel your hands?" Sam asked.

A minute passed. Nobody dared breathe. Y/N turned away, clenching her jaw.

"No."

"I can't imagine-" Dean tried.

"You can’t."

"What else did they..."

Y/N laughed humourlessly. She crossed her arms over her chest, smiling sadistically at Dean.

"What else did they do?" She mocked. "Wow, that's a list."

"Y/N..."

"What?" She snapped. "You think I'm going to trust you enough to tell you what happened? When I started living with you, all I asked was that you didn't give me back over to them. It was the only thing I asked of you. You were the first real family I had."

"At least you're safe now," Sam tried. He offered a peaceful end to the argument. Y/N didn't take it.

"‘At least I am safe now,’" she mocked slowly. "At least I couldn't feel my hands when they broke my bone and cut away my skin to see the fractures; at least I was unconscious when they- when they used me; at least my body was unresponsive when I was thrown into a broom closet to sleep in." Her voice was loud, uncontrollable; she saw the room in front of her, but it was like it wasn’t even there.

"At least I got to sneak food off of my fathers plate to survive because nobody fed me," she shouted, tensing uncontrollably. Dean's eyes watered as he refused to break eye contact. "At least he didn't beat me to death when he saw what I did; at least I was awake and conscious when they- when they-"

She began to hyperventilate, reliving her worst memories. She saw Sam, heard Dean, felt them both move closer to her; she couldn’t take it.

She threw her hands out, pushing them away. She could barely form a single word.

“Go.”

It came out mangled, deformed; Y/N tried to collect herself, but every breath came with more flashes of her time with Clyde, with other hunters, with her chores. Her whole frame was shaking erratically, barely letting her stay standing.

Dean reached out to her, making a foreign attempt of comforting Y/N. She flinched. Hard. He tensed his jaw. She cleared her throat, looking between them.

“If you don’t leave, then I will.”

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a/n: HEH so the next part is the epilogue and honestly???? I think I can say this bc who tf actually reads a/n’s anymore amirite ladies but i’m thinking that this is just gonna be a sad story. I don’t have actually sad fics that stayed sad (i.e. I didn’t add a second part to them) so I'm thinking i’ll just make this sad and then write up a bunch of fluffy fics afterwards???