#because people didn't learn from the mistakes of the past

[geotjwrs]

can I ask for another part of no one's home pls?

beneath of it

Pairings ; Wednesday Addams x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The days following that conversation were even harder than you imagined. Wednesday's request for a second chance lingered in your mind, replaying in an endless loop. Could you trust her again? Could you forgive her? Could you forgive yourself for even wanting to?

The hallways of Nevermore felt colder now. You and Wednesday didn't cross paths often, but when you did, there was always that heavy, unspoken tension between you. She would glance at you, her expression unreadable, but you never lingered long enough to figure it out. You wanted space; you needed it.

Yet, somehow, the universe seemed intent on forcing you two together.

It was late in the evening when Enid, Wednesday's roommate and one of the few people who had noticed the distance between the two of you, found you sitting by the edge of the forest. She approached cautiously, her usual bubbly energy dampened by the weight of concern.

"Y/N?" Enid's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

You sighed, leaning back against the tree behind you. "If this is about Wednesday, I really don't want to hear it, Enid."

Enid sighed as she sat down next to you, brushing her long, colorful hair over her shoulder. "Look, I know what happened. Not everything, but... enough."

You turned to her, surprised. "She told you?"

She nodded. "Not exactly in a heartfelt, soul-bearing way—she's still Wednesday—but she mentioned that she messed up. That she hurt you."

You rubbed your hands together, feeling the familiar sting of heartache. "She kissed Tyler. She never even kissed me. And then... she called me a burden."

Enid winced. "I'm sorry. That's... yeah, that's harsh."

"It broke me, Enid," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I don't know how to move past that."

Enid was silent for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. "You know, Wednesday isn't exactly the best at handling feelings. She's never been the type to open up or admit when she's wrong. And if she told you she wants a second chance, that's her way of saying she... cares."

You snorted bitterly. "Cares? She cared enough to kiss Tyler."

Enid shook her head. "That was a mistake. A huge one. But Tyler? That's a whole different mess, and you need to know the truth."

A knot of unease formed in your stomach. "What do you mean?"

Enid hesitated, then glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "You know Tyler's the Hyde, right?"

You stared at her, your heart suddenly racing. "What?"

"Wednesday's been trying to figure out who the Hyde is for weeks. She was sure it was Xavier at first, but Tyler... he's the real monster." Enid's eyes widened, trying to make you understand the weight of what she was saying. "That kiss? I think it was part of her plan. Trying to get close to him, trying to learn more about the Hyde. She was focused on the case—maybe too focused. But you have to understand, Y/N, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you."

The revelation hit you like a punch to the gut. Tyler was the Hyde. Wednesday kissed him as part of her investigation. But that didn't change the fact that it had still happened, that she had said things to you she could never take back.

"Why didn't she tell me any of this?" you asked, frustration building. "I could've helped."

"Because she thought you were in danger. She didn't want you involved." Enid looked at you with sympathy. "Wednesday doesn't always know how to show it, but she pushes people away when she's scared. She thought the Hyde might come after you if you got too close."

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "I don't need her protection. I just wanted her honesty."

"I know," Enid said softly. "And maybe she does, too."

The next few days passed in a blur. Your mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. You felt betrayed, but you also understood why she had kept things from you. It didn't excuse her actions, but it added a new layer of complexity to the situation.

Then came the night everything changed.

Nevermore had fallen into a tense silence as word spread that the Hyde had been captured. Tyler had been taken into custody, but the damage had already been done. You hadn't seen Wednesday since the arrest, and part of you was relieved. The space between you still felt fragile, like one wrong move could shatter everything.

But late one night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, there was a knock at your door.

You didn't have to ask who it was.

You opened the door to find Wednesday standing there, her dark eyes gleaming with something you couldn't quite place. It wasn't the usual cool indifference. There was something deeper, more conflicted.

"I need to talk to you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed but stepped aside, letting her in.

Wednesday stood in the center of your room, her hands clasped in front of her, her usual confidence replaced by something almost vulnerable. "I'm not good at this," she began, her eyes flickering to the floor. "But I know I owe you an explanation."

You folded your arms, waiting.

"I... made a mistake," she said, her voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "With Tyler. With the case. With you. I thought I was doing what was necessary, but I hurt you in the process."

You didn't say anything, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I thought I could handle everything on my own," she continued, her voice wavering. "I thought I didn't need anyone. But... I was wrong. I pushed you away because I was afraid. Afraid that if I let you get too close, you'd get hurt. Or worse."

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your emotions in check. "You still kissed him, Wednesday. You called me a burden."

"I know," she said, stepping closer, her eyes locking onto yours. "And I regret it. I regret all of it. I didn't mean those things. I just didn't know how to handle... us."

Her admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had wanted this—an apology, an explanation—but now that it was here, you didn't know if it was enough.

"I don't know if I can forgive you," you said finally, your voice breaking. "Not after everything."

Wednesday looked down, her expression unreadable. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that. But I do care about you, Y/N. More than I realized."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling between you. You stared at her, trying to make sense of everything. Could you really trust her again? Could you let her back into your heart after everything she had done?

Before you could respond, there was a sudden loud crash outside your window, followed by a low growl that sent chills down your spine. You and Wednesday exchanged a glance before rushing to the window.

The Hyde was back.

But Tyler was in custody. How could this be?

Without thinking, you and Wednesday darted outside, your heart pounding as you made your way into the dark woods. You could hear the growls growing closer, and the realization hit you like a freight train. Tyler wasn't the only Hyde. There was another.

The monster lurked in the shadows, its grotesque form illuminated by the faint moonlight. It lunged at you, but Wednesday was faster, her knife flashing in the darkness as she dodged its attack.

"Stay back," she ordered, her voice sharp. "This isn't your fight."

But you didn't listen. You weren't going to stand by and let her handle it alone—not this time.

The battle was fierce, the Hyde's monstrous strength nearly overwhelming. But together, you and Wednesday fought with everything you had. The creature was relentless, its claws slashing through the air as it tried to tear you apart.

Finally, with a well-placed strike, Wednesday brought the creature down, her breathing ragged as she stood over its fallen body. But before you could catch your breath, the creature stirred, its eyes glowing with fury.

It wasn't dead. Not yet.

The Hyde lunged again, its claws aimed directly at you. But in a split second, Wednesday stepped in front of you, taking the hit.

She gasped, her body crumpling to the ground as blood seeped from her side.

As you rushed to Wednesday's side after defeating the Hyde, you found her alive—just badly hurt. Her breathing was shallow, but she was far from the brink of death.

"Wednesday, hang on. I've got you," you said, your voice trembling with concern.

She opened her eyes, grimacing as she clutched her side. "I'm... fine," she muttered, her pride refusing to let her admit how much pain she was in.

You helped her to her feet, your arm supporting her as she winced. Despite the pain, she refused to show weakness. "We need to get back to Nevermore," you said urgently.

"I can walk," she insisted, her expression cold but faltering for a moment.

Still, you didn't let go. "I'm not leaving you to handle this alone anymore, Wednesday. We're in this together. Whether you like it or not."

There was a pause. Wednesday looked at you, something different in her eyes now—an unspoken understanding. She didn't argue this time.

Once back at Nevermore, the aftermath of the fight lingered in the air. The faculty and other students rushed to deal with the Hyde situation. Tyler may have been caught, but the existence of a second Hyde shook everyone.

In the infirmary, Wednesday sat quietly as a medic stitched up her side. You hovered nearby, refusing to leave her. She had taken a hit for you—something she would never openly admit was driven by care. Yet, there was no denying it. You could see it in her eyes, in the way she had thrown herself in harm's way.

After the medic left, the room fell into silence again. Wednesday looked up at you, her face still pale from the ordeal but her gaze as sharp as ever. "You should've left. I didn't need you getting hurt."

You shook your head. "You don't get it, do you? I wasn't going to let you fight that thing alone."

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. For the first time, she sounded unsure. Vulnerable.

"Because I care about you," you said, the words heavy with emotion. "No matter how many times you push me away, no matter how many walls you put up, I still care. And that's not going to change."

Wednesday's expression shifted, her usual mask of indifference cracking just slightly. She looked away, her voice softer than before. "I don't deserve it. Any of it."

You stepped closer, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Maybe you don't think you do, but I still want to give it. I want to try again. But this time, we do it differently. No more pushing each other away. No more lies."

She looked at you then, her dark eyes searching yours. "I won't make promises I can't keep," she said, her voice careful. "But I'll try."

That was all you needed to hear.

Over the following days, things between you and Wednesday began to shift. She was still Wednesday—cold, sarcastic, and not the type to suddenly become affectionate. But there were subtle changes. She would sit with you at lunch, even if she pretended it was because she "needed a distraction." She would find excuses to be near you, even though she claimed it was because you "were less annoying than most people."

And sometimes, late at night, when she thought no one was watching, you'd catch her glancing your way, a fleeting softness in her gaze.

It wasn't a perfect second chance. Wednesday still had her thorns, and there were moments when she reverted to her distant self. But it was different now. You weren't afraid of getting hurt, and she wasn't afraid to let you in—at least, a little bit.

One evening, as you both sat in the darkened library, Wednesday quietly reading while you worked on an assignment, she spoke without looking up from her book.

"I saw you," she said suddenly.

You blinked, confused. "Saw me what?"

"That night," she clarified, still not looking at you. "When I kissed Tyler. I saw you watching."

Your heart skipped a beat at the memory. It still stung, even now. "Yeah. I remember."

"I didn't know what I was doing then," she admitted, her voice low. "I thought it was part of the plan. But when I saw the look on your face... I realized it wasn't just a case. I had hurt you. More than I should have."

You didn't say anything at first, letting her words sink in. This was as close to an apology as you'd get from Wednesday Addams.

"I hated you for it," you admitted softly. "But I hated myself more for still caring."

She finally looked at you then, her expression unreadable. "I won't kiss him again."

It was a strange way of promising something deeper—something more than just avoiding mistakes. But it was enough for now.

You nodded. "Good. Because I'd prefer you didn't."

There was a brief silence before she spoke again, her voice softer. "I've never had this before. I don't know how to handle it."

You gave her a small smile. "Neither do I. But we'll figure it out together. One step at a time."

And for the first time, Wednesday didn't have a sarcastic retort. She simply nodded, closing her book and resting her hand on the table between you—just close enough that, if you reached out, you could touch it.

You didn't yet, but the gesture was enough. For now.

[emeraldspiral]

Girls don’t want to see another attempt at rebuilding the Jedi Order. Girls want Ben Solo back.

[crossdressingdeath]

Y'know, I know they never would've done it but god damn the redemption ending should've failed. That should've been the bad ending, it would've been so good as a bad ending.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[aberooski]

I love Taylor. I always have and to some degree I always will. She means too much to me and is such an important figure and source of joy and light in my life when I desperately needed, and a connection to my own father that I need desperately, to deny that I will always look on her fondly to some degree as silly as that may seem sometimes and to some people.

But that doesn't mean I don't/won't/can't be critical of her or be disappointed or disagree with choices she makes or has made, because I absolutely have been and I absolutely am.

My problem is that I always, with every fiber of my being, look for and try to see the best in people and believe in people until I absolutely can't anymore. Unless it's something truly reprehensible and irredeemable, my brain simply cannot comprehend the idea that one bad decision or mistake trust me I know she's made more than one lately can automatically invalidate or negate anything and everything good a person has ever done. I've genuinely tried to understand it and unfortunately, I can't wrap my head around the concept. I give grace to a fault. I get sad when I see things said about her in a negative light even when I completely understand and even agree, because I have so much love for her in my heart. It's that tride and true naive, blind optimism in me I guess.

But I do not in any way think she's a perfect person, I know she isn't, because nobody is. Some are just better at hiding that than others. She makes mistakes, she's wrong sometimes, she is a human being who messes up. Sometimes in big ways. And unfortunately she's messed up a few times over the last year or so and that makes me sad. It disappoints me because I love her so much, and I do want and expect better of her. And in the process of that, it makes me very sad that I feel like I have to hide the facet of myself that does still love her despite my disappointment in her or risk making people upset with me now because I'm so afraid of upsetting people. I'm terrified of doing or saying the wrong things I try so hard to do the best I can every day and it's disappointing to see her slip up. It's sad. It makes me very sad.

It's a complicated time to love her right now. I hope, in my heart of hearts, I sincerely hope that sooner rather than later it won't have to be that way anymore. Not just for me, but for all of us who feel that complexity or conflict of emotions.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls]

The first real conversation Katniss has with Peeta is when he tells her that he wants to die as himself, that he doesn't want the games to change him into something he's not, and that he wants to keep his identity and prove he's more than just a piece in their games because that's the only thing he has left to care about.

The first time we see Lucy Gray she sings a song that basically says that nothing they could take from her was worth keeping. "Can't take my past. Can't take my history... You can't take my charm. You can't take my health."

The capitol has taken everything from them both, but at the same time, they could never take away who they are.

They are both likeable charismatic and funny, with the kindest hearts, and incredibly loyal to the people they care about.

At the same time, everything they do before the games, and during is calculated. Lucy Gray singing a love song and winning the hearts of the capitol. Peeta confesses he's in love with his district partner, therefore cementing her identity as desirable. Both of them know how to sway people with words, how to charm people, and how to manipulate crowds. Neither of them has any problem doing so to keep themselves, and the people they love safe.

Lucy Gray's song The Old Therebefore, about learning how to love and live her life to the fullest before death, a final and calculated stroke in a last-ditch effort to save herself from the arena. This evokes enough emotion in the watchers to get them to rise to their feet and plead for her life alongside Snow.

Snow, watching the 74th and preparing for the 75th Hunger Games sees Lucy Gray in Katniss. A young girl, from the 12th district. Unafraid at the reaping. Selling a false love story, manipulating a boy who loves her in order to get out and supporting the revolution with the mockingjay as her symbol.

He threatens her family to get her to sell that she and Peeta are in love, to prevent the revolution, because obviously, she's pretending. He's had experience with a girl just like her before. He has no doubt that she has the acting ability to sell this story because clearly, she manipulated the first Hunger Games in her favor, the same way Lucy Gray manipulated him.

Watching the interviews for the 75th Hunger Games he realizes-

Katniss is just an impulsive girl, in a Mockingjay dress she didn't know about, made by someone who supports the revolution.

Peeta is a boy who has the ability to move people with just his words. He made Katniss desirable, he was the one who sold the love story, and he was the one to make their romance seem real. Katniss only started the revolution because she would rather risk dying with him than live without him. A concept President Snow was completely unfamiliar with. And it is with all these realizations crashing around him Peeta drops the baby bomb. He knows the baby's not real, and so does Snow. But it evokes enough emotion in the watchers to get them to rise to their feet and plead for the lives of the tributes.

Is it Lucy Gray or Peeta?

By the time Snow realizes he's made a mistake, it's too late.

Peeta is still charming and manipulating the capitol. Katniss is in love.

He goes up against a kindhearted boy expecting to beat Sejanus again, only to find out that it's Lucy Gray he's fighting; knowing he will never be able to escape their ghosts.

-from a conversation i had with @grandtyphoonpoetry breaking down every character in the hunger games.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Aegon The Burnt

Aegon II Targaryen x sister!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: infidelity (reader is Aemond's wife), incest, spoilers of s2ep5. Just something short and self indulgent, hope you like it!

masterlist

taglist: @barnes70stark

When you arrived at Aegon's chambers, he was alone. Your mother wasn’t by his side, nor was his wife Helaena, much less Aemond, who you were sure had been the cause of all that. Everyone was crazy, the war for power was making everyone's head sick in the Red Keep and it had ended up bringing you to that point.

When you learned that your brother had gone into battle when he wasn’t required, you knew that the consequences were going to be disastrous and you even hoped that upon returning to King's Landing the star news was the death of the king. But thank the gods he was still alive, fighting, but alive.

You hadn't dared to look at him until that moment, mentally unable to think that his body had been stained at the hands of dragon fire. Targaryens don't burn, do they? Could it be your ancestors punishing Aegon’s recklessness?

And you were sure they would punish the sin of parading a dragon's head around town. They were sacred, they were your emblem and your heritage... you thought that your mother would have this more in mind and that she wouldn’t approve of that kind of massacre. You couldn't imagine your beloved Kaeryss going into battle, dead at the hands of the enemy or perhaps even your own brother.

But now it was a dragon war, not even men could stop it.

“For the seven…” you sobbed softly, you barely got close to your brother and the whole smell of burnt flesh and rot filled your nostrils.

The maester had managed to do a few things to him, he was completely bandaged and was breathing heavily, a hiss leaving his lips with every exhale he took. It was a horrible sight to see for anyone, much less the only person who had genuinely loved Aegon.

The sight made you stagger back and you had to hold on to the bedposts to keep from falling. The worst thing of all was to think that it was the king who had brought this on himself, no matter how much they wanted to convince all his subjects that he had fought bravely and had struck down Meleys.

If you had known before what he intended to do, you would have implored him to stop, you would have persuaded him with kisses and cuddles to stay in the palace. Damn, you would have gotten him drunk and fucked for hours if it kept him safe. Or ultimately, you would have told him how stupid he was for trying to go to war solely on a whim, with a dragon with no experience in battle being ridden by a man with less experience.

But past mistakes couldn't be corrected just by thinking about all the possibilities, instead you had to face the consequences.

You looked at him for a moment, trying to put aside the tremendous disgust that the burning flesh produced in you. If you dared to say that out loud, you knew that Aegon would feel tremendously hurt, since he had never boasted of having the best self-esteem, so you had to be cautious with your words and gestures when he came to his senses.

You took a seat next to the bed, in a modest chair that had surely been occupied by someone else hours before, and you tried to hold back the tears that were already gathering in your eyes. While you saw the king lying in bed, at risk of dying at any moment, you wondered how far this conflict would go.

Aegon had always expressed that he didn’t want to be king and now that he was, he turned out to be a useless one. You weren’t going to soften truths in your mind, because you, as everyone knew, that the king's claim had been a treacherous one. You had been happy that your sister could aspire to be a queen, even if you hated her and her unbearable descent. But hating her didn't mean you wanted to see so many people die, much less the innocent and weak ones as always happened.

Sometimes you wondered what would have happened if your parents had married you to Aegon instead of your brother Aemond. You couldn't blame Helaena for hating her husband, just as you hated yours, perhaps for different reasons but with the same impetus. You probably would have preferred to marry him because of the treatment he had always offered you, being kind, loving and careful. And you knew that it was wrong to love him secretly from your husband and that it was a very serious offense for a lady, but you didn't care and you assumed that if Aemond knew, he didn't care either. He never loved you, you didn't know the reasons but you were sure of it.

One of your hands traveled to the man lying on the bed to take it, carefully, and you gently caressed the healthy skin that still remained.

“Mummy?” you heard, like an almost imperceptible moan. Aegon could barely open his right eye weakly.

“No, no, honey. It’s me,” you whispered sweetly, leaning slightly so he could hear you over the smell of rot. You said your name out loud just in case he didn't recognize your voice.

He wanted to say something, but at first the tremendous pain in his chest prevented him from doing so. The maester said that he must have had many internal injuries and that only time and the grace of the gods could decide if those injuries were serious enough to kill him. You hoped not.

“My princess,” he managed to gesture.

You were always called that way, simply because Aegon considered that you did him full honor to the title and because you seemed to him his and no one else's.

“Don't try too hard,” you whispered motherly, reaching out to rub the right side of his face with unexpected love. You had to stay calm to ignore the burns. “You need to rest.”

Aegon, from his vulnerable position, looked at you sadly and you saw a tear escape his eye. It was as if with that look he was expressing to you everything he couldn't tell you.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you asked worried. It was an obvious answer, you thought, but you at least wanted him to realize that the situation mattered to you.

When he nodded weakly, you felt tremendously sorry for him. Seeing him like this completely broke your heart and if you could have done it, you would have wished you could take away all that pain in a second.

“My poor boy…” you murmured softly, still caressing his cheek gently. The man felt as if your touch was magical, healing in every way: the simple fact of having you close comforted him.

“Stay?"

“Of course I do, Aegon,” you said in a whisper.

“I'm… I'm horrendous”

“You're not,” you responded to his sob. The last thing you wanted was for him to think that you were despising him, like everyone else was going to do. You had managed to gain his trust before, however, with this physical change you knew that his fears would only increase “I love you always, honey. I promise"

And as a sign of this, you leaned close enough to place a kiss on his lips. You were very careful not to touch his wounded skin and tried to be as kind as possible with him. You wanted to show him that you weren't afraid of him, nor disgusted by him, as he was probably thinking.

There was no purer love like the one you were showing him and Aegon felt unworthy of it.

"Please… don’t leave”

“I won't,” you assured him, sitting back down and leaning against the mattress. “Don't be afraid, I'm here and I'll stay to take care of you all night, okay?”

Aegon cried silently and tried to hold on to the feeling of your hand holding his, for it was the only feeling that would keep him sane. He felt that as long as you continued to love him and stayed with him, he could overcome any adversity.

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 2. the journal

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Your memories still remain out of reach, so you ask Joel to tell you a bit about yourself, and with the help of a journal you kept, you begin to learn more about the person you became in the past ten years, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Chapter Warnings: language, eating, alcohol use, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

"Did'ya get any sleep?"

You glanced up at Joel as you walked side by side towards the dining hall.

"No," you admitted, looking straight ahead again.

After Joel left you in his - your - bedroom, instructing you to rest on his way out, you found you could do anything but. Your mind was spinning with all of the information you had just learned, and you weren't sure which topic consumed you more: the end of the world or the supposed love of your life.

The longer his words set in, the more you were finding it difficult to look at him. It was such a strange feeling, having this large, burly, gruff man proclaim his love for you, to say he would stop at nothing to make you feel the same way, to insist you were meant for each other. It seemed so out of character, though you hardly felt like you knew him. But even now as you walked down the street, you noticed how some of the people in town glanced at him. Moving quickly out of his way.

It wasn't just you who found him intimidating.

You were distracted as you walked, curiously peering into storefronts and repurposed buildings when a group of children playing a game of tag nearly ran into you. At the last moment, Joel tugged your arm, pulling you into his side just in time. The children seemed to realize their mistake because their laughter quickly stopped and the smiles fell from their faces as they looked up at him.

"We're sorry, Mr. Miller," a young boy no more than eight years old said.

Miller. You never even bothered to ask his last name.

Joel just grunted and they scurried away, no doubt eager to escape his glare. You chanced a look at him, studying his stern expression when you realized he was still holding you against him. He was warm. Warmer than you expected. And solid. You cleared your throat and stepped away from his grasp, muttering your thanks and glancing around the busy street to avoid the disappointed look in his eye when it became clear you weren't comfortable with him touching you.

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your jeans and continued to walk in silence down the main road. A few people shot you curious looks or did double takes as they walked by, and you had to assume if Ellie heard the news about your accident, then others had, as well.

The Tipsy Bison came into view at the corner of the street, made obvious by the large crowds of people gathered outside.

"Does everyone have to eat here or are you allowed to have food in your homes?" you asked him, and he looked down at you, surprised by the question.

"We got food. It's not like a prison or somethin'," he said with a chuckle. "Most folks like to come here to socialize, but sometimes we cook dinner at home," he stopped short when he realized he never asked you what you preferred. "Did'ya wanna stay home instead?"

"No, this is fine," you told him over your shoulder.

"You sure? Maybe it's too much right now," he replied, jogging a bit to keep up.

"I'm sure. You won't leave me, right?" you asked, looking at him nervously.

"'Course not," he said, trying to hide his grin. He liked that you wanted him around, even if it was only because you didn't know anybody else. It was a start.

When Joel swung the door open, holding it wide so you could enter first, it might have been your imagination but you thought the loud chatter simultaneously died down for a split second. Then Joel stepped in beside you and the volume rose once again.

You wanted to look around and take in the rustic atmosphere but you could feel the eyes on you as Joel led you through the crowd, the scrutiny making you feel extremely out of place, so you kept your gaze pinned straight ahead. Following dutifully behind, you watched as people automatically moved out of his way, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea, until he reached a table in a somewhat quiet corner of the dining hall. He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, his hand still resting on the back, and it took you a second to realize he was waiting for you to sit so he could push it in. You quietly thanked him then finally looked around the room.

The dining room had tables scattered around, and as far as you could see, they all appeared to be taken. People were standing in groups, drinking and laughing and eating and you wondered how in the world your table wasn't taken. You were about to turn and ask when an older man approached your table.

"Hey guys," he said, pulling out a pad of paper from his pocket. "What'll it be?"

You went wide eyed for a moment, looking around trying to figure out what your choices were when, much to your relief, Joel spoke for you both.

"Still got any of that stew left?"

"Sure do. Few guys got lucky earlier today, too. Got two deer, so we'll be havin' more soon," he replied, jotting something down on his paper. "Two whiskies?"

Joel was about to nod when you spoke up for the first time.

"Just water for me, thanks," you said, and the man nodded his head.

"Thanks, Seth," Joel said as he walked away.

You glanced at Joel quickly, awkwardly catching his eye. It felt too much like a date. Dropping your gaze to the table, you tried to think of something to say.

"Probably a good idea, skippin' alcohol," he said. "Didn't even think about it, what with your head and all."

"Yeah," you said, your hand coming up to gently touch the stitches. "Besides, I don't like whiskey, anyway," you added. Joel laughed softly as he watched you shift nervously in your chair.

"What?" you asked with a frown.

"Nothin'," he replied, still staring at you in disbelief. "Just ever since you got here you've been tossin' back whiskey better than most of the men. You must've gotten a taste for it at some point."

"There's no way," you said, scrunching your nose when Seth put down Joel's glass in front of him. He stared down at it wistfully, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, lost in thought.

"Whiskey's how we first met," he said softly, still staring at the glass. You tilted your head towards him, waiting for him to continue. "When you first arrived, you were like a caged animal. You came here lookin' to blow off steam," he said with a distant smile. "It was a slow night. Just you and me and a handful of others. You were tossin' that shit back like it was nothin'."

You watched him as he reminisced. His eyes shone brightly and a small smile played on his lips, it almost felt like you were intruding on something special.

"When me and Ellie first arrived, no one really went outta their way to talk to me. I preferred it that way. Was used to bein' on my own," he continued, looking up at you now. "But that night, you sat down next to me at the bar like you had been waitin' for me or somethin'. You asked me if I was drinkin' for fun or drinkin' to forget. Those were the very first words you said to me."

You were completely silent as he spoke. The way he told it, it felt like you could see the scene playing out right before you, the way he remembered every detail left you in awe.

"What did you say?" you asked a little breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down at the table.

"Drinkin' to forget."

You waited for him to elaborate, but when it became apparent he wasn't going to, you asked him another question.

"Then what happened?"

He raised his eyebrows and hummed, a slow smile stretching across his face before he answered.

"You told me you could help me have fun and help me forget," he said, and you could feel the heat instantly flush your cheeks.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, covering your mouth, utterly mortified. "Please tell me you're joking."

He shook his head, still smiling at the memory. You glanced around the room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"So then, did we...?" you trailed off, gaze still fixed on a spot on the wall.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course we did. I'm no saint," he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ," you said, burying your face in your hands. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

"It's not. Well, not anymore. You had an edge to you when you first arrived. Most do. Survivin' out there does that to you," he said, taking his first sip of whiskey.

You sat in silence for another minute, contemplating asking him what he knew about your life before you met him, but ultimately deciding against it. Maybe another time.

"Where's the bathroom?" you asked him, and he pointed down a small hallway near the bar. You thanked him, his eyes trailing after you as you made your way through the crowds, only dropping his gaze once you were no longer in view. It was a strange thing, recounting stories for you like that. At first, the memories made him smile, but once he saw the lost look on your face he felt the sadness creep back up, settling deep in his chest, and he wondered if he would ever get you back.

You knew you were in the bathroom too long. You knew he would likely be worried, but you just couldn't stop staring at your reflection in the mirror after you washed your hands. Who was this person staring back at you? She looked older and weathered and tired. Your fingertip gently prodded at the bags under your eyes and then a small scar on your chin. What happened to you out there to make you the person Joel was describing? What did you have to do to survive? And did you really want to know the answer?

The door swung open, startling you as three girls around your age entered the bathroom. Their giggles stopped when they saw you and you watched them exchange glances in the mirror before a pretty girl with long, blonde hair greeted you by name. Turning around, you gave her a smile, hoping they would go about their business so you could slip out of there, but of course the pretty girl wanted to talk.

"We heard you had an accident, are you okay?" she asked, and she sounded sincere, but something about her smile made you think twice.

"Yeah, got a few stitches but it should be fine," you said, your eyes flicking to the other two girls, giving them each a smile. They looked at each other and smirked before heading towards the bathroom stalls, leaving you with just the blonde.

"So, is it true? Did you really lose your memory?" she asked, her voice low as if it were a secret, and finally you were able to pick up the vibe. You had been to high school before the outbreak. You had encounters with these types of girls before. Friendly to your face, vicious behind your back.

"Uh, yeah," you admitted, and she gasped as if she felt bad, but you saw the way her eyes lit up.

"So you don't remember, like, anything?"

"Well, I remember before everything went to hell," you told her, "but I don't remember this place, no."

"Oh, wow," she said, and you heard the toilets flush before the other two girls exited the stalls, grinning conspiratorially at the blonde. "So you don't know anybody here?"

You shook your head, feeling uncomfortable with the line of questioning at this point. What was she really getting at?

"That must mean you don't remember Joel, right?" one of the girls at the sink piped up. You looked at her briefly over your shoulder and shook your head, turning back to the blonde but not before you caught the look in her eye.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, giving you a pout. "Does that mean you aren't together anymore, or-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and Ellie stormed in. Her hard gaze drifted around to the three girls and she gave them a look of disgust.

"Scram, vultures," she told them, and the blonde made a face at her before flipping her hair over her shoulder and heading to one of the stalls. Ellie called your name and you scurried over, allowing her to lead you back out into the dining room but not before she gave the other two girls a few choice words.

"Don't talk to them, they're nasty," she told you as you weaved your way through the crowd. Joel's eyes instantly found you once you were in view and you saw him straighten up in his chair.

"You okay?" he asked, and you could see the genuine concern in his face as you sat down. You were about to answer when Ellie plopped down on the other side of him and spoke first.

"Angie and her little sidekicks cornered her in there," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Already sniffing around for scraps."

"What do you mean?" you asked her, but just then Seth arrived with your meals and you never got an answer.

"Stew again?" Ellie asked, scrunching up her nose.

"It's good," Joel told her before taking a bite. You looked down at the bowl and you were inclined to agree with Ellie, but you swallowed the food down anyway, just grateful for something to eat after such a long day.

"Aren't you going to eat?" you asked her, noticing she hadn't ordered anything and instead was busy sketching in a journal.

"Nah, I'm going to Dina's later, I'll eat there," she explained without looking up.

"Who's Dina?"

"Oh, my girlfriend," Ellie explained, glancing up at you briefly. "Sorry. I still can't get used to this. It's so weird you don't remember."

"Don't be out too late. You got school tomorrow," Joel reminded her. Even though he wasn't Ellie's father, he seemed to have quite the knack for being a dad.

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, giving him a weak, two-fingered salute before hunching back over her journal. You heard some familiar giggles coming from somewhere behind you, and when you turned to look, you locked eyes with the blonde girl from the bathroom - Angie - who was holding some drink in her hand, her two friends flanking her sides as she strolled past your table. Her eyes drifted briefly to Joel before she passed by, then turned her attention to her friends, disappearing into the crowd.

"Who is that?" you asked, realizing you never really got much of an explanation. Joel and Ellie responded at the same time.

"Nobody."

"Joel's ex."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as Joel glared at Ellie.

"What? She woulda found out eventually," Ellie protested.

"She ain't even an ex," he said, turning to you now. "Just a mistake I made one time before you even got here," he insisted. The tone in his voice made it sound like he was trying to reassure you there was nothing to worry about, but of course, the information didn't phase you.

"Okay," you replied with a shrug. He examined your blank stare for a moment, searching for a glimmer of recognition. The disappointment in his expression every time something like this happened was becoming too much to bear, so you dragged your eyes off him to glance around the crowded room once again. You found Tommy leaning against the bar and you stood up.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I need to ask Tommy something," you said. "I'll be right back."

His eyes followed you as you pushed your way towards the bar, his heart feeling like it was going to break. He wasn't exactly looking for you to have an overly jealous reaction to hearing about another woman from his past, but your casual indifference hurt more than he expected. When you first found out about Angie, you insisted you weren't jealous but the way you sneered at her going forward, combined with giving him the best sex of his life later that night told him a different story.

"You think she'll ever get her memory back?" Ellie asked, still focusing on her drawing. Joel sighed and dragged his hands down his face.

"I don't know, kid."

"What'd you need to talk to Tommy for?" Joel asked once you both arrived back to his - your - home. You had wandered into the kitchen, Joel hot on your trail.

"Oh, I just had a question about something I saw when we were out there today," you explained, and he raised an eyebrow for you to continue. "There were dead bodies when I came to. They looked all decayed and... subhuman. Now that you told me about the infection, I wanted to ask."

Joel watched you open and close cupboards until you found the glasses, then picked one out to fill with water.

"So you ran into some runners," he said, and you nodded. "Did he happen to mention how you hit your head?"

Your hand froze, your glass halfway to your lips as you considered his question.

"Actually, no, he didn't," you said, setting down the glass and looking up at him.

"Yeah, he didn't really tell me, either," he replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "When he told me you hit your head and you were havin' trouble remeberin' things, I just came runnin'."

Guilt washed over you yet again as you thought about Joel being told the news and how panicked he must have been. He practically ripped all the exam room doors off their hinges to find you, only to be met with a stranger when he finally did.

"Well, I can ask him tomorrow," you finally said, putting your glass in the sink to avoid looking at him.

"Yeah," he replied, trailing off a bit. He was still lost in thought, trying to remember Tommy's exact words when you walked past him towards the stairs.

"You're tired?"

"Well, it's been a long day," you told him, pausing on a stair to look back down at him.

"Right, 'course," he said, shaking his head and following you up. When you got to the doorway of his bedroom you paused, looking up at him. It seemed like he was struggling to say something, his mind working hard to find the words, but instead he just gazed down at you, brown eyes all wide and soft.

"Don't suppose anythin's comin' back to you yet?" he finally asked, and you hated seeing that look. That same hopeful look you kept seeing right before you opened your mouth and crushed him. This was hard for him, you knew that, but the way he kept looking at you was making things so much worse. The pressure you felt to become this person he was expecting you to be was overwhelming. You opted to drop your gaze to the floor and slowly shake your head.

"That's okay," he said, and you dragged your eyes back up to him. "Maybe tomorrow."

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."

He sighed and glanced at the door to the spare room.

"You need anythin', I'm right next door," he said, hitching his thumb to the side and giving you a lopsided grin, but you could still see it in his eyes. The disappointment. The sadness. The yearning. And it was making you feel sick.

Just as he turned to head towards the spare room, you spoke. "Joel?"

And he eagerly swiveled back around.

"I'm gonna try really hard to remember," you said earnestly, looking deep into his eyes.

"I know," he replied with a sad smile. He gave you one more look before heading into the spare room and softly closing the door behind him.

Joel slept like shit.

No surprise there, really. He hadn't slept without you in years. He had hoped the whiskey would have helped, but he was wrong. His mind was racing as he tossed and turned, and by morning he had foolishly convinced himself that you would be back to normal after a good night's rest. He got up early and made coffee for the two of you, like he always did, then tended to the fire in the living room. The nights and early mornings were frigid, but the days were warm. The first sign that fall was approaching fast. He was just putting the poker back when he heard the bedroom door creak open upstairs and his heart jumped into his throat excitedly, but when you descended the stairs and locked eyes with him, he knew nothing had changed. He didn't even bother to ask. You didn't look at him the same way you used to. You used to smile and gravitate towards him, your hands always seeking out his, your eyes playful and loving, but now you looked at him like he was a complete stranger. Devoid of all affection, the only thing that remained was a forced politeness.

You said good morning and headed into the kitchen and Joel wondered how long it would take for you to come around. Less than a day ago, you looked at him in fear, but now you seemed at least comfortable in his presence. That had to count for something.

He must have looked like shit because when he joined you in the kitchen, you eyed him up and down curiously.

"Have you been up for a while?"

He shook his head and picked up his mug, taking a sip and hoping the caffeine would bring him back to life.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Not great," you admitted, pouring your own cup of coffee. "It really hurts. I think whatever meds the doctor gave me yesterday wore off."

Without even thinking, Joel quickly closed the distance between you to examine your injury. You startled a bit when he came up behind you and lifted your hair, but for his benefit, you tamped down your reaction. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he gripped the nape of your neck to angle your head downwards in order to get a better look. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you focused on his fingertips pressing tenderly into your skin. You heard him murmur to himself, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and you realized just how close he really was. Aside from pulling you out of the way so the kids playing tag wouldn't knock you down, it was the first time he had really touched you, and he was so much softer than you expected.

"Don't think it's infected but let's go see the doc, just to be sure," he said, his hand still on your neck, his other hand pushing your hair away.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally allowing yourself to take in a shaky breath as you waited for him to release you.

As if he realized what he was doing, he let your hair fall back into place and let go of your neck, his fingertips lightly trailing down your spine before falling to his side, making you shiver and step away.

"Sorry," he said. "Should've asked to look first."

"It's fine," you told him, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on your neck his fingers just touched.

As you walked side by side to the infirmary, his stony expression slid back into place. Gone was the softness you witnessed in his home. His hardened gaze drifted around the street, then to the watch towers, taking everything in. Studying. Calculating. And that was when you realized there were two Joel Millers: the one who the rest of the town viewed as gruff and callous, and the one you saw in the kitchen that morning, soft and gentle.

You wondered how many people got to see the latter version.

Nick examined you again in the same room as before, but this time, Joel was there watching his every move like a hawk. You could practically see the tension radiating off Nick's shoulders as he moved around the room. He examined your cut carefully, Joel's eyes never once leaving his hands, confirming that it was not infected before parceling out ten little white tablets of extra strength Tylenol into a small baggie and advising you to use them sparingly as inventory was low.

"That's it?" Joel asked incredulously.

"You know how it is, Joel," Nick said, but you heard his voice waver when Joel stood up from his chair. "Meds are hard to come by, we gotta be smart-"

"She hit her goddamn head so fuckin' hard she's lucky she remembers her own name and you're givin' her Tylenol?" he seethed, and you could see his neck growing flush with anger again.

"Joel, calm down, it's fine," you said, sliding off the table. Turning to Nick, you were about to voice your thanks when Joel cut you off.

"It ain't fine. What's it gotta take to get somethin' that actually works?" he huffed, taking a step forward and making Nick shift his weight nervously. "She gotta be missin' an arm? Maybe if she hit her head hard enough to forget what fuckin' planet she's on?"

"Joel, that's enough!" you snapped with a frown, and much to Nick's relief, Joel instantly backed off. He turned and paced around the small room, his hand rubbing over his mouth as he tried to calm down.

"What about my memory? Is it a bad sign I haven't remembered anything yet?" you asked Nick, and Joel paused somewhere behind you to listen to his answer.

"Well, the brain is a tricky thing," he began, his eyes darting over your shoulder briefly. "It could be weeks, could be months. Without any imaging, I wouldn't be able to tell you much more than that." You nodded and swallowed nervously before asking your next question.

"Or never, right?"

Nick took a deep breath and looked at Joel over your shoulder again before responding.

"It's possible."

You heard Joel's boots squeak against the linoleum floor and without even looking, you knew he was anxiously pacing around again.

"Alright, thank you. We'll get out of your hair now," you said, turning to corral Joel towards the door.

"Regardless, I'd like to see you again in a few days so I can take a look at those stitches," Nick said, and you agreed while pushing a muttering Joel back out into the hallway.

"I'll get you better meds," he said as you both walked out of the infirmary. "I got patrol tomorrow mornin', but I can go out after. There's a small cluster of houses we never did a full sweep on. Maybe-"

"The Tylenol is fine, don't go through the trouble. You could get hurt," you said, shoving the baggie of pills into your pocket.

"Tylenol ain't gonna do shit. I don't want you bein' in pain if there's somethin' we can do about it."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to temporarily relieve the ache in your head until you could get home and take one of the pills. You gave Joel a sideways glance, studying him as you walked together. He was brash and rude and aggressive, but you were learning that side of him came out when he was being protective over the ones he loved.

Or when he was trying to hide who he really was.

"So, everyone pitches in around here, right?" you asked, trying to change the subject. "You do patrol. What do I do?"

You paused at a crossroads, trying to remember which way to go, when Joel's hand on your elbow guided you in the right direction.

"You work patrol, too, but you ain't doin' that anymore," he said, letting go of your elbow after holding on for a moment too long.

"Well, obviously. I don't even know how to ride a horse," you said with a snort. "So I guess I need to find a new job, right? Who do I talk to?"

"Why don't you slow down a minute?" Joel said with a chuckle. "Let that pretty little head of yours heal up before you go lookin' for work."

You weren't going to say anything about his comment. Although it took you off guard, you realized he had habits that were going to be hard to ignore and you didn't expect that to happen overnight, but he seemed to realize what he said on his own and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"It's okay. I know this is difficult for you," you said, shooting him a sympathetic glance as you climbed his porch steps. He swung open the door and followed you inside, where you made a beeline for a glass of water so you could take one of the pills.

"We got a lotta history, you and me. It's hard to start over," he said as he watched you toss back the Tylenol with a wince. You examined his face closely and pulled out one of the stools to sit down. You leaned forward, forearms resting on the cool countertop before replying.

"Tell me a story."

He raised an eyebrow at you but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up a bit.

"What kinda story?"

"A story about us. You just said we have a lot of history together. Let's hear some of it," you replied with an encouraging smile.

"You sure? Thought you'd wanna go lay down," he said, but he eagerly pulled up a stool across from you.

"I think I can handle one little story," you told him, then watched as he stared down at his hands on top of the counter, deep in thought. When he thought of one, a slow smile spread across his face and his dark brown eyes flicked up to meet yours and you saw that softer side of him again.

"Alright," he said, settling back a bit. "So I told'ya last night how we met."

You cringed, remembering the story of a much bolder and seductive version of yourself, and nodded.

"Well, after that night we started seein' each other for a few weeks. It was just casual, nothin' serious," he said, looking down at his hands again. "I convinced you to sneak around so no one would catch on, and you grew tired of that. Rightfully so. I was bein' an asshole."

You watched him pull at a loose thread on the cuff of his flannel shirt, his eyes still cast down and you were beginning to realize it was due to shame.

"So anyway. One day you came over to, y'know..." he said, and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. "And you confronted me about it head on. Demanded to know why I wanted to keep you a secret. Thought I was ashamed of you - which I wasn't," he said quickly, his eyes finally meeting yours again. "But I had been through a lot of shit and I just didn't think I could give myself to someone like that again."

"What kind of shit?" you asked quietly, but he just lightly shook his head.

"One story at a time," he told you with a sad smile. You chewed on your lower lip as you waited for him to continue, his focus back on the loose string while he collected his thoughts.

"So I explained I had a hard time lettin' people in, that I wasn't capable of carin' 'bout anyone like that anymore, and you said to me, 'I know who you are, Joel Miller. Don't give me that bullshit, you're just scared.'"

He stared into your eyes, letting what he said land and hoping to see a flicker of the woman who spoke those words, but you just continued to look at him, waiting for him to finish the story like it was about somebody else entirely.

"Well, you were right, obviously. You always are," he continued with a smirk. "It knocked me on my ass. And I didn't know what was more difficult to believe: that you knew me better than I knew myself, or someone like you wanted anythin' to do with me in the first place."

You smiled and dropped your gaze to the counter, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, but so far, these stories don't sound like me at all," you admitted.

He took a deep breath and finally stopped fidgeting with his sleeve.

"A lot's happened in ten years. Stuff that changes people. But I don't care what version of you's here, I love all of you."

You kept your eyes glued to his hands. You wished you could say it back. You knew he wanted to hear it. Maybe one day.

He tapped his finger on the counter, pulling your attention up so you were forced to look him in the eye.

"You fought for me that night, now I'm gonna fight for you, okay?" he said, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to acknowledge him. When you nodded sheepishly, his shoulders relaxed.

"So you're saying I fell in love with you because you were an asshole?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Joel laughed heartily and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nah, you didn't love me then," he said, still smiling.

"So how did I fall in love with you?" you asked, and his tongue clicked against his teeth.

"You're gonna have to wait to find out," he replied with a wink.

It wasn't his fault, but the rest of the day you could feel Joel looking at you. He was examining you, waiting to see the woman he fell in love with, and the pressure was beginning to be too much, so you made up an excuse to go lay down in his bedroom. He had mentioned he had patrol in the morning. Maybe some time away from him would help you relax.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The distant sound of children laughing outside through the closed window and then the door to the garage swinging open and shut acted as a soundtrack to your overactive thoughts. You almost had to laugh. It felt like your mind was constantly working, churning up information and digesting it only to always come up empty.

Absolutely nothing seemed familiar. Nothing about this place or these people felt like home.

You wished so badly you could remember something. Anything to make you feel like you belonged there. One little shred of hope was all you were looking for.

And then you remembered the journal.

Sitting up in bed, you tucked your legs underneath you and reached over for the black book. You fingers hesitated for a moment on the cover. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but how could that be when it was your own?

Taking a deep breath, you flipped open the journal and began at the beginning.

Right away, you could tell you wrote the entries. There was no doubt in your mind. Aside from your handwriting, your typical disorganization shone through like a beacon on every page. You occasionally remembered to notate in the margin the date, or your best guess at the date, but more often than not you were left with very little context for each small paragraph you read.

You were disappointed to realize the journal seemed to begin after you had met Joel. A big part of you was very eager to learn more about the person you were before finding Jackson, but it seemed as though you would have to depend on others to tell you stories you hopefully had relayed to them in the past.

The first page looked to be a list of items you had jotted down that didn't make much sense, but maybe when you first found the notebook, you hadn't intended to use it as a journal.

Socks, colored pencils, sunflower seeds, cards.

Flipping the page, you skimmed a short paragraph about a cabin you stumbled upon when on patrol. Again, it was more notes than anything of any substance. A description of approximately where it was in relation to Jackson along with a note to 'mention it at the next town hall meeting'.

Finally something interesting on the next page, you read a short paragraph about someone named Maria having a baby girl, and you frowned when you read the line Joel handled it better than I expected.

Continuing on, you read an entry about Christmas: Joel found me the softest sweater, it almost felt brand new. I really don't know how he managed to find it and I described the house I grew up in to Ellie and she drew it perfectly, I can't believe how talented she is.

One paragraph in particular grabbed your attention. It was about two people, and based on the context, it sounded like you were close friends. For the first time since we got here, I had the same day off as Ben and Lisa. We went fishing together and brought a lunch. It felt just like old times. As weird as it sounds, sometimes I miss being out there with them. We made a good team.

Maybe this Ben and Lisa would be able to answer some questions you had about yourself. Based on what you just read, it sounded like they knew you before Jackson.

There was a lot more to read, but the next page stopped you dead in your tracks. Your heart began to beat faster as you stared at the four words. Just one sentence, no explanation. A shiver slowly trickled down your spine as you sat there, unmoving, as your vision narrowed on the page: Joel lied to me.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[femsolid]

There's a huge misogynist where I work. Always condescending, never takes responsibility for his mistakes, vulgar, belittling and making crude remarks about women's appearance. I seem to be the only one who doesn't take it. So naturally we had some tense exchanges, through wich I remained professional and he didn't. I reported it to my manager and I was told "that's just how he is, he's kidding" no he's not, I said, he's being cruel and sexist. Then I tell HR during a meeting about harassment, they write what I say and read it back to me, like we do at the police station, and one of them reads : "he makes sarcastic comments" and I'm like "what? I never said "sarcastic"? I said he makes humiliating and cruel remarks, infantalizing and belittling my work" "I think you said sarcastic" "No I said SEXIST, that's the S word I used." Then I talked about it to a close collegue and friend of mine and she responded with "im not taking sides as I've had no issue with him, you both need to work on your relationship or it's gonna end badly for you both". Us both? Then two other female colleagues, one of which presents herself as the great defender against harassment at work, a headstrong woman supposedly.

- oh he's not bad, not really, that's just how he is, he's joking

- no he's not, he's obnoxious and sexist

- there's much worse people here you should be weary of, he's not bad

- so because he's not the worst I'm supposed to let it fly? He is bad. He said women your age were past the expiration date btw. That's okay with you?

- Really? No that's wrong

- He made Mary cry by commenting on her appearance

- Well, you know, Mary, she's not exemplary either, she has...

- Irrelevant! I don't care what Mary has done, that doesn't make his behaviour okay. Emeline from IT made a post on Teams to help us solve a technical issue. He caught her at lunch and said in front of everyone she was playing the beauty queen with her profile picture on Teams and that she only made the post to get men's attention. That's fine with you?

- No but...

Then a coach went to talk to him and came back with "he's not bad, he said you two were fine now" "we're not fine, just because I stay professional doesn't mean we're fine" "you both need to work on your-" "what do I have to change exactly? I've stayed the same. He's vile. You don't have to agree with me. I'm not gonna change my opinion." And I turned back towards my computer.

The same company that forces us to take an E-learning class about harassment and sexism at work. Give me a break. I expect men to defend their class but this doormat mentality in women is awful.

[ay-chuu]

DISCOVER. L, I, M, P, Say it.

!! (Self aware bsd boys)

WARNING! Obsessive behaviour in some and angst.

A/N: Sorry for any grammer mistake i made!!

Self aware!Dazai, Chuuya, Jouno, Fyodor, Ranpo, Sigma x Gn! Reader

You really was the most airheaded human, in Dazai's eyes. Because he learned everything about you in just few weeks, while you only knew him as a popular 2d... character? Dazai knew he didnt thought himself as a human but being a non human in different world with a canon fact hurted him. He's not gonna even talking about the... writer version himself in your life. He just wanted something really clearly over his life and it was YOU. You, who made him self aware by mistake. You who made him fell for someone really. You, who made him want to live for a little longer to know you...

"Cute." Chuuya thought. You were really looking cute trying to sew a plush version of him while looking at the manga's colored page to match his features. He hated it when you closed the page tho. Yes he could always try to put himself that is connected with his... other self's but manga was the easiest one since he was origannly from here. He wondered. What would you look like in here too? Would you have powers? Would you meet him? Would you be... his love interest? Well he was never gonna know the truth. The only truth that he know was he was falling- no. Already fallen in love with you.

Jouno hated how stupid and complicated this situation was. And he hated how he couldn't do anything, even a simple thing for you. He hated how pathetic this... no he was. He fallen for you, who was a REAL different version of human. Who was in another reality. He knew that you didn't even knew what you did to him. In your eyes, he was just a character that you enjoyed... reading. Ah he guessed that life was giving him a punishment because of his brutal actions for others. How brutal....

You really wondered that if your pc got a virus or something. Because everytime you try to search or write something there was a thing that made you remember fyodor. Like when you try to an essay for your study, your computer would always write "fyodor" that any word that starts with f. Or when you opened a website you would always see fyodor's manga version. But you thought you just freaked out because... what kind of virus would do that right? Wrong. You were wrong for thinking you were wrong. Fyodor, who hacked all of your system would always make you remember who loves you most. He wanted to engrave himself into your subconscious. Because one day, when he finds a way to bring you into his universe, you would not lose your way to find him...

Ranpo had always thought he was smart. Or rather, it was like that in the past... Because ever since he met you, he saw himself as the smallest-brained person in the world. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he reaches different thoughts, he couldn't reach you. While you could always reach him with a single page turn or google, he barely understood that you were from another universe... At first he thought you were just one of the games of Poe's books. He wished you were. Maybe if you were, he would never have fallen in love with you so hard...

Sigma was so surprised when he was able to discover you for the first time. But more than being surprised, he felt very close to you. Because you... were like a different universe version of him. He was born from a book. For him, you were a book that born in a different universe and watching him. The day you read the story about him and smiled because you felt close to him, he realized that he was in love with you. But if there was one part that wasn't surprising at all for him, it was that he couldn't reach you. Ah, because it wasn't just people playing with him all his life. His life was the biggest user playing with him. After all, It didnt change the fact ... he was really just a written person. In any reality.

[lovely-peace]

Lovely?

Summary: You don't like the marauders. You don't talk and don't even look at them. But as you visit your friend in the hospital wing you encounter a certain boy with brown hair, scars and this lovely eyes.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Gryffindor!reader

Warnings: Low self esteem, past bullying?, This is no bully! Marauders fic!!

Part 1 Part 3

"Hey, do you want to study for Transfiguration together?"

A normal day. It should have been. But ever since I was asked who I would date, I've been hearing giggles and whispers. And now James is standing in front of Amy and me. Ready to finish something. I don't know what yet, but it's going to hurt.

Because it will be a joke of theirs.

"Why should we?" I go straight on the offensive. Leave fears behind and intimidate them.

Sirius, who was standing behind James, looked to the side to stifle a laugh. That kind of upset me.

"Well, in the last lesson you had... We thought we could help each other."

Oh. My mistake. That they laughed about. Learning. Together. Actually, they just want to smile at my stupidity. SMILE.

"Amy doesn't even have Transfiguration." I hissed, looking the boy in front of me in the eye for the first time. He looked almost uncomfortable.

This boy I rode to Hogwarts with in the same wagon. And who now feels too cool to remember my name. I'm just a joke that you crack a few times and then forget.

"Which is why, unfortunately, I have to say goodbye and go upstairs. Important subjects are waiting for me!" Amy tapped my shoulder and I was about to thank her inwardly until- "That's why I'm leaving this sweetie here with you, okay?"

Peter looked up from his book for the first time. He was sitting on the couch by the fire.

In the common room of Gryffindor, it was not uncommon for people to fight over this space. Peter snatched it early enough so that Remus, who looked very ill that morning, just sat on the chair at the table next to it.

Peter was probably just as disappointed that Amy left as I was, if I interpreted his expression correctly.

"Amy," I whispered to her, "what are you doing?"

She raised her eyebrows, rolled her eyes and sighed briefly. And I understood. She wanted me to give them a chance.

I looked at her with begging eyes and screamed at her in my mind not to leave me here alone.

"So...?" James stood there like a boy waiting for his mother's permission.

And I wasn't going to give it to him.

"Sorry, Jarry, but I was planning on studying for other subjects with Amy today. So if you'll excuse us." What did I just say?

"Oo-," James looked to his friends while Sirius laughed out loud, "-okay?"

I didn't look at Amy and just stomped faree upstairs to our room.

Amy followed me, but not without letting out a sigh of disappointment.

~~

"What was that about?" My voice was a little louder than usual. "I thought we agreed that we didn't like the four of them?"

Amy groaned and threw herself on her bed. "I never said that. I meant that they can be assholes sometimes, that's all."

"But they just were assholes?"

I also sat down on my bed and looked out of the window. The Hufflepuff team was playing quidditch.

"How were they assholes in any way, please? James just asked us if we wanted to study with them in the common room."

I could hear Amy starting to get angry.

"You know what he meant. He only asked because I said something completely stupid in Transfiguration the day before yesterday and everyone had a laugh. And now he wanted to hear more of it."

Amy had gone quiet. Then she snorted loudly. "Jesus Christ."

"What?!" As I turned around, two piercing eyes looked into me.

"Can you please stop painting the devil on the wall for once? You sound worse than Cassandra!"

Now I snorted.

But Amy wasn't finished yet. "You're so afraid of being ridiculed that you're becoming an asshole yourself!"

The sun was setting. And the moon slowly rose.

"Why are you so sure that the four of them are making fun of you?"

I hated that tears were welling up in my eyes. "That's how it always is! Suddenly all these people are nice to you, who didn't even know who you were before, to lure you into safety, but in reality they're blaspheming and laughing at you. It's always like that!"

Amy shook her head.

"No, it's just always like that in your head. There's a chance that these people just want to get to know you better."

Amy took her DADA textbook and turned to the other wall. "To exclude this opportunity from the outset is not only a mistake, but also a missed opportunity to make new friends."

I looked up at the full moon. I felt as if he was out there suffering with me.

You understand me, don't you?

Probably not.

~~

The next morning, Amy was still mad at me. I couldn't blame her. What I said already sounded pathetic.

But so far it had always been the truth.

It was unusually quiet at breakfast. Amy ate almost nothing and hurried to her tray.

We had different subjects at the beginning of the day, but at lunch Amy was nowhere to be seen. There were whispers again and I wanted to scream.

And it was only in charms that I was told she had been taken to the hospital wing. 

That was not uncommon for Amy. Amy was very fragile. Amy always put on a very strong front, also to help me. But the truth was that stress really affected her and at one point she almost fell over sick.

Was it because of our argument? I don't know. But I certainly felt guilty.

~~

After class, I hurried to the hospital wing and let myself be led to her bed.

She looked almost peaceful as she slept. I carefully sat down next to her and took her hand. She was sweaty and cool at the same time.

Madam Pomfrey explained to me that Amy had been under a lot of stress lately and had eaten something bad. Then she went to the next bed and talked with the visitors there.

Visitors with... familiar voices?!

"Oh, please, you can't expect us to just leave him here alone?" Was that Sirius?

"Yes, I must. You know he needs his rest now. So shoo." Madam Pomfrey sounded a bit annoyed.

"We can stay here quietly!" That was James. Ironically loud.

"No, Mr. Potter, you cannot. So, gentlemen. Out!"

I saw out of the corner of my eye how Madam Pomfrey shooed several people outside. But who was behind the curtain of the bed? Whom were they visiting?

The curtain didn't cover the whole bed. In fact, it was only drawn on my side. Quietly, I got up and tried to get a quick look at the person. I took a cautious step to the side and—

There layed Remus. A pretty battered Remus, wrapped in bandages.

Suddenly, the curtain was pulled back and I stood there as if caught red-handed.

Remus looked at me in surprise. His look was somehow different than usual and I imagined he took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Hi." ... "Hi."

His body was even worse wrapped up than I had seen from the side. He was sitting upright and his upper body was full of bandages. His face also had scratches but his eyes were still so deep-

I stared at him. For far too long.

I quickly sat down next to Amy, who was still asleep.

Remus cleared his throat. "Is Amy very unwell?"

Somehow I wasn't prepared for a conversation with him. Not with one of the four. Not with Remus.

"According to Madam Pomfrey, it's just stress. She just needs to get some rest and then she should feel better." I was almost whispering, my voice was so quiet. Nothing compared to yesterday.

"That's good. I hope she gets better soon. Has anything bad happened?" I looked up at him. His eyes were so gentle, as if he really cared. "Something that's really stressing her out?"

When he noticed my look, he looked away. To my disappointment. "But actually, it's none of my business-"

"We had a fight." Why did I tell him that? "I worried her again."

I looked at Amy. Her face wasn't quite so pale and her hand, which I was holding, wasn't quite so sweaty.

"Oh." Remus' voice was very quiet. As if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. As if he was worried to say the wrong thing.

"And why are you lying here? What happened to you?" It was only when I looked at him that I realized the question was a bit rude.

"If you want to tell me," I added.

He just sighed and suddenly looked so far away. "It was an accident."

I waited for him to tell me more. He didn't.

It stayed quiet between us for a long time. I could feel his gaze from the side, but somehow it didn't bother me a bit. I almost felt safe.

Suddenly he asked me: "Why did you argue?"

I looked into his eyes and almost wanted to tell him everything. I looked at Amy and borrowed her words. "I was an asshole."

He tilted his head and smiled cautiously. "Somehow I can't imagine that."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Why?"

"Well, you... It's not like you at all."

I continued to look at him. He continued to look at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You're usually so... Lovely."

Lovely? He saying I was lovely?

I had to laugh. He looked away.

"Me? You don't know me then." I giggled softly. "Besides, anyone can be an asshole, no matter how sweet the person still is."

He looked outside. The moon was up. He had that look again. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that."

It was quiet again after that. I heard soft footsteps outside and my anxiety wanted me to leave. So I stood up and was about to say goodbye to Remus as he-

"I want to know."

"What?"

He suddenly looked into my eyes so intensely that I felt dizzy.

"I want to know you properly."

I didn't know what to say and just looked at him as he continued.

"I want to know what goes through your mind when you see me us."

His gaze moved away from me. "I want to know why you hate us so much."

My whole world suddenly spun and I was in the middle of it. What was he saying? What did he mean, why was he even talking to me? What was going on here, why was he even here? And why did he call me lovely? What did he mean?

I wanted to say something. Something about... What actually?

Somehow I couldn't get anything out of me and was stuck in this spiral of trying to say something and figure out what to say. I opened my mouth, as-

"Remus, we're here!" James' voice tried to sound quiet but was unmistakable. Just like the footsteps of the two boys walking towards his bed.

When I saw them, so many things came back to me. Why I didn't talk to Remus.

"Are you feeling better? Remus -" Sirius faltered when he saw me. He looked between me and Remus and then grinned at me.

"Oh hello."

He turned to James now and 'whispered' to him. "Prongs, let's go and give these two some time to themselves-"

Remus cleared his throat and pointed at Amy who was lying next to me. Sirius fell silent.

"I'd better go now." I said in a very quiet voice again. James and Sirius even left me alone, but I heard their voices before I closed the door behind me.

"So, did she talk to you?" "What was going on with her?" "Is there something-"

The door slammed behind me and my head seemed to explode with questions.

[chris-prank]

Thinking about Vincent going on a secret lowkey mission to investigate the hero darlings head quarters and he accidentally stumbles upon hero darlings strap on collection and like. Looses his mind finding them all , imagining his sweet darling using them on him 🥰💖 (hope this was ok to send as an ask I love ur ocs !!!)

I know it took a very long time before I answered, so anon whoever you are, I hope you see this! 🫡 

And yay it’s totally ok to send ask like this! 

CW: NSFW, strap-ons, masturbation ?, jealousy and horny fantasies

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Vincent had always been invisible when he wasn't in his Dr. Seraph persona. With his small stature and shy attitude, no one even batted an eye, seeing him walk around the hero headquarters in a janitor's uniform. He was still nervous though, glancing around every two minutes to be sure no one had caught him. At least, it didn't take him too long before he found your room, thanks to the map provided by a secret source and maybe because he’d previously snooped around for that information.

He held his breath of excitement before opening the door since entering such a private space was where he could learn the most about you! Before he could look suspicious by muttering to himself with the biggest grin on his face and with his uniform doing nothing to hide his bulge, he walked past the threshold. Although as much as he wanted to immerse himself in your room, he still had a job to do.

He began searching everywhere, without losing his chance to borrow some of your belongings while he was at it. Surely you wouldn’t be missing that pair of underwear, it was at the far bottom of your drawer and that pen was long forgotten behind your desk. He, on the other hand, was going to use them thoroughly, that’s for certain. Finally, his attention fell upon a box under your bed. If you had anything to hide, it had to be there! What could it possibly be? A new superhero suit? Or maybe a new gadget?! He excitedly got on his knees, grabbed the box and opened it. 

The lid fell from his hands the second he saw the insides of it. He must have been hallucinating since the box was… filled to the brim with strap-on. He blinked once, then twice before his mission was thrown out the window completely. There was no mistake to be made, these were dildos… YOUR DILDOS! And they were clearly made to be use with a partner, since all of them could be put on a strap. 

Vincent rubbed his aching dick while his mind wandered to the potential positions he could experience with you. He had to bite down on his lips to prevent his whimpers to be heard by the people in the hallway, but just thinking of having his mouth filled with your length made it almost impossible. He even ended up raising his ass, his free hand coming up behind him to rub away the itchiness from his needy hole. Would you be rough with him or gentle? Was your kind hero persona hiding a more sadistic side in bed? Either way he would thank you for simply letting his asshole swallow the tip of your strap. But then, his sweet fantasies turned into horrible ones.

If-if they have this here… does that mean they use it daily… on other people? 

He could feel tears filling his eyes at the thought of someone else having the chance to be ravished by you and to get all the praises HE deserved! Without thinking, Vincent grabbed the longest one, that had the color of your skin tone, and stuffed it into his bag. He was soon going to be yours, so what was wrong in wanting to be ready for you? He left after that, not noticing the little stain that had formed at the front of his pants.  

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Hero reader coming back to their room like: where the fuck is my limited edition costumed made dildo? 🥲

[novella-november]

See, here's the thing about generative AI:

I will always, always prefer to read the beginner works of a young writer that could use some editing advice, over anything a predictive text generator can spit out no matter how high of a "quality" it spits out.

I will always be more interested in reading a fanfiction or original story written by a kid who doesn't know you're meant to separate different dialogues into their own paragraphs, over anything a generative ai creates.

I will happily read a story where dialogue isn't always capitalized and has some grammar mistakes that was written by a person over anything a computer compiles.

Why?

Because *why should I care about something someone didn't even care enough to write themselves?*

Humans have been storytellers since the dawn of humankind, and while it presents itself in different ways, almost everyone has stories they want to tell, and it takes effort and care and a desire to create to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard or speech to text to actually start writing that story out, let alone share it for others to read!

If a kid writes a story where all the dialogue is crammed in the same paragraph and missing some punctuation, it's because they're still learning the ropes and are eager to share their imagination with the world even if its not perfect.

If someone gets generative AI to make an entire novel for them, copying and pasting chunks of text into a document as it generates them, then markets that "novel" as being written by a real human person and recruits a bunch of people to leave fake good reviews on the work praising the quality of the book to trick real humans into thinking they're getting a legitimate novel.... Tell me, why on earth would anyone actually want to read that "novel" outside of morbid curiosity?

There's a few people you'll see in the anti-ai tags complaining about "people being dangerously close to saying art is a unique characteristic of the divine human soul" and like...

... Super dramatic wording there to make people sound ridiculous, but yeah, actually, people enjoy art made by humans because humans who make art are sharing their passion with others.

People enjoy art made by animals because it is fascinating and fun to find patterns in the paint left by paw prints or the movements of an elephants trunk.

Before Generative AI became the officially sanctioned "Plagiarism Machine for Billionaires to Avoid Paying Artists while Literally Stealing all those artists works" people enjoyed random computer-generated art because, like animals, it is fascinating and fun to see something so different and alien create something that we can find meaning in.

But now, when Generative AI spits out a work that at first appears to be a veritable masterpiece of art depicting a winged Valkyrie plunging from the skies with a spear held aloft, you know that anything you find beautiful or agreeable in this visual media has been copied from an actual human artist who did not consent or doesn't even know that their art has been fed into the Plagiarism Machine.

Now, when Generative AI spits out a written work featuring fandom-made tropes and concepts like Alpha Beta Omega dyanamics, you know that you favorite fanfiction website(s) have probably all been scraped and that the unpaid labours of passion by millions of people, including minors, have been scraped by the Plagiarism Machine and can now be used to make money for anyone with the time and patience to sit and have the Plagarism Machine generate stories a chunk at a time and then go on to sell those stories to anyone unfortunate enough to fall for the scam,

all while you have no way to remove your works from the existing training data and no way to stop any future works you post be put in, either.

Generative AI wouldn't be a problem if it was exclusively trained on Public Domain works for each country and if it was freely available to anyone in that country (since different countries have different copyright laws)

But its not.

Because Generative AI is made by billionaires who are going around saying "if you posted it on the Internet at any point, it is fair game for us to take and profit off," and anyone looking to make a quick buck can start churning out stolen slop and marketing it online on trusted retailers, including generating extremely dangerous books like foraging guides or how to combine cleaning chemicals for a spotless home, etc.

Generative AI is nothing but the works of actual humans stolen by giant corporations looking for profit, even works that the original creators can't even make money off of themselves, like fanfiction or fanart.

And I will always, always prefer to read "fanfiction written by a 13 year old" over "stolen and mashed together works from Predictive Text with a scifi name slapped on it", because at least the fanfiction by a kid actually has *passion and drive* behind its creation.

[emmabirb8]

I've been thinking about this for days now and man, Stanley Pines had a raw fucking deal.

He was doomed for a life of turmoil from the start. Not only did he suffer emotional (and implied physical) abuse from his father from childhood, he was kicked out of his own home at 17 for a legitimate mistake that he never intended to affect his brother's future. He struggled on the streets for ten years feeling like he'd lost his best friend when he and Ford stopped talking during that time, AND THEN received a metaphorical slap in the face when he found out that Ford did not in fact call him out to Gravity Falls to reconcile -- he only wanted a way to protect his research.

THEN, after rightfully getting his feelings hurt and reacting in anger to Ford making clear what his intentions really were, he lost his brother, the one person he'd felt closest to throughout his life, through the portal. He was left with only a third of the required information to reactivate the portal just for the chance to get Ford back -- it was never guaranteed that Ford would even be alive, let alone be able to be located and returned to his home dimension.

But Stanley fucking Pines is no quitter. He stayed focused and worked his ass off learning concepts he had absolutely no education or experience in, all the while blaming himself and hating himself and pushing through the worst kind of heartache every goddamn day for 30 years for that chance. (And honestly, God bless Mabel for betting it all on her Grunkle and allowing him that chance when the time finally came.) And it fucking worked. Just like that, he got his brother back. All that hard work and grief was worth it.

And then he was greeted with an angry outburst and a punch to the face.

This man went through hell and back for his brother, and he was met with a knee-jerk reaction and confirmation that Stanford still seemingly resented him for his past mistakes. Like, I understand Ford's perspective and where he was coming from at the time, but damn it, Stan did NOT deserve that.

He didn't end up getting a proper hug from his brother either until after Bill had been defeated, and by that time, he didn't even know who Stanford was because, once again, he sacrificed everything to save his family. (He was under the impression that his memories would be lost forever and STILL chose to do it).

I am positively beside myself over this man. And this doesn't even touch on the things he did for people outside his family. (Like, he could have easily holed himself up in the shack alone during Weirdmaggedon, but instead, he took in anyone who needed shelter, offered his food supply, and provided a safe place, I'M SORRY BUT FORD WOULD NEVERRRR)

Stanley Pines deserved better. Stanley Pines deserves the whole entire WORLD. He has the biggest heart out of ANYONE and Ford is damn lucky to have him as his brother.

STANLEY PINES MY BELOVED AAAAOOOOOUUUUGGHHHHH

[vashtijoy]

have you seen the commentary from the p5r artbook going around? the shuake part of my dash is losing it a bit at the implication that their wishes were mutual!!! that seems to be what some people are getting from the commentary at least… amy insights?

Hi! I have been through the artbook. It's great, isn't it? :D

The image above is called "One Ending", and the creator caption (by illustrator Akane Kabayashi) reads:

When I think about how Akechi's wish was to play chess after school with the protagonist, I almost want to call him out with "You liked him after all, didn't you!"

Look at that. We're told about Akechi's wish, and what it included. We're as good as told outright that he likes Joker—and this isn't the only time, there's also this:

—There are a whole lot of things we can imagine, based on how the protagonist was depicted as someone special to Akechi. Those are more or less the exact emotions represented during Akechi's confidant. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

"someone special" here is 特別な存在 tokubetsuna sonzai—literally "a special presence". It means a special person, and more than that; it describes someone you find compelling, someone you can't look away from, someone who becomes one of your most important people, the centre of your world. It's another term that is often romantic, but isn't necessarily romantic.

(In the same way, I think Kabayashi's suki jan! is more tongue-in-cheek than it is a cast-iron confirmation that Akechi was canonly in love with Joker. The language there is teasing, it's ambiguous, it's baity; Kabayashi is joking. This is a rank 6—as they say, if you know, you know. But it is of course ultimately up to all of you.)

There's another mention of this image, down in the creator interview:

Out of all the Maruki ending illustrations, it was Akechi's that stuck with me the most. It made such an impression to see them opening up as friends, having a fun, peaceful time together like high school students should. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

What really strikes me in all of this is the emphasis the creators put on the fact that this is Akechi's illustration, Akechi's wish. Because I've thought for a while that we know Akechi has a wish. You can see him struggling with his refusals to Maruki in the first week of January. And you can hear his wish spoken—when Maruki repeats it back to him, during the boss fight, on 2/3:

Maruki {F1 81}君たちとなら、君も過ちのない道を歩めるかも知れないじゃないか！ {F1 81}-kun-tachi to nara, kimi mo ayamachi no nai michi o ayumeru kamoshirenai ja nai ka! If you're with {F1 81}―kun and his friends, you could begin to atone for what you've done! Think about it! With [Amamiya]-kun and his friends beside you, you could choose a path with no mistakes as well!

So this wish has several parts. First, there's that kimi mo, "you also"; it's tempting to read this as Maruki also wanting his new world to erase his past mistakes. Second, there's the first part, "if you're with [Amamiya]-kun and his friends". Where to even start here?

Being with Joker and the others is a prerequisite for the second half of Akechi's wish. It doesn't just coexist, it enables the rest of it. Just like his words in the engine room, "I wonder why we couldn't have met a few years earlier, [Ren]..."

Remember, Akechi's whole arc is about his rejection of trust and friendship, and his insistence on doing everything himself. This is precisely what Futaba calls him out on—"you trusted no one", or "you played life in single-player mode". This is what he unlearns at the climax of the engine room, when he realises he isn't prepared to let the others die—and follows through to save them.

Akechi is nothing without others, and he knows it. Without their support, which he believes he has no right to, he has no hope of living a better life, even were he to be given the chance—and he knows that, too. He has learned, and he has grown—and yet he knows the things he needs and wants so badly are forever inaccessible.

And his wish is about all the Phantom Thieves, not just Joker. There are many tiny references to this end—not least the original Japanese rank 10 line for his confidant, where he sacrifices himself for all of you. Joker is his compelling presence, his someone special, but he's formed small bonds with the others too, God help him.

and then there's the crime thing

The localisation frames Akechi's wish in terms of atonement, but that's not what's on offer. You cannot, after all, atone for things you never did. We see Akechi's wish put into practice, in the Maruki ending, where he appears with his friends beside him, wholly innocent and with unstained hands. And we see it in the first week of January, after he has finally met Maruki and spoken to him:

Akechi: Ah, that reminds me—there was one more thing I wanted to tell you. Akechi: About the reality Maruki's put us in... Akechi: It seems that Okumura and Wakaba are both considered alive by all accounts. [Ren: They're not dead anymore? / What do you mean?] Akechi: They aren't mere illusions, or cognitive beings—they truly are alive and existing in this world. Akechi: In fact, their deaths seem to have never taken place at all in this reality. [Ren: What happened to Shido?] Akechi: Shido was the only one arrested on the crime of attempting to overthrow the government... Akechi: It seems the Phantom Thieves were causing a stir in this society as well, but there's no record of your arrest now. Akechi: Basically, in this reality, you and I haven't committed any crimes.

While Akechi still remembers his crimes, they never took place. They have been undone, and only his lingering memory—and Joker's, at this point—speaks to them. He objects to this on countless levels, he summons all the strength he has to refuse it, but don't make the mistake of thinking that means he doesn't want it. This is Akechi's wish in action.

People are often very certain that Akechi's resolve in the third semester is like iron—that he rejects Maruki's offers right away, is never tempted, never wavers. But that can't be true. We know he's afraid to die. We know about the bad end where you don't complete the Palace, where Akechi says nothing and stares at the floor, seemingly blaming himself internally while all the others blame themselves aloud, for being unable to say no to Maruki's temptations. We know how he responds to this assertion of Maruki's—Maruki, who has perfectly summed up what we know all the other PTs wanted, and who (even if Word of God hadn't just confirmed Akechi's wish) we have, honestly, no reason to doubt.

Because Akechi never refutes this wish that Maruki describes. He never says he doesn't want it. He just rejects it—like all the others, who so desperately want what Maruki could give them. Futaba's mother, Haru's father. Akechi's life, and his innocence. And the people who might have been his friends, if he could dare, one day, to ask.

Akechi is tested just like the others, and the price he pays for his defiance is perhaps the highest of all.

and finally

[The Maruki ending illustrations are] of Maruki's world, where everyone's wishes are granted and they seem happy. The scene shows their actualised wishes, which were never granted in the real world. (Mumon Usuda, chief designer)

We shouldn't forget the price Akechi pays for his impossible wish. Sure, the vision of himself being altered like Sumire clearly haunts him, and I'm sure it made the choice easier—but I don't think it made it that easy. Instead of taking the dream Maruki offered him, Akechi chose to face up to what he'd done, and who he'd become; at the very end, in the third semester and in the engine room, he always makes the right choice.

And that choice was taken away from him. Agency over his life and death, his own acts, and who he would even be—Joker and Maruki take it all away from him and make him a puppet, just like Shido.

Maruki's ending isn't pretty.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2024/03/29)—first published.