#been listening to from the gallows on repeat-

[tobydoeswrite]

Matching radiostatic stickers :D

[toribookworm22]

Listen. I've had The Tortured Poets Department on loop since it came out. I really really love it and only love it more with each repeat.

So. Here's my First Listen Notes:

Fortnight

What a way to start an album: I was supposed to be sent away. But they forgot to come and get me.

Love the synth rise and the beat drop

Post Malone's voice sounds SO good!

The Tortured Poets Department

Like who uses typewriters anyway 😆

Who else decodes you

No-fucking-body

Oooh the drop... it's so sad and quiet 🥺

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Oooh fun beat

I'm queen of sandcastles he destroys 😲

He saw forever so he smashed it up 😶

Daaaaaamn

Down Bad

Digging this soft music, okay

The chimes!!

THE CHORUS

So fuck you if I can't have us

The bridge instrumentation

OOOOH IT GOES OUT OF TUNE

So Long, London

The choral sound!!!

The ramp up!!!

How much sad did you think I had in me

Oh this is gutwrenching

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

But Daddy I Love Him

No I'm not but you should see your faces 😄

An adult Love Story

It's my own disgrace

I love this

Fresh Out The Slammer

Ooh twangy first beat

Tone shift hello

I did my time 🥺

FLORIDA!!!

THE DRUMS

Ooooh Florence's voice

Somehow it sounds like both of their songs????

Guilty as Sin?

How can I be guilty as sin?

What if the way you hold me actually was holy

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Villain Song! Villain Song!

You don't get to tell me about sad

Sounds old country

If you wanted me dead you should've just said

So I leap from the gallows

WHOS AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME (you should be)

What the hell?!?!

Was it a wonder I broke

I was tame I was gentle

Well you should be

The lowering beats!!!

Then I'm fearsome and I'm wretched

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Love the old country open

Almost ghostly

Your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger

I can handle me a dangerous man (no really I can)

Woah maybe I cant!!!

loml

Aww it's just piano

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway 🥺

I felt a glow like this never before and never since

Still alive and killing time at the cemetery

Holy ghost you told me I'm the love of your life 😭

She's so sad...

What we thought was for all time was momentary

Mr. Steal your girl then make her cry

Talking rings and talking cradles

Something counterfeit's dead

Oh my good god I want to analyze this my goodness

You're the loss of my life 😭 Taylor no!!

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

It sounds like pool in the background

Very 80s arcade glitch pop

I'm a real tough kid I can handle my shit

He said. He'd love. Me all. His life.

I'm so depressed I act like it's my birthday 🤣

No, not depression pop!

I can hold my breath; I've been doing it since he left

Taylor I've never understood you more 🤦‍♀️

You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart

You know you're good! I'm good

Cause I'm miserable

And nobody even knows!

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The exhale no!

Who the fuck was that guy

They just ghosted you now you know what that's like 😲

I don't even want you back I just want to know

🫢

This is the most sadly disappointed jab of a song I've ever heard

WERE YOU SENT BY SOMEONE

IN 50 YEARS WILL THIS ALL BE DECLASSIFIED

AND ILL SAY GOOD RIDDANCE

I WOULDVE DIED FOR YOUR SINS

YOULL SLIDE INTO INBOXES AND BETWEEN BARS

You kicked out the stage lights but you're still performing

And I'll forget you but I'll never forgive

Hot damn.

Claiming this as mine yes please

The Alchemy

But I'm coming back so strong

Honestly who are we to fight the alchemy

But I'm making a comeback to where I belong

He jokes that it's heroin but this time with an e

Where's the trophy he just comes running to me

Clara Bow

Ooh windup

Yes guitar!!! Love this intro!!

This sounds so indie and small I love it

Soft and comforting

Take the glory give everything

The crown is stained but you're the real thing

Oooh some small town lore

Hello something reminiscent of The Lucky One

Character Song Acquired

It's. Hell. On. Earth. To. Be. Heavenly.

You've got edge she never did

What a way to end that song damn

The Black Dog

Sad piano no

You forgot to turn it off

Her voice sounds so fragile

Until it doesn't!

Old habits die SCREAMING!!!

YESSSSSSSS

okay miss back to soft but slowly growing

Her voice is so earnest

Yes the beats are so good!

Six weeks of breathing clean air

Beat change!!!!!!

Screeeeeeeeeaaaaaammmmiiiiing

And I hope you heeeeeeeeeeaaaaaar it

And I hope it's shitty in The Black Dog

Keep the beat going!!! Yes!!!

I adore this so so much

The last screaming is WHISPERED!!!???! what!??!

Top songs. I'm calling it.

imgonnagetyouback

I hear you 1989 energy

And I'll tell you one thing honey delivery stunning

Ooh okay!

Sparkly alright okay!

Instrumentation is so fun

I'm loving the ultimatums 😆

Even if it's handcuffed I'm LEAVING HERE WITH YOU

pick your poison babe I'm poison either way

Cut the music alright!

The Albatross

Ooooh this is so pretty already!

I love the softness contrasted with the short lines

She's the albatross she is here to destroy you

One less temptress one less dagger to sharpen

And they tried to warn you about me

And I tried to warn you about them!

I'm the life you chose and all these terrible dangers

So cross your thoughtless heart

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

Simple instrumentation

Oh but I love the title drop

If you wanna break my cold cold heart just say I loved you the way that you were

If you wanna tear my world apart just say you've always wondered

I changed into goddesses villains and fools

Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon

Cause I wonder

Will I always wonder

How Did It End?

Oooh no I'm scared

The piano is scaring me already

No not oh-oh's

We hereby conduct this post-mordem

We must know... how did it end?

Oh-oh oh-ohhhhhhhh

Her backing vocals are so gorgeous

Lot the game of chance what are the chances

Walking in circles like she was lost

Didn't you hear they called it all off

One gasp then how did it end?

Ooh key change oh no

My beloved ghost and me sitting in a tree d-y-i-n-g

But I still don't know how did it end?

I didnt understand until I did hot damn

So High School

Ooooh the instrumentation sounds so 2000s!!!!

That just soft pop rock energy

Bittersweet 16 suddenly

I love the contrast between her soft airy vocals and her gritty lows

Are you gonna marry kiss or kill me

You know how to bottle I know Aristotle

I feel... like laughing

And in the blink of a crinkling eye

Such a sweet grinning song

Sounds like she's really recapturing something teenage

I Hate It Here

Quick quick (lyrics before music what??)

Tell me something awful like you are a poet

When I was a precocious child

Small town fears

Cause I hate it here

Everyone would look down cause it wasn't fun now seems like it was never even fun back then

Only the gentle survived

I'm made most of the year

This is really really pretty

A fun I was a quietly angry child song

This place made me feel worthless

She sounds timeless

This could actually be a kids movie song with this lullaby like instrumentation

thanK you aIMee

(Her first play on capitalization?)

And I forget the way you made me feel

Screaming fuck you Aimee

Ooh I like the build

Nice build!!! Oooh so fun!

But she used to say she wished you were dead 🫢

I built a legacy that you can't undo

That there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you

Miss Taylor did you write a whole new bully song for me??? A la Mean???

I don't think you've changed much do I changed your name

Only us two are gonna know is about you

Soft and powerful

Like every kid who came out of bullying with a kinder heart

I Look In People's Windows

Ooh fun instru- wait wait what? That glitch of a noise? Hello?

I'm afflicted by the not knowing

Backing vocals! Fun noise!

The music is sounding a little more strangled okay!

I'm addicted to the if only

Music leaves her isolated when she calls herself weird hmmm subtext there

The Prophecy

Country sings again with the indie guitar

I got cursed like eve got bitten

A lesser of a woman would've lost hope a greater woman would've begged

Ooh the begging is so pretty

Sounds a prayer for real

Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen

Gathered with a coven round

But even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Spending my last coins so someone will tell me it'll be okay

And said *please*

Cassandra

Oooh follow piano notes

Build some strings okay

When it's burn the bitch they're shrieking

When the truth comes out it's quiet

So they killed Cassandra first

So they killed my cell with snakes I regret to say do you believe me now

What happens if it becomes who you are

So they set my life in flames I'm scared to say do you believe me now

Bloods thick but nothing like a payroll

It's so sad but still powerful like Greek mythology I guess

Ooh but the gravel on "heard"

I think I hear static like fire in the background at the end

Peter

Oooh okay some powerful piano notes alright

Love this instrumentation

Is it something I did

I thought it was just goodbye for now

Said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me

Such a simple melody I love it

We said it was just goodbye for now

And I won't confess that I waited

Cause loves never lost when perspective is earned

Lost to the lost boys chapter of your life

But the woman who waits by the window has turned out the light

The Bolter

Oooooh

Okay I'm here for this alright

Storytelling like folklore!!!

Behind her back her best friends laughed

It's cheery but so devastating my goodness

All her fucking lives passed before her eyes

Oooh ramp up a little with some subtle beats

She's been many places

Yes ramp up

Chariots are waiting

There's a scape in escaping

But she's got the best story

Robin

(In here for all the names okay)

No sad piano!!!

Long note no!!!

You are bloodthirsty (ethereal version)

This is so pretty

The softest battle cry

It's nostalgic power?

We all vowed to keep it from you in sweetness

Is this like you did a good job being sweet now be angry?

You have no room in your dreams for regret

You'll learn to bounce back like you trampoline

This is such a be whatever kind of kid you wanna be

The Manuscript

One note and I'm crying

Love the isolated notes Oh my gosh

Love this end already

Now and then she rereads the manuscript

In the age of him she wished she was 30

Afterwards she only ate kids cereal

She wasn't sure

Okay some growing notes yes! Grow power

The professor said to write what you know

Looking backwards may be the only way to move forward

And at last she knew what the agony had been for

The only that's left is the manuscript

But the story isn't mine anymore

That is a... okay, wait... that's a really really good way to end this album... I need time to digest that actually... hold on...

[battylite]

hi batty, i've been binge-reading "franz kafka, frank zappa" this summer and first off, its phenomenal, seriously -- and secondly, i was wondering if you listened to a particular group of albums or artists when writing it? i'm...so obsessed with the vibes of that particular fic. (im assuming nf!r was in the rotation? :))

hi, thanks so much and I'm so glad you've enjoyed it!! There should a playlist that's linked at the end of the fic (probably end of the last chapter?) but that was more of an exercise in storytelling than what I was actually listening to then. There's a few that will probably be repeats to what I'll put below.

First off, yeah, Norman fucking Rockwell. I don't think I can say anything about this album that hasn't been said elsewhere, but in brief: LDR has always been really good at writing cohesive albums and being purposeful in how she arranges her songs, but this album really elevated her as a storyteller. She's been an interesting artist to follow because her albums have always seemed to be a reflection of her personally, and in NFR! she takes her character seriously, like, as an adult, in a way that isn't true for any of her previous albums. As far as story goes, I still appreciate that whether she's still involved with the person she's writing about in the first half of the album by the end is ambiguous. You could argue either way or that it doesn't matter.

Honorable mention to the first half of Father John Misty's I Love You, Honeybear (title track through Nothing Good Ever Happens; I emphasize the title track and hesitate to include Strange Encounter, which says something). FJM is such a clever writer; this album is so nihilist and gross at times and then romantic at others, and the fact that he's both so good at juggling them and will also give you whiplash is so impressive. I think I could take pieces of my NFR! and rename them ILYH. A couple of other relevant FJM songs: Buddy's Rendezvous, Nancy From Now On, Hangout at the Gallows (the Gallows also used to be a bar in Boston, not that I think that has any relevance to FJM)

Second honorable mention to Glass Animal's Dreamland; the whole album is a really good piece of storytelling, but I would say only the first and final songs are relevant here. Mostly because the title track (Dreamland) was definitely an inspiration, and because (spoiler but not really) the final track (Helium) is connected so masterfully to the first. Both great good examples of tone and atmosphere done really well.

I might add more thoughts/explanation to this later, but those are my quick thoughts, and a few one-off songs:

Mine to Miss -- American Football

Georgia -- Vance Joy

Mariette -- Mark Kozelek

One More Second -- Matt Berninger

Doubt (demo version) -- Hippocampus

Sweetheart and The Last -- Long Beard

Demi Moore -- Phoebe Bridgers

Calgary Girls -- The Smith Street Band

I don't know if this is what you were looking for or the vibe you thought you would get but this was an interesting thing to think about for me so thanks again!

[direwombat]

⛑️

⛑ - Some tender first-aid + some sybjoey! thank you so much for sending this in!

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself, Syb,” Joey says, pulling a curved needle through Sybille’s skin to stitch up a bullet wound in her shoulder.

Sybille is sitting on one of the many mattresses in Jerome’s church while Joey kneels in front of her. A first aid kit rests beside them. She’d been rushed back to Falls End from the fertilizer plant after getting shot and promptly losing consciousness. She’d awoken on the way, bleeding in the back of Grace’s Jeep with her mouth fuzzy from trace amounts of Bliss. And while she had insisted she was fine, neither Grace nor Jess were eager to take their chances. 

“To be fair, this particular bullet wound is Peggie handiwork,” Sybille responds. “Besides, it looks worse than it actually is.”

Joey looks unconvinced. “Y’know, one of these days you’re gonna get shot and that won’t be the case.”

“Well, when that happens, I guess I won’t really have anything left to worry about,” she shrugs. It comes out breezy. Flippant. Her humor stands soundly on the gallows, fully aware of the noose around her neck. 

But Joey isn’t laughing. 

She pauses her sewing to give Sybille a concerned look. A frown tugs at her mouth and her brows knit together, wearing in worry lines she didn’t have the night of the arrest. “Syb…” she says with just the barest hints of exasperation. 

Guilt pangs in Sybille’s gut. Right. They’ve talked about this. The fatalistic jokes they used to indulge in hit a little too close to home now — especially considering just how many times she nearly died and Joey hadn’t been able to do anything to help. 

Sometimes she forgets that although Joey was a soldier, much like her, they aren’t quite fighting the same fight. She’s out in the field, leading the troops and taking fire while Joey is stuck in the med-tent after spending time as a POW. 

Their experiences in this war are very different. 

“Right,” she says. “Sorry.”

Joey shakes her head and resumes stitching her up. “It’s not your fault,” she says, but her mouth twists in a way that suggests she’s holding something back. 

“But?” Sybille prods.

“But nothing, it’s just —” Joey sighs. She looks up at her with massive, shimmering dark brown eyes. “You know I care about you, right? I worry about you. Every time you leave Falls End I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you again and —”

Sybille lifts a hand to cradle Joey’s cheek. “Hey,” she says gently. “I will always come back for you, okay?”

“You don’t—”

“Joey, listen to me,” she continues. “I have been tortured, shot, and blown up all before this shit started. There ain’t nothin' the cult can throw at me that I ain’t already lived through. We’ll get through this. John’s dead and I promise you, I will send every last one of that damn family to Hell.” She strokes her thumb over Joey’s cheek. “We’ll be okay,” she says softly. 

Joey’s eyes fall shut, her fingers wrapping around Sybille’s wrist. She nuzzles into her palm and nods. “We’ll be okay,” she repeats. “We’ll be okay.”

If they say it often enough, maybe someday they’ll start to believe it. But for now, they lie, if only because it’s sweeter and more palatable than the bitter truth they’re both agonizingly aware of.

[inquisimer]

HAP FRI BELOVED for Hawke x Loghain: ❛ you know, they’re going to use the things you love against you. ❜

hap fri to YOU beloved💜💜 ty for indulging my niche brainrot I adore you to pieces uwu

wc: 1085

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

The viscount’s office looked different from the other side of the desk. Familiar, but odd, like seeing a sketch of her face instead of a reflection.

Bran had sealed the door after Dumar’s death and no one had been allowed inside since, not even staff to clean. A thick layer of dust coated every surface; it had puffed around Siobhan’s boots when she finally fit the ancient, ornate key into the lock and entered the office.

Her office.

It was everything she’d wanted and not, all at once.

The appointment was unofficial, technically, but the Seneschal doubted the nobles—most of whom still owed their lives to Hawke—would fight the Templars on it. At the very least, there would be no vote until the city had a semblance of order, and a single glance outside assured that was a ways off.

Hightown sprawled outside her window, a combination of smoldering rubble and half-demolished estates. Most of the bodies had been collected and removed, but the corpse of the Chantry, a giant, magically polluted crater, loomed over it all in its absence.

With a wave of her hand, Siobhan sucked all the dust and grime into a ball and set it aflame. It burned away into nothing just as a firm knock came through the door.

“Enter.”

Hinges creaked, revealing her brother. His blue and silver armor was streaked with ash and blood from days of triage and rescue with no break.

“Someone’s here for you,” he said without preamble. There was still anger and tension between them, words unspoken about what she’d done and why, but this wasn’t the time for mediation. Siobhan nodded and another figure in somewhat cleaner Warden armor stepped around the door frame.

“Loghain,” she breathed, fingers flexing against the wood of her desk.

She drank in his face. There were new lines across his brow, in the corners of his eyes, and the thin, pink line of a mostly healed wound wasn’t quite concealed by his unbound hair. Dark circles ringed his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for days. Depending on where he was when the news hit, perhaps he hadn’t.

But it had only been about a week since the Void rained down around Kirkwall. So how—

“I summoned him.” Carver answered her unasked question, scowling. “I needed a Senior Warden and Stroud’s on a recruitment tour and the Vigil is so insular as to be useless.”

“Needed a Senior Warden?”

“The red lyrium.” Armor creaked as Carver pursed his lips and shifted. “It’s tainted.”

Siobhan rolled her eyes. “You don’t fucking say. I thought it switched from blue because it of seasonal fashion.”

With a frustrated groan, Carver threw his hands in the air. “You explain it to her,” he muttered, shouldering past Loghain to leave. “Maybe she’ll actually listen.”

Siobhan turned toward the window, if only so she didn’t have to confront the piercing stare Loghain had fixed her with. When she spoke, her breath fogged against the glass. “What’s he on about now?”

“The boy is correct: red lyrium is tainted.” Time had not changed his voice, still low and slightly grating, yet steady and comforting against her ears. “Not just the color—it is Blight-Tainted.”

“What?”

In the warped reflection, she saw him open his mouth and she whipped around, glaring. “I heard you the first time,” she snapped before he could repeat himself, or something similarly asinine. “How do you know?”

“It sings. We can hear it, like the darkspawn.”

A heavy breath and Siobhan rubbed her temple. Her mind was spinning. “What does that mean? The implications, the exposure—“

“Your brother reports that when the Templars and remaining mages are separated from the Gallows, he cannot sense Taint within them. It does not seem to be contagious in that way.”

“Thank the Maker for small blessings,” she muttered. “I have enough to deal with as it is.”

“So you do.” Loghain stepped forward, closing the distance between them to only a pace. “Vicountess.”

Her poker face had always rivaled his and they both held now, even as she jutted her chin out and folded her arms. “Is that a problem?”

He snorted. “Not for me. You, on the other hand…”

“I can handle myself.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Then what do you doubt, serrah?”

Loghain hummed, idly flicking a bit of grime from his gauntlets. “Power begets power, Siobhan. You may retain and wield it with ease, but those necessarily drawn to your station will shape it into a weapon with which to fell you. Your words, your actions—“

He shook his head, and she could taste the bitterness of his words like a tangible thing on her own tongue.

“Even those you love,” he said lowly. “And it will matter not how much you love this city or what you would give to save it. If they perceive a weakness to twist, they will use it all against you.”

Siobhan closed her eyes. She thought of Mother, just a head stitched to another’s corpse; of Carver, bound in blood magic on a sandy cliff.

“They already have.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint sounds of continued search and rescue efforts outside. Finally, Siobhan shook her head and blinked her eyes back open.

“Luckily,” she said, not quite managing to keep the sour note from her voice. “Everyone I love has already left the city, or will be doing so in short order.”

“Is that so.”

“Don’t go expecting me to list off where they’ve all gone.” Siobhan snorted. “Not when I haven’t checked the office for any listening runes the Templars planted while Dumar was in office.”

A surprised chuckle escaped Loghain and Siobhan’s cynical half-smirk turned to something softer, more genuine. “But I would not have them here. If the Divine decides this is the moment for an Exalted March—“

“Yet your brother remains.”

“Carver would chew off his foot if I told him he shouldn’t. You, off all people, know what a stubborn ass he is.”

“Must be a family trait.”

“Perhaps.” She lifted one fur-lined shoulder in a casual shrug. “He’ll leave soon on his own. A Warden never stays for long.”

He studied her at that. She suspected that he could feel the bitter waves coming off her as she had from him earlier. It didn’t matter, and she didn’t care, because neither of them could change what it was.

“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose they do.”

[cherryxxmoon]

– 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Rating: E  Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke As she advanced down the aisle, Sakura's eyes were on one man, the one waiting at the altar, whose dark irises seemed in turn unable to give her respite.

He scrutinized her with such minuteness that a single glance went through layers of tulle and organza, making her feel naked under his gaze. The young pink-haired lowered her own, walking on the wedding march without really listening to it, burdened by the noise of her thoughts, the cries and squirms of her rioting soul.

Sakura ignored the smiles on the faces of those present, the moved tears of her dearest relatives. She walked as if she were going to the gallows and her head would soon be painfully separated from her neck.

A rush of revulsion twisted her insides when to greet her was the face of a man her heart did not recognize. His skin was a different shade, his hair too light, his eyes not dark enough, his smile so wide as to give her the impression that he was mocking her, satisfied with her misery.

A foolish thought, for Sakura knew that was not really the case. No one in that chapel was aware of the turmoil which stirred her soul and heart, of the grief which lurked in her bones and muscles, causing her such pain she felt dizzy. None but one.

The pink-haired's sad eyes met his again, more familiar, warmer, so terribly easy to interpret. She wanted to cry out, to demand him to stop looking at her like that, exuding an intimacy which never should have been there and a resignation which never should have taken root in his heart. Fight. Why don't you fight? A madness that Sakura knew was infeasible, a hope that bordered on insanity, a desire so visceral it could never be satisfied.

Sasuke never looked away from her during the entire ceremony. Sakura, on the other hand, kept her gaze down, not even listening to his words, certain that she would be able to catch the anguish in his tone of voice, as sharp as a dagger blade piercing her chest.

"— Sakura." Her name vibrated on his tongue, and Sakura wondered how the affection with which those letters were imbued, the belonging that his voice exuded, could not be obvious to the eyes of all present. "Do you take this man to have and to hold in sickness and health as long as you both shall live?"

Sakura lifted her gaze, determined to mirror herself in the dark eyes of the celebrant, who seemed to mentally repeat to her what she had madly wished for him to do in a burst of madness. Fight. Say no. Tell the truth. But she could not. She couldn't have. She would have ruined herself, her reputation, her family, the peace agreement reached by that arranged marriage— and she would have ruined him, the victim of a love which if expressed could have been lethal, a sin so sweet and blasphemous, a blessing and condemnation they would have to live with for the rest of their days.

"I do." And so she sanctioned the final blow to both of them, a bleeding wound which was going to rip through the core of their chests that not even the knowledge this would happen sooner or later could mend. Foolish and reckless, they had orbited each other until they condemned themselves with their own hands, greedy for forbidden and unutterable love and pleasure. Crucified voluntarily, repeating to themselves that not consuming that sinful flame would have counted as an even worse offense to Heaven, to saints and gods ready to judge and punish them— as was eventually happening. But it had not been the hand of the Lord which had annihilated them with a fatal lash. It had been them, selfish and conscious.

---

It had been easy to ignore the women's murmurs when she promptly dismissed them. She wanted to be alone; she needed it to breathe, to shed the mask she had been forced to wear. A few moments of relief, a few moments in which to pretend she was not falling apart under the weight of lies, of pain, of her torn and broken heart.

Sakura looked at the mirror without recognizing herself, dressed in white to embody a purity which did not actually belong to her. Lies and lies, from her mouth, from her face. Her eyes, however, were incapable of lying, sad and filled with mourning, brightened by a vivid glow only the moment she glimpsed the figure of the dark-haired behind her through the reflection.

She could not suppress or annihilate him, that love that burned and blazed like unquenchable flames, the passion and lust which lurked in her vile sinner's body. Sadness, remorse and pain completely engulfed by all that made her real and true, the force which provided her with oxygen, which pumped her heart to allow it to beat.

"Sasuke-kun—" The dark-haired lifted a hand to shush her immediately, as if with words she could shatter that moment which rested on the slender control they both had, ready to falter, to sanction their end. Sasuke continued to watch her, the onyx irises emitting everything he could not express verbally.

It was a cruel game they had been thrown into, into an even more vile world. Selfishness and lust for power had trapped them in a vortex where the only ones who really suffered were them. And then their lives had been seasoned only with ifs, assumptions. What if they had never met each other? If Sakura had not been a Haruno, so important and essential in the Senju's rise to power? What if Sasuke had not opted to exile himself among the Lord's gates, to redeem himself of a lesser sin than the one that now stained their consciences?

After contemplating and admiring her for endless moments, the dark-haired approached her with exhausting slowness, as if waiting for his body to come to its senses and remove him from that room. It never happened, as it had never happened in those years of hidden and forbidden passion, tasting so sweet.

Trembling hands found the pearl buttons, moving over to unbutton them one by one, with deliberate calm. Each imperceptible touch of his knuckles against her own skin was enough to instill mad desire in her, chills inexorably enveloping her body.

Their gazes trapped each other. No one was willing to deprive himself even for a moment of the sight of the other's face. Black and green mingled in a swirl of darkness and light, joining until they became a single flame burning with the intensity of the sun, ready to consume two mere sinners.

Sakura angled her head, exposing the milky skin on which immediately the lips of the other rested, greedy and unbidden, aware that they could not escape the force which compelled them to touch, to love, to be consumed.

"I have never seen such a beautiful bride," Sasuke whispered to her, in a sigh which broke against her bare neck. A chill possessed her back, as in her lower belly fanned the flames of a sin which brought her ever closer to hell, a fiery chasm into which she was voluntarily sinking. "So pure—" The dark-haired's arm encircled her waist, pressing their bodies against each other. "So candid and innocent." Lies upon lies but so persuasive in tone that they became absolute truths just for the sake of being able to believe them, of being able to entrust to him and him alone a purity from which he would strip her with false reticence. "How cruel it would be to deprive you of it, Sakura," Sasuke continued, lifting her wedding dress so that he could lock her thigh in an iron, possessive grip. "And how bitter the punishment of the one who would dare to stain it."

"Sasuke—" she exhaled, as his fingers grazed her clothed sex with cruel slowness. An entreaty, an invitation to go on, to sully her with every sin which was touching his mind, rather than to stop, to come to his senses, to redeem himself and her.

"He would burn in hellfire for even thinking that." His warm breath brushed her ear, and Sakura could do nothing but look at him, admiring him helplessly through the reflection of the mirror, succumbing to his presence so additive. The dark-haired looked back at her, reveling in the blush which dusted her cheeks, the parted lips which emitted delicate gasps, the eyes blazing with lust, that garish innocence which was going to dissipate due to him.

A genuine moan escaped her as Sasuke slipped his hand under her panties, palming her cunt, spreading her folds and feeling her arousal.

"But what is an eternity of damnation—" Succumbing to his own desire, to the lustful demon taking possession of him, the dark-haired wetted his lips, swallowing noisily. "When compared to you and your gentle sin." Already embraced by pleasure, Sakura hid her face in the crook of his neck, there where the white collar towered over the dark robes, over the cassock which should have acted as a warning but was by now skillfully ignored, so long as they lingered in that shared fervor.

Using his grip on the young bride's body, Sasuke turned her in his arms, guiding her toward the table to his left. Trapped between the furniture and the priest, Sakura grasped a flap of her white dress to keep it up, her legs spread, her sex offered to the man before her, whose fingers now explored her from within.

"So sweet and so tempting you are— look how you deceive even the most devoted servant of God." Sasuke led her hand to the bulge on his crotch. Her inners tightened around his fingers, milking all the pleasure they could get from them, quivering in anticipation of something thicker, harder to clench around.

"It’s your doing, father," exhaled the young pink-haired, leaning toward him, and he did the same, pressing their foreheads together. "It’s yours and yours alone— the desire to corrupt a young and innocent bride." His fingers curled inside her, causing her to moan louder. Hers, on the other hand, clutched his length through the clerical robes.

"You know how to make lies so terribly believable, with your bold lips, Sakura," Sasuke taunted her, his fingers now dripping with her fluids, as he continued to fuck her with them relentlessly. "Yet another sin of which they are the victims." The dark-haired sealed the reality of those words with a kiss, wolfish and wet, greedy and craving, invading her with all his vigor, whether it was in her mouth or in her cunt.

"Not the only one they're capable of," Sakura murmured against his lips, biting her own in a vain attempt to quell the sharp displays of pleasure. As if to come to her rescue, Sasuke paused, depriving her of a bliss so close to climax that it mingled with frustration.

"Show me then." He stepped back and stood there, motionless and waiting, under the heated and impatient gaze of the young bride. Sakura watched him minutely, seemingly so obedient to his duty, to his promise to God. Impeccable in his cassock, with the white collar towering over his neck, and there was no greater satisfaction than anticipating the undressing, the moment when the priest so composed and algid, with seemingly invulnerable faith, became disheveled and tousled, panting and sweating only for her, further than ever from the absolution he preached and granted.

Sakura fell to her knees shortly thereafter, her palms running upward along his legs, searching for and finding the buttons of his black cassock, which opened under the dark-haired's attentive and lustful gaze, trembling with anticipation.

She palmed his erection through his dark pants as her other hand crept into his tunic, feeling the rough skin, the well-defined abdomen, a secret which should have remained so, a nudity which should never have been discovered.

Sasuke groaned, his hard cock now exposed and clenched between the young pink-haired's fingers. She began to stroke him, as her lips testified to their perdition by closing gently on his nut, sucking with exhausting delicacy.

There was not only honor and reputation at stake. It was not just the sin they were imbuing themselves. If her groom's family discovered them waiting for them there would be the gallows and the promise of the hell to which they were condemning themselves.

Nothing had been able to contain the burning passion, the need to have and love each other strenuously, to the point of corroding and dissolving, as long as they did not deprive them of the other, the kisses and caresses, the fusion of their bodies as one. A cruel gambit of Satan, so inescapable that not even God's light could have brightened them, so lost and complete when seized by that darkness, where each was the other's light.

With her lively tongue Sakura licked the dark-haired's cock upward, lingering on the spot on the tip she knew brought wonder and perdition, if touched by her, if massaged by her fingers, if bathed by her tongue. She collected a few drops of his fluids with it, and the groan which followed acted as incitement, as her lips closed on his length, welcoming him into her mouth bearer of lies and pleasure.

Sasuke tilted his head back as the young bride bobbed her head and sucked him with her cheeks. An unholy melody filled the room, wet, choked sounds, groans barely controlled. She gagged on his cock, stubborn enough to take him in as far as she could, until the corners of her eyes were brimming with tears.

When no longer able to sustain the sight presented to him, the priest closed his eyes, going at the same time to move his hips to regain an almost entirely lost control. He fucked her mouth in a steady pace, spit and pre-cum sliding down her chin, soiling her white dress, witness of purity.

He was on the edge, Sakura could tell by the throbbing of his dick, by the way his fingers tightened around a few pink locks, undoing her elaborate wedding hairstyle. Hers clutched his cassock, the only foothold which kept his fervor from unbalancing her.

Sasuke pulled away a moment before the inevitable happened, depriving himself of a pleasure he longed to pour out elsewhere, yearning to have all of her before he granted her his seed. He grazed her lips with his thumb, gathering the wetness with which they glistened, before slipping it between her lips to allow her to taste it. And she sucked him, savoring without ever taking her gaze from his, the jade irises caught in his flushed face, his eyes alight with mad desire.

She got to her feet, being immediately pushed toward the bed destined for her wedding night, falling with her back on it, still adorned in her wedding dress. The dark-haired towered over her, his knees pressed against the edge of the mattress, his hard cock waiting to spring into action.

Sakura wrapped her legs around his hips and, without waiting any longer, the dark-haired slipped to the side her panties, burying himself inside her, deep and firm, gaining a sharp moan from her, more harmonious than the clerical choirs.

"Why would I desire Heaven—" he murmured, pulling out and then slamming himself again into her cunt, throbbing and wet, eager for pleasure. "If it is between your legs?" The young bride arched her back, then abandoned herself messily and exhausted on the bed, clinging desperately to the pure, white sheets.

His erection rammed inside her, embraced by her folds dripping with arousal, which clenched and trapped him, seeking ever greater bliss. The young bride began to meet his thrusts with her hips, supported by his hands, firm on her ass. Sasuke was guiding her toward pleasure, an accomplice and advocate of a capital and addictive sin, one she would rather die than ever deprive herself of.

"You're wrong—" muttered Sakura, and the dark-haired leaned toward her, abandoning her back on the mattress, steading himself on his right palm while his left did not leave her bare thigh. "It burns like hellfire."

The dark-haired smirked, kissing her again and again, firm in the rhythm of his hips, fucking her further, deeper. Sakura was now lost and disheveled, her pink hair spreading over her head like a halo, mingling with the rumpled sheets, the tulle of her wedding gown.

She undid the last buttons of his cassock, the white collar falling abandoned on one side of the bed, his now exposed chest pressed against hers.

"Let me soothe it then," whispered Sasuke, in a murmur which mingled with groans. He turned her with his arms, swift and determined, so that Sakura could find herself facing the mirror again. A different person than the young bride of moments before, composed and pious, innocent and pure. "You can watch us burn." He pierced her with his cock again and again, impatiently pacing, colliding against her ass and reveling in the unholy, desecrating sounds of their bodies coming together, the cries of pleasure, so sharp that even if Heaven wasn't watching it would have heard them.

With one hand the pink-haired kept her dress raised, while the other snaked his neck, her fingers gripping his disheveled raven locks.

He fucked her from behind, under the watchful gaze of both of them, greedy eyes following the sensual and sinful movements, a union profane and wrong, perverted and depraved, but in which the two of them were at peace, clean, filled with wholeness and belonging. Only together and fused were they alive and breathing. Only sin made the world real and worth living in. Hell was a meager atonement in comparison.

Sasuke branded her skin with his teeth, recklessly and madly, then running his tongue along the reddened spot on her neck. His left hand slid between her legs, stopping there where the flames burned with greater intensity, ready to fulfill his promise and ease her burning, granting her peaks of pleasure.

"Sasuke-kun—" implored Sakura, moving messily against his body, impaling herself on his hard, throbbing cock, accentuating the friction of her own cunt, of the sensitive nub, against his hand.

"Only God knows how much I crave you, Sakura—" Even Sasuke was now at the brink, cupping her cheeks with his free hand. "Because he himself doomed me to love you so much."

The knot in her lower belly loosened, tongues of fire grasped her, expanding toward every ounce of her body, like a heathen burned at the stake.

"Cum inside, Sasuke-kun— please," she begged him between ravings of madness and pleasure. "I am married now. I can bear your child." He needed no further incentive. The priest reached his climax by slamming into her one last time, releasing hot spurts of his seed into her cunt, which mingled with her fluids in a meaningful mixture, juices of a forbidden love just consumed.

They remained that way for several moments, entwined and heated, with frantic breaths and sweaty skin. Completely exhausted, far from the composure they masked themselves with, themselves only because they were together and free. Sasuke kissed her, without wolfish urgency, intense but slow, savoring each moment with lazy avarice.

"I love you," she told him, pressing her lips against his neck, up to his jaw. "God be damned."

"No, Sakura," the dark-haired corrected her, sitting back on his heels and dragging her with him, clutching her to his chest as if she were his most precious possession. "God be praised. Without him I would not have found you." Exhausted by the newly ravaged intercourse, Sakura managed to barely curve the corners of her lips into a smile. "My purest and most innocent sinner."

Part 2 here

You can enjoy art based on this fic and made by the amazing Riakurou on:

Patreon

Twitter

[naboman]

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

Chapter Two: The Murphy Law's. Description: Kawaguchi [Name] ended up causing trouble for the entire journalism club by refusing to lend support to Takashi's project, and when she employs her brazen antics to rectify her mistakes, they only worsen. Notes: the chapter is write in first person, just for yo understand the persona and carater at main character. She is not a good person in her actions, but there is a reason for her to behave this way.

[Previous] [Next]

"What have you done?!" the guy sitting in front of me exclaimed, his face drained of color from shock. I narrowly avoided messing up the lettering.

His almond-shaped eyes widened like saucers in horror, almost popping out of their sockets. He was so astounded that he seemed on the verge of tearing out his hair. I wonder why all this drama. It's not like a little mistake like this could lead to a catastrophe that would condemn us to the gallows.

Or could it?

"As I said, Mizushima..." I said calmly, going over the homework without caring about his condemning gaze burning just inches away, "I repeated several times that it was a terrible idea and a waste of time, and since he kept insisting, I ended up... getting a bit angry. Blame Yuuma; he's the real instigator of all this discord."

I repeated loudly, clearly, and without any guilt or remorse. Like a saint.

"You... You idiot! The president is going to kill us!"

"Relax... He won't."

"Yes, he will!"

I huffed in inflexible response to the other's mindset. I rolled my eyes around the room - empty, it's worth noting - trying not to meet the condemning gaze from across the table. That was one of the disadvantages of being part of the student council; members are constantly reminded and encouraged to always arrive early. It's a major pain.

Returning, my eyes fell on the horrified silhouette whose hands were trembling slightly, cold sweat forming, already considering the worst. Even though restraining himself, the noticeable quiver of his hands on the table persisted.

"Scared?" I asked, watching his almond-shaped eyes hover over me in surprise. "Don't be shy, damsel. Your knight in shining armor will take on this responsibility."

I said in a dramatically ironic tone, raising an arm in the air as if wielding a blade. Adding,

" Do you Like? I took theater classes when I was a kid."

My lighthearted comment made him furrow his brows in disapproval.

"Of course, I'm scared, and how can you make jokes at a time like this?" he asked, agitated by my nonchalance, as his astonishment gave way to an angry expression. "We'll be warned again, all because of you!"

"My fault?!" I exclaimed, offended by the accusation. "I did my duty, as requested. If you wanted things your way, you should have taken responsibility."

"You can't just do things however you please; this isn't about abusing power. Holding a high position doesn't give you the right to act like a dictator! That's ridiculous and immature!"

"You can't do this, you can't do that either," I mimicked in a shrill voice, seeing that I succeeded in irritating him. "When are you all going to stop complaining? I always do what you ask. When will I get a day off?" he asked in ecstasy, resorting to a topic that had long been neglected. "Besides, I didn't even ask for this secretary position!"

In the heat of the moment, I stood up and slammed both hands on each side of the table - the materials trembled with the action. It didn't take long for the vice-secretary to follow my movement, wearing a displeased expression.

It seems we're back to square one.

"Listen here, it might mean absolutely nothing to you, but see, I care!" he said in a threatening tone, making my blood boil with disgust. Even though I knew that I didn't like it at all, he continued. In fact, I believe it urged him to drive the knife even deeper. "I take great pride in having a guaranteed spot in the student council, but people like you don't care about others' efforts, do you? You only care about yourself and your comfort! I'm sure you don't even know the struggle during elections since you were invited!"

I laughed scornfully, trying to disguise the knot forming in my stomach, a lump in my throat that seemed to constrict my vocal cords, preventing me from retorting. Have some patience...!

"Are you jealous of not being invited? Should I feel sorry for your suffering?" I retorted. I wanted to hesitate but kept pushing forward. "You're trying to belittle me for not competing, but that just shows how many levels above you I am! Don't try to convince me with this talk of 'effort and hard work'! It's pathetic!"

He clicked his tongue.

"Arrogant as always. If you're so superior, why don't you try facing the president? He'll be happy to help you remember who you really are."

"You don't know anything," I practically spat the words.

"Wrong, you're the one who doesn't know anything. It's not about hard work, but the moment you stop even trying, your presence becomes entirely replaceable," he replied, locking eyes with me. "The student council isn't just about high grades and academic coordination. It's about representing and assisting others. Keep that in mind."

"Congratulations. Now tell me, what's it like stating the obvious?" I didn't break eye contact for a second. This is a battle, and I can't afford to lose. "So, what's the moral of the story?"

For the first time that day, I saw a smug smile pull his lips upward, catching me off guard.

"The moral of the story is that petty people like you don't belong in the student council. You only act for your own benefit. How does it feel to be so selfish, honorable secretary?"

I geared up to respond, but he continued,

"Deep down, you're worse than those delinquents."

The words are harsh, meant to cut deep. They left me speechless; I couldn't recall any argument I had prepared at that moment. It rendered me momentarily blind, as if I had gone and come back from the deepest pit of hell. Bitterness quickly made itself present in the back of my throat.

"How... How dare you compare me to those infamous people?!" I stammered with disgust. "Those... Degenerates. Don't you ever say that again!"

"I'm serious, dead serious," he emphasized, paying no mind to what I said. I was sure the expression on his youthful face now was one of pure disgust. "If you want to get us out of this hole you've put us in, you better talk to that guy before he goes to the president himself."

"And if, hypothetically speaking, I don't do that?" I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. What could he threaten now?

"Then say goodbye to the newspaper, chief editor. I'm sure the sports club would love a new room to store their materials," he declared, and my confidence unraveled in the blink of an eye, leading me into an existential shock. He couldn't be serious. "I'll be more than happy to talk to the president myself if necessary."

"Mizushima, you wouldn't..."

I provoked him, narrowing my eyes.

"Wouldn't I?"

This time, he broke eye contact, gathering the scattered documents on the table, miraculously undamaged. He quickly stored them in his folder and headed for the door of the room. I hurriedly checked the time on the wall clock. It was 7:56 in the morning, almost time for us to gather for a meeting in the Student Council room.

Damn!

"Good luck, [Name], you're going to need it," he dragged me out of my reverie. However, I didn't have time to retort because when I turned to face the brunet, the door was already closing. And I was alone.

I slump into the chair as if I don't care, rubbing the space between my eyes. Now, in addition to the newspaper, I also need to get in touch with the president.

I need to grab a coffee at lunchtime, or I'll end up sleeping on this desk, and let's be honest, it's kind of humiliating to be in such a deplorable state of exhaustion.

I made a mental note to remember these things by the end of the day.

Summoning the strength I no longer had in my body, I hurried to leave the room, my backpack hanging on my right arm.

Ship's log, entry one: The year is 2005, and I am humiliating myself. Is there still a chance to go back on my word? Spoiler: No, there isn't.

The closing time for classes was uneventful, without any disagreements or unforeseen events. With my hands in the jacket pockets, I walked briskly to the Student Council room, even though my inclination was to turn the corner and head back the way I came. He always stayed an extra half-hour waiting in there; it was impossible for him not to be there now.

"President... President Yamazaki, are you there? I need to talk about something important," I called with two soft knocks on the door, easily producing a loud sound in the deserted corridor.

When I heard a muffled "come in" behind the door, I turned the handles of the double doors and entered the room. I came face to face with the guy sitting in the chair, putting a book in his backpack and now looking at me with one of his more pleasant and inviting smiles.

Yes, that's right; he has this "aura" that makes everyone want to be around him. He's welcoming and comfortable, although I have a different interpretation. The energy he exudes can be suffocating on certain occasions.

"[Name]? What brings you here?" he asked, giving me a subtle smile.

'I work here, idiot'. I cleared my throat. He seems to be in a good mood; this is the perfect chance to pitch my idea.

"President," I maintained my rigid posture; it's now or never. "Not long ago, I sent you a report about the... Incident with the Home Economics Club. Do you recall?"

"Perfectly. You slandered the club representative in your letter. If I wasn't aware of your capabilities, I could easily say that was a hate speech. But I know how sharp you can be when you want to be."

He continued to smile, even after insulting me. I clenched my fists beneath the jacket sleeves.

"It must be your impression, President. Words may sound brutal coming from anyone who reads them. I polished my report very well before sending it. I believe the issue isn't with the text."

I should have stitched my tongue before coming. He's not an idiot; he must have understood that I called him ignorant. Fuck!

I was about to offer an apology when a laugh escaped from the other's lips.

"Always with the best responses. It's so good talking to you, [Name]-san, I always have fun," he remarked, waving his hand for me to come closer, and I did, proceeding cautiously with each step. "So, where are you going with this?"

"I want to reconsider my actions. I made some hasty decisions and prioritized my will over others. Could you... think about it?"

I swallowed hard.

I chose my words carefully. If I wanted to achieve something with this, I needed to persuade him to agree with me, and for that, there's nothing better than submitting to his abnormal sense of optimism and willpower.

He's considering it, that's progress.

"No," he said in response, catching me off guard. Where the hell did I go wrong? Just a few minutes ago, I was almost checkmating the president. What kind of bipolarity is this? Needless to say, I needed a full minute to recover from this major slap in the face.

I felt the urge to curse him, but - fortunately for me - my body didn't move a muscle to fulfill that desire.

That's when he added to his speech,

"Choices have consequences."

"Ah... I see," I muttered, my throat choked with all the insults I know.

"However, we can make a small agreement," he held the pen deftly, twirling it between his fingers and positioning it as if he were about to jot something down, which, indeed, he was.

"What's it about?" I asked curiously.

"Well, [Name]-san, I think it's evident to all of us that the school newspaper, undoubtedly, has been losing its quality as the days go by," he made a cutting remark. It hit a nerve because I was fully aware it was true, but whenever someone insisted on making the same observation, the urge that arose was to look at the person and say, "You should do better, then." But even I know how inconvenient and immature that can be.

So, I contented myself with nodding and agreeing with a small satisfied smile.

"Thank you for the feedback, I'll keep that in mind."

"Yes. I'm well aware of that."

I reluctantly agreed.

"So, if you want to recycle the idea of the yearbook, I suggest you take responsibility and write something decent," as faint as his tone might have been, his words contradicted it entirely. I could sense the dissatisfaction and disdain permeating his words from afar. "You know; You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

Having said that, he stared back at me deep in the eyes, with his smile - anything but - pleasant. If I were some extremist lyricist, I would say this guy has the devil in his eyes.

To my dismay, his silence didn't last long.

"You know you don't get something for nothing. Besides, we're talking about a school project!" he said as if it were the most surreal thing in the world; like seeing a flying saucer. "Let's make it very clear: no, reconsidering is not an option. But we can always negotiate, Kawaguchi-san."

He stared at me expectantly. I hate that look. Having people stare at me like that is profoundly exhausting. It lodges in my head, demanding my time and commitment. It gives me the creeps.

"Alright, President," I accepted without giving in.

"I knew you'd understand!" he said finally, pleased. "I believe in you, I know you can do it."

As soon as Yamazaki handed me the paper with the notes, I left the room as quickly as I could with a nod. I walked down the hallway, bubbling with anger.

At this rate, I'll be gray-haired in my '20s.

The next day, during the journalism club activities, I slipped into my matching pairs of shoes and walked in all my glory to the club room.

A breathless sigh escaped me. I took a moment to catch my breath before continuing the audible reading, massaging my temples and relaxing in the chair. The room might be small, but at least it's comfortable - there were some cabinets with documents and others with snacks hidden in the back.

The window at the center of the room was open, and the curtains swayed back and forth simultaneously.

"If you keep sighing like that, your soul might end up leaving your body," the boy in glasses and a gray cardigan said, not taking his eyes off the computer.

"Tsubasa, where can I find 'true stories'?" I asked, ignoring his comment.

"I don't know, on... The internet?" His response sounded more like a question than an assertion.

"Was that a question or an answer?" I raised an eyebrow in doubt, and he just shrugged as if to say "I don't know, you tell me." "And we need to gather the information ourselves, it's written here too."

I shook the paper in my right hand.

"Well... What a complicated life," I said.

"We should be thankful; we haven't had a good article since last month, and he never complained," he pointed out, indifferently. "I think he held onto it so much that when he had the chance, he let it all out at once. Like a sniper."

"Yeah, and apparently the shot came right to my forehead," I added ironically.

I heard the other emit a weak laugh in response.

"Relax, it's not the end of the world," he gave me a glance over the table, looking at my feet crossed over it. Yuuma has no idea that I can put my feet on my own table whenever I want; he would go crazy if he knew that. "Aside from this detail, the rest is a piece of cake. We just need to gather the team and scour every corner of Tokyo. There's always something to talk about."

"It's going to be a bit tough, considering my right-hand man is still sulking with me," I argued, shrugging.

"There are other people to write; our team isn't that small," he countered.

"You talk as if we're a secret society."

"But of course, we're practically the Men in Black. Or almost, since we don't investigate UFOs."

I cleared my throat, thinking about how to respond.

"Well, it depends," I commented, crossing my arms behind my neck. "Does the President count as an Alien?"

The other laughed at the remark.

"Do you think he's an alien?" he asked sarcastically.

"I'm 95% sure he's a disguised reptilian," I responded with disdain, standing up from the chair and leaving him to ponder. To my surprise, Tsubasa seemed genuinely engaged in thought.

"And the other 5?"

"For the other five, I think you should stop talking and get back to work," I lightly tapped his forehead with the notebook.

"Nice try, but I'm already done," he boasted.

"Great," I said simply. "I've been thinking about writing about a specific topic and continuing with the same one every two months. That way, we gain some spare time for research."

"Are you crazy? Unless you have a radar to attract good stories, we won't be able to keep that up for even half a month, let alone two."

"Ever heard that haste makes waste?" I asked.

"Only laid-back people say that kind of thing."

"Maybe so, but I want to give it a try," I shot him a mischievous smile.

The boy just sighed, conceding defeat.

"It's up to you."

"Don't worry, I'll come up with something by Monday," I reassured him. "We have a meeting on Monday."

"You better put your brain to work."

"These shoulders carry a good head, don't doubt it for a single second."

He didn't respond, so I took the opportunity to ask:

"Speaking of the meeting... Have you seen Suzume?"

"The vice president?" He thought for a few seconds, and I crossed my arms, waiting patiently. "I heard her saying she needed to take care of something in the computer club today, but I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

"She disappeared with my things."

"I see... Well, she probably hasn't left yet; try finding her around."

"Well, I'm off then."

I waved and gathered my belongings, leaving the room in a hurry, but not before giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder, resulting in a surprised look directed at me. I was a bit intrigued – do people think I can't be nice when I want to?

When I closed the door behind me, I took a moment to compose myself. I've never been one to lose my cool easily; however, last days events are making me rethink that statement.

"Damn..." I clenched my fist, cursing under my breath.

A few steps ahead, I knocked on the door of the computer room without much patience, and a short girl with colorful streaks greeted me. Her expression was serene.

"Hmm? What's up?" she grumbled, leaning against the door with her arms crossed.

"I want to talk to the vice president; she took my camera," I informed, seeing her raise an eyebrow. I felt the corner of my left eye twitch "now."

Then, a light bulb went off in the girl's mind.

"Oh, you're [Name]?! Come on in!" She opened the door wide, allowing me to enter.

It wasn't very surprising to walk in and come face to face with the club in silence, except for the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards. No one noticed my presence as I passed through the door, which was a relief – my social self is crying tears of joy on the inside.

I approached a table where the vice president was, and when I touched her shoulder, she turned her head to face the wave I was giving to her.

She made sure to hand me the camera before anything else. I felt a wave of relief to see that it was still intact – and clean, it's worth noting.

"Thank you, [Name]! You saved our skin!" she said with a charming smile.

"Can I consider this my good deed of the year?" I asked, a smug smile directed at her. Her cheeks turned rosy due to her melodic laughter. I cleared my throat and looked away. "Anyway, I'll be going; I still have my part-time job today."

"We'll meet at the entrance before the meeting," Suzume decided on her own. "See you on Monday!"

I waved from behind as I passed through the door again.

As I changed shoes, I stretched my arms and elongated my body in a futile attempt to send fatigue away. At least now that I'm free from the school's corporate activities, I can think properly about the things I'm going to do.

A yawn escaped my lips as a few tears formed in my eyes involuntarily. Working at the cash register is worse than scrubbing the floor because, in a way, there's no lie that justifies my fatigue.

"Sleeping, [Name]?" he asked, almost accusingly.

I was aware it was a rhetorical question, but still, I felt tempted to answer.

"Your impression, manager," I said, flashing a sly smile. "By the way, here come some customers."

I pointed to the door through which four teenagers entered, how can I say... battered. With bruises on their faces and arms, clothes stained with dirt, and faint traces of blood. Shouldn't these crazies go to a hospital or something? Instead, they came to eat, laughing and chatting casually as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Go figure.

"I'm going to take out the trash, good luck, maybe they'll ask for band-aids instead of soda," I commented mockingly.

I got up from the counter and went to the back door, where the fresh night wind welcomed me, making me shiver from the cold to the bones. I must have left my coat inside. The lighting was stable, looking on the bright side.

This yellow apron is the most ridiculously attention-grabbing thing I could find for today. But as long as it kept me clean, it was fine by me.

Finally, after throwing the garbage into the dumpster, I took a good look at the sky, with no sign of stars, only the moon decorating the night density like a white button on a large layer of velvet.

I got distracted for a second, and when I came back inside the store, I saw something I wouldn't have wanted to see – and no, it wasn't the boys from earlier, as they had already left. On impulse, I threw myself behind the counter as if there were no tomorrow.

"That guy..." I murmured, scolding myself.

The guy from the Home Economics club was at the gas station, filling up a motorcycle. If he weren't dressed like an angry punk, I would swear he had landed a job as a gas station attendant. Trying to be altruistic, I tried to think positively. It could be a much worse situation; he could be inside the store and then have the audacity to ruin the rest of my day.

"I wonder if he saw me?"

"Who saw you?"

I jumped in surprise when I saw the manager standing behind me with raised eyebrows, tapping his foot lightly on the floor.

"Um... No one. And stop appearing out of nowhere; it's creepy!"

"Are you owing money for someone? Those who owe nothing have nothing to fear."

Well, I do. And many people at the same time! I'd make a joke about it if it weren't so tragic and disappointing.

"Don't tell me... You're getting involved with loan sharks!" He deduced, eyes squinted to draw that conclusion.

"I don't owe any loan sharks!" I scoffed.

"Then, if you're in such perfect condition, get up and attend to the guy coming in there," he ordered, impatient. "It's your turn to serve customers now."

The universe is hilarious. Simply because it helps me and then crushes me with double the force.

Reluctantly, I returned to my initial position, leaning my elbows on the counter and opening a newspaper.

"Do you have..."

"It's a convenience store, we have everything here " I retort with a cynical smile, resting my chin on my elbow with the most innocent expression I could muster, tossing the newspaper somewhere.

"Since when do you work here?" he asked, shocked, blinking repeatedly to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"Since forever," I replied.

He was visibly uncomfortable. Not surprising, I must have left a memorable impression on his mind - whether it's good or bad.

"You didn't finish the sentence. What were you looking for again?" I asked, breaking the silence that lingered between us. On the other hand, Takashi still looked at me as if he were seeing a ghost.

"No problem, I'm heading somewhere else," he said, moving away to leave.

There was my chance to return to tranquility, my easy life, and my status slipping through my fingers like running water. No, no, no, you can't just be taking the pony out to pasture and leave me here! Before he took another step to distance himself, I threw myself over the counter, grabbing him by the shoulder.

I was already humiliating myself anyway, so all that was left was to continue.

"What the hell..." he turned to look at me with bewilderment.

"Wait! We need to talk!" Once again, I cut him off mid-sentence that day. "It's very important, I won't take much of your time. I promise."

It sounded a bit desperate, which wasn't exactly the intention. After a few seconds of contemplation, he relaxed his posture.

"All right, but... Can you let go of my arm?" he asked.

"Oh, sure. My bad."

"So? What did you want to tell me?"

We were both outside the convenience store, standing side by side with serious looks. I swallowed hard. I remained silent for about five minutes, and he respected that time. Which was strange. Delinquents aren't like that, right?

"Do you know about the yearbook?" I started, swallowing hard, as he made no noise to respond. I spoke because he didn't say anything. "I'm going to fix that for you."

He turned his face to look at me, probably trying to identify any hint of a lie in my expression.

"Are you serious?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," I replied without hesitation. "I talked to the president; he demanded a few things from me but allowed me to restore it. Now it's up to you to decide whether you want to proceed or give up on the project."

He looked at me suspiciously.

"And what made you change your mind?" he asked, leaving me speechless. "I thought you didn't care."

"And indeed, as you said, I don't care," I confirmed, turning to look at him directly. "In fact, I couldn't care less about what you do inside or outside of school. I just want to get the president and that backstabbing suck-up off my back."

"Backstabber?"

"Long story."

Technically, it's not a lie, but it's also not the whole truth. If I told him that the newspaper is at risk of being dissolved, he would deduce that I only approached him out of self-interest – which is not entirely untrue – and my plans would go down the drain. Again.

"That sounds like a cock-and-bull story," he said, still not satisfied.

"Think whatever you want," I replied with disdain, "but if you want to put it into action, you'll have to come talk to me."

"What do you mean?"

"You need authorization," I explained, "in this case, my authorization. And if you want my help, come here tomorrow, at the same time."

"Are you always like this?"

"Maybe, ..."

"Forgot my name?"

"Absolutely not, Takashi."

"For someone who hates me, you sure know how to remember names, secretary."

"Don't jump to conclusions; I never said I hate you."

Surprise once again took over his usually impassive face, even if he tried not to show it.

"I hate all delinquents equally. So, it's not just limited to you."

Then his expression returned to its stoic state.

"Anyway, see you later. I still have work to do," I said, turning my back and walking away briskly.

Soon, I heard the roar of the motorcycle starting.

"Did you fight with your boyfriend?" The menager asked when i returning.

"Depending on what I say, will it positively affect the amount you pay me?"

"Not at all."

"Then it's none of your interest," I replied finally. "And he's not my boyfriend. Are you crazy?! I would never date a guy like him!"

[vidavalor]

@somehow-a-human When I saw you doing a post about Good Omens and Lost, I pressed the button (*groans at own joke* lol) to 'keep reading' immediately. How joyous to find a Good Omens Person to whom I can say that I still haven't stopped sobbing over "Not Penny's Boat" and have you know what I mean. One of the things I thought about when I first saw this scene in GO was the very Sayid & Hurley scene in Lost that you're talking about. There's some stuff in S1 that makes me think it's possible that you could be onto something about the idea that The Bentley is pulling music from another time so couple of thoughts that I'll throw under a cut then, brotha...

We know that The Bentley can play music like a regular car because, in 2019, Crowley had CDs in the car and Aziraphale picked them up when suggesting that they listen to some music, all of which makes it seem like they had fed the car music to play before. At the same time, though, the Queen that the car is playing in the 2008 flashback when Crowley is driving to and from Tadfield is all over the place.

Crowley listens to Queen songs from different albums and they're all over the place in the song in the different times we hear them. Sure, he could be listening to them on repeat (and I think he is with "It's a Hard Life") but there's also the fact that when Satan comes through the radio, it had seemed like Crowley was actually listening to a radio broadcast-- as we hear the DJ speaking at the start and it says BBC Radio-- but, then, "Bohemian Rhapsody" jumps deeper into the song as Crowley hears Satan (or, well, ya know, Satan possessing Freddie Mercury). The part it jumps to then both reflects and winds up scoring the horror of what is happening in the scene. Since the song is supposed to be playing within the scene and isn't just non-diegetic, it has the effect of seeming as if Crowley's mind unconsciously moved the song to another part as a result of being able to think, if not otherwise react or respond, during Satan's possession of him.

The song moves to that part of it because of what Crowley is thinking. It jumps to "I see a little silhouetto of a man" just as Crowley is unable to move and seeing the driver in the truck coming at him. It's eerie in the moment and it also plays like the darkest of gallows humor. He's helpless in the moment to do anything about what's happening to him and his mind connects it to the song the car was playing and the result is that the car plays that part of the song-- it reflects what Crowley was thinking. The struggle against an invasion of his mind is reflected by the actions of the car.

This would then mean that Crowley can control what The Bentley is playing with his mind, which goes along with the "our car" stuff from S2 and Aziraphale making changes to The Bentley that Crowley could feel because of the car being connected to his mind before realizing exactly how much Crowley could feel of it. Since we're saying Crowley can make The Bentley play anything that's within his mind, we are theoretically saying that he could choose to listen to whatever he wants from any other period of time that he's heard, right? He doesn't have to have it memorized-- he would just need to know when it was it could have been played and tell The Bentley to play it. This might have been how, based on what the DJ was saying when Satan showed up in 2008, Crowley was listening to a Queen respective that seemed to be broadcasting from the BBC on live radio-- but that had actually broadcast on live radio in the past at some point because Crowley was able to manipulate it to a different point in the song with his mind. It already existed in full at another point in time so Crowley's mind could act as a streaming service and skip to a different part of the song, consciously or unconsciously, because of its connection to the car.

This then raises the question of who, exactly, chose to have The Bentley play "Moonlight Serenade" for Aziraphale in S2. There is the theory that The Bentley has a sense of individuality about it-- has its own personality, is kinda its own entity-- and part of me likes the idea that Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is also its own thing and maybe it is. As a result of this idea, some people think that the car is gently ribbing Aziraphale a little in the scene by playing him "Moonlight Serenade" after Aziraphale requests something "modern" and that would be a bit funny but if we're saying that the car either isn't its own thing or can only play music being fed to it by the people who have control over driving it... and if we're saying that Aziraphale didn't choose "Moonlight Serenade" because he was asking to be surprised by the song... then we're also saying that, by the time he requested a song on the way back from Edinburgh, he had already become aware of the fact that Crowley was affected by any goings on in the car and it had made him uncomfortable so Aziraphale had started asking for a song instead. He talks to the car but it's really Crowley he's asking for music so it's really Crowley who chose "Moonlight Serenade."

There's an element of the same gentle ribbing there as this isn't what we'd call a modern song but it's also just sweet in a you-don't-need-modern-when-you're-a-classic sort of way. It's a soothing song-- literally, a serenade-- and calls back to what we already know was a pretty romantic era for them and one that's still on-going in the story. "Moonlight Serenade" could have additional meaning after S3 if it winds up in a flashback. And as for how Crowley got The Bentley to play it? Same way he did the Queen retrospective in S1-- he pulled it from a radio broadcast from another point in time. Just like the "Moonlight Serenade" on Lost.

Now we've just got to get Jacob to get on with crossing Aziraphale's name off his wall already...

Moonlight Serenade & Good Omens &... Lost...?

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY.

First off: I am a certified former band kid. I've been playing the trumpet for 17 years. I did marching band in high school & college, I served pep band march madness basketball realness, I'm a bona fide concert hall bitch, and I considered becoming a professional musician.

Because of this, the music of good omens is something I have been ACTIVELY avoiding! The risks of hyperfixating and spiraling into it are HIGH!!! I spent so much of my life deeply entrenched in music, all genres, all time periods & It's hard not to have a proclivity toward it. But I also expect it to be a huge topic and a deep hole to inevitably fall into.

But could I hold out forever? no. and something finally pushed me over the edge. Wait for it..... Lost. Yep. The fucking TV show Lost. WAIT WAIT, don't leave! STAY WITH ME!

Why Lost? And what does it have to do with Moonlight Serenade and WHAT DOES IT HAVE TO DO WITH GOOD OMENS?! Well my lovelies continue under the cut with me and keep an open mind...

Okay so... Lost. Yes, the insane 2004 mystery plane crash island adventure drama. It's a wild ride, and a masterpiece and a little bit crazy, but overall pretty damn good. I've been on a rewatch spree and wouldn't you know it... parallels between lost and Good Omens kept popping up in my brain!! I mean they are both detailed intricate mysteries so it makes a tad bit of sense but there was one little detail that *might* be a *clue* so I figured I'd make a post cause why not? I promise you don't need to know anything about Lost to follow this!!

First off, what are some of the recurring themes of Lost the TV show you might ask?

Life & Death

Timelines & Time Travel

Literary Allusions (Catch-22, The Bible, A Tale of Two Cities)

Prophecies & Premonitions

Symbolism of Black & White

Yeah okay, that tracks, but look there are 121 episodes of Lost and 12 episodes (so far) of Good Omens so there's bound to be some overlap for these two ineffable mysteries.

You'll be thinking about now, "BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH MOONLIGHT SERENADE?!" I'm getting there, shhh, lemme pet your hair gently and keep giving you background information to build it up shhhh...

If you've never seen Lost there is a very good chance you're mighty confused at this moment, so let me reassure you, you don't need to know anything about it to understand the connections I'm going to make. A brief synopsis is: Oceanic flight 815 crashes on an island. The plane crash survivors quickly discover the island is more than it seems to be and holds many secrets and mysteries. A lot of people die, most of them are murdered, it's giving Lord of the Flies. That's honestly all you need to know.

Time Travel & Alternate Timelines

Time travel is cannon in Lost. It's super confusing and I'm not even going to try to explain any of it here. It's honestly just not worth it. If you'd like to try and read about it, the abridged version is here, but I don't think the details are important. Just know it's real and confirmed and exists.

Okay so, In Lost season 2, episode 13 "The Long Con" two of the plane crash survivors are trying to find a signal on a radio they've found. While scrubbing they come across a signal playing Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller. One character mentions it must be from somewhere nearby, but the other counters that this type of radio can pick up signals from anywhere in the world. There is a beat and then another character jokingly adds "Or any time. Just kidding, dude."

It's later confirmed that the Lost characters in 2004 are indeed picking up a radio signal from 1940 that is playing Moonlight Serenade, a product of time travel.

Congratulations, you've made it to the point where I'm going to bring Good Omens into the mix. In season 2, episode 4 "The Hitchhiker" we open seeing Aziraphale driving back from Edinburgh late at night/early morning. Uncomfortable with the darkness and silence he asks the Bentley to "play something that's got a bit of swing? I'm in the mood for something modern."

The Bentley obliges the angel, as she always will, and we are shown a shot of the radio specifically lighting up, so we know she's tapped into the radio to play this for Azi.

But hold on. Aziraphale asked for "modern"? Moonlight Serenade is most certainly not modern. It was recorded in 1939! I'd say in 2023 it's anything but modern, maybe not in Aziraphale's long lived opinion, but certainly in the Bentley's opinion, given she's only a 97 year old car.

I think you can see now what I'm saying here. I think the Bentley picked up a radio signal from 1940, maybe 1941? Episode 4 is of course our 1941 blitz magic show bullet catch flashback extravaganza, so... it makes sense. I know we like to headcanon Crowley and Aziraphale listened to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square in the bookshop in 1941 after the bullet catch, but what if they heard Moonlight Serenade on a radio instead?

What does it mean?

I think it could be a *clue*. A reference to this small moment from Lost and a nod to the first hint of the canonization of time travel in that series. We know Crowley can control time to some extent and we can see some evidence of time discontinuities and possibly time weirdness in season 2 so is it a hint that timeline funkiness IS happening? Do I want to get into the fact that the main character in The Hitchhiker, the Twilight Zone episode this episode is named after, is actually dead? No I don't, not now anyway.

SO! There it is... weird little connection that I couldn't get out of my brain. It just seemed a bit too... ineffable.

As always this is all for fun and all for fans! Don't ask Neil about these things, they're for us to have fun with. And something else that I don't think some people on here understand about meta-analysis; the goal of it is not to be correct. Refuting peoples posts, theories, analysis, and headcanons because you personally don't agree with them doesn't achieve anything. Meta-analysis is an exercise in critical thinking and creative writing. You could write meta about how Spongebob is a critique of the loss of christian values in modern society and you wouldn't be right or wrong, you'd just certainly be a person who wrote that for sure though. Just, be kind to each other, share ideas, you're allowed to disagree with someone's ideas or have different ones of your own but don't be cruel in saying so, don't call someone stupid, that's just silly.

Love you all, do something kind for yourself today <3

ps. The moment I see Michael Sheen with blonde hair come January I'm gonna bark like a dog, that's all. Thanks.

[ziskandra]

For wrapped writers edition: 20, 27, and 29 :D

20. Which works of mine have I reread the most? Probably All's Fair, because of the Meresino obsession and the fact that there aren't that many Meresino fics, and it has all the tropey goodness of marriage law fics. And, well, I need to refresh myself on the story's relevant details while I work on the sequel! 😅 27. What do you listen to while writing? I'll usually make a playlist for most of the characters and/or pairings I write regularly and listen to those on repeat while I'm in The Writing Zone. The ones I listened to most this year were probably: 1. Gallows Vibes (my Meresino playlist) 2. Retrospect (my Alec/Ellen Ryder playlist) 3. We Could Be Pariahs (my Hawke/Loghain playlist)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Ooh, gosh, it was hard to choose a standout fave from everything, but ultimately I went with the following (from paying it forward, one of my Orsino & Cullen fics set in a world where Orsino survives the Kirkwall Rebellion)

The memories flashed through his mind before he could prevent them. The courtyard, splattered in the blood of his comrade-in-arms. Bodies piled upon bodies, all that remained of those he’d sworn to protect. Meredith wants blood magic? I’ll give her blood magic. At that moment, it hadn’t mattered that he’d stood a good chance of getting out of this alive, that they had, in fact, been winning. He’d barely been able to breathe under the suffocating weight of everything he had lost. He’d wanted to die, along with all the people he had failed. He hadn’t been thinking about the future; he hadn’t been thinking at all.

I know a lot of people are (understandably) upset with Orsino's fate in DA2, but I personally find it more interesting to speculate as to why Orsino could be pushed to such a breaking a point, and IMO, I think he hits that point in the battle where it's like, even if the mages win, they've already lost so much, and he pretty much wants to die. Like, he's under immense stress at that point, I don't blame the man for not acting rationally 😅

[AO3 Wrapped: Writer's Edition]

[ontheindigo]

yes Im not okay, yes I have been listening to ‘from the gallows’ on repeat for several hours,

[in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather]

Below are some of my favorite love-related quotes, most of which make me think of Le Gris now.

I feel like writing some blurbs/concepts for him, so you can send me a quote (and any other idea you have along with it) and we can indulge in our mutual Le Gris appetites <3

*

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell

*

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Pride And Prejudice by Jane Austen

*

“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

* 

“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”

Possession by A.S. Byatt

* 

”We are asleep until we fall in love!”

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

 *

“He sweeps her hair back from her ears; he swings her above his head. He says she is his émerveillement. He says he will never leave her, not in a million years.”

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

*

“We’ve loved each other so long I’ve never been a man and not loved her.”

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry

 *

“She is a mortal danger to all men. She is beautiful without knowing it, and possesses charms that she’s not even aware of. She is like a trap set by nature - a sweet perfumed rose in whose petals Cupid lurks in ambush! Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. She instills grace in every common thing and divinity in every careless gesture. Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never so graceful as my Lady when she strides through Paris!”

Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand

*

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”

Prometheus Unbound by Percy Bysshe Shelley

*

“She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don’t know what she was - anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was no pausing on the brink; no looking down, or looking back; I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her.”

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

* 

“I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.”

Love In The Time Of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez

*

“I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.” 

Love Language, Chasers of the Light by Tyler Knott Gregson 

* 

“The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”

The God Of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

* 

"Each time you happen to me all over again." 

The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton  

*

“You know what I am going to say. I love you. What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell; what I mean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me. You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. But if you would return a favorable answer to my offer of myself in marriage, you could draw me to any good – every good – with equal force.”

Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens

*

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.”

Persuasion by Jane Austen

[aquarii-writes]

History on repeat(Dream x f!reader)

Ngl this was inspired by a dnf piece on tik tok. While I don't ship it the art was beautiful and the song attached inspired me to write this. This also includes my headcanons for Dream/his parents and I'll elaborate on it in a different post if enough people ask lmao

Notes: I should mention to look at my 'DSMP headcanons' especially Dream's part because that's where I kinda explain that I don't believe that Dream himself is a dreamon but that his mask contains one. I also used Dream's real name as his fathers name. I don't really like using the dsmp members real names if it's not in their user but I had to think of a name

WARNINGS: none I can think of aside from death and stuff of similar manners

WC:1,005

Genre: Angstyy

Two people sat together along the shoreline of a river. The colors of the sunset danced on the water. Turning the already beautiful area ethereal. Warm summer air tickled the woman; her blonde hair jumped with the wind.

"You're so beautiful [REDACTED]" the man spoke. His amber eyes held a love for the woman beside him; his lovely wife. Her green cloak acted as a pillow for her.

"You're too kind my darling" a smile played on the woman's lips. Her mask discarded beside her. The painted smile similar to the one she held.

"I love you with all my heart" a smile danced on the mans face. His lovely wife sat up and hugged him. Falling back into the grass the happy couple basked in one another. Masks long forgotten beside them. "Stay with me forever [REDACTED]?"

"Of course my darling dream" the twos faces were close as the wife spoke. It felt as though time sat there frozen to preserve the lasting moment.

Smiling towards you Dream held out his arms to get you to come towards him. As you got near Dream pulled you on top of him. His arms circling around your waist.

~~~

"Dream~" your voice was loving. Dreams mask was off as he watched you jump in the stream water. The sun was setting over the horizon and the light gave an other worldly glow to you and the water.

Playing with the locks of hair that fell into your grasp, Dream watched you. A deep seeded longing in his eyes. Out here away from everything was when Dream was the most caring. His affections unrestricted when he wasn't in the eyes of his friends. When he could easily sneak away.

Though the future had many plans for the two of you, but here in this moment the future could wait.

"I would do anything for you (y/n)" Dream's amber eyes looked like the sun. Specks of gold shined like they were directly in the sun. Nodding to his statement you kissed the man before you. An adoring hum escaped him.

Pulling away you mumbled out a response. "I love you with all my heart~"

"Will you stay with me forever?" with a teasing smile Dream rubbed your sides: tickling you along the way.

"Of course my darling Dream" an unknown feeling of deja vu came over the two. Seems as though something similar happened in the past.

~~~

"My dream!!' [REDACTED] screamed for her husband. "Don't take him away! Please!," the woman covered her small sons ears. The child didn't know what was happening. huddling into his mother arms the woman kept screaming for her husband.

Huddled under her cloak the small boy held a hand over his mother stomach and whispered to it. The boys father struggled against the men who held him away from his family. "CLAY! LET HIM GO! He didn't mean it.." [REDACTED] dropped to the ground crying. Her son hugging his mother. "Oh my baby Dream"

Dream's mother held onto him for dear life. Tears fell from his eyes as he watched his father get taken to the gallows. As a final goodbye his father threw towards them.

Crawling away from his mother, Dream grabbed the mask; his fathers mask. The plastic was cracked in a few placed, and some of the paint was chipped, but it was probably the last thing he would ever have of his fathers.

"Please just let my husband go" [REDACTED]'s mask was similarly painted though the tears the spilt from under it spoke another story. "It was the Dreamons who did it.. not my Clay.. not my lovely dreamer.." her whimpers drew her son back over to her.

"Mommy what's happening to daddy?" Dream wouldn't get an answer from her. Just wails and whimpers about how cruel the world was.

~~~

"Dream what did you do..," Tommy and Tubbo huddled behind you. A fearful look settled in your eyes. Dream's mask was just that, a mask. Behind it he held no remorse for what he had done and what he said.

He did plan on killing Tubbo, but the look in your eyes made his thoughts stutter. Should he not kill Tubbo? When Dream said he doesn't care about anyone it planted a seed in your heart. Did he really not love you anymore?

Dream didn't answer you. All he did was stare at you through the mask. "Take off your damn mask and answer me Dream" when your voice jumped at him all Dream could do was stare. He didn't talk and he didn't react. "Why aren't you answering me?! Dream WHY did you do it?!"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Like hell you didn't mean to!" your tone was sharp. It made the boys behind you move back as you came forward to hold Dream's face. This felt too familiar. Why does it feel so familiar?

Knitted brows went unnoticed behind the mask. His annoyed expression hidden to the world; to you. His everything. Before he lost it he wanted to marry you. He even joked about you being his wife. His darling wife.

"Do you not care about me anymore? After everything that's happened between us?" a certain sadness pushed your pain to him. It was the same sorrow his mother screamed from the top of her lungs. That's why it felt so familiar.

A desolate look decorated your (e/c) eyes. The same eyes he would've fought wars so see happy. The very eyes he believed he would love forever.

"It's not my fault- sweetheart it's not my fault" his words became more rushed as Sam pulled Dream away. Dragging him to Pandora's Vault. All the way to his box.

The misery and heartache Dream saw on your face reminded him of his mother. The heartbreak he never wanted to see again.

~~~

{REDACTED] held a baby in her arms as she watched her son play on the hill with her friends son. The baby girl in her arms slept peacefully as she spoke to her friend beside her.

Puffy had been a good friend of [REDACTED] for a long time now. "Puffy you have to promise me something"

"Anything [REDACTED]" Puffy watched the baby in her friends arms. The poor thing had been born months after her fathers hanging. The family had to go into hiding.

"Please after tonight take my babies with you.... I don't think I can carry on much longer with out my Clay.." despair was the only way Puffy could describe her once vibrant friend.

The woman's once vibrant green eyes now only held melancholy. The satchel that sat beside her only contained a few things; one thing being Clay's mask.

"Dream my beloved!" [REDACTED] called out for her boy. The mask that once adorned her face constantly had been vacant since her husband died.

Running up to his momma Dream reached out to hold his baby sister. Passing baby Drista [REDACTED] kissed her sons head before pulling something from her satchel.

"Dream listen to me. The world is a cruel and it will hurt you-" holding out Clay's mask to her son said everything to the small boy. Giving baby Drista to Puffy, Dream took his fathers mask away from his mother. "Wear this.. it was your fathers..," a sadistic smile rested on his mothers face.

It scared him, but it was the first smile he saw from her since his father died.

"Okay mommy" Dream slipped on the mask his father once wore and winced. It felt like strings were licking his face. It felt wrong. This wasn't his mask to be keeping was it?

~~~

The prison vault was deafening. Nothing was a really annoying sound when all that surrounded you was lava and crying obsidian. Though he had one thing to look forward to.

You promised to see him today. His lovely wife. Well you weren't married. He fucked up that chance when he lost himself to the mask. The dreamons that whispered to him constantly.

Ever since he came in here the whispers stopped. Except for when they speak about you.

The pistoning sound of the bridge coming brought Dream from his head. A sadistic smile grew on him. Throwing off the mask the threads retreated back into the plastic.

"(y/n) my beloved!" a crazed look adorned Dream's face as he looked at you. His beloved wife. "I love you so much~"

"Dream.." with a heavy heart you held Dream's face. His eyes held a look of longing love.

"Dream love.. listen to me. The world is cruel.. and it's going to hurt," your voice cracked as you held Dream's hands. Worry filled him as Dream dragged you towards him.

Pushing back Dream dug around in the chest of his room. A ring sat gently between his fingers.

"Wear this... it'll protect you.." a hopeful look held on to Dream's face. All his love and adoration for you.

"I'm sorry Dream.. I love you so much but maybe it's better if we split ways.... I.. why do I trust you so much? Your hands are scarred with murder, but I trust them completely.." crumpling to the ground you sobbed. Conflictions and pain battering against you for weeks.

Dream held you. He had seen this all before. History was repeating. He witnessed this happen between his parents. The very thing he never wanted to happen to him did. He's losing the love of his life.

Why does history have to repeat?

[oneofthebeautifulpeople]

Okay okay I am soooo excited for this:

The sudden shift in Bring it on Home from harmonica to guitar which then DOUBLES and comes smashing in with Bonzo’s glorious drums?? Instant headbanging

This may be cliche but the first swooping sexy guitar note of Heartbreaker gets me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

To this day I cannot listen to Bron-Yr-Aur without getting teary eyed at all the beautiful soul and emotion that Jimmy manages to pour into it. Such a simple melody which somehow contains everything

Jonesy’s masterful piano solo in the middle of No Quarter. That is all. Instant chills every time. I swear I get transported to another dimension

The gorgeously soft guitar intro with underlying bass in Ten Years Gone that I usually have to repeat 10 times because it’s too good. Also the lines “we are eagles of one lair, the nest is in our soul” and “though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea” are just so infinitely reassuring to me, and they’ve given me so much hope at many points in my life, like a hug from Robert telling me everything’s gonna be ok.

Jonesy’s jaw-dropping, fantastical synthesizer intro to In the Light that makes me have an out of body experience

The dual guitar harmonies layered on top of one another in Ramble On, after Robert sings “and though our health we drank a thousand times, it’s time to ramble on”, oh my GOD THEY JUST GET ME EVERY TIME I SWEAR I can see the mountains of Middle Earth in my mind’s eye

Robert’s primordial guttural scream of “drive me insane” that dives down deep, low and heavy in Communication Breakdown, especially the last one. It just feels SO DAMN SATISFYING

I’m not even gonna talk about Dazed and Confused, previous comments summarized it much better than I could have. Suffice to say I understand what religious ecstasy feels like thanks to this song

The two guitar notes overlaid perfectly with the hard drums slamming down in I Can’t Quit You Baby?? Chef’s kiss 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

The whimsical little mandolin in Gallow’s Pole when Robert sing’s “hangman, hangman” just puts a smile on my face every time

The point in The Lemon Song where Robert sings “I’m gonna fall right out of bed, bed, bed, bed” overlaid with Jimmy somehow managing to flawlessly convey the feeling of orgasm with his scintillating guitar, I really have to hand it to him since I really didn’t think it was something possible to do

The lines “these are the seasons of emotion, and like the winds they rise and fall, this is the wonder of devotion, I see the torch we all must hold” in The Rain Song because GodDAMN I have never heard true love summarized so beautifully, succinctly and poetically in all my life

The stunning string arrangement in Friends that feels so mysterious and almost ominous, but SO COOL

There’s probably more but these are some of my all-time faves that I have never been the same after listening to

Led Zeppelin Musical Moments That Altered My Brain Chemistry

I saw this trend on tiktok and I wanted to make this list so here we are . . . Please add your own brain altering zeppelin moments

The moment of silence where you almost catch your breath before the guitar solo in ‘Good Times Bad Times’

The moment in dazed and confused when the guitars join and double the riff

The ‘going to San Francisco’ section of the TSRTS Dazed and Confused and the beginning of the bow section, specifically this figure at 9:35 on the live album track. I don’t know how to describe it besides (wheeEEEEEohwheEEEEE . . . weeEeEeE)

The lead up to ‘my gun’ part of ‘How Many More Times’ live on Danmarks Radio

The first lick of the ‘what is and what should never be’ guitar solo

The first Eb in the main solo of SIBLY over the Fm7 chord. It’s literally just the b7 on the 4 minor chord, which is so typical of blues, but Jimmy’s approach to it is so poignant and full of raw emotion and something that can’t be put into words

Not fully zeppelin, but SIBLY was the first song I ever played for a big audition and my teacher had been trying to get me to access my emotions more when I performed this and I was really awful at doing that; however, the performance, I finally managed to tap into myself more and after I finished, I was so relieved it had gone well and so overwhelmed by all the emotion I had brought up that I literally stood outside the adjudication room and sobbed. I consider this my life’s main character moment😖

There’s no specific moment in Stairway because to my, that song is about the journey form the way it starts to the way it ends, but something about it definitely altered my brain. The first time I heard Stairway to Heaven, I had to sit there for a few seconds after the song finished and process that entire musical journey I had just been on

The variation on the guitar part in the verse (ascending 8th note thing) Jimmy does during the last verse of stairway before the guitar solo in The Song Remains The Same (and most live versions)

Everything about the words ‘Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams, telling myself it’s not as hard as it seems’

The first beat of “The Song Remains The Same” and the energy of the entire intro section

The first rolled chord of the rain song transports me to another universe, but the moment in this song that actually permanently altered my entire being is the ‘conversation’ between the cello and the bass, where the cello has that little ascending line and the bass responds with a descending line

The bass downbeats during the introductory keyboard solo during no quarter and that Amaj add9 chord with the drums kicking in during “No Quarter”

In ‘No Quarter’ on TSRTS, When Robert ends the phrase “they chose they path where no one goes” by sliding up from the 5 to the major 6 and it goes form the 1 minor chord to such a bright 4 major chord under Robert’s major 6 and its literally perfect (I rewind and watch this moment like 5 times every TSRTS rewatch)

The ornamentations in the vocals and the grandiose in the instrumentals when everyone transitions out of the bridge and back to the riff in Kashmir

The moment the bass enters the main riff in ‘Ten Years Gone’ and the INSTANT warmth

Again, I can’t just pick one part from Achilles—it’s a symphony and I can’t turn it into a moment, but if I had to, the way Robert ends the last ‘I know the way’ makes me MELT

They key change in ‘All My Love’ and the ‘sometimes/I get a little lonely’ section make me want to sob

[olivinesea]

Space Is Only Noise If You Can See

a/n: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s because I handle change & uncertainty extremely poorly and that is all my life is rn. Maybe I just need to find out the extent of my evil powers. Regardless, you’re about to experience something unpleasant. TW major character death, suicide mentions, guns, violence, you name it, it’s happening. Only positive is I actually outlined the whole thing first this time so I know where we’re going (it’s not good). ~2.8k

Mr. Scratch surrendered. Or did he? Discuss.

It was always the smell that got to him. The sickly sweet scent of decaying flowers. He wondered who had made the decision to flood all funerals with the same noxious lilies. Didn’t that smell make anyone else feel ill? It lingered in the back of his throat, fogging his vision. He scowled at the offending arrangements—ostentatious wreathes shaped like hearts with hollow messages in a stock cursive font. He had been to so many funerals at this point he was reluctant to admit he sometimes got confused about where he was, who he was mourning. He tried to focus on the portrait of the deceased, but the outline kept shifting.

He blinked hard to settle his contacts, tears always had a detrimental effect on their usefulness. He needed to remember to wear his glasses to the next funeral. A twisted laugh threatened to slip, gallows humor at its finest. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be a next funeral. He wondered how many more before it was his turn, before he no longer had to be the one staying strong for everyone else, pretending the smell didn’t make him choke. He looked again, determined to figure out when he was before he was required to do anything, before he let on that he wasn’t fully present.

The coffin, shiny and black, occupied center stage. Where he thought he’d seen people solemnly walking up the aisle to say goodbye, there was only empty space. He realized he was unnervingly alone. Yet the coffin was not, it was flanked on either side by identical shapes, the light reflecting from their polished surfaces dazzling his vision. He stumbled to his feet, gripping tightly to the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. He rubbed his fingers against it, distracted by the grain, worn down by decades of touch. He looked again and there were six coffins, the once open space crowded and bent to accommodate so much loss.

He swayed, confused, it must be the damn flowers. The whole room seemed to tilt and he fell into the aisle, landing hard on his knees. He looked up just in time to see the coffins, doubled, tripled in size, rolling toward him, shuddering as they picked up speed.

Hotch gasped as he woke up on the jet, gripping the armrest tightly as he scanned the area around him. No one noticed the slight disruption, he knew well how to stay still, how to disappear in response to distress. Everyone was dozing or lost in their thoughts, drained from long days on the road. He counted their heads to check that everyone was accounted for. They were coming back from another case, he wasn’t quite sure from where. His hands shook from holding the seat too tightly so he put them in his lap, absently running his thumb across his other fingers.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and, more importantly, to check the date. He’d been struggling ever since the Scratch case to keep the details of time in order. It was embarrassing and he did his best to hide these lapses in awareness. The disorientation was always worse after one of these dreams. Though he was too practiced to show he was having nightmares, this one was starting to get to him. It had been coming back again and again since that night when he watched his team die. One right after the other, unable to stop it, unable to even be sure it wasn’t himself pulling the trigger. Though they were safe, were still alive at least, he couldn’t shake the fear. It had been so real. And it had been his fault.

He tried to tell himself to let it go, that it was only a hallucination brought on by a chemical attack from a psychopath. A man who was now in prison, successfully captured by his very alive teammates while he sat uselessly on the floor, afraid to trust his senses. However, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging fear that Scratch didn’t surrender, that in the mess of it all he had gotten away. When he let himself think about it, it never made sense that a man so calculated, so many moves ahead of them, would simply give in. He couldn’t be sure that the surrender wasn’t one of the false memories.

There was no way to distinguish between them, the real and the nightmare. He could only convince himself that his team was alive by watching carefully as they breathed whenever they weren’t looking. By their heated bickering over who would ride where. Lately he had even relinquished the driver’s seat, worried that his loosely tethered mind might sweep them all off the road. He fixated on their little habits, certain that these were things his mind couldn’t make up, proof that his family was really there in front of him. The orange fingerprints on case files and every single coffee mug disappeared from the kitchenette, lost wherever Reid set them down before forgetting, caught up in some exciting train of thought. Things that might have frustrated him before became lifelines to reality, the reality he hoped with all his heart was true.

In the immediate days after the attack, he would ask Dave, quietly, for assurance that Peter Lewis was locked up, unable to harm his team. Dave was understanding, remembering how he had been that night, eyes full of loss. But the looks he gave Hotch grew longer and more worried with each repetition of the question. Now, again unsure, he was too ashamed to ask.

It had been so hard to keep things straight in his mind. For awhile he had been writing himself notes: “Peter Lewis is in prison.” Except he would find them again later, letters added, message changed, unable to tell if it was still his handwriting. It didn’t make sense for it to be someone else, fuck he kept these notes in his pockets, in his desk drawer, in his medicine cabinet. He couldn’t remember changing them though. Maybe that was what he had written in the first place. The confusion of the notes started making him feel worse so he stopped writing them. Every time he found another one, he tore it into tiny pieces, all the while trying to convince himself nothing was wrong with his behavior, nothing was wrong with his mind.

*

On Saturday, rare in its lack of crisis, Hotch was sitting on the couch, finally free to read a book while waiting for Jack to get home. He had been invited to a movie with some school friends. He started thinking about how relieved he was that Jack had friends to do normal things with and lost track of the story. As he scanned back, a little surprised how far he’d read without absorbing any information, his phone rang. His lungs constricted. Fear was always the first reaction to the phone ringing. He leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table, brushing away his irrational feelings. It was Spencer. That was a little odd but not unheard of. Sometimes Spencer learned a new fact that only Hotch would appreciate and couldn’t wait until they got back to the office to share it. He smiled as he answered, anticipating an excited rush of speech. Instead there was silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. He listened hard, not sure if he could hear breathing. There was some rustling, muffled and indistinct. Maybe Spencer dialed him by accident. He hung up and tried calling back. It rang without answer. He tried one more time but got the same result, the voicemail picking up quicker the second time. He told himself there was a mundane explanation but anxiety crawled like a spider up his neck. He was about to make another call, was trying to decide who was most likely to be helpful. Penelope? Derek? But then Jack walked in the door, hyped on candy and popcorn and wanting to repeat every joke from the movie. He let it go, if it was important Spencer would call back.

*

Monday morning and Spencer wasn’t in the office. Hotch had been there since 6 am, buried in paperwork, perpetually stuck in a state of catching up. He didn’t notice the absence until JJ came to ask him if he had any update from Spencer.

“Hmm? No, I haven’t heard from him. Update on what exactly?”

“Oh well he was supposed to come over for game night on Saturday but he said he wasn’t feeling well.” She assumed he was still sick, that he had called out. It was very unlike him to skip out on work, though perhaps he was just very unwell. Images of Spencer, pale and shaky, in the depths of his addiction, flashed through both of their memories and they exchanged looks. It had been so many years, and he did such a good job of pretending it never even happened, but they still remembered. It always came back whenever some uncertainty with Reid popped up.

“Have you tried calling him?” He tried to be logical, not everything needed to be the end of the world.

“Just goes to voicemail.” She raised her eyebrows at him, the silent question—what do we do boss?

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at the files covering his desk, he’d already put in several hours today, he could use a break.

“I’ll go check on him.”

She started to offer to go with him but he waved her off. If Reid was sick there was no reason for both of them to be exposed. If it was something else, well, it was probably better if Hotch was alone for that too. Just as he got to the elevator, Derek caught up with him.

“I hear you’re going to check on pretty boy,” he was trying to sound light-hearted.

Hotch made a noise in response.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch looked over at him and saw the steel behind the statement. He wasn’t asking. Neither one needed to say aloud the worry laying just beneath the surface. That dreaded what if that swam around in the back of all their minds. He gestured for Morgan to get in the elevator ahead of him.

*

They got to Spencer’s apartment with still no word from him. He didn’t answer when they knocked on the door and though neither wanted to admit it, they were starting to panic.

“He better be passed out on cough syrup,” Morgan muttered as he flipped through his keys to find Reid’s spare, still trying to mask his fear. When they got the door open the apartment was cold and empty. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. Once they flipped the lights on everything seemed normal though unoccupied. The apartment was relatively neat, stacks of books and papers operating as some kind of decor.

“Reid?” they called even though they could tell he wasn’t there. They wandered through the small apartment, checking for signs of their friend.

“Hotch!”

Hotch caught the edge of the door with his shoulder and swore as he hurried out of the bedroom to respond to Morgan’s distressed call. He was standing in the small kitchen, looking at the counter. On it were Reid’s keys, phone and wallet. They could have been tossed there upon his arrival. But wouldn’t he have taken them if he had gone somewhere?

“Where is he?” Morgan’s voice was tight.

Hotch shook his head, this didn’t make sense. He picked up the phone and saw the list of missed calls from the office, from JJ, from him. He unlocked it and checked, heart sinking as his fear was confirmed. The last call was to his own phone on Saturday evening.

“Call Garcia,” he said, checking Reid’s messages.

“What’s going on Hotch?” Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off Reid’s phone, the frantic way Hotch was scrolling through it.

He stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know.” The images from his dream, his nightmare were threatening to envelop him. Reid crumpled on the ground, a gunshot still ringing, dark wood with rounded edges cradling his lifeless body. The phone screen blurred when he looked at it again and he dropped it on the counter, using his hands to hold himself up.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Derek started to move closer but Hotch turned away, effectively closing himself off.

“Call Garcia, we need to start a search.” And I need to get a grip, he thought as the world around him shifted disturbingly. If something was as wrong as it seemed, they would all be looking to him to solve it. He certainly couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even sure if he was clinging to the counter or the floor.

*

It was hours later when they finally got a lead. It was not the lead that they wanted. There was a report of a body matching his description at a morgue one town over. It had been pulled out of the river in the early hours on Sunday, spotted by a couple of unhappy fishermen. There had been no wallet, no ID, no way to figure out who he belonged to. They had put him down as a John Doe, a presumed suicide and he was being held until they could get around to trying to match dental records. Garcia teared up as she relayed the information to the rest of the team.

“That can’t be him! Are you sure?” Morgan spoke more harshly than he meant to, nerves frayed by hours of fending off worst case scenarios.

Garcia hesitated, holding a folder. “They sent pictures but…I can’t look. I’m sorry.” She started crying in earnest now.

“Oh baby girl,” Morgan put a hand gently on her shoulder and pulled the file away. He was reluctant to open it as well. Hotch saw this and quickly took the folder and walked to the other side of the table where he flipped it open. His mouth formed a grim line and he didn’t have to say anything for them to know. He was glad he took it, happy to spare them the sight of waxy pale skin, the only color a deep purple beneath his closed eyes and his startlingly blue lips. It looked like he was wearing make up, like this was just another Halloween look Spencer was testing out. Hotch stared at the picture a moment too long. This is real, he told himself.

“Aaron?” Dave tried to pull his attention back to the room of anxious agents. Even though they knew, there was still the tortured hope that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t true.

He sighed, “It’s Spencer.”

Garcia let out a sob and turned into the hug that Morgan wrapped around her. JJ, sitting at the table stared into the distance.

He tried to organize the facts, solidify them in his mind by repeating them silently to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he normally suppressed to avoid having it sticking out wildly.

“I’ll go formally identify the…” He couldn’t call Spencer a body. “I’ll go see when we can get him transferred to us.”

“I can come with you,” Dave offered but Hotch declined. Looking at the others he felt like they needed someone to stay with them that would ward off anything too impulsive. They were all stunned at the moment but the feeling in the room was unsettled.

“You’re wrong.” JJ spoke without looking at him, her gaze still fixed at a spot on the far end of the table. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

He realized she was crying and felt a weight start to crush his chest. With effort he moved to where she sat, unable to find anything to say. He touched her hand but she jerked away, suddenly standing and glaring at him.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated before leaving quickly.

There was a hand at his elbow, squeezing gently. “I’ll go talk to her in a little bit. You should get going, it’s already late.”

He tried not to pull away too quickly as he nodded his thanks at Dave, who looked at him curiously.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I can do it.” He hoped Dave would ignore the shake in his voice. He was fine, he could do this, he didn’t have a choice. He walked to his office to get his things, stopping for a moment to pull out Reid’s phone again. He needed to check the calls one more time, to confirm what he thought he remembered. Sure enough, his number remained the last outgoing call. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that it was real.

~Part 2~

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Nothing Alike: IX

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: (future as well as present) violence, angst, smut, fluff, language

MASTERLIST

The journey to the palace should have only taken three days max. And the Geralt should have been free to go about his business. However, the prince had other ideas up his sleeve.

Upon awaking the morning after the incident, he proclaimed with great elation that Y/N would no longer be allowed to ride on a horse.

“If she’s going to act like a dog, she shall be treated like one,” he had proclaimed with great enthusiasm, as if it had taken him all night to think of it.

It probably had.

So, instead of moving at the reasonable pace of horses, they were subjected to the pace of a stubborn, disgruntled girl who wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum.

A thick iron collar was padlocked to her neck, and her wrists were shackled together. They had considered her ankles as well, but Geralt had claimed it would take them too long if she couldn’t take large strides (not that she was taking them anyway). The collar and the shackles were connected to one another by a long iron chain that led to the prince’s horse, and to keep her compliant, a crossbow was trained on her at all times.

Geralt was forced to ride directly behind her, a silent reminder as to what they could subject him to if he put a hair out of line. He was forced to watch as she dragged her feet, slowing down until the prince gave the chain a tug, sending her to the ground. For a moment, she was being dragged across the floor, shoulder digging into the soft soil. Then she would struggle to stand, a difficult task when your hands were bound, and the horse never stopped moving. Eventually, she would get it, and for a while she would keep up an appropriate pace, but the indignation always returned and the cycled repeated.

When they camped, she was kept away from the fire’s warmth and given only scraps, a desperate attempt to break her spirit. Every night she was led into the prince’s tent, an offer, a bribe that if she were to take, small ounces of luxury would be granted to her. Every night she was tossed back into the cold.

It was those moments when Geralt didn’t mind the pace, because if they were moving slowly it meant that she hadn’t become another piece of land conquered by royalty.

When they did finally reach the palace, it had been a week and a half, and Y/N had been silent for three days (to the great annoyance of the prince who had screamed for an answer). While they had not harmed her, just as his threat had made them promise, she had still been abused. Her cheeks were shallower than they had been when they began. Hair matted; face covered in dirt, arms covered in cuts and bruises from hitting the ground. They burst through the door, the prince dragging her prize behind him as he entered the throne room.

All eyes turned to them, some interested, some full of hatred, all recognizing the woman who was being led forward like a wild animal. The prince pulled her forward, slamming the blunt edge of his sword into the bend of her knees, laughing as she dropped to the floor. He was going to soak in every moment, now that Geralt could no longer threaten him.

“I have returned,” the prince announced, arms outspread as he basked in the gasps of awe and wonder. The uncatchable beast had been caught, brought to her knees before their wealthy feet. The prince turned around to look at his prize, sprawled across the ground, but there was no such luck. She stared ahead, situated on her knees all while retaining a sense of entitlement. He had never seen someone look so regal while being mocked. “Bow before your king,” he growled, but she didn’t move. The only hint that she had heard him was a small moment where her lip twitched into a smirk. Struggling to maintain his composure, he motioned for a guard to step forward. A sharp sole slammed into her back and her forehead hit the marble forehead. When she sat up, emotion unchanged, a trickle of blood was running between her eyes. “I said, bow,” the prince howled, marching forward to do the job himself, but a booming voice stopped him.

“She is not my subject, therefor there is no need to bow,” the king said, standing from his throne, wrinkled finger pointing at his son. The prince looked ready to argue, to tantrum in front of the entire court, but for the first time since Geralt had met the pathetic boy, he held his tongue. “Do you seek trial?” he asked her, but she remained silent. Geralt willed her to speak, but she said nothing, only stared forward, daring them to execute her now.

“She does,” Geralt called, unable to bear the silence any longer. All eyes turned to him, including an extremely interested king’s. “She would like a trial.” Eyes returned to her and there was a small nod. Instantly, whispers filled the room like a tidal wave. “She will speak in front of the king, but the king only.” Another wave of uproar.”

“And I suppose you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Then it is settled. Everyone out.” Protests erupted, but they were followed by quick footsteps exiting the room. Within moments all the remained were the king, Geralt, and Y/N. “You may unchain yourself,” the king murmured, almost with amusement, as he settled himself back into his throne.

Within an instant the cuffs fell to the ground and she stood, eyes dark as she studied the man across the room. Her fists were clenched to her side, but she did not advance as Geralt presumed she wanted to.

“Pull out a chair, sit, we have much to discuss.” Geralt was surprised to see she listened, dragging an ornate chair to the center of the room. “You may sit closer.”

“It is for both our safety that I do not,” she responded, voice harsh and rough from the lack of care.

“Both our safety?”

“If I sit any closer, I will want to harm you, and then your guards will be forced to kill me. Do not consider me rude, just realistic.” The king laughed and nodded in agreement, fingers drumming across the arm of his chair. The two stared at each other across the large expanse of the throne room before the king pulled a scroll from a beaded purse that sat beside him.

“Do you know what this is?”

“My crimes against humanity, I assume.”

“That is correct. Now, I will not insult you by assuming you are not capable of these acts, so you shall not insult me by lying about them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Let’s begin then. I shall read your crime and you will defend them to the best of your ability. The swindling of towns people across the continent, namely within my own kingdom.”

“It was not a swindle; they were simply overconfident.”

“They knew you were a Witcher than?”

“Absolutely.”

“The murder of five Witchers who attempted to capture you under the order of the crown.”

“They had no intention of capturing, only killing. I was merely defending my right to trial.”

“Six counts of horse thievery, including from my own stables.”

“It was my horse, wrongfully stolen from me in an attempt to disable me.”

“The massacre of one hundred men and women.”

“They were taking part in slave trading; I was merely protecting the freedom of the people.”

“Slave trading!”

“Yes, slave trading. I was being held as well, and I have marks to prove it. Torture, branding, had I not killed them both my liberty and the liberty of a few dozen others would have been taken.” The king paused as he pondered her statement before continuing.

“Evading arrest.” She only smirked at him, a smirk that he returned. “The murder of your mother and father.” Geralt could barely hear what was said after the accusation. She had murdered her own blood, that was a crime he was not acquainted with. He strained over the blood rushing through his ears to hear her defense, but it did nothing to console him.

“They sold me out.”

“That is not a defense.”

“It was not meant to be.”

“You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

“You do.”

“I create the law.”

“So do I.” He stared at her before he began to chuckle, the deep sound quickly turning into a rolling laugh that echoed around the room. She didn’t flinch a muscle, merely watched him as he laughed away her statement. When he had finished, noticing that she was not smiling along he quickly righted himself.

“You are full of insolence.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I cannot in good conscience allow you to return to the outside world, but I can offer you a deal.” She raised an eyebrow, a silent gesture for him to continue. “We will either execute you, or you will work for me, and uphold my law.” Geralt’s heart sunk again, an offer she would never take. As she had said repeatedly, no one controlled her, and if that meant death over chains, she would take it.

“Then ready the gallows,” she replied coolly, confirming Geralt’s suspicions.

“You are making a mistake.”

“No, the only mistake made here today was the offer you just made me, as it was both a waste of words and air. Send me your dungeons and tie the noose quick because the only day that I will reside beneath you is the day you walk over my grave.” Geralt wanted to scream, to snarl and spit in her face until she accepted the man’s offer but he remained still, silently seething.

The king laughed once more, but it was not full of humor, it was full of hatred. He had not expected to be refused, and yet she had thrown it back in his face without an ounce of regret.

“Guards,” he called and two entered the room, swords already drawn, expecting the worst. “Escort our prisoner to the dungeons, and the inform the executioner there will be an execution tomorrow at sunrise. Call all to see for this will be their greatest victory.” They dragged her from the room, and even without the chains she did not struggle, merely smiled as they dragged her away, already readying herself for the final moments of her reign.

 Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ @aurora-sweet​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​

[my-faves-said-gay-rights]

Top 9 albums you cannot live without

Tagged by @gustingirl <3

Again I will do different albums to the other times I've been tagged to do my favourite albums

Sound the bells: recorded live at orchestra hall - dessa: this is basically a compilation album of her songs over the years but performed live with an orchestra and holy shit it is one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard, if you want to start listening to dessa and her amazing lyrics this would be a good place to start

O my heart - mother mother: just yes everything about it yes

Razzmatazz - idkhow: this is their debut full album and I love it so much that idkhow is one of my favourite artists now, I believe in from the gallows supremacy

A flower bookmark 2 - iu: you knew the queen jieun would be here somewhere, we don't have her lyricism as this is an album of covers but it's just so good and perfect for autumn that it's one of my favourites anyways (if you couldn't tell by how often I repeat by the stream)

Patched up - beabadoobee: this albums makes me so calm and it's just very healing to listen to, highly recommend when your having late night sad time

Cus I love you (super deluxe) - lizzo: this is an album for when I need to get hyped up, I am blown away by lizzos vocals every time

Sometimes I sit and think, and sometimes I just sit - courtney barnett: these songs get stuck in my head randomly all the time and I find the lyrics style very interesting, elevator operator and depreston especially

Made of bricks - kate nash: I've been listening to this since I was a child and I have yet to get sick of it, every single song is so good and it's very british but like in a good way I promise

Warning - sunmi: I fucking love this so much it makes me wanna scream, black pearl is sunmis best song and the photobook is gorgeous and the concept is so cool and I just can't

Tagging @frengers @korimi4 @newdayslinguine @dreamisqueer