#but ahaha i’m putting a bit of despair in here and shaking it around

[whump-in-the-closet]

saw whumpwillow’s poll about whumpy music lyrics and wanted to do one of my one

(all are by the Score)

song 1: Stronger

song 2: Best Part

song 3: The Fear

song 4: Fire

song 5: Head up

song 6: Can you hear me now

[happyandticklish]

A Matter Of Spirits

Notes: Does anyone actually want a Dorian Gray fic? Probably not. Am I going to write one anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. I do have a fic request that I’m editing right now, so that’s also coming soon. Based off the book, not any of the film adaptations. 

Summary: When Dorian refuses to sit for a painting, Basil turns to Henry for assistance. 

“Dorian. Please.”

The other continued to slump in his seat, staring off into the distance in that irritating, brooding fashion of his. This had been going on for a while now, no matter how Basil attempted to persuade the other. Dorian was in a mood which meant he would not sit for the painter and he most certainly wouldn’t smile. Normally, Basil was patient with Dorian’s swinging fancies, leading him to great heights of euphoria one moment and the depths of despair in the next, but today was different.

The painting wasn’t for himself this time. A client had offered a great price for it, a sum that left the struggling artist dazzled. Normally, he didn’t sell portraits of Dorian—they were his secret joy, a beauty he could admire without the prying eyes of others. But that much could not be ignored, and so Basil had decided to make an exception, just this once.

Unfortunately, it appeared his plans were going to be ruined if Dorian continued to act like this. Basil’s brow pinched in annoyance and exhaustion as Dorian fell back against the couch, one arm thrown over his face, the very picture of agony.

“It’s just one painting,” Basil tried again, trying to force his voice to take on an appealing tone. “One painting and then you can go about your tantrum.”

“It isn’t a tantrum,” came Dorian’s muffled protest. “How can you expect me to pose when I’m miserable?”

“I hardly think the situation calls for one to be miserable—”

“My favorite pair!” Dorian interrupted, sitting up suddenly to glare stricken at the other. He pointed to his pants, which now spotted a rather unfortunate blue ink splot. “Ruined. It’ll probably never come out, and even if it does, there will be a stain, and then where will I be? How am I to go on with stained trousers?”

Basil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was true that the paint might not come out, but Dorian was not one who could be accused of having a low supply of nice apparel. He had dozens of other pairs, all fairly similar in style. There was no need to get so worked up about the accident. Nevertheless, Basil knew if he put it like that his painting would never come about.

“What’s all this about?”

The pair turned to find Lord Henry strolling idly into the room, one hand poised elegantly on his cane. He was always elegant, no matter what the setting. Basil would have been impressed by it if he didn’t find it so irritating. Henry glanced between Dorian, distraught on the couch, Basil, standing next to an empty canvas, and finally at the empty chair in the middle of the room where Dorian would under normal circumstances be posing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Henry,” Basil said, a note of relief to his voice at the presence of his friend. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I let myself in. Dorian, whatever is the matter? You look as though poor old Basil here has just made an attempt on your life.”

Dorian sniffed, tilting his chin up petulantly. “He has, at least to me. Look at this!” He pointed to the stain, as though that itself should have been cause for outrage from the other.

Henry blinked, before nodding slowly. “I see. He has… stained your pants? To what end?”

“It was an accident,” Basil explained, crossing his arms. “I was showing Dorian some of the new colors I had got brought in recently, and a bit got on him, that’s all. He’s overreacting.”

“Ruined,” Dorian repeated with a lack of anything else to say in his defense.

Henry balanced his cane on the edge of the sofa, coming to take a seat beside the other. He examined the stain carefully, making sure to glance at it from all angles. Basil and Dorian watched him, both waiting to hear whose side he would take. Finally, he leaned back, clapping his hands together definitively. “Why, Dorian, you have nothing to worry about! It’s only a little stain, and hardly noticeable at that. A quick wash ought to fix it.”

Dorian fixed him with a suspicious glance, but it was difficult to doubt Henry, and finally a bit of hope came into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Henry assured him. “Now, come, you’re being ridiculous. Sit for Basil. He only wants a portrait, nothing more. Surely you can accomplish that?”

Dorian looked as though he were on the edge of giving in, but finally he turned his face aside stubbornly. “I can’t. The mood is ruined. I can’t pose when my spirits are so low. I’ll look dreadful.”

Basil threw his hands up in frustration, ready to give up altogether and try again tomorrow, though he knew it would heavily delay the process. Henry, however, was not deterred. “A matter of low spirits, you say?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and all at once Basil realized his plan, recognizing the look from years of being around the other. Dorian had not yet experienced Henry’s fullproof method for cheering one up, and so he simply frowned in puzzlement, reluctantly glancing back at the other.

“What is it?” he asked apprehensively. “Why do you look like that? Henry, what—hey!”

Dorian’s next words were overtaken by a surprised giggle as Henry’s hands found their way suddenly to his sides. He squirmed back against the couch, weakly attempting to bat the other away. “W-Wahait, noho!”

“I’m simply raising your spirits, nothing more,” Henry replied calmly, expertly maneuvering against the clothing protecting the other and finding each and every spot that had Dorian desperate to get away. “After all, you’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Dorian was, quite a lot at that, and the sound was breathtaking as Basil listened and watched the scene unfold. His laughter had always been uproarious, a carefree, wild sound that brought to mind the joy of childhood; Dorian had never been one to hide away his emotions, always feeling and existing in his truest self. But now that same laughter took on a more frantic cadence, breaking off into fits of giggles and every once in a while a sudden shriek when Henry hit a good spot. It was unreasonably endearing, and Basil felt a blush fighting its way onto his features. He knew he should look away or help—though whether he was to help Dorian or Henry he couldn’t say—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

Dorian was a mess of limbs, his outfit thoroughly rumpled by this point, something that he would have cared about if he wasn’t so focused on the way Henry’s fingers skillfully climbed his ribs. “P-Plehehehease, Ihihihi’ll dihihie!”

“I’m certain you shall be fine, there’s no need for dramatics,” Henry dismissed, working around Dorian’s attempts to shove him off. “Besides, to die of laughter would be a worthy death in my opinion.”

Basil scoffed at the vague poetry, stepping in and placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”

“That is up to Dorian himself,” Henry replied, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous delight.  “Well? What do you say, my friend? Are you significantly cheered up yet?”

In truth, Dorian could already feel his poor mood dissipating, but despite this he continued to persist. “Of course not,” he huffed, grabbing at Henry’s wrists finally and holding them firmly. “This is ridiculous, I am not still a child. I have no time for such silly behavior.”

“And yet you were certainly acting like one earlier,” Basil commented without thinking, and Dorian shot him a betrayed look.

“Basil is right,” Henry agreed. “Which is why he’ll be assisting me. I can’t have you squirming around so much, you’ll only get in the way. Basil, his arms please.”

Basil snapped his head up, having not expected to get brought into this. “Well, I don’t think—”

“Basil is far too soft-hearted for this torture,” Dorian interrupted before he could finish. “He is not so bold or ruthless as you.”

The comment worked better than anything Henry could have said to convince him, and in the next moment Basil was on the couch behind him, slipping his hands under the other’s arms and securing them in a tight grip. “Henry, proceed.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide as he realized his predicament, and he surged against the hold to no avail. “Wait, hold on, there’s no need—ahAHA!”

His words broke off into wild cackling as Henry continued his attack, wiggling his fingers with quick, deft gestures under his arms. “Feeling anymore cooperative now?” Henry teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Thihihihis ihihis cruhuhuel!” Dorian protested, his actions growing more desperate as the vulnerable spot was continuously pursued. Yet no matter how he thrashed, there was no escape. “Bahahahasil!”

“Yes Dorian?” Basil asked, growing more confident in his actions as he listened to the sweet giggles, and the delighted expression that Dorian was doing a poor job at hiding. “Going to me for help will do you no good, not after all you’ve put me through this afternoon. I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to face the consequences of your actions.”

“Mehehehean!” Dorian kicked his legs out uselessly, throwing his head back into Basil’s chest. He jerked suddenly when Henry’s fingers began to travel, pinching up and down his ribs. His laughter pitched several octaves, and his hands flapped about, attempting to grab hold of anything that would help him out. “AhAHAHA, HEHEHENRY!”

“Dorian, please, calm yourself,” Henry said, shaking his head. “You are causing quite the ruckus, what if the neighbors hear?”

Dorian could hardly reply, too lost in his own laughter. Each tweak or prod of his ribs had him spasming, his layers doing little to protect him. The spot appeared to be unbearably ticklish, worse even than the cruel scribbling under his arms. Dorian was no stranger to his own sensitivity, a fact which had been brought to his attention in stark clarity when he was a child, but he hadn’t been tickled in many years and he was unprepared for just how intense it could be.

Finally, he managed to form enough coherency to spew a stream of giggly protests. “I-Ihihihihi dehehehehemand thahahahat—ehehehe, aha—thahahahat yohohou stahahahap ahahahahat ohohonce! Ihihihi wihihihill—ah! Heh, nahaha, nohoho! I wihihihill gehehehet m-my, mihihi—stahahap ihihihit, nahahahat thehehere!”

“You’re not making any sense, I’m afraid,” Henry informed him sympathetically. “Really, I have spoken with you about the benefits of proper articulation before, there’s no need to stammer so. Basil, can you understand a word of what he’s saying?”

“I can’t say I do,” Basil replied, and suddenly his own fingers had been added into the mix, scribbling over the edges of his armpits from where he held him tight. Dorian shrieked, unprepared for the double assault, and burst into a round of cursing as his laughter advanced to an even more frantic pitch. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep encouraging him until he remembers the proper form of speech.”

Red had begun to creep across Dorian’s features as well, a testament to the teasing that was slowly working to unravel with along with the tickling. With that, his stubbornness finally caved. “Ohohohokay, OHOHohohohokay, I-I’ll sihihihihit!”

Henry and Basil exchanged a pleased glance and collectively sat back, releasing Dorian to wrap his arms around himself in a giggly pile between them. After he had regained his breath somewhat, Dorian managed a half-hearted glare in Henry’s direction. “That was wholly uncalled for.”

“Are your spirits not cheered?” Henry pointed out. “You cannot convince me you weren’t enjoying yourself. You’ve never been one to give in so easily to something you weren’t willing to engage in.”

Dorian blushed, sitting up straight and adjusting his jacket with a cough. “That is ridiculous, Henry, utterly ridiculous. I did nothing of the sort. And to think I thought you were a man of intelligence.”

Henry raised a wry brow, shrugging his shoulders. “If that is what you must tell yourself, I will let you believe it for now. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I won’t discover the truth on a later occasion, however.”

Dorian’s stomach flipped not unpleasantly at the idea, but he merely scoffed, springing from the sofa and bounding over to the sitting chair. “Well, if I’m going to sit, I’m going to need a change of outfit at once. Look at me, I look positively tousled, like I’ve been out in a storm!”

Basil watched him as he continued to waltz about the room, making endless comments about dress and hair, but with a far more agreeable air than before. “Thank you,” he whispered gratefully to Lord Henry, who startled at the sound, tearing his gaze away from Dorian where it had previously been taken.

“Yes, of course old friend, always happy to help. Although you might be careful he doesn’t discover your weakness as well.”

He reached over and tweaked Basil’s side playfully. Basil yelped, having not expected the sudden attack, and batted away his hand quickly. He flushed, glaring at him. “Quiet down with that, will you? For your information, that is not information that will be getting out anytime soon.”

“Basil! I can hardly paint this portrait by myself now can I?”

Basil’s attention immediately snapped back to the other, and he rose to his feet, offering an obliging smile as he made his way over. “No, you cannot. You would make a miserable artist.”

The two continued to talk and bicker contentedly as Basil helped him fix his hair which had gotten tangled in the earlier tussle. Henry watched them with a knowing smile, certain they would figure themselves out. Perhaps not that day, but eventually. After all, they must do it in their own time.

Henry slipped out quietly while they talked, allowing them to have the day to themselves. 

Maybe one day, he thought with a gentle smile. 

[lygerastia]

emotional jinx (Nero) - Part 2

Summary:  You are Nero's childhood friend who disappeared on him one day, leaving him heartbroken and confused: and straight into Kyrie's arms.

Now, you have returned--and the demon hunter's world turns around as he remembers his forgotten feelings for you. But he's with Kyrie and... What will he do? And what will you do when Nero believes you like Dante?

Warnings: none

Chapters: 2 / 4 [Completed] 

READ IT ON AO3. 

Part 1. / Part 2. / Part 3. / Part 4.

**

“[name], pass me the sunscreen, please?” Nico, the one you got the closest to, says, extending her hand. Today was beach day—Dante (go figure) proposed that you relaxed for the day after weeks of fighting demons. It got tiring and everyone was cranky and on edge. Before an internal personality battle could ensue, this idea popped into Dante’s head. So here you guys were: the end of the world forgotten, your group just trying to enjoy a good sunny day.

“You’re so lazy, Nico, it’s right next to you.” You roll your eyes at her antics, a playful smile on your face. You still pass her the recipient after seeing her pouting.

“Thank youuuuu!” she sings in her thick accent, applying the cream on her arms.

A short laugh erupts from your lips, then you resume relaxing, putting your sunglasses back on your nose. It was the perfect cover that let you admire Nero from afar without looking like a stalker (even if it kinda was a pervert move). You weren’t doing anything bad: beautiful things were meant to be worshiped. And your childhood friend surely had a body that was intended to be praised. Six pack abs, nice muscles on his thighs and arms—a wonderful well-built back. Not to mention that sweet ass of his. All were waiting for you to drool over.

“Nero!”

Except that, he wasn’t yours. Kyrie was here. Just now, she was running toward him in her cute and simple costume that made every male turn their heads. She had a certain innocent charm and you could see her appeal. Nero was one lucky man. Meanwhile, you felt like you were trying too hard, with your over-the-top and revealing swimsuit. It left little to the imagination, unlike the other girls’ outfit. You thought you were over Nero, your feelings subsiding, especially after seeing him around his girlfriend. Seems like your mind still wanted to believe—to be admired by him. You pretended like you didn’t care, though; so you were unsure if it really had any effect. It didn’t work on Nero, but Dante was certainly interested. The older man made a perverted comment about your costume, which you ignored with a polite laugh. Dante’s presence…Well, you could say that he was rather attractive and his comments made you flush with confidence. Everyone liked to be complimented from time to time, and you were no different.

At least Dante noticed your efforts.

“Stop starin’ at Nero, that’s gross,” Nico scrunches her nose in mock disgust.

You blush a deep red, protesting, “No, I’m not!”

“He has a girlfriend. Hands off.”

“I’m his friend, Nico,” you roll your eyes. “Childhood friend, in fact. I know everything about Nero!” You weren’t going to admit that you’ve been indeed stalking him. No one needed to know about your crush. And, knowing Nico, she might spill it out to the wrong people.

“You were an item, then? Before?”

The mere thought of you and Nero being a couple opened up a badly stitched wound. You bristled, going defensive, “No—we’ve never…ahem, it wasn’t like that, honest.”

“Mmmhhhmmm,” Nico wasn’t convinced. “Tell that to someone who buys your bullshit.”

You frowned, pissed. “What makes you think that, then?”

“I’ve seen the way you two ogle at each other. Can’t lie to me!” The dark-haired female seemed very proud of herself for finding something out that wasn’t true. You just wanted to swat that victorious smirk off Nico’s face. She went on, “I don’t know what Kyrie is going to say about that when I tell—”

“Don’t you dare!” you snap, jumping on your feet with cat-like agility. Your nostrils flare with despair, glaring daggers at the smiling female. “Seriously, Nico,” you lowered your voice as to not attract attention, “there’s nothing going on between us.” You spread your arms, helpless. “Don’t tell—”

“Bla bla bla bla,” Nico mocks you, sticking out her tongue playfully. But you weren’t amused. “I’ll just go right now—”

“Nico!” you grab her shoulders, shaking her with vigor. When you saw her befuddled expression, you stopped, calming yourself down. You weren’t helping your situation by acting all crazy about it; don’t show anything was wrong and no one will care. “Kyrie already knows the truth. She’s been with us since forever and she knows we’ve never done things like this. So…”

“You could’ve hidden from her,” the woman continues on teasing you.

“Nico…” This was getting tiring.

“Alright, alright.” She conceded and you removed your hands with a sigh.

“Honestly—”

“SYKE!”

“Wha—”

Like a leopard, she leaped to her feet, pushed you out of her way, and darted toward the couple (who were minding their own business and acting all cutesy with each other). “NICO!” This time, you didn’t hide your anger; she had no right to meddle in your affairs, even if you considered her a friend. You started running after her at an impossible speed, the likes of which you were never capable of even when fighting demons. But you had to stop her—you might play it off as a stupid joke (since no one took the female seriously), but Nico wouldn’t let you live it down. “NICO! COME BACK!”

“HEY, NERO! DID YOU KNOW [NA—]”

Before she could say something incriminating, the air goes out of her as you tackle her to the ground. Nico falls faceplanting in the sand, with you on top. You struggle to keep her there while smiling as innocently as possible at your childhood friend (and his consort). “Hi, Nero! Don’t listen to what Nico—”

“Pfaaaaaaa!” Nico groans, lifting her head and spitting out sand. With fierce determination, she squirms underneath you until you lose your balance. She was very violent and her outburst took you by surprise. She manages to topple you, triumphant—but instead, you grab her in a grip-lock by the arms, wrestling her into submission. But she was a wild stallion, and her mouth couldn’t shut up. “DID YOU KNOW [NAAAAME] AHAHA, that tickles!”

Nero, sighing in frustration, runs a hand over his face, while Kyrie kindly giggles by his side.

“Will you two quit it before someone gets hurt?” he says, looking done.

“Get’er off me!” Nico shouts, extending a hand toward her partner. At the same time, you were pleading him not to listen with your eyes. Nero doesn’t look that convinced, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Nero, please!” Nico continued to plead.

“Just—Let her tell me. It can’t be that bad.” He shot you an apologetic look when he saw your venomously betrayed one. “C’mon, [name]. You said to not believe her, anyway. I believe you.”

Damn your easily excited heart and his kind words. You grimace.

“Ha ha, I win!” She immediately regrets it when she looked into your eyes and sees a death threat in them. She gulped, whimpering. “Um...”

Tell him and you die (metaphorically).

“She—She, uhh, l-l-likes…” Nero cocks his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest: but curiosity was written all over his face. [name]’s grip on Nico tightened just a little bit. “SHELIKESDANTE!”

“…”

“:O”

“Oh my…”

“Say that again? Didn’t hear ya well, Nico.”

Nero was really curious about this; did he hear correctly? You like Dante? As in like-like? He hates the feeling that was stirring in him, a strange kind of jealousy in his chest. Meanwhile, you let go of Nico, face drained of color—yet darkening a dangerous shade of black. She was so dead.

“She—She—She uhh, likessss…ummmm…” Nico couldn’t continue, fearing her incoming demise.

But Kyrie heard her very well, “Dante? You like Dante?” The redhead chuckled amused yet extremely innocently. The prospect of romance entertained her and, honestly, you couldn’t be upset at her for spilling it out. You sighed, judging by Nero’s expression that he believed it completely and that you were fucked. Great—if Dante finds out this lie, he’ll make fun of you until your mind explodes.

You sigh, getting off Nico. The girl scrambles to her feet, stepping away from you, hands in the air, afraid. You let her off, dejected, shooting Nero a hurt look, “You said you won’t believe it…”

“I—I don’t!” he says, defensive. He did—you knew better.

“I don’t like Dante,” you say anyway. “Nico’s just joking.” You sound sadder than you wanted, more disappointed that Nero didn’t get jealous or something. But what the fuck did you expect? Kyrie was standing right next to him—did you really think he was going to betray some imaginary feelings while she was around? Silly [name]. Of course he wasn’t going to, even if he was rather transparent when it came to his feelings. You could read his emotions like a book; or used to, anyway. It’s been a while, no? Things have changed. It wasn’t as if he was going to be as easy to understand as before. You could see the loving way he gazed at the redhead; there was no place for you in his heart. You knew that.

You still hoped, though.

“Ok, ok,” Nero attempts a teasing smirk, grabbing Kyrie’s hand for comfort. A movement that doesn’t escape your eye. You try not to be disappointed. “Well, you’re in for a challenge. I’ve never seen Dante with a lady—and I’m not referring to Lady.”

Kyrie flashed him a confused look, “Didn’t you use to accompany him to strip clubs when—”

“Kyrie!”

You laughed dryly, “Busted, Nero. I know Dante’s a skank anyway,” you rolled your eyes. “Now—” you cracked your knuckles, “—excuse me, I’ve got something to take care of.”

You turned, bellowing, “NICO!”

The girl in question yelped. She tried to run away from you while you weren’t paying attention, but she wasn’t fast enough and you weren’t going to leave her live with her mistake. “GET READY, NICO!” With that threat, you started running toward her, using your fiercest battle cry to scare her off. It had the effect you intended and, with a squeal, Nico dashed away from you while all laughed.

The game was on.

**

After you dunked Nico into the sea a couple of times to make sure she got the message (never fuck with you again), you got tired. With a sigh, you tried to pay attention to the melting ice-cream in your hand, but you didn’t have an appetite. All of the joy disappeared when Nico opened her big mouth and lied. You could play it off as nothing, as if the girl had nothing better to do than make fun of you. But they would be suspicious now and would never look at you and Dante the same way. They’ll really think...

You sigh once again, taking a tentative lick at the sweet.

“Never knew ice-cream could make someone sad, but there’s a first time for everything.”

Of course: Dante.

The man of the hour coming at the right moment, as usual. He had no care in the world, lazily smirking in your direction as he leans on the table you were sitting at. You tried not to hold a grudge against him since he wasn’t at fault here. He was a ‘victim’, if you could ever call Dante innocent. He was far from a saint, a devil in disguise tempting you on the path of sin. If you were weak-willed, you probably would’ve fallen for him, for his sweet words. He talked as if he was always trying to charm the pants off of you (which he probably did), except when talking to Lady and Trish. They were old friends, you thought; or, at least, so it seemed. You weren’t aware of any past romance involvement between them.

But you’ve only been with them for a few weeks. You wouldn’t know.

“Hey, Dante,” you eyed him up and down, sort of liking what you saw. “Where’ve you been?” He has been missing the whole ‘party’, even if he has been the one to suggest it. Still, he was a sight, on par with Nero. You might even say they are related. Only a coincidence. Anyway, he was distracting in all the good ways, muscles and curves. He noticed you staring and his smirk grew larger, flexing his arms so you can get a better view. You laughed at that—he was ridiculously cute.

“Ya know, around.” You shot him a suspicious glance. Dante raised his arms in surrender, as if he had nothing up his sleeve, but you didn’t believe him one bit.

“What are you up to?”

Dante feigned hurt, but he was sneaky either way, “Nothing. What gave you that idea?”

“I hope you don’t plan on throwing water balloons at people again,” you roll your eyes, laughing at the ridiculousness of this suggestion. But Dante’s rather guilty and mischievous expression told you that he was gonna do just that. “Dante, NO.”

“Come oooooooon,” he whined, leaning over to you with his puppy eyes.

“I don’t think the girls would appreciate you throwing water balloons at them.”

“What if it’s balloons—with color?”

You sigh in frustration. “Dante, please—”

“You can’t stop me—”

“—you’ll get in trouble—”

“—so you just have to join me.”

“I won’t! Why did you tell me?”

“Cause I want you as—”

“—as your scapegoat—”

“—partner in crime. I want you as my partner.”

The use of that word, regardless of the context, reminded you of your problems. You shouldn’t be seen with Dante alone—who knows what people might think? There was no way you would help him pranks the guys; they’ll get revenge as soon as possible. If Dante wanted trouble, then he was welcome to do it to himself. Besides, you haven’t got beef with anyone except—

Nico!

She hasn't been punished enough.

Dante saw the fleeting smirk on your face and knew he got you hooked. Damn him for actually knowing how to pull your strings to get to agree.

“Dante, no, only Ni—”

But your words got lost when the ground started to shake. Both of you looked at one another, alert all of a sudden: this was not a normal earthquake. They knew better and it meant one thing.

A demon.

“Seems like we have to postpone your revenge for another time, birdie,” Dante says, putting his game-face on. You cringed at the pet-name he usually gave you (and many others, he just liked to alternate between them and come up with new ones every week)—they were uncalled for, even if no one ever called you that. No one really showed you excessive affection; not even Nero dared to call you in some way. Which only dampened your spirits—but you pushed the feeling away. This was not the time. “Here comes trouble.”

A deep rumble came from the sea and you both turned around to look at the source. At first, there was nothing. But with a terrifying groan (which left you two unimpressed, judging by the shit you’ve seen during your life), a figure—tall, menacing—started emerging from the waves. It kept on growing, reaching skyscraper height. Dante whistled in admiration, while you frowned at the people around you: they were gaping like fish at the incoming threat instead of running away. Who stops to look at whatever monstrosity will come out of the waters? You would believe they’d know better.

Anyway, the waters finally recede from the corpse of the demon and you get a good look at it. It had dark skin, the body was slender, skeletal: you could see the skin flapping in the wind around his ribs. Disgusting—but you were used to all the things that would’ve made anyone barf. Two red eyes, sunken into the skull, stared into nothingness, full of evil. You would’ve shuddered; but those long arms and sharpened claws didn’t scare you. Not anymore. The demon had no mouth, which made it uglier and horrific than anything. Many people started screaming and they grabbed their kids and started running—finally.

“That’s one ugly motherfucker,” Dante comments, then smirks at you. “Where’s your gear?”

“In the van,” you point at it, a few meters away. Great—you had to run to get there. But that was no problem. “You?”

“Uhh, I left my coat somewhere—” he scans around and sees it in Trish’s hands, who was dangling it over tentatively. She was very sassy, hand on her hip, a raised eyebrow; Dante smirked in return and, for the first time, you wondered if there was something going on between them. You wouldn’t have minded, not one bit—it will just save you from the rumors probably running behind your back. “Well, there’s my ride.” You chuckle, rolling your eyes.

“Trish is always your savior, huh?”

“Why, you jealous?” He likes teasing you—like usual.

Before you could respond (and, fuck, are you blushing?), the demon decides you ignored it enough. He bellows out a cry, one that creates a big wave of air, throwing everything in its path away. ‘There goes my brand-new towel’ you sigh, dejectedly. You just bought it with the little money you had—so it was a shame. You stand your ground though, shielding your eyes from the sand with your hand (while Dante stands in his chair, as if nothing could move him). You roll your eyes at his bravado, watching things fly by you and trying to dodge things that were getting too near you. No sweat; you just had to wait until the monster finished so you can start kicking ass then take names. It took a few seconds to notice that something sticky and cold was running down your fingers and hand (and probably has been since Dante came into the picture). You looked down at your empty cone and yell in distress:  

“Aw, fuck, my ice-cream!”

You were extremely disappointed; this was probably the only thing that you were excited about today (that, and Nero). It would’ve cheered you up, but you completely forgot about it, lost in your thoughts about your lover boy. Then there was Dante—you shot him a foul look, as if it was his fault you weren’t paying attention. He shrugs, showing off a rare honest smile, “I’ll but you another one as an apology, ok?” To prove his point, he ruffles your hair.

You sigh, but you’re pleased with his answer. You’ll hold onto his promise. “Yeah, kay, whatever.” You snatch a nearby towel that was flying around just then and wipe your hand. Lucky you. “I think we have a demon to destroy, huh?”

“I guess so,” Dante cracks his knuckles. “Ready?”

“Born that way, baby,” you respond, grinning widely.

“I like that.”

In unison, you two start to move, dashing with a start and trying to fight off the current to get back to the van. It’s not that easy but not as hard; obviously, Dante is doing way better than you. What a badass—you envied him for his demon blood and his not-giving-a-fuck attitude. That was one quality (and only quality) you admired in Dante. Maybe his hotness too—but ehh, Nero toppled him. And why the hell were you thinking of Nero again? Probably because you were worried. As you were running, your eyes kept on searching for the white-haired boy, but he was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, he was fine.

You didn’t have time to think about that anymore since you finally arrived at the van. You open the door going inside and grabbing your gear, while Dante disappears from your side, reaching Trish to take his coat and whatever he had stashed there. You took your favorite weapon, the guns, the slick katana, holstering them to the belt at your waist. You had no time to change from your bikini, but you had no problem with that. Fewer stains to clean afterward. Demon hunting was a messy job. Besides, you’d probably get rid of this costume after all this. When you were ready and prepped, you got out, jumping on top of the van to survey the situation. The demon decided to stop trying to blow you all away, and was watching something in the distance, toward the city, an unknown point of interest. Uh-oh—seems like he had other plans. But your gang is going to stop it right here, right now.

You were about to say something, when something incredible happened: the monster vanished. You blinked, confused as to where it disappeared, when you heard a hissing sound behind you. Turning, the demon was rapidly making its way toward the city, undisturbed by you guys. Incredible! What a rude demon, not even acknowledging you. Oh well—seems like it wanted you to give chase. And that’s what you were going to do. You spot your handsome boy and call out his name:

“Nero—”

“I’ll get Kyrie to safety,” he is not even listening to you, though. He’s holding the red-head by the waist, close to him. Kyrie clings to him, scared. Your heart sinks. He wants to go alone? He really could use a hand with this, he can’t— “[name], go with Dante.” Nero looks at you, awaiting your approval. You can’t believe it; he really was blowing you off to…to…He’s secretly eyeing Dante and you know what this is about. You wanted to yell at him to fuck off, that it was not true: but you keep quiet, not hiding the hurt in your eyes. It shames Nero, but he’s obstinate and looks away, mouth set in a straight line. “You guys can handle it, no?” he is paying more attention to Dante than you.

“No problem.” Dante nods. “You protect your lady.”

Ugh. You jump next to Dante, ignoring Nero, who picked Kyrie bridal style and started running away. You humphed: that was really uncalled for. But you had a job to do. And you were going to do it efficiently and clean like always.

You look at Dante—he was ready.

**

The demon got inside the city before you two reached him, despite riding Dante’s motorcycle. But you were there now, right behind it, and you got down off of it, somewhat missing the demon hunter’s scent. He insisted on this ride (you weren’t going to say ‘no’ in favor of running), saying that it was faster. ‘And that looks like an urgent business.’ You agreed and held onto Dante tight, racing the van holding Trish, Nico, and Lady.

“Look!” you point out at the demon, at the big red swollen spot on the nape of its neck. It shouted ���weakness’ in bright lights.

Dante hums, takes his gun out and fires, on point. It doesn’t do much damage, but it certainly hurts the demon. Like a mosquito bite. Not wanting to be topped, you charge your gun and fire at the same spot. You like impressing people with your skills, and Dante whistles in response. However, your bullet attracted the demon’s attention. It hurt him. He lets out a groan, in pain, puts a hand over the blob, and slowly turns around. Those deep ruby eyes (more like holes) stop on the two of you, hatred and malice. It seemed to say ‘Don’t get in my way’, but of course you were going to get in the way.

“That certainly got his attention,” Dante laughs.

You shrugged, “Wasn’t that the point?”

“I like that you’re direct.” He winks.

“Think we can take it down before the others arrive?”

“Definitely,” he turns to you. “Can you keep up with me?”

“Puh-lease,” you roll your eyes.

The white-haired demon hunter doesn’t answer; instead, he takes out Rebellion. Likewise, you unsheathe your katana, taking a stance. You were both ready and, with a fleeting gaze at one another, you acquiesce to what you need to do. No words pass between you—it was like with Nero. You didn’t need to say anything, just think the same way. It was something you two had—that connection was special, you didn’t want anyone to intrude. Especially not Dante. But Nero fucked you over and screw it! You were disappointed Nero wasn’t here to see how the two of you were interacting (little did you know). Nero shouldn’t complain—and you had half in mind to let him be alone from now on. He clearly needed no partner. But hey, this was just your current bitterness talking. Nero would do something to win your affection again. It was weird, though: it looked like Nero was jealous.

No way.

So, after agreeing to (hopefully) the same thing, the demon starts attacking, thinking that you were easy targets. He uses one clawed hand to attack you, swooping down to swat you like a bug. It’s slow and you dodge to the side easily. It tries again with the other hand: still the same result, jumping off its arm and twirling. You don’t anticipate the demon shooting lasers out of its eyes, though. It almost zaps you, but you’re picked up from the air and into some strong arms. Dante saves you from harm and you pout, not liking the position you’re in. But what can you do? Getting killed? You wouldn’t forgive yourself for this mistake.

Luckily…

“Never took you for the damsel in distress,” Dante chuckles, dodging red lasers with ease. However, buildings and roads started exploding behind you. It was mayhem, loud sounds all over, deafening, but you didn’t even flinch as rubble flew around you, almost scraping your cheek, dust getting into your eyes. Ugh, you fucking hated this part of the fight. Why couldn’t demons be clean and nice and not make a mess out of things?

Finally, the laser runs out of steam, and Dante finds a place to stop, on a rooftop. He puts you down, but not before running his hand on your hips, cheekily. You squeak and glare at him, while he smiles cutely.

“Stop that,” you threaten, but you’re more bark than bite. Being appreciated by a man by his caliber wasn’t something that bad. “We need to focus.”

Dante raises his palms in surrender, “Hey, your outfit is really distracting.” The white-haired demon hunter winked, leaning closer to you, “Who are you trying to impress, huh? Is it me?” His tone of voice is alluring and you’re tempted to just tiptoe and kiss him. What would those velvet lips of his taste like?

You’ve always wondered that Nero’s would…

“I—” you want to say ‘no’, to deny it. Isn’t it time to move on from Nero? He’ll always be with Kyrie—those were your insecurities talking. You can’t forget Nero and so what if you’re a hopeless romantic at heart that can get no romance? Your luck will come; you’ll just have to hold on a bit more. Maybe Dante will be the one—for now, you put on a rather flirty, dare you say, smile, batting your eyelashes at him. “No—but I appreciate admirers.”

Dante likes that, judging by the spark in his eyes. He leans even more and you can smell his minty breath on your lips and there’s nothing stopping you from reaching out. You just need a push and he can be all yours, right here, right now. But there’s hesitation in you and he can sense that. You see the same hesitation in him, like he’s not ready—no, like he never considered this prospect in the first place. He was only flirting for fun, not because—the realization blows your mind and you’re relieved. But he goes on anyway, asking you:

“Hmm, then who has your heart, darling?”

You don’t get to answer—and you don’t want to. Telling Dante about Nero would be a huge mistake. Luckily (or not so), the demon starts attacking you two again, as if reminding you to pay attention to him (Hello, we’re fighting here?). This time, you go on separate ways, but there was no way you’re going to dilly-dally again. Honestly, you’ve wasted enough time. So, with a meaningful look at Dante, who somehow ended up on the other side of the street, you jump as high as you can, ending up on the demon’s shoulder. With a perfectly executed twirl and a well-placed target, you aimed at the weak spot and shot at it. It isn’t enough to do any real damage. Dante follows your lead, does the same thing: but you need to change your tactics.

“We have to bring him down, Dante!” you say as you two land down.

“Easy,” he dashes at the same time as you. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

You huff in agreement, focused on the task at hand. You go right between the demon’s legs, each of you slashing the Achille's heel. The monster hisses in pain and opens the mouth you didn’t think it had and yells. It’s a deranged sound and it makes your skin crawl, but you’re glad to see that it made the monster kneel. It falls on its fours, looking even grotesque now that it was down. You don’t waste time and you two jump on it, aiming your weapons at the weak spot. You hack and slash and Dante uses one of his fancy moves to give it the finishing blow. The red bubble bursts into a cloud of intoxicating smoke, a few drops of blood—acid—fly toward you but you dodge them before they can burn you, jumping off the body in case it exploded or something. Nothing of the sort happened, but you’re still a few feet clear of it, Dante grinning by your side.

“Good job, sweets,” he roughly puts a hand over your shoulder. “We make a good team.”

You laugh half-heartedly, thoughts back on Nero. You wish he was your partner again, to share this moment with him, not Dante. But he’s not here.

And maybe—maybe that’s fine.

Who are you lying to?

**

Nero sees all of it. From the beginning to the end. And he’s envious by the obvious chemistry between the two of you, how easy was for you two to understand each other. Was it the same with you and him? It makes him wonder and he’s definitely jealous—but he has no reason to. He’s just happy to see you, his childhood friend, after such a long time. He has always liked you—spending time with you. Precious memories he wouldn’t trade for the whole world. So of course he wanted to keep you for himself. But you—liking Dante.

It sounded impossible. It always seemed like you...admired him. Now—fuck, he was at a loss, he wasn’t sure you felt the same as you did all those years ago. But he had Kyrie, why was he thinking about you when—

‘You know the answer, Nero.’

He does. He never forgot about it.

Dante knows he’s there. When you’re not paying attention, he turns around and offers him a look that had only one message:

What are you going to do about it, kid, if it bothers you so much?

Nero had no clue.

–

[masterlist]

[ryouverua]

The Final Lab

.......... is really, really weird.

just what I’d expect from someone who may or may not have set up the love key system tbh

Is it weird to consider this the Mastermind’s Lab? .... Maybe?

Oh. Oh, that’s what you meant. Also, damn - does it spread out as far across as the AV room too?

Sure they are. Yup. They’re definitely here. Oh, hiding? ....... I don’t know if I’d go that far.

OH THE MUSIC CHANGE

I did think it was weird that the music hadn’t changed when we walked in there!

.... this is so oddly conspicuous.

OH IS THAT WHERE THAT THING FROM THE JUNKO-SCENE WAS THIS WHOLE TIME

Wait, what? We were supposed to find this room???

.......

The, uh. The what now.

I... guess there’s no denying that this is connected to the old games then. Btw, totally random, but I like that little ‘tinny’ filter they have on Monokuma’s voice. It’s a nice touch.

- says Sweetcheeks, to the giant Monokuma head

I mean, I know he means ‘are you the Monokuma that’s been in charge of everything this whole time or are you a separate entity’ but it just sounds kinda funny that’s all. 8′D

Anyway, it confirms that but goes on -

.... IS THIS YOUR WAY OF TRYING TO DIVERT MY ATTENTION FROM THAT WHOLE ‘WE HAVE TO PROTECT OUR REAL MOTHER’ FROM CHAPTER 4. 8/ I’M NOT BUYING THAT THIS IS THE MOTHER YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT.

Though with that said, uh, what’s with the sudden ‘maternal’ imagery???

I wonder if the Monokubs were made there too... they’re separate from Monokuma, but they were obviously replaced. Also, that... doesn’t... look like a machine that could make new Monokuma, but I’m going to choose to believe this for now only because it’s something that was brought up in Chapter 1 too. I can’t think of a reason why this could be untrue...

That’s a good point. I mean, unless there’s a hidden area behind there that have pre-made Monokumas that just need to be activated or something? That would make more sense...

“Duh-doi.”

That’s true. This is... weird. I’m just - I’m just getting a weird vibe in general.

WHY WOULD YOU ASK HIM TO DO THAT WHEN THERE IS LITERALLY A ‘MONOKUMA ET ALL VS STUDENTS’ WAR RIGHT NOW

S T O P

ASDL;KFJASDF okay I actually laughed

also thank god, honestly

oh god it has a good point

DUDE DON’T SAY IT LIKE THAT THAT’S WEIRD

What is happening right now are we trying to call his bluff but what if it isn’t a bluff WHAT IF IT ISN’T A BLUFF -

GUYS PLEASE STOP SAYING THAT THAT’S REALLY CREEPY

But at the same time, why would it lie now? What if the deadline had come way back in Chapter 1 and there wasn’t any firepower to back it up? There... had to have been a way to back up that threat. .... Right? Right? oh god please don’t say Kaede killed for nothing -

“THIS IS WHY WE KEEP GETTING BLOWN UP BY K1-B0, SHUICHI!”

Wait, what? That’s a Monopad? I couldn’t tell from the original angle. ..... A Monopad with blood on it??? And is that a handprint....

WHAT

W H A T

Wait, I’m trying to remember... didn’t he have a Monopad on him when he died? We talked about this already, right? So he started the game with two? hey rantaro why does monokuma let you have two monopads -

ahaha lol bye necklace!perk theory

.... Wait, if it has his handprint on it, isn’t that the one he was holding in the picture?

WHAT HE GETS AN ENHANCED MAP THAT’S CHEATI - oh I guess that’s part of the perk. But still. Still.....

.... Man this would have been so helpful to have from the beginning. 8′/

But there it is - the reason Rantaro knew the exact location of the library door. It was literally laid out for him. The mastermind really did lure him there...

Oh my god this literally spells out what memory he’ll learn next. The mastermind’s moves. Literally everything that would perfectly position him to the perfect spot - this almost seems like it was designed that way! To prey on his paranoia from his missing memories! This wasn’t a hint, this was a fucking set-up from the start!

.... And yet, it was written by him. But it had to have been approved by the mastermind, right? Or at the very least, the mastermind knew about it...

HONESTLY I FEEL LIKE HE WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER OFF WITHOUT IT

Man, past!Rantaro screwed over future!Rantaro really well.

I’m so fired up at how unfair this all was for him ffff he was set up to fail under the guise of it being a perk what the hell, he wasn’t even given a fighting chance at all - ?!

JUSTICE!!! JUSTICE FOR RANTARO!!!!

.... I-I mean, I have no idea who it could belong to.

Oh, he knows. He 100% knows. This is him just living by ‘measure twice, cut once’, a proverb I wholeheartedly subscribe to btw.

And she knows it too.

MAN literally the moment anything Kokichi-related comes up she is up and running to it. It’s a shame she hasn’t been able to shake that ‘KILL THE MASTERMIND!!!’ attitude that caused all the problems in the first place, but at least she seems incredibly determined to make it up to Kokichi’s memory personally...? 8′D or am I reading too much into it again

insert laugh track

INTROVERT BUDDIES :D

I’m sorry WHAT -

what - ?!

It’s just... laying here? In the trash, with nothing else? Another thing we’re supposed to find???

Is that from Kaede’s sweater?

This... is a continuation of the set-up? Just, just leaving this shotput ball here like Kaede just ~has~ to be lurking around here - ??

It... has to be Tsumugi. Between her ‘finding’ the cold room, Kaede’s profile, Kaede’s ‘twin’, just leaving Rantaro’s Monopad out here for us to find, Motherkuma handing out convenient clues and ‘evidence’ of her living in here... it’s all too convenient?

... No, this is a set-up. She’s trying to set up Kaede as the mastermind. And she even had Kaede’s clothes at one point, didn’t she??? For the cospox scene? Did - did Shuichi just realize it was Tsumugi too, then?

...

omg I just remembered Tsumugi being incredibly pissed at Rantaro when he basically made her third-wheel in the nailpolishing scene that was totally going to be the Kaemugi Magnum Opus and telling him to, what was it? ‘Backflip into a landmine and die?’ shinjaeba - it was right there. it was the first comparison I made in my head. I should’ve known in that moment.

That is so darkly hilarious in hindsight, though I still wonder how she knew to count on Kaede’s plan. What if Shuichi hadn’t found the door? Wait, if the Survivor’s Perk ended up here after Kaede’s trap was triggered, does that mean she darted out and nabbed the Survivor’s Perk afterwards??? But... how did she get past everyone in the first place......... Maybe with Monokuma lying in wait in this room, then? If she had an extra in here and Rantaro had opened the door anyway, it would be easy enough... maybe...???

I HAVE A LOT OF QUESTIONS...

oh Tsumugi is encouraging me to continue looking around too

YOU LEFT MORE CLUES TO POINT A FINGER AT THE THEORETICAL MASTERMIND!KAEDE, DIDN’T YOU

So as long as you were quick enough, you could dart in and out of the room via the automatic door to... say... grab a Survivor’s Perk. Got it.

So you mean... it might not matter if you happened to put the receipt signed tape dust on the reader if the mastermind had already gotten in the room, so there’s potentially a chance that it was accessed if Shuichi’s timing/luck was bad?

H-Himiko plz

C-Can we also talk about how while Mother Monokuma is confirming that this is the ‘Remnants of Despair’ room, Tsumugi is the one that keeps pushing for that comparison... she’s, uh, way too hyped about them. I’m just sayin’.

“Well, they are now - oh, crap. Uh. Um. Just. Forget I said that.”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAY ‘NO’ WE PRACTICED THIS - I MEAN -”

I know the context is inaccurate but seeing Tsumugi sweating like this right here is making me lol - and I think I can stop saying ‘assuming I’m right’, because... I’m... starting to feel pretty confident tbh.

I feel like Motherkuma’s attitude is a bit different than Monokuma’s? Or am I just imagining things? It seems a lot more relaxed about the mysteries of everything than the other one, and certainly the Monokubs. They literally almost blew the students up for trying to get in here!

IT HAS TO BE LOOPING, THERE’S NO WAY YOU COULD SAY THAT IF IT WASN’T LOOPING IN SOME FASHION

Because it would have to end if there were only two people left, but clearly it wouldn’t if there was! And Rantaro is proof that it didn’t end with him, either!

The question is, why is it looping????

HOW MANY MORE CAN THERE BE

oh god they really are getting faster i barely captured anything from this

WAIT WHERE IS EVERYONE ELSE

So... Monokuma is still a recognized figure.

It would have been before Shuichi’s time though, yeah? And of course it would have been recorded as a significant event. I was curious so I looked up what our real life ‘most watched’ events in TV history were and they’re mostly positive, tbh - but not all of them. There were some significant funerals. Anything planned, basically.

'Like they usually do?!’ Okay, they are seriously emphasizing the ‘this game is looping’ angle here - and apparently Shuichi should be aware of this fact? Monokuma’s explaining it all, but it sounds like it’s more of a recap than anything!

He recaps it conveniently for us:

Gofer Project, the state of the world, that they’re the last survivors, their promise to be friends...

Was it like this with the original class? It looks like Shuichi was the last one to be woken up, too. I wonder if that’s significant...?

Wait, but hadn’t they not met each other before this? Or I guess they just forgot their ‘first’ meeting and that was enough...

“Well tbh I was hoping you would monologue about your evil plans for a bit in case I conveniently remembered these memories later, but fine.”

...What a great name for the light. right right shouldn’t be giving the murder-bear props for anything, sorry -

With that said, the flashback in the helmets still bother me -unless that was supposed to be them losing their talents in the first place. .... I’m not... entirely convinced of that, though. I don’t think that image has been confirmed to be associated to the talent-loss, so I’m not going to write it off as that yet.

“That’s oddly specific and is giving me a different set of high school flashbacks - can you get rid of those memories too while you’re at it oh shIT -”

tell me you don’t see sweetcheeks getting shoved into a locker at some point in his life though

Are you sure??? Are you sure?

Again, mass-induced memories - but unlike the ones in the pod room, they didn’t seem to be triggered by anything specifically. I wonder, actually - did the others get that memory as well? Tsumugi apparently did, but -

That’s not your fault!!

aaaaaw she wants to find a clue too 8′D

LMAO you, uh, weren’t ready for the responsibility yet, huh. She wears her anxiety on her sleeve. 8′D

ATTAGIRL!!!

You’ve got this, Himiko! You don’t know this yet, but the meta is on your side! You’ll definitely find something!

Ah, the rare serious Himiko..

So, interesting. We’re splitting up again - Maki’s ahead, Himiko’s behind, and we’re still with Tsumugi. Why are all signs pointing to her so much right now??? Am I going crazy here??? I mean, she’s also the least developed out of everyone left which isn’t helping and we still haven’t seen her cosplay yet (outside of potential!Junko) so....??? So, my girl? Will we ever get to see the power of EVA foam in your capable hands?

[merlinficreview]

Accidental Memory in the Case of Death Review Part 2!

Accidental Memory in the Case of Death by derryere

Word Count 74987

We open this part with a Magical Paragraph Break: “(day four)”

The Royal family is having some sort of party or something and Merlin is super busy doing servant stuff. He approaches Arthur, who is talking to some stranger bitch Earl, with a tray of drinks. “And it's simple happiness, a bit stupid in its nature but also brilliant, not to be helped, and the sort that feels like he'll never get over this, over this mad urge to jump, to be silly like pulling faces and dancing foolishly but at the same time pretend he's not bothered whenever Arthur is near.” How freaking cute.

The two of them spend the evening stealing touches and glances and it’s a little careless because they could easily get caught. Then they both get spectacularly drunk and end up in Arthur’s bed rooms. It’s amazing they weren’t seen.

Back to the present: Anthony is at the library; he’s been studying up on his past self.

The rest of him is completely falling apart. He’s starting fights and behaving pretty promiscuously. Now I’m not saying promiscuity is a bad thing, but sometimes it is a sign of some deeply serious, not ok shit and that’s clearly what’s going on here.

Even Anthony’s selectively invalid mother has noticed something is up. “’I'm worried,’ his mother says, quietly one day when he's on the couch, pressing a frozen pizza to his face. He doesn't hear her and so she urges with a firm, ‘Tony.’ And another, ‘Anthony. Anthony!’ Anthony blinks at her, then, and there's a lump in his throat at the realisation he'd been expecting a different name—has, even in his own head—stopped referring to himself as himself.” Anthony has even started having the people he picks up at bars call him Arthur. This is important for later.

So Anthony picks up a girl and they are about to have sex in a parked car when they realize they have no condoms. She makes Anthony get out to go find some. Yay! Practice safe sex kids!

Of course the store he finally stumbles into is the one Emory works at, “Emory looks at him, quiet and unmoving, eyes wide. It's been weeks. All at once his heart is thudding upward, blocking his throat, and he breaks out in a clammy, cold sweat and it's almost like a fever, this boy. The sight of Emory washing over like a quiet disease and Anthony wants out, he wants out of there, gone from the shop, barely even cares anymore about the girl—stupid condoms, fucking condoms, who the fuck even cares and who— ‘Where d'you keep the condoms?’ he finishes, willing his voice into something cool—smoothing out the tremble, pulling himself straighter, thinking—I don't have to care.”

Smooth, bro.

“Emory doesn't say anything at first. He just stares, looking a little tired but otherwise fine, and there's nothing of annoyance or anger in his face as he takes in Anthony—scans his face, then replies with a frowningly admonished, ‘You look like shit.’ Anthony's temper flares at this, and his retort is an immediate, ‘Fuck you.’” That’s nice.

Emory tells Anthony to follow him but he doesn’t. “Emory reaches back, takes his hand. Anthony discovers he is that easy, as every resolve or any coherent thought crumbles at its foundations, then collapses when Emory pulls him along, his grip cold from the cool cartons and his fingers long, digging softly into the back of his Anthony's hand. He feels faintly sick, wants to pull away, still very much wants to want—bitter over weeks alone (though he wasn't alone), over a rejection (though he can't say it wasn't justified), bitter over being bitter in the first place, frustrated with himself and his own haplessness.” Anthony really took that, “we aren’t friends,” thing pretty hard. It’s interesting that this caused Anthony to go down such a spiral. Anthony could have reached out to Emory at any time and attempted to be friends with him. I’m not saying that Emory would have or had to accept, but Anthony could have put in a little more of an effort if it was going to affect him this much.

Emory takes Anthony back to his apartment and I think we can could this as a Subtle Clue Emory is also Sort of Losing His Shit over the Whole Situation because he just up and leaves work. He doesn’t even bother telling anyone this time. That’s not normal.

Anyways, Emory immediately just goes and lays down on his mattress which is a little strange because I’m not sure what Emory was expecting to do when they got to his place. Anthony is equally confused and starts wandering around opening cabinets and such. Sure.

“’You're not like him.’ He looks away, a nail scratching a restless tune along the seam of his jeans. ‘Just so you know. You're not like him at all.’ Emory props himself up on his elbows, giving Anthony a mild, questioning look. ‘He used to have things,’ Anthony continues. ‘He—had things.’ Flopping back down with a huff, Emory replies with a murmured, ‘I have things.’  ‘You don't have things. You have . . . I don't know. But he made things. Used to make these little . . . wooden figurine things, of birds. Had them up on his shelves. He had things.’ Emory, giving a quick look and a laugh, says, ‘Oh, he didn't make those.’” Haha this made me laugh. Way to drop that beloved dead boyfriend bomb there, Emory.  

“’Yeah. That was, like, a spell.’ He gives a fraction of a smile, adds, ‘Just couldn't get over the stupid look on your bloody face whenever he showed you them. So I sort of pretended I—‘ he stops. Catches himself, the smile disappearing as he scrambles to correct, ‘He, he pretended. They. Not—I meantthey. He. He . . . shit.’”

Poor Emory. He sort of freaks out a little bit about the slip and I don’t blame him. He tries so hard to separate himself from Merlin but he’s finding it harder and harder and probably feels like he’s starting to lose his identity. Other than that, it’s cute that Merlin did that for Arthur.

Anthony goes over to Emory and they have some more awkward frottage and call each other by their past names again. “’Why do you—‘ is Anthony's snatch of coherency, murmured wet and drowsy to the fabric of Emory's shirt, ‘—keep doing—this, Merlin, why do you—why can't you—‘ And Emory, closed-eyed and feverish to the side of his face, mouthing to his brow—his eyelid—a continuous mantra of, ‘I'm sorry—sorry—Arthur, fuck, I'm so—sorry—I'm—‘” I find that exchange kind of sad. 

In the morning, “It's comfortable and wonderfully familiar for a long time. There are mumbled words between them of today and patrol, of training, of how long can we stay in bed? and the humming, non-committal answers that come in reply. And then, then there is silence, a stretching, easy silence that allows for a slow realisation. The misplacement of their words starts to get to them, to sink in, the times and their surroundings, their names, even—and as Emory begins to stiffen in Anthony's hold, Anthony tries to subtly extract himself from it.” Well that’s hella fucking depressing, damn.

Anthony awkwardly gets ready to leave and Emory asks him to lunch, “Anthony stares. ‘But we're not friends,’ he says before thinking, but finds that even if he didn't mean to say it, it is a fair remark.” Damn, Anthony. He agrees to go anyways.

Magical Paragraph Break: “(day five)”

This scene takes place following the big feast after falling asleep together in Arthur’s room. They talk about how bad they were the night before. That’s what I said! There’s also a maid who comes into the room at one point. I wonder if their relationship is like an open secret at this point because Merlin doesn’t wake up fully when the maid is there and start freaking out like I would expect.

“’Tell me,’ Merlin says, later, a bit distanced as he dips a finger in and out and around Arthur's navel, ‘something you like about me.’ Arthur smiles, strokes back Merlin's damp hair from his temples. ‘A thing that I like about you,’ he says, ‘is how you bump into stuff.’ A thoughtful pause. Then, ‘All the time.’ ‘That's a very wrong answer,’ Merlin tells him, propping his chin on Arthur's chest. ‘Very. Now give me at least ten things you like about me.’”

Ahaha that’s cute and Merlin’s reaction is exactly what I would say. They start having sexytimes and then there’s an abrupt shift to the present day with no break in the text.

Anthony is at Emory’s apartment and when he gets inside he notices how happy Emory is and thinks about how, up until this point, he’s never seen Emory genuinely smile. Poor Emory.

So Emory is super excited and tells Anthony he has to show him something. Emory tells Anthony he fell when skateboarding and was able to stop time. Then he shows Anthony that he can move things, knocking over a salt shaker, telling Anthony he has magic. “’Not really that surprising though, is it? I mean, he had it. So. I guess . . .’ Emory's smile fades a little, hardens a bit around the edges. ‘But I'm not him, am I? This is new for me. I've never done this. It's special, yeah. For me.’”

Damn it, Anthony. What is wrong with you? That is 100% the wrong thing to say. Anthony sort of half assedly smooths things over, then they had out for lunch.

While they are walking, Emory asks Anthony about his bike. Anthony tells him that it was his dad’s and his mother doesn’t like him taking the bike out. “’The magic thing.’ And then, to clarify his snatch of thought, ‘It is pretty cool.’ The grin Emory flashes him is brilliant, his walk losing some of its cool as he straightens up to look at Anthony with a proud tilt to his shoulders. ‘It is,’ he concurs, grandly, and Anthony can only shake his head—amused and despairing of the both of them.” Good job, Anthony. Should have said it twenty minutes ago but better late than never, I guess.

While they eat, they play a game guessing how various people they knew from their past lives would react to modern things. It’s a cute game. Then they talk a little bit about Anthony’s father dying in a car crash. Normal depressing first date conversation, you know.

Behind the scenes fun: this gif isn’t quite what I was looking for but damn Leo DiCaprio looks pretty here so this is what you’re getting.

“’It's not fair,’ he says abruptly, quite out of nowhere. Emory doesn't move, unsure what Anthony is referring to, and so he continues. ‘That you get the magic. What do I get?’ He toes a loose brick sticking out of the curb. ‘A bunch of memories. Yeah. Fat load of good that does me.’ ;That's not true.’ Emory grins, swaying back against the pole. ‘I can assure you, you've many charming qualities in common.’” Way to be bitter, Anthony. Also, this is why I like Emory, he understands Anthony is upset and attempts to make him feel better. Anthony rarely picks up on it when Emory isn’t doing well.

When they get to the apartment, Emory asks Anthony to tell him something he remembers and it’s pretty funny. Anthony mentions the time Arthur asked Merlin for help picking out a birthday present for Gwen after they were married, “’Somehow, yeah,’ he smiles, quirking his brows. ‘I'm not sure exactly why, it probably had to do with that hidden stash of ale you—he, he was always keeping under his bed, but we came up with this idea that—that she'd like something that would make her laugh. Something funny.’ ‘Oh, god,’ Emory starts laughing, clearly remembering, covering his face with a hand. ‘Yep. A royal, golden chamber pot’" He shakes his head at himself. ‘Engraved. With her name.’ ‘So stupid,’ is Emory's muffled reaction, mumbled into his palm. ‘Gwen, naturally, completely missed the highly intellectual metaphor inviting her to feel at home in her new . . . well, home, but . . . ‘ he trails off. ‘God, that one backfired properly, didn't it?’ ‘She thought the chamber pot reminded him of her,’ Emory tells him, dropping his hand. ‘Engraved.’”

Then shit gets real depressing real fast, “’He married Guinevere,’ Emory says in a small, low voice. ‘Yes,’ Anthony says, sinking back into seriousness. ‘He did.’ It hangs between them for a while, Emory mulling it over and Anthony feeling hapless somehow. ‘And he and . . . ‘ Emory begins, pauses. Puffs, frustrated, and continues. ‘After that, the both of them, they never . . .’  ‘I know.’ ‘But why did . . .’ ‘I don't know,’ is Anthony's mumbled reply. ‘It's all . . . fragmented, Emory. I don't know.’ ‘It must've been really bad.’ Emory bunches his shoulders, crosses his arms. ‘What happened between them.’ Anthony looks at him, looks at him for a long moment before chancing to voice his thoughts—eventually doing it quietly, carefully. ‘Or maybe they just came to their senses.’ Emory freezes visibly. His eyes harden on Anthony, a dark, angry flush spreading up his pale throat. ‘Their senses?’ he repeats, quiet and dangerous, an incredulous lightness to his tone.”

YIKES. I don’t know how Anthony consistently says the wrong thing. Every. Single. Time.

This starts a HUGE argument between the two of them about how hard it was for their past selves to not be together. Anthony tries to defend himself, blurring the lines between him and Arthur. Emory comforts him. It’s pretty sad.

That’s it for this review. There’s some pretty heavy shit that goes down during these sections and I’m sorry I couldn’t leave it on a higher note. I was looking ahead and the Day Six section with the following modern day section is pretty long so I didn’t want to try and squeeze it into this review. Anyways, yeah sad and depressing stuff happened but I like it in a weird sort of way. It fits in really well with the narrative. The whole Arthur married Gwen thing tends to be super glossed over in other reincarnation fics. I like that Emory brought it up and that it wasn’t all flowers and candy because you know Merlin wouldn’t have just been cool with stepping aside while the love of his life married someone else. Arthur wouldn’t have just been fine abandoning Merlin either. It was interesting to see it carried over to the present day and how much it still upsets Emory even though he spends so much time defending how he isn’t Merlin. I think it’s also interesting to see their realities continue to fracture as they delve deeper and deeper into their past lives. I like that Emory has magic too. I had actually completely forgotten about that until rereading it. I know I pick on some of Anthony’s reactions to Emory and how he’s always doing the wrong thing but at the same time, it’s a real reaction. It also fits in with how we know Arthur’s behavior. What makes it even better is Emory’s reactions when Anthony is upset. He’s very caring and able to put himself aside for Anthony. This is also true to the Merlin character. I just love this fic, guys.

Until next time: