#can you imagine like hitting rock bottom in your own self destruction and then finally seeking help and taking accountability for yourself

[academiaipromise]

in my defense, thesis revisions have my brain an absolute mess, so that’s the context of why the hell i’m watching season 4 of veronica mars…this season is…bleak.

[lemonpeter]

🧡Day 1: Inc*st🧡

Really starting off strong huh lol anyway, this is very background heavy (I don’t know what happened but now I’m obsessed) and I hope y’all enjoy 🧡

Warnings: inc*st, nff, father/son (but they don’t know), Peter is 18 and an intern at SI, brief substance ab*se mention (and impaired s*x, not between starker)

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

There was always room for accident, though.

***

Tony never wanted kids. The thought of someone depending on him in such a way made him feel sick. So he always did all that he could to ensure nothing would happen.

He never had sex without multiple levels of protection. And he was famous enough that people rarely tried to argue against it. Sleeping with him at all fulfilled what they wanted.

So things were perfectly fine. He never had an issue, he was always completely safe with his partners.

Except for this one night.

He was in a self-destructive episode, in the downward spiral before he hit rock bottom. Mixed every possible substance that shouldn’t have been mixed, impairing him until he wasn’t sure which way was up.

And he had a woman spiraling right along with him.

Her name was…Mary. Mary something. She was a scientist in some field, but he didn’t catch anything else. Or he just didn’t remember it. It didn’t matter anyways, they were both just wanting to ignore what was around them. What their lives had served them.

And maybe he forgot to ask if she was on birth control when he sloppily kissed over her neck.

Maybe he fumbled with the condom to the point where she whispered, “We’ll be fine,” and he believed her.

How it happened didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it did.

Tony didn’t even know.

He didn’t ask for her number the next morning, he just hid out in the bathroom, emptying his stomach of its entire contents while he waited for her to leave.

She was gone by the time he could see straight.

Thank god.

He never heard from her again.

Mary Parker and her husband died six years later and he never knew.

He didn’t know that they had a son. Or she did, at least. There was no way for him to know that the son had been passed along to his aunt and uncle when no other relative was found.

He never knew that Mary Parker had a son. And that her husband wasn’t the one who got her pregnant.

She never crossed his mind again after she left him.

***

Enter Peter.

Tony had new interns come in every year, typically college students that needed the credits, but sometimes someone special would come along.

Peter was a high school senior, but he was one of the smartest people that Tony had ever come across.

Tony had a job lined up for him as soon as he graduated if he wanted it. Not that he’d told him that yet.

He swore that he wasn’t a stalker. He had to prove to Pepper that he wasn’t giving too much attention to one intern over another, and for him that meant that he needed to stay away from Peter personally.

No matter how tempting it was. There had to be a family history of such genius, right? That kind of brains didn’t just occur at random.

But he didn’t look into him at all. He wouldn’t even let himself google search his name.

Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Peter Parker.

Although maybe he could just do it the old fashioned way. Minimal favoritism involved.

He spent months working with Peter. They became friends. Close friends.

It got to the point where Tony couldn’t help the smile he had when he looked into those warm brown eyes.

He felt it happen, it was official. Peter Parker had his heart.

It didn’t matter how wrong it was, he couldn’t help it. The young man had completely gotten hold of him.

And he hoped that it was mutual.

***

“Peter, can you stay back for a second?” Tony was still standing at the lab table, eyes scanning over the coding that they’d put in place during the session.

Like that was actually what was on his mind.

The young man looked up with wide eyes. Very deer-in-headlights. But it was so cute on him.

“Y-yeah! I actually needed to tell you something, so yes, I can definitely do that.”

Peter sounded a bit nervous which made Tony pause. Maybe his confession could wait a while. Maybe forever. Whatever was on Peter’s mind was infinitely more important to him.

“Okay, you first. I can follow up.” Tony tucked his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the table.

His cheeks burned. “No- no, you can go first. Don’t worry.”

The older man let out a breath. “Peter, you say what you need to. I can wait.”

Peter looked at him, face flushed. He hadn’t really meant to blurt out that he had something to say. He’d thought about it, sure. But he didn’t know-

His brain couldn’t keep up with his body and suddenly he was leaning up, pressing his lips to Tony’s.

The older man froze. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all. But then he relaxed into it, kissing back.

Who knew that they both had the same confession?

But it wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Tony pulled away once he finally got control of his senses again, raking a hand through his hair. “Pete, I’m supposed to be the adult here. I can’t be a good role model if I’m….”

When was he ever a good role model?

“Let me start again. I’m an adult. Kid, I’m old. Old enough to be your dad. And you’re…how old?”

“I turned eighteen in august,” he supplied helpfully.

At least it was legal.

“Eighteen. That’s a thirty year age difference.” Jesus, he was creepy. Falling for an eighteen year old. He couldn’t even buy alcohol for himself.

Peter blinked up at him. “So? I like you, Mr. Stark. I don’t care how old you are.”

Tony sighed softly. “You’re gonna be the death of me. And it’s Tony. If this is what’s happening, call me Tony.”

Even though it had been his plan to confess his feelings anyway, the guilt was still eating at him. He had fallen for a teenager who was just barely legal.

“What is happening, Mr.- Tony?”

Tony leaned in for another kiss, sighing softly. “What do you want to happen, kid?”

“Oh. Well, um, not to be blunt, but- I just- I mean- I really want you.”

He was cute. Innocent. But Tony could tell that what he meant was a bit less innocent.

“Are you sure? You realize this is a bad idea on...a lot of levels, right?”

Peter huffed softly, looking up at him with a stubborn expression. “I don’t care. We can be sneaky.”

Tony snorted. ‘Sneaky’ wasn’t really how he’d describe it, but he had to remind himself that his terms were a lot different than Peter’s. Different generations and all that.

He was horrible.

“Okay, kid. We can take this upstairs-” where there was no one to walk in on them. “-and talk about what exactly you’re thinking.”

“How about we don’t talk about it and we just...do?” Peter gave him a shy, devious smile.

“Uh huh. We’ll see.”

Tony grabbed his wrist gently, glancing in the hallway to make sure that no one was coming before he dragged him to the elevator.

Before he could get another word out, Peter’s lips were on his again. And this time there was more heat behind it.

He kissed back, eyes slipping shut just as the elevator doors did. Their lips pushed together insistently and he felt Peter’s tongue clumsily swiping over his lip.

He suppressed a laugh and parted his lips, allowing Peter to lead.

It was all so curious and clumsy that he wondered just how many times Peter had ever kissed anyone. If any. But that was a question for later.

The elevator dinged softly when they reached the penthouse and only then did they pull away from each other.

Tony led Peter out, instantly heading for his bedroom. Bad idea or no, he’d imagined such a scenario so many times. He didn’t want to waste any time.

“Tony?” Peter spoke up, eyes on the bed. “I know this is really straightforward, but I’m glad you, like, don’t hate me. I’ve thought about this...a lot.”

“You and me both,” the older man murmured. “Something I feel like we should cover before anything else...how far are you wanting to go?”

Peter chewed his lip. “Not to rush things, but I really really want to go all the way.”

“Well, not to rush things, but I want that too.” Tony gave him a small grin. “Do you have a preference?”

“Hmm?”

The confused look that he got made him feel guilty again. Just how much had Peter ever done with anyone else?

“Top or bottom, honey. Receiving or giving, pitching or catching, whatever you want to say. What do you want to do?”

Peter blushed, deciding to distract from the question at hand by pulling his shirt off.

It worked. Tony’s attention was instantly elsewhere, his eyes focused on his trim waist but hard muscle.

“Jesus, kid. That’s...wow.” If he wasn’t hard before, he was definitely getting there from seeing just what his innocent little intern was hiding under loose clothing.

“Like it?” The young man grinned to himself, one hand sensually sliding from the v of his hips up to his chest.

Perfect abs. Round, firm pecs. Jesus, Tony was entranced.

But he remembered what he’d asked. “Peter, top or bottom. What’s your preference?”

“I- I don’t...know.”

There it was.

Tony looked at him, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip quickly. “You’re a virgin.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it for sure. It wasn’t surprising.

Peter got defensive. “I’ve done some stuff.”

“Uh huh. What ‘stuff’?”

He refused to look at Tony, his eyes on his hands as he played with the button on his jeans. “I’ve given oral. Guys and girls. And I’ve gotten, like, a couple handjobs and blowjobs.”

Tony closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t be your first. This- Peter, this is such a bad idea. You should be with someone your own age.”

Peter made an indignant sound, popping the button on his jeans and unzipping them out of protest. “I don’t want someone my own age. I want you.”

He said it with such finality.

Tony stepped closer to the bed, his hands cupping Peter’s face gently. “You promise me you won’t regret this?”

“There’s nothing that could make me regret this.” Peter unbuckled Tony’s belt, slowly pulling it out of the loops before dropping it to the floor.

Tony nodded slowly, not fighting when Peter pushed his slacks down. It was really happening.

“Holy shit-” Peter’s eyes were wide. His eyes were fixed on the way that Tony’s dick was straining at the front of his tight boxers. There was a nervous look in his eyes.

“Good or bad?” Tony teased a little.

“Good. Good, oh man.” Peter reached down and squeezed himself hard. “So big….”

That was nice to hear. “You think so? Do you think you could take it, sweetheart?”

Peter’s fingers ghosted over the length slowly, making it twitch in its confines. “I...I want to try.”

Tony nodded. “We’ll make it fit. Let’s finish getting you undressed.” He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor before getting onto the bed next to Peter.

He finished pulling the young man’s zipper down and helped him shimmy out of his jeans. Peter’s thighs were gorgeous, Tony was nearly drooling over them. But he couldn’t get distracted.

“May I?” He met the young man’s eyes, his fingers slipping into the waistband of his boxers.

Peter nodded, breathing hard as he laid back more.

Tony slowly pulled the piece of clothing down, biting his lip when he watched Peter’s cock drop against his hip once it was no longer covered. “So hard for me, honey. Look at that.”

The younger man blushed darker. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Tony….”

“God, me too. Me too, kid.” He pushed his own boxers off, unable to keep himself from wrapping one hand around himself and stroking slowly.

Peter watched him with wide eyes. “Okay. I want you inside me. Now.” He kicked his boxers away, grinning a little.

Tony laughed softly at his eagerness. “We have to get you ready first. Hold on, let me show you….”

Turns out that Peter was incredibly responsive to everything and by the time he was open enough for further activities Tony had already worked him through an orgasm.

If Peter was that responsive to just his fingers, he couldn’t wait to get his cock in him. And the young man was still raring to go.

Tony grabbed a condom - habit, it wasn’t like they were preventing anything - but Peter stopped him.

“Why can't we just do it…without?” He asked shyly.

“I mean…we can. But you’ll have to clean up and that can be annoying.”

“I want…I want to feel you. Is that okay?” Peter hid his face in his hands, embarrassed by the admission.

Tony nodded, biting back a smile. “Yeah. That’s okay.” He set the foil square down on the nightstand before moving back to the young man.

He got between his legs, hands sliding over the strong thighs he was met with. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, kid. I hope you know that.”

Peter smiled up at him, spreading his legs further. “Thank you, Tony….” He leaned back more, laying his head down. “Now hurry up,” he joked.

Grabbing the lube and slicking himself up, the older man shook his head. “Impatient,” Tony chided, laughing softly. But he was already moving to position his cock at the man’s hole, the tip brushing over him.

They both moaned softly, laughing a little at how in sync they were.

“Fuck me, Tony…please?”

The older man nodded, slowly pushing past the tight muscle with a groan. Even though he’d prepped him, Peter was still tight. Just perfectly so.

Peter was tightly gripping the sheets, popping a couple threads even, with the first movements.

It seemed like his effort was in vain, but he really wanted to try to last.

Tony bottomed out, hips pressed flush against Peter’s ass.

The younger man was whining low in his throat at the feeling. His cock twitched between them. He knew that if he was touched at all before he could calm down a little, everything would be over way before he wanted it to be.

“Need me to stay still?” Tony asked. He could tell that Peter was struggling.

He nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes. Fuck.”

“Okay, honey. Don’t worry, we can take this at whatever pace you want.”

Peter nodded, trying to get a hold on how he was feeling.

It took him a couple minutes, but eventually he signaled Tony that he was okay. And he could start moving.

So he started slow, but Tony started thrusting when he was given the okay.

Peter moaned, mouth falling open around his noises.

He tightened around Tony’s cock, squeezing down with every movement. Then he cried out when a particularly deep thrust hit something that made him see stars.

“What was that?” Peter gasped, hips rocking up wildly.

Tony groaned, laughing a little through it. “I’m going to, fuck, I’m going to assume that was your prostate. Feels good, doesn’t it? I should have showed that to you when I was fingering you.”

“Do it again!”

The older man snorted, aiming for the same spot again as he picked up his pace. He held one of Peter’s legs, lifting it just enough so that he could get at a deeper angle. “I can try.”

From the increasingly louder noises he received, he assumed he succeeded.

He was so lost in the feeling of Peter that he missed how close to the edge his partner was getting. All that registered was how incredible (borderline painful) it felt when the younger man squeezed around him like that.

Then Peter was crying out louder and thrusting up as he spilled onto his stomach.

Tony swore under his breath. “God, Peter.” He watched him, subconsciously speeding up as he chased his own high.

“Tony!” Peter moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his high. It was the best orgasm he’d ever experienced, alone or otherwise.

But he slowly opened his eyes, wanting to watch Tony cum.

“I’m close too,” the older man moaned, speeding up again.

Peter moaned louder, feeling himself being pushed up the bed with the quicker pace. “Cum, Tony, please, want you to fill me up.”

He wasn’t so sure about dirty talk, but it could only be but so bad because Tony went still moments later. Peter felt the cock inside him pulse briefly before there was a smooth warmth spreading.

The thing itself felt odd, but thinking about what was happening almost made him cum again.

Actually-

His hand flew to his own dick and he quickly jerked himself off before he was cumming for a third time. It wasn’t nearly as good as the other two, but it was still incredible. Especially thinking about how good Tony still felt inside of him.

He opened his eyes when he heard Tony chuckling. “What?”

“You’re insatiable. And I’m amazed that you can just go again that fast.” The older man closed his eyes again, catching his breath.

He was almost in shock that it had actually happened. He had sex with Peter. After thinking about it for months, dreaming about it, it happened.

He slowly pulled out, laying next to the young man. He knew they were both messes, covered in sweat and cum and lube, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to hold Peter close before they had to go back to real life.

Tony gently wrapped his arms around him, just gathering him close while he pressed a kiss to the man’s temple.

He found out quickly that Peter’s dazed, relaxed post-sex state would only last for so long.

It was only minutes before the man was talking, whispering about anything and everything. And Tony happily listened.

He hummed softly, holding the younger man close to his chest. One hand gently carded through Peter’s soft curls as they talked quietly.

“My mom met you one time,” Peter murmured. “Before I was born. But she would never tell me about it. Just told me that it happened.”

Tony snorted softly. “Yeah, well, about when would that have been? I had a reputation for a reason.” But the confession started pulling at a memory. It couldn’t quite come to light, though.

“Ew.” The young man grinned at him. “But I guess you’re right. I don’t know, she was kinda weird about a lot of stuff. Not just that.”

“What do you mean?”

Peter sighed softly and Tony frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. But Peter started answering anyway.

“I don’t know who my actual dad is. She never told me. I vaguely remember her telling me that Richard was the only dad I needed, but nothing else.”

“You would have been so young,” Tony whispered. “Maybe she just figured it could be a conversation for another time.”

“But she wouldn’t tell anyone else. My aunt and uncle knew that Richard wasn’t actually my dad, but they were never told who was. And I guess it just…died with her.”

The older man nodded. “You could always do a paternity test, right?” Why was guilt pooling in his stomach?

Peter shrugged. “That’s assuming that my dad has done one too that we could match. And sometimes….” He trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” Tony kissed him gently, trying to soothe him.

“Sometimes I’m not sure that I want to know,” he confessed.

It made sense. But something was still trying to pull at Tony’s memory. Forming an idea slowly.

Although he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answers.

But he couldn’t just leave a question unasked. No matter how dark the potential answer.

“Peter…when did you say that your mom met me?”

The young man snuggled into him more, shaking his head. “I didn’t. I think it was…the year before I was born or so. Why? Do you remember?”

Tony tried to mentally do the numbers. He’d spent most of that year in a fog, but that had been the theme of that era in his life. But maybe…

“Are you okay?”

The older man closed his eyes, frowning as he tried to remember.

Parker. Had he been with a Parker? He couldn’t remember the occasion at all.

Maybe that was for the best.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m okay, was just trying to see if I remembered her. I’m sorry.”

Peter leaned up to kiss him gently, shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not a big deal, really. Sometimes I just wonder about that stuff.”

Tony tried to assure himself that it wasn’t a big deal.

Maybe it was best to not have all the answers.

He had what he wanted. That was all that mattered.

[hmspogue]

Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that. 

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me. 

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused. 

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions? 

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught. 

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you. 

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike. 

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong. 

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what? 

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting. 

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏 

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time. 

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah. 

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident). 

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft. 

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug. 

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first. 

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.  

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me. 

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

[cdroloisms]

Since starvation is canon imagine Dream in the future having to deal with the mental effects of it. His armor doesn't fit and feels like carrying hard rocks that hit him in his bones painfully. It's harder to do things that he did so easily before. He used to be able to move freely, whenever he was trapped he could rely on his body to carry him away from any bad situation. He could climb trees and run and swim so eaily but now it's so much harder, so much more tiring. It's a trapping feeling that follows him around constantly.

aww this ask made me sad ,, yeah post-pandora recovery is going to be a Bitch And A Half. just *shakes c!sam* stop violating basic human rights you creeper man you. 

anyway, have some more syndicate c!dream angst!! 

tws: ed mention (kinda), disordered eating, starvation, trauma, torture (mentioned), vomit mention, internalized ableism (? dream makes a few statements that sorta brush off his trauma), pandora’s vault/prison arc

His armor doesn’t fit anymore.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. Dream may not be like Techno, is hardly as careful with his armor - he’ll slap on a Prot IV, Mending, maybe Unbreaking if he’s feeling generous, but he’s never really managed to shake the careless ambivalence he’s learned to regard most of his belongings with after their inevitable destruction, not after the chaos that made up growing up with Sapnap and George - not to mention the training from manhunts. His armor was a rushed, simple thing, made much the same way as he would craft any set in iron, the extent of its personalization limited to the neatly-printed “Nightmare” he used to mark each piece as his own. Even so - it had once been his, his constant companion as he traveled around the server, as comfortable over his shoulders as a second skin - it wasn’t pretty, or well-crafted, or worth anything much at all, but it was his.

He doesn’t have very many things that were his from before.

Most of the set is still left on the armor stand Techno had left in the room, only the chestplate missing from the wooden dummy so he can hold it up with his own two hands. He brushes his hands over the surface, feeling out the familiar runes scrawled over it back and front, hardly even legible thanks to his rush job. It’s clearly taken a beating or ten, nicks and scrapes covering it back and front - some familiar, most not - and he frowns as he shifts its weight between his hands, heavy and leaving his arms straining even after just a few minutes.

He’s no stranger to proper training - knows, still, after so long without sparring or practice or anything, that the set is too heavy for him. He may lean towards a lighter armor than most to allow for his movement and parkour, but it was still made for someone well-practiced and healthy - nothing like the wreck of bones and skin he’s become after months without proper meals and torture. He can hardly hold up just the chestplate alone - he’s not stupid. Netherite is heavy, and he can hardly manage more than iron for an hour or two.

He bites his lip, before tucking his head to his chest and pulling the chestplate up anyway.

His hands are clumsy as he pulls the straps tight, fumbling weakly with the buckles in a way that makes his teeth grind against each other. The weight immediately presses against his still-healing ribs, making them creak and ache dangerously in his chest, and the sudden, gasping pressure on his lungs nearly sends him into a panic. He ignores it all, focused on the worn leather on either side, pulls each piece as tight as it will go.

He’s not wearing any padding, and the feeling of the hard metal against his bones is hardly what anyone could call “comfortable,” calls back memories of himself, a foot on his back, pressed against unforgiving obsidian. He breathes in another slow, shivering breath, chest struggling to expand against the weight, and stands in front of the mirror.

He looks dumb.

It reminds him of being a kid and trying on Sam’s diamond armor for the first time, completely dwarfed by its height and breadth, waddling around awkwardly from the foreign weight strapped to his chest and the awkward way it hung off of him. His armor is more familiar but no less unfitting, hollow spaces lingering that should’ve been filled by muscle and fat, his sharp edges digging uncomfortably against its surface. It hums with the same feeling of unbelonging, like he’s taken something that belongs to someone else entirely, the same heavy discomfort that comes from wearing someone else’s shirt or drinking from another person’s mug. Hot tears spring to his eyes, and he stubbornly blinks them away; it’s just a stupid set of armor, really, it doesn’t matter at all-

“Hey, nerd.” Techno’s voice is muffled outside the door, and he knocks softly against the doorframe twice - a request to enter. Dream stares at himself a moment longer, debating whether to shuck off the chestplate first, before sighing and kicking at the floor - once, twice, granting permission.

The door opens slowly, but Dream’s traitorous body freezes anyway for a moment, muscles locked and tensed painfully under the heavy armor, and he forces another breath into his lungs to stave off the panic. Thankfully, Techno knows about his stupid brain enough to know to give him some time, leaning against the door frame as he counts off the seconds in his head until he looks back up again to signal that he’s ready for him to come closer.

His eyebrow lifts and he gestures at the armor he’s wearing. “That’s your old set, right?”

He nods, worrying his lips between his teeth as he lifts his hands to sign. Yeah. Ranboo brought them from S-N-O-W-C-H-E-S-T-E-R.

“Makes sense.” Techno’s face twists as he struggles to follow Dream’s signs; he’s learned quicker than he would’ve expected, at first, but there’s a few things that Dream needs to fingerspell, still. He looks him up and down, a wry smile on his face. “Isn’t that a bit heavy?”

Dream gnaws on his lips further, trying to decide what to say, explain what has left him staring at the mirror in silence for upwards of ten, fifteen minutes now. If he was more in the mood, he’d make a joke about his self-absorption. Instead, he looks away, signing with quick, overly casual movements.

Wanted to see if it fit. It doesn’t anymore.

“Ah,” Techno’s voice, low and drawling, has picked up that knowing tone that Dream’s learning to hate. “I see.”

He frowns, keeping his eyes trained the bottom half of the mirror, to his too-skinny legs peeking out of the bottom of his sweatpants. He tries not to look at himself too much now, doesn’t know what to make of the near-skeleton that stares back at him when he bothers to look, all sharp edges and unnatural hollows, the foreign ridges of his spine running down his back and his ribs sticking out at his sides. None of it is his - not this armor, not this body, all of it belonging to a Dream that hadn’t been through the fire and brimstone of Pandora, that didn’t recoil at the taste of potatoes, that could eat more than two meals a day without throwing up.

“Dream?”

He shakes himself out of his own thoughts, tasting iron from where he’d torn apart his lips with his teeth. He balls his fist, pulls it to his chest. Sorry.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He can hear the sound of Techno shifting from side to side, awkward in the silence hanging thick and heavy in the room, “Anyway, Phil’s made some stew. You goin’ to join us?”

The question gives him pause for far too long as he weighs his options - he knows he should eat more, knows that it’ll be the only thing that helps him fill out and heal and finally start recovering from everything in Pandora, but no matter how much he knows his mind still recoils harshly at the idea of more food. He’s not hungry at all, or maybe he is and he just doesn’t feel it anymore - it’s hard to tell, in this new normal. Everything’s hard, after Pandora.

In a few minutes, he finally signs, biting back a flush of shame at the clear surprise in Techno’s expression.

“Alright, whenever you want, nerd.”

Techno walks out the room, and Dream sighs, a wheezing heave of breath that leaves him exhausted and makes the chestplate feel heavier than ever. One by one, he reaches for the buckles, maneuvering them open so he can pull the netherite over his head and let it fall onto his bed. He stares at the thing for a few minutes longer, lips pursed, at the messily drawn runes and the unfamiliar dents along the top edge and a gouge carved on one side, deep enough to expose a slight blue line of the diamond underneath, and huffs, turning away.

He’ll have to call up Ranboo or something later to see if anyone wants an old set of netherite armor. He has no use for it, anymore.

[han-shinsuke]

k o z u m e k e n m a

🔞🔞🌹🌹🌹

•f o r n i c a t i o n•

••••

If you ask people what it means to love and be loved, the answers you will get would be different, the luckiest ones would answer with positiveness, and those who had experienced afflictions and mishaps would probably tell you how painful and cruel love could be. Let's admit it, not all of us were made for love. And worst, there were instances where some of us were just born to carpet-bomb the person we love.

Love could build possibilities but it could also be the very source of our self-destruction.

“Aah~ there ‘yah go, Y/N~” for love, I can do things I never imagined I could. I would run miles for him. Burn bridges for him. Turn ideas into possibilities.

BE THAT ‘SOMEONE’ HE WISHES TO HAVE.

Believe me. Once you finished a day full of pretensions and lies, you’d end up asking yourself, ‘how long do you plan to be someone else's puppet?’

“Ken, do you feel good?” for love, his satisfaction shall always comes first on the line. Mine is the least important.

Kenma pulls me up from the marbled floor of his bedroom, gaze stained with lust. His fingers wiping the semen off the corner of my mouth. My body is still trembling from the activities earlier. I must keep up. He's not satisfied yet. He needed more. I shall do more for him.

Those orbs leered my face for minutes. Kenma answers, “yeah, you? still sore down there?” his gaze went down to what’s between my bite-marked thighs. He caresses my reddened knees. A familiar thin smile is plastered on his lips.

My breath got caught up in my throat when he slid a finger in my dampness before putting it inside his mouth and slurped the essence in it. The memory of what we've had done earlier flashes in my mind. Kenma splayed my legs in the camp site. I was pushed down on top of a picnic table, clothes discased. The wind was cold during sunset from the lakeside. Kenma was enjoying it. Who am I to stop him? He railed me from behind. Like how he prefers it.

“Y/N, lay down for me.” still trembling, I climbed up on his bed, ready to lay on my stomach.

For love, there's nothing I wouldn't do for him.

Kenma snakes his arms around my belly, stopping me from setting down completely.

“What it is, Ken?” My breathing’s rag from all the pounding and legs flipping.

“Lay on your back, Y/N.” I was moving very slow so he helped me out. He placed me on the bed, facing him. Kenma tied his long hair. Spreading my legs wide, I put my palms on his chest, head shaking.

“You don’t have to do this, Ken.” It’s part of the set up. He would fxck me only from behind. He would fxck me but I could never get to kiss him on the lips. He would fxck me, not LOOKING at my face for I am not the woman he dreamt of doing ‘it’ with.

He can’t have her right now but soon, he will. I’m just that sick in the head college girl who have been in love with his seatmate since freshman year.

You see, I am more like of a practice ground for him.

“I want to do it this way. Allow me.” He pins my hands above my head, nodding his head as if he's telling me it’s fine.

“Kenma~” I called out his name when his thing slid inside my sore womanhood for the nth time today.

Kenma hums in my neck, rocking me in slow pace. Our fingers intertwined. My body arching up occasionally whenever that ‘thing’ stretches my rim really good.

The bed just won't stop creaking just like how my heart won't stop from beating wild inside my chest whenever he tries to kiss me on the lips.

Don't, Kenma. Don’t break your own rules. I can't let that happen. It's a complete hypocrisy if I tell that I don't wish to be kissed by those lips. I long for it.

“D–Don’t.” My head turned to the other direction, avoiding his seeking lips. It hit my neck. He wanders his warmth there. Tongue gliding the bulging veins due to his slow but heavy pumping.

Sex is tiring. It really is. But it’s Kenma Kozume. I can still go on.

“Why won’t you let me kiss your lips, Y/N?” he stops moving, burying his weight on me. Kenma grabbed my face.

“Rule number 8. Kenma won't kiss the woman he don’t love.” for him, I won't cry. I won't cry. I lied. I was crying as I reminded him of his own rule. “I’m not her, Ken. I’m not the woman you love so don't kiss me.”

“Rule number 13. Kenma is allowed to break rule number 8.”

It was sweet. It was euphoric. A kind of kiss anyone would dream to experience.

And it tasted like sin. The way his lips glides against mine. The way his tongue tastes each corners. The way he nibbles both upper and bottom lip. Those are the ways I imagine if he would kiss me.

Those aren't ideas anymore. He had let me experienced how it feels like to be kissed by him. By the man I truly love.

“Hold on baby~ Hold on~” Kenma picked where we left off. He pulled. He dig. He buried.

And he kisses me. Repeatedly. While I am crying. While I'm holding out the sob that tries escaping my lips.

•••

5:12 AM

I woke up clean and dressed with Kenma's clothes. Last night was a chaos. I was forced to my limits. He took me in every positions he’d known. My cries and pleads were all useless. He didn't listen. He had done everything he pleased.

I sighed as I climbed down from the bed. Picking my bag and my discarded uniform from last night, another sigh rolls out from my mouth. I caught a glimpse of my reflection from the mounted mirror on the wall. I look tired and ugly. What a pity.

Kenma is probably out somewhere, thinking about his princess. He has habits of leaving me right after we had sex. I’m used to it anyway. I put face powder on my face and tied my messy curls.

This will be the end of our set up. He broken his rules. Our rules. Rule number 1. Broke any rule and it's over.

I texted Kenma and said my goodbye. He did not reply. Maybe he's smoking right now. Another habit of him, throwing his iphone at the backseat when he's puffing a cigarette.

I headed out and locked his room. I passed by on the reception area of the camping site that Kenma's family is running. I left the key to the assigned employee there.

I need to walk for ten minutes to reach the jeep terminal of the mountain road. Or maybe, walk my way home. That would be long and tiring! Or maybe, try to hitch hike.

The sun is rising and I think half an hour had passed by so easily. I saw an approaching red 4x4 from the distance. I raised my thumb and put on a smile. I looked like a lost girl on the mountain road wearing a white oversized shirt and a running short partnered with white highcut chucks. The windows are tinted so it's hard for me to tell the gender of the driver.

The car stopped in front of me. The driver's seat door opens, revealing a blonde-haired but clean cut Kenma Kozume!

He cut his hair! “where do you think you're going?” he asks, frowning.

My heart hammers in my chest, drowning me. I took a step backwards when he got out of the car.

“You got a new car.” a statement instead of an answer.

“Get in.” he try to get a hold of me but I took another steps.

“No. We’re done, Ken.” I said before walking away. I love him but I can't stay anymore. I would be just a hinder for his happiness if this shxt continue.

“Y/N! You can't leave me just like that!” Kenma yelled those. I looked back at him. He's already running slow. I panicked. I ran, too, faster than his pace.

“Fxck, Y/N!” Kenma caught up to me. He snatched my small frame. Dropping me above his shoulder.

“Ah! Put me down, Kenma!” he jogs his way back to his car, panting as he slams me into the backseat. He follows, shutting the door.

“You wish to leave me? You can't, Y/N! I am forbidding you!”

“I can't stay with you anymore, Ken. We are graduating. Remember her promise that after graduation, she would give you another chance to prove yourself to her? It's happening, you could finally have her back.”

“what if I say, I don't want her now? That I want someone else now? And she's now in front of me? Pushing me away because she thinks it is the right thing to do and it's heroic.”

“heroic? Do you think I’m doing this because I feel responsible for you? That it was a hero thing? No, Ken. You got it all wrong. I am doing this because this is what a person in love shall do. To free oneself. To not be greedy. I love myself, too, Ken. I want to be happy.”

For him, I can always try to be better. For him, I am willing to surrender. For him, I can always see love as a guiding light.

Kenma grabbed me on my jaw, inching his face closer to mine.

“Be happy? With whom? I won't let you.” he breathes on my lips, I shuddered. “I don't break rules, Y/N. You know that. But last night, I just did. For you. Because I fxcking realized that I can't stand a thought of you kissing another man. I am fxckingly and undoubtedly in love with you now!”

Kenma pressed his lips on mine. A tear escaped his eye. He pulled away. He rubbed his nose against mine. A noise traveled out from my closed lips. It was a sob. Kenma kissed me again. Tears are now brimming on his eyes.

“Idiot.” I said before pulling him for a kiss.

Kenma wrapped his arms around my body and kissed me back with intense emotions,

“let’s date for real.”

“And be the only man in my life.”

///

THANK YOU FOR READING ❤️☺️❤️

[ohnotoomanyfandoms]

I like the way you analyze, so I'd like to ask you a more general question: what do you think will happen to Matthew's character? (in general, not only in relation to Cordelia, it seems that people can't think of anything else, and the THOUGHT OF THE RELATIONSHIP WITH JAMES RUINED FOR A GIRL makes me terribly angry and saddened) I don’t see it well, I find credible the theory about the marks stripped, and I fear we may not even see him in the continuation of the saga. Excuse my bad English

Thank you for the kind words and the question! Your English isn’t bad at all <3 Here are my thoughts on Matthew’s future. 

I think he will hit rock bottom in Chain of Iron, because of a multitude of reasons. The last straw might be that something terrible happens because Matthew is drunk: someone might be injured (which is heavily foreshadowed by Lucie in chapter 12 of Chain of Gold), they might lose an important object, forfeit an important mission, or worse. I hope James will finally see fit to intervene and ask Matthew to straight-up tell him what’s wrong. He tried in ChOG, but he wasn’t persistent enough, and Math definitely wasn’t ready to talk just yet. 

But I think once Mathew confesses his “original sin” to Cordelia (I am 100% sure he will tell her first), his heart will be lighter and he will be able to confess it to other people too: his parabatai, hopefully even his parents. I hope Charlotte reassures him they will always love him instead of being mad for something he inadvertently caused years ago. Matthew always thought his act was unforgivable. If his mother and father show him forgiveness, love and devotion instead, it might be enough for him to finally start moving on. I hope this - and not some lady’s kisses, whoever she might be - sets Matthew on a path of self-love and amelioration. 

Things will not be okay for a while yet, and Matthew will always have to live with what he did. He might always hate a part of himself, but hopefully he stops with the self-destructive behavior. He can keep up the bohemien attitude that we all love and keep having fun with Anna and Magnus and the Hell Ruelle. He just needs to stop putting himself at risk and he needs to take himself seriously. 

Ship-wise, you all know what I think, so I’m not going to really break it down here. I don’t think he and Cordelia will happen romantically. I joke on Twitter that he will have a fling with Filomena, but that’s mostly a jape because many of us Italian Shadowhunters are totally self-inserting. I hope that in the future maybe Matthew and Lucie could have a chance once they’re more mature. Apart from all this, he will have at least one more (brief?) love interest before the end of TLH. We know that Kellington is the one who broke his heart a while back. We may see that passion rekindle, or Math could meet someone gentler, which I sincerely hope is the case. 

However, I do think Matthew’s future is not with the Nephilim. Time and time again he has commented on how he hates violence and their people’s ways. He only really stayed so far because he grew up in a loving (and prominent) family and because of his friends, because he clings to them. In COI, he will begin distancing himself: this starts with him going to live on his own (thus physically walking away from his family) without telling his friends until he’s all moved out (as we’ve seen in a snippet), getting a car... he is looking for some concrete, tangible sense of independence. But this also means he will spend more time alone, and loneliness does not do him good.  

Matthew has said on multiple occasions he would prefer to be a mundane, to live of art rather than war. I do think he will either choose self-exile in the end, or even - more drastically - be stripped of his marks (even though I sincerely hope this doesn’t come to pass, and he would need to commit a BIG crime for the Consul’s son to receive this treatment). Maybe that’s the only way for him to truly find peace: to walk away from all the violence and destruction and never look back. I am aware that right now it seems absurd that he would ever willingly part from James, but we don’t know what’s in store for them. We do also have to take into account the hypothesis that Matthew may die young. 

On the other hand, I’ve heard there are brilliant theories of how Matthew might become a Downworlder too - also fitting since he’s so close with so many of them, and unusually so considering the times. Some say he might become a werewolf, some say a vampire, which would be so ironic considering his quote about wanting Dorian Gray’s immortality and staying young and beautiful forever. If that is the case, however fitting it may sound, we have to realize that since we haven’t met Matthew in books that are set in the future, he may have perished anyway. Or maybe, if that ends up being the case, Cassie just came up with this ending recently so there are no mentions or easter eggs of it anywhere else. 

This is all speculation. This is what I think/hope will happen. I’m in no way saying it should or it will, it’s my personal opinion drawn after attentive analysis. Whatever happens, I hope my baby Matthew gets the love and peace he deserves. I hope he lives a long life of his choosing. 

At the end of the day, whatever happens, keep this in mind: his arc and his development need to be about himself before they can be about anything or anyone else. External events may shake him, but Matthew’s biggest enemy at this point in the trilogy is himself. He needs to win an internal struggle before he can truly be a participant in the game. It won’t happen in the span of three chapters. It will be a gradual process, but I have faith. He can overcome his inner demons so he can join his friends in fighting the literal ones out there in the world.

“We do not get to choose when in our lives we feel pain. It comes when it comes, and we try to remember, even though we cannot imagine a day when it will release its hold on us, that all pain fades. All misery passes. Humanity is drawn to light, not darkness.”

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sides (2/2)

Leviathan x poly gn!MC x Mammon

Words - 4999 (total)

Content warnings - lots of angst, but also lots of comfort, platonic polyamory

Summary - Mammon has been avoiding you for a week now, and you finally get a chance to talk to him. 

AO3 | PART ONE

It had been a week now since you had talked to Mammon last, and you were growing frustrated. Ever since then, he had been doing his utmost to avoid you. He’d still chat with you at dinner, but he never hung around long after. He hadn’t shown up in your room for an impromptu sleepover at all either. And prior to that, it has been an almost daily occurrence.

You had tried to see if you could meet up with him to get to the bottom of it, sure it had something to do with the last conversation you had had. But every time you tried, he’d evade and come up with some reason for why he was busy and unable to make the time. Today you decided was your limit, and you were going to force him to talk one way or another.

As soon as classes ended at RAD, you cornered Mammon and asked him to walk you home. You knew he wouldn’t refuse since he still took his Guardian duties seriously, so you were hoping that you’d be able to make use of the walk back to the House of Lamentation and get some information out of him.

“Thanks for walking with me.”

“Ehh. Just my job,” Mammon replied, kicking some loose rocks.

“So what have you been up to this week?”

“Nothin’ much. Just workin’ and stuff.”

“Oh, ok. Enjoying your work at least?”

“I guess, it’s whatever,” he said with a shrug.

There was a long awkward pause after that. He was hardly engaging with you at all. And before you knew it, you were already home. But no sooner had you arrived, then the front door opened and Levi came running out to greet you, eager to show you the new game from Akuzon that had been delivered.

As you stood there talking to him about it and making plans for the evening, Mammon was forced to hover nearby awkwardly while you and Levi blocked the door. He really didn’t want to watch you and his brother make plans without him. It was bad enough trying to keep his distance from you so that he wouldn’t bother you, he didn’t need to know what you were doing when he wasn’t around too.

“Hey Mammon!” you said, turning towards him with a smile, “Why don’t you join us? It’s a multiplayer game so we can all play together.” He always liked being involved in your game nights before, so you hoped this would give you another chance to talk to him.

Before he even knew what was happening the words flew out of his mouth, “Why would I want to spend time with you ?”

You stood there, absolutely stunned. He had never used that tone with you before. His words pierced your heart, with icy tendrils spreading through your chest. As you struggled to form any coherent thoughts, your mouth opening and closing silently, tears began to gather in your eyes.

“Um...I’ll just...I’ll go…” was all you could manage as you made your escape, making a beeline towards your room.

As soon as you were out of ear shot, Levi turned on his brother, “What the hell was that?!” He had never been so angry before and it took every last scrap of his self control to stop him from ripping Mammon’s throat out right there on the porch.

“Nothin’,” he replied, trying to step past Levi so that he could retreat to his own room as well. He hadn’t meant to sound that harsh with you. He was only trying to do what you had asked and give you time with Levi. But he had been so worked up after listening to the two of you talk that his emotions got the better of him.

“Oh no you don’t!” Levi stepped in front of Mammon to prevent him from going further, “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you had to be such an ass!”

“Look, they just told me they didn’t want to spend as much time with me. So I’m doin’ what they said.”

“I don’t know what you think they said, but they certainly didn’t look like someone who didn’t want to spend time with you. They looked like someone who just had their heart crushed,” Levi’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare Mammon down. Whatever the hell was going on between the two of you, he was not going to let Mammon get away with dumping it all on you. You were the nicest person he had ever known, and he knew just how much you cared for his idiot brother. He didn’t think it possible that you would ever actually tell Mammon you didn’t want him around.

“Well ya might wanna get your eyes checked then.”

Mammon knew he shouldn’t be picking a fight with Levi. Especially one centered around you. Outside of insulting Ruri-chan it was the most sure fire way to piss him off, and everyone knew how much destruction an angry Leviathan could cause. Mammon knew that, but he kept pushing anyway. Perhaps he wanted Levi to lash out at him. Maybe he wanted an excuse to take out his frustration on his brother, the one you apparently preferred to spend time with. And maybe a small part of him also felt like he deserved to get his own ass kicked.

“Nuh-uh. Not taking that bait. I know what I saw. And so do you.” Why was Mammon being like this?, Levi wondered. He was borderline obsessive about you until about a week ago when he just seemed to disappear. Not that Levi didn’t mind getting some additional uninterrupted time with you, but even he missed having his brother around. Nothing was quite as entertaining as thoroughly destroying Mammon in a multiplayer game, after all.

“I told ya, they don’t want me around.”

“And I told YOU that you must have misunderstood!”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Mammon said, pausing briefly before continuing to say something he knew was unbelievably stupid, “Ya know it’s kinda your fault. You’re the one they wanted to spend more time with. So you share the blame.”

“Why you…..!”

Without giving Mammon a chance to react, Levi tackled him to the ground, already in his demon form, before punching him square in the jaw. A loud CRACK let Levi know he had made a good hit. Mammon tried to bring his arms up to shield his face, but Levi was quick to pin them down, straddling his chest and grabbing him by the lapels of his uniform.

“Now you listen to me, you pathetic waste of space! Don’t you dare try to blame me for what you did! You made them cry! YOU need to fix it!” Levi’s tone was absolutely venomous. His tail was whipping around violently behind him, and he wanted nothing more than to just strangle Mammon with it.

Mammon just laid there, looking up at Levi. The ache in his jaw already seemed to have dulled, and he was wondering what else he could provoke Levi into doing to him. This is what he deserved. He harassed you and made you uncomfortable and now he made you cry. He deserved anything Levi could give him.

“Are you listening to me?!” Levi snapped, shaking Mammon, “Why the hell aren’t you fighting back?! Do something!”

But there wasn’t anything for Mammon to do. He realized he couldn’t blame Levi, as much as he wanted to. If he had just been...better...then things wouldn’t have come to this. Instead, he was too clingy, too loud, too annoying and he had driven you away. He couldn’t blame Levi for that, and he couldn’t blame you either. The fault lied with him.

“Levi?!”

Mammon and Levi whipped their heads around to find you standing in the doorway, having come to check on them after hearing all the yelling. The color instantly drained from Levi’s face. He knew how this had to have looked to you. He had only been trying to stand up for you and be a good friend. And now you were looking at him in complete shock, and he could only imagine what you must have been thinking. He quickly scrambled to get off of Mammon, shifting out of his demon form as he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sleeves, avoiding eye contact with you.

You were still frozen in the doorway, unsure of where to look or whom to go to first. Mammon clearly looked injured though, so you finally got your feet to move and you rushed to his side to check on him. But when you tried to help him up, he just swatted your hands away.

“I’m fine. Don’t need ya help. It’s nothin’,” was all he said before rising and heading inside.

You turned to look at Levi for some sort of explanation, when you suddenly found yourself wrapped in a tight hug from him.

“I’m sorry! He just made me so mad!”

“It’s ok. Just tell me what happened,” you replied, returning his hug, and rubbing his back.

“He...he said it was my fault. And he blamed you. He kept saying you had told him you didn’t want him around,” Levi said, his face hidden in your shoulder, “I just...wanted to make him stop…”

“Why would…”

Ah. The final piece fell into place. If what Levi was saying was true, then Mammon had taken your conversation with him last week in an entirely different direction than what you had intended.

“Thank you for looking out for me, Levi,” you said, as you hugged him, “I think I know what’s wrong now, so I need to go fix it.”

You pulled away, offering him a bittersweet smile, “I think this really was my fault. I’m sorry you got involved. You aren’t hurt are you?”

“N-n-no I’m fine. It was just Mammon.”

“That’s good. I need to go check on him though. Will you be alright?” you asked.

“Yeah I’m fine...you’re not mad, are you?”

You gave him a small laugh, “No Levi, I’m not mad. Not with you at least. Maybe with myself for not figuring this out sooner.” With one final reassuring hug, you left and headed towards Mammon’s room to finally clear up this misunderstanding.

————

“Mammon? I’m coming in.”

You didn’t even give Mammon a chance to reply after knocking on his door. Instead, you just let yourself inside, knowing that if he had replied he probably would have just told you to go away. And you were not going anywhere.

Mammon was laying on his bed, his back to the door, as you approached. He didn’t make any moves to greet you or even to chase you out. If anything, he tried to make himself look smaller, like he was hoping he could just fade away.

And that’s because that’s exactly what he was hoping to do. Even though his jaw had started healing already, it still ached. Every throb of pain another reminder of how he had hurt you and how much he deserved to be punished for it.

Almost as soon as he hit his room, he had started crying, ashamed of himself for how he had behaved. He hadn’t been expecting you to follow after him, and now that you were here he was having a difficult time calming himself down again. He didn’t want you to see him like this. He didn’t want you to feel bad for wanting to be rid of him, not when it was his fault in the first place.

Seeing Mammon curled up as he was, made your heart ache. You didn’t hesitate as you walked towards him and climbed into bed alongside him, spooning him from behind, hugging him to you. You felt his body stiffen under your arms, but you didn’t let go, you just held him closer.

“I’m sorry, Mammon,” you whispered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Mammon didn’t know what you were apologizing for. He knew he should push you away. That he should distance himself from you. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had missed you so much. And he wanted to be comforted. Even if he didn’t think he deserved it.

“Levi told me why you were upset. He said you thought I didn’t want you around anymore,” when Mammon didn’t object, you continued, “I’m sorry for making you think that. But that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

You hugged him tighter, wishing he could feel how sincere you were.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted you to let Levi alone for a bit. That’s all.”

“How’s that any different?” he snapped, turning over part way to face you. Tears already stained his face while anger, hurt, frustration all flickered through his eyes.

“Mammon,” you sat back a little and cupped his cheek with one of your hands, gently stroking it with your thumb (careful to avoid where he’d been hit earlier), as you held him in place so he couldn’t turn away again, “I have two sides you know?” You gave him a small grin, hoping he’d pick up on what you were hinting at.

“I know that. I ain’t stupid.”

You chuckled at his response, “All I was asking is that you let Levi have one side. You can chase off whoever else is on the other side. That’s all. I want you on one side, and Levi on the other.”

“Oh.”

That’s really all Mammon could say. He blushed deeply as he became more aware of just how badly he had misunderstood you. He also realized how terrible he had been to you, and all the trouble he caused you. How much he must have hurt you. But you didn’t seem to care about all that. You were just staring at him and smiling that bright smile of yours. All you cared about was the fact that he now understood.

Seeing that Mammon’s confusion had finally cleared, you wrapped him up in a tight hug as best you could from your awkward position, giving him a firm squeeze, “I do want you around. I promise. I don’t know what I would do without the Great Mammon to keep me company.”

“Probably be pretty borin’ without me,” he replied, laughing a little.

“Oh, definitely,” you pulled back, smiling, giving him the opportunity to turn over the rest of the way to fully face you. From his new position you could easily see the nasty bruise on his cheek, which you could only assume was from Levi, “He got you pretty good, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. My fault though. I kinda egged him on,” he winced as he tried to give you a small smile, “It’s already mostly healed. Demonic power and all that.”

“Still, it looks like it must hurt.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I deserved it anyways…” Mammon’s voice trailed off as he remembered all that had happened this week, “I’m…umm...I’m sorry. I jus’...I didn’t know what else to do...and I was…”

“Hey, it’s ok. It was a misunderstanding. You were hurt. But we got it all figured out now, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied as he embraced you again, pulling you closer and burying his face in your chest.

“I’ll always want you around, Mammon. Always,” you replied, hugging him tightly in return, “Please don’t forget that.”

He nodded against you, tightening his grip. He was so happy you had come back to him. Even though he had been so incredibly stupid and jumped to the worse possible conclusion. You still wanted him. You still needed him.

And he needed and wanted you too. It had been longer than he could remember since he last had a friend he could be this close to, someone he could rely on and be open with. But with you here now, he knew he could never go back to the way it was before.

You had only been involved in his life for several short months, and you had already turned it upside down. You showed him kindness and understanding when no one else did. And no matter what mess he got himself in, you were supportive and would help him get out of it. You never held it against him when he made mistakes either. And he made a lot of mistakes, he was sure.

You didn’t see it that way, though. You knew exactly how hard he tried. And you were always grateful when he showed up to help you out, even if all his plans fell to pieces. Just having him there was enough. His friendship had become so unbelievably precious to you, you couldn’t imagine not having him around. And you didn’t want to either. And as Mammon continued to hug you, you made a silent promise to yourself - you were going to make sure he never had a reason to doubt you again.

[merryfortune]

Get Well Soon

Ship: Chiyu/Shindoine

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Redemption Arc, Minor or Implied Relationships

Synopsis: Unrequited feelings are a disease and it sure is going around a lot lately.

   She wasn’t sure when reality had slapped her in the face, but it had and it had hard.

   It had even left its mark. Again, she wasn’t really sure when it had. Or maybe it had every time and she had been so quick with the blush of denial; she never noticed the pink in her cheeks that wasn’t rouge.

   But, at long last and overdue, Shindoine was finally ready to face the facts. King Byougen was not in love with her.

   She was madly in love with him, but he did not feel the same way. She was nothing but a nuisance to him. Nothing at all to him. Just another replaceable soldier but he was the one to have named her. To have first called her by Shindoine and when he had spoken that name, she had swooned. To be given meaning and identity and purpose but for what? To be just another token in a losing war?

   It was awful. Made Shindoine’s heart twist and turn and knot.

   She had listened to that wretched thing for so long in the place of advice more down to Earth, stemming from the likes of Guwaiwaru and Daruizen. Shindoine sighed and suddenly nothing mattered to her. Not the shimmer on her eyelids nor the lipstick that she used; her nails seemed blunt despite having been treated this morning.

   Even with all the gloom and misery around her, the bubbling and magmic world of one so thoroughly and endlessly undermined, wasn’t quite good enough for the heavy feelings that Shindoine wallowed in. If she was going to feel sorry for herself, she needed somewhere which wasn’t here because here had nothing but pebbles to kick and no one at all to bully.

   Somehow being hit with the I told you so from either of her fellow Generals hurt more than the actual revelation that her feelings towards King Byougen were useless.

   So, to the Human World it was.

   But it wasn’t the same.

   When she was on the rampage before, it had been done in the name of love and there was nothing more invigorating than that. And no, the irony wasn’t lost on Shindoine. She was at her peak, physically, mentally, and emotionally, when she was in love. Doing it all for her precious King Byougen. All healthy and refreshed. Disgusting. Now she only had pity and other pathetic feelings for that Shindoine she had been before she had accepted the reality rather than making herself up with make-up and denial.

   It was so much rosier back then. Even if back then was mere hours ago, really.

   Shindoine looked around. She hardly knew where she was, just walking around in a daze. Sulky and depressed. Worst still, she was ignored. Or at least she thought she was ignored. She was certainly doing a lot of ignoring as she heavied herself with all the different ways that she could negatively self-talk about herself and her stupid, unrequited love.

   But looking up, blinking, getting dazzled by the sunlight, she had to squint but Shindoine was almost certain she knew this place. That she had been here before. The stony steps; the wooden building, and a very, very subtle and well-hidden smell of sulfur.

   She growled to herself as she let another terrible realisation dawn on her. This was where the blue, water-themed Pretty Cure hailed from. Cure Fontaine. Shindoine could feel her skin crawl but for some reason, it didn’t repel her. Rather, it further attracted her to this building.

   It could be fun to wreck. To rend it with all her angst and loathing. Slipping inside undetected wasn’t too hard, either. Shindoine looked around. It was different to a lot of the other human dwellings that she had been inside of. That a vastly different style, to it. The bamboo on the flooring, the layout that had a natural flow to it. It seemed older. She didn’t necessarily dislike it as she explored it for an idea of something to infect with a Nano Byougen.

   Only, she didn’t end up doing that. She ended up in its backyard with nothing speaking to her with inspiration. Not in a destructive way at least. Shindoine found herself mildly intrigued by the hot springs. It had been a long day and the warmth was pleasing to her skin. It was gentle; not like the harsh, raking warmth of her home world.

   So, she indulged herself. She deserved it, after all. It had been a horrible past few hours and walking around aimlessly in her high heels had done a number on the soles of her feet so she sat down at the rocks. She took off her shoes, took off her pantyhose too and she tried dipping her toes in the water.

   Shindoine could have melted when she broke the tranquil meniscus of the water. She shivered and she sighed. It was wonderful as she let herself go deeper; her toes grazing the scrubbed down bottom of the hot springs. It was soft but still had a rocky feel; it was fun texture. For the first time in hours, Shindoine smiled to herself and she drank in her surrounds. How quiet it was; that hidden smell of sulfur. Oh, it was perfect.

   It could have been perfect.

   It was perfect, very much so, right up until the moment when she heard a clatter behind her. Something dropped in surprise, buckets and brooms and that sort of thing.

   Shindoine turned her head with a scowl. She saw a familiar face that she couldn’t quite place but she knew her luck, even if she didn’t know this girl as that girl was undoubtedly Cure Fontaine, even if she wasn’t in her big, plucky dress and the like. She smiled awkwardly.

   “My apologies,” she began and Shindoine was almost about to tell her to save it before she continued, “I didn’t realise that we had a guest.”

   She then bent down to pick up what she had dropped - and it had been exactly what Shindoine had thought, a bucket and a mop. Shindoine glared. Pouted, too, chewing the inside of her cheek.

   “I can leave, too, if you would prefer privacy. I don’t want to disturb someone whilst they are soaking.” she said.

   “If its you, I don’t mind.” Shindoine said. “We can call a truce for today, Fontaine, I’m not bothered enough to go on a rampage today.”

   “Oh, dear…” she murmured, and she set aside her cleaning supplies.

   Shindoine groaned to herself. Now she had gone and done it. She had a feeling that this was about to be more bothersome than conjuring a Megabyougen and trying to destroy the place. And yet, she didn’t try to do that. To throw dirt in the face of that truce and instead let the Pretty Cure sit down next to her. Her feet dipping into the water and all as she held onto her apron, a look of concern on her face.

   It made Shindoine sick to her stomach. The way this girl could just give her a break like this. If it was the other way around, Shindoine knew that she would be merciless. One of the Pretty Cure having a bad day? There wouldn’t be another opportunity like it but the moment she, the villainess and arch-nemesis of this very girl has a bad day?

   She sits down with her and makes the most soft-eyed expressions. It revolted Shindoine as she tried to look away from said soft-eyed expressions. She was too pretty, that girl. It irked Shindoine.

   She sat down next to her and straightened up her apron that she wore and looked up to Shindoine and said, “You can call me Chiyu, if you like.”

  Shindoine very much did not like that but she did anyway.

  “What’s got you so down, hm? Do you want to talk about it?” Chiyu asked.

  Shindoine very much did not want to talk about it with Chiyu but she did anyway. In a small, uncertain voice, she admitted to this Pretty Cure what the troubles with her bubbles were, making ripples in the water with her foot, Shindoine very simply explained herself, “He’s not in love with me.”

  Chiyu’s expression all but shattered. That soft look in her blue eyes hardened, turned almost icy and if Shindoine didn’t know any better, she would say that Chiyu empathesied very much with her crisis.

  And sure enough, she did, she mumbled back, “I know the feeling.”

  “Oh please,” Shindoine huffed, flicking water about, “as if. Who in the world would turn down you? Me? I can understand. Who would want a no-good villainess around, only useful as cannon fodder, no different to the other two dweebs I hang out with but you? Beautiful, brilliant Pretty Cure who always saves the day? Yeah right, girlie, you are yanking my chain so knock it off.”

  “No, really,” Chiyu insisted, “I know the feeling and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You are beautiful and brilliant in your own right, Shindoine, you always give your all. Its admirable, even if, er, yes you are trying to destroy the planet but, um, perhaps if you are intruding on a party of two… Then yes, you would get turned down.”

  Shindoine gasped. “No way.” she exclaimed.

  Chiyu nodded and she twiddled her thumbs, “Yes way.” She mumbled.

  “Pinkie and Yellow, huh?” Shindoine teased.

  “Yes, it seems they have coupled up but knowing they are exclusive does little to quell the crush I have on Nodoka regardless.” Chiyu murmured.

  “Here’s to us then.” Shindoine murmured.

  “Here’s to us.” Chiyu echoed back.

  They were both quiet for a moment. Letting on the hot springs make almost imperceptible noises for them until, eventually, they both had to do something. To move, to make a sound. They both turned their heads at just the right time to catch the other doing the same and there was a genuine understanding of pity and grief of being unrequited between them.

  Chiyu smiled, sympathetic. “You’re not too bad when you’re not trying to destroy the world.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Shindoine sarcastically replied. “You’re not too bad either, when you’re not trying to save the world.”

  Chiyu laughed.

  “That makes you laugh?” Shindoine asked.

  “Well, um, not really. I prefer puns, actually.” Chiyu admitted.

  Now Shindoine was laughing and quite raucously at that. She closed her eyes to it and she tried to imagine Chiyu having a real belly ache over something as stupid as that. Stupider still, she couldn’t think of one to test and when she opened her eyes, Shindoine was caught off guard by how beautiful Chiyu looked in the sunglitter bouncing off the still waters, sitting prim and proper. All whilst emanating this sincerity that almost made Shindoine want to switch sides.

  She was just so lost. She couldn’t bring herself to destroy the world for someone who would just destroy her, so she looked longingly onto this girl and she felt almost refreshed. There was a wondering, it lived within the glint of the sunlight and the water of the hot springs, and she took that chance.

  Shindoine kissed Chiyu on the lips. Surprising her.

  Chiyu was too stunned to kiss back but she couldn’t deny there wasn’t a fizzle to it either. She could feel the skin on her lips literally burn off the longer that Shindoine kissed her. The taste was rancid, but she could feel the kind passion behind it.

  Shindoine, meanwhile, sighed into the kiss. Where it was hurting Chiyu, it was healing her. Chiyu’s lips were soft and wet; vaguely tasting of cleanly mint and once upon a time, Shindoine would have been disgusted by that. Right now, in this mid-afternoon moment, it intrigued her. It was all part of the experience as she took this foray into the light and when she broke back, she moaned.

  There were burns and blisters on Chiyu’s lips. She instinctively tried to cover up her mouth, now wounded but it just made her seem cuter. Shindoine smiled to herself. She thought they were just the right shade of red tinged with pus; she tilted her head to the side and Chiyu felt flustered by her stare and just how fond it was.

  “I’m still not sure what to do with myself but… I like you at the very least.” Shindoine said. She then got up abruptly, she flipped her long hair off her back and generally fussed. “I best be going.”

  “Okay then,” Chiyu replied, feeling a little stood up, being kissed and ghosted in one fell swoop, “but will I see you soon?”

  “I hope so. If I don’t try and destroy this world, the others will and those two are losers so.” Shindoine murmured.

  “I see…” Chiyu murmured, downhearted.

  Beginning to walk away from Chiyu, scared of leaving what she was literally created to do despite her apprehensions of her usefulness unto it, Shindoine added, “Healin’ goodbye… That’s what you guys say, yes? Well, I’m feelin’ it, at least a little bit, and its strangely not that bothersome or tiresome.”

  Shindoine had no idea if she was giving Chiyu false hope of some redemption in those words. All she wanted was love. Love to infect her and to infect others with love and with those marks on Chiyu’s lips, Shindoine had certainly accomplished something like that.

  “I’m glad so, um, get well soon.” Chiyu said, chipper despite her hesitance which dipped into over-confidence because she was making a joke. Her laughter was proof of that even if it made Shindoine roll her eyes.

  Chiyu’s demeanour was so bright that Shindoine was glad she had her back turned but she could feel how bright they were. It unsettled her; it made her skin crackle and blister no different to her kiss unto Chiyu because even thoigh bleach was cleansing, it was still a poison.

  Shindoine smiled. She disappeared soon after, but she did take Chiyu’s bidding her farewell in good, amused heart. She wanted to get well soon as well as unrequited love was a disease. Though, having said that, she wasn’t too sure what that made her kindling with Chiyu because it didn’t feel like sickness, but it wasn’t a cure either but it was a middle ground that maybe Shindoine could get used to.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Three

Following a jolt and abrupt halt in her uncontrolled flight, Emily shot through the air and tumbled forward. Immense heat, so fiery that it threatened her skin to blister, made way to flames licking at her nude body, triggering a visceral response; making animal instincts flare up and drive her to new heights of exertion.

She rolled after hitting the ground, stumbling back onto her feet only to run yet farther—only forward—liberating every aspect of the clashing realities and letting this hell burn to the ground with its own flame.

Running, sprinting, up until she stopped sensing her body itself. Until her entire being had become this valley of fire.

A scent of sulfur and something that reminded her of blood or rust—iron—hit her nostrils like a freight train. The heat that accompanied it was out of this world, radiating from a floor made out of red hot cast iron—but it did not hurt Emily.

She stood before a maze and in the center of that maze stood Emily. Or rather, a glowing image, a reflection of herself, lit and radiating with the dim light of that calm blue flame, contrasting the crimson glow of the inferno and lava all around.

Emily finally paused, finding that she didn’t need to catch her breath. Instead, a strange calm filled her. Smoke billowed out from between her lips even though her last cigarette felt like it had burnt down an eternity ago. Fire burnt on her skin—no, it burnt from her skin, escaping through the pores from her blood within—a raging fire. Her skin had lost all semblance of flesh, now made of pure, living iron.

The other Emily—the other one who stood in the center of the labyrinthine pattern of glowing lines—she beckoned Iron Emily to herself. Blue Flame Emily’s blue light glimmered, glowing in a steady counterbalance to Iron Emily’s red-hot rage.

Focus.

Focus.

“What the jailer does not know, is that they are just another prisoner,” Emily whispered. To herself or to anything within the infinity around her; none of that mattered. Recalling Wise Man’s words helped her calm down.

All that mattered was that her mind still functioned and the words emerged from her core, like the whisper and crackle of a flame, like the mantra that heralded an anchor being cast into the water. It didn’t sound or feel like her self anymore, but it was—unmistakably so. Even more her self now than ever before.

Reborn.

No—something was missing. Something crucial. She was still in the process of rebirth.

Iron Emily approached Blue Flame Emily. Her consciousness trailed behind her by half a step, always following, all entities connected by silver threads but remaining out of sync and catching up in a blur.

The fires would meet. Together they would burn brighter than any color.

A beacon of blinding light.

The moment Iron Emily stepped onto the pattern of the maze to cross the floor, a shock wave jolted through her body and an unseen force pushed her back. She could feel the iron of her feet melting into the searing-hot stone of the maze, making her steps weigh a million tons and slowing her advance.

“Wake up,” Iron Emily said to Emily. The words poured out like smoke, smooth and toxic. She was not appealing to a dreaming self, nor was she urging Emily to wake up from a nightmare. Emily was telling Emily to focus—to shed all things that still held her back.

The first thing that weighed her down was a glimpse of another reality—another timeline? Another dimension? A place where Emily sat inside the bright white confines of a psych ward, rocking back and forth and withdrawn from reality altogether, failing to cope with the horrors of being abducted and raped by monsters posing as human beings.

That image loomed behind her like a dark shadow. That alternate existence and everything else behind her—there lied madness.

Only two ways left to go: to turn back and surrender herself to insanity, or to wander the infernal maze and embrace her destiny.

Iron Emily struggled to move, finally lifting a foot and taking her first step into the circular maze. A familiar presence blinked into existence—felt but not seen, then heard but not felt.

“Gay Chris,” as they always called him back in the day. One of her best friends. He stood, leaning against one of the fiery rocks on the edge of the maze, giving off a casual air and unfazed by this surreal hellscape.

“You always rant about all the shit that’s wrong with the world, but what the fuck are you doing about it but ranting? Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it,” he said, repeating the words that had inspired Emily to become the truth-seeker she was now.

Even his expression mirrored the one on his face from that decade past—annoyed by his stoned friend’s idiotic tirades. When it clicked for Emily. When she steered her life in a new direction, one in which she would change the world, and the one in which she became a jaded journalist.

“I won’t shut the fuck up,” she replied, now smiling. Originally, she had been taken aback by his words. Now she knew the purpose she had found, the things she had done, and all the things she still wanted to do. “At least I’m fucking doing something now. Can you say the same for yourself, designing graphics for stupid little video games over in Montreal, motherfucker?”

“She won’t be silenced, son,” Detective Tanner said. The law man had appeared behind Iron Emily, seemingly out of nowhere, born from this fiery hell.

Chris chuckled and his skin melted, sloughing off like pudding. The chuckling gurgled and exploded into a bellowing, booming laughter, growing in volume. From the hideous molten flesh emerged a demonic figure, showing its true form.

Emily’s madness.

“Sure, keep acting tough, little girl. Cuffed to the curtain rod while the Grinning Man sinks the blade into your back,” the demon said.

Iron Emily squinted, pushing back the memories of her trauma. But there would be no avoiding them here. She could feel the infernal fires burning away all uncertainty, peeling away the layers of her flesh like the skin of an onion till all that was left was the stark realities underneath, and the core of who she truly was.

Thing being, Emily was not afraid of that anymore. She was not afraid of her true self. She knew her flaws, her weaknesses, all the rough edges and the inconsistencies that she believed to burden the world around her with.

Part of her true self was this thing—this demon—and she felt no shame about it. No regrets. She was more in tune with who she was than ever before. She remembered it from her drug trip in Rodney’s basement. And here it was again, haunting her.

She let her gaze sweep back and forth between Tanner and the demonic entity that had worn Gay Chris as a disguise.

“What the fuck do I call you?”

“Tanner,” said the entity looking like Detective Tanner.

“Okay. And you? You’re not Chris anymore,” she said, nodding at the demon. “Here’s your chance to pick a cool name, because I sure as hell am gonna give you a dumb one just to piss you off.”

The demon cackled and growled, “I am what lurks at the bottom of each glass of booze you drown yourself in.”

“Alright. Suit yourself, asshole. I dub thee Stinky Jim.”

This also amused the demon, prompting more mad cackling.

A sense of uneasiness returned. It reminded her of the presence of the Grinning Man. Always behind her, closing in for the kill. Murder in the eyes, just watching her.

Emily dared to shoot a glance over her shoulder, peeking at the infernal madness behind her, raging at the edges of the maze. From it emerged Hal, carrying the studio camera, approaching her.

“Clever, Emily. Now show us how much of a ‘highly-functioning alcoholic’ you really are. Not sure you ever managed to pull off that magic trick, you dumb bitch,” he sneered, keeping the camera trained on her. The red light on the camera flashed menacingly, matching the beat of the all-devouring madness, beating to the pulse of this Pandemonium.

Stinky Jim cackled more at this, and melted into a puddle of searing-hot lava on the floor. Emily chose to ignore Fake-Evil Hal and look straight ahead.

Kept her eyes on Blue Flame Emily.

Still she could feel the camera, hovering right behind her. Watching her every move. Some part of her knew this was her own insanity, a part of herself that was judging her, testing her. Prodding her with every single bad memory, and exposing everything she thought or desired.

Fake-Evil Hal reminded her of her self-destructive, self-hating streak.

“You have to keep going,” Tanner said. Emily wanted to imagine that she reminded him of her father, but Tanner didn’t. If anything, he reminded her of what she imagined a father figure to be like, and what such a man would do now. “You got this,” he added on cue.

“Are you really Tanner?” she asked him. Because while everything and everybody else felt like manifestations of her self, Tanner’s presence felt so—off. Out of place.

He turned and pointed to the wall behind him. Instead of the obsidian and granite that comprised the solid structures within this fiery hell, he stood within the confines of his office at the precinct.

A red yarn connected pins on the corkboard there, drawing lines between different photos, maps, and pink Post-it notes. She remembered this “paranoia wall” of his quite well.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get ya,” he reiterated. “This shit sandwich is made in the top echelons,” he told her, tapping the Post-its with question marks at the head of the maze-like map he had created. She knew what he meant: that it went all the way up to the police chief. “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be careful.”

A presence neared, heavy with malice. As both Emily and Tanner turned in unison to gaze upon its visage, more of the projection of the detective and his office overlapped with the fiery maze. Through the milky obscuring glass on his office door, silhouettes approached. Shadows. Nebulous, faceless, and evil.

Converging on Tanner.

“You gotta go. Never give up,” Tanner said.

Emily wanted to tell him that things would be different now, but the moment she turned to tell him so, Tanner and his office transformed into ashes, like thin sheets of paper burning up in a flash. The violent winds of the inferno swept the ashes away, scattering them in every direction, and absorbing the embers like they never existed in the first place.

Tanner was gone and a pang of guilt hit Iron Emily in the gut.

He was right, she had to go. She strained and tried to lift her legs, but her feet had fused with the smooth stone ground beneath her.

“Welcome to the Emily show, where everybody is rooting for everybody else—yelling at the screen and hoping to see you fail. Because you’re such a vile piece of shit,” Fake-Evil Hal said, still behind her, a presence holding the camera. “Did I say everybody? Hah, don’t let it get to your head. Nobody likes you, and nobody’s watching. You’re the only viewer, you self-loathing, self-involved whore.”

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled more smoke. She flipped Fake-Evil Hal the bird without even turning around or giving him the satisfaction.

Then she pushed forward, pulling her limbs with all her might. Taking one difficult step at a time, her iron legs thudding against the accursed stone with tremendous weight as she made her way into the maze.

Blue Flame Emily looked so close, but felt so far. So infinitely far away. Every step Iron Emily took, the stone ignited and burned beneath her feet, threatening to melt her down and swallow the molten metal that her body had transformed into.

Roaring jets of bright white flames shot forth from the lines of the maze. Where the walls of this labyrinth had only occupied an imaginary space, now deadly fire forced Emily to wander through its forlorn paths.

“Only you can walk this path,” Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts.

And walk she would.

Thick clouds of ashes and flames exploded from the walls of the maze, dragging deadly fog through the fiery corridors. Iron Emily felt the heat inherent, so hot that it would singe all her hair. But she had not a single hair on her body because iron made up her entire being now.

Even with this invulnerability to the fire, she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the toxic cloud of suffocating ashes. She could breathe smoke but held her breath as if it mattered. Every step she took to move forward she made in complete blindness.

When she dared to open her eyes, the world had changed again.

Unlike in the maze, the smoke she exhaled was born from a lit cigarette. Emily let her hand holding the cigarette lazily droop off the side of the bed in which she now lay. Sweat and the smell of sex clung to her and she glowed. So did the man next to her, with whom her legs were entangled. The legs of her love: Julian.

Just like she remembered, he smiled at her when he plucked the cigarette from between her fingers and snuffed it out in a glass of water.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t need those anymore if it was just that good?” he asked.

The maze faded quickly from the forefront of Emily’s mind and made way for a warm, soft feeling throughout her entire being. It crept across her face, stretching her lips into a warm smile.

“Maybe it just wasn’t that good,” she whispered coyly.

She rolled over and rested her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his arm with the tip of her index finger.

He chuckled and gingerly brushed strands of her hair aside, then fondled the curve of her ear and the back of her neck with his hand. They both radiated with heat—not that of fire and destruction, but a heat of passion and deep-rooted love.

She remembered this night. You don’t forget the ones in which the sex you had stands out as some of the best you ever had. But the inferno and the madness that had brought her back here still lingered, chipping away at the back of her mind.

Even in reality, she found Julian’s apartment incredible. Living there as long as she had always made her think she was dreaming. It never quite matched where she came from and where she imagined to be going in life. And alas, it existed only in a short-lived bubble of time, a sweet memory sandwiched in between harrowing experiences.

One wall of the spacious bedroom consisted of glass, beyond which a twinkling sea of lights sprawled across the horizon of a nightly sky—the skyline of Los Angeles sparkled in warm colors, fuzzy and distant.

Lost in this moment when it had been a reality, Emily wanted to lose herself in it again. Never again, she believed, would she experience a comfort like this in her life. She drank in Julian’s scent, basked in his warmth, and swam in a sea of harmonious bliss.

This was her home.

“I can’t wait till we get married,” he said. He rested his palm against her lower back, hot and soothing at the same time.

And there it was again—the madness, chipping away, scratching at the back of her consciousness. Reminding her that this was not real.

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils but lingered where she lay. She turned her head to gaze dreamily into the tiny orange lights of the skyline, to rest her ear on his chest and listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

Emily savored this memory and place for as long as she could before replying.

“I’m so sorry, Julian, but that isn’t real. You never said that. I was going to propose to you before Kathryn Shaw killed you.”

She hugged him tightly, holding close to him.

“None of this is real.”

The bedroom door opened. Julian entered, wearing the jogging clothing she had gotten him for his birthday, darkened around the neck and pits where the fabric had soaked up sweat. No less attractive, he brandished a feeble smile as he blinked and looked upon Emily from across the room. His eyes were wet with sadness and concern—and longing. The smile faded from his face once his gaze shifted from her to the Julian she lay with on the bed, upon which he squinted.

The Julian by the door instantly felt more real to her.

“You can’t fool her. She is too strong for that,” Real Julian said.

She pushed herself up, away from False Julian. This one smiled back at her, but his smile had an almost sinister air about it now. His body lost all definition and melted down into a pile of gray ooze, bubbling goo that seeped into the sheets of the bed and vanished entirely, leaving only sweaty stains. Emily felt like she should have been more startled at this, but everything made perfect sense here.

By the time Real Julian had approached, she sat up straight on the edge of the bed. When he cradled her cheeks in his hands, her eyes welled up with tears, blurring her vision of him. With the soft light and her sights a mess, he looked an angel.

How fitting, she thought. Just like the memories blur.

But he wiped the tears away with his thumbs and knelt by her side to match her eye level.

“You have to carry on. Continue on. Only you can walk this path, and only you can do this,” he said. And every word resonated with that sense of natural strength inherent in his being. Everything good about him that she remembered and cherished.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat and tightened, making it harder to hold back the tears, and impossible to say anything.

“I will always be with you,” he said.

His warm, genuine smile forced the sparkling tears from his own eyes.

Before Emily could answer, she had to gulp, rid herself of that lump in her throat. It was the most painful thing to swallow, because she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Tears rolled down her cheeks like pure little pearls of sorrow.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and then melded with her—passed into her, like a ghost, dissolving as they merged. Real Julian became one with her and the warmth that she had always felt in the memories of him filled her, making her soul hum and her essence scintillate. She glowed with light—constant, like a lantern, and soothing; unlike the violently flickering flames of her rage. They flashed in a blue light for a brief moment.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said, breaking the words as she choked on them.

“This is no goodbye,” he said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. It didn’t exist, yet it came from deep within. “You will always have me by your side.”

With the tears fully streaming from her weary eyes, she wiped them with her entire forearm, sobbing in silence and this strangely comforting solitude. When she looked down upon her nude body, it was iron again, with her hand clad in the strange gauntlet.

She rose from her seat on the bed’s side, shot one last longing glance at the skyline of Los Angeles—reminiscing on how this represented the one short phase in her life during which she truly knew happiness—and made her way to the bedroom door.

Just twisting the doorknob and pulling lightly on it, a gust of mighty wind blew it wide open, nearly knocking her back, and a flurry of ash and embers flowed through. Flames licked around the edges of the frame, incinerating everything and devouring this place of solace. Rather than succumbing to despair, Iron Emily shielded herself with the gauntlet and marched through, continuing through the fiery walls of the maze.

Her limbs weighed heavier than before, as if she had to grow stronger just to lift her legs and press on. Where she had been moving effortlessly through Julian’s bedroom, she now felt the weight of the iron in her soul, threatening to stop her in her tracks.

“You have to carry on,” Julian’s words echoed in her mind, feeding the pure flames of her will.

And she did, groaning as it took more and more out of her essence to stride forth, doubly so when the walls flared up, trying to discourage her from continuing and instead whispering to her; luring her into a false sense of security, promising an escape that the self-destructive madness behind her might offer. With the growing flames of the maze’s walls, another cloud of thick black smoke billowed out from them and engulfed her whole.

The tears had long dried—burned away by the searing heat. When the plumes parted and her vision cleared, she gazed upon her family life. Times growing up, ghostly rooms taking shape and dissolving before her eyes as she continued to wander through the maze without ever taking a wrong turn or even considering to turn back.

Here, she argued with Willow. There she played with Hannah. Being the middle child of three sisters always had been a mixture of blessing and curse. Willow, older, strong and aloof, always daddy’s favorite. Hannah, younger, sweet and doe-eyed, always pampered and cut some slack. Young Emily had to settle on the hand-me-downs from Willow but never had to feel the jealousy towards Hannah that Willow felt. Teenage Emily was cut no slack, expected to excel wherever Willow failed, and be a perfect example for Hannah.

Little Emily woke up in a panic from a nightmare and wandered into the living room. Dark, save the cold blue glow from the television set on the stand that her father was staring into. Tears streaked down Little Emily’s eyes as she approached him and told him about her bad dream. Mom was out of town on work.

Black rings of exhaustion lined Dad’s eyes from the long hours at work he had put behind him—from the time before he started his own hardware store—and he put most of his attention into the news on TV. Her repeated attempts to earn some comfort or calm from him only added to his annoyance with her that night, gnawing at his patience.

He slapped her. Stunned her. Told her he was too tired for this. Had an apology written on his face, but said nothing to that effect. She cried and went back to bed, alone, sobbing in solitude. He never did apologize, though that was the only time he ever hit her—and to Emily’s knowledge, hit anybody in his family.

Unlike in her raw memories, she suddenly heard a whisper. A thought. Then more, reaching her through the ether. These thoughts were not her own, but her father’s, forming in Iron Emily’s mind like speech, “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that. Should I say something? I’ll apologize tomorrow. I mean, she really should respect me and leave me alone when I tell her to. God, she looks so miserable and pathetic. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Maybe things would have been different back then, had she known his thoughts. Iron Emily then wondered if hearing her thoughts was not just the madness catching up to her.

Iron Emily hardened and pulled her legs up, taking one step after another with renewed vigor, finding yet greater strength to continue. Nothing would be easy—nothing ever was. Though she vowed to not forget those who helped or loved her, she would expect no help from anybody. She left the sobbing Little Emily behind, the little girl who had strangely grown from this bit of trauma.

At a party her mother was hosting, Young Teenage Emily kept telling Mom that she didn’t want to play the guitar. A bunch of grown-up friends of Mom whom Emily didn’t particularly like were there, staring awkwardly and trying to not interfere with the minor drama unfolding.

Sure, Young Teenage Emily could play the guitar a little bit. But despite being a heavy metal enthusiast, she had never really gotten into it. Instead of going to all the lessons her parents paid for, she would rather hang out with Gay Chris, Carlos, Rodney, and Jimmy—getting high and talking about politics and philosophy with the average stoner’s depth of a shallow pond.

She could play a few chords, a few riffs, and had a shaky grasp on rendering some common songs. Just capable enough to softly play a couple of pieces on her acoustic guitar.

Mom haranguing her to perform something she neither wanted to nor thought she was particularly good at embarrassed her deeply, let alone in front of all these people she didn’t even know or give two shits about.

“Mom, come on. No.”

“You’re so talented, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mom hissed at her.

“I don’t wanna. I’m not even warmed up.”

“Come on, Emily, I believe in you.”

“No! I’m not going to play the stupid fucking guitar, alright?” Young Teenage Emily exploded, and Iron Emily could almost lip-sync it word for word; with that outburst having burnt itself into her memory.

Everybody stared. Someone bit their lip in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Someone else almost cleared their throat, then changed their mind as to not draw attention to themselves.

Young Teenage Emily stormed out of the room. She went to her own room, brooded and paced for a few minutes, then climbed out of her window and went to hang out with her friends.

Iron Emily, however, witnessed what happened after Young Teenage Emily had left the scene.

Was this her imagination? The madness of this maze and her crumbling mind now manifesting in these scenarios, filling in the blanks? Or was the unfettered power of this place bleeding through reality, piercing the veil of time and space and showing her something that Young Teenage Emily had never seen?

Her mother went to the nearest couple and complained about her.

“I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. We tried everything to raise her right, but she started listening to heavy metal and smoking, and I think her friends are just a bad influence on her,” she said.

The guests did not contradict her. They nodded with their awkward, fake smiles, not trying to feed the fires of this conflict or take part in it in any way.

“She is always so angry, and explodes like that all the time. I think we really need to get her into counseling. Or therapy,” her mother said, shaking her head, explaining the situation to yet other guests.

The guests all tried to duck away from this conversation, growing uncomfortable. Emily could hear their thoughts; knew they wanted nothing to do with any of this. Disgust and rage welled up in the heart of Iron Emily, who silently and invisibly watched this unfold.

Foreign memories and minds broadcast their thoughts into her own consciousness; it was the only explanation. She couldn’t just be imagining this.

“You can change this,” Stinky Jim said from behind Iron Emily. He chortled, smoky and sinister. “You can make her pay.”

“For what?” Iron Emily asked. “She’s not all wrong.”

Stinky Jim cackled, “Oh, just wait, then. It’s going to get even better now.”

The guests were not impressed. Emily’s mom didn’t seem to understand that those nearby just wanted this awkward situation to end. They would nod and smile but those smiles were strained and their participation and compassion feigned. Some of them wanted to leave the party.

“She talked her older sister out of her relationship with her boyfriend and into lesbianism,” her mother lied, shaking her head with a theatrical sigh.

“The fuck,” Iron Emily growled. Her teeth screeched like a fork on the chalkboard as she ground them together as a result of the anger welling up in her gut.

Stinky Jim’s cackling erupted into full-blown laughter.

“She wasn’t even twelve years old when she started shoplifting. And that was after we caught her stealing toys from other kids. We did all we could, but she just—she never listens. There’s only so much you can do to raise a kid right, right?” her mother lied.

She kept inventing things to make Emily look bad and garner pity from her friends. Those same friends averted their eyes, exchanged nervous glances, and paid less and less attention to her; not engaging and only causing Emily’s mother to pile more and more brazen lies on top.

“She stole our car when she could barely reach the gas pedals and gave us quite the headache when we had to foot the bill for repairs.”

“The police brought her home one night and let her off easy, you know how it is.”

“I think she tried heroin.”

Stinky Jim’s laughter swelled to ever greater volume each time she lied about misdeeds Emily never committed. All the while, Iron Emily’s insides boiled. She refused to let the rage take control any longer. What if her mind could slice through space and time and change this? Stop this bullshit? But what if that obliterated her mother’s mind? The minds of her guests? Her morals clashed with her wrath.

“You have sworn to expose the truth. You could do that right here and now if you put your mind to it. You have real power now. Even greater power than you’re willing to embrace. You can punish liars. Just gotta use your head,” Stinky Jim said, egging Iron Emily on. He stoked the fires of wrath in the depth of her being. Part of her wanted to give in and test the limitations of her power; wanted to make her mom pay for doing this.

But Iron Emily gathered herself. Breathed. Focused. Took control over the rage. Just like the old homeless man told her to. She wanted so badly to lash out, but she had to get out of this. She remembered where she truly was: inside the fiery maze. Not in this moment.

She would let it slide. The realities of future times slid into being, overlapping and overlaying this scenery.

Nowadays, Emily visited her mother regularly. Mom would talk about conspiracy theories after her long combined shifts of dog sitting, working at her backwater supermarket, and work in a retirement home. Emily would take the time to debunk or confirm whatever nonsense she had picked up from the yellow press and Facebook.

Maybe their relationship would transform, now that Iron Emily knew of this day and what horrible things her mother had said about her in her absence. Still, she wondered if any of this was even real.

Stinky Jim laughed and didn’t even need to say anything.

Iron Emily knew this was real. Realities clashing, connecting; she stood in an intersection of worlds.

The imagery faded away like smoke being dragged away by a gust of wind. As it cleared, only more imagery unfolded beyond it: places Emily had never been. Moments of minds that never reached her, thoughts that bounced around in her skull.

Her mom sat alone in the glow of a TV set in a dark room, when Emily’s exposé on the human trafficking ring aired on national television. She sat up in surprise when she saw Emily on screen, personally delivering some statements, followed by voice-over narration for the segment.

Surprise. Pride. Mom was proud of her now. She cried tears of joy and she was proud of what her little girl had become: exposing those monsters, cracking the veil wide open and revealing those injustices for all to see. She wiped her tears and could not stop listening and watching. The content of the exposé upset her; learning of the personal fates of individual victims—such as Tran—caused her mother to feel sick. But above all the emotional upheaval lingered a profound happiness and pride over her daughter’s accomplishment.

Not only her mother felt this way. As the fiery winds carried embers and whisked away these images as well, they revealed a room in which her father, Sean, sat on the couch next to his second wife, Christine. They, too, watched TV and saw the same exposé airing on national TV.

He stared into the glow of the device, wide-eyed and surprised. His mind swam in the same place: proud of his daughter’s achievement. Sean also regretted how little contact they still had and for the first time in his life, realized how much of that had been on him.

By contrast, Christine’s thoughts circled in different, darker places. She saw Emily’s success on clear display on the television and only wondered how she could help her biological daughter to be more successful than Emily. These pieces of thoughts and feelings did not just reach Emily’s being like spoken words, intercepted by her mind, but they took more tangible forms.

Stinky Jim’s laughter had long gone silent. Though Iron Emily felt his presence, his quiet only spelled out a tense anticipation. A curiosity. Emily stood on the precipice of discovering something new, and the demon of madness could hardly wait to see her experience that breakthrough.

She tasted Christine’s personal vice. Sour and bitter and artificial and unsatisfying, like sucking on a piece of plastic-covered cardboard. Christine’s pride burned brightly, and Emily tasted it as clearly as the aftertaste of coffee and cigarettes clinging to her tongue.

Christine got up in a huff and switched the TV off.

“Enough of that,” she told Sean.

“What if you could burn that nonsense right out of her?” asked Stinky Jim.

Iron Emily shook her head and shut her eyes.

Smoke and fire tore through this memory, tearing Emily away from the insights it delivered. When she opened her eyes again, the memories of her parents had made way for the inferno of the labyrinth once more. Iron Emily had seen enough, anyway. Daddy, for whom she was never good enough, was proud of her. She dismissed the spark of defiance that threatened to arise in her, and decided to embrace this little victory for what it was. She would hold onto that.

Emily could have touched their minds, changed their being, but decided against it.

The smoke billowed past her and violent winds fought her progression. Still she continued on, one deliberate step after another. Every time, the heat threatened to melt her, she forced her legs to lift and take another step, yet again.

“You’re not special,” said the demon behind her. “You’re no better than anybody else, sitting on your high horse. You and your stupid moral high grounds. Fictions you cling onto to make yourself feel better when all you’re doing is looking down on the rest of the shit-stains that populate the world around you. You probably think you’re so great for not using your newfound mojo, not reaching into their petty little human minds and wrenching around in there. So noble I could puke. So responsible. But let’s see just how long that lasts.”

With a thunderclap, a torrent of flames exploded outwards, cascading through the maze’s corridors towards Emily. She braced herself, leaning into the massive weight of her iron body. She clutched her hand in front of her—the iron gauntlet—it pierced her mind, cutting through every thought when she closed her eyes. Always there, even when she tried not to think about it. Now shielding her from these infernal forces.

The maze took her to another place.

“Let’s see who you really are when you stare into the abyss,” growled the demon.

After a double take, Iron Emily knew she stood in Starkford Penitentiary. A different part of it; a section she had never seen with her own two eyes—the mess hall where the inmates ate.

Kathryn Shaw sat in between other women, all of them dressed in their bright orange jumpsuits. The woman who had murdered Julian with a two-by-four. She ate from her tray, stuffing her face; a face deformed by too much plastic surgery.

Julian’s murderer didn’t look like she had aged a day. Iron Emily realized that this must have been some time after she had gone to the prison to get answers from Kathryn. Probably a good deal after, or she would have still been a sporting a black eye or two from when Emily lost her mind and attacked her.

Iron Emily cringed as a sea of thoughts and emotions crashed in on her from every direction. The minds of all the inmates and guards here washed over her, drowning her in waves of despair and contempt and surrender and negativity. The tempest of emotions clouded her with such intensity that her own rage towards Kathryn Shaw had no room to well up again.

“You know you can do more than just read minds, right? You can reach into them and clutch. Grab. Tear. Squeeze. Rend,” said the demon. His growls came through gritted teeth. Emily could hear the sadistic grin growing on his face without even looking at him. “You can kill with a thought, little girl. Just think hard enough and focus your mind like a blade. One precise thought, sharp like a guillotine’s edge. That’s all it takes.”

Iron Emily focused. The world froze for a split second and she pushed all the thoughts back. The chatter, like a million radios running different programs all at the same time, all went silent. Even Stinky Jim choked, unable to taunt her any more for now. All minds blocked out at once—all but one. The screech of microphone feedback died down and all she heard was a faint whisper, coming from Kathryn’s direction. The only thoughts Emily was curious about now.

Sadness.

It hit her like a truck, overwhelming her senses, making her light-headed and dizzy. Iron Emily didn’t feel tethered in place by her iron body at all any more, rather as light as a feather, like she teetered back and forth and nearly fell down.

Stinky Jim’s claws gingerly clutched her by her shoulders and helped her stay standing.

“Why would I kill her now?” Emily asked. It took her a moment until it dawned on her: the same sadistic grin she sensed to be forming on the demon’s maw was now plastered across her own lips. “She’s right where she belongs. Getting what she fucking deserves. Rotting in prison for the rest of her life. Justice isn’t served if I kill her now. Being a husk and withering away in prison would be the right punishment for this crazy bitch. Fuck her.”

The sadness made way to imagery. Emily could see the movie playing in Kathryn’s mind; glimpses of her own little world. A bizarre fantasy that defied all semblance of reality.

Full-on delusions. Kathryn saw herself getting out of prison soon. She had fooled herself into thinking she was some sort of A-list celebrity. Had all the famous directors lined up, ready to talk to her once she was out of here. She would be even more famous than before going into the slammer. Her private army of lawyers would get her out long before she had served her full sentence. Make a mint off of an autobiography book deal, too.

Julian wasn’t dead in Kathryn’s little fantasy world, either. Part of why she’d get out so easily.

Sure, none of it was real. But Kathryn believed it with all her heart and soul.

Stinky Jim roared with laughter.

“Justice, huh? Ten years later, she’ll still be happy in her blissful little make-believe castle. And where will you be?” he asked, egging her on. “Kill her, killer. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Emily rocked back and forth in the padded cell. Iron Emily screamed and willed that image away. Nobody in the mess hall heard the scream. They just carried on with their lives, lips smacking as they ate the slop served up as meals.

“Fuck this. And fuck you, Stinky Jim. Killing Kathryn serves no one,” Iron Emily cursed. The inner fire of defiance exploded outwards, wreathed her in fire. She spoke in multiple menacing voices when she added, “I am being reborn now. And this is what I was meant to do—reveal the truth.”

Iron Emily focused. She breathed fire, like a dragon. Holding out her hand, the gauntlet around her fist was real. She unfurled her fingers, marveling at their claw-like shape. She focused harder, and the world breathed her, sucking her towards Kathryn, pulling her through a vortex of intertwining realities. Iron Emily stood behind Kathryn and reached into her mind with the gauntlet-clad hand.

She tasted the pride in Kathryn’s mind, for it tasted the same bitter disgusting plastic way that Christine’s vice shared. With the gauntlet, she gripped at the barriers inside of Kathryn’s brain with all her might—taking hold of the prison bars and expensive doors and beautiful illusions that Kathryn Shaw had erected around her core self to protect her mind from the horrors she had inflicted and the horror that she had become.

The gauntlet clenched shut into a fist. Crushed, shattering glass and mortar, bending steel like it was nothing. Iron Emily tore away at the walls of Kathryn’s delusions, peeling them back until Julian’s murderer could glimpse reality for just one moment.

She was here for murdering Julian Stone. She was serving a life sentence in Starkford Penitentiary. Her career was over. Her cell mate hated her. One of the cooks probably spit in her food. Her life was hell, and all of it was her own making.

Emily didn’t even need to construct these thoughts. They all came pouring in on their own, the stark and cruel weight of reality crashing inside like a lake flowing in through a breaking dam.

Kathryn’s fork dropped into her food tray. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. The harsh truths of the world outside the fantasy she had created caught up with her.

Iron Emily wept tears of fire and sealed the illusion again. Just a glimpse. Just enough to make her suffer for a brief moment. Just enough to make her pay. But it rang hollow. It gave Iron Emily no satisfaction. Kathryn’s evident suffering even filled Emily with a short pang of guilt. She shrugged it off and screamed into the void again, getting no response from anybody in the prison.

Only Stinky Jim responded—with more sadistic laughter. The inmates and guards all melted away, transforming into smoke and embers. They spiraled upwards until the fiery walls of the maze subsumed them all, and Iron Emily was surrounded by the inferno again.

“How the fuck was that better than killing her? You heartless bitch,” the demon said. “Can’t wait to see what crimes against humanity you’re capable of committing.”

Iron Emily ignored him and swiveled, struggling to find her way through the firestorm. Her heart beat faster when she gazed upon Blue Flame Emily, an unsteady beacon shining out from the center of the maze. The flames grew larger and obscured that vision, but Iron Emily had seen her clearly enough to know: she had gotten much closer. Halfway there.

She refused to be the Emily in that padded cell. She refused to give up now. Just thinking that, realizing that—it filled her with new vigor. Her soul flared up with newfound determination. The next steps she took to brave the maze came much easier; each one of them much lighter than the last.

She would make it. She would see what destiny had in store for her.

—Submitted by Wratts

[ofphcenixes]

THE PHOENIX || BLUE HAWTHORNE.

ok i won’t lie i stole this intro from veritas 2 kdJKDGF BUT ! if you want to get to know this guy definitely hit the readmore below *shaky eye emoji*. also hi i’m lilac i’m an admin and also a sims enthusiast anyways, back onto what’s important here, this lil bean called red blue !

personality

THANK YOU FOR SUBSCRIBING TO BLUE FACTS. PLEASE TEXT ‘STOPBLUE’ TO CANCEL YOUR SUBSCRIPTION.

but if you have seen blue’s blog sidebar and title, i feel like you will gather a LOT about his personality lmfao

he is playful, jocular, and honestly? immature

always looking for the childhood he never got to have, y’know?

he is secretly very insecure and always has a need to please. if someone doesn’t like him, he’ll tear himself apart to figure out why.

he’s always telling jokes and always laughing. he’s known for his Memes and is always a good time to be around… if you know what i mean ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

but also Anti-( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) because ya boi has commitment issues so high they’re past the inevitable spaghetti monster that’s probably floating out there in space

he can also be very maternal when the need arises. he is not good at talking about emotions but he’ll give you a meme or a plate of cookies to Heal You

honestly? the human embodiment of a puppy. cannot be alone for very long, has a short attention span, and craves validation lmfao. give him a squeaky toy and he will be Contented

as a footballer he can be Tough on field when he needs to be but he’s also v sensitive and talks to birds he passes on his morning runs like he’s a disney princess djkgfdk

he struggles academically as he has a short attention span most of the time and thinks too little of himself. however, he’s a lot brighter than most people give him credit for. he’s incredibly creative and a lateral thinker. maths makes him want to die, tho.

also what’s money? blue does not know

to many, blue’s known as the troubled kid who turned his life around. to others, he’s known as the local Meme Dealer. but to a lucky few, he’s known as a friend who would do anything for you.

most just know him as the moron named after a colour tho.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

history. (trigger warning: illness, death, drugs, depression)

WHO’S READY FOR SOME CHROMATIC CONTENT

blue hawthorne, who never goes by his birthname bc he hates it dfkjgdgdf ( what is his birthname ? he’ll never tell ┌( ಠ‿ಠ)┘ ) was born right here in ashmont.

despite not having a lot - he grew up with just him and his mum ( his father left before he was born, never knew a thing about him ), in a tiny trailer park on the outskirts of town. a far cry from the opulent manors peppered all throughout town, and the very lifestyle blue’s mother was accustomed to as a child. however, the pair were content as long as they were together.

despite not having much, blue loved every second of his childhood. he wore his mischief like a crown, smiling wherever he went. he’d always resonated with a love of music and dance, and like his mother before him, danced. ballet was his passion growing up, and started as young as 5.

as a child blue was often teased for this, and the fact that he was so close with his mother. he was also very outspoken and strong-willed, and never let his peers get the best of him. he danced, he laughed, he bruised his knees at any given opportunity. what he lacked in possessions he gained in the abundance of joy he felt in his heart growing up. his mother and a few of his close friends were his world.

when blue turned ten, everything changed.

the jubilant, mischievous, but altogether kind-hearted boy was given the heart-breaking news that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. margarette hawthorne, much like her son, was a fighter - and didn’t let such a diagnosis keep her down. despite their dwindling lack of funds now going towards medical bills, and the fact blue began sacrificing his own childhood as he took to the role of a caretaker of sorts for his mother, he never took his time with her for granted.

things were okay for a while. there was a point where the doctors were convinced that she was going to make it. blue was a fool. blue believed them.

at the age of thirteen, blue lost everything. he lost his place to live, he lost his childhood and lust for life, and he lost the person he loved most in the world. he lost his best friend.

it wasn’t long before the overbearing sympathy from those around him soured blue. he was sick of being bullied, people not liking him, and altogether not being in control. so what did this boy do ? he quit ballet (the thing he’d loved since he was able to stand), he started drinking, he got involved in a very bad crowd and became a frequenter of the local ashmont police station. blue became a certified Bad Boy™

blue was sent to live with the grandparents that despised him and never acknowledged his existence before that moment. righteous and conservative in their views, they had cast aside their daughter when she had blue out of wedlock, and only reached out to her in her final months. for this reason, blue despised these people (he refused to call them family). he tried his best to be appreciative of a house and food ( which was much better than anything he had growing up ). but he was cold. always cold.

as a teenager, blue fell into a rapid succession of bad decisions. still small, still frail in stature, he found himself at a dissonance with his image and began growing insecure about his looks, the years of torment weighing on him. he found anesthetic in the party scene outside of school, taking to alcohol and drugs as a sedative from the life he felt forced to lead. his grandparents were pigeon-holing him into a preppy, studious boy who’d go on to be a banker or a lawyer, when all blue had wanted to do was be himself. he couldn’t decide if he hated himself or he hated the world more.

at the age of 16, his rap sheet seemed to grow with each rising of the sun. he’d fallen in with a bad crowd, hardly ever heading ‘home’ and couch surfed. at the age of 16 he’d gotten his own car and lived more out of that than the stuffy house on top of the hill where he was supposed to stay. his grades were sinking towards the bottom of the barrel, he was always looking for validation from the bad kids he hung around with and made some very poor decisions in the hopes he’d be liked. in the hopes he’d find a new family.

the partying, the stream of hook ups, his criminal record (mainly with traffic offences, a few write ups for public intoxication and fighting), sobriety, the instability of his living situation and his future all came to boil just before he turned 17. physically he’d started to fill out, and look more like the man people know today. he was no longer frail and no longer weak, and when asked, he used to his fists to forge that path he thought he wanted.

after a dark night, it became apparent to blue that his path of self destruction was hurting no one but himself. whether by choice or by accident, he knew he wasn’t ready to see his mother again. so… he’d hit rock bottom with a spectacular thud. but blue knew the only way to go from there was up.

through nothing short than a McMiracle (sponsored by Ronald McDonald, bc no one else is rich enough to pull it off lmfao) blue managed to scrape by and complete high school.

blue had no doubt his family name (that of his grandparents) helped him secure an athletic scholarship to st etienne. in his year of transformation from 17 to 18 his grandmother had softened to the boy she’d always hated and was riddled with guilt for the years of mistreatment, and promised to pay for his education (that wasn’t covered by his scholarship) as long as he promised to make something of himself. his first year of college, things really started looking up for blue. he was finally back on track.

then woops, grim came a-knocking again

bidding farewell to the grandmother he was only beginning to know, his grandfather had no reason to extend her kindnesses, and cut blue off. at the age of 18 he was homeless, with nothing but a car and a handful of pokemon cards he’d had as a kid. not worth anything or even particularly sentimental, he just likes pokemond kgfjfd.

living in his car for a while before eventually crashing with a close friend, blue managed to absorb his days in study and in work. he quickly found his passion in helping kids, and giving them the childhoods that he never got. going into teaching seemed like a no-brainer.

although blue’s wild days are behind him, there are some things locked in his past that still haunt him. there are doors he never hopes to open again. but he got his fresh start, and is determined to live the life a young blue would have wanted for him, and one his mother could be proud of.

then the grim reaper came back a third time, his scythe begging for daisey rutherford.

the investigation.

blue’s connection to daisey is that they danced in ballet classes together… as you can imagine, daisey had to put on her Evil Training Wheels somewhere and unfortunately, blue was one of her earliest victims. teased constantly for his appearance, his love of ballet, his lack of wealth, and on awful days, his single parent household.

for the most part blue had grown resilient in ignoring these comments. but he never forgot how daisey mistreated him, and sparked a wave of similar comments from people in their year when they were only children.

hey now im not gonna rEVEAL (bc what if he is ??? :o ) anything relating to the crime if he was the murderer, but know he is Lorge and Strong and could probably push daisey over with his finger lmfao

it’s also worth noting that one of daisey’s parents, a beloved surgeon, treated blue’s mother whilst she was in hospital with cancer. the late detection of its return is what caused her death, and blue has been vocal in his blame in the rutherford family for the loss of the person closest to him ever since.

now i’m not saying blue did anything… but if he did, his ‘eye for an eye’ motive ? maybe not as crazy as you may think. especially when you consider your boi already has a criminal record. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

plots.

atm i am still working on blue’s blob and getting his stats/connections page up BUT !! here are a few fun lil plots beyond his skeleton connections that i’d absolutely love to explore. also here’s his current connections page for further ideas ! 

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS  - blue grew up in ashmont, and didn’t have a lot of friends kfgjfd. if your muse would have been down for a Young Memey Mess that’s fond of a pirouette, blue is your Man. on the flip side, if your muse is one of the Cool Kids and is looking for potential animosity, i’d love someone who tried to squash blue like a bug in their youth (~:

FLIRTATIONSHIP - blue is currently in a (hidden) relationship, and for the first time in his life, gasp, might have feelings. but he’s a fucking walnut and refuses to admit that, so a plot of someone with an unrequited crush, a fun flirtationship, or even someone that just wants to be his wingman would not only be fun, but also incredibly painful - which is what we deserve. 8) (also note, blue is bisexual so any muse would work. <3)

COWORKERS - blue works as a trainer at the ashmont fitness centre ( …. dont @ maaria for the page not being done fgjdgkdf  WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF UPDATING THE PAGES NOW KDFJGDKFJ). but i’d always be down for plots in the workplace !!

UBER - sorry for the lame ass name lmao but dkjfgfkd blue is not about the party scene anymore ( lowkey bc he’s afraid to get addicted again and throw away everything he’s worked so hard for). but he does care a lot about people, and a pal of his is v much still hooked to that lifestyle and he very dkfgjdf determinedly drives them home every time to ensure they’re safe. could be former party friends, could be current friends in some capacity. maybe there was an incident in their past that blue feels guilt over ( a fight perhaps, trigger warning - maybe an overdose?) and so now he looks after them. or even just having a sibling-like bond, which (as blue is an only child) i’d also love something like that!

STUDY BUDDY - blue is a moron and needs someone to help him not fail kdfjgdf. he may not be naturally adept at getting good grades, but unlike many, he’s trying his absolute hardest. in return, he’s more than happy to be your Meme Dealer. bonus points if it’s unlikely friends, or if they didn’t exactly get along at first. :D

FELLOW FOOTBALLERS - 2 bros sitting in a hot tub five feet apart bc they’re not gay. dkjgdgdf but for REAL. exploring the team dynamic of the football team would be so fun, especially with blue’s reputation and the fact he only started taking up the sport when he was about 15-16, which may be a lot later than other guys in the team.

RIVALS - god they’re probably rivals about memes and i hate that but that’s just what it is :/

ok i have nothing else to say other than thank you for being a sweetheart and reading through this ??? i know it was a McMess but, if you’d like to plot with said mcmess definitely hit me up - or wait it out a lil bc i plan to do some starter stuff and plotting later today. (~: love you all, and viva la daisey ! 

[choicesyouplayandmore]

Lost Words (Chapter 3)

Link to previous chapters: Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Click on the Masterlist to see if any future chapters have been published already.

Note: I want to say a quick thanks to everyone who has been reading my Sinclaire series. It’s my first fanfiction, and I’ve been so shocked by this reaction. Thank you very much! 

Book: Desire and Decorum

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC

A/N: MC shows up on Ernest’s doorstep on a rainy day. What do they have to say to each other after their argument in the garden? 

Warnings: Will explore both Ernest and MC’s feelings of grief, especially regarding the death of family members/betrayal of a spouse. By the way Sinclaire’s feelings regarding his wife and his family background have yet to be revealed in DD at the time of writing, so some things might not follow the book exactly. 

Tag list: @brightpinkpeppercorn @princesstopgun @mind-reader1 @lynn1214@xo-endlessmayhem-xo @bennycumberbuns @bruhvs @danyfreshh @cocomaxley @youngbloodbound @sweetfluffyunicorn18 @tinygooplandroad@marywitchjane @shelivesinthewoods @flyawayblue56 @lizeboredom @laniquelovely @blackwidow2721 @katurrade  @juliazigortega @mspaigemoore @kate-omalleys @meiyoko-trash @self-destructive-bitch @pepitapepi (I could not tag two people, not sure why?) 

Word Count: 1400 words 

Last time on Lost Words.....

Making a small gasp, Claire was stunned by his appearance. His messy hair had been tousled across his head. He was not wearing a jacket, or even a tie. The dress shirt he usually wore had been buttoned halfway down, baring half of his naked chest. His eyes were red and swollen, the area under his eyes still slightly wet. Had he been crying? She thought to herself.

Cutting her mid thought, Ernest grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into the house.

“What were you thinking?” Ernest questioned, his voice tinged with both concern and disbelief. What could she possibly have to say to me now? So urgent that she must come in the rain? 

“I-I...wanted to talk to you.” This time, it was Claire’s turn to stammer nervously. She had never seen him so upset, disheveled, and....vulnerable. Is this about me?...........What I have done to him? A pang of guilt hit her chest. 

Without replying, he threw his jacket around her shoulders and started pushing her down the corridor, leading her to his study. Although Claire was still cold, being with Ernest made her feel warmer already. Sitting her down on a rocking chair, he knelt beside the fireplace to start a fire. 

The glow from the fire illuminated his skin. Claire watched as the flickering flames danced across his bare chest, a slow blush creeping onto her face. Kneeling next to the fire, staring down at his hands while they worked, she could now see him much clearer. Dark circles formed under eyes that stared blankly. Chapped lips, the faint smell of strong liquor between them. Curly hair tousled in all directions. His knuckles were bruised purple, perhaps from punching something. He looks so hurt. She thought to herself. But at the same time....why does he look so handsome? 

Looking up from the fire, their eyes briefly met each other’s, before shifting away. The tension between them was nervous. Claire had never actually seen a man cry before, let alone Ernest Sinclaire. 

“I’m sorry. I probably look like a snivelling fool right now, and it’s not proper.....” Ernest mumbled, interrupting the silence. 

“Don’t apologize. After the way I spoke to you in the garden......I can imagine why you would be angry at me.” 

Ernest chuckled bitterly at her apology. Standing up to sit in the chair next to hers, he whispered “Oh, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself.” 

“What for?” 

He closed his eyes tightly, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. “It’s been really rough for me since my wife left me. And her death during childbirth.” 

Taken aback by his surprise admission of weakness, she glanced at him. “I knew that your wife left you.....but I never could have guessed exactly how devastating it was.” 

“Yes.....” he whispered, deep in thought. “Hold on. Let me get you a drink.” 

Brown liquor splashed elegantly into the cup. He held it towards her, the purple colour of his bruised knuckles faintly glimmering under the fire light. As she accepted the drink her fingers reached out and brushed the bruises, making him blush from both shame and affection. Dropping his arm, he held both his hands nervously in front of them in a poor attempt to hide them. 

“What happened to your knuckles?” she whispered, looking at him in the eye. 

“Ah.” He was hoping she wouldn’t ask. “Oh, that....I need something to take out my anger on sometimes.” He did not meet her eyes in return. 

“I wonder what the poor guy did to you.” she chuckled, motioning towards the sparring dummy sitting in the corner of the room. “He looks pretty roughed up.” 

For the first time since she came in, he smiled back at her, eyes shimmering with affection. Sitting back down, he took slow slips from his drink. 

“You know, it was rough for me too after my mother passed. I had no other family left, it had always just been the two of us. So now that she had gone....I felt so sad and alone.” 

“Losing a parent is never easy.” He shook his head, heart filled with empathy. “My mother passed when I was much younger, and my father passed 10 years ago.” 

“Wow. 10 years is a long time to be alone......and here I am, complaining about loneliness after a few weeks.” Claire said quietly. 

“No....” Ernest shook his head, clearly not finished yet. “I had my wife with me, at first....or so I thought. But she left.” Ernest closed his eyes again, brows knitted together in pain, head tilted towards the ceiling. Claire nodded encouragingly, motioning him to continue along. 

“She had not only left our relationship, but she had betrayed the very foundation of it. I was devastated when I found out. She had been my only source of comfort since I lost my father. We sat together, just like this, every night. Just accompanying each other. Watching the flames in the fireplace flicker back and forth.” 

“Just like us right now?” 

“.......Yes. Just like us.” 

Silence filled the room, but it was not the awkward sort. It was the kind of silence that could only happen between two aching souls that understood each other. 

“But then she had to go drop off the face of the earth altogether. Carrying a child with her as well.” Ernest now leant forward, putting his face in his hands. 

Claire shook her head, heart filled with ache and empathy for Ernest’s pain. “To lose another loved one like that......” she whispered. “It must be hard to ever forget.” 

“I won’t ever forget it. The day I found out. The events of the day are blurry in my memory, but the grief I felt......I still remember very clearly. It was like I was walking around in a trance. The only thing I actually remember doing was leaning against that very door -” Ernest pointed at the door to his study. 

“- and bawling my eyes out.” He sighed heavily. 

“........I’ve been in deep grief too. I watched my mother die in her bed. There was so much I had left unsaid. I never got to thank her - for all those years of loving me. She was gone in an instant. We had hardly spent enough time together when fate whisked her away......I couldn’t even say goodbye.” Claire gushed. 

Lifting his head out of his hands, he turned around to look at her. 

“And now that she’s gone forever, I’ll never get the chance.” A tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes fell to the floor. 

Leaning over, Ernest stretched out his hand, wiping her tear away with his thumb, before finishing his stroke at the bottom of her face, lifting up her chin to look at him. 

“You’re beautiful even when you cry”. He whispered to her. His hand now cupped her face. They were so close that their noses almost touched. 

She lifted her hand to hold his. Their hands rested on her cheek. They stayed in this position, just for a few moments. 

“Why do you shut me out?” She murmured. 

Now pulling away from her face, he knelt on one knee in front of her chair. He took her other hand in his. Bowing his head, his eyes again dropped to the floor. 

“It was my own fault that my wife left me.” He muttered, in a voice that was thick, hoarse and full of pain. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Hell, I didn’t even know what she wanted. She may have betrayed my trust, but when I failed to be a good husband, I had betrayed her trust first.” 

Ernest looked like he was about to collapse. His upper body was leaning onto the arm of the rocking chair to stop himself from falling into a heap on the floor in front of Claire. “I don’t blame anyone. I did this to me.” He continued, eyes staring motionlessly at the floor, as if he were only talking to himself. 

“Is that why-...”

“Yes.” He answered. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a good husband. One failed marriage already proved that for everyone to see.” The throbbing pain in his throat grew larger and larger as he spoke. 

“You deserve a good man, Claire. I just don’t think that’s me.” His voice quivered with emotion. Giving her hand a light squeeze, he started to stand up. 

“But what if I think he is you?” Suddenly, with determination, Claire grabbed his wrist. Just like she had done the day before in the park. She yanked him down, and instinctively, he fell into the kneeling position he had been in before. 

Looking at her with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, emotions of surprise and anticipation played across his facial features. She took in his appearance. Now only an inch away from her, she could see the iris of his eyes were the same blend of blue as the forget-me-not flowers that he had planted in his garden. Although his hair was tousled, it gave the impression that he cared little for outer appearances. 

His lips were slightly chapped on the outer edges, but in colour they were a beautiful burgundy, and when he breathed, she could smell the desperation and longing that he had been consuming. 

Eyes glistening with desire, she grabbed his collar, pulled him in, and pressed her lips against his. 

Note: Yes, I finally made them DO it! Excited for the next chapter? Saucy things are coming. As per usual, let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. Also, if you enjoyed this fanfiction, tell me which parts you liked the most! (It helps with my writing/brainstorming process.) 

[programaticallydelicious]

Negotiations

I walked into the room, avoiding direct eye contact with the alien waiting for me. Its huge eyes just looked like a jet black sclera set in a sack of vaguely damp, wrinkled gray leather. If eyes are a window into the soul, this creepy little guy would give satan a run for his money. They just put me on edge, somehow. I’d have to make eye contact anyway, but it could wait.

I strode up to the meeting table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. I shuffled around in my bag for a moment before pulling out a small piece of tech, which I set on the table in front of me.

“Before we begin, I want to be sure of a few things. This device you’ve provided us with, it is 100% effective at understanding and translating languages, correct?”

The alien across from me nodded. It’s a nice little allowance they’ve made for comfort, learning our body language, but its bulbous head threw the whole gesture off. It made me think of one of those old inflatable toys with a weight on the bottom, that would lean too far to the side before bouncing straight back up. Woobles or something. It didn’t really matter.

“Nearly. We occasionally find a race with one or two concepts that it has trouble with, but that’s easily smoothed over.”

I took a deep breath, and waited a moment to compose myself. This whole thing was going to be more trying than not interrupting old man Higgins up the street while he went on about whatever racist sentiment was in his head at the moment.

“One or two…okay. That’s odd.”

The alien blinked. Eyelids came in from not just the top and bottom, but also the sides. That’s just plain creepy. Reminds me of one of those really old movies they threw on the media blacklist pretty much as soon as first contact started. Something in black. Whatever it was, I remember seeing it as a kid, and that guy at the beginning had nothing on this alien’s eyes.

“Have you already found something it can’t translate?”

I nodded, then pulled out my communicator and scrolled through a few documents. I really needed to clean this thing out. Can’t believe I didn’t get around to it before coming to such an important meeting. Imagine the debacle that would result if I opened exactly the wrong thing. Never can know what that might be, honestly.

“Of a sort, yes. Mind humoring me for a few minutes?”

The alien steepled its hands together, and leaned forward. That’s just plain creepy. I wonder how they learned such context specific body language? Not that it really matters, I guess. Not my problem.

“Certainly. After all, it can take years to accept a race into the Federation.”

Nodding again, I pulled up a document on my communicator, then leaned back in my chair as I began. This was going to be more interesting than that time your classmate Jimmy found some old matches somewhere and almost burned the school down by mistake.

“Excellent. This shouldn’t take much time. I mentioned that we found some issues with your device. Allow me to demonstrate: Espionage.”

The little device on the table beeped, and a red light flashed.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

I sighed. That one had been an accident. We just had the thing sitting in a conference room while we discussed the implications of the visit when it came up. But, when something that simple for us to understand came up, we had to try for more.

“Reverse Engineering.”

Again, a beep and a flash of red.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FOUND”

“Spycraft.”

And again with the beep. This was going to get irritating if I didn’t speed things up a bit. Too bad we hadn’t managed to find a mute option for that feature.

“ERROR: NO ANALOGUE FO-”

“Overwhelming Force”

“ERROR: NO-”

“Scorched Earth”

“ER-”

“Kamikaze”

“E-”

Blitzkrieg, Stealth, Mutually Assured Destruction, Acceptable Losses, Pyrrhic Victory, Guerilla Warfare, Encirclement, Entrenchment, Siege.”

The device gave off a series of distressed beeps, punctuated by rapid blinking of the little red light. I almost felt sorry for it. Almost.

“TOO MANY ERRORS DETECTED. REBOOTING. RUNNING SELF DIAGNOSTIC. NO DISCREPANCIES FOUND,”

I paused, and glanced across the table at the alien before looking back down at the translator. This was going to hit it harder than a washed up holovid actor with no auditions and less money hits rock bottom.

“Xenocide”

The chair across from me clattered to the ground as the alien practically fell out of its seat. I don’t blame the poor thing. Of all the aggressive, militaristic words we tried, that was one of the ones we least expected to translate. I mean, really. Who has a word for the intentional extermination of an entire sapient species when they don’t even understand fundamental hostile international mechanics like spying?

“Why do you have a word for…what was all that just now?”

I chuckled a bit while motioning for the alien to sit back down. His reaction had been pretty good, perfectly suitable for one of those hammed-up old dramas where the hero realizes they’ve been working with the villain all along.

“We were confused about that too. So we took a look at the information you sent as part of first contact with us. We noticed something interesting. Every single race in your Federation is carnivorous. Why is that?”

The alien seemed smaller somehow as it settled back into a seat. It looked kind of like a balloon slowly losing air, if that balloon was made of moldering gray leather with eyes that made your spinal column decide it wanted a holiday in Fiji.

“First contact has always been made after sapient races make it to multiple worlds. We’ve never found a sapient herbivorous race which failed to destroy themselves in resource wars and aggressive action. We’ve never found herbivores capable of surviving long enough to leave their own world.”

I leaned forward in the chair and smiled while finally making direct eye contact with the alien. I think the poor thing shivered when I did that. Not that I blame it. Imagine your reaction when you start to put the pieces together and realize that your friendly, upstanding next door neighbor might be the world’s most wanted criminal.

“And the races you have found, while commonly using threat displays, do not waste resources on wars they cannot easily win, correct?”

The alien nodded as it slouched a bit in its chair. It looked kind of like it was trying to hide. Who wouldn’t want to hide from the monsters in their closet?

“Wasted resources means decreased likelihood of survival.”

I shrugged. That was true enough, though rather coldly logical. Dispassionate logic like that has never been our strong suit. Then again, that’s why I’m in this situation in the first place, so it evens out.

“And yet herbivores constantly waste resources on aggression, on movement, on having more young than will possibly survive.”

The alien was staring at me. I’m not sure when the last time it blinked was. I wonder if those eyes need some kind of lubrication to keep from drying out. Probably, they looked a bit less creepy than they should’ve. Looked like they were losing their shine.

“And they die for it. That’s exactly why we’ve never encountered spacefaring herbivores. Their inherent aggression is their own demise.”

I held eye contact. I’d almost swear the alien was a weird statue right now. Don’t know who would commission a statue made of old greasy leather, but I’m sure there’s someone with too much money and too little sense who would give it a shot.

“Indeed. Now, back to the subject at hand. I’ll ask you before we continue: what can you offer humans for joining your Federation?”

The alien sputtered as it started moving again. I’d swear it looked offended. Maybe it doesn’t see where this is going. Not that it really matters, I guess. I mean, it probably matters about as much as posting a formal complaint to a new corporate policy, which is to say not at all.

“We’ve already sent the offer. You’ve seen that, I’m sure.”

I nodded, and began to tap out a staccato rhythm on the table with my fingers. I never could remember where I learned this stupid tune. I’ve known it as long as I can remember, and it just moves into my head on occasion and sticks around like that one couchsurfing friend who doesn’t understand the idea of wearing out their welcome.

“And I’m asking, what else do you have to offer?”

The alien just shook its head again, staring at the device. I wonder if it thought we might’ve tampered with it. As if we knew how. That little thing is way beyond our current abilities. We had some scientists pry it open and look inside, just to be sure.

“Nothing. I’m not sure why you’re-”

I raised my hand, cutting him off. Huh. Not sure why that worked. Did they learn that much of our body language? That’s still really creepy, if it’s the case. Or, maybe I just have it on edge. I dunno. I guess it doesn’t matter.

“May I have permission to connect my datapad with my ship’s computers?”

The alien glanced away from me for a moment. I assume it was checking in with superiors somehow. Maybe it was psychic, to an extent. Or maybe they just had an implant of some sort. We’ll find out eventually, I’m sure.

“Yes, if you like.”

I sighed. I guess that makes things easier for us. I don’t think anyone was going to like what I was about to do. This whole thing felt kind of like one of those holovids of an accident, where you know what’s coming and don’t want to keep going, but for some reason you just can’t seem to stop and pull yourself away.

“Computer, show video: Hiroshima”

A screen appeared in the air above my datapad. It started playing back an old, grainy video. Shaky, taken by hand in an aircraft in a firefight. Below, you can barely see a city being blotted out by a massive explosion. A cloud of smoke, fire and debris was rapidly climbing into the sky, billowing, growing, blooming into an eerie and easily recognized mushroom cloud.

“That’s…you’re using weapons of that scale on a population center? How recent was this?”

I shrugged, and closed the video. The screen on my datapad went back to the document I had up earlier. Gotta love how well they managed to predict this whole thing. I made a mental note to recommend a raise for whoever set up that document for me.

“Three centuries ago. Prior to our invention of spaceflight. Part of a much larger conflict. This is a relatively minor example of “overwhelming force”“

“ERROR: NO A-”

“Shut it. Computer, show infosheet: Battle of Stalingrad.”

A series of graphs and diagrams appeared above my datapad. They showed resources, time, maps, battle plans, and death tolls. Images were interspersed throughout, as were annotations on the tactical value of this, the emotional value of that. Prominent among them was a single apartment building, including notes on sniping from the roof and support via tunnels.

“That…what purpose would that…why w-”

Again, I raised my hand to cut him off, before closing the infosheet. Maybe it was both. Nah, couldn’t be. Only way it was both having this guy on edge and our body language is if it somehow had our body language built in. Unsettling thought, but not exactly likely.

“Because Stalingrad was an advantageous location and the people who died there were considered ‘Acceptable losses’“

“ERRO-”

“Computer, show gallery: General Sherman’s March to the Sea.”

A multitude of images appeared over the datapad. Rail lines and roads intentionally broken and destroyed. Farms and fields scoured clean and left to fallow. Buildings and towns razed to the ground. A broken people left to mourn and starve.

“So much waste…that can’t be intentional, can it?”

I glanced at the images, the wanton destruction that campaign caused, and the very orders that caused it. That kind of thing may be considered morally reprehensible now, even a war crime, but it wasn’t always. At the time, the strategy was extolled as one of the reasons the war ended the way it did.

“It was intentional.”

The alien stared at me, its reflective black eyes bigger than I’d ever seen them before. Creepy as all hell, that’s for sure. I’d rather not deal with these kinds of meetings in the future. Maybe after this I could negotiate for some kind of retirement.

“But…why?”

I tapped my datapad and closed the gallery, then leaned back and tossed my feet on the table. May as well relax, I already knew how this was going to end.

“Because it rendered the enemy unable to use resources Sherman couldn’t keep. Computer, assemble and show video grouping: RTS Games”

A large grid of videos came up, showing a huge range of scenes. Largely battle, the settings varied from open space to deep ocean, from early history to the far “future.” Even battles across space and time could be seen.

“The translator can’t have gotten that right. Those are military tactical simulations. Higher level than anything I’ve ever seen or heard of.”

I laughed as I closed out all of the videos and turned back to the alien. Creepy and unsettling as it might be, I’m pretty sure I was terrifying the poor thing. Not that I really felt sorry for it. Not at all.

“No. They aren’t. Those are games. Toys. For. Fun. And they’re a couple hundred years out of date. From what I’ve seen, nearly every human capable of coherent speech is capable of tactically overwhelming your Federation. And since we’re already here, in space, it’s too late for you to say no. So, I’ll ask again:

What do you have to offer us?”

[newquintonrp]

annabel lee nash || ariana grande || female || december 4th,1996 || escort || the royal oaks || the addict

❝ In a pipe she flies to the Motherland and sells love to another man ❞

HISTORY.

TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, drug abuse, prostitution

Named after one of the greatest love poems in history to commemorate her parents love for each other and their precious daughter, Annabel grew up knowing everything but love. The Nash family was nothing more than a troupe of actors putting on a show for their hometown. On the surface they were the perfect American family; class, wealth, and enough love to go around for everyone. But behind closed doors the family was anything but classy and loving. Annabel grew up almost never seeing her parents except for when they had work events or town events and needed to show off for everyone. Sean and Claudia were set on becoming world famous doctors before their little girl came into the picture, and of course, that ruined both of their dreams. That didn’t stop them from spending every waking moment from the time she was born working though. Annabel knew she wasn’t in the plan. She knew she was supposed to be the son Sean always wanted and she knew her mother never wanted her at all. Not only had they told her multiple times since she was old enough to understand but their actions only echoed their harsh words. Annabel spent the majority of her time alone or with nannies who could barely speak English. In the rare occasion that both of her parents were home at the same time, it was like world war 3 for the girl. The constant fighting had become so common for her that nothing she did could drown out the sound of her mother shrill voice that often sent chills down her spine. She’d lock herself in her room and blast music to attempt to drown the sounds out but not even that worked.

Growing up unwanted and unloved left Annabel confused and vulnerable as a young teen. She began looking for love in all the wrong places, usually starting with some older boys bed. Not only was she looking for love by doing this but she was always trying to get the attention of her parents by acting out and committing one of the worst sins in Christianity. But not even running around with older boys all hours of the night granted her an ounce of attention. Eventually she gave up chasing her parents attention and just focused on finding someone who would care about her. And she found that in Dean Grace, her ex-best friends boyfriend. He was charismatic, understanding, above all else, loving. It didn’t take long for Annabel to fall head over heels for the boy and eventually betray her closest friend in the worst way imaginable. Naturally her whole life came crashing down on her. She was suddenly the villain of New Quinton. Everyone hated her for what she’d done to Addision, the most innocent girl in town. It didn’t matter that Dean was the one who cheated, he was forgiven by the town and all assumed that Annabel had seduced him because of her reputation around town but that couldn’t have been further from the truth and because Dean never said otherwise, no one believed her when she tried telling her side. As a result, Annabel was left alone with Dean and no one else which was great for her at first. Finally, after years of loneliness and never knowing love, she had that and she wasn’t going to let go of that for anything. But of course, like everything else in Annabel’s life, nothing good lasts for too long. The boy left her to go back to Addision and Annabel was left destroyed. Her entire world came crashing down on her. What had she done so wrong to chase the one person who loved her back into the arms of someone else? What was so bad about Annabel Nash that just made her so unlovable, so undesirable? She was a girl who had too much love in her heart and no one to share it with and it was killing her from the inside out.

Self-destruction became Annabel’s way of life after the break up. Sure, she always had destructive tendencies but now she was out of control with little to no regards for herself.  She dropped out of high school, locked herself away in her apartment, and began using drugs. Since the age of 11 Annabel had been drinking but by the age of 16 she was a full blown alcoholic. She loved the way it made her feel warm, safe, and loved. It was a security blanket of sorts but now not even that was doing the trick for her anymore. At a college party, Annabel was introduced to a man named Francois. He was dreamy and Annabel fell for him instantly. He was a rich socialite from Italy who was able to show her all the finer things in life and before long Annabel was under his full control. It turned out that he actually worked for an Italian gang and was scanning campuses for young girls. He pumped her full of drugs like heroin and before she knew it, Annabel was a full on addict working as a high end escort for entertainers, political officials, and the likes. But even then she still hadn’t hit her rock bottom. It wasn’t until her Grandpa, perhaps the only person to show her any real love, passed that Annabel really lost herself completely. To deal with the grief, Annabel kept her thoughts pushed down with drugs, alcohol, and sex. The constant partying only worked for so long before she decided she couldn’t take it anymore and attempted to take her life. She thought that death had to be better than the life she was give, even if that meant she’d go to hell. She just wanted out, after 19 years of emotional and physical abuse and neglect Annabel just couldn’t deal with losing her Grandfather. Thanks to Marcy, Annabel was saved against her own wishes.

Life after her attempt never got any better and a huge part of her is still mad at Marcy for calling 9-1-1. It wasn’t until her attempt that suddenly everyone cared about her but she was used to being everyone’s favorite punching back that she kept everyone at an arms length and called them out for being fake. No one cared before, why would the care now? It wasn’t long before she was back to her old habits and the more people tried to intervene, the nastier and more malicious towards them she began. Now, at 21 years old, Annabel still hasn’t gotten to her life together, doesn’t have a job, and only has a few friends but at the very least she’s sober and no longer an escort… Or so she tells everyone.

PERSONALITY.

+ Loyal, Creative, Independent

- Narcissistic, Jealous, Malicious  

Annabel’s personality goes for 0 to 100 and nothing in between. You get 100% of her emotions all the time. While she can be the most conniving, backstabbing person in town there is a side to Annabel most people don’t get the chance to see out of fear of being abandoned again. She  can be the most down to earth, loyal friend you’ve ever had but if you do her wrong or upset her she can turn on you just as easily and make your life a living hell in the blink of an eye.

SECRET.

While Annabel leads a pretty secretive life, or tries too, there are some things she’s kept so hidden in the depths of her memory that even she has begun to forget that it happened. When she was at her absolute worse, Annabel was meeting with clients and not using protection. As a result she became pregnant with one of New Quinton’s city council members bastard child at just 19 years old. Naturally, to keep his mistress a secret and keep his perfect image he tried to convince the young girl to get an abortion. Between the fear of being a horrible parent to the child and the constant arguing about the abortion, Annabel was using more than ever during the first three months of her pregnancy which ultimately lead to her losing the baby. It hit the girl harder than anything else in her life and began a downward spiral. For a year and a half, Annabel was using almost four grams of heroin a day just to cope with her loss. Not being able to watch her best friend kill herself, Marcy helped Annabel get into rehab and finally get sober after 10 years of substance abuse. Of course this didn’t last long. When she got out she was approached by Francois and was immediately back to work and using to numb herself to get through it. Being in rehab, Annabel learned new ways to use that most people don’t notice and she’s been secretly using and escorting every day for the last 6 months.

[gothronic]

Tarotscopes 12/25---12/31

Aries: Five of Pentacles

The five of pentacles is never necessarily an easy card to absorb. It represents loss, radical shifts in your current stability, feeling like the outcast in your own family/friend group. However, a lot of the time, the five of pentacles can reveal a fear of loss rather than actual loss. You begin to be overwhelmed with feelings of isolation---so much so that it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy and you begin to isolate yourself from those that truly to dare and want to be around you. However, it’s important to take note that there are those around you who have been in your position before, and they’re more than willing to work together with you and help you figure things out. The challenge here is to fight through those feelings of fear and isolation to try and get the stability back. Much like the tower card, it’s important to remember that destruction is a form of creation, and something better can rise from the ashes...so long as you make it so.

Taurus: The Hanged Man

Stasis. You’re probably feeling stuck right now, that nothing is moving forward (or at least not as fast as you would like it to) Right now is not the time to make any important decisions. If you fight this period, it will only make things harder on you. Conserve your energy and only react to the actions of others. Everything will evolve at it’s own pace, use this period to work on your perspective...who knows, maybe you need a change in your own perspective to move forward.

Gemini: Seven of Pentacles

Similar to the hanged man, the seven of pentacles shows a need for patience. However, unlike the hanged man, you need to work at progressing. The work and time you invest in your projects now will bring great rewards--so long as you stay dedicated and patient. Don’t give up, it’s gonna pay off in the end.

Cancer: Ten of Swords

Defeat. You’re fighting a battle that’s already been lost and to continue is going to lead you to a breakdown. This is rock bottom. You need to remove yourself from that which is no longer working, and learn from it. The good thing about rock bottom is that the only way from here is up. This will release you and bring new possibilities your way. Friendships may end, you may switch jobs, but it’s for the better.

Leo: Nine of Swords

Anxiety. The nine of swords is heavily associated with mental illness. Dealing with high levels of anxiety and insomnia are normal when the nine is drawn. This could be caused by someone triggering you, or just simply being overwhelmed. Your worry and overthinking has built up and now you’re suffering because of it. This is temporary, but the sooner you can catch your breath and accurately perceive the situation, the sooner you’ll be able to free yourself from this dark period.

Virgo: Seven of Swords

Keep your eyes open. The seven of swords represents the theft of concepts and ideas. Someone around you is trying to steal from you (metaphorically or literally) or manipulate you for their own means. Generally, the seven of swords says it’s not time to let others know what you’re working on yet...but it can also represent you manipulating/stealing from others, thought you might not even realize the extent to which you do this. It’s time to be aware of yourself and others.

Libra: Eight of Cups

Know when to walk away. Right now you’re experiencing a period of restlessness, of being in between. On the surface, things might seem okay—but something just feels off. It’s time to make some changes. Whether that means changes jobs, moving homes, moving geographically, changing religions, ending relationships, or even ending business agreements; it’s abundantly clear that it’s time to walk away from what’s no longer working for you and once again begin the journey to find your place. Take your time figuring things out and making your decision—much like the seven of cups—and when the time is right, making that change won’t be as difficult as it once seemed.

Scorpio: Student (page) of Pentacles

This is a time to nurture your abilities. In realms of finance and education and travel there should be good news. An opportunity may come your way to manage a project or a group of people, and maybe even a job offer, take it! Just make sure that you pay attention to details and double check all arrangements and agreements before signing.

Sagittarius: Father (king) of Pentacles

The king usually shows up to let you know all your hard work is about to pay off. You’ve reached the final stages of your task and you can finally reap the rewards. Continue down the path you’ve made for yourself, there’s no need to try to experiment with anything new yet, you know what works for you---and it’s certainly working for you. You can find yourself enjoying time with family and friends this week, probably going to at least a few parties...try not to overdue it, but, you know your limits better than I do.

Capricorn: Lady (queen) of Swords

Be determined and stand strong. The queen is single minded, highly ambitious, she can quickly assess all aspects of a situation to get to the truth. The queen advises using logic, cool wit, and perception to deal with difficult situations. She’s come to tell you than in all your situations this week, you need to keep your cool. You must remain unbiased, and react logically, allowing your emotions and perceptions to rule you this week will only distract you and hold you back from getting done what needs to be done. Consider the way you communicate as well, is it clear? Are you good at expressing your thoughts and ideas? Work on it.

Aquarius: Princess (page) of Cups

The princess of cups brings good news in all areas of your life (especially love and creativity), and heralds the beginning of new projects and opportunities to improve your life. Much like the aces; the princess, the student, the initiate, and the artist, represent beginnings. She’s full of immense potential and implores you to express your creativity, your feelings, and to explore their depths. If you’re already working on something, the princess tells you that you need to add your own artistic flair and imagination to all current projects; there’s a need for more creativity, not logic. This applies to situations as well. It’s time to explore the depths of possibility.

Pisces: The High Priestess

The High Priestess represents that voice inside of all of us that calls us to heed our intuition, to follow gut feelings, read the signs, and pay attention to our dreams. Your experiencing changes in your life, and that’s okay. Right now your life there are probably a few situations you’ve been trying to balance out, or to fix through logical pathways, but you keep hitting a wall. The solution isn’t through logic, but intuition. If you’re currently working on something, it’s not time to tell others, you need to nurture it in silence. 

[pucketknife-blog]

HOME IS WHERE THE TRUCK IS~ self para [PG-13]

↪ TAGGING: Noah Puckerman ( @pucketknife); ↪ LOCATION/TIME: The road, NYADA Campus, Apeliotes #101; January 12th, 13th and 14th, 2018; Friday, Saturday and Sunday night; ↪ SYNOPSIS: It’s a long trip from Oregon to New York. ↪ WARNINGS: PG-13 to be safe? Foul language and implied sex, implied nudity in shower scene? also cw: pee mentions? lol i suck at warnings

He drives almost nonstop from Oregon to New York, he’s always preferred the soft purring of his truck to the way the portals make his stomach turn, even if it takes a hundred times longer to get from point A to point B. He’s not in a rush —even if his uncle gave him a time limit— and he’s never been afraid of the solitude of the road. He keeps the radio up and the windows down, the cold winter air hitting his face as he sings along. When no one’s watching, sometimes he puts his mask to the side. It feels… liberating. It makes him feel normal.

At least as normal as someone like him can feel, with a forty-hour drive ahead.

He should’ve driven back sooner, but he felt needed in the SGA’s headquarters more than he’d ever be in NYADA —every Slayer was in the aftermath of New Years Eve, when the copper door opened and the black void sucked as many magical items as it could, broke through walls and cells to get to the few Lusus that were being held there before they were taken to the committee just the morning after the party, many lives and good soldiers that were either too brave or stupid enough to try and do something about it, or simply in the way.

Destruction and panic everywhere he looked. Even his uncle had been taken by surprise and didn’t know what to do. If his cousin hadn’t grabbed him, he would’ve jumped in, too.

Just as fast as it had appeared, the copper door vanished before their eyes, leaving nothing but chaos behind it, people hurt, people screaming for their friends and family, people flabbergasted by the mysterious door.

Yet, it wasn’t new for him. He knew doors like that. They were nothing but really bad news.

Still, he was not about to talk about what he couldn’t explain —Saltus Forest was so far away, and he doubted the Slayers would found themselves there, nor they would have to face the same monster Puck and his classmates did back then. At least if they did, he knew they would be able to fight it. Whatever they found, wherever they found themselves, they would be able to fight it.

So he waited. They all did. They waited for three days, but they didn’t make any contact. Five. Teams of explorers were sent out to search for the missing Slayers. A week. The best trackers got to work, searching every inch of the earth with every known spell, searching their auras, their magic circles, any sign of life. By the tenth day without a clue of the missing Slayers, he knew the door hadn’t been as kind to them as it had been to him. These soldiers, they weren’t coming back.

They gave up. 

The council called a meeting to make the arrangements, wanting to honor the families of the lost Slayers, trying to find a way to make it less painful, but there wasn’t really a way. It was the biggest ceremony they'd ever had: a pyre for every missing Slayer, one bonfire to honor them all, offerings to the Elders and the Aether to bring their loved ones back and prayers sent to them so they can find their way home.

They didn't get any kind of response. Puck thought it just felt like a funeral without bodies to cremate. He’d never felt so angry. So helpless. So damn useless. He left almost as soon as it started

After the vigil, it came down to putting the Headquarters back together. Every person, every available warrior trying to help clean up, building new walls, reinforcing them with spell after spell, convincing themselves that these would keep whatever that door was out of their home, but it was getting harder for Puck to believe they were safe anymore.

The Slayers weren’t coming back. But the doors were. Eventually.

He picks up a hitchhiker in Wyoming. He does that sometimes; when he's in a good mood; when he doesn’t mind the company and the pointless chats; when he doesn't feel like thinking about his life; when he doesn't want to hear his own thoughts. Single-serving friends, the Narrator in his favorite book called them. A one-time only exception. The amulet that hangs from his rear-view mirror tells him there’s not traces of magic in him, that he’s just a Common. It’s better that way.

His name is Larry, and he smells like sweat, mud, pot and patchouli. He says he's on his way back from backpacking around the Rocky Mountains. "Have you ever been to Mount Rushmore? It's my next stop, dude. I'm plannin' on finding a way to climb that shit and draw mustaches on all the presidents," he giggles with pride, and Puck doesn't hide his smirk as he rolls his eyes. Larry tells him about his adventures, how he'd left California a year ago and was now working on-line jobs to finance his 'mad lifestyle'. Larry is, among other things, a freelance photographer, and Puck wonders what would it be like to live life in that state of cluelessness, not being aware of the beasts and monsters that hide in the dark, unaware of doors who sought those monsters down and didn't mind stealing soldiers to get to what they wanted.

Larry talks a lot, but Puck only half listens as he tries to imagine what life would be like without his family and the Guild.

It makes him feel guilty.

He drops him off in Ogallala, Nebraska. He needs to go north, and Puck has long hours ahead of driving east. "T'was nice meetin' ya, dude," Larry smiles shaking his hand, and offers a card with his name and website on it "Just in case you ever need anything." Puck smirks and puts it in the glove compartment, where he saves a plethora of little memoirs of the people he picks up on the road. They're worth nothing, but, somehow, they're important for Puck.

He finally stops at a diner in Walcott, Iowa, when he runs out of redbulls and feels his eyelids too heavy to risk another hour on the road without a nap. The Iowa 80 Kitchen seems to be a very well known place, and the blonde who pours his coffee smiles at him as she gives him the menu and bats her eyes. Her hair is up to her shoulders, eyes blue and rosy cheeks, her apron a light yellow color. 

It’s almost like it was on purpose. 

He can’t help but think of her.

He orders waffles and fried chicken, pulling his phone out as she walks away and smirking as she glances back at him. But his smile falters as he opens the messages again, resting his elbow on the table and his forehead on his hand as he passes through the pictures.

“I miss you”, she had written. It had made him smile; but it didn’t make it stop hurting. She was with Clarington now, he knew that much; but he knew she wasn’t happy —if she was, she wouldn’t ‘ve written. Not to him. Not like she did. 

Quinn’s smile haunted him; the smell of her perfume; the softness of her hand as it fit into his with ease; the way she looked at him, inviting yet keeping him at a safe distance. He had tried to push her off his mind over and over again, but it was a lost battle. There was no spell that could make him forget her. And, even in there was, he wouldn’t even dare trying it.

At least like that, he got to keep the memory of that August night.

When the waitress comes back with his plate, she lingers near his booth as she talks about the story of the place, how they get people coming and going all the time, and very little regulars. “It’s not every day we get a handsome customer like you,” she flirts shamelessly as she flashes him a beautiful smile, and he notices she has one of those teeth piercings as the light catches on the pink rock. “I’m Cassie, by the way,” she adds biting down on her bottom lip. “If you need a place to stay the night, I live just a few blocks away and get off in only half an hour...”

He leaves Cassie’s house before dawn, before she wakes up. He leaves a note for her, though. ‘Gotta get back on the road. Thanks for a great night and your hospitality.’ He doesn’t sign his name. He doesn’t remember telling her, and it’s too late now. He hops on his truck and keeps driving to the next gas station, fills up the tank and buys another six pack of redbulls, water, a sandwich and some snacks. The clerk at the station seems surprised as he bills him for the gas, insists on double checking, but Puck can’t tell him his tank can hold three times as much as a normal one thanks to the magic alterations he’s made on it, and gives him the money with a smile before he can ask too many questions.

Then, it’s back to his truck and him. Back to the road. Back to ‘his destiny’.

What a load of bullshit.

He doesn’t make any other stops, except when he needs to take a piss —there’s a certain satisfaction pissing at the edge of the road gives him he’s never gonna be able to explain: it reminds him of his father; it’s a weird family tradition. The music keeps his mind occupied as he takes in the road, arm resting on the window’s sitting strip, hand open and surfing the wind. 

He smiles to himself. This is definitely the best part of the job.

It’s way past midnight when he finally enters New York City, lights and noises invade his truck, the only sanctuary he’s ever had, and bring him back to reality: even if he loves the road, there’s things he has to do, tasks and duties only he can fulfill. 

Or that’s what they tell him. That’s what he repeats to himself over and over until he’s convinced of it.

He leaves the truck at its usual spot, in a parking lot that Commons never see just a few blocks away from the school’s main doors. The raindrops hit his leather jacket, but the spell he’s put on it doesn’t let the cold seep down through, and the fake fur inside it keeps him warm. He keeps his hands deep into his pockets as he stares at the sign of NYADA’s entrance, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he finds himself standing there once more, unsure and unsatisfied with the prospect of his future.

He could turn around. He could go back to his truck and take a new contract, settle for being just as mediocre as many others in the Guild. Live the rest of his life like his father did, from kill to kill, from this route to that one, picking up his offspring every once in a while and training them to be the future he didn’t want to be. 

He could forget about NYADA, turn his back on it and never look back.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

He bites his lip and rearranges the backpack strap on his shoulder, walking past the threshold and entering the school grounds, his steps splashing mud on the hem of his jeans as he makes his way to his dorm. He climbs the stairs two by two and opens the door carefully, not wanting to wake up Finn, not wanting to be noticed. He makes his way to his bed and puts his bag down, but he finds a collection of packages and gift bags on top of it he assumes his roommate has kindly placed there for him to notice on his return back from break. However, the mere sight of them makes him frown and let out a small groan he soon suppresses as he hears Finn snore. 

Why wouldn’t people just ignore him, like he had been doing with them all? Hadn’t he made it clear enough last semester he didn’t need any friends or acquaintances? He made a mental note to be even grumpier the following months; maybe that would make them understand he didn’t need their charity.

“Screw this,” he whispers wanting to throw the gifts off his bed, but he ends up putting them in the floor carefully and shoving them under his bed. ‘Not now,’ he thinks and sighs loudly before he takes a towel off his backpack and marches to the bathroom. His watch marks half past one as he puts it down on the sink before he hops into the shower. 

Was she back on Campus, too? If he knocked on her door, would she answer? Let him in? Forgive his silence and let him —let the both of them— go back in time, to August? Could they pretend what they did was something that didn’t affect either of their lives? Did she still miss him?

He presses his forehead to the tiled wall as the hot water runs down his back, relaxing his tired muscles. He cracks his back and neck as he washes the last traces off his trip off his skin, the smell of dust, sweat and gunpowder. 

His fist hit the wall and he sighs again. 

Tomorrow was a new day. The only thing that stayed the same was this school-shaped jail.

[pardontheglueman]

Yanis Varoufakis: Adults in the Room

Jeremy Corbyn’s radical transformation of a neo-liberal Labour Party, which had hit rock bottom when endorsing the Cameron government’s 2015 Welfare Reform Bill into a progressive, re-energised anti-austerity movement, has allowed Labour to speak about the mass slaughter of council tenants in the Grenfell Tower fire, a tragedy brought about by a savage Conservative cost-cutting agenda, with something approaching moral clarity. David Lammy, the Labour MP for Tottenham who lost a close friend in the fire, spoke for many when he declared ‘If burning in your own home isn’t political, I don’t know what is. It’s a scandal and a crime. Behind all of this, is money and profit. When you go down to West London and look at that building, it’s like looking at a vision of hell. It’s a vision of a burnt out shell and that burnt out shell is where we have got to in terms of austerity in this country’.

It will come as no surprise to the Tory architects of austerity that poor people end up dying as a direct result of their flagship policy. A report into the Department of Work and Pensions’ policy of sanctioning claimants in Salford carried out by The Salford Partnership concluded that ‘strict benefit conditionality, the threat and use of benefit sanctions, causes damage to the wellbeing of vulnerable claimants and can lead to hunger, debt, destitution, self-harm, and suicide’. The DWP response, aided by a compliant media, was to suppress 49 secret reports into claimant deaths for as long as possible (it took more than two years to obtain the reports under the Freedom of Information Act). Furthermore, the DWP’s notorious, target-driven fitness for work tests, administered by private contractors ATOS have regularly declared terminally ill people fit and able to work. A report, in July 2012, entitled Incapacity Benefits: Deaths of Recipients revealed that between 2010 and 2011 a shocking 10,600 people had died while undergoing the DWP assessment process.

The mass panic sweeping over a Tory party which, until now, has been decidedly relaxed about just how many poor people their economic and social policies are killing, is simply because the massacre of men, women, and children at Grenfell Tower has happened right in front of the T.V cameras. This time there are witnesses and plenty of them! We’ve all seen the horror with our own eyes. The Tories won’t be able to commission a report into Grenfell and then steadfastly refuse to release it; no longer will Boris Johnson be able to tell a Labour opponent who dared to question his plans for fire service cuts in London to “get stuffed”; no longer will the Daily Mail be able to wheel out dismal lackeys like Toby Young to pour scorn all over anyone demanding an end to grotesque levels of inequality in Britain. His puerile, poisonous piece attacking Ken Loach's I, Daniel Blake was a new low for our rabid tabloid press.

The great Tory austerity swindle is over; Grenfell Tower is a tipping point, the neo-liberal free-for-all that began under Margaret Thatcher and continued unabated through the Tony Blair / Gordon Brown years, incredibly gaining momentum after the de-regulated banks crashed the world economy in an orgy of greed and criminality is surely over now. Nearly forty years on from the rise to power of Thatcher, a reborn labour movement stands on the verge of power, armed with a moral and political mandate to rebuild the welfare state, redistribute wealth in favour of working people and to smash the phony policy of austerity once and for all!  

Set against this turbulent background, Yanis Varoufakis’ Adults in the Room, (a fascinating fly-on-the-wall account of how the Syriza Government of 2015 led the left’s fight against a European Union intent on enforcing a psychotic programme of perpetual austerity), proves to be a timely and instructive read. Varoufakis was teaching economics at the Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas when Prime Minister in waiting Alexis Tsipras offered him the high profile post of Finance Minister in the event that the radical coalition of Syriza triumphed in the forthcoming election (Varoufakis had been acting as the party’s unofficial advisor since 2013 and his outspoken opposition to destructive European Union bailouts was beginning to win support for a defiant, unorthodox alternative to austerity).

As whistleblowers go, Varoufakis is surprisingly measured and composed, telling his tale with refreshing good grace, and with a rare capacity to identify and acknowledge his own mistakes. Nevertheless, any 550-page account by a serious economist intent on detailing the considerably thorny subject of his country’s malicious bankruptcy can’t help but get itself enmeshed in a thicket of statistics every once in a while. Some of these bear repeating: unemployment soared from 7% to 27%; national income fell by 28%; healthcare expenditure was cut by 11.1% between 2009 and 2011, while 36% of the population currently lives at risk of poverty and social exclusion.  

Varoufakis, however, guides us ably through the minefield of facts and figures with the same relaxed charm and sense of humour that he displays while reviewing the papers on the Marr Show or on his annual pilgrimage to the Hay Festival (standing ovation guaranteed), and this makes for an engaging and easy read despite the intricacy of the subject matter. The following, somewhat lengthy extract, proves the point -

‘The German finance minister Wolfgang Schauble once told me that my opposition to austerity placed me in a minority of Europeans, citing opinion polls showing support for government expenditure cuts. I replied that, even if that were true, a majority can be wrong about the cause of their malaise. During the Black Death of the fourteenth century, I reminded him, most Europeans believed the plague was caused by sinful living and could be exorcised by bloodletting and self-flagellation. And when bloodletting and self-flagellation did not work, this was taken as evidence that people’s repentance was not sincere enough, that not enough blood had been let, that the flagellation was insufficiently enthusiastic - exactly as now when austerity’s abysmal failure is cited as proof that it has been applied too half-heartedly. If he was amused, Wolfgang did not show it’.

At the heart of his intriguing book, is Varoufakis’ head-on confrontation with the troika: the European Commission; the European Central Bank and the International Monetary Fund, all of whom emerge as essentially duplicitous and anti-democratic institutions in their dealings with the Greek government. Time and again the troikas’ apparatchiks doctored agreed communications or withdrew concessions they had made 24 hours earlier while French ministers routinely engaged in doublespeak, supporting Greece in private only to cow-tow to Germany at Eurogroup meetings. Varoufakis often conceded ground, offering his opponents ingenious and imaginative solutions to a crisis that threatened to tear Europe apart. The troika was never interested, not for a moment. Austerity was the only (crooked) game in town!  Few people emerge from the book with any credit - in Washington, Bernie Sanders tried in vain to pressurise the IMF and, surprisingly perhaps, Emmanuel Macron, then the French economy minister attempted to convince President Hollande to back a more ‘sustainable solution’ to the crisis. Macron even visited Varoufakis after he’d been deposed in order to clarify his support for the beleaguered ex-minister.  

Of more interest, perhaps, to British readers post-Brexit and in light of our forthcoming detachment from Europe’s power brokers, is the other relationship at the heart of the book. From the moment that Varoufakis accepted the toxic post of finance minister, he doubted that Tsipras and his ragbag ‘war cabinet’, suspiciously stuffed with bankers chums, would have the resolve to take on the troika in a fight to the death. Time and again he counseled his wavering colleagues that they could not bluff their way out of economic collapse; they had to commit to a negotiating strategy that sought to convince Angela Merkel and co that Syriza would opt for Grexit rather than accept roll-over bailouts that only served to escalate debt and poverty to stratospheric levels. Only then, argued Varoufakis, would the troika, recoiling from a policy that might lead to the disintegration of their beloved European project, abandon its fateful obsession with austerity and finally agree to meaningful talks on restructuring the massive Greek debt.that austerity had brought crashing down on the poorest members of society.

Yanis and Alexis: Bromance followed by betrayal

The betrayal, when it came, was swift, stunning and incredibly bizarre. Having called for and won a referendum to reaffirm their anti-austerity mandate (an inspirational 61.3% voted in favour of continuing to resist a merciless troika), it gradually dawned on Varoufakis that he was almost the only minister at Maximos Mansions, the Greek prime minister’s official residence, in a celebratory mood. Tsipras and his cabinet, openly despondent at having won the vote, were behaving as if they had been heavily defeated. Even as the results were being announced, Tsipras was firing Varoufakis as finance minister (offering him a token post at the department of culture as a consolation), thereby signaling an irreversible surrender to the troika and an acceptance of punishing austerity*. Returning home, Varoufakis could only tell his partner Danae ‘Tonight we had the curious phenomenon of a government overthrowing its people’.

It’s to Varoufakis’ credit, then, that the book closes with a moving and objective analysis of a leader who betrayed the cause that they had both fought for,

‘Friends and critics criticise me for having seen things in Alexis that were not there. I think they are wrong. His desire to liberate Greece from its vicious cycle was there. His intelligence and capacity to learn quickly were self-evident. His enthusiasm for the deterrent I had proposed and the debt relief I was prioritizing was real. The reason that I had seen all these things in him was that they were there. When he instructed me, on our first day in office, to hand over the keys to our offices to the opposition rather than capitulate, he was not lying. The part of him telling me that was speaking the truth. This is why I was brought to tears by his words. This is why I believed him’.

* On the 15th of June 2017, the latest Greek bailout was agreed to the tune of 8.5 billion Euros. Once again, there was no agreement to cancel Greek debt.

Below is an extract from Yanis Varoufakis’ analysis of the deal

In short, poor pensioners will annually forfeit one of their twelve-monthly pension payments, as a result of a reduction in the threshold above which income tax is withheld. For a country where one in two families have no one working in it, and thus have to survive on some small pension that a grandparent collects, this is a socially devastating cut. Moreover, it will also lead to further small business failures (due to the large multiplier effect of reducing a small pension: when poor families reduce their spending in local shops already on the brink, many of these will go under), the result being more people on the scrapheap of unemployment and fewer contributors to the stressed pension funds.

His article can be read in full here

https://www.yanisvaroufakis.eu/2017/06/16/the-annotated-15th-june-2017-eurogroup-statement-on-greece/

Further reading on the statistics quoted above

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2016/may/13/suicides-of-benefit-claimants-reveal-dwp-flaws-says-inquiry

http://www.partnersinsalford.org/documents/DWP_Benefit_Conditionality_and_Sanctions_in_Salford_-

https://www.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/223050/incap_decd_recips_0712.pdf

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