#diabolical writing someone take my pen

[luvvsoft]

can u make fanfic based off of mats curl up & die🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

pairing: kamisato ayato x reader

contains: angst, past relationships, forbidden love, cheating, arranged marriage

word count: 1.8k

There was a time you'd worship the ground Ayato walked on. Times that were simpler than now: times where you and Ayato were in love. That was long gone now, leaving only an empty space in your soul that wished for the love of your life back.

You met Ayato as a kid. Your parents were simple retainers of the Kamisato family. They were always working, yet they made time for you — their only child. They took you to work, hoping you would follow in their footsteps as it seemed as the best option for you. There you saw a young Ayato.

“Don’t stray too far from me lest you make a mess!” Your mother shouted after you.

You heard her, but your mind didn’t register what she said, instead focused on playing. That seemed to be the greatest mistake you’d ever make. Though, at the moment, it felt like the best.

“Look at how high my kite can go, mom!” You said while running and feeling the wind.

“It’s so fun, thank— ugh” You stopped abruptly, feeling another body collide with your own, and there after falling to the ground.

Your mom caught up with you, taking a moment to sigh at your antics, “I told you not to be careless, now you’ve gone and bumped into another. Apologize.”

Your mother heard no more from you— only silence. Looking below you, she saw Ayato.

You watched as her expression morphed into horror and she began spewing apologies while helping you up, “Lord Kamisato, please forgive us. We meant no harm.”

She forced you to bow and set your eyes on the ground, but you peeked— watching as Ayato stood and whispered out a soft “it’s alright” before leaving.

It’s safe to say you got scolded that night, but it was a core memory for you. You experienced the childhood a child should, not weighed down by the expectations of others or clan obligations, something you couldn’t say for Ayato. You thought of him regularly, wishing to get closer to someone your age in a world where all you had were grownups. You wish you could go back in time to change that.

You wish you never gathered the courage to go up to Ayato that fateful day. You wish you stayed where you were, 14 and weighed down by the exceeding expectations of your parents.

Yet another party, you dreaded these. They were only a waste of food and space, a place for rich people to do rich people things as your mom caught you saying multiple times and proceeded to scold you.

You had nothing to do during these times, but stand around and help anyone who asked, but you made sure your face guaranteed no one would. Even if you weren’t doing anything, you got hungry— your stomach begging you for some food you turned down earlier that day, too busy cleaning.

“Hm, I don’t think anyone will notice if a fruit or two go missing,” you whispered under your breath while heading towards the kitchen, determined to stuff your face with more than a fruit or two.

The kitchen wasn’t too far from where you were standing like a statue. You entered it and immediately, your nose was in scent heaven. Everything smelled and looked so good; your mouth could just water at the sight.

You wasted no time and grabbed a plate, grabbing anything you saw and digging in. As you were stuffing your face like a starved pig, someone walked in. That someone being Ayato, catching you eating when you should be working.

Yeah, you were getting fired.

“Who are you?” Ayato said calmly, watching as you quickly swallowed your food and tried to speak.

You were done for, scrambling to come up with an answer while trying to not get your parents in trouble, “Uh a guest?”That totally didn’t work, you were getting kicked out.

Ayato eyed you, trying to assert if you were lying, “Guests aren’t allowed back here, come.”

You followed him, albeit ready to say goodbye to this world. You were sure he knew you were lying, and if he told your parents, you would never see daylight till you were 75.

“Where are we going?” you managed to ask while walking behind him.

“As the son of the Kamisato clan, I feel it is my responsibility to show you around since you’re a guest.”

You couldn’t believe he believed your split second lie, “Huh? Really?” You came to a closed off part of the estate, only knowing it because it was the most tedious when it came to cleaning.

“No,” Ayato said while taking out his sword, “Start talking.”

“Well, that took a turn,” was all you managed to get out before being pinned to the wall and getting his sword pointed at your neck.

Ayato gave you a look, and you took that as your cue to start talking, “Okay okay, I’m just a maid, nothing more, nothing less.”

He seemed to lower his guard for a split second, but then pressed you for more, “Go on.”

“Uh? I just work here I guess?”

You could tell he grew annoyed of you, putting his sword away and getting ready to walk away.

“Hey, wait!” You shouted at him before he left.

He turned around, cocking his eyebrow at you.

“Walk around with me.���

“Why?” he asked, once again turning around.

“Take it as an apology for bumping into you when you were younger, plus there’s no one here that’s my age.”

He did end up walking with you, even if it wasn’t for long, you still enjoyed it. It felt nice to have someone to talk to that could understand you.

You kept talking after that, meeting in the gardens while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. As you grew older, your friendship evolved. Small chats grew into late night talks, walks together turned into you holding his hand, light, fleeting touches turned into you running into his arms.

That all changed when he turned 17. His 17th birthday came around, and your world came crashing down that same day.

You were walking with him in the gardens before he had to go perform his duties. “Hey, don’t work too late today. I still want to spend time with you, after all, it’s not everyday you turn 17.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’m all yours after the evening. I only have a meeting with my father.”

“Hmph, I hope so! Your father likes to hoard you all day sometimes,” You said while pouting at him.

Ayato chuckled, taking your hand and turning you towards him, “You’re so cute you know, so charming too even with your tantrums.”

You gazed into his eyes, falling deeper into the blue abyss the longer you looked. Instead of dignifying him with an answer, you hugged him, burying your face in his chest while he pet your hair.

As you were about to finally respond, you heard your mother’s voice, “Lord Kamisato, your father calls for you.”

You separated, then hugged him again, wishing him a good day after you knew you wouldn’t see him till later tonight.

Ayato left soon after. You turned towards your mother, only to get a disapproving look and a few words.

“Prepare for tonight, dear.”

Meanwhile, Ayato finally reached his father’s study, composing himself before stepping in. He wasn’t surprised to see another person in there besides his father, but what did surprise him was that it was someone unfamiliar.

“Ayato, I want you to meet someone.”

Meet someone he did. He met his future spouse, someone of the Yashiro Commission. Of course, this came with being one of the big three names of Inazuma.

You were inconsolable after he broke the news to you, choosing to stay in your room and ignoring him. It wasn’t his fault, you knew, but what could you do? What could he do?

You were content with being Ayato’s, even if hidden from his family. Ayato was planning to tell them; he said he would, but of course, that was no match when it came to his father’s words.

You should have never been greedy. Now, he was the only one who made you want to go home and cry. He made you feel alive, now even that was ripped from you.

There was a time it was only you and him, but the morning after his birthday, he could be seen with his soon to be spouse. To be wed after his 18th birthday.

Ayato knocked on your door a few days later, hoping this would be the day you answered. Of course, he was wrong once again, you never did open. The only person you let in was your father, not even your mother.

He wished you opened, maybe he could have told you how much he still loved you and how hard he was fighting his father to be with you. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was losing the love of his life.

Maybe if he knew you saw them kissing, he would know why you never opened.

Soon enough though, trying to talk to you would become the least of his worries, as his parents had died. He was forced to mature and look after the devastated clan, even as his heart called out to you, pleading you to hold him in your comforting embrace while whispering consolations in his ear.

You blended into the background after or maybe you left. But by the time Ayato got to you, he had lost you.

He couldn’t find you anymore, and asking your parents drove him nowhere. Your mother never approved from the start, so she saw it as a good thing that you two had broken up, but your father, he knew where you were. He just refused to tell Ayato.

He had lost you, and now by his father’s dying wishes, he had to marry another that he didn’t love.

The wedding between them was extravagant, nothing falling short of the Kamisato title. Many gathered, watching as the clan leader too got married.

You, on the other hand, got notice of the wedding through your father’s letters. Even if it was a week late, it still managed to break your heart — tearing at the pieces that were holding on by a threat.

He had sent photos by your request, and you could tell they were in love, deeply. Maybe deeper than the love you shared. You were happy for him; he deserved better than a simple maid from a simple family.

You had officially lost Ayato. He was never yours to begin with, never yours to keep, only yours to love.

There was a time you’d kill for Ayato. Now, recounting those painful memories made you want to curl up and die.

[chronic-optimistt]

YOU WRITE ICEBREAKER FANFIC OMG BEST NEWS EVER!!!! also lol fo you have any other family headcannons your enjoying cureently its no big deal if you dont!

I DO!!! my user on ao3 is imdeadsirius and i’m dedicated to exclusively icebreaker fics :)) got my first little au almost finished and should be up this month! soooo excited for yall to see this one !!

Now here’s some headcanons ! I’ll share some more in the future if that’s what yall want

I’ve made a post of this before but Mickey wears a necklace with a “J” charm because he can tells everyone it stands for “James” but the real ones know it’s for “Jaysen”

Whenever Nova + Mickey don’t like someone they call them a “3-in-one” (calling them unhygienic; a user of 3-in-1 soap) ex. some asshole: “I agree with the All Lives Matter movement.” *walks away* Mickey and Nova: “what a fuckin 3-in-one”

Dorian doesn’t wet his toothbrush before brushing his teeth. he says the saliva in his mouth is enough. diabolical.

I touched on this briefly in a fic, but Cauler is a naturally good artist. He’s got doodles for days and they’re all surprisingly lovely. Sometimes he draws in the corner of the page of Mickey’s homework when he’s not looking and Mickey finds it and secretly thinks it’s so fucking cool how genuinely talented he is without even having to try

Novas a huge swiftie. Like. Huge. I mean this chick is a straight white girl with a thing for hockey boys and a canonical ao3 addiction. There’s no way around it.

^ Cauler absolutely hates Taylor Swift. Like. Rolls his eyes whenever the name is uttered. Is visibly disgusted when her music plays in a public facility. The second someone outs themself as a swiftie he’s putting at least 8 feet of space between the two of them and sanitizing his hands in fear

Mickey’s shoe size is legitimately oddly small. Like when Barbie joked that he had fetus feet he was borderline right. Bro’s a men’s 8 on a good day

Mickey falls asleep during class alllll the time but when he does in their public speaking class Celeste and Nathaniel make a game out of stuffing as many pens in the hood of his sweater as they can before he wakes up and then letting him walk around all day with pens falling out of his hood and internally confusing the fuck out of him as he wonders which of his pockets he has pens falling out of unknowingly

^ when his teammates pick up on this they start to do it during the team study sessions except instead of pens it’s like tupperware containers and tissue boxes and stress balls and instead of in his hood it’s them balancing random shit on his body so Mickey’s eventually just like got his head resting on his arm snoozin with everyone’s stuff stacked on the back of his head in a giant tower on the verge of toppling

Delilah is obsessed with asmr and it annoys the shit out of everyone because she’ll just be sitting in the corner listening to *tappy tap tap* when ppl are trying to sleep

Mickey’s mom used to tend to his hair when he was little and it now brings him so much comfort when people play with his hair. Sometimes when he’s chilling with his sisters they’ll sit behind him and take out a comb and brush it out of his face and he’s like falling asleep. The first time Cauler runs his fingers through his hair he absolutely fuckin melts. (Cauler does it a whole lot more after noticing how much he likes it.)

[pulsedmaggot]

fingered ☣

i posted just the ao3 link before, but i wanna get in the habit of putting my writing on tumblr as well. couldn't keep up with kinktober in that sense, tsk tsk tsk | ship: jim/corey | words: 1,368 | warnings & tags: the most diabolical cockblocking this side of the mississippi, oral sex but is it really, caught in the act, semi public sex, baaad flirting, note passing | summary: ozzfest '99, where corey is on vocal rest.

ao3 - for 18+ audiences only, minors dni

A bright light is being shone down Corey’s throat, the medic’s eyes trained to the flexing and pulsing of his vocal chords.

“You're good to go,” the light goes off, a hand is lightly slapped on his chest, a bottle of pills tossed into his open hand, “take these with water, and remember, no irritating your pipes off stage. That means no talking, whatsoever.”

“I can't tal-” Corey is quick to respond, fidgeting with the pill bottle in his hand, shushed by the medic with a finger wagging back and forth.

“You can talk, or you can sing. Can't do both, my friend.” the medic does look sympathetic, but Corey wishes he wasn't being so rational about this. The fuck did he mean he couldn't talk? Is he supposed to pick up sign language on his first Ozzfest? This is bullshit of the highest grade, as far as he's concerned.

“I suggest,” the medic interrupts whatever complaint’s sure to come out of Corey’s mouth when it opens, guiding him off the patient bed and out of his tent, “you bring a notepad, pen, anything you need to communicate. If you're good with the Osbournes, Sharon’ll take care of everything.”

“Are you su-” that same finger comes up, and Corey shuts his mouth with a disgruntled noise, the medic now glowering over a tucked chin.

“No talking.”

-

Corey abided by the medic’s orders, toting a notepad around whenever he wasn't on stage. The rest of the band were eager to ridicule him any chance they got, asking him follow-up questions in the middle of him writing responses, purposefully misreading his scrawl just to see what he'd do. The medic became known for following him around every other day, and the raising of his finger now an inside joke for everyone in their circle. Corey starts to talk again? Finger. Corey starts Tasmanian devil-style grumbling in frustration to everyone’s teasing? Finger, and a threat to bring the medic back out to scold him.

At least the medication did its job. With each day, his voice was a strained note closer to giving out again, and while the pills had to combat the bottles of Jack Daniel's shared between the nine and the stray cigarettes Paul would sneak him in between sets, they allowed him to bring the sickness wherever they went. Day after day, bus stop after bus stop, the Ozzfest haze of blaring suns and scrambling maggots never got in the way.

The true test lied not in his performance ability, but his urges. Those deep, unsatiated stomach coilings that could only, truly be expressed through suggestive shouts or sultry toned questions. No one wants to fuck the mute boy, and it'd be fine if Corey didn't want to immediately fuck the moment he laid his eyes on a salty morsel. There was always jerking off, but his time alone grew narrower as the tour went on. The nine bumped into each other every day, even when they weren't seeking each other out. Not a second went by that he wasn't being interrupted, walked in on, or dragged from one place to another with his notepad barely staying in his pocket. The prime hour for a quick whacking rarely ever came to light, and his resources were getting slimmer the longer it took his voice to heal.

He decided he’d have to branch out, find something just for the tour to get his next fix. It should be someone with nothing better to do, someone he could keep in his back pocket with his notes, whip them out when he needed. He knew a hanger-oner who might be up for it, an agreement like that definitely in their realm of experimenting.

‘bored’, he scrawls out, ripping the paper up from his notepad, sliding over to where Jim is sitting next to him, poking him with the eraser end of his pencil. Everyone else is buzzing around catering, around the Osbournes, adding to the volume surrounding them.

Jim looks at the note, smug little smile pulling at his lips. He takes the pencil, scribbling over the paper in his lap, then erasing over what he wrote, then scribbling again. He passes the paper back to Corey.

‘same.’

Corey rolls his eyes. Of all the people to proposition casual sex from…

‘we bounce?’ he shoves the note back on Jim’s lap, squinting around to make sure no one's paying them much attention. It's like he's in highschool again, tossing paper airplanes to get a girl’s attention.

Jim, very much not having a handle on the whole subtlety situation, starts to giggle. He gives Corey an ‘are you serious’ sort of look, blinking in surprise when Corey’s expression doesn't change. Jim’s long fingers fiddle with the pencil, tapping on his knee before finally writing.

‘we smoke?’ and maybe he's really not picking up on what Corey’s laying down, so he might need another hint. a physical hint.

‘we get out of here, is my point’

He doesn't allow for Jim to write back, twirling the pencil between his knuckles as he watches him read. He locks eyes with him, resting a hand on his thigh, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Jim’s confused blinking returns, green eyes shifting between the note and Corey’s pantomiming, poor guy nearly jumping out of his skin once Corey gives him a light squeeze. His request is hidden under the table, out of sight from everyone except them. Based on how long it was taking him to respond to the note, he figures he’s growing uncomfortable, ready to slap his hand off and find somewhere else to sit.

To his luck, his hand is picked up, and the two are making their way to another tent.

-

Jim leads them into the folds of the medical fortress, much to Corey’s initial hesitation.

“Everyone should be at a different stage by now, right?” Jim says, “I think I saw someone who should be here at catering, so we're good.”

Corey lifts his notepad, feeling his stomach swarm with something devious as Jim takes in the words

‘good enough for a bee-j?’

“Really?” Jim acts shocked, as if he's been granted a prestigious award instead of a quick doming. Corey nods, tugging him by his oversized shirt towards the patient's bed.

‘sit’ Corey writes, and Jim follows, sitting up on the bed with his feet still touching the ground. He almost wishes he chose someone shorter for this, but he supposes no one under a certain height would lack the sense to get it on in the middle of the day. Something about access to earthly oxygen, perhaps. The notepad is thrown out of sight, not being of use for the moment.

Jim’s shorts are easy to unbutton, even easier to unzip, as Corey lands on his knees. Jim has his back resting against the wall, not protesting in the slightest when Corey starts licking him through his boxers. One swift pull later, and Corey is treated to a decent length, nothing he wouldn't be shy about fitting down his throat. He makes a big deal of kissing it, wanting to show his gratitude as best as he can, and Jim is more than receptive to the attention; short gasps on his (now wet) lips, one of his knees nudging at Corey’s cheek encouragingly. Corey is ready to take him, ready to swallow him all the way down the moment he gets him on his tongue.

And the bright sound of a throat being cleared breaks his focus.

Corey whips his head around while Jim swears, clumsily bringing his shorts back up. To Corey’s grievance, it's the medic that first issued him his ‘no talking’ advice. He silently refuses to get up from his knees, knowing damn well he can make his case now, because his throat doesn't even hurt that much, and there's no way that sucking dick could possibly affect his singing. Just as he's about to make this case, to request privacy for him and his blushing bandmate, the medic shushes him, holding out that damn finger of his before opening the tent flap up, gesturing for the two of them to get going.

[okie-writes]

On writing

I heard my father shout through the mobile, and the distant clatter of the hammer on the wood. We are building a house. The sun had set the red mud ablaze, its heat flowing into the veranda, save the cold tiles on the floor. It was hot. It was summer. And I was staring at the paper. I had to write. It had acquired the proportions of a chore. Not a routine though. It was something to be done. Something like remembering to close your eyes. Oh, you don't know? The psychiatrist had told me to shut my eyes. That was a chore too. I forget a lot. And forget to shut my eyes. In that way, in that diabolical way, I had forgotten to write. The atrocity! I stared at the paper, trying to summon words. Nobody came. I stared at it harder, at the formless black lines and the red two lined margins. The pen stood silently over the page, its blue blood dripping down, like flowing blood. It was bleeding. I had to make a choice. A metaphor signifies nothing, a fig tree, two confusing paths in a yellow wood. It has been said. I need not commit that sacrilegious act and present the world with another analogy for choices. The choice, here, is not new either. Of a future, one that allures me. Each one with its own charm. One, a writer, hiding from the world, yet tapping its sap, watching it slowly drip into pages and pages that painted pictures of other worlds. Then, someone else, maybe she is rich. But she lives in a lonely apartment, waiting for her five digit pay check. She could be an engineer, I presume. She was employed, but unsatisfied. She had dreams, but now they have been ripped off , even from her sleep. She would take a pen at times and stare at an empty page. Nothing comes out of it. The door had closed. So I thought, weighing them on scale of something metaphysical. Meta, the word meant across. Greek, I believe. It carries no weight. The truth is, I've known it, all along. All that was necessary was a conscious approval. I had done it, to whatever extent. And now I felt its weight, pressing down on me. I had to break free. I had to fly. I wanted it. I knew I did. Slowly, gradually, they started forming like pictures on a puddle. They gathered their arms and legs, full sets of teeth, faces and birthmarks; and soon, they took form. The blue dot turned into shapes; shapes of words and sentences, and sentences and paragraphs. Before late, I was writing. And I knew, there was no stopping. The pen transformed into something loquacious. It was bellowing. Words, words, words.

[zodiyack]

Love Reunited (Love On The Run - Part Two)

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst reader has a bad bitch moment, fluff, threats + mentions of murder, no proofreading

Words: 2,114

Summary: In the heat of the moment, Y/n says something that pissed Klaus off. Elijah does the only thing he can and tells his wife to run for her life. | The only thing standing between Klaus and forgiveness from his older brother is Y/n and her freedom.

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @dpaccione​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @simonsbluee​

Masterlist | The Originals Masterlist

Part One.

Ever since Klaus’ resentment for Y/n, and the sworn death sentence he’d given her, chased her out of New Orleans and into constant relocation just to be safe in hiding from her husband’s brother, Elijah had developed a new feeling. He began to loathe his little brother. Though he’d claimed to have detested his brother many times before, this time was different. Even so, that wasn’t the only thing different about this time. 

This time, Klaus knew he was fucked.

He’d cried for forgiveness over the past few years, yet Elijah ignored him every single time. One of the, scarcely occurring, times he actually spoke to Klaus about his apology, he’d brought up the situation with Y/n, quoting the hybrid word for word.

“You did say, ‘live with Elijah’s hate,’ did you not? So, why can you not just live with the burden of the reality that I in fact do, and will always, abhor you, Niklaus? Or are you just so diabolical, so selfish. that you merely cannot fathom losing the one person whom has vowed to stay by your side, always and forever? The one person who can tolerate you.”

“Elijah- ple-”

“So long as my wife is on the run from you, running quite literally for her life, you will never be reprieved.” Everyone who knew Elijah knew that he always kept his word. “I give you my word on that.” Always.

“Please, brother! I’ll do anything for your forgiveness-” He was genuine. As Klaus begged, practically on his knees with tears stinging his eyes, he was a hundred percent genuine.

Elijah turned his head, finally facing his brother with full attention and interest for the first time in a painful handful of years. “Free Y/n.”

“W-what?”

“Free my lover from this condemnation you have unjustly sentenced her to and allow her to walk away from your grudge without harm and without the risk of you creating blackmail material of her actions that you have unreasonably deemed intolerable.”

“Anything else?” He was only kidding, but Elijah wasn’t.

“You’ll have to collect her from whatever location she’s at currently. And please Niklaus, do so without any violence on your behalf.”

He chuckled for a second. Then his smug, carefree, expression morphed into one of uneasy guilt. “You’re...serious?” Elijah held his stern manner. Klaus took his lack of response as a yes and sighed, “Alright. Consider her free.” then he turned to go hunt for Y/n and earn his brother’s pardon.

“If you lay a hand on her,” Klaus halted in his tracks, eyes darting to the side as though he could see his brother clearly despite Elijah being directly behind him, “be it a hair pulled from her head or even a tiny meaningless spiteful threat, there will be splinters for you to pull out of your skin for years. And though it will not permanently kill you, I shall drive stake upon stake through your chest and never feel remorse for any part of it.”

Klaus almost wanted to scoff, laugh it off and tell Elijah he’d never actually do that but a part of him wondered if he really would. If his own brother would end his life for anything done to Y/n. Deep down, he knew Elijah would have a rage that would overflow and cause terror and destruction in it’s wake.

He knew the wood couldn’t kill him. He’d do it over and over again, for the next centuries to come, and the centuries after those have passed, the cycle never ending. A never ending cycle of a living hell. And a hell that he knew would be well deserved for it would only come to such a punishment if he did anything to hurt the love of his brother’s life. An easy mistake to avoid ...if your name wasn’t Niklaus.

“Understand?”

Klaus wondered what happened to the old him; the merciless, blood thirsty, cruel and sinister hybrid, the one true immortal being, now showing mercy to, and retrieving, someone who’d crossed multiple lines in his eyes. Whilst she did have a point, he chose never to say so. He chose to ignore all attempts to draw the light in him into the world. He chose to ignore all pleas for his goodness in fear of his softness- his weakness getting the people he loved hurt.

But it was time to push past that, for if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be any people for him to love.

He swallowed and redirected his narrowed eyes to the door. His jaw clenched and his breathing became uneven. “Understood, brother.”

Niklaus was a stubborn man, and he knew it. But he would do anything, very close to literally anything, to gain his family back. To atone for his mistakes over hundreds of decades. To plea for redemption from their bad sides. And although Elijah would forgive him with simply letting Y/n return to his arms once more, Niklaus new his pleading wasn’t quite over yet.

Y/n wouldn’t just forgive him so easily. She wouldn’t, and because he knew that, he wasn’t surprised when she narrowed her eyes at him and furrowed her brows before releasing an avalanche of years, years of which felt horribly elongated, of pent up rage upon him instantaneously without any form of hesitation.

He found her with the help of witches, and quite easily seeing as moving from place to place as quickly as possible would require avoiding any type of relationships with everyone. She didn’t have anyone to preform a cloaking spell, but she did have great strength as a back-up strategy.

A note, placed by the barkeep, was subtly dropped in front of her, the words written in blue by the pen he’d snatched from a barmaid’s apron as she walked past. Two little words sparked her curiosity almost immediately. Her head snapped up and turned left and right, looking for who the mysterious messenger, whom she hoped was Elijah. Much to her disappointment, the person who suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder was a different Mikaelson.

Y/n grabbed his hand and flung it off of herself harshly. “You?”

“Don’t sound so disgruntled, love, I am here to collect you after all.”

“No. I won’t be going anywhere with you.”  Venom entwined her words as she referenced him. She clenched her jaw and swiftly turned to face the bar again. The scrunched up napkin was thrown over her shoulder. He opened it, “come home” sprawled messily across the soft material.

Klaus felt the anger wash over him but promptly remembered Elijah’s words. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths before clearing his throat and trying again. “I’m afraid I can’t take no as an answer.”

“And I’m afraid I would rather stake myself than go literally any place on this green fucking earth with you.” Y/n spat through her teeth.

Her blatantly obvious execrating feelings for him amused Klaus, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tilted his head. “Do you even know where I’m taking you?”

“To hell, most likely.”

Klaus, unsurprisingly, had a snarky retort ready on his tongue, but she was already out the door and taking a sneaky head start for her run to the farthest place from Niklaus possible. He was on her tail within seconds and cornered her in the woods. A smug leer, not uncommon to see upon his features, promptly slid onto his face.

“What the hell do you want, besides to kill me?”

“You to come with me.”

Y/n paused, as if she were considering his demand, then rolled her eyes. She tried to step around him, “Like that’ll do me any good-”

“It will.” Klaus stepped in front of her, blocking her way once more. “C’mon. From here on out, your sentence is over, you can return to New Orleans-”

“And how do I know you mean the words you speak? How do I know you shall stay true to whatever comes from your mouth?”

“You know me, I-”

“You’re quite correct, Klaus. I know you. I know that you are not infamous for nothing. You lie, deceive, torture, humiliate and do so many other things to people underserving of your cruelty! How should I forgive you when you have yet to adhere for the hurt you’ve infected innocents with?”

His gaze dropped, guilt creeping over his face. He knew what he did to those people.

“Do you even feel bad for what you’ve done?”

Not really. Not all the time. Hardly ever at all if he were to be honest.

“Do you feel the need to morn those you have wrongfully sentenced to death? Those you have sent to the deepest pits of hell based on erroneous judgement?”

She came for his throat, each fact that was spat from her mouth verbatim.

“You are callous and you are heinous! You wonder why your siblings hate you, and yet you constantly do vile things to people! You have erroneously punished people over and over again. You swear you will change, many times, and they believe you but then the next thing they know, they’re in a box for a couple decades. And you think they need to plead for absolution?”

Hundreds of years spent seething in hostility for her brother in law, all ranted in this one moment hit Klaus like a bus, taking the air from his lungs and sending a feeling deep into his gut like someone had just swung a baseball bat into his stomach a dozen times. But she wasn’t finished yet.

“You want to ask for my exoneration? Well you have years, and I mean fucking years, to make up for.” She laughed sarcastically. “To absolve you from everything you’ve put me through, everything you’ve taken from me, everything I’ve fucking missed because of you- to absolve you from all of that would take many years of penitence and work to fix what you have done. Are you really prepared to do that? Are you, Niklaus fucking Mikaelson, ready to take a lengthy withdrawal from your wicked and corruptive reign of evil to earn my remission?”

He hated the fact that she teased him for it, rubbed it in his face, but he knew he deserved it. Klaus knew he deserved every harsh and bitter word she spat at him. He had a thousand of years of blood on his hands, the true number of all the lives he’d snuffed out still paling in comparison to the amount of power that radiated from Y/n, the amount of guilt and remorse she’d forced onto his shoulders with simple words.

“You are no fucking king,” she sneered, “at least, not compared to me.”

Silence made the air heavy with tension as the minutes passed by. Then, she sighed heavily and spoke, slicing the thick tension with an imaginary blade. “I will go with you,” he looked to her with relief, “but I meant every word I said. You will have to work to ensure your vindication. And it will not be an easy task.”

“I understand.” Klaus bowed his head, submitting to her and trading in his crown to prove his worthiness of her forgiveness.

She happily accepted it.

“Y/n?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Last he’d checked, he hadn’t been bitten by a werewolf or hybrid, nor had he inhaled or consumed any witchy substances that would make him hallucinate. He didn’t pray much, but in his head, his thoughts muttered over and over, “please be real.”

“Elijah!” Her eyes lit up the second they met his form. She surged forward, lips colliding with Elijah’s for the first time in years. He wrapped his arms around her and twirled her round.

The world faded to an irrelevant blur. It felt amazing to be home, to be in his arms once more, to be free of Klaus’ ridiculous furry, free of the ill intentions previously directed towards her. Minutes had went by and yet, neither of the two noticed a single thing.

Years that had passed by soon drifted away, like they weren’t apart for any of it. Like time had hit pause when she’d left his arms and resumed when she returned to them. It felt as though time froze whilst the two embraced. The moment could’ve lasted an eternity had Klaus not cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“So uh...brother...have I earned your forgiveness?”

“I suppose you have.”

“And Y/n? Have I made progress on clearing my name with you?”

She made eye contact with Elijah, exchanging a small grin before returning her eyes to Klaus and nodding slightly. “You’ve got a ways to go, but you’re off to a great start. Thank you, Klaus.”

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Gaslight Chapter 1

Summary: Reader has issues with their mother and seeks therapy. Loki is the reader’s therapist. He gaslights the read to break the reader down. Warning: Slow burn, and i mean slooooooow, manipulation, mind games

Note: Thank you so much @dreamslikeaheartbeat​ for making the mood board! It’s so beautiful.

Dark Loki x reader, evil, diabolical characters

You had never been to therapy before, in your family there had always been a stigma around it. So when you finally set out to make an appointment you were a bit apprehensive. When you settled on a doctor you googled their location. You were delighted when you saw that their office was a cute little house instead of an office building. The house seemed so warm and inviting that it eased you a bit so you booked a session.

Arriving 20 minutes early you parked your car in front of the pastel cottage. There were rose bushes and you could swear you had never seen a yard so green. Opening the short metal gate, walking through it, it clanked quietly as it closed behind you. Walking the path to the porch you hesitated at the door. Debating with yourself if you should just walk in or knock. Biting your bottom lip you decided on the latter.

Knock Knock

You could hear a voice telling you to enter. Opening the door you were greeted by an older woman. On her desk you saw a name placard that read Frigga. The foyer felt like you fell into a West Anderson movie. There were vivid colors accented everywhere, the walls papered with floral wallpaper. You introduced yourself and let her know you were a first time patient here for your appointment. She smiled warmly and asked for your insurance card and ID. Handing them over she gave you a few documents to fill out. You took them and sat on one of the chairs lined against the wall. Sitting back a bit nervous still you set to completing the forms.

As you wrote she made a call notifying the doctor of your arrival. When you finished you handed her the documents back and she told you to go right in to the door off to her right.

You were about to knock when Mrs. Frigga stopped you and told you to walk in. You took a deep breath, twisted the door knob and opened it. This room was not as brightly colored or lit as the reception. Even the air seemed cooler sending a slight shiver throughout your body.

"Hello?" You call out softly.

Looking around the room you spotted the doctor scribbling away at a desk in the corner. Walking over still a bit nervous. Her body hunched over her desk, her long black hair dusting over   the papers she wrote upon.

With the deep forest green curtains drawn it was hard to make out her features.

"Miss Laufeyson? Excuse me, sorry I'm here for my appointment"

Her head lifted slightly, turning her gaze from the papers it wrote upon to look at you. Your stomach sank as your eyes widened in shock.

She was a he, a handsomely striking he. You didn't have any particular issues with men. You just thought that a woman could relate more to you.

You could feel your face burn under his gaze. His allure was palpable it almost felt hypnotizing so much so you had to look away to the floor.

"I'm sorry I'm looking for Mrs. or Miss Laufeyson" you fidgeted with the strap of the purse on your shoulder as you spoke. He looked at you almost amused, then laughed softly pushing up his black framed glasses that had fallen down the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know of any Mrs or Miss Laufeyson aside for my mother. And I'm afraid in that case she has long since remarried. I'm Doctor Laufeyson." His rich sultry accent did little to quail the pounding of your heart and the sight of his face only worsened it. 

"Oh no... I've must've made a mistake. I'm sorry. I thought I scheduled an appointment with um... a woman doctor." You said as you fidget again with the strap.

"Would you like to cancel this appointment then?" At his suggestion your head shot up. Obviously he understood your simple mistake you thought. Keeping eye contact was hard though. The longer you looked at him the harder it was to keep his gaze. He was a breath taking sight so you found comfort at turning your eyes away to the floor.

"Yes sorry" it almost came out as a whisper.

"We have a 24 hour cancellation policy. If you cancel now I must inform you that you will be charged a cancellation fee on top of your co-pay"

"But it was a mistake." Your voice almost shrieking.

"Look....stay for this session and at the end I will give you a few recommendations to other 'Female' doctors in your network. How does that sound?" He offered.

Contemplating you thought about it. You could just sit and talk for a while of nothing important. No harm in that right and at least you would be sure to be given the information for a woman doctor.

"OK" you resigned.

"Alright then. Please take a seat where ever you like"

Looking around the room again you noticed a stag's head. The poor creature mounted above the fireplace, its antlers so large and wide that it seemed impossible that it came from such a small creature. The stained wood floors and wall washed the room with dark tones. The cobblestone fireplace unlit, surely due to the season, but you could still pick up the light sent of burnt kindling.

In front of it sat a circle of chairs with matching upholstery. Two arm chairs and a couch. Colored in a light cognac, circling a small glass coffee table held-up by blackened tree trunk.

The couch was the most appealing so you made your way to it. There was a comfortable distance between it and the other chairs that surrounded the table.

As you sat he began straightening a pile of papers on his desk. When he finished he stood and walked over with a yellow notepad and pen.

He rolled up his sleeves as he approached the arm chair opposite you. His forest green tie tucked meticulously into his waistcoat that cinched at his waist. His lean figure made you regret all the broken promises you made to yourself about going to the gym or dieting. The whole look coupled with his black framed glasses gave him the look of a tenured professor.

Compared to him you felt under dressed for the occasion. You could almost hear your mother nagging about your appearance. Making you doubt your dress and demeanor.

"Would you like a cup of tea? Water? Coffee?" Dr.Laufeyson asked. He chose the arm chair closest to his desk and sat. Crossing his tailored slacks he placed the notepad in his lap.

"Oh no no thank you" replying sheepishly.

He bit the end of the pen as he considered you for a moment than began to write again. You sat anxiously waiting for him to instruct you on what to do.

But he didn't, the minutes ticked away and he just wrote paying you no mind.

"Um.... I don't know what to do here?" After some internal debating you finally spoke.

He didn't look up he just kept writing.

"Um excuse me Mr.Laufeyson" you shouted a little louder than you attended.

"Dr. Laufeyson" he didn't look up as he corrected you.

"I'm sorry it just that I thought"

"Hmmmm?" Lifting his gaze from his notepad to finally look at you.

"Dr. Laufeyson. I thought you were supposed to ask me questions or something. Like do you ever have dreams about going on dates with guys but when they turn around they have the head of my mother?" You rambled.

He cocked his brow." Are you having dreams like that?"

"Sorry, No! No no no! It was a bad Freudian joke" You covered your face with your hand in embarrassment.

Great now he is going to think you have an Oedipus complex? Why do you even try and speak? Ugh.

He was writing again you could hear his pen scribble on the pad. You didn't feel good about it.

Tilting his head back straightening his posture. His eyes took you in. You could feel his examining gaze.

Was he diagnosing you?

"It's OK to be nervous and that's not the worst Freudian joke I've ever heard by the way" you could hear his slight chuckle. "Think of this as a get to know you session. You can't fail at this or get this wrong I'm here to help you."

He asked you many questions. Some about your likes, what you did for work, how you liked it, about your family. You answered and the conversation flowed. You had never had someone take genuine interest in you before, but that was his job right? To try to listen. It was just all so new to you.

Your session went over the allotted time. Then finally after an hour overtime he stopped the session. You apologized, but he only smiled and reassured you that's what he is here for.

By the end he gave you the information to an actual female doctor by the name of Odinson. A part of you wanted to continue with him, but another part of you still wanted a woman's touch.

After your appointment with Dr. Laufeyson you made the appointment with Dr. Odinson. Over the phone you had confirmed with the receptionist that Dr. Odinson was indeed a woman. To which you were relieved. Your appointment with her being the following Monday.

Dr. Odinson's office was less wholesome than Dr. Laufeyson's. It was located in an office building. Mirrored glass encased the exterior, it looked so sleek, cold yet new. Walking from the parking garage to the main building you were intimidated by the massive structure. Once inside you took a deep breath and made your way to the security desk. After choking up the nerve to ask for directions he pointed to the elevator and the floor.

Unlike Mrs. Frigga he made you feel as if your presence was a nuisance.

The soft elevator music did little to loll your nerves as you rode it up. You were having second thoughts, maybe you should've stuck with Dr. Laufeyson. The session wasn't bad at all and at least his office felt like a home that made you feel invited and it was so wholesome. When the elevator finally arrived on the floor you were still nervous. Despite the luxurious feel of the floor you felt even more out of place. This only stoked the fire of your anxiety and inferiority complex.

The receptionist at Dr. Odinson's office was young and beautiful. Surely if she didn't work here you would find her on Instagram laying out on some island that you could never pronounce or afford.

When you reached her desk she was unaware of your presence. A common theme of those whose beauty you could only dream to attain. Staring at her computer screen she yelped when she finally noticed you.

"Oh I am so sorry!" You apologized. " I didn't mean to I..um have an appointment with Dr. Odinson"

She was startled but collected herself and smiled up at you. "It's OK. You must be Y/N, we tried to contact you."

You knitted your brow and tilted your head.

"Dr. Odinson had to cancel your appointment today. She had a family emergency and had to leave abruptly."

"Don't worry we won't charge you for the inconvenience" she smiled up at you.

You were relieved that you wouldn't have to pay for not paying attention to your cell phone.

"Since you're here would you like to reschedule?" She inquired.

"Oh Um....... I need to check my schedule. Is that OK?" rubbing the back of your head as you thought about the question.

"Sure thing just call me and I will get you rescheduled right away." She smiled at you brightly, but something about it almost felt robotic. You mirrored her forcing a smile before turning to the elevators to retreat. Walking back down the hall to the elevator as you wait for the doors to open you felt anxious. Tapping your feet you thought something with this place didn't sit right with you. You preferred the small sweet home of Dr. Laufeyson.

When the doors opened you were surprise by the size of the giant inside the metal box. You scurried inside apologizing to him as you looked at the number pad to press the lobby button, but it was already highlighted. The mirrored walls of the elevator allowed you to steel glances at him through your lashes. At a glance you could see his eyes were red and looked irritated, but his stoic face would not betray him. His hands shoved in his pockets he stood in the back of the elevator. Through his uniform you could make out the perfectly sculpted physique. He adorned black scrubs with an insignia you couldn't make out from your distance, his golden hair tied his a high bun. The sheer sight of it had you biting your bottom lip. You had only seen men like him on tv or Instagram.

In your corner you felt a nagging, a nosiness to ask what was wrong, ask if he was OK. There was a part of you that felt bad for even interrupting his descent, surely he wanted to be alone.

Why didn't I wait for the next elevator?

Your self hatred was mixing with your need to nurture and fix things. Finally the overwhelming urge to comfort him won out and you spoke.

"Um I'm sorry are you OK?" Looking at him through the mirrored walls you ask. As the words slipped out you mentally started to beat yourself up.

You immediately regretted your actions. You should've stayed silent. You don't know him why did you even care.

"I'm fine my lady" the deep intonation of his voice hit your ears like honey.

My lady? What is this?

In less than two weeks it felt like you landed in a foreign land filled with accents that you only dreamt of.

"I'm so sorry its just.... You look so sad and I'm so sorry." You frantically try to apologize for sticking your nose in where it didn't belong.

His deep chuckle filled the space between your frantic apologies. Covering his mouth to hide a smile he tried to compose himself before the elevator announced the lobby floor.

When the doors opened you managed to shut your mouth. Regret and disdain filled you. He motioned for you to leave first and without another word you two departed. Since you figured he was going to the parking garage you went the opposite direction. Going to the lobby restroom to hide out for thirty minutes until he had gone completely from the area.

You felt stupid for even talking to him for bothering him. You always felt weird talking to people. You always had that nagging feeling that people hated you when you opened your mouth, breathed their air or shared a spaced anyone.

That was one of the reasons you wanted to go to therapy. To understand yourself. To stop feeling this way.

Pulling out your phone as you waited in the stall you called Dr. Laufeyson. You didn't want to come back here. To risk running into him again.

*Ring

It felt like the phone barely got off the first ring before someone answered.

"Hello Dr. Laufeyson's office how may I be of assistance" it wasn't Mrs. Frigga.

"Um.. Sorry." You were expecting Mrs. Frigga.

Who was this person?

"Sorry" you apologize again " I.. wanted to make an appointment with Dr. Laufeyson.

"Miss Y/N?"

How did this person know your name?

"What huh?" you were still caught off guard.

"Mrs. Frigga is out today so I have the double duty of answering my own calls." The voice laughed. It was Dr. Laufeyson.

"Oh. Oh OK. Sorry" you said frazzled.

"You don't have to apologize. Where you calling to make another appointment?" There was a pause "Did things not work out with Dr.  Odinson"

"She wasn't available for our appointment. Something came up"

"Well I'm sure you can reschedule" he assured you.

"I just don't like it here. May I book another session with you?....Please?" Your voice went soft again unsure if you should've even asked.

You had rejected him as a doctor why would he want to see you again?

"Are you sure" he asked coolly.

"Yes please"

And with that he scheduled your next appointment for the next week.

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Behind the Scenes (Triel) Part 3

This happens during day 10 of the Hunger Games. Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also, thanks for Elvira!), @maple-writes, @nightskywriter, @rhikasa, @pen-of-roses, @aeslin-writes, @the-moving-finger-writes, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @makeitmonstrous, and @timefirewrites!

I arrived fashionably early for my business date with Elvira, the pirate associated with Rebecca. My sources told me they were more than friends. So, she would want an opportunity to rescue her. And I would need more hands to help with the tributes, especially with their wounds.

The place was fancy, but also appropriately private. They probably weren’t private for the reason I was planning for it, but hey, I would take what I could get.

I lounged on the overly cushioned seat, waiting for Elvira to arrive. There were even curtains around the booth so we could be extra private. I scoffed to myself. Stupid rich people.

And there was the woman of the hour, resplendent in a classy Capitol dress, but nothing that would actually stand out. She was good. And gorgeous, but we wouldn’t be mentioning that just yet. I tipped my hat to her.

“Ah!” She smiled warmly as she rushed over, but there was a hint of something darker in that smile. She really was good. None of the Capitol bozos would even notice that. “You must be Triel. So sorry if I kept you waiting. I didn’t realize I was late.” She pointed at the clock on the wall.

I shook my head. “No, I was just early. I like making sure I am not late to appointments, so I’m normally drastically early. And I especially make sure to be early when I’m meeting someone so beautiful.” I winked at her as my lips pulled into a smirk, and a waiter set down fancy wine glasses filled halfway with a golden drink. He also set down menus for us to peruse. I gestured at the drinks. “I hope you like what I chose.”

She draped her jacket almost dramatically on the back of the chair before sitting down. She chuckled, with the smile still tugging on her lips but less dark. “If you think I’m more than passable like this, you should see the picture in my quite authentic ID which proved to the host I’m legally old enough for…” She picked up the glass. “Mm. Chardonnay. You have good taste…Captain, was it?”

I tipped my hat again. It just seemed like the appropriate response. “Then your totally real ID picture must look ravishing. I know I told Nora to get my good side when I had my picture taken for my totally real ID too.” The waiter came back, and we ordered, and I closed the curtains behind him. He would just set the food on the table outside and ring a bell when it was ready. “We’ll hear when they set the food down outside the alcove. So, let’s talk business.”

She perked up when I mentioned Nora’s name. “Nora?” She paused. “You knew the name of your photographer? Or is she a friend?”

Ah. Seems we have a shared acquaintance. Fake look of concern. “But this isn’t part of—”

I had to hide my smirk when she continued. “This very well could be my business to know. If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me hers. It may help both of us more than you think.”

Fake sigh. “You’re a pirate. You might know her as Captain Skeates.”

She grinned, without any darkness underneath. “I know her well. She was my captain for many months until an operation of ours went somewhat awry, and I found myself in the hands of new friends. I shall have to ask her about you sometime. Someone as mysterious and beguiling as yourself should have plenty of interesting stories, friend.” A platonic wink. She took a sip of wine. “But enough about us. What business do you want to discuss?” She held up my note, and I actually smirked at that.

I leaned forward. “I have a proposition. It seems my crewmate who was reaped made friends with your friend who was also reaped. And I have a heist I’m planning to get as many tributes out as possible, with your friend being one of them. I need more hands, since there will be injured tributes to take care of, and I don’t have a big enough place to hide them. I was wondering if you and your friends would be willing to help me out.”

“Nesri.” Oh, so she did her homework too! “She spoke with Rebecca, I believe. You must understand, though, that I’m neither captain nor quartermaster, and I can’t speak for my crew. One, I think, is looking for a much quieter life than this, and the other is tearing his lovely hair out over his identity in regards to the rules and the Capitol as it is, but speaking for myself…” She paused, staring at her wine glass. “I think what you’re doing is noble in a diabolical way, and I love everything about it. And I know Mr. Atwater likely won’t give a damn about the other tributes, but he’ll raise hell for Rebecca and he’s…around, I think. Do you want me to discuss it with them, or do you need action and answers sooner rather than later?” She looked up at me. “What’s the timeline? Is there a plan? Or am I not cleared for that level of information?”

I nodded. “You can discuss with them. I’m planning on pulling off the heist in two days, so it’s not a lot of time, but enough. I’ll find you the morning of the heist for your answer. And don’t worry. My engineer is actually the one getting everything ready. I’m just the spokesperson.” I grinned. “He has made machines to make us invisible to the eye and to the Capitol’s radars. And we have an alibi to prove we couldn’t have stolen the tributes. I can get you in on the alibi before we start the heist too.” I held out a hand for Elvira to shake and winked. “Would you like to consider joining me on a heist that will give a big middle finger to the Capitol?”

She shook my hand firmly, and I grinned. “Consider me joined. I can never resist a good heist. Especially not one that comes with free wine.” She paused as she brought her hand back to her side. “But in all seriousness—whenever you need me, just tell me when and where, and I should be happy to help you however I can. I don’t doubt you can find me. And you won’t find me lacking wit and charm, even though you already seem to have it covered.”

I winked at her, and at the perfect timing, the bell rang, and I grabbed our food. As we ate, we chatted about Nora and told stories about our time with her. It was nice to just relax.

[dazais-guardian-angel]

This post has been sitting in my drafts since like mid-November around when I finished replaying the game, long enough for me to write and upload a fic about some of the concepts I wrote here, what the fuck. DGS brainrot is real. But aNYWAY finally, here are my massive thoughts on Unwound Future, the golden child of the PL series. This is literally *checks* 8k words, because I can never shut up!! and because there is just SO much going on in this game at all times, so many different interweaving plot threads and funny moments and incredible, fascinating characterization, especially combined with the games that come after it; I just had SO much to say. So much analyzing and headcanons and crying galore. :’) There’s a reason this is considered the best game, and that’s why I had so damn much to talk about.

behold the incoherent, rambling, unconnected mess of a novel that I hope makes a modicum of sense under the cut:

Continuing the trend, this game has simply AMAZING graphics/art/music, with a huge uptick in cutscenes and voice acting, and I feel like the sound/music quality is greatly improved too? I love the main bgm for London in this game, never really remembered loving it before, but it’s just *chef’s kiss* and so is the song that plays in other areas like the hospital and subway

Quickly mentioning the gameplay, I really love all the minigames, and the storybooks are especially hilarious to play with putting the wrong things in the spaces to create mad libs-esque crack that makes no sense; it’s so fun lmao

The beginning flashback segment with the time machine demonstration is honestly just so funny, for so many different reasons: Dimitri droning on and on with time travel technobabble while Luke, Bill, Chelmey, and Barton represent the definitive last four brain cells. Hershel being skeptical about successful time travel after all the magical shit they went through just like a year or two ago. The way that Bill’s sprite slowly and nervously shuffles onscreen after Dimitri calls him to the stage, like omg I don’t know why that cracks me up so much but it does. Dimitri’s lowkey savage shade he’s throwing at Bill throughout this whole thing. The way Bill says “wHAT” when Dimitri asks him to help, clearly about to shit his pants. Dimitri just standing there completely unfazed as the smoke from the machine flies past him. And of course, “sOmEtHiNg’S gOnE vErY wRoNg!”

…okay but in all seriousness, am I just stupid or do they never explain how they get Bill to the underground city, like the machine CLEARLY explodes with him in it, there was no secret elevator built into the thing like at the clock shop, so…???

also the presenter’s voice is really funny lmao

Still disagree that this is the biggest mystery they’ve ever encountered, despite being near the top; Luke you say that literally every game!! so what is the truth!!

Spring’s face is terrifying as FUCK in the two cutscenes in the clock shop… why they decided to show both of them in ominous, shadowed lighting in those scenes I do not understand a;lskdl;fds

I need someone to draw a diagram of how exactly the shop looks as a giant elevator because frankly I still can’t wrap my brain around it-

THE FACT THAT WE NEVER GET TO MAKE UP WITH HAZEL IS A TRAVESTY, HONESTLY

Belle… why…… ugh

Wish they’d had “Schrader” drop a casual nod to the events of Diabolical Box; it would have been cool :’) (especially since this is Paul so he’d know about all that)

College-age Hershel is just….. the pinnacle of adorableness. someone protect him from all the pain

One of the few flaws/plot holes in the story of Unwound Future that I only noticed during this replay with more media under my belt, is the that the developers didn’t really decide on what kind of time travel they wanted to portray, or more likely just didn’t scrutinize Clive’s fake role enough when writing it. This is blatantly obvious upon the very first meeting with Clive where he desires to test Hershel to make sure he’s really him. Obviously in a closed loop scenario, everything Luke and Hershel are doing “Future Luke” should remember doing himself in his past, so a test would not be necessary; this is a major trip-up on his part that it’s very odd Hershel doesn’t notice for how smart he is, imo. However, later on when meeting “Future Layton”, Paul calls Dimitri out on this exact principle, proving that he’s not actually Future Layton because he doesn’t remember the absence of a pen in Hershel’s pocket in this moment in his past, and it’s a nice little touch that Paul, on the other hand, an actual scientist, would mention this. Back to Future Luke, though, he should know how everything goes down with stopping Future Layton, because he lived it all as a child with Hershel, which makes it even more dubious to the fact that after seeing all this, Hershel still goes dark and everything plays out the exact same way it’s portrayed in the “future” of the game; it’s the idea that destined fate can’t be changed, but the suspension of disbelief is quite high, especially since we already doubt that Hershel would ever do such a thing, knowing what kind of person he is. Of course this wouldn’t be the case in an open-loop/branching timelines universe, but since the game uses the former type with the pen argument (and something else important I’ll mention in a second), I feel like the rest of the game should have adopted this idea as well and addressed it. Because Dimitri is outed via the fact that he should have memory of things he doesn’t, so it would have been easy to simply add Hershel adding that argument into his final explanation in the bar (”my suspicions were first raised when we first met Big Luke, and he didn’t know if I was really who I said I was- [etc etc]”). Even if they didn’t want Hershel to bring this up early else the entire story would fall apart, they could simply draw attention to the fact that he notices something in these moments, like with a “...” or “Hmm”, and then he explains it at the end like I said. Interestingly enough, Clive actually addresses these concepts at one point in the game with Luke in the statue plaza: he doesn’t want to tell Luke how things play out in his future, so that… things play out the way they’re supposed to…? Even though his entire story here is that he wished Hershel hadn’t gone dark and distanced from him, and ruined the city? But then he makes the suggestion that they could instead be operating on an open-loop/multiple timelines system, where in his past he never travelled to the future, but in our Luke and Hershel’s timeline they do. This is only a hypothetical he gives though, with him seeming unsure of how things truly are, which… again, in this story he’s concocted, he should know for sure, because if he doesn’t “remember” time traveling and how everything went down, then they’re operating on different timelines and it shouldn’t matter how much he tells Luke about his future. You can definitely argue that in-universe Clive didn’t think all this through when planning his dialogue for this role (but I honestly find that hard to believe, since he’s so intelligent, and he nailed the realism of everything else to a T), but it’s obvious just that the writers didn’t think it through, because like I said Hershel really should have picked up on his blunder when they first met, as well as later when Clive is surprised to see Flora suddenly with them and didn’t know for a fact that she and Chelmey/Barton would arrive there. Since the time travel scenario in 99% of the game isn’t actually real, I don’t entirely fault the writers for not getting every single detail right… and yet, that 1% exists where time travel is real, with Claire’s situation. It’s a very isolated incident though that wouldn’t be replicated, with only her going to the future… and yet, she does return to the past again, if only for a split second before dying and thus not enough time to do anything with her future knowledge, the real thing to note here being that they took care to show that she was wearing the same outfit when she died that she gets in the future, one she wasn’t wearing when she entered the lab originally. So they DID think about some things very well, like such a minor and easily-overlooked detail here (but that blows your mind once you realize it). All this is hardly enough to ruin the game or break the immersion completely though, especially since the player is already predisposed to heavily doubt everything with PL’s “the town is a lie” track record lmao, but I can’t help but be bothered by it now after playing games like Zero Escape and watching time travel shows like netflix’s Dark, which have bootstrap parodoxes and timeloops galore looool. My friend who watched me play the game blind this time around brought up all these questions as Clive said things, as someone who didn’t know if it would end up being real or not, and so I spent a lot of time puzzling (har har) it out with her… even though it wouldn’t matter lmao.

……In short, if it wasn’t obvious, despite Unwound Future’s time travel setup being completely fake, I’m really fascinated by the notion of how it would all work if it was real. >.> …and I mean, I know I’m not the first one; monocle Layton aus are popular, after all, but I don’t really care quite as much about the allure of an “evil Layton” as I do just about how everything else would be, I think.

Because, like, lets be real? taking the prequels into account with Unwound Future’s proposed setup, the potential is endless. It honestly KILLS me that the prequels didn’t exist yet at the time of UF, because!! so many people from Hershel’s past!!! SO MANY REASONS FOR HIM TO WANT TO HARNASS TIME TRAVEL AND CHANGE THE PAST, NOT JUST FOR CLAIRE’S SAKE. FOR RANHENGELA’S SAKE. FOR LUKE AND EMMY’S SAKE. FOR HIS PARENTS’ SAKE. FOR DESMOND. listen, listen, you don’t understand how much the idea of Desmond being involved in UF’s concepts destroys me. I wrote about this in my last fic but. imagine if Desmond learned about Hershel going down a dark path for his sake and everyone else’s, just like he did. Or imagine if, instead of Hershel being the one to do it, it was Desmond himself; he’s willing to play the bad guy once again, one very final, this time definitely final, time, if it means he can undo everything that caused all of them so much pain in the first place: his betrayals, the death of his former wife, he and Theodore’s separation, their father’s betrayal, ALL of it, and Hershel would never know. When Luke first is like “oh it’s gotta be Don Paolo right” and Clive says no, i LITERALLY screamed “BUT IT COULD BE DESCOLE!!”. JUST. PAIN. And where would Randall be in this future; what would he, too, think if it was Hershel going after time travel? Imagine him trying to smack some sense into him just like Hershel does in MM, trying to tell him that despite those lost 18 years of his life, despite everything wrong he ended up doing, he’s still happy, and so are Henry and Angela. So is Desmond. And Emmy, she wouldn’t want undone those years she had with Hershel and Luke and then Aurora and Desmond, despite how sadly it ended. Just… so much pain. So much potential. I hurt :’)

and adding on to this, i love love LOVE the idea of Clive knowing about some of this stuff in Hershel’s past, in order to faithfully play his role as Future Luke. Like obviously he wasn’t in Misthallory with them all, he wasn’t on the island in ED, he wasn’t at Monte’dor, and he wasn’t on the Bostonius or at all those Azran ruins that I can’t remember the names of right now, of course he wouldn’t know the intimate, specific details of what all went down, but if there was just one npc who was in the right place at the right time at any of these locations, who knows what beans they could spill? Maybe even an ex-Targent person or something. Hell, fucking Bronev is in jail for at least a little while before the events of UF. There are possibly MANY people Clive could have gotten information from to pull off this role - he’s a reporter, he’s skilled at digging for stuff. Not to mention just reading and hearing about large incidents in the news. And this makes his character so much better because he’s admired Hershel for so long, grateful that he saved his life all this time, to the point that he asks him to unknowingly come and save him again… and he most definitely didn’t know back when he first encountered Hershel that he’d already experienced so much loss and pain as well (some of which Hershel hadn’t even gone through yet by that point), but learning about everything he’s suffered? I think it would really affect him, and possibly contribute to why he asks him for his help in the first place in UF: because Hershel has suffered just as much as he has, and he feels a connection to him, feels like he can relate to him, and wants someone who can empathize with him, and show him how to cope. All of these reasons and emotions would probably be completely on an unconscious level, but they would exist - he’d use this limited but meaningful knowledge to try to connect with Hershel more when he’s still in Future Luke mode, to try to convince him he’s really Luke, at first, but unconsciously it’d be an effort to get closer to him emotionally, which is what he truly desires deep down, until his so-called act somewhat stops being an act, and talking about these things makes his vulnerabilities start to show (again, i wrote a fic about this). This all just adds to why Hershel is the perfect person to help and support Clive - the prequels make their similarities even stronger, more than just with Hershel losing Claire, and those accidental parallels when the writers hadn’t even conceived the prequel trilogy at the time of UF are just *chef’s kiss* beautiful.

THE CASINO SCENE IS JUST ICONIC, IT’S SO FUNNY. LUKE BEING SCARED OF THE SHOOTING AND HERSHEL JUST DITCHING HIM. CLIVE’S LITTLE HOP AND ROLL BEHIND THE SLOT MACHINES. THE SLOT MACHINE GUN IN GENERAL. THE CLONE FAMILY MEMBERS FALLING OVER LIKE DOMINOS UPON BEING HIT. BOSTRO CRYING AND SPLINTERS AND LOCKJAW RUNNING IN CIRCLES PANICKING WHILE LAYMAN JUST IS LITERALLY PUSHED BACK SLOWLY WITH ONLY A CHAIR TO DEFEND HIMSELF, I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW FUNNY LAYMAN AS A CHARACTER IS TO ME. it’s just so glorious, oh my god. this series is ridiculous i love it so much lmao

Luke wanting to use the time machine though… there are so many reasons why he might want to, mainly from Azran Legacy. :’)

The statue is the worst thing ever for multiple reasons. The fact that it represents Hershel & Luke’s relationship, the two main characters, who have been through so much together and have such a strong bond that can never be broken, and how it ties into the whole Evil Layton scenario and seems to foreshadow that their bond does end up breaking, as “Future Luke” seems to be proof of (though the game doesn’t really put much emphasis on this; Luke is more worried about the fact that he’s moving away soon straining their relationship, and not the whole Future Layton thing. imo it would have been interesting to see his actual thoughts on/feelings about it, since he’s surprisingly calm throughout the entire game before the reveals happen; you can argue he just has complete faith in Hershel and doesn’t think he would ever go dark, but then why doesn’t he bring this up, insist that this can’t be true? I think he should have). The fact that as I just said it foreshadows how Luke will leave Hershel at the end of the game, something that Luke worries about later on in the game. And most of all, the biggest, worst thing it foreshadows… Hershel’s relationship with Clive. Clive had that statue made himself, put it in his giant set. He WANTS that kind of mentor-student bond with Hershel, that’s how he sees them, just from their one interaction in front of the exploding buildings… or at least, that’s how he wants to see it. He sees how close Hershel and Luke are throughout the entire game, and he yearns for that kind of bond with Hershel, too. The fact that the boy in the statue story has an illness that he eventually dies from, but that their friendship withstands… it’s probably meant to represent Clive’s insanity, that he hopes Hershel will save him from - he is Clive’s light of hope in his despair. Or, to be more accurate to the statue, even if Clive’s madness ends up killing him (which it very nearly does, and by that point he fully expects that it will), he’ll still have had those memories of that time he spent with him, and Hershel will never forget him, and that will mean something special. man though can you imagine an AU where Clive is literally terminally ill too, and that’s why he’s yolo-ing this entire thing so hard and doesn’t care if it ends up killing him in the end, at least he got to be with Hershel one more day; ahahahaha turn up the angsttttttttttttt-

Shmelmey and Shmarton do not at all look like Chelmey and Barton, smh

For everything Clive accounted for with his role and setting, he’s honestly way too rude and crass sometimes to be Luke lmao, even if you try to imagine a world where Hershel did go dark and Luke was changed by it… at least imo

the like 4 puzzles that give Clive’s solving animations/dialogue are the most serotonin-boosting things in the world

“you will come back, won’t you?” Clive asks Hershel about his trip to visit Chelmey, desperately wanting him to stop him before it’s too late :’)

Rosetta and her....... sessions....... with Hershel........ hajkkALSKDLD

Okay but Hershel is kind of dickish sometimes though, despite his whole “gentleman” thing??? There’s the elephant in the room which I’ll Get To, but like first he guilt-trips Chelmey into getting him access to confidential information about the lab explosion, and then he has the absolute balls to tell him “Bill Hawks is being held in the future” and that’s IT. No explanation, nothing else, just THAT, and then he LEAVES, after he’d promised to share every last detail with him. I don’t blame Chelmey at all for tailing them and barging in to get information himself, like damn Hershel, why so savage sometimes in not a good way

which brings me to Ranting About Flora’s Treatment, Part 3: The Finale. Y’all I literally cannot even BEGIN to describe how much the way Hershel and Luke treat Flora in UF specifically makes me seethe..... It was already bad in DB, no doubt, but in this game they are straight-up rude to her, mostly Hershel, for absolutely no reason, and I CANNOT fathom why. He constantly makes the excuse that he’s concerned for her safety, and that the places they’re going to are too dangerous for her, but it all exudes a level of thinly-veiled annoyance, even confusion as to why Flora is so upset that they never bring her along and wants to go with them at all... almost like her “frail” feminine appearance (which isn’t helped by how the games make her feel sick or dizzy or tired multiple times), compared to someone like Emmy who could fight and has more masculine traits, means she’s less capable in Hershel’s mind, which, like, even if it’s unconscious on his part... how about no?? I could accept being worried about her, even if I’m still frustrated at her being left behind, and her constant kidnapping (which isn’t Hershel’s fault, even if he probablyyy could do a better job both times at protecting her), but I CANNOT excuse how short and dismissive Hershel is with her in this damn game; it honestly borders on ooc to me for him, I don’t know what the writers were thinking; do they just hate Flora that freaking much??? He treats her like a burden the entire time, apologizes to people for her, acts irritated at having to accommodate for her, when poor Flora just wants to spend time with him and feel like an equal to him and Luke. Meanwhile Clive of all people is the first one to treat her with kindness and respect and pleasure to see her when they first meet, like when Luke bitches about Flora being excited to see the river and not taking things seriously and Clive tells him to go easy on her (Clive, the one who has been rushing them along this entire time himself). honestly can see why it’s so easy to ship them, when literally everyone else treats her like crap It’s SO depressing honestly. Flora asks them if they thought to wonder where her future self was, and Hershel is just like hhhhh we’re kinda busy thinking about... you know.... important things... sorry not sorry....... like BITCH I WILL STRANGLE YOU, BE NICER TO YOUR DAUGHTER!!! Luke at least is a kid, but Hershel??? there’s no excuse!!! Luke be like “damn I hope Becky doesn’t look down on us for leaving Flora behind... >.>” THEY KNOW. THEY KNOW IT’S NOT RIGHT BUT THEY DON’T CARE AND DO IT ANYWAY. I’M SO MAD

Beasly just gets... straight-up murdered yo... between him and Subject 3, what were they smoking when coming up with the animals in this game, jfc. Test subject animals?? that’s unnervingly dark, despite how glossed over it is and how hilarious Subject 3 is a;lksd

LUKE LOVES SHERLOCK HOLMES THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THE DGS CROSSOVER IS WAITING, LEVEL-5 AND CAPCOM. MAKE LUKE’S (AND MY) DREAMS A REALITY

the intentional zoom-in on Clive’s sinister face in front of the tower will never not amuse me, and baffle me as to why they drew attention to it lmaooo

And okay back to time travel bullshit shenanigans, WHY the fuck does Dimitri not pick up on why him not remembering about the pen is such a big deal as soon as Paul first brings it up?? bruh. bruh. aren’t you a fucking TIME TRAVEL SCIENTIST. WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW SUCH A BASIC CONCEPT THAT BREAKS YOUR WHOLE FACADE IN SECONDS. It’d be one thing if he just couldn’t provide the right answer, but no, he straight-up HAS NO IDEA WHY HE SHOULD HAVE TO KNOW ABOUT THE PEN. “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW-” bruhhhh. Dimitri. my dude. i love you but you are actually so dumb sometimes, like holy shit (more on this later though)

Paul talking to Dimitri about his plan is really good; he has a “...” moment before telling him what he’s doing can’t be excused, like “oh shit let me jump on board, wait fuck i gotta stay in character, Layton is a wuss he would never agree to this god dammit Layton-”. jokes aside though, I’m honestly confused as to how much he actually knew before Dimitri’s exposition in the pagoda, and why exactly he goes along with helping Hershel stop him... and what Dimitri was thinking roping him into this. Because I can’t really figure out Paul’s motives here and how they changed, if they did at all. The only information we get about how he first became involved is that Dimitri was paying him a lot of money to get Hershel to the pagoda and to him - he knows that “future London” isn’t real, he knows Future Layton isn’t real, so the extent of his knowledge seems to be that “this man wants to screw Layton over somehow and is giving me $$$ to get it done; there’s no downside here, never mind this suspicious as fuck fake London and all these people that shouldn’t be here”, but then Hershel gave him more information, probably that Claire was involved in what Dimitri was doing, and his concerns about a traitor being involved if he had already begun to suspect Clive by that point, and then he suddenly decided to turn against Dimitri? Even though you’d think saving Claire would be a reason for him to want to help him...? Or did he plan to turn against him from the very start, and wanted Hershel to come because he knew he could stop all this (part of his character development)? The latter is the most likely, though I still don’t entirely understand or maybe I’m just having a brain fart, that’s very likely too. And Dimitri on the other hand, did he know that Paul liked Claire too and would want to save her (and maybe about his salt for Hershel too), and that’s why he got his help? That makes more sense... but also doesn’t, cause as I said it seems like Paul didn’t know Claire was involved until Hershel told him and then Dimitri told everyone at the pagoda, so maybe he literally just said “here’s some money, help me fuck over Layton, not telling how” and just trusted in him that much, even though Paul is an evil genius who could and does put a stop to all his plans with his machines... once again, Dimitri looking dumb....

Clive, in the most deadpan voice ever at the top of the pagoda: oh no, the prime minister is in danger, someone help him

Flora as they’re escaping the tower: “professor no please take me with you instead of future Luke” Hershel: *ignores her feelings and makes a decision for her yet again* Clive: “shhh don’t worry Flora; i know i’m going to kidnap you in like an hour but i’m just trying to rescue you from these insensitive jerks. not Don Paolo though; he’s a gentleman.”

It’s interesting to me that Luke and Hershel keep acting as if Future Luke and future London are legit even after Future Layton has been revealed to be a fake. Hershel at least probably knows none of it is real by now, even if he hasn’t exactly figured out Clive’s role in everything yet, and is just not revealing his knowledge for now, but Luke is still rolling with it... wonder what’s going through his mind by this point. again, it frustrates me that Luke really has no emotional reaction to anything in UF, aside from the statue and his worries about leaving Hershel soon and how that in particular will affect their relationship

I also wonder what Clive is thinking by this point. Now that the Future Layton jig is up, what kind of story is he going with now? We never find out because Hershel reveals everything completely the next time Clive joins up with them again, but in the (unreasonable) case that he hadn’t, would Clive have just acted like he didn’t know that Alain Stahngun was actually someone named Dimitri, who was actually pretending to be Layton, and that the real Layton was somewhere else out there that they needed to find? I don’t know WHY I’m so interested in details like these that don’t matter at all in the long run a;lksdfklfd, but I am... he tells Flora to continue the “investigation” without him, so clearly he still had something in mind, and didn’t expect Hershel to out him quite so soon after that even if deep down he wanted it

Chelmey really cares for Barton and it’s actually so sweet, oml :’)

I didn’t really praise Paul’s character development in this game enough before, but I really do love it, even if I don’t quite understand the circumstances that started it. It’s not something I would have expected with how he’s presented in CV and DB, but it’s very nice to see this be the culmination of his character, and it’s kinda sad that it feels a bit more natural than Descole’s sudden shift in backstory/character between ED and MM/AL... It’s very funny and good to see him and Luke bicker at each other, and how he seems to have a soft spot for Flora... it’s all cute. I just wish there’d been a bit more time for him to talk to them, but that’s what fanfic is for

Don’t make me have to see Hershel beaten up in the street :’(

The sprite of Dimitri standing in the bar is incredibly hot.... damn why are all the older male characters my type >.>

Alright but it’s about time I finally talk about Dimitri without dissing him for being stupid sometimes and say that in short, I love him. He might even be my favorite new character in UF, even more than Clive; I don’t know if it’s just the Liam O’Brian Tragic Sexy Tired Villain effect or what (nah let’s be real, that’s a huge part of it lmao), but he’s fantastic and utterly breaks my heart, in a much more understated way than how the game shoves Clive’s angst in your face, but his tragedy is nonetheless impossible to ignore. The flashback with young Dimitri is my favorite scene in the entire game, it is devastating and feels so cinematic, so raw and painful, and I’m glad they animated that part because it humanizes him so much more. Claire was his everything, he loved her so much, but it is so obvious to me (and to a lot of the fandom too, I think) that his love was entirely selfless - he might have been a little sad, but he was still mostly content letting Hershel have her, and when it comes to after her death, Dimitri would have been absolutely happy not being able to have her if he managed to save her life; he just wanted her to live. He was in love with her, yes, but he also loved her, as a friend, as a scientist, as a person whose time was cut far too short for entirely selfish and unnecessary reasons, and the majority of his anger and bitterness and drive came from a desire to fix such an injustice - to save an innocent person’s life. And the saddest part of him doing all this and trying to sustain Claire’s existence in the present once he finds her, if you go with the closed loop time travel theory, is that Dimitri should already know it’s impossible for him to succeed in this as long as he remembers finding her body in the past - him succeeding would create a paradox, thus, he can’t save her. But he’s so deep in his despair and obsession and insistence on preserving her life that I don’t think he ever stops to think about this - or he does, but refuses to acknowledge it. I’m sure he was incredibly sweet and kind and soft in the past, with her, and with his passion, and it’s heartbreaking to see how broken he is now, how miserable and tired he is, how much everything changed him. And wanting to get back at someone like Bill, who had it all to begin with and then carelessly used them to gain even more, well, I don’t blame him for that. >_> Not to mention his relationship with Clive, which is all kinds of fascinating to think about: the most chaotic, dysfunctional mess of a half-business partnership half-father/son relationship there is, ahaha... Both of them are unhealthy to the extreme in different ways, but with how much time they spent together, it’s inevitable they had vulnerable moments around each other... Clive is the only other person Dimitri would have around during his research to possibly grow to care about, even if it was entirely unconsciously. Learning he was using him would, well, ruin their relationship even more than it was already messed up, but maybe he would visit Clive in prison at least once, assuming Hershel was. I just crave content for them, ugh. Dimitri just deserved so much better, he makes me so sad </3 and I honestly hate that we don’t get to see him say goodbye to Claire at the end before Hershel; sure it would have utterly killed me, but surely he deserved that much...

The utter, frankly amazing, stupidity of Flora’s kidnapping has been stated everywhere, we all know it, but just.... yeah. smh

Seeing the mobile fortress be like *war flashbacks to the Detragon* “Not This Shit Again” Hershel why tf you putting Luke in more danger AGAIN???

The car scenes with the mobile fortress are, at least to me, the funniest parts of the entire game, even better than the casino, oh my god they’re AMAZING. Luke screaming and flailing his arms while Hershel deadpan flings the car towards the fortress, all the bumps they hit riding across it later on, the car just FALLING and Bill almost falling out of it, and then the plane, all the while Hershel displays no more than mild frustration while everyone else is PANICKING... “a plane? This is an automobile!” ...iconic. top PL moments ever. Luke don’t you recall the time when Hershel built an entire mini plane out of a chainsaw and a barrel in ED, come on now

Onto Claire. Claire doesn’t get much screentime, but some of the moments she does have are very good; she’s one of the best and most fleshed-out female PL characters imo, and like a lot of things, I appreciate her a lot more after this replay than I did years ago... LayClaire is a cute ship and all, but I was never really obsessed with it; rather, I’m realizing now I’m more invested in what Claire has to offer by herself. I hate to use the term “strong female character” cause that sounds so cliche... but she really is strong. The entire part with her wanting to save Clive, their conversation, and her bringing him out... god it gets me, it really does. She’s known she’s going to die for ages, and at this point in the game she knows it could be any moment now, so she has no reason to try to keep herself safe; she’s doomed no matter what, so she might as well spend the last few minutes of her life saving another life, and not just anyone: someone who’s just killed countless people, who anyone else would see as insane, who doesn’t care for her, doesn’t care if he lives or dies - but Claire is compassionate enough that, despite everything, she fiercely believes he deserves to live. Because of her own guilt and sins she believes she bears, yes, but also simply because she believes he can still change, and doesn’t deserve to die, despite the HORRIBLE atrocity he just committed. She’s just that good a person. It’s no wonder she and Hershel loved each other and were made for each other; both of them are such kind, loving, selfless people who see the best in anyone no matter what. Perhaps she hoped and suspected that Hershel would look out for and care for Clive once he was in prison, so she wanted to make sure that could happen, even if she wouldn’t be around to ever see it.

sorry I just get really emotional about this part, about the entire mood and tone of Claire desperately trying to save this kid, and the way the camera focuses on the massive scale of the fortress and how it dwarfs them in size... It’s a really powerful and melancholic scene (just like Dimitri’s flashback scene; have I mentioned how much I adore the atmosphere and cinematic direction of this game? cause god I do) with the knowledge of her real identity and circumstances, the visuals and the music are so good, ugh i just have so many feels. mom Claire hurts me </3 she’s so good... Despite the fact that she dies, and so much of what everyone is doing is because of her death, her presence in the story is so strong, and it never feels like her only purpose is to die for everyone else’s development and that’s it (unlike... well, a lot of other pl females :’); she has her own things to do, she stops the fortress alongside Hershel, and literally saves the main antagonist’s life. Seriously I just adore the fact that she of all people is the one to rescue Clive in the end even though she wasn’t at all obligated to (although I’d be interested and cry over an AU where Hershel saves him instead; it honestly surprises me that he wasn’t going to until Claire said something...), because Clive is the only character (of the adults) who doesn’t have a direct relationship with Claire, but they’re still connected by the explosion, and so it makes for an interesting and terribly sad dynamic, even if they only have a few minutes with each other, for all the reasons I said earlier. Claire doesn’t think what he did was right, but she knows what she and the other scientists did wasn’t right either - and it’s too late for her now, but it’s not too late for him; she knows he has a kind heart, deep down, and that he needs help if he wants to redeem himself. She feels responsible for him, feels like she owes him that second chance, after indirectly taking his parents from him and causing him such misery and brokenness... She’s so brave and strong-willed to be able to do and admit all that she does; I just love her. It clearly kills her to leave Hershel, I don’t think she intended at first to ever let him know who she was (hence Celeste), but she’s not too upset in the end, because she (rightly) knows that he will be all right. ;; She’s so beautiful, too... wish we could have seen her interact with so many of the other characters </3

and so my favorite “insert Descole into the main trilogy” AU is where Descole intercepts Claire and makes some sort of body for her, like how everyone headcanons that for Aurora post-AL. (or/also just mobile fortress vs. Descole robots, that’s cool too lol)

And finally, Clive, the infamous star of Unwound Future, thought I talked about him a bit already (and also in this post a few weeks ago). Clive is probably the PL series’ best written villain Anton excluded, I absolutely love him, like everyone does. Nothing really about him hasn’t been done before elsewhere, but that’s not a bad thing; when I was younger and first played the game I really only paid attention to his sympathetic side, but now I’ve also grown an appreciation and fondness for that kind of unabashedly awful, manic, evil insanity a villain like him has, it’s just SO entertaining to watch. If PL was a more mature/higher rated series I’d love to see his chaotic crazed energy played up even more, just to really hammer in how messed up he is, ahaha, but of course that would make it harder to sympathize with him..... and unfortunately, it already is kind of hard, because.... shit, the number of people he must have killed? It’s a LOT. A FUCKTON. The level of sympathy the game gives Clive and the way it presents him at the end is not at ALL relative to the astronomical amount of people that had to have been squashed to death by his machine, to the point that it honestly makes me uncomfortable, and I try to just retcon that in my head, as hard as it is to imagine a scenario where that thing could have come up to London and not hit any houses, because like..... There’s no coming back from that. He knew exactly what he was doing, madness or not, and I honestly just... don’t want him to be such a mass murderer. Maybe it’s wrong to ignore it, but the game wants me to feel sorry for him and see his potential for redemption, and his relationship with Hershel is so good... dammit game, why’d you have to show those houses being crushed. Ugh. Because Clive is so compelling as someone who feels betrayed by people in power, who desires revenge not only for himself but for all the people who suffered just like he has that he says he bore witness to as a reporter; it’s a very relatable position and a good story, for his well-meaning intentions to be skewed and lost in the midst of his rage and despair and hatred and insanity, where his very valid point of “hey people in government are fucked up and don’t give a shit about us and that needs to change” gets turned into “they all need to die even if the very innocent people I want to save get hurt by this as well”, and I really wish that whole angle of it had been played up a bit more, and there had been more of an opportunity for Hershel to reason with him and argue that in the midst of his blind need for revenge, he’s become even worse than the people who need justice handed to them (cue some Descole allusionssss). He wouldn’t have to win him over, Clive is already too deep by that point despite how much he wanted to be stopped, but just having more of that than just what happens in the surveillance room would have been sooooooo good, I love that conversation. It would have made Clive even better and really drive home that he’s 1) kinda right about some things and wants better for people 2) still very fucking wrong and selfish at the same time and has taken it all way too far 3) very fucked up and broken. Not that the third point isn’t already abundantly clear, but... yeah. It would have given him even more depth, made him more sympathetic, and helped juuust a little to offset how much the game handwaves his mass murders... just a little... One of my favorite Clive scenes though is when the fortress is breaking down and he’s still there, desperately trying to save it, still in denial about the fact that all his plans have failed and that everything he’s done (and himself) is about to go up in flames; I know everyone loves making fun of him and that that scene is pretty memeable (he does get bodied so much in the game, lmaooo), but it makes him look so vulnerable, all alone in there by himself, like a child, which is what he really is, deep down: he never truly wanted to do something so abhorrent and evil, but his emotions and mind spiraled so badly out of control and it led him to such a dark, horrible place, where he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to, and in the end all he can do is watch helplessly as the reality of what he’s done and his unwound future all comes crashing down in front of him, never to be salvaged. And he believes wholeheartedly that he is going to die, that he deserves to (this is my favorite Clive scene; he’s so hurt and resigned, the voice acting kills me ugh), he doesn’t understand at all why Claire wants to save him, especially if he knows she’s one of the scientists (as his line of “why are you of all people helping me” implies), because he always thought none of them ever cared about him and people he saw as like him, thought everyone was like Bill Hawks, but Claire still cared enough to want to save his life, even though she was one of the people he was actively targeting with his revenge... I wonder how he would have felt at the time if he had known about her situation and that she was dying. </3 I just want so many good things for him, as so much of the fandom does. He’s so messed up but that’s what makes him so interesting, and his potential relationship with Hershel that the ending of the game suggests could happen is so touching and lovely and uplifting, one of my favorite kinds of relationships in fiction: Clive’s issues would persist for so long, for forever, really, but Hershel would support him and help him heal, and be there for him always, no matter how much Clive would feel like he didn’t deserve it. I eat this dynamic up, I really do, every single time I encounter it in a story, and it’s made even better by the fact that as I’ve said, Hershel has so much in common with Clive, and so they would get along very well for that reason, and Clive could unknowingly help Hershel just as much Hershel tries to help him. They’re so good for each other. Add Luke too, and Flora, and Desmond...! just ahhhhh........ there’s so much goodness. Clive you absolute glorious, fucked-up mess of a character, I love you. :’) and I love fic writers who explore facets of his personality and write about him. He’s only in one game, and there’s still a few hiccups, as I said, yet he’s handled far better than Descole or Randall in my opinion (though I love them too)... just an amazing fucking villain, and character. I wish UF could have gone deeper with him than it did, but even so, the possibilities with Clive are endless. I love him, so much ;;

and some of the themes of the plot in this game, uhh, hit a little close to home in good ole’ 2020/21 time we live in? :’) #FuckBillHawks

Hershel saying goodbye to Claire.... god. One of the top scenes in the entire series, probably the #1 most iconic I’d even go so far as to say. I don’t even really ship LayClaire, but there’s an indescribable emotion that finale gives me... it’s just breathtaking, in the most gutwrenching, nostalgic, beautiful way. I still maintain that Diabolical Box’s ending is sadder than this one, for a multitude of reasons, just comparing the stories and situations the characters are in, but I 100% don’t blame people for bawling at this scene more than any other, just because of the way it’s done yes I know I won’t shut up about the cinematography; the lighting, the camera angles, the pacing of it, Hershel’s fucking kicked puppy faces, the dialogue oh god the dialogue; it ALL hits like a TRUCK and comes together beautifully. At this point in his life Hershel has been through so much loss, so much so that it is unbearable - when he cries that he doesn’t want to say goodbye again, that he can’t say goodbye again, that he refuses to, nothing in the world is more true: this man has been through too much, and he’s hit his breaking point. even if you don’t have the prequels in mind when watching this, as most people don’t/didn’t the first time through, the overwhelming sense of burden and loss Hershel is feeling is so palpable, so painful - you get the sense that this isn’t just about Claire; Hershel has never shown emotion like this before up to this point, so for him to finally break down like this... it speaks volumes. After so many years of holding everything in, he finally can’t take it anymore, and basically stabbing me in the fucking chest would hurt less </3 I complain about Hershel never showing emotion like this (never crying) in the prequels whenever he’s hit with an equally horrible bombshell, and I still feel that way, but at the same time a part of me is also glad that’s the case, because it makes the very last (two) scenes in the entire series hit so much harder, knowing that he finally loses his composure after dealing with so much. As the titular character of the series, Hershel’s development is very understated and subtle, so it’s all the more meaningful when he actually snaps, because it makes him feel so much more real and human than he ever is the rest of the time, when he maintains his facade of being a perfectly composed, calm, and together gentleman; this scene finally say that, no, Hershel is a person, and he is broken in a lot of ways, because some puzzles you just can’t solve no matter how hard you try, and it’s so sad. And this sad tone of loss and longing permeates the entire cutscene; the way the title is dropped in Claire’s dialogue (both versions equally haunting imo), and Hershel taking off his hat for the first time ever, and the pan up and transition back to show the falling snow as “Time Travel”, my favorite instrumental in the series, kicks in... y’all there is no other feeling in the world like the feeling that elicits, there really isn’t ಥ⌣ಥ ❤️💔 the only thing that might even come close to it is the ending of Azran Legacy with Surely Someday, simply because it was the ending of the series, but the ending of Unwound Future hits me harder knowing it’s the end of the timeline, and with everything else in hindsight. And then an unknown amount of time later, even with Luke gone and Hershel only having Flora there with him anymore unless we headcanon DESMOND COMES BACK BECAUSE OF COURSE HE DID RIGHT, Hershel is still no longer wearing his hat, to show that he’s finally started to heal from his pain, and accepted the loss(es), because throughout all of UF Hershel had never really gotten over Claire’s death no matter how much he tried to pretend like he had, but you don’t realize that until you see the ending, until he got one final chance to see her. I just... ugh I love it so much, so much. It means so much, for Hershel and for the series, and that’s why it makes me cry (and don’t even get me sTARTED on Luke’s goodybe, and how upsetting yet beautiful THAT is. yes, Luke isn’t a gentleman yet, and Hershel finally learns that maybe he doesn’t always have to be one, either :’’’’’’)

Unwound Future is a masterpiece. Diabolical Box has my favorite characters and story for the new characters, and favorite settings, personally, but Unwound Future is such top-tier storytelling and writing; it feels so epic and sweeping and (here i go again) cinematic, it’s so polished and everything flows so well, the pacing is wonderful, everything ties up so perfectly and there’s very little I would change Flora bitching aside and practically nothing that feels like filler, even though some of it technically is. The tone stays consistent and they really push the boundaries of how serious and heavy these games can be, and it works, and doesn’t feel silly or glossed over or too unrealistic or too heavyhanded like some of the other games are at times; the plot twists/reveals feel the least absurd and the most grounded in reality, despite still being wild, and it focuses on some really relevant stuff and themes (again, it feels really grounded and raw, and the least fantastical, which isn’t a bad thing for the other games/movie per se, but being more realistic works in this one’s favor. No one is going to have their family separated and murdered by a criminal secret organization working to unearth ancient advanced civilized ruins, or lose years of their life and memories in said ancient ruins, or have their life ruined in an eternal unaging state from hallucinogenic gas, but being screwed over by people in government who will do anything to make sure they never have to face consequences? now that’s a mood). It’s just a really fucking good game, by far the best Professor Layton game, and I’ll always stand by that, despite preferring DB just a bit more cause it hits more of my personal tastes (DB is still very good too though, don’t get me wrong), and it’s also enhanced even more by the prequels, though it stands perfectly on its own. The perfect culmination of Hershel’s character arc, and the absolute high point of the series. It’s one of the ones I keep coming back to the most, just because it has so much to offer; as someone who is absolutely enamored with near-perfect stories of this caliber, I couldn’t ask for more. ❤️

[countryshitposts]

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

Pain, I Let The Bullets Fly Oh Let Them Rain

Trigger Warnings: Rape

Also whoever gets the symbolism i made TELL ME

AO3 Link

-

Name Guide:

Sulian- Soviet Union

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Renmin/Jung-gug- China

Minguo- Republic of China

Nippon Koku- Japan

Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire

-

New Zealand thrusts a newspaper underneath America’s nose at seven in the morning, rudely interrupting her morning coffee and general mood for the day. She can already feel an incoming headache, resonating deep inside her as her blue eyes skim the pages, resting on the featured headline. Normally she would not care for headlines and news stories, believing that she’s updated herself every so often, on cold lonely nights with a mug of steaming tea in her hands, looking down from her balcony and into the wild, breeze flowing down at her hair as she checks her phone for new inquiries and to see if there is anything that can potentially be useful to her; either for entertainment or for her job.

She furrows her brows as she reads the headlines again and again, clutching the smooth surface of the newspaper, acting like it has done something wrong to her when in reality, she was the one missing-in-action, out of the game, because she was busily fixing that god-awful broken television that kept bugging her due to the fact she could not watch all of her weekly shows last night in a bathrobe.

“What do you think of this?”, New Zealand asks his sister, quirking a brow at her direction, like she was the boss and everyone has to follow her orders.

(Technically, she is the boss- from taking care of this whole department while the others had gone to their free periods and such, or to the point where her hair is in a bun and looking over at the files in alphabetical order, hoping for the morning to go easy on her.)

“I don’t know; how do you think I should react?”, she replies to her brother, who shrugs a little.

“This might be our one chance on getting into Teikoku’s lair once and for all”, New Zealand replies, and he points at the picture of a man in his late thirties, dark brown eyes staring at the camera, smooth dark hair shining from the light. Manchukuo, it read. “This guy was one of his bodyguards, and now he’s got a vacant position that one of us can occupy.”

“You can take care of this; I’ll be watching.” She leans back onto her swivel chair, legs on the reception desk, boredly looking at the lights blinkering above her, the ceiling plain white and she reminds herself to actually paint this whole dull station to look more entertaining than the pieces of paper scattered around her office day and night.

“You’re going to participate in this”, Canada speaks up from where he was sitting, Vietnam in front of him, possibly talking about something important. “We need you on this case, America. Because I feel like this Teikoku case will spiral out of control due to the diabolical plans he has up his sleeve.”

America groans- Canada was using his ‘older brother’ voice (despite the fact America is older than the bastard by a few years); at times Australia would mimick his tone of voice whenever they were alone to make Kiwi and America better, but now she handles the lamp on her desk, feeling its metal surface underneath her warm palms, wanting to throw the object right at Canada’s face, wanting to hear him shout in surprise as the lamp will collide with his face. She doesn’t, though; she’ll have fun torturing him during practice.

The front door opens and like fishes swimming their way to where the food is, they turn their heads towards the swinging doors, to reveal Philip (two hours late, like he always is), with an even more eyebrow-raising surprise; he was holding a vase full of white orchids, its petals flowing softly in the rising sun before he rudely closes the doors, his face looking utterly exhausted like he’s ran a marathon, dark circles over taking the space under his eyes like it was a cosmic deity of space and his hands were trembling, perhaps forcing them to work to death and in excruciating pain, leaving them immobile as he tries to carry the light-weight vase with visible difficulty. His hair was messy and standing on ends, like he had just woken up from the soft and sweet tendrils of sleep just this morning, put on his shoddy attire (it doesn’t even look ironed; the ruffled creases is obvious) and walked from hell to work.

But everyone’s eyes weren’t on Philip looking the slightest bit ghastly or sleep-deprived despite drinking down three cups of coffee based on how rushed and fast he walks, no; their eyes were on the pale white orchids, the wind inside of the room making them bow down obedient and willing to listen to their master. The colors were ghostly, touched by a spirit from another realm, like someone had just died.

The silence was broken by Philip, who, in his coffee-blazed haze, glares at everyone. “What?”

Canada was the first to recover, a smirk playin on his lips, light eyes staring at the orchids. “So, who is it?”

“Whose what?”, Philip snaps, walking towards his desk and harshly placing the vase on the table- America sees the orchids bounce, its only fluid movement of life before becoming silent once again.

“Uh, ya know”, Aussie eyes the vase again, “the orchids.”

Philip glances at the orchids, like it was the first time he acknowledges their presence as he raises a brow. “These? A friend gave them to me this morning.”

Canada’s smirk grows wider, his brows wiggling. “A ’friend’, hm? Or perhaps… a secret admirer?”

Philip rolls his eyes, sighing. “Look, it’s not like that okay? Just… drop it.”

America blinks at the tone of curtness Philip had in his voice, especially when he starts to curse the god above to why the coffee machine is empty and who wasted the favorite flavor of his, mumbling something incomprehensible before resolving to go outside, away from the eyes, to go buy somewhere.

As he opens the door to the outside world again, the sun and electrical lights made America catch on to something she did not notice a while ago.

There was a golden ring on Philip’s finger, a pattern of small words deciphered into it, its golden gleam and glow reflective throughout the sun.

“America, we really need your help in this case”, Canada pleads with her again, voice soft and literally like a small boy, but she scoffs.

“Ya’ll can do that on your own”, she replies, examining her gleaming and polished nails in the light. “I’m going to be here. Watching.”

“We need you more than as a watcher”, Canada argues back, his voice becoming impatient as his strings of kindness start to loosen. “We need you on our team, to spy on enemy eyes.”

“What makes Teikoku so special anyways? He kidnap a boy’s mother- big deal. Does that make him different from other mobs that also kidnap people?”

“Well, no, not really-”

“Well you have my answer. I’m not helping, you’re on your own.”

“Will this change your mind, then?”, Philip intervenes from the end of the table, holding up a small slip of paper. He walks up to America, giving her the brittle piece of evidence to why she’d volunteer onto this crazy cuckoo quest her brother had just started because he’s too compassionate to a child. She reads and rereads it, the messy and garbled writing surely belonging to Teikoku, due to his harsh lettering and vocabulary. She could just imagine him writing this message with a small smirk on his face, loving the way he would toy at the people he would crush under his shoes when the time comes.

Her eyes tell the story all by itself. Absolute boredom once she starts reading the words and language written in the letter, slowly widening in surprise and panic, the words and letters slowly murdering her on the inside, one hand letting go of the letter to hold on to her throat, as if the words are latching onto her, suffocating her with a pillow. America’s eyes of terror stare from Canada’s concerned expression to Philip’s furrowed brow.

“Where did you find this?”, America asks the one who gave her the letter, him fiddling with his pen.

“I decided to look into someone else’s files for the Teikoku case”, he says, eye averting from the audience, expression unreadable, lines clearly well-rehearsed like he has heard this question one thousand and one nights and his mouth of silver would answer words golden, words of promises, showering jewelry onto the person he is speaking to. “Tokyo, his brother.”

“He wrote his plans to his brother? Then how did it end up in Tokyo’s file?” Canada asks with a suspicious look on his face.

Philip sighs, “Look, sometimes I can hack into others’ documents; Tokyo’s letter history wasn’t secure at all, which is how I got the letter.”

“Philip asks full permission to search out the files for Teikoku’s family”, Aussie intervenes, raising his hand.

“Apparently Teikoku’s letter to Tokyo was hidden beneath another sheet of paper to the point we haven’t even noticed it”, Kiwi adds.

Philip was distractedly playing with the ring on his finger, eyes full of longing… before turning back to America. “So- are you in this or not?”

America looks back at her audience, eyes expectant, monitoring and watching her evert move. It was a choice of a lifetime; to stop Teikoku’s evil deeds before the seeds of malevolence he had planted grow over night, into a tree deep in the gardens, standung still, swaying to the beat of the winds and its leaves will become darker, shaping the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve had eaten due to a snake’s evil treachery. America looks at the tables, its metallic state replicating her face but more distorted and highly surreal, everyone’s eyes are now melded into one being. She sighs, defeated.

“Fine, I’ll join.”

-

Koku stands outside of Teikoku’s office, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms at the same time carressing his bruise. He winces once his fingers brush the wound on his forearm, once a gash from last night now bandaged but he can still see the traces of crimson blood when he dares look at it. He’d bit his lip during the whole process of tending to his wound, trying not to glance at it because he knows that it is quite a gruesome sight, clenching his eyes closed, feeling the nurse’s hands near the wound and even above it, making him wince ever so slightly. Teikoku was there, encouraging him that everything will be fine, it was just a gash he had earned from the shattered chandelier glass.

It was obsessively itchy in the bandages, and he tries to resist scratching his forearm because goddamn it the whole bandage was itchy, like hands trying hard to find his sensitive spot but ultimately failing because he is both angry and irritated. It was much better than the obliterating pain he felt when he realizes he actually has a wound on his arm.

Koku inhales and exhales; whatever the reason, he dislikes the sight of blood.

He hears his brother in his office, talking to someone on the phone in a hushed voice, always knowing when someone is at the door. Koku decides to spend his time waiting for Teikoku by rehearsing his words, clouds of words and letters forming in his head like precipitation is going to drown them all. He tries to pick his words carefully, walking on a tightrope that once he looks down he sees a dark abyss opening its mouth to engulf him wholly. He forms a coherent sentence in his mind, a cloud to his clear-headedness; he hears the squeak of a door and Koku snaps out from his thoughts.

“Koku”, comes the voice of the elder, actually tinged with surprise as he finds his younger brother, “what brings you to my room?”

Koku bites his lower lip, opening his mouth and trying to remind his brain not to stutter. “W-well, Manchukuo’s dead.”

Teikoku’s face clouds over, but instead of white cotton clouds blocking out the sun his whole face looks like a thunderstorm is brewing. “I am aware of it.”

“He has three children”, Koku continues, “I believe that they need to be notified of their father’s…”, he swallows down bile and the word ‘dead’, “passing.”

Teikoku nods, his face still settled into a deep frown. “Is that all you wish to talk to me, brother?”

Koku shivers a little, like Teikoku’s stare is stabbing into him, and he has never felt this feeling before, like the whole surrounding is now covered in ice, freezing him until he cannot move, eyes searching for a way of warmth before dying in fiery cold.

“No”, Koku fixes his hair awkwardly as a way to compose himself, “since Manchukuo is… dead, I feel like what he left - aside from his children - is a vacant position for a job.”

Teikoku lifts a brow, suddenly intrigued. “A job.”

Koku nods, “For um… as a bodyguard for the family.”

Teikoku’s frown transforms to a thoughtful look, seemingly considering what Koku says, before looking back at his brother with a small smile on his face. “I’ll consider it; but you do the job interviews, hm?”

Koku’s face lights up, ultimately nodding- he had never received a serious responsibility before, and he now feels eager to do as his brother says. “I will, not to worry Teikoku.” Before he turns to leave, however, he looks back at him. “Where was Palau, during the dinner?”

Teikoku smiles mysteriously, hiding a secret, the snake inside of him trying to jump out. “She had a dinner date in another restaurant; she didn’t want us to disturb them, so I didn’t invite her to eat dinner with us.”

(Palau had been thoroughly as shaken as Koku was when she comes out of her car, pale as a ghost, shielding her body from her father, eyes swivelling from he to Koku. She doesn’t look like she even ate, as thin as she had once was, no joy in her body and replaced by fear clawing at her alive.

Koku had asked what happened to her date, and, her eyes flinging to Teikoku, she smiles a little before saying, “I enjoyed it.”)

Koku nods, telling his brother he will see him later during lunch, walking away from his brother and his room, hearing the door close behind him. As if the cost was clear, as if his third eye tells him that the threat has now long gone, his smile fades and turns into a small frown. His fingers linger on his wound before the little pinch of pain becomes too much for him to handle, his pacing becoming faster, shuffling his feet across the smooth tiles of floors like he is now being lifted by an angel with wings. His train of thought goes from his request to his brother to what happened last night.

Koku thinks about the catastrophe that was last night: how an unruly gang knew Teikoku’s name and wants his blood; how Manchukuo seemed to recognize one of the members; how that man was seen dragging away another boy away from Teikoku; he doesn’t get why that gang targetted his brother, of all people. Perhaps of his money, he assumes, because they are one of the richest families in the city, and Teikoku’s charming grin while handling his well-tailored suit can tell him that they wish to smear his blood on his own fortune, to claim it as their own. But there was something else- the way the boy with the eye-patch tries to aim his pistol on Teikoku, wishing vengeance as he tries to shoot the bullet ready to kill him. The way Teikoku did not flinch nor look casual when he sees Manchukuo’s body, blood dripping from the hole in his head, like he expected this outcome and expected his death.

Maybe there is more to Teikoku and he is only scratching the surface.

-

America sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, tying her hair up in a bun, looking at her reflection in the bathroom’s mirror. When she tells them she actually wanted to join this wild case against Teikoku, they give her a job where she wouldn’t sit back and watch this whole disaster play out. At the very least, she isn’t going to disguise herself as a prostitute to seduce her clients, like what Canada is doing now. She takes out her compact mirror to try add a little splendor to her face, then dabbing herself with perfume to somewhat impress her brand new 'boss’, as Australia so elegantly put it.

(“Looks like you’re the one being ordered around now”, Australia snickers as he gives her a bunch of uniforms to sort out through to see which suits her the best.

America gives her brother a glare before picking out one from the pile, “I’ll have fun removing your lunch time privilages.”

Australia goes pale.)

America looks back at her reflection again, cerulean eyes making contact with its duplicate, steeling herself for what was about to come, rehearsing the words in her head and trying hard not to let Teikoku get the best of her. Of course, she reminds herself to never be nervous of Teikoku, that he is the worst of them all, a single demon escaping from hell to create an all new spawn of monsters lurking around every dark corner, a shadow to one’s eye. She takes a deep and sharp breath, applying lip balm on her lips and she gives herself a small smile, to look like nothing is wrong and everything is fine, and that she isn’t infiltrating a bastard’s home every time he isn’t looking.

America replays her role in her head, trying to clear her mind.

Be hired as one of Teikoku’s bodyguards.

Find evidence in his files.

Arrest him.

Sounds like an easy enough plan, America thinks to herself, the problem is whether Teikoku is smart enough to see through her.

Another reason why she did not join this whole goose chase in the first place: she indisputably is aware that Teikoku is a conniving and perceptive man- one wrong move he’ll put a bullet through her skull or do something much worse than a quick and painless death. She had met him, once; during a party by one of the highest officials in the city, intent to become allies with the richest of businessman and highest of officials.

Teikoku was the least talkative out of everyone she has ever interacted, crossing his arms and never inviting anyone to his personal space unless he is called by someone else, putting on anelegant and charming smile that wins the entire population, disregsrding his eyes; grey orbs that swirl with absolute evil and lust for power, his hands conjoining as he looks towards the surroundings with intent and ambition painted across his face, waiting for the right moment to strike like he was a lion waiting for the prey to be surrounded to jump out from their hiding and tear its food apart, piece by piece, grinding its teeth to their flesh as they squeal and scream and kick but the grip is firm, until their screams die and their hearts will stop, knowing that this was the end of their existence.

America refuses to remember the way he looked at her, the way he looked at the other women from a distance, smiling wickedly ever so slightly, a smirk on his face, glass of wine in his palms, studying its contents.

America looks back at the mirror, giving herself another confident smile, before stalking out from the bathroom and into the fatal situation that she has gotten herself into, with no way back unless it’s through Teikoku’s head.

-

Canada has never been to a brothel before.

(Well, if he counts those times his father tried to get him to loosen up a bit and lose his virginity to strangers unknown to him. He declined his father’s offers, knowing that he should save his virtue for someone special, but later that night he made the mistake of letting someone into their house in a drunken haze, his room smelling of honey and lemon for days.)

He opens his phone to send Aussie and Kiwi a message, that he was already in front of Teikoku’s very own brothel and house for prostitution, ’The Comfort Zone’, as he so elegantly put it.

(He can see why it is called like that; providing comfort and sweet sweet lust to the clients paying for a cheap fuck or two, but for the prostitutes being forced to work in this place they are stuck in the deepest pits of hell, forcefully playing the game of lust with their customers, knowing they don’t enjoy it, and never will.)

Canada takes his time pacing at the entrace, trying to make himself look unrecognizable and obscure from the cameras littering around the place, covering himself, trying to look unrecognizable through the blur of the mobitoring and predating cameras littered around the whole place, fixing his hair, making himself look less more of an officer and more as an awkward and newcomer looking for a quick fuck like their stored lust has now been unleashed.

But for the first time in his life, he isn’t looking forward to get laid.

He needed answers and evidence to destroy Teikoku and his family once and for all, ridding the world once more of life that taints blood with inklings of darkness, first small drops like a rain before the storm hits, before the thunder claps and the lightning flashes and strikes across the sky, until it becomes a downpour but instead of drying once their old enemy the sun is shining ever so brightly and radiantly, they dry until nothing is left but their ghosts.

Taking a deep breath, he walks in.

-

Renmin wakes up feeling warm, either from the sun escaping through the barriers that is the windows and curtains, the soft blanket covering his waist down, or Sulian’s warm arms wrapping around him. He can feel Sulian’s breath on his neck, the way his lover’s chest rises and falls like the beat of his heart, eyes closed and lips parted, as if expecting a kiss from the deepest tendrils of sleep, waiting for someone, anyone, to wake him up with a touch on the lips. Renmin just smiles, of course; nothing had ruined his peaceful morning with Sulian, their night ecstatic and amazing, each of their kisses giving them more and more warmth until it burnt on their skin and lips like forging the flames of a dying sun. He carefully carresses the man in front of him, his lover, on the cheek, feeling the softness of the skin from a hardenned man, always in for battles, but never displaying affection.

Except for him.

The warm arms enveloping him pushes his bare body, only flesh and no clothing, closer to Sulian’s chest, shirt ruffled and tattered from last night’s latest game for naught. Renmin sighs once again, putting his arms around Sulian’s much larger and bulkier body, cuddling himself closer in his chest.

They can stay like this forever; time standing still, stopping them from doing anything, no one disturbing them, an unbreakable glass dome around the couple, serene and sturdy, letting them rest until they grow old and die, thus ending their small string of love, cut by fate.

Of course, nothing can last forever- he hears Sulian groan, a sign he has roughly been disrupted from his peaceful sleep and is brought back to the nightmare that is his life, and his dream that is Renmin, smiling back at him. He opens his amber eye, taking in his surroundings like he was in an unfamiliar setting with no way back, until his eyes find Renmin’s, body entangled in a mass of blankets and his arms, smiling a little back at him. Sulian smiles as well, feeling his day become better just by looking at the star near him, brightening like a damned solar flare, until burning out and becoming mortal like the rest of the universe.

Renmin feels a kiss on top of his forehead, a kiss of love burning through his head like the bullet he embedded on his own brother’s forehead, no sense of remorse, and no time for such rushed reunions.

All he needed was Sulian, and that is the objective that makes his heart melt.

“Zaoshang hao”, he greets, as he feels the arms around him stretch and Sulian yawning. He feels another kiss on his forehead, then on his lips, short but brilliant, making him feel at home.

“Morning, lyubov”, Soviet greets back, still entranced from sleep. Renmin chuckles as Sulian once again puts his arms around him, bringing him closer. “I have been dreaming about you.”

Renmin smells the sweat and blood on his shirt, sighing a little. “As you should.”

They stay like this once again, the entire world against their union and against their love for one another, but they too, hate what the world has given them and wish to correct the perspective given to them. Minguo had made the same mistake, trying to tear them apart to keep his younger brother loyal, but in the end he lost one ally to another.

He can feel old grudges rising inside of him, remembering Minguo’s red face once he says he was in an alliance with Sulian’s gang, remembering the way his older brother’s hands were up on his throat, choking and suffocating him, depriving the boy of needed air to sustain himself and one hand crawling up until it reaches his eye, and as Renmin cries and screams and kicks and pleads with Minguo, begging for forgiveness, but like a doctor’s scalpel digging into one’s flesh to draw out blood, the fingers plunging into his sockets and ripping his eye out like it was nothing but a toy stuck and wedged into the wall, the hands stubbornly never giving up on its onslaught until at last they finally meet their goal. A hand unconsciously comes towards the wounded eye, a raw flavor on what those wars have done to him.

A sigh comes from Sulian- not one of disappointment but a pitying one. “Thinking about Minguo again?”

Renmin snuggles a little more into him, “Well, sort of. It’s been a decade and I still haven’t found him.”

Amber eyes melt into gold. “Is it because of your meeting with Manchukuo last night?”

Renmin fixes his hair, staring at the ceiling. “Well, yes; we’re all aware that he works for that bastard man now, but to see him again… it just made me feel strange.”

“Perhaps from the fact I murdered your own blood?”

Renmin snorts, “Oh please- I’d care less about family who’s rejected me lying down in front of me dead.” He kisses Sulian again, feeling a hand on his back to elongate and deepen their passion, until seconds later Sulian lets him go, light in his eyes.

“Let’s go eat breakfast, then”, Sulian says, getting up, his waist below covered by the covers until he stands, looking for his clothes, leaving Renmin to monitor his back, feeling his skin prick with more passion.

They were late for breakfast, of course; breathless and messy hair, clothes absolutely falling down like they had a small quick fuck (of course they did) before walking out of the hall and in absolute bliss, the members of their small mob knowing what they’d just done but never commenting, preferring to be as silent as the lambs than scarring themselves with what the couple does in bed. Breakfast, like all other periods of feeding members, were quiet, hushed voices the only one trying to tap on the window of silence, as everyone clinks on their plates, eating in small and rhythmic bites to savor their meals and their energy for another day. Some were not eating and instead having a conversation with their friends; some were smoking outside with a cup of coffee as their meal; and some - like Inmin - were busily scheming silently.

Inmin was one of their youngest members- recruited at the mere age of thirteen just to find his mother in the darkest corners, going through desperate measures to find her. He was a young and naïve boy, once upon a time; a small smile on his face, amber eyes full of fractured innocence, ready to be used for one’s advantage, to be played with until his innocence shatters. He had lived happily with his family from beyond, but his desperation to find his mother made him and his twin drift apart, a single dust speck in the winds. Madness came to him like a swift wind dealing with a tree trying to stand during a storm- an explosion had racked the boy’s nerves one day, and a shard had scarred him for life, maming contact with his eye. When he wakes up from his slumber, he was hysterical, blaming his family and everything for what has happened to him.

Inmin remains silent but at the same time vocal to this day.

Sulian tells Renmin that he was going to get them breakfast, and Renmin swivels around towards Inmin’s table, only one person sitting on it, never eating, thin but able, holding a newspaper, and, judging by his face, once again exercising himself to read the printed words. Once he senses Renmin near him, however, he stops trying to read.

“Joh-eun achim, Jung-gug”, Inmin says with a small voice, hoarse from last nights shouting and screaming and crying about how they were close, so close to getting Teikoku. He turns back to the newspaper. “I’ve reread the same page over and over but the only thing I can understand is - well - your brother’s death.”

Renmin nods, taking the newspaper from Inmin’s hands and reading the section of Manchukuo’s death. His eyes skim the page, paragraph by paragraph, until he freezes, his eyes flying wide as his entire blood runs cold. If Sulian had given him a cup of coffee earlier, he would’ve spat out the bitter and hot liquid before dropping it on to the floor.

Inmin seems to sense his discomfort, and he blinks and asks, “Are you alright?”

Renmin does not reply, looking at the last paragraph about Manchukuo’s death, the photo of his dead older half-brother haunting him, like he came back just to mock Renmin.

The death of Manchukuo was hard for his boss, Teikoku, who says that Manchukuo was a loyal friend in the end, and to his three children, Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning, who were waiting for their father to come home until Teikoku breaks the news to the three orphaned kids.

“He had children”, he says in a small voice, barely a whisper. He can feel the whole world once again laughing at him, noticing his horrible decision when he let Sulian go in for the kill. Of his brother. Of a father. A father of three small children, oblivious to the matters of death and are now paying their father’s price.

“Do you feel guilty of the fact that I murdered someone with three children on his shoulders?”, Sulian asks from behind, making Renmin jolt from surprise as he turns and faces Sulian, two pairs of plates with meals and two cups of coffee, juggling them in each hand. His eyes were on the printed words, while Renmin’s were on his shoes, feeling ugly guilt churning inside of him, a feeling he had not felt ever since he sees Nanjing being dragged by Teikoku but never doing anything about it, because that was Minguo’s responsibility but he did not see him look for his wife, having disappeared to thin air. His hand shakes a little, like the whole world had gone cold, creeping up from the wake of the warmth of the fireplace until it catches him by surprise, freezing him alive. A little sprinkle of sadness, then of guilt, was enough for him to suffocate of his deeds.

But he sucks that up; he did not have any time to cry or mourn Manchukuo’s death, knowing he is nothing but a hindrance now gone from his life. He looks at Sulian straight in the eye, who was trying to test his composure, wanting to see him cry.

There is less time for humility and more time for pride.

He smiles pleasantly, “No, not even a bit.”

-

America makes her way through Teikoku’s halls, being escorted by his half-brother - Koku, she reminds herself - who was waiting for a flood of people coming to their home for a new job but only she arrives. She remembers the way Koku was fidgeting in the entrance, pacing back and forth, rehearsing speeches to himself all the while fixing his hair to look nice in front of an audience. The way he smiled at her as she approaches, was like the sun had become brighter and stronger, flares scorching from his veins but instead of malevolence the smile is genuine and happy, unlike Teikoku’s. The way he shook her hand, like he was eager to meet her, as if he has been closed off from the world and has only ever interacted with his family.

(According to his records, Koku was home-schooled by Teikoku; maybe that is why he seemed so happy yet awkward to interact with someone outside his family.)

The halls were lit by small lamps on the walls, giving the white paint a sort of radiant yet looming energy, a candle dancing with the flames on its head to give their surroundings a better light. She looks at the floors, patterned tiles sounding as she steps on them with her heels, looking at Koku who was humming to himself as he busily stares ahead. She keeps her head low, but looking at the long halls until they reach the intersection where the halls end into dozens of rooms, railways of patterns around them.

“Just continue following me, we’re almost there”, Koku tells her, and she looks back at him, dark hair smoothed out, gray eyes sparkling and glinting.

She thinks that, despite the fact they are half-brothers, their resemblance is uncanny, and not even Tokyo can be compared to how similar they both are. Perhaps the only difference is the air around them; Teikoku presents himself as a meteor that is slowly looming closer out of the naked eye until its impact cannot be stopped and it shakes the entire world, while Koku was a small comet, passing by in a wink of an eye.

Even his voice enchants her a little, just a little- she reminds herself he is just like his brother, his innocent demeanor a ruse to let her guard down until he leaves her to rot in a hole.

She is wary of how unusually calm and somewhat bright behavior is odd for someone who was caught in a crossfire last night. She eyes the bandaged wound on his forearm, a red crimson hue surrounding the gauze. She and Koku go through the dark hallways again, seeing the entire house so… huge yet monochrome, blank walls as if eyes can escape through its blank stare, looking at her suspiciously, knowing of her intentions of goal. Koku stops at a large door, mahogany penetrated for patterns as he unlocks it and ushers her in.

Like the walls from the hallways, this was painted a lonely white, sorrow surrounding her, eating her whole slowly but surely, and she turns back to her guide who was busily arranging some things out of the way.

“Sorry about this room, it’s the only vacant one in the house”, he finally says after a while of arranging chairs. He looks back at her, tilting his head, “well, if you accept or get this job, you can have this room.”

America shakes her head, plastering a small smile, “No, I’d rather stay with my family.”

Koku nods, no malice or grudge hidden in his eyes. “I’d understand; I wouldn’t want to be separated from my family as well.”

With a content smile on his face, he asks, “What’s your name and do you have any family members?”

“My name’s America”, she replies coolly, leaning back on her chair like it’s the end of the world, “my father was England, I don’t know my mother, and I have three brothers.” Her eyes turn from the windows featuring the blue skies to Koku’s thoughtful face, magnetized by how the creases of his brow fade whenever he raises his eyebrows, the tongue sticking from the edge of his lip like a small child trying to make something out of his own sweat and tears, determined to impress their parent.

Koku’s gray eyes meet hers and he gives her a small smile and her cheeks color, heart beating just a little faster than it was before. She shakes herself out of it, playing on a strand of her hair, averting her gaze from Koku like a dazed school girl. Her mind reminds her smitten heart that he is a mission, bait for her demise, knowing he’s only pretending to be her companion until she makes the wrong move.

“Why do you want to apply to become a bodyguard?”

“The news last night was quite a surprise, to be honest.” She picks at her words on the platter, calmly choosing them with one finger to lead her on until she gets the job. “An experienced bodyguard, of one of the most powerful businessmen, killed by a lover of a mob boss… I don’t like mafia mobs, you see. They took my father away and they, well…” She leans closer to him, getting the boy in front of her, just a teen, invested. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, of course.”

Her cerulean eyes meet with Koku’s gray ones, her fingers lingering on his larger but smoother hands a little, playing with him, even if it means seducing him to get this job because at the very least, he is not his brother. She blinks at him, trying to look innocent, a damsel wanting to save him from the bandits who’d run his castle dry. He goes entirely red, America feeling his hands shake.

“I-I…”, he sputters, hormones raging deep inside him whilst America smiles at him, a devil in Eve’s clothes. “I a-appreciate your concern, but I don’t need protection.”

America feigns surprise and hurt, her eyes twinkling more with pure unaldurated lust and desire for Koku. “Oh? Even if you say you’re protected by Teikoku, he’ll never be always there for you, always busy and away for his work.” They are now a small distance apart, their lips almost touching if America would lean a little more, looking at Koku’s lips, entranced before going back to her job. “I would always be there.”

Koku gulps, slow and short. “I…”

America smirks a little, licking her lips, “The choice is entirely yours, of course; if you’d like me to work undeterred in your home, or you can kindly send me on my way.”

Koku hesitates; his hands fidget as his gray eyes go from her then to the window and then back to America, her legs crossed and owning a straight face, lips tingling. It was as if the entire world has gifted him a mysterious box, letting him decide whether he should open it without knowing the cost, or if he should ignore it, trying to disregard the feelings of temptation and curiosity burning up inside of him and live through another day of debating whether he should or should not open the box. America wants to laugh; Koku’s face looks like a mix of a small child and an old man facing a choice that will decide his fate, but her heart is still beating in a fast pace, but she assumes it was from hoping he’d accept her than how completely cute he was in that expression, hair covering a small side of his face.

The silence between them was a cloud of wisps, blowing ever so hard in their direction, in love with teasing the both of them, making the both of them feel antsy outside of their own comfortable space.

“My brother did say it was up to me whether or not I should hire you”, Koku finally says, making America perk up. “So… I feel like hiring you would be a good choice.”

America smirks deviously, but she turns back to him who was smiling brightly and holding out a hand. She hesitantly takes it, warmth suddenly surging up from the hand touching her hands and into every part of her body, energizing her to continue with this tomfoolery they had assigned to her. She gasps a little, like this sensation is always there, she just refuses to search the inner depths of her mind for this beautiful yet bamboozling feeling. Her mind is jumbled, playing a sweet and soft melody, her eyes seeing the stars.

But once Koku retracts his hand from her grasp, she feels the warm walls around her, making her as cozy as she is in a fireplace, crash into her with cold arms, her mind goes back to the plan.

“You’ve made the right choice”, America assures Koku, who chuckles a little, making the woman in front of him - once again - frozen in place, time standing still as she awkwardly fidgets with her hands; why is she so… awkward whenever Koku does one small move of happiness? This is normally what a lot of people do, laugh whenever there is something funny to laugh at, but for Koku, his laugh… it was like the stars were twinkling above her, showing her the way.

“You should come with me, I’ll break the news to my brother about your hiring.”

Her blood runs cold.

-

The whole city was cold during the night- it had just rained the afternoon before the sun’s flares had died and gave the light to the moon, now glaring down at her with its soft light, not guiding her into beyond but watching her with its eyes, the craters all seemingly moving like they are irises. She breathes in a little, shivering from the cold, and how horribly revealing her clothes are for this temperature. She shudders as another gust of wind blows out of nowhere, like a kiss on her skin growing to become prickly thorns. Her heels were worn from walking around the city too much, holding the satchel the stranger had given to her tightly before she was freed from the infernal pits of hell, the room more like a prison cell despite the fact that it looks more like a suite than anything she has seen in her entire life.

She can still remember the arms, searching her, roaming on her small figure as they try and take what they want from her, pinning her to the soft matress of the bed, becoming her worst enemy, back flat against its soft yet sharp underneath her. She used to kick and scream, trying to get them away from her, that this wasn’t the job she wanted and that she used to be so much more, so much valuable than being one prostitute on Street Number Sixty-Three. Shanghai recalled those disgustingly fake sweet voices, calling her petnames as they touched her, their voices lingering before disintegrating; she has been called those and hated every single one of it.

But that was before.

Before she decided to play their game, become Teikoku’s sweet little seductress, meek and submissive while retaining her seduction, charm and wit, easily making her a fan favorite.

Shanghai did not want this, nor did she care becoming a different person from who she was, but Teikoku made her like this. He broke her apart, piece by piece, putting out the only shards that he liked on her. He broke her, bones and mirrors and all.

She huddles around the jacket the stranger had given her once more, as she fusses with the satchel, feeling the rolls of money he gave to her, the canned goods enough to last her a week or two if she rationed it just enough. The jacket was her only layer of clothing from the cold and protecting her body due to only wearing lingerie once he ushers her out from her window and into the bustling city she had not touched but only watched for years. Shanghai would remember sticking her head out of the windows to feel the breeze and wind of being free, having freedom she used to have before she was locked up in a cage with no return to the wilderness. She had seen - with her very own eyes - everything change, innovations and technology happening here and there, the shapes on her eyes becoming taller, wider, larger, but even then, when the entire world is on the brink of collapse, she can find solace at the fact that nothing is changing, even if they are forcing her eyes wide open to the surroundings around her.

Shanghai steps on a puddle, immediately soaking her heels much to her grimace, looking at the lamposts littered around the street, luminating small pieces of the concrete road, as if they are trying hard to battle the darkness during the night, yet they are failing because of course they are. She decides to think of where to stay, but her mind comes up blank.

The police department? Absolutely not. She had her fair share of clients boasting that they are in high-ranking positions such as catching crime and putting them in jail. How can they be good men when even they clutch the treasures of corruption, perhaps even wanting to undress her as they work with their higher-ups and telling them they can handle her, but instead they’d put her in the backseat of the car and drive her back to the brothel and take advantage of her and her body-

She shakes her head, shedding a single tear in her eye.

No to the police department, then.

Shanghai tries to remember the old house she and her old members used to share, either dead or had gone through the same fate as she did, becoming slaves for Teikoku, grovelling and begging for him to feed them, even the tiniest bit. The house must probably only be standing in their own minds now, ever since Minguo vanished into thin air one night, no news of where he went, but she knows he is a coward who never became their saving grace. He chooses to hide his wings of darkness in favor of running away, never to come back because he is now just a mortal with nothing on his shoulders.

She frowns a little, thinking about the last time she saw Minguo, exchanging fires with his own brother before she is knocked over the head.

She then feels a tap on her shoulder, and she lets out a small shriek that pierces through the whispering night, jumping and stumbling until she trips on the road; thanfully the jacket was soft enough to land on and act as her cushion.

“Oh dear; I am so sorry.” A man’s voice says from behind her, and panic rises from her chest as she knows she will now have to deal with another man being shoved into her life and for her to play games. She feels the damp road beneath her, and she gets up, slipping a little before a hand catches her wrist.

Shanghai freezes up from the sudden touch and she inches away from the newcomer and sees that it was a man, business suit and smooth dark hair, blue eyes full of concern.

(She does not know whether it is genuine or he is feigning concern- she has learned never to trust anyone again.)

“Are you lost?”

[lovemesomesurveys]

How are you today? I’ve been up for a couple hours, but my mom brought me food and coffee so that was a good start ha. Now I’m doing this and watching the Halloween episode of Lizzie McGuire lol. What is your favorite medication that you take, and why? I only take my prescription pain med. What is your favorite vitamin, and why? Uh, I don’t have a favorite vitamin.  What color hair did your first crush have? I’m pretty sure he had brown hair.  List 5 people you know who have never been mean to you. My parents, brother, my aunt, and my doggo. I mean, I bicker with my parents and brother sometimes and my brother used to do little brother things and annoy me when he was little, but I don’t consider those things to be mean.

Do you have regrets? I have a lot. :/ What is it that you want to do with your one wild and precious life? I just want to be in a better place health wise, mentally and physically. I want to get my shit together and figure out what to do with my life, make something of myself.  Are you living in a dream or a nightmare? Feels like a nightmare stuck on a loop.  Does anyone encourage you to go after your dreams? My family always has been very supportive and encouraging.  What’s something that most people don’t know about you? Hmm... What’s one common assumption about you that isn’t true? That I’m “strong” and “brave.” Have you ever had a diabolical rumor spread about you? No. Do you love your enemies? I don’t have any enemies.  Do you care about your enemies? ^^^ How often do you make your bed? It’s always made because I sit on top of the comforter and just use a throw blanket.   What is your favorite color pen to write with? Black. Have you ever drawn on yourself with a Sharpie? No. What is your favorite arts and crafts show? I don’t watch any. Would you rather do a craft project or a science experiment? Craft project. Do you get bullied a lot? No. The only person that is mean to me is me. What is your favorite thing about yourself? My sense of humor. Which of your physical attributes do you love the most? My hair when it looks nice. Definitely not now... What are your favorite baby names? I don’t plan on having kids, so I haven’t given that much thought.  Have you ever made a dreamcatcher? Yeah, when I was a kid.  What was the last thing you spray-painted? It was for a school project in middle school. We had to make something with paper mache and I spray painted it. I forget what I was making, though. I think it was something for science.  Do you paint rocks and hide them in your town? I don’t, but that is a big thing in my town. I’ve found a few.  Do you find Scripture encouraging? I do. Who was the last person who was rude to you? *shrug* What color is the trash can in your room? White. Do you say garbage, trash, rubbish, or something else? Garbage or trash. Who did you inherit your smile from? I think it looks like my dad’s.  Do you have any cousins who look like you? We have some similarities, but we don’t look exactly alike. Which Bratz doll was your favorite? I don’t think I had a favorite one in particular. Which Barbie doll was your favorite? All of them. I was obsessed with Barbies. Which American Girl doll was your favorite? I didn’t get into those. Do you collect anything? If so, what? Giraffe stuffed animals and keychains. Do you decorate Mason jars? I only did that once for a wedding gift. Have you ever missed a doctor’s appointment? Yeah, I’ve had to reschedule sometimes. When you have as many doctor appointments as I have/had it’s bound to happen now and then. Which department store do you shop at the most? Walmart. What’s the best thing that’s happened to you so far today? My mom brought me coffee and breakfast. What’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you? That’s hard. Is there a guy/girl you wish you hadn’t let slip away? Yes. Do you miss a friend who betrayed you? Yes. What color band and stone does your class ring have? It has my birthstone, actually. What would be some horrible names for a basketball team? I don’t know. What is the best way to curl your hair? I never could curl my hair very well, it never came out right. Do you curl or straighten your hair more? I used to straighten my hair often. I don’t do either one anymore. Do you have any haters who are jealous of you? Ha, no. What’s one thing you are bad at drawing? I suck at drawing in general. Can you see a lot of trees from your window? I see 2. Can you see the mountains from where you live? No. What was the name of the first dorm you lived in? I never lived in a dorm. What was the name of your first Resident Director at college? Did you ever play pranks on April Fool’s Day? Yeah when I was a kid I did the silly ones like give someone gum that turned their mouth black. Have you ever played a prank and later regretted it? I wasn’t a big prankster. Have you ever made a prank call? Okay well I did do that sometimes in middle school with my friends.  What does your favorite pair of leggings look like? I have a ton of leggings, most of which are just black or gray. I do also have a few pairs of Adidas leggings in different colors and a few Christmas ones. What is your favorite Lisa Frank character? I don’t think I had a particular favorite, I just liked it as a whole. Does chronic illness keep you from doing the things you want to do? Yes. Do you believe in the power of prayer? I do. Are there any good churches in your town? Yes.  Which instrument would you play if you could learn to play one? I wish I had the motivation to start up piano again. Do you ever look at rocks and want to draw them because they’re so pretty? No. I kinda want to paint on one, but I suck. Do you part your hair on the left side, right side, or in the middle? To the right. Do you have bangs? Side swept. Although, they’re so long now they don’t look like it. Do you think you look good with bangs? I feel like I have a big forehead, so bangs were great for that. Do you own any succulents? No. Have you ever owned a succulent? No. Do you have a library card? No. Do you frequent the local library? Nope. I did as a kid, though. What color is your bedroom door? Tan. What made you smile today? My mom bringing me coffee and breakfast. What are some names you like that start with the first letter of your name? Scarlett. 

[unfortunatelysirius]

Chocolate Frogs and Love Notes [Part 3 of ?]

💟☼💟 PROMPT 💟☼💟 ☾ ¡Original! ☾ Remus Lupin and Y/N L/N have anonymously exchanged notes through library books for over six months. When Sirius and James start meddling, they put Remus’s love life in jeopardy. 💟☼💟 A/N 💟☼💟 Sorry for the lack of updates and the lack of posts. I’ve been incredibly down lately, and literally don’t have the motivation to talk or do anything, really. I love you all and I hope I can start writing more this summer! 💟☼💟 WORD COUNT 💟☼💟 2773 💟☼💟 TAG LIST 💟☼💟 @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines @random-quartz @ruefulposts @teacupwizard @sunny-day15 @themissinghippogriff @bellawolfi @semifunctionalhomosapien

                At first, Slughorn looked hesitant—and rather suspicious, too, considering this was a bloody Marauder offering insight to his mischief-plagued brain—but then, his face lightened. His marred forehead, tense jaw, and unpleasant frown disintegrated, and Slughorn looked almost joyous. “It is rather interesting!” he cried cheerfully, and James beamed with smug happiness, his inner diabolical menace whirring in contentment that the plan was going into action. “Veritaserum, for those of you who don’t know, is a very powerful truth serum. One little drop, and anything someone asks you, you will be obligated to answer! All your darkest secrets, spilled out for the world to see and gawk at!”

         “Darkest secrets, aye?” Sirius said, lounging against his chair with a certain aristocratic swagger unable to be found anywhere else. “Wonder what would come out from you, dear old Professor Slughorn. Something delightfully embarrassing, maybe?”

         The girls giggled, and James and Peter even shared a little snigger at Sluggy’s expense. Slughorn looked simultaneously unfazed and unimpressed, turning his gaze to Sirius without an ounce of hostility in his bright, jolly eyes. “Since you seem to be so active-minded today, Sirius, why don’t you volunteer to be our subject for an old bottle of Veritaserum I have in my office?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.

         “Nah, my secrets will stay dark and secret,” Sirius said, giving a dismissive wave. The suave nature in which he replied caused many of the surrounding girls to sigh and swoon, but the gears in Sirius’s head were turning and he had a brilliant—a bright idea! The boy grinned. “I’m sure Remus wouldn’t mind playing teacher’s pet.”

         The brown-haired, soft-eyed werewolf froze, looking at Sirius with a look of intense fear. What if I reveal I’m a werewolf? he thought in sudden panic, not even thinking about the potential of him revealing that he was pen pals with someone in his year—maybe someone in this class. “I would rather not, Sirius,” Remus said, expression taut and strained, but his eyes glared daggers in Sirius’s direction. The look of utter betrayal on the quiet boy’s face caused the shaggy-haired dog to laugh aloud.

         Professor Slughorn sighed, glancing around the room for someone studious and eager. “Lily!” he called with a smile. “What about you, m’dear?”

         “No thank you, Professor,” Lily said nervously, sharing a panicked look with Marlene.

         “Marlene?”

         “Nope.”

         “Alice! How about you?”

         “I’m sorry but I have terrible anxiety, Professor—”

         “Oh, alright then.” He glanced between the rest of the class. He wanted to choose a Gryffindor as the subject. He laid eyes on James. “Why not you, James? You were the one who suggested Veritaserum as our next potion of study.”

         A look of confidence appeared on the boy’s angular features. “I’m much too interesting. You all wouldn’t be able to take my secrets,” James said arrogantly, smirking at his professor.

         Slughorn sighed in exasperation. “Y/N!” he said finally, looking hopeful but disappointed. “I suppose you wouldn’t share a different opinion, but I’ll still ask.”

         Y/N looked frozen for a moment, eyes flickering between her peers and her professor with a look of confusion, but she settled for disinterestedly shrugging. She hadn’t been listening to a word he said, instead choosing to doodle on her parchment while muffled voices entered and exited her petite ears. “I’d love nothing more.”

         James and Sirius looked at each other with ecstatic expressions while Slughorn clapped happily. “Great! Come on up, then, my dear,” the balding man said, ushering her on up.

         Y/N looked confused, but she shrugged anyway, getting out of her seat without the slightest struggle. She eased her way on up the aisle, confused as she watched Slughorn head eagerly to his office. What did she just get herself into? A helpless look gleamed in her eyes, and she stared at Marlene and Lily with a desperate plea for an escapade in the way her jaw locked, and her eyes blinked, but the two girls could provide nothing of use—simple shrugs were what sufficed as responses.

         “I didn’t agree to something like this!” Y/N whispered, expression reminiscent of a squirrel’s when a Muggle vehicle comes trucking on, intent for a collision. When Marlene and Lily gave her their signature ‘Really, Y/N?’ looks, Y/N huffed and nervously twiddled her fingers. Some friends they are… thought the girl, her eyes now swaying across the tiles as a way to avoid the gazes of her classmates.

         Unbeknownst to Y/N, James and Sirius were jumping for joy. Sirius craned back his head to look at James, and he gave him a mischievous grin, complete with a raise of his eyebrows and a sloppy thumbs-up. James returned the gesture, but instead of raising his eyebrows, the bespectacled boy winked. And unbeknownst to the two boys, Remus was staring them down, hard. He was confused as to why they seemed happy that Y/N had volunteered herself. What the hell was that about?

         Slughorn came trudging from his office, and in his hands was an old-looking bottle of Veritaserum. “Would you be comfortable answering questions your classmates ask you?” asked the jolly man, giving Y/N a happy-but-reserved expression. When Y/N hesitantly nodded, his own reluctance disintegrated and Slughorn smiled. He looked at the class as he gestured for Y/N to unlock her jaw and sequentially administered three drops of the serum onto her tongue. “I’m trusting you all to be mature,” warned Slughorn, giving both James and Sirius a very distrustful look. “Raise your hands and I’ll pick and choose which of you to ask questions. Do not ask things that will purposefully embarrass the girl.”

         To James and Sirius’s surprise, a lot of hands rose. To even more of their surprise, bloody Lily was the first to raise her hand. Slughorn smiled as he rested his eyes on his favorite pupil. “Yes, Ms. Evans?”

         Lily looked at Y/N and smiled, hiding her mischief with innocent green eyes. “What’s gotten you so nervous lately?” she asked teasingly.

         “A boy,” said Y/N instantly, her eyes widening as she realized she’d revealed too much. “He likes all of the things I like and he’s very eloquent.”

         Lily pushed herself into Marlene, the two of them giggling and whispering frantically. It made Y/N blush heavily.

         James found an opportunity in this question and he jumped up, waving his hand around like he’d just seen a family member that he hadn’t seen in years. Slughorn raised an eyebrow but passed his eyes over him, instead choosing to answer a question from a Slytherin student.

         “Yes, Mr. Goyle?” said Slughorn, a gloating look in his eyes as he glanced at a peeved James.

         Goyle looked at Y/N impassively and quite stupidly as he asked, “Why do you hang around Halfbloods and Mudbloods?”

         Y/N’s nostrils flared and before Slughorn could open his mouth and take away points from Slytherin, she barked out, “I am a Halfblood, first of all—and second of all, Halfbloods and Muggleborns are much better company to keep than disgraceful Purebloods such as yourself.” She glared at Goyle, heat and anger evident in her eyes. “I hardly even know how you made it into this class. I doubt you passed half of your OWLs. And honestly, is there a single person in this classroom—in this world, even—that wishes to hear you open your mouth? To hear the idiocy that you speak? To—”

         “Y/N,” Slughorn said sharply, seeing the extremely malevolent glares she was receiving from Goyle and his posy. He then glanced at Goyle and said, “Five points from Slytherin for using such a horrid word.” The Slytherins protested, angrily stating that Y/N deserved just as many points deducted, but Slughorn ignored them.

         Slughorn could see that asking Slytherins would not have potential for benign results, so he then began to call on Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs instead. He called on the leggy Ravenclaw who had been flirting with Sirius all throughout the class.

         “Yes, Ms. Sava?”

         The girl—Andrea Sava—smirked, twirling a piece of hair as she stared at Y/N. “You’ve got a bloke you’re crushing on, right?” Y/N nodded her head, eyes wide as she regarded Andrea nervously. “Does he have a name?”

         The look of nervousness intensified on Y/N’s face and she nodded her head, but it was slower this time. And the interest intensified on Andrea’s. “Is he in this room?”

         Y/N nodded again, her eyes staying on Andrea’s face and never straying. If she did, people would start guessing and she would hide in her dorm for the rest of the year.

         Slughorn could see the discomfort on Y/N’s face. “No more questions, Ms. Sava,” he said loudly. He begrudgingly looked at James and muttered, “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

         James grinned. He was eager to continue this game even after today’s lesson, so he decided to be subtle. Well, subtle as James could get. “Do you visit the library often?”

         Y/N looked confused by his question, but she nodded her head regardless.

         “Do you study there?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

         Y/N rolled her eyes. “No. I don’t.”

         “Do you read?”

         “Yes.”

         “Do you write?”

         “Yes?” The girl was eying James now, her expression extremely confused.

         James grinned. “Do you enjoy writing and reading?”

         Y/N nodded. She glanced at Slughorn, but the jolly man merely seemed perplexed and slightly intrigued. He was probably just as confused by James’s questions. Otherwise, he would have stopped James and moved on with another student by now.

         “Are you ever with anyone?” James raised his eyebrows.

         “No,” Y/N said, shaking her head.

         And finally, James had the most brilliant question. He went to ask it—regardless of how it would probably ruin his chances at subtlety since it was something that would catch Remus’s attention inevitably—but Slughorn shook his head and said, “No more questions, James. You’re interrogating the girl.” James went to retort, but Sirius gave him a silent shake of his head since Sirius would most probably be the next pick. James was pleased, and his annoyance evaporated when Slughorn went, “Yes, Mr. Black?”

         Sirius was curious. If Y/N knew the name of her crush and knew he was in that room… did that mean she was aware of who she was writing to? Did that mean she was crushing on Remus? The bloke grinned and suavely asked, “Am I friends with the bloke you like?”

         Y/N looked uncomfortable as she muttered, “Yes.”

         Sirius nodded to himself. And then he asked something he probably shouldn’t have, even though it was off-topic and just something Sirius wanted to know out of curiosity since it had a good chance of capturing Remus’s attention, “What’s your favorite book?”

         Y/N’s answer was automatic. “Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.”

         And that did it. James heard a sharp intake of breath and he looked back to see Remus staring at Y/N with wide, unbelieving eyes. Then, an impassive look glazed over his eyes. He looked in shock, that much was obvious.

         What Sirius and James didn’t know was that in a previous note, Y/N—or Rosy, as she had named herself in their exchanges—had described her love and appreciation for Great Expectations. She’d went on for paragraphs on how it’s her favorite book. How she loved it so much that she could hardly express it—but she did. She was so eloquent with her words. And this girl at the front of the classroom—this shy, beautiful girl who was friends with Marlene and Lily, who had been put in a month’s worth of weekend detentions for jinxing the entirety of the Slytherin boys in their class just last year—was his pen-pal? A girl who Remus had once watched longingly at Quidditch games and in the library was who he’d written to for months?

         No. No, this had to be a coincidence.

         Remus shot his hand in the air, just as Slughorn was opening his mouth to close today’s demonstration. “Yes, Mr. Lupin?” said Slughorn with a look of bemusement, and even Y/N looked shocked.

         “What’s your favorite band?” asked Remus, not even glancing at Slughorn as he stared at Y/N.

         Y/N’s answer was, again, automatic. “The Beatles.”

         Remus’s heart was beating loud in his chest and he nearly let his disbelief and shock and nervousness show on his face, but he forced himself to look impassive… to be impassive…

         James was glaring at Sirius, having seen the realization that had dawned in Remus’s eyes. “Great going,” he mouthed at his friend, and Sirius just shrugged apologetically. Truth be told, Sirius was just happy that he’d speeded along the process of Remus and Y/N getting together.

         “That’s it for today, class,” Slughorn said, giving them a small smile. He casted a sorry glance over at Y/N, trying to communicate an apology for putting her through this interrogation through his eyes, and the blushing girl simply gave him a shrug, as if to say, I put myself here. “You’re all dismissed.”

         James and Sirius immediately ran over to Remus, where the tall, chestnut-haired bloke was petrified to his seat. He seemed stuck in his mind—so much so that the troublesome, well-aware duo came to a halt and shared an unsure glance. Were they comfortable with disclosing that his revelations were all part of the plan?

         Probably not. After all, Remus would be angry and want to hex them into oblivion for knowingly doing such an exploitation—but in Sirius’s humble opinion, the lycan should and would be thankful. He couldn’t have exchanged letters with Y/N without ever wondering what she liked like and who she was; that was just strange. And mad, actually. Who in their right bloody mind would anonymously write to someone without wondering what their face looked like? The mere idea was preposterous!

         “Remus…” James started, giving the boy a wary glance. He didn’t know how his friend would react upon the news of his and Padfoot’s mischievous doings. But the boy didn’t let Prongs finish.

         “It’s her,” he breathed. “It’s her… All this time, I-I’ve been—”

         “All thanks to me!” Sirius burst in gloatingly. “Didn’t know you’d figure it out with that question, of course, but I speeded it along, didn’t I? Now you can get together with the girl from your letters—”

         “My letters? Did you search my trunk?” Remus asked suddenly, face paling into an ashy white as he glanced up. He was no longer frozen in his spot. And shockingly, he didn’t ask the question that should have been burning on his tongue.

         “Obviously not!” the shaggy-headed prankster said indignantly. “When you picked that bloody flower the other day, we got a bit… curious. Watched your lovely lady pull that same flower out of a letter, and we just-so-happened to put the pieces together. Figured your loony behavior had to have something to do with a bird.”

         Remus stared at Sirius, his expression full of anger—wait, anger? Oh, no… that wasn’t part of the plan. “You did this… you did all of this… to get me and her together?”

         Sirius nodded, not really understanding the heated glare in Remus’s eyes, or the strain on his jaw.

         James felt a bit uneasy and he nudged Sirius warningly. “We just wanted to help you get the girl, Remus,” he said, trying a hand at soothing the situation, but Remus was beyond angry. He was seething.

         “That—that is a whole new level of cruel, even for you two! Do you know how embarrassing that had to have been for Y/N? For me? Merlin, you idiots—what the bloody hell did you think you were doing, exploiting the two of us like that? We both agreed to keep identities hidden until we were comfortable enough to meet each other, and now you’ve fucking ruined that!” Remus all but snarled. Thankfully, all the other students had left the classroom, and Slughorn was in his office. Even Peter had left, which was unusual in itself. “I… I like her so much. Even without the letters, the anonymity… And now, I-I can’t. I can’t write to her without feeling the guilt eat at me! I can’t fucking—” He stopped, looking at Sirius and James with utter contempt in his gaze; it caused the two to reel back in shock. James opened his mouth to speak, but… “Don’t. Just don’t.” Remus grabbed his things and without a look at his best friends, he was storming from the classroom.

         In all of James’s life—in all of Sirius’s life—the two boys had never felt so utterly guilt-ridden. How the hell were they going to fix this?

[eldritchsurveys]

223.

How are you today? >> Pretty good.

What is your favorite medication that you take, and why? >> I don’t have a favourite... that seems like it’d be a strange thing to have, but hey.

What is your favorite vitamin, and why? >> ????

What color hair did your first crush have? >> ---

List 5 people you know who have never been mean to you. >> Nah.

Do you have regrets? >> Not anything worth dwelling on.

What is it that you want to do with your one wild and precious life? >> Live it for as long as I feel like.

Are you living in a dream or a nightmare? >> Neither.

Does anyone encourage you to go after your dreams? >> I don’t really have any dreams, but I’m sure someone would encourage them if I did.

What's something that most people don't know about you? >> A lot of things, I guess.

What's one common assumption about you that isn't true? >> *shrug*

Have you ever had a diabolical rumor spread about you? >> Not to my knowledge.

Do you love your enemies? >> I don’t have any.

Do you care about your enemies? >> ---

How often do you make your bed? >> I don’t.

What is your favorite color pen to write with? >> Black is good enough.

Have you ever drawn on yourself with a Sharpie? >> Yeah.

What is your favorite arts and crafts show? >> I... don’t have one?

Would you rather do a craft project or a science experiment? >> Either is fine, I suppose.

Do you get bullied a lot? >> Not now.

What is your favorite thing about yourself? >> *shrug*

Which of your physical attributes do you love the most? >> Meh.

What are your favorite baby names? >> ---

Have you ever made a dreamcatcher? >> I haven’t.

What was the last thing you spray-painted? >> I’ve never spray-painted anything.

Do you paint rocks and hide them in your town? >> No.

Do you find Scripture encouraging? >> I think it’s amusing that every time I take a survey from this person, there’s a random Christianity-related question shuffled in. It’s become like a game at this point, waiting for it to show up. Anyway, no, I don’t go to the Bible for encouragement.

Who was the last person who was rude to you? >> I don’t remember. It rarely happens.

What color is the trash can in your room? >> ---

Do you say garbage, trash, rubbish, or something else? >> Garbage or trash, usually. Sometimes “rubbish” for a change of pace.

Who did you inherit your smile from? >> ???

Do you have any cousins who look like you? >> Not really.

Which Bratz doll was your favorite? >> I didn’t have a favourite.

Which Barbie doll was your favorite? >> ^^

Which American Girl doll was your favorite? >> I don’t recall having a favourite, but I did think Kirsten’s life was interesting.

Do you collect anything? If so, what? >> No.

Do you decorate Mason jars? >> No.

Have you ever missed a doctor's appointment? >> Sure, at some point in my life.

Which department store do you shop at the most? >> Meijer.

What's the best thing that's happened to you so far today? >> I mean, nothing particularly interesting has happened to me yet at all.

What's the best thing that's every happened to you? >> ---

Is there a guy/girl you wish you hadn't let slip away? >> ---

Do you miss a friend who betrayed you? >> ---

What color band and stone does your class ring have? >> ---

What would be some horrible names for a basketball team? >> Oh, I don’t know.

What is the best way to curl your hair? >> It’s already curly.

Do you curl or straighten your hair more? >> I don’t do anything to it.

Do you have any haters who are jealous of you? >> Not to my knowledge.

What's one thing you are bad at drawing? >> Animals.

Can you see a lot of trees from your window? >> Not a lot, but a few.

Can you see the mountains from where you live? >> No.

What was the name of the first dorm you lived in? >> ---

What was the name of your first Resident Director at college? >> ---

Did you ever play pranks on April Fool's Day? >> No.

Have you ever played a prank and later regretted it? >> ---

Have you ever made a prank call? >> No.

What does your favorite pair of leggings look like? >> I don’t wear leggings, they make me itchy.

What is your favorite Lisa Frank character? >> I didn’t realise there were actual characters.

Does chronic illness keep you from doing the things you want to do? >> No.

Do you believe in the power of prayer? >> No.

Are there any good churches in your town? >> There are so damn many of them that I’m sure anyone could find what they were looking for.

Which instrument would you play if you could learn to play one? >> Meh. I’d still prefer to sing.

Do you ever look at rocks and want to draw them because they're so pretty? >> No.

Do you part your hair on the left side, right side, or in the middle? >> I don’t do anything to it. Including parting.

Do you have bangs? >> No.

Do you think you look good with bangs? >> I don’t know.

Do you own any succulents? >> No.

Have you ever owned a succulent? >> No.

Do you have a library card? >> Yes.

Do you frequent the local library? >> I do.

What color is your bedroom door? >> It’s wood-coloured.

What made you smile today? >> I don’t remember now.

What are some names you like that start with the first letter of your name? >> Can’t think of any off the top of my head.

[3laxx]

Cola Date

When Alya finds herself on a date with the wrong guy she searches for unconventional help to get her out of this. Luckily, the cute waiter doesn't mind to help her out with a favor. And just as the glass topples over, the date changes into a completely different direction. A direction she can definitely live with, Alya decides.

Sooo this is just a fun story that I begun out of nowhere, practically. And before I could control myself, I landed at 10k words and am still not finished x) So! This is just a non-magic, aged up AU that's based on a dumb little idea I had. Alya and Marinette know each other, as well as Nino and Adrien, but otherwise there are no connections like school or anything else. Nino's family owns a restaurant (what do you mean that's not canon?) and he's helping out as a waiter there. It's just a story I begun without aiming somewhere so it's kinda random, just go with the fluff x) Also, this is set to be an entirely DJWifi centric story! But I dunno yet where it'll lead, maybe I'll just continue on it. (Also there aren’t enough DJWifi centric stories so have this one) Enjoy~

Ao3 / FF.net

The guy just wouldn’t stop talking.

He went on and on about his ex-girlfriends and how ungrateful they were. Alya suppressed rolling her eyes as he once again shifted back to his oh so awesome motorcycle that waited outside.

Not really a welcome change of topic but oh well. It was still better than listening to him brag about some girls he had ‘caught’.

Though, the topic about his girlfriends had actually kept her awake. His motorcycle was just plain boring. She stifled a yawn and overplayed it with a short nod as he explained to her how the sound of the motor felt between his legs.

A slight, tired smirk played around the corners of her mouth that he hopefully interpreted as interested curiosity, as she tried not to snort at the innuendos he was suddenly dropping. Every second word that came out of his mouth now became something different in her mind.

Maybe she could record this and make a drinking game out of it, with Marinette?

Every innuendo, a shot. Oh, they would be drunk within seconds, better not risk it.

She giggled politely and accidently boosted his ego even if her giggle had been reserved for her own thoughts, not his monologue.

Now he was shifting topics again. Next up was his manliness. Oh of course.

Well, he didn’t even look bad. He was just a snob, someone who knew exactly he’d probably get a low paid secondary model job for a local store, if he wanted to. No, his physique was okay, his looks were good and his eyes had seemed nice.

Alya should’ve known better than to trust that dating platform Mari had jokingly signed her up for, as a prank. Why she had actually kept that profile? Maybe to really find someone?

She shook her head, earning an approving look of the guy in front of her. Oh no, had she encouraged him?

He talked about how men should never wear mustaches. Oh well, if that was his opinion. And Alya honestly didn’t care what he thought was her opinion. Another tiny yawn escaped her throat and she tried to let it up sneakily, blocking her ears for a moment as she pretended to breathe through.

Her gaze swiftly flew over the restaurant before settling on the guy again. What was his name again?

Maybe she could look it up on his profile?

Nah, he wasn’t that important. She could get by with ‘you’ until he left her alone for today.

As her eyes burned a little and she had to blink a few times not to lose focus she realized she really hadn’t slept enough. Well, her studies plus internship in a local newspaper didn’t leave up much time for herself. Let alone sleeping. Why she had thought it had been a good idea to try and look for a partner?

Yeah, no idea either.

She inconspicuously checked the clock as he began of his ex-girlfriends again, counting them up like trophies. She wrinkled her nose behind her interlaced fingers, then caught herself again and propped her chin up on her hands instead of hiding her face behind her hands. It would be politer.

After all, for something this guy had to be good. And be it practice for future job interviews. Or regular interviews, after all she wanted to be a journalist someday.

He was honestly perfect practice.

Stay polite, throw in a few questions here and there, but mostly keep them monologuing. These people talked out the most secrets when being left alone in the void to fill with their ego.

He brought up poor Adeline again. She had apparently been some lost exchange student girl and he had happily helped her to his apartment to get her out of the cold. Yes of course.

Alya huffed but covered it up as a cough. He didn’t seem to notice.

Again, her gaze flew over the restaurant but this time again, as a few times before, she caught another pair of eyes looking her way. The golden eyes of the waiter seemed skeptical as he inconspicuously nodded over to the guy in front of her while continuing to do the dishes while he had nothing to do.

She shrugged, barely visible, and shook her head. The waiter nodded and turned away again, having seen another customer waving for him, not seeing how Alya deflated a little. He seemed cute.

But before the guy in front of her would get suspicious she turned back to him, nodding with a smile. He just told her how she wasn’t like other girls. Ah, nice to know.

When did she lie about having to pick up someone from somewhere? And what was it again? Her mother or something?

Oh no, she had forgotten her lie. Maybe he had, too, though.

He had most likely forgotten, actually. Was there anything else in that guy’s head than himself and his huge ego? She wondered if there would ever be. Maybe she should talk to his mother, if he had always been like this.

Once again, she thoughtlessly shook her head, willing her inner reporter to take a step back. Why would she want to meet his mother?

This time she had apparently shook her head to a bad time. His irritated glance stayed on her but it wasn’t anything that she couldn’t play off with a short “Oh no, I must’ve been somewhere else with my thoughts, I’m so sorry, what were you saying?” and he happily continued.

Again, her eyes wandered. The back of the cute waiter was turned towards her as she looked but he turned, carrying a tray of a few empty and a few full glasses to the next table to serve the people there.

This gave her an idea. She watched his hand beneath the tray, steady and calm. He must be doing this for quite some time now… Hm. But he must’ve failed before, right? Could he reproduce this authentically? Maybe she could have a faster way out than in – she checked the clock again – one and a half hours. Her internal groan was reason enough to include the cute waiter in her diabolical plan.

It didn’t take her long to find a good pause in his monologue.

“Oh, I noticed your glass was empty.”, she said in a honeyed voice, “Should I get us some new drinks?”

His eyes lit up at her supposed thoughtfulness, eagerly nodding.

“Oooooh, yes!”, he replied, “I’ll take a cola, please!”

So he at least had a few manners, that was at least something.

She nodded, taking his glass and walking up to the counter, which confused him a little since the waiter would normally get the glasses while they ordered new drinks but she had to get a silent word with him first before returning to her table. To her luck, the golden eyed waiter was behind the counter when she arrived, just mixing some new drinks.

“… So, you finally fled from the loudmouth?”, his quiet tease flew over to her while he didn’t yet look at her, probably to seemingly not have noticed her yet. She giggled under her breath, putting the two empty glasses on the counter.

“I actually need a favor.”, she replied, earning an amused side smirk from the golden eyed waiter.

“Be right back for you.”, he announced a little louder, just naturally enough for the guy to hear but not seem to obvious. While passing her the waiter slid her a notepad and a pen, probably to write down her favor. She smiled as she caught his wink, then got to writing down her favor without seeming too obvious. But the guy she was here with was eyeing his motorcycle through the window, probably worried if it still stood there.

Alya put the notepad one level deeper onto the working space of the counter, then she waited for the golden eyed boy to return while not looking too suspicious. He did a few moments later, now innocently taking her order of two colas and telling her that she could return to her date, he would bring them.

She smirked at him as she made her way back to the seat, nodding at the guy to continue monologuing as she was seated again.

He didn’t let her ask twice as he already went off about some children that were annoying him the other day. But this time, Alya couldn’t even fake her smile. She was smiling for real, at the thought of what would happen in a second. The waiter vanished in the back for a second, probably to warn his boss and tell him she slid him 20 Euros to pay for the inconvenience.

Then he returned, putting away the two empty glasses to wash them later and filling up two new ones with the ordered cola for their table. Alya honestly had a hard time looking away from his practiced movements. She liked watching him moving in his little space behind the counter almost effortlessly, blindly as he confidently picked the bottles he needed without even having to check.

She almost sighed at his surety with which he moved, her gaze getting caught in watching his lower arms that peeked out of some rolled up sleeves fly to uncap another bottle of cola. His skin made such a nice contrast to the white shirt of his outfit as a waiter. She shook her head and looked back at her date. No, no, no distractions. She wanted to get out of here and fast. The plan was made, c’mon, focus.

Within seconds the glasses were full and her partner in crime loaded them on a tablet, both coincidentally near to the edge of the tray, she noticed with a slight smirk.

Her date went on about his motorcycle again and she was suddenly very glad she had asked the waiter to help her out. She really wouldn’t have been able to hear more of this guy’s machine…

Internally, she braced herself the best she could. And she should probably catch the glass, too, not to give the waiter even more to clean up.

He reached their table and Alya politely looked up to him, nodding at him. The waiter winked inconspicuously and looked over to her date, beginning to grab the first cola to serve it to him. Alya firmly kept her gaze on the second glass as her date already thanked the waiter. And just as he lifted the glass off the tray it tipped over his fingertips because of the weight of the second glass.

The icy cold cola spilled over Alya’s top and lap, the glass landing on her arm and rolling off to come to rest on her lap. The tray fell on her shoulder and clattered to the ground.

For a second, the restaurant remained silent as all gazes went over to them. Cola dripped from her hair into her cleavage and pooled in her lap. The stickiness quickly made itself noticeable as her clothes stuck to her and her hair clumped together.

“… -my god I am so, so sorry, Mademoiselle!”, the waiter’s voice finally reached her as she awoke from her stupor, feeling a giggle rising up in her throat, “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

She trained a surprised expression on her face, frowning up at him.

“Well-…”, she began, fighting her smirk at the perfect acting of her partner in crime, but doing her best to suppress it, “… Thank you. For the cola. Uhm-… Ew…”

A brief eye contact had them both nodding, just for the other to see. His was a mission complete, hers was a thank you.

But they hadn’t kept her date in their minds while making the deal. Or rather, Alya didn’t expect him to stand up and start yelling at the cute waiter. With wide eyes she stared as the guy pulled his arm up and back, clenching his fist, readying himself to give the waiter a good punch.

“Wow, hey! No need to get physical!”, she suddenly heard from the bar, seeing a big, bulky man with the outfit of a cook appearing in the doorframe, just as she was about to jump up and stop her date from wrecking the waiter’s face.

The cook stomped around the bar while her so called date shrunk further and further, his head now ducked between his shoulders as the man shoved the waiter behind his back, cracking his knuckles.

“You got a problem, you leave.”, he growled. The guy didn’t let that be asked of him twice as he visibly deflated and turned on his heels, not even shooting her a second glance as he vanished through the door.

Alya held her breath as the cook turned to her but the waiter quickly ducked through underneath his arm, pushed past him and offered her a high five.

“Hey, that was some pretty convincing acting.”, he praised her, his eyes shining while the cook turned around, explaining the situation to the rest of the restaurant and that everything was under control now.

Alya hesitantly high fived him, puzzled by how her asking for a favor had ended in this situation. And that he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest that she was still soaked in cola, including her hand, and that everything was sticky. Without even batting an eyelash he caught her hand with which she had just given the high five and swiftly grabbed the glass from her lap, helping her to her feet.

“Sorry for the little scare. But I kinda suspected your date to pull something like that so I gave my cousin a little heads up.”

She finally managed to smile but began to feel increasingly disgusted with the cola all over her, sticking everything to her and overall feeling wet and cold.

“Oh, uh-… Thanks…”

He nodded, waving it off.

“Not a problem. Now, I guess your home is a bit further away? And you shouldn’t get into a car like this.”

Alya chuckled nervously. That’s right, she hadn’t thought about that…

“Uhm, it’s just a few blocks, actually. It’s okay.”

His smug grin made her sigh. He got her.

“Lie.”, he winked again, then gestured to the back, “Don’t worry, my family owns this house, actually. I got the apartment beneath the roof. You can take a shower at my place, I lend you a few clothes and then you can go home? Because I won’t let you go through this cold like this, it’s March. You’d freeze to death.”, a small glance from both of them confirmed that it had begun raining as well.

She huffed, nodding to herself. She wouldn’t wanna go through this weather either. If it had only been on her shirt that wouldn’t have been a problem, but with her jeans looking like she had just peed herself? Dripping cola everywhere in the bus because a walk home would take over half an hour? In the rain, additionally?

So she sighed, defeatedly nodding.

“Only if I’m not getting you in trouble for leaving work, though.”

“My parents own this restaurant, they’ll forgive me. Especially for helping out a pretty girl on which I just dumped a drink.”

She giggled as she grabbed her stuff and followed him to the back, into a staircase leading up into the private rooms.

“On her own request, mind you.”, she retorted, wrapping her arms around herself even if it disgusted her since the stickiness only became worse, but preventing to drop everywhere.

He snorted, shrugging as he led her to the highest floor to unlock one of the two doors that opened the way into his apartment. She tried her best to keep her dripping to herself as she stepped in, waiting for him to lead the way to the bathroom. He quickly stepped past her in the narrow hallway, gently cupping her elbows not to accidently push her over, then he opened a door to the side and waved her in.

“Towels are next to the shower and you can use everything in there. I’ll uh-… Well, I could give you a few of my clothes.”

“What, no girlfriend to snag from?”, she cheekily asked before realizing what she had just done, as they both turned incredibly red.

“Ah uh-…”, he intelligently replied, rubbing the back of his head, “Uhm-… N-No, no, no girlfriend. But I c-could ask my sister if she got clothes for you? She’s smaller than you, though…”

Alya quickly shook her head, smiling awkwardly while stepping closer to the shower.

“Oh, no no, that’s fine. A-Any of your clothes are, uhm, fine.”

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds until the waiter clapped his hands together and looked at her again with an awkward smile.

“Yes, uhm, anyway, just make yourself comfortable here. I’ll put out a few clothes for you in front of the door and finish off my shift, it’ll take about half an hour, then I can drive you home. Would, uhm-… Would that be okay?”

Alya awkwardly nodded but halted him before he could already step out again.

“Oh, uhm-… If I’m already taking a shower at your place-… I’m Alya, by the way.”

He chuckled as he turned back to her, stretching out his hand.

“Nino. Nice to meet you, Alya.”

She nodded at him, holding her hand up.

“Sticky hand, sorry.”

He laughed and his offered hand flew up to the back of his head.

“Oh, right. So, uhm, how about I just-…”, he searched his phone out and typed something, “I’ll get you a few clothes and lay them out in front of the door. You can type in my number and just leave my phone outside, if you need anything, if that’s cool? Just text me when it’s safe to come up again.”

As he turned the screen of his phone back to her she realized that he had pulled up his number, for her to type into her phone.

“Uhm, yeah, cool. Cool!”, they both smiled at each other before her grin turned smug, “Smooth way to get my number, by the way.”

“I try.”, he winked, a humorous wink in his eyes as he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him, leaving her to it.

Thank you so much for reading!

Wanna buy me a coffee?

[jennycalendar]

s2e17: passion

synopsis: giles comes to a somewhat terrifying realization with regards to his feelings for jenny, and jenny has a somewhat terrifying experience with regards to angelus not being all that happy about getting his soul back.

INT. LIBRARY — DAY

Giles and Jenny are sitting on the floor, Giles slumped against a table leg and Jenny leaning slightly on Giles. Jenny’s paging through various printouts, barely awake, and Giles is completely asleep.

JENNY

If I check the translation with that other program I was working on last week, I might — are you awake?

Giles snores. Jenny looks at him, looks down at the printout, and shoves him slightly.

JENNY

Rupert.

GILES

…no…

JENNY

Rupert, if I check the translation—

GILES

…too early. Five more minutes.

JENNY

It’s six-thirty.

GILES

(jerking awake)

What?

JENNY

It’s six-thirty. Still pretty early, but—

GILES

But I was going to go home and make tea at three in the morning. Were we here all night?

JENNY

You fell asleep on the floor when you sat down to look through that almanac, and you know I have to stay here and keep researching.

GILES

And you didn’t wake me?

JENNY

I have a lot of research to do.

Jenny goes back to her papers. Giles is looking at her with a worried expression.

GILES

You’ve been working yourself to death for the past few weeks, Jenny. I think you should take today off and get some sleep at home.

JENNY

I can’t sleep while Angelus is out there and it’s my—

GILES

(firm)

It is not your fault.

Jenny looks up at Giles, then leans fully into him, turning her cheek into his shoulder.

JENNY

Can you say that again?

Giles tucks his arm around Jenny. He looks almost pained.

GILES

It isn’t your fault, Jenny.

JENNY

He saved my life, you know.

GILES

I know.

JENNY

And I don’t want to be like my family. I don’t want to just brush him off as someone evil and broken. Maybe that’s Angelus, but—

GILES

But it’s not Angel. I know.

JENNY

If there’s a way to fix this, I-I want to be the one to find it.

GILES

I’m not disputing your ability to do that, but I think you really could use some quality rest. Might help with your researching capabilities if—

JENNY

Rupert, I’m so close. I’ve got most of the original liturgy pieced together—

GILES

What?

JENNY

—and once that’s done, all I have to do is finish the computer program—

GILES

You have parts of the original liturgy?

JENNY

(surprised)

I thought you knew. Didn’t you know?

GILES

You said those magics were lost.

JENNY

They were. I found them.

Jenny raises her head to look at Giles, and they realize at the same time how close they are.

GILES

(soft, breathless)

You’re incredible.

A nervous beat, and then they both pull back.

JENNY

I, I should probably drive home and get changed—

GILES

(overlapping)

I really should make some tea—

Giles stands up, then offers Jenny his hand. She hesitates, but pulls herself up on her own, hurrying out of the library with a nervous smile over her shoulder.

GILES

(to himself)

Idiot!

Rubbing his eyes, Giles crosses the room to his office, taking a pen and a sheet of paper from his desk and placing them both down on the checkout counter. He uncaps the pen and begins to write, crossing a line out every few seconds.

GILES

(mumbling)

Jenny, in our time together…god no, that’s awful. Um, Jenny, I’m not sorry I kissed you, I think it was the best decision I’ve made in — lord, she doesn’t want to hear that. All right. Jenny, I think I’m in love with you—

Giles stops writing — he looks stunned by his own words.

GILES

(soft, disbelieving)

Jenny, I think I’m in love with you.

Giles puts down the pen, takes off his glasses, sets them down. He’s completely floored.

INT. COMPUTER LAB — DAY

The students are filing out, and Jenny’s taking a long sip from her cup of coffee. She looks completely exhausted — definitely not fit to be teaching. Willow pauses by her desk, worried.

WILLOW

Hey, Ms. Calendar, you ever consider napping during your free period?

JENNY

You know, you’re the third person today to tell me that. How bad do I look?

WILLOW

Well, you’re kinda wearing your cardigan inside out. Also, I’m pretty sure that’s the cardigan you were wearing yesterday.

JENNY

I can sleep when research gets done.

WILLOW

Ms. Calendar, even Giles doesn’t throw himself into research like this, and he’s—well, he’s Giles.

JENNY

Willow—

She looks like she wants to say something, but thinks better of it.

WILLOW

A tiny nap won’t kill you, you know, but overexertion probably will. Okay?

JENNY

(brushing her off)

I’ll keep that in mind.

BUFFY (O.S.)

Give it up, Will, she’s way too stubborn.

Jenny and Willow turn to see Buffy and Giles at the door. Buffy gives them both a little wave.

JENNY

How’re you holding up?

BUFFY

Definitely better than you. Is that your fifth cup of coffee?

GILES

(innocent)

Actually, I think it’s her sixth.

JENNY

Thank you, people who I didn’t ask.

WILLOW

Ms. Calendar, I really think you should call in a sub tomorrow, get some rest.

GILES

I could take over your class, if need be.

Jenny and Buffy both start laughing incredibly hard. Jenny nearly spills her coffee, and it’s only Willow’s quick intervention that keeps it from splattering all over the computer. Willow places the coffee down on Jenny’s desk.

JENNY

(wheezing)

Oh, god, I really needed that.

GILES

I’m not joking!

BUFFY

No, we know! That’s why it’s so funny!

WILLOW

Maybe I could keep an eye on your class? We all know substitute teachers in this school never really work out.

JENNY

Ooh, yeah, Miss French. She was cute.

GILES

(a little jealous)

She was a praying mantis.

JENNY

You know, she asked me out for drinks.

BUFFY

She probably wanted to eat you.

JENNY

Well, I’m not a virgin, so—

GILES

(loudly)

At any rate, I’m with Willow. She should take over your class for tomorrow so that you can have some time to—

JENNY

Research?

GILES

Rest.

JENNY

We can agree to disagree on that one.

Giles rolls his eyes. Buffy, grinning, motions to Willow and pulls her out of the room.

BUFFY

(over her shoulder)

Seriously, Ms. Calendar, get some sleep! I don’t want you doing your research wrong and accidentally giving Angel a cockroach soul or something.

WILLOW

(sotto to Buffy)

Do cockroaches have souls?

Giles steps all the way into the room and picks up Jenny’s coffee, taking a sip himself.

JENNY

I need that.

GILES

I know. I’m cutting you off. When you pass out in your next class, maybe you’ll at least get some actual rest for a change.

JENNY

Diabolical.

GILES

That’s what I was going for, yes.

Jenny smiles a little, leaning on the edge of her desk, and reaches up to absently straighten Giles’s glasses.

JENNY

I might tell Snyder I’m taking the day off and then nap in your office. That okay?

GILES

Anything to get you well rested. How much have you been sleeping?

JENNY

I think I took a nap two days ago? And I keep on falling asleep at lunch, so technically, I’m doing okay.

GILES

Good lord. All right. Come on. I’ll call you in, just go to my office and get some actual rest.

JENNY

My research—

GILES

Is not half as important as you are to all of us, so just — just listen to me, Jenny, all right?

Jenny looks a little reluctant, but Giles gently shepherds her out of her classroom and down the hall.

INT. LIBRARY — NIGHT

Giles is sitting with a cup of tea, flipping through a book on revocation rituals. In the other chair, Jenny is fast asleep, covered with Giles’s jacket and using one of his scarves as a pillow.

Unexpectedly, Jenny jerks awake, with such force that she falls out of her chair. Giles waits patiently for her to pull herself back up.

JENNY

Oh my god I feel like I just drank seventeen cups of coffee.

GILES

(dry)

I think what you’re experiencing is called “actual rest.” You’ve been asleep since noon.

JENNY

And what time is it now?

GILES

About one in the morning.

JENNY

Oh, no. I’m wasting time—

GILES

(gently)

Jenny.

JENNY

—I should be working—

GILES

Not every solitary second.

JENNY

Rupert, the last time I was negligent in my responsibilities, Angel lost his soul and my family disowned me, I, I can’t be irresponsible again. I cannot possibly let anyone down this time around, and Buffy trusts me to do this, I can’t—

Jenny stops talking, looking helpless and lost. Giles sets down his tea, gets up from his chair, and crosses around the table, taking Jenny’s hands in his.

GILES

It’s all right.

JENNY

It’s not. If I don’t fix this—

GILES

Then I will. Somehow.

JENNY

If I can’t fix this, you definitely can’t.

GILES

Thanks ever so.

JENNY

You know what I mean.

Giles looks down at their joined hands, then smiles a little tiredly and lets go.

GILES

I might need some rest myself. I’ll be in my office if you need me, all right?

JENNY

That’s sweet, but I’m okay.

GILES

(tentative)

Jenny, you know anyone can get into this school at night, don’t you?

JENNY

Angel’s not looking for me. I’ll be fine.

Jenny stands on tiptoe to squeeze Giles’s shoulder.

JENNY

You worry too much.

EXT. HIGH SCHOOL CAMPUS — MORNING

Buffy, Willow, and Xander find Giles, who gives them all an exhausted smile.

BUFFY

How’s that sleepy BFF of yours?

(off Giles’s look)

It stands for “Best Friend Forever,” Giles.

GILES

She’s been migrating around the school falling asleep in different places. She really has been working tirelessly on this project with Angelus.

WILLOW

Any good news?

GILES

(smiling)

Um, as it happens — yes. Possibly. She says she’s very close to figuring something out, but, I, I think she really does need some proper rest before she continues her research.

XANDER

Seconded. Watching her teach class while sleep-deprived really isn’t as funny when she’s been like that for two weeks straight.

WILLOW

(reproving)

I didn’t think it was funny at all.

XANDER

Oh, come on! When she started writing in Latin on the board instead of English? That was pretty funny.

GILES

(smitten)

She was sleep-deprived and writing in Latin?

BUFFY

She’s kind of awesome.

GILES

Indeed.

Buffy and Willow exchange a giggly, knowing look. Xander is oblivious.

BUFFY

We should get to class. Can you keep an eye on Ms. Calendar, make sure she doesn’t sleepwalk off the second floor or something?

GILES

(doubtfully)

That seems highly unlikely.

XANDER

Well, you never know in Sunnydale.

Giles gives the children a nervous smile and hurries towards the school.

WILLOW

(excited)

I’m going to go teach a class!

BUFFY

How much power did Ms. Calendar giveyou?

WILLOW

She said something about starfish and then she went back to sleep on Giles’s shoulder. So I drew up a lesson plan.

INT. LIBRARY — NIGHT

Giles is putting on his overcoat at the door, looking over his shoulder at Jenny. She’s still at the computer, looking only marginally well-rested, coffee in hand.

GILES

I just have to, um, get the book from Buffy and I’ll be right back, all right?

JENNY

Rupert, I’ll be fine.I’m in the library with like twenty different kinds of weapons and I’m wearing a cross and I think there’s an actual crossbow under the table next to me, so—

GILES

Still. Things happen.

JENNY

Things do. But we’ve been staying late at the library for a good few weeks now and there haven’t been any dramatic disasters, so now doesn’t seem like the time to start worrying, okay? Okay. Cool.

Jenny goes back to typing. Giles wavers by the door, then leaves.

EXT. PARKING LOT — NIGHT

Giles exits the school building and begins the walk to his car, taking something out of his pocket. It’s his own copy of the revocation ritual; he has absolutely no need for Buffy’s book.

GILES

(mumbling)

Jenny, I’m in love with you. No, that’s, that’s too direct, it’ll scare her off, I don’t want her thinking she, she has to love me back, um, Jenny, I know this is unprecedented and I understand if my feelings aren’t reciprocated—

Continuing to practice his speech, Giles opens the trunk of his car, revealing a bouquet of red roses.

GILES

Jenny — damn, I shouldn’t have gotten these, they’re, they’re too — romantic, and, and she’s not romantic, she’s wonderful, she’s intelligent, she makes me laugh—

Behind him, Angelus is quietly crossing the parking lot towards the school, but pauses upon seeing Giles. Amused by the roses, he stops for a moment to watch.

GILES

Jenny — you, you make me happy. And you said a few weeks ago that I was important to you, and, and I thought perhaps these roses might help emphasize how i-important you are. To me. Because you’re — because I-I’m in love with you — I should have written this all out. I think I need to write this out.

Giles runs a hand through his hair and turns to lean against the trunk. Angelus steps neatly into the shadows, out of view.

GILES

Jenny. I love you. No, she knows that, she just doesn’t know it’s romantic—

INT. LIBRARY — NIGHT

Jenny has stopped typing and is staring apprehensively at the screen in front of her.

JENNY

Come on.

Something on the screen catches her eye. She stares, stunned, and then a slow smile spreads across her face.

JENNY

That’s it.

Her joy is visible and palpable; she presses a hand to her smile.

JENNY

This is it, I—I did it. I did it!

Delightedly exhausted, she ejects a disk from the disk drive, and is about to put it down when the door opens. She doesn’t look away from the screen.

JENNY

(breathless)

Rupert!

ANGELUS

A little off the mark on that one, teach.

Jenny’s smile flickers and she swallows, hard, standing up.

JENNY

Angel, then.

ANGELUS

So close! You know, if this were a graded course, you would be just barely scraping by. I’d suggest being a little more careful.

(smiles)

Of course, you’re not going to have that opportunity after tonight, are you?

Surreptitiously, Jenny drops the disk, covering the sound of it hitting the floor by stepping back into a bookshelf. She stumbles, but her eyes don’t leave Angel.

JENNY

I have a friend I want to help. There’s no chance in hell I’m dying tonight.

ANGELUS

There’s no way you’re talking about Angel, Jenny. That guy barely put up with you. The only real reason he gave you that necklace was out of pity, you know.

JENNY

I don’t care what Angel thinks of me, Angelus. What matters is that he’s a good person who doesn’t deserve—

ANGELUS

Angel is a fiction.Don’t you get that? Angel is an add-on that made me feel a little bummed for a hundred years or so, and I’ve decided that I don’t really like it when that pesky soul is gumming up my system. You know computers, Jenny— aren’t computers all about systems? I’m a bit of a dinosaur when it comes to those gizmos, but I do know at least a little.

JENNY

(shaky)

Rupert’s coming back.

ANGELUS

Oh, your boyfriend seems pretty busy. Might take him a while to figure out how to tell you he’s in love with you, and once he does get back, you’re going to be splattered all over his rarer volumes. Makes for a nice surprise, don’t you think?

Jenny reaches down, picks up the crossbow.

JENNY

Not tonight, Angelus.

ANGELUS

That is so cute! Do you even know how to use that thing?

JENNY

Maybe not, but you’re a pretty easy target even for a beginner if you get closer.

Angelus takes this in. It’s clear that he’s weighing the risks.

ANGELUS

Fact of the matter is, hitting my heart’s still going to be pretty hard for a newbie, and it’s worth a flesh wound if I kill the overconfident idiot who thinks she can give me back my soul without anyone noticing.

Jenny’s shaking, crossbow in hand.

ANGELUS

You’re weak. You’re weak, and you wouldn’t kill me, because you don’t want to risk losing Angel. Because Buffy’s depending on you, and Giles just started trusting you again, and when you let them down, they’re going to turn you away just like your uncle did. I heard about that, by the way.

(beat)

I heard about that when I killed your uncle.

Jenny fires the crossbow. It goes off, hitting Angelus only a few inches from his heart. He falls to the floor mostly out of surprise, and she grabs the disk before running straight towards him, trying to get to the door behind him.

Angelus grabs her ankle and twists, hard. Jenny gasps, almost a scream, and steps on his hand with her clunky heel. There’s an unpleasant crunch of bone, and Angelus’s hand falls, and Jenny manages to take two stumbling steps out of the library before falling to the ground herself.

Gritting her teeth, Jenny pulls herself up, holding onto the doorframe, and that’s when she sees Giles walking towards the library, bouquet in hand. He looks incredibly nervous.

GILES

Jenny, I-I—

JENNY

(strained)

Rupert, we have to run.

GILES

What—

JENNY

Angelus is in the library.

Giles’s smile vanishes. In a single fluid movement, he’s dropped the roses, run to Jenny, grabbed her hand, and started to pull her along with him. Jenny makes a sharp, pained noise; she can’t run.

JENNY

I think he broke my ankle—

GILES

I’ll carry you.

Jenny winds her arms around Giles’s neck and he picks her up. Behind them, Angelus is pulling himself to his feet.

Giles sprints towards the nearby exit, Jenny in his arms, and shoves it open with his shoulder, running across the parking lot again to his car. Angelus is behind them, but he’s still struggling with the crossbow bolt in his chest, and it’s slowed him down significantly.

Giles places Jenny down next to his car, unlocking the door and roughly shoving her inside. He sprints around to the driver’s side, gets in, slams the door shut, and starts the car just as Angelus has reached them.

The car tears out of the parking lot.

INT. GILES’S CAR — NIGHT

Giles hasn’t let go of Jenny’s hand.

GILES

(shaky)

You’re all right.

JENNY

He killed my uncle.

GILES

What?

JENNY

Angelus. He killed my uncle and — and he broke my ankle, and I shot him with a crossbow.

GILES

Good. The bastard deserved it.

JENNY

Rupert—

GILES

He was going to kill you.

JENNY

Rupert—

GILES

I’d have killed him myself if—

Jenny bursts into tears. Giles is so startled by this that he stops the car.

JENNY

(sobbing)

You complete idiot, don’t stop driving!

Giles ignores this entirely, reaching out to cup Jenny’s face in his hands. He’s near tears himself. Jenny moves towards him, still crying.

GILES

(stammering)

It’s all right, Jenny, you’re all right, it’s going to be all right, we’re both alive and we’re both here and in the end that’s what matters, isn’t it? He didn’t kill you. You’re here.

JENNY

My uncle’s dead.

GILES

I know. I know. I’m sorry.

JENNY

I’m so scared.

GILES

You were so brave.

JENNY

I shot Angel with a crossbow.

(sniffling)

I want to go home.

GILES

Have you invited him in?

JENNY

Never.

GILES

Then we’ll go home. All right? And I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me.

JENNY

All night.

GILES

Then all night.

Giles hesitates, then kisses Jenny’s forehead.

GILES

I love you.

It isn’t in a romantic context; this isn’t the time for that. For the first time since they started driving, Jenny looks genuinely comforted, and moves closer to him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

JENNY

I love you too.

(then)

What were the roses for?

GILES

Some other night, I think.

[songbirdo]

So since it’s Spiriter Week I thought I’d try putting my meta pants back on.

Baten Kaitos Origins’ writing is great on multiple playthroughs. There’s plenty of events and statements that mean different things once the player knows the twists the plot will take. One part in particular where this is true is in the introduction of Verus. There’s so much here that makes me squirm. So much, in fact, that this is going to be a very long post. Disorganized rambling below.

(Major spoilers for the whole game under the cut. Seriously.)

Okay, no one here is new to the game, right? I can talk about how Verus is a diabolical mofugger? Okay. Won’t be going shot-by-shot so that this post stays a (relatively) manageable length, but you can fill in the blanks.

As a character I feel like there isn’t a lot to Verus. In a game full of interesting and surprising character-driven twists, “the guy you worked for was the puppet master all along” isn’t all that interesting. The writing is good enough, however, for us to go back and pick out how he manipulates people, plus some interesting things about how the game’s writing works. So, here we are.

Isn’t it fitting that the player can tell him to go to hell? First time around it’s funny. Second time, it’s a legitimate statement.

Nobody else in this game calls the Afterlings “Umbras.” The word “Afterling” has even been thrown around a few times by this point. Eventually Verus does tell the crew about the afterlings in greater detail, but that just begs the question, why call them umbras at all when he knows they are called Afterlings?

If I had to guess, it’s to keep Sagi and company more in the dark about the true nature of the afterlings. I bring it up because it’s Verus himself that initiates that conversation through talking about Guillo and indirectly switching the focus. Which of course leads to the crew’s biggest skeptic to question how he knows about the ones they’ve encountered:

Geldoblame: Watch your tone of voice, to whom do you think you’re speaking?

One thing I really love about this game is how often characters, especially Guillo, call out when a person knows something they shouldn’t. It speaks to the writers having confidence in what they are doing, and inviting the player to be skeptic with the characters not only gets them thinking on the same emotional level, it also makes sure that any skepticism the player might have is addressed and doesn’t distract from the narrative at hand. Afraid of skeptical players? Take that skepticism head on and make it part of the story! After all, who knows what in this game is probably a conversation in itself.

And a lot of the information flow can probably be traced back to Verus, especially with Shanath acting as a proxy to Verus.

Especially interesting since Verus is mincing words himself. Pretty well evidenced in the following:

Wow, no hesitation? Straight to the villification? It’s almost as if the information the characters and players know regarding Baelheit from the events of the game up to now is being used to rush them along on a persuasive propaganda smear without giving them time to think about it!

HE HATES THINGS LIKE FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY, AND HE’D WIPE ALL TRADITIONAL VALUES FROM EXISTANCE IF HE COULD.

Hey, they are political opponents after all. Having a clear cut villain makes things so much easier, right? All we little guys coming together to use what little we have to take down the big bad guy! He’s going to destroy our way of life and all that we hold dear, so he must be stopped before it’s too late!

Of course Baelheit’s slate isn’t clean, naturally. but Baelheit is far more straightforward, since he honestly believes that he is making the world a better place despite having to step on everyone in order to do it. His desire to wipe everything natural away for the greater good makes him a villain, sure, but he honestly believes in his cause. Verus just wants power, and probably has an ancient little low-voiced shoulder devil whispering things to him.

Verus: He had Olgan killed in hopes of taking his place-- and then accused you, a spiriter, to hush the matter up. Two birds with one stone, see?

Guillo: But the emperor didn’t die by our hands.

Sagi: That’s right. Some other guy had already killed him.

Verus: But the problem remains that you are the one who stands accused.

Sagi: .........

Verus relates back to being a spiriter very often, even though on a second playthrough you know he’s lying about being one. He’s relating to Sagi to get his favor, but also diverting away from things that he doesn’t want to talk about (such as how Shanath is actually working for him, especially since we’ve already seen Baelheit privately admit he has no idea that Shanath killed Olgan) by using immediate issues that relate to Sagi directly. Issues that he can fix with a few strokes of a pen if Sagi does what he wants, as he details in the next few lines.

Though after that comes the real kicker:

I’M SCREAMING

That’s.... literally the opposite of sincerity. Verus knows about the orphanage because Verus knows about Sagi. He knows about Gena. He knows where Sagi lives. He knows what Sagi is. He’s Sagi’s goddamn dad.

But of course Sagi doesn’t know any of that, and Verus wants to keep it that way. He’s got a ton of secrets to keep, and he used the heck out of them. I’m convinced that Verus had a hand in setting up the removal of Gena’s wings later on down the line in order to trigger Sagi’s transformation. Plus, now you get to think about how all these years, Verus probably kept tabs on them even though Gena probably thought she had escaped from him when she fled with Sagi.

But Gena and by extension the orphanage are what Sagi holds most dear, so this little bit of revealed knowledge makes for an excellent bargaining tool. Hey game, where’s the skeptical call out after this line? Sneaky.

Sagi: That reminds me. The Umbras, sir... Do you know anything about them?

Verus: Not a whole lot. We’ve been doing all we can to investigate, but the answers continue to elude us. The only thing that’s certain is what you already know: that they possess immeasurable power. Baelheit wants that power. Therein lies our problem. Were someone able to harness such strength... well, certainly you can imagine?

Putting aside that Verus knows darn well what the afterlings are, having been close enough to the malideiter project to offer his own baby son for experimentation, their power is a big focus for him. During the speeches right before this scene, Verus focused on the threat of these “unknown creatures,” and how he can protect the people from their menace. To me it seems like Verus likes using fear tactics, even though his speeches ended up not going as well. People are scared of the unknown, and they’re scare of power. Verus even basically says “leave it up to the imagination” probably to fill their heads with all sorts of scary scenarios. People who are scared are easier to control after all. That’s another thing that can keep Sagi in line: the fear of power and the unknown.

Then he outlines his ideas about sending Sagi and company to speak with each islands leaders.

Sagi: But... why not just go yourself, Quaestor? 

Verus: As you can see, the war took my leg. So I’m afraid I quite literally cannot rise to the occasion. Hence my need for a reliable right-hand man. I believe I can trust a fellow spiriter like you.

Verus walks with a limp. Even in this time of gamecube graphics, the artists were sure to create a walk cycle that shows off bad leg. Every time we see him, we’re reminded of his leg. Which is why such a big deal is made out of the fact that during the final battle Verus throws away his walking stick, revealing that it too was all  for show, and that the crutch is the last thing we ever see of him. It feels like a visual representation of what a liar he is, and the game knows to call attention to it, visually and through dialogue, for that reason.

I’ll stop here. I know there’s plenty more, but that covers most of the big points. There’s some milly forshadowing in there too, plus some more dictating what they think and so on, but there are other characters to turn to. Plus, this post is essentially a bunch of words where “verus is a dick” would have sufficed just fine.

[wr8tur]

SCI-FI SCREENPLAY (Day 3 Popular/Nerd AU)

She's typing furiously as she glares at her screen, drowning herself in the sound of her fingers clacking against keys, hoping if she keeps pushing through inspiration will strike. But alas, it continues to allude her so finally, she smashes her palms on her desk. She releases a breath but it does nothing to quell her frustration.

She doesn't bother reading what she's written, opting instead to press the command and the A button before ultimately hitting delete.

Whatever was on that page was nonsense, she's certain. She'd only been writing her frustration, cursing herself for having no idea, for being unable to create an actual plot. But for the plot to come she'd have to have a general idea. And for the idea to appear she'd have to feel inspired. Sadly creativity is lost on the poor writer nowadays.

She pushes away from her desk. A change of scenery won't help but still, she finds the air in her office stifling so she heads over to the living room, ready to plan herself on her couch when her phone begins to ring.

It's a call from her manager/agent. She debates declining the call but she knows the woman will just hound her incessantly until she picks up the phone so Lena saves herself from having to face a frustrated Englishwoman by answering the call, she doesn't say anything, just breathes into her phone and that's enough for her friend to know she's clearly still frustrated.

"Writer's block still?" there's concern obvious in her tone.

Lena knows it's for her and not for the fact that the Englishwoman won't be able to peddle anything new to her publishing house because Helena Wayne, heiress to Wayne Enterprises, doesn't need the money. She's merely supporting her friend.

"It's been weeks…" Lena murmurs into the phone.

"Seeing as it'd be pointless for me to suggest that you venture outside of your domicile…" she knows her all too well. "I've arranged for inspiration to be brought to you."

"What is it?" Lena questions suspiciously.

"Just your open your door when the package comes." Helena orders, leaving no room for argument, and Lena just sighs in defeat because she knows from their years of friendship that the other woman can be quite relentless. "And enjoy yourself but wait…" Lena hears a click and looks at her phone screen only to discover that her friend had hung up on her. It doesn't take long for her phone to start ringing once more. This time Helena's Facetiming her so she warily accepts the call and watches as her friend's face comes up on her screen. "Pull your phone back." she orders.

"What for?" she gazes skeptically at the fact on her phone.

"Just do it." Lena doesn't move and Helena rolls her eyes. "I want to see what you're wearing." the author's brow arches and Helena watches as a diabolical grin forms on her friend's face.

"About five years too late to be demanding vid sex from me, no?" she teases.

"You perv." she rolls her eyes but decides that it was her fault for phrasing her request almost so wantonly. "It's not for that."

"As much as I'd relish ravishing you I thought we agreed we'd be better as friends?" they'd tried dating a while back in University but they decided that as good as the sex was, and it was quite good, they would fare better off if they kept things platonic. Well, mostly platonic.

"You're an arse." Helena insults with a small laugh.

"But you love me and my gorgeous arse anyway." she winks at the other woman who just shakes her head in amusement.

"Who else would put up with your gigantic ego?" she responds fondly. Her deep blue eyes look her friend up and down. "Damn you for being an effortless beauty." she compliments with a hint of envy lacing her tone. "You don't even have to try!" it always frustrated her in college, how she'd have to brush her unruly waves back while Lena's beautiful raven locks always looked so immaculate. "Anyway, my care package should be arriving in about ten minutes. I expect to hear all about it tomorrow!"

She ends the call before Lena can ask just exactly what her friend is sending. The author just looks at her front door, wondering what Helena has in store for her. Years have taught her to expect the unexpected from the Wayne heiress.

The doorbell inevitably rings and she apprehensively heads toward the door.

Perhaps she's merely being paranoid. Though it's justified considering the last time she had writer's block Helena had come by with tomahawks and three bottles of her favorite wine. Needless to say, the combination had been chaotic. Luckily neither of them ended up in the hospital but she had a fantastic time remodeling her backyard.

As she nears the door, the aroma hits her and she smiles, a little guilty that she's thought the worst in her friend. It smells like Chinese food so she eagerly opens the door.

And she's right, there's a box filled with Chinese takeout boxes. But she can't revel in her victory when shock is still coursing through her system because she's surprised to find a beautiful statuesque blonde standing on her doorstep, holding said package in her hand looking uncertain yet excited.

"Hi!" the blonde squeaks. "Helena, Wayne that is, yes Helena Wayne sent me here today!" she announces and Lena's gathered as much. "Um, I have your copy of the revised script but she says I'm not supposed to give it to you until after you eat, so I think that means I'm supposed to have a meal with you?" she looks down at the multitude of food she's purchased. "But I guess this is weird isn't it?" the reality of the situation just seems to be hitting the familiar stranger and Lena swears she's seen the ranting blonde somewhere before. "You don't seem to know who I am," there's amusement mixed with relief and astonishment twinkling in her eyes when she says this. "And I showed up with food, inviting myself to eat dinner with you at your house." it seems like a strange meet cute but Lena knows Helena's capable of making such arrangements happen. "This sounded so much better when Helena was saying it. It's probably her accent."

"It's quite alright." she decides to interrupt the blonde's adorable frantic speech.

"Oh my god," the blonde's eyes look like their about to pop out of her head. "You're Irish." she sounds completely mesmerized by her new revelation.

"Is that a problem?" Lena questions but the star struck look in the woman's bright blue eyes indicates it's quite the opposite. "Ms.?" she's utterly amused and finds herself understanding why Helena would send this frenzied femme her way.

"Definitely not a problem!" she shakes her head. "I just didn't expect you to be…"

"Irish?" she's teasing but the blonde seems to be too wrapped upon her discovery, too absorbed in wonder, to properly function in the presence of the raven haired author.

"Hot." she says like it's supposed to be the most obvious thing in the world. "That sounds like I'm objectifying you doesn't it? I'm sorry…. I'm just really nervous and I have a tendency to say the first thing that's on my mind but I know you're smart!" she assures. "You're incredibly intelligent, and witty, and I know this because I've read all your works." she's clearly acting much like a fan who's meeting their idol for the first time. "You're not just drop dead gorgeous."

"You're quite generous with your flattery." Lena replies kindly, finding herself taken by the blonde's unbridled nature.

"I'm being honest." and Lena can practically feel the sincerity pouring off the stranger. "Your work is simply marvelous. The way you write is so captivating that I always have a hard time putting the book down even just for a second." she continues to fawn over the author.

"Forgive me, I'm not used to dealing with fans." Lena's uncertain what to say, how to react.

"Right." Kara figures because the author's never been an interview or a press tour. "There's not a lot of people who know who you really are." there's a sense of regret that fills her entire being because only now does she realize that she's actively inserting herself into someone's private life. "You don't even put your picture on the author page."

"I'd like to thank you for bringing my copy of the script and for that wonderful compliment." Kara smiles, kind and regretful, in return.

"I apologize for just coming here unannounced and now as I'm standing at your door, I realize how insane I was to just show up." she bows her head in shame. "I guess I was just eager to meet you and when Helena said you're probably never going to show up on set, well I guess I became desperate." she looks at Lena. "You see, I fought for this role because I wanted the chance to meet you." it's honest and raw and Lena can't help but be captivated by her sincerity. "But I realize now that if one my fans just showed up in my house, I would probably call the cops."

"It is a little mad," Lena finds herself saying. "But I always say that we should seize opportunities when they present themselves." she steps aside and gestures for the blonde to enter. "Please, do come in." Lena invites her inside, apparently following her own advice.

"I'm Kara, by the way." she says as though she knows a secret that Lena does not.

"Lena." the author introduces her true name.

"Lena?" the confusion covering her face is quite adorable.

"Katherine McGrath is my pen name." it's clear to Kara that the woman is clearly a very private person. "And you do realize that Helena's basically set you up to have dinner with me?" she says as Kara continues to follow her to the living room. "As in romantic capacity?" she wants to clarify.

"The thought had crossed my mind when she started fiddling with my hair." Kara admits with an amused smile.

"And you willingly came to a stranger's house?"

"Well, I figure if someone like Helena Wayne is vouching for you, then chances are I'll be fine." she shrugs as she empties the box onto the coffee table.

"You're quite a gambler." Lena says as she hands Kara a chopstick.

"Not usually." Kara admits. "But it's not everyday I get to share a meal with my favorite author."

"It could be." Lena finds herself saying because she can't think of an instance where she was able to converse with someone with such ease. "I suppose it all depends on how the night goes, no?" she plants herself on the couch. "So how exactly did you cross paths with Helena?"

"At the script read today."

"You're an actress?" perhaps that's why she seems familiar to the raven haired author. "Forgive me, I'm not really adept with popular culture." she doesn't want to insult the blonde by insinuating she isn't famous.

"It's fine." it's actually quite nice, Kara thinks and says as much. "It's been a while since I've met someone who didn't know who I was." it's been years since she last walked into a room without everyone clamoring over her. "I'm actually a model and this is my first acting project." she confesses shyly.

"Kara Zorell." Lena recalls and the model can see the recognition in her eyes.

Of course Helena had been gracious enough to inform her of the members, both the cast and the crew, who are taking part in the movie adaptation of her novel series.

She remembers Helena talking about the lead actress, remembers her being described as sweet and innocent, but most importantly remembers that Kara is the most famous supermodel in the entire world. She vaguely remembers her friend mentioning that the woman before her is the most followed individual on Twitter and Instagram.

"Yes." she's nervous all of a sudden, like she'd been caught stealing from a cookie jar. "That's going to be a problem, isn't it?" Kara knows her stardom will undoubtedly attract unwanted attention.

"Probably." Lena tells herself it's too early to decide anything.

Deep down she knows she shouldn't go down this path. She's chosen anonymity for a reason. But there's something about the blonde, her uninhibited disposition perhaps, that Lena finds simply irresistible.

She ultimately decides to just let things run their natural course. Yes, the blonde is attractive and she'd bed her in an instant but that doesn't mean she'd want anything more than that. There's still a lot that can happen to deter her interest because apart from knowing the intruder is a supermodel and that she's quite a fan of Lena's works, the author doesn't know anything else about the woman.

But she'd like to though, to know all about Kara whose eyes sparkle like ocean waves glimmering with the rays of the sun that meets its surface.

She should probably stay away from this woman who easily flusters and smiles too openly. Still, she finds it impractical since she felt something stir as soon as Kara opened her mouth. She felt it, in her veins, the words singing to her mind, loud and impossible to ignore, much like the blonde who brought about those emotions.

Inspiration came in the form of a blonde supermodel holding a bag of Chinese food. She'd never hear the end of this from Helena, she's certain.

XXXX

She doesn't know why she's here. Scratch that, she does. She's here because a certain blonde bombshell pulled her patented puppy pout. Damn those bright blues.

So now, she's sitting here eating lunch with the team in charge of making the novel adaptation of their movie because Helena demanded her involvement while Kara bartered an outing at her favorite vegan restaurant. Of course, only Helena and Kara know that she's the author. Helena had only introduced her as an associate producer whose name won't be credited in the film.

She listens to them talk about promotions, production dates, and she mostly tunes the shop talk out, offering a smile and small laugh when she deems it appropriate.

Mostly she's counting the hours until the lunch meeting is over.

"It's actually Lena's idea." Kara speaks and the aforementioned woman turns toward the blonde whose eyes sparkle with pride. "I mean, it would certainly make the scene a lot better." James Olsen, the director of the film, nods his head with an accepting smile.

"So, you've read the script then?" Maggie, one of the producers, questions.

"I glanced at it." she replies Helena smirks knowingly and Kara just looks warily at the others. She can sense James, Maggie, and the other producer Alex's, apprehension seeing as this complete stranger has been privy to what's supposed to be a private and detrimental part of their film. "Now now," she raises her glass and takes a sip of her wine. "The secret is safe with me."

"If there's one thing Lee can do it is keep a secret." Lena can see Kara's eye twitch from her peripherals as Helena places a hand on her arm. "Lee here has had a hand in all my other projects."

Her fingers linger unnecessarily long on the raven haired author's appendage and Lena knows it's because Helena's watching Kara from her peripherals. The writer draws her arm back, glaring at her amused friend, before sending a comforting smile toward the blonde who seems to be embarrassed at being caught.

"And what do you think of our mysterious author?" the woman with auburn hair, Alex Danvers, questions.

"A tad pretentious." this garners a small chuckle from Helena and a slight frown from the blonde. "I mean, she's written the script without meeting with you, without hearing your inputs." it seems utterly childish, playing with the unsuspecting crew, but Lena just wants to know what this project means to these people.

"Well, the reason why we picked this book, picked her, " Maggie Sawyer begins. "Is because we believe in her voice and we certainly don't want to stifle it."

"Katie McGrath is a true artist," Alex adds. "She's in it not because she wants fame but because she loves what she's doing." Lena smiles then, glad to see that her deeds haven't been misconstrued. "We're fortunate enough that she agreed to let us put her vision in film."

"I think she's brilliant." Kara cuts in, looking at Lena with that megawatt smile of hers.

"Of course you'd say that." Lena remarks with an affectionate look in her eyes, one that she doesn't bother masking. "I seem to recall Helena saying she is your favorite author after all." Kara is hardly unbiased.

"Well, we can hardly blame Kara for that." James puts in his two cents.

The rest the lunch goes a little more smoothly from there, with Lena finding herself as a willing participant rather than a hostage. When it ends, Lena's stopped counting the seconds, finding that she truly enjoyed herself. Now she's venturing toward the valet attendant booth with Helena by her side. The taller brunette's linked their elbows together as they walk.

"I do wish you'd stop instigating these little moments." Lena gently disentangles herself from her mischievous companion.

"Well I'll stop when you start shagging that blonde." Helena comments knowingly. They'd been dancing around the issue for weeks. "I saw your latest chapters so I understand she's certainly aroused inspiration." she informs the raven haired author who thinks she really must revoke the Wayne heiress's key privileges to her home. "Like I thought she would." just as Lena suspected. "And I've seen how you look at her, how she looks at you." it's quite undeniable really. "She's been wet for you since the moment she read a sentence from your first book." it's been obvious to Lena as well. "Put the girl out of her misery for crying out loud." Lena wants to point out that the blonde isn't the only one who's suffering. "And you can do with a romp in the sack, God knows I won't always be around to do help you out on that front."

"Kara and I aren't a good idea." she doesn't want to complicate things any more than they already have been.

"Let her go then." Helena smiles when she sees those usually composed emerald greens fill with fright at the thought of having to go a moment with Kara. "You don't want to." she points out the obvious truth. "Then stop torturing yourself and seize the moment." she advises her stubborn friend. "I suggest you find another ride home." here Helena was, creating an opportunity.

"I came here with you." her eyes narrow dangerously at her friend.

"I positively won't give you a lift home, but I'm sure Kara will be more than happy to ride you." Lena swallows her protest because it's pointless to argue with her friend.

Helena gives her a quick friendly kiss on the cheek before hopping into her Jaguar, leaving Lena with her thoughts. The author stares as her friend drives off, giving her no choice but to enjoy a ride back home with Kara, who's still talking to the director about the film.

Lena walks closer to the blonde but stops when she's within earshot of their conversation, discovering that it most certainly has nothing to do with the movie.

"Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?" James asks.

"To talk about the film?" Kara sounds utterly hopeful that this is the case. It isn't that she's too presumptuous, because she doesn't believe that everyone out there want to bed her, but she's not oblivious enough to not notice James's lingering looks. "I mean, why else would you want to have dinner with me?"

"I was hoping it would be a date." James clarifies. "I know, it's completely unprofessional but you know, I think we're mature enough not to let it interfere with work."

"I'm seeing someone." Kara blurts out, surprising Lena.

"I figured you would be." James chuckles because a woman like Kara can't possibly be single. "I'm sorry, I just thought I'd take a shot." he smiles, letting her know there's no harm done. "I'll see you soon though, after we hash out the last revision of the script and gather a few Vis Dev pieces." he makes his leave and the model sighs.

She turns and sees Lena standing there with a blank look on her face. The supermodel shuffles on the balls of her feet, looking around the area for a wavy haired brunette with a killer English accent.

"Helena's disappeared?" she can't help but be more relieved.

"She thought I should bother you for a ride home." Lena smiles though Kara can't help but see that it's a little strained and that her eyes lack that playful luster she's come to adore.

"You could never bother me." she assures.

The ride to Lena's abode is without conversation. The sound that fills the car is emanating from Kara's playlist and it's utterly unnerving because they have ever spent a tense moment with each other, not even when they first met.

But there's too many words floating on the tip of Lena's tongue that she can't decide what she wants to say.

Apparently there's also a subject that Kara wants to approach because she's being uncharacteristically quiet, just content to focus on her driving, but Lena can tell she's tense because she's gripping the wheel quite tightly.

"Thank you for the lift." Lena all but scrambles out of the car and if she slams the car door too loudly, she doesn't really care.

"Lena wait!" Kara clambers out of her seat, closing her own door, as she rushes to Lena. "Can we talk?" she doesn't want to leave things like this, tense and cold, with so many words unsaid between them.

"Not here." emerald eyes looks around. The last thing she wants is for her debacle with the renowned super model to be plastered on tomorrow's papers. She heads inside her house, leaving the door open for Kara to follow. "What is it that you wish to discuss?" she questions as soon as Kara's closed her door. "Kara." she presses, patience never having been one of her strong suits especially when she's frustrated.

"You and Helena," she begins and Lena's eyes narrow dangerously at the blonde who seems to know she should be choosing her words carefully. "Are you…" she doesn't know how to begin, how to phrase the question that's haunting in her mind, "Is she…"

"We're friends." Lena decides to put the poor woman out of her misery and besides, they'd be here all night if she is to let the model steer their conversation.

"Friends don't look at each other like that." Kara remarks disbelievingly.

"You mean like how you look at me?" Lena scoffs. "Honestly you've quite a lot of nerve demanding answers when you didn't even tell me you were dating someone." she practically sneers.

"What?" Kara seems startled by the question. "I was talking about you!" and now it's Lena's turn to be baffled. "I kind of… well I know you said you thought it'd be a problem, me being famous and all that, but you haven't outright said no to me so I kind of thought that you were just trying to test the waters to see if I was worth it?" all this time, Kara had thought they were kind of dating. The blonde had been intent, apparently, on proving that she's relationship material for the clueless writer. "Then I saw you with Helena today so I thought maybe that's why you're still hesitant." Kara groans. "Oh my god, you thought we were just hanging out, didn't you? I'm such an idiot." she states depreciatingly. "I knew I should have brought it up but then it didn't seem like a good idea since we're always having a good time."

"You know," Lena intercedes, cutting Kara off from ranting further about their misunderstanding. She steps toward the blonde who seems to be gauging her actions. "If you had kissed me, things would have been certainly clearer for us both." she stops when she's pressed against the blonde.

Kara inhales and it is Lena, fresh like evergreen trees with a hint of lavender, which she breathes in happily.

"I was trying to respect your boundaries." for the life of the super model, she can't remember why she hadn't just made a clear move, because everything about her is intoxicating and Kara wants nothing more than to drown in Lena. "But mostly I think I was afraid."

She was afraid of being rebuffed, not because her pride would be hurt, but because she didn't want to risk Lena turning her away.

And Lena knows, this is the moment where she can decide whether to let the blonde go or take a leap with the super model. While Kara stands there, looking so open and vulnerable with her heart on her sleeve so ready to share herself with the author, Lena believes there's only one choice she can make.

She brings her hand up to caress the super model's cheek, loving how Kara instantly melts into her touch, how soft the model's skin is against the back of her knuckles.

Bright blue eyes darken with desire as they look upon her ruby red lips before drifting upward to meet her gaze.

The author is aware that she's merely looking for a sign to not press forward. She's giving the author another instance to back away. She's awarding her the opportunity to forget this ever happened because this is who Kara is, incredibly selfless and thoughtful.

Lena stands her ground, moving her hand from Kara's cheek to the back of the blonde's neck, her thumb tangled in the model's golden tresses.

It's enough reassurance for Kara.

She surges forward, pressing their lips together. Lena readies but when their mouth's meet, she realizes she's underestimated the severity of the model's feelings for her.

Kara kisses like she's water and air and whatever else she needs to survive. Her mouth moves against Lena, urging yet still so soft and tender while her hands wander, trailing her burning desire along Lena's skin. It leaves Lena yearning for more as fire begins to well in her core and she's certain she'll be consumed.

She doesn't know how, doesn't even remember moving, but somehow they find themselves in the living room.

Her knee buckles as Kara swipes her tongue inside her mouth but luckily the blonde's got a firm grip on her hips. Lena moans when the blonde sneaks her hands through her shirt and lifts her up. She responds by wrapping her legs around the taller woman's waist. She leads them toward the bed, laying Lena down as though she's placing precious cargo on the mattress, all while conveying her unbridled desire for the author.

If she weren't so damned turned on, she'd probably pat herself on the back for bringing out this raw animalistic side out of the meek and mild mannered model, but she's far too preoccupied with ridding Kara of her shirt to really commend herself.

They part only when it's necessary to divest each other of their clothes and when Lena's naked underneath her, Kara's eyes sweep across the author's body, marveling at her beauty.

Hours later, when they've both exhausted themselves, bodies unable to further fulfill their willing spirits desires, Lena looks upon the sleepy satiated blonde.

Kara seems to gather what little strength she has left in order to take Lena in her arms, locking them around the author as though she's afraid she'll disappear and find this was all but a dream. Lena responds by placing a kiss on her collarbone and trailing circles around the woman's chest.

"Hey Kara," she murmurs as she too begins to feel the side effects of their passionate encounter. "Feel free to violate my boundaries any time."

XXXX

It's great, how they are together, because Kara's attentive and gentle and caring and oh so thoughtful in and out of the bedroom while Lena, she listens, treats Kara like she isn't a blonde bimbo with great legs, and pays extra special attention to her even when they have their clothes on.

Things are pretty much the same as they were before, but now they spend half of their time together with significantly less attire on, and kiss every opportunity they get.

And there's a moment, when Lena thinks that's it's easy, that she can do this, be the girlfriend of a huge celebrity.

It lasts until Lena's picture starts hitting the tabloids. At first she's a fuzzy figure on newsprint but soon the pictures start getting clearer and it if weren't for the huge sunglasses that are always adorning her face, she's pretty sure the media would have figured out just exactly who she is.

They call her the mysterious Raven haired hottie because they don't know who she is yet. Still that doesn't stop them from already writing her narrative.

There's the various headlines with her picture in the front pages, with the word CHEATER in all caps and big bold letters. On the bottom picture of her with Helena, the pair of them out at lunch like they do at least once a week, as per Helena's demands of course.

And she wants to ignore it but now the tabloids seem intent on discovering who she is. She knows it's only a matter of time before the quiet life she lives is completely disrupted.

She also knows that she should stop but it's hard to do when the first article on her yahoo news page is a picture of her holding Kara's hand. She flips clicks on the next picture and can't help her outrage. Too engrossed is she with what she's seeing that she doesn't notice her girlfriend entering their apparently not so safe space.

"Hey Lee," Kara greets, pressing a warm kiss on her temple. "Oh." the blonde catches a glimpse of the photo on her screen. "I'm sorry."

And Lena knows it isn't her fault. That if Kara could she'd break all those lenses, rip out their SD cards, and burn all those trashy tabloids. But Lena's angry and she's seeing red all around and the closest thing she has to lash out on is poor Kara Zorell, the supermodel who's drawing unwanted attention to her once private life.

"If I wanted people to talk about me, I'd be working at Luthor Corp with my father." she pushes away from her desk and practically hurls herself in the furthest corner away from Kara. "I'm an author and all I want to do is write peacefully," Kara nods because that's been obvious to her from the beginning that Lena doesn't want anything to do with the Luthor infamy. "Without worrying about my bloody picture being taken through a window in my own home." she gestures at the paparazzi shot of her working on her laptop.

"I'm sorry." her apology just seems to make things works worse because Lena finds herself dealing an unexpected and completely new feeling; guilt. "I'll tell Winn to handle this, keep you out of the papers as much as possible."

"I'm afraid that won't be enough Kara." she wants to save Kara from herself.

"You're right," the blonde smiles then, that warm and gentle smile that's reserved for Lena. "We should probably lay low for a little while, maybe take a trip somewhere? I don't think I have anything too pressing next week. Just a commercial shoot that'll probably take a day or two at the most." she's already checking her schedule in her head.

"That's not what I mean." she cuts the blonde off.

"What are you saying then?" Kara asks, hoping she's misreading that defeated look in Lena's eyes.

She turns away from those bright blues, unable to bear them dulling because of her next actions. Her focus is instead on the tabloid photo of herself on her laptop. It fuels her next actions.

"I need space." Lena demands.

"I know, that's why I'm suggesting we should take a break somewhere." because Lena's house is no longer a safe from prying eyes so it's time for a new locale. "Maybe go on a ski trip? That way we'll be in masks and no one will be able to tell who we are."

"I need space from you." but it sounds too much like good bye so Kara feels the back of her a stinging in the back of her eyeballs.

"For how long?" she questions, surprised she's able to keep her voice steady.

"I don't know." it sounds too much like forever and there's a searing stabbing pain in Kara's ribcage, making it harder for her to breathe. "I don't know." she repeats with uncertainty.

"Okay." it's all Kara can say without bursting into tears.

She turns around, unwilling to let Lena see her so broken, not out of shame but because she knows it'll only cause her guilt. And she doesn't want Lena to feel any worse about the situation than she undoubtedly does.

Neither does she want to make things worse by arguing with Lena. So she leaves, hoping time will help.

XXXX

Her phone rings by her side and she picks up, knowing there's only one person in the world that would dare call her right now. It's Alex Danvers one of the producers of her first venture in the movie business. She also happens to be Kara's manager but most importantly, she's Kara's best friend.

"I have a package coming for you in the next twenty minutes and I know you're not going to want to miss it." ever the direct woman, Alex hangs up after that, leaving Kara to glare at her phone screen.

The doorbell rings and Kara reluctantly vacates the comfort of her couch, not wanting to face the wrath of Alex Danvers.

The supermodel opens the door only to find Lena Luthor standing in front of her condominium hallway. The blonde does fairly decent impersonation of a fish, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to formulate a proper sentence.

"Lena…." and suddenly Kara's very glad she actually showered today. "Come in." she ushers the author inside. Lena passes by and her scent wafts through the blonde's nostrils. It sobers her and she's suddenly very aware that Lena's entered her messy condo. "I'm sorry, I wasn't really expecting company." it's a little untidy and unkempt and it's clear that Kara's probably spent the weeks since their fallout in the confines of her apartment, refusing to go out into the world. It's apparent with the blanket on the obviously slept in couch and the pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of the television that's playing The Notebook. "But I guess it's only fitting since I barged in your house the first time we met." she smiles at the memory.

"I apologize for dropping by unannounced," Lena smiles, assuring Kara she doesn't mind the mess. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me." she looks around the living room of Kara's condo, seeing as it's the first time she's entering the space, deciding that despite the mess it looks very homey.

"I always want to see you." even after they hadn't exchanged words since their last encounter, that fact has not and probably will never change.

"I come bearing pot stickers, nonetheless." Kara had been too preoccupied by Lena's presence that she hadn't noticed the takeout bag in Lena's hands. "I didn't want to be completely rude and not bring anything." and for the first time since they've met, Lena finds herself completely at a loss for words.

"Thanks." she smiles that smile meant just for Lena.

Kara takes the opportunity to take the bag from Lena's hands and place them on the coffee table. She takes the stacked empty pizza boxes, disappearing into the kitchen to put them in the trash.

"I'm…" Lena begins as soon as Kara's in her line of sight. "You must be wondering why I'm here." she watches as the blonde comes closer. "I apologize for being rash…" Lena she states but she doesn't get a chance to finish because Kara's closed the gap between them, pressing their bodies together, as she pulls Lena in for a searing kiss.

"I missed you." It's been three long grueling weeks since she last felt the woman under her fingertips.

"I'm sorry." their foreheads are pressed against each other, her arm wrapped around the taller woman's neck while Kara keeps her hands secured on Lena's hips. "I was angry and frustrated and I took it out on you," she swallows. "On us."

"It's okay." Kara assures.

"It's not." because at the first sign of trouble she pushed the sweet and caring Kara off on her own. "I turned you away," she recalls with remorse coursing through her being. "I hurt you." it's probably her biggest regret, one she's certain she'll never commit.

"You needed time." she whispers gently.

"How are you so understanding?" she'd come prepared to grovel but apparently Kara won't allow her to wallow in her grief.

"I'll always try to understand you, to prioritize how you feel." she keeps her hold on the author, arms strong and unrelenting as the vow she's professing. "That's what you do when you love someone." Kara rationalizes. "And I do you know, love you I mean." green meets blue and Lena knows she's being completely honest and true. "I love you."

"Still?" she sounds small and uncertain she deserves such a tender heart's devotion.

Kara answers by dipping her head down, placing her lips upon Lena's once again, slow and steadfast, as she affirms her most constant truth. One that Lena still needs to accept. And Kara will make damn certain she does.

She grips Lena, holding her close, as she kisses her senseless, gently guiding her toward the couch, unable to contain her passion and her desire any longer. Besides, they can always relocate to her bedroom afterwards. But right now, she has to quench her thirst and demonstrate her devoutness to the author.

Kara gently lowers Lena onto the cushions of her couch wasting no time in divesting the author of her pants, eager for her fingers to find home once more.

"You realize this means that I'm never going to let you go." Kara murmurs against Lena's lips as they break apart. "That the next time you're angry I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you say." she elaborates before melding their mouths together in a familiar dance. "You run, I chase." she professes.

"I push, you pull." she replies, accepting the blonde's conditions and all the love and devotion that Kara's offering.

She rids the model of her shirt, glad to see that the woman isn't wearing a bra today as she willing takes a taut nipple in her mouth, loving the way Kara arches into her further as she all but rips the blonde's boy shorts off.

And so this is how it continues, the love story of a world famous celebrity and an anonymous author.