#i can look at my own work without ripping apart all the flaws i promise

[bloodgulchblog]

uhhhhh i haven't talked about when you come back down in a while but good news i still think it's pretty okay

i should write more of it

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

[mshmshwrites]

girl failure

I’m not a girl boss. I’m a girl failure. 

I failed in so many ways that it became the only thing I started to recognize about myself. It became the first thing I thought about myself in the morning and the last thought before sleep. It became my reflection, my inner core began to rot, it polluted me, ripped me apart from the inside, and chewed me out completely

I failed as a girl friend.

I lost my best friends, I didn’t sacrifice myself enough. I failed our childish promises, I carelessly threw out the sacred memories put on threads like beads of a bracelet. I forgot the girl code, I failed to be there for them. I failed to be the person they can rely on, I failed to be the person they want to be seen with. I lost so many friendships over things I did not even realize existed, yet I know it is because I failed as a girl. Our whispers and secrets, our pinkies clinging onto each other in an oath, I failed it all. I failed to understand the joy of being a girl and I failed to be sincere in my sadness. 

I failed as a woman. 

I slept with men I told others not to worry about, I lied. I lied so many times to so many men that at some point they all became one to me and ever since I cannot fathom any of them regaining importance. I let them fuck me while thinking of others, I let them love me without loving them back. I paid no remorse to their feelings when I broke up with them out of the blue because I failed to feel for them. I failed to warn them of my flaws and when they came out, spilling over like cigarette butts in an ashtray, I failed to apologize for it. I put on many masks to be someone else for them, to subsitute for a best friend, for a mother, for a girlfriend, but I failed to show them the real me. I failed every relationship I ever had, I was the black mold in the corner of their bathrooms. I put all of my problems on them and disregarded their own. I failed to help my men when they needed me. I failed to keep my promises of everlasting love but I did not fail to drip the sweet words into their ears, covering them in the sweetness of my ingenuity. 

I failed as a scholar.

I used to be brilliant, magnificent, perfect, and I wasted it all on minute-long excitement, on long smoking breaks, on men. I wasted my own potential on self-pity. I loathed the work I used to love, I threw out opportunities given to me, and I let myself relax and not care. I failed to realize I could not afford that. I was given a brain that many would be jealous of, and yet I failed to use even half of it. I wasted it all and I could never forgive myself for it. I failed to build myself a future, I failed to live up to the expectations. I did not take matters into my own hands, too scared of the responsibility. I ran away from it like a little child. 

I failed as a girl. 

My nails are bitten, my eyebrows are all over the place. I failed to take care of myself, I let my fat grow lumps on my legs, and I let my hair get dry and split. I failed to look feminine, paying more attention to comfort than beauty. I failed to nourish myself, living off cigarettes and coffee. My teeth are yellow. My skin is dry. I failed to teach myself how to do makeup, I failed to find my own style, always clinging to those surrounding me. I failed to gain a sense of individuality, always led by the stronger ‘leaders’ of the girl world, always following, never followed. I failed to understand the beauty of being a woman and all I can think about is the bottled-up anger at myself that I fail to contain. 

Most importantly

I failed as a daughter. 

I betrayed any trust given to me, I wasted the resources put into me. I failed to understand my own importance in my Mother’s life. I failed Her. She wasted her life away because of me, and yet, I failed to learn from her mistakes. I failed to learn any lesson she ever gave me, I failed to listen to her, I failed to understand her. I failed to see past my childish offenses, I failed to see anything good. I failed our relationship, lashing out, being rude, telling her every flaw I ever noticed. I failed to notice my own flaws. I failed to sympathize with her and failed to see myself as the issue. I am not a good daughter. I did not follow the very correct path that she had in mind for me and I let her down. I did not live up to the expectations she set in her head when she gave birth to me. She made me and I am destroying her own creation with my bare hands. She made me from scratch. I am burning it all down with just a few drops of gasoline and a chipped lighter. She lost years over me, her youth, her beauty, her time. I sucked and sucked on it, like a parasite, never giving anything back. I failed as a daughter. 

I am not a girl boss. 

I am a girl failure.

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober 26: Demon (The Summoning Circle)

Day 26: Demon Title: The Summoning Circle Pairing: Kurogiri x Reader Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, demon sex powers, manipulation, coercion, death, orgasm denial, overstimulation, forced orgasms, mentions of past cheating (not Kurogiri), yandere Notes: Thank you to Literary Genius @burnedbyshoto​ for helping me when I was stressing out over an ending for this.

Kinktober Masterlist

You’ve double and triple checked the spell, gone over the necessary ingredients, and compared the sigils drawn on the floor to the Ars Goetia grimoire you hold in your hand over a dozen times at this point. There is no way that a single thing is out of place, no way that you’ve made even a simple mistake.

You have at least a general idea that you must be careful with these kinds of things, although you have no personal experience. According to the grimoire, if there is even one small error in the binding sigils, you will find yourself dead or worse when you summon a demon.

You’re not even sure where the book came from. You found it in your attic while cleaning and trying to distract yourself from the anger you felt towards your partner. You wanted revenge on them more than anything, and finding the book almost seemed like a sign telling you exactly how to get it.

So here you are now, attempting to summon a demon. You chose a lower ranked demon from the Ars Goetia, deciding to err on the side of caution even though you’re not sure this will work at all.

And so, with a deep breath, you find yourself chanting the Latin incantation in the spellbook, walking around the circle as you do and spreading incense. When you finish, you find yourself standing in front of a still empty summoning circle, feeling remarkably stupid for thinking this could ever work.

Until the room’s temperature begins to drop rapidly, causing you to be able to see the fog of your own breath in the cold air. All of the lights in the room dim and then shatter, scattering glass everywhere. The candles surrounding the circle sputter and flicker for several seconds before finally being snuffed out, leaving you in total darkness.

Despite the pitch black, you can see something moving in the darkness, something that looks like purple mist creeping in. There is a noise that sounds like when someone opens a window or door on a windy day and you hear the pressure of the air rushing past you.

The purple spirals upwards until it finally begins to coalesce into the shape of a man. The candles flicker back on, the flames flaring up far higher than they should be able to and causing strange looking shadows to appear on the wall. When your eyes finally adjust, you realize that there is only purple mist where the man’s head should be and yellow eyes staring at you like they see right through you down to your soul.

“You summoned me, mortal?” The demon’s voice is deep and full of amusement. He paces the very edge of the circle, and you’re suddenly very glad that you double checked the sigils, as he pauses every small step to investigate them. Checking for some sort of flaw to escape, most likely.

“I - maybe - I,” you stumble over your words and he chuckles.

“Maybe? It’s a yes or no question.”

“I did do a summoning, yes. But I didn’t - “

“Didn’t expect a demon like me?” He interrupts you before you can finish. He chuckles even louder when you simply nod your head.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he states, “I am a high ranked demon far beyond your capabilities to summon, mortal.”

“Then how are you here?”

“I came to aid you of my own free will.” He has finished his cycle around the sigils keeping him imprisoned, turning to look into your eyes. The penetrating gaze he levels at you has you squirming, and you’re the first to look away.

“Why would you do that though?” You begin to pace yourself, nervous energy rising up in you at the unusual situation you’ve found yourself in. This wasn’t what you expected to happen, and you’re left off balance.

“Because I can feel your rage, mortal. You want to punish someone, don’t you?”

Your eyes snap back to his, and he gives a slight nod as if encouraging you to continue.

“I - do want to punish someone. My ex-partner.”

The mist around the demon’s face seems to swirl with amusement. “Let me guess - cheating?”

Your eyes widen a fraction at the demon being so on the mark. “Yes, I caught them in bed with someone else.”

“A tragedy, really. Anyone foolish enough to cheat on someone like you deserves whatever they get.”

You can’t stop the heat that rises to your cheeks at the slight bit of flirtation. “I - thank you. Is it something you can help me with?”

“Of course, mortal. Revenge is something that I am quite good at. But I don’t like to make deals through a summoning circle. Shows a lack of trust, you see.” He steps a bit closer to the edge of the circle and raises his hands up in a placating manner. “Let me out as a good faith gesture.”

Your body instantly tenses. The reasoning makes sense, but the thought of this demon being free puts you on guard.

“I’m not so sure about that one,” you say hesitantly. “The book says you absolutely should not do that.”

“What book is this?” The demon says curiously. “Surely it won’t hurt to allow me to see it?”

You can’t think of anything that he could do with the book to act against you, so you slide it across the barrier without putting your hand through.

He picks up the book and begins to flip through it, making some hums of acknowledgement as he reads the pages. He glances back at your summoning circle before turning a few more pages and finding the exact spell that you used to summon him.

“Ahh, so this is the spell you intended to cast for a lesser demon summoning.”

“I didn’t actually expect it to work at all,” you admit. “And I definitely didn’t expect to summon anything like you.”

“Anything like me? You mean an incubus?”

“I - what, I don’t - “ You stumble over your own words. Even someone as ignorant as you are knows what kind of demon that is. And it’s well over your experience level. “Is that what kind of demon you are?” You finally manage to get out.

“Oh yes it is,” he says in a rumbling tone of laughter. “You may call me Kurogiri. And what about you?”

You say your name before you can think better of it, and the demon called Kurogiri’s eyes brighten in excitement.

“This book has one thing right. A demon’s word is law. If I swear an oath that I won’t betray you, then I am bound to it. So why don’t you let me out and we can work out a deal, hmm?”

You shift around from one foot to the other while you consider things. He seems reasonable and willing to deal with you, and he’s even willing to give you an oath. All he’s asking is to not be locked in a cage. “I want your word first.”

His eyes flash with dark humor at your words. “I swear that I will not betray you.”

You feel the weight of those words settle into your chest, as if a physical bond was created. You realize this must be the oath, preventing him from hurting you, and so you walk forward and smudge the circle enough for him to walk through. He strides through confidently, eyes zooming in on you instantly. The look of malicious glee on his face causes you to inadvertently take a step back.

That expression on his face tells you that you made a horrible mistake. The air seems to get heavy as the room heats up, his power building and building. It hits you in the face like a physical force, causing you to stumble before turning on your heel to run.

But you don’t make it very far. As you grab for the doorknob, the heat of it causes you to jerk your hand back. You turn to see the demon standing in the same spot, arm raised as he beckons you to him. You take sluggish steps forward, almost as if in a dream. You can feel what’s happening, but you can’t stop yourself from walking towards your doom.

In no time at all, you’re standing in front of him, forced to look up at his face as he towers above you. You’re burning up, skin feeling too tight as an insistent throb between your legs begins. You try to turn away, but you’re frozen in place as the demon takes a now clawed hand and traces it down your face.

‘You - swore that you wouldn’t betray me.” You’re surprised to find that your voice still works.

“Oh I promise you,” Kurogiri whispers seductively, “you’re going to love what I’m about to do to you.”

And with that, a clawed hand tangles in your hair as he crashes his lips against yours. A dominant tongue slips into your mouth as his teeth bite against your lower lip. You can do nothing but stand there and let him do as he wishes, the throbbing between your legs only intensifying as you feel slick drip down your inner thighs.

He pulls away, leaving you gasping for air and your lips swollen and bruise. “What did you do to me,” you pant, finally finding yourself able to move as you squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction.

“Just a bit of incubus magic,” he chuckles, grabbing you and lifting you easily as he carries you to the summoning circle. He lays you down on your back in the middle of the circle before taking time to undress himself slowly, removing piece after piece as if it’s a show.

You can’t help but admire how beautiful his body is underneath the fancy suit he wears. You squirm around, trying to move, to anything to relieve this fire burning through your veins. But with a smirk, he paralyzes you again before settling in between your legs. He removes your clothes next, forgoing making a show of it and choosing instead to rip them off of you.

Soon you’re laying in nothing but your panties, wet spot clearly visible through the material. “Well look at this,” he murmurs, “already so wet for me.” He glides a finger across the wet spot, drawing a whine deep from the back of your throat as he slides your soaked panties down from your hips. You’re left vulnerable in front of him, unable to close your legs as he spreads them far apart.

Your bare pussy is left completely visible to him, slick gushing out of you as he examines you. “Such a pretty pussy. I’m sure you won’t mind if I have a taste - “

He leans in to lap at your juices, groaning and causing vibrations to shoot right through you. He spreads you open with two fingers as he suckles your clit, sliding two fingers easily into your core. You’re still paralzyed by whatever power he’s using, and so you’re forced to feel everything, every action seeming more intense from your inability to move.

He increases the suction on your clit, tongue lashing and swirling against the throbbing bead and causing a moan to slip from your throat. “Hngg, please, oh shit - “

“Does that feel good, mortal?” He coos at you, curling his fingers up to graze a sensitive spot inside that draws a shout from you. “I am barely even trying yet, and already you’re such a beautiful mess underneath me.”

You pant heavily as his fingers work inside of you, tongue refusing to let up on your now aching clit. The tension is building and building, and you whine as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Please, oh fuck,” you groan, not even sure if you’re begging him to stop or to never stop. “It feels so good -”

He lifts up just enough to take in your sweaty, breathless form, chest heaving and drool running down the corner of your mouth. “Do you want to cum?”

“Yes yes yes,” you babble mindlessly, right at the edge of an orgasm but unable to crash over. “Please!”

“Then call me your master, mortal.”

You’re too far gone to think of the consequences, the heat from within you burning through your veins. “Master, please let me cum! I need to cum so bad, please!”

He hums in pleasure, fingers inside of you quickening their pace, relentlessly smashing against your g-spot as his mouth latches around your throbbing clit again. You scream out your orgasm, juices squirting all over the demon’s face as you try to writhe.

Everything feels so sharp, so intense because of your paralysis, and you’re pushed over the edge twice more before he finally lets up. Your body is finally allowed to move, only for you to go limp as you shake and shudder.

You think things are over until you feel something hot and hard prodding at your entrance. Your eyes snap to his, eyes widening with alarm as you feel how thick he is.

“You didn’t think I was actually done with you, did you?” He flips you over, pressing your face down into the floor and raising your ass into the air as he sinks into you, inch by slow inch. You realize quickly that he doesn’t feel like a regular man, ridges and bumps running along his length that grind against your inner walls and force you to stretch around him even more.

Your fingers dig hard into the floor as you try to breathe. It hurts more than you would think, but in your lust addled mind, even the pain feels delicious.

“Does it hurt, little one?” The demon asks mockingly as you throw your head back. arching your back in a way that you can’t tell whether it’s to get away or to get closer. “I know I’m not like a mortal man, but trust me,” he grunts as he finally bottoms out inside of you, “you’ll take me anyway, and you’ll love every minute of it.”

The spines dig into your flesh, making your eyes water stinging sensation it causes. He gives you only a second to adjust before he’s thrusting, causing you to scream at the explosion of sensation.

He grips your hips as he pounds into you, forcing you back to meet his every thrust. There is one particularly large bump along his length that hits a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars with every single movement, and your whole body quivers as your stomach tightens.

You feel like you’re going to burn up from the inside, sweat dripping from your face and hitting the floor as the sound of pants and moans fill the room. His heavy balls hit your clit with every sharp snap of his hips, and the wet sounds your bodies make as they connect are positively obscene.

“Shit shit shit,” you chant as you clamp down around the many ridges along length, causing pleasure and pain to shoot through you which in turn makes you clench down even harder. “Fuck, it feels so - fuck it feels amazing,” you whine, realizing that your hand has come underneath you to begin stroking your throbbing, aching clit.  Your mind is so foggy that you aren’t even aware when you started.

But the tight circles you’re rubbing on your swollen little clit are not getting you any closer to that blissful climax. Everytime you get close, it seems to fade away, and you whine from deep in the back of your throat.

“Oh my, do you want to cum again, little one?” Kurogiri’s deep voice rumbles. “Beg me to take your soul and I will let you.”

The reality of the situation crashes back into you all at once. Of course, how could you forget? You’re being fucked into submission by a demon that you were stupid enough to release from the summoning circle. You can’t give in, can’t let him have your soul -

“Fuck, no, why,” you whimper in a choked sob as your orgasm slips away from you yet again. Your fingers increase their speed, grinding down so hard on your clit that you’re beginning to get sore. You push back against the demon’s every thrust, hoping against hope that maybe you can fool him.

But as if he can hear your thoughts, he instantly stops moving and your orgasm falls even further away from you. Tears of frustration are streaming from your eyes and hitting the floor underneath you. “Please!”

“I can do this forever, have you hovering at the edge with no release until you go mad with the desperate need to cum. Do you think you can hold on that long, little one?” He mocks you as he begins to move again, fast enough that it’s pleasurable but not as fast or as hard as you need right now.

“N-n-n-o, please!”

“Then say it. Say your soul belongs to me, and I will give you whatever you desire, little one.” He moves your hand away from your clit to replace it with his own. “Don’t you want to feel how good it is to cum around a demon’s cock?”

You’re sobbing and trembling, the fire in you threatening to consume you if you don’t cum right this moment. But still you shake your head back and forth, fighting not to give in to this sadistic demon.

“Come now, little one,” he whispers into your ear. “No one is going to save you from me. Just give in and I will make you feel better than you have ever felt.”

As he grazes over your clit with one finger at the same time as the ridge pushes against your g-spot, your willpower finally snaps completely. “Kurogiri, my soul is yours! Please just let me cum, please!”

He chuckles a bit, slightly at first before building into a triumphant, booming laugh that seems to come from deep inside of him. “The contract is sealed.” You feel a sharp tugging from within you, at the very core of your being. Everything in your being seems to be screaming out at once as purple mist shoots out from him to enter your body before disappearing, forming a connection between the two of you that will never be broken.

You want to consider the implications behind it, want to rage and scream at what was just done to you. But then he begins to move, and reason flies out of your head and is replaced with pure lust.

Rough fingers dig deep into the skin of your hips as he begins to ruthlessly pound into your aching pussy, thumb grinding down hard on your clit. He pushes against your g-spot with every single movement, and it isn’t long before the pressure reaches a crescendo.

You wail as you’re finally pushed over the edge, juices gushing from you as you squirt all over the demon’s cock. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, fucking you roughly through your orgasm and overstimulating you through several more orgasms.

Finally, he begins to twitch and throb, shoving himself fully inside of you as hot ropes of cum spurt out against your unprotected cervix. The warmth spreading out feels hot enough to burn your insides, and you cum one last time with a strangled howl before collapsing limply onto the floor.

You feel dizzy, the room spinning wildly as you try to catch your bearings. He collects you into his arms, the mist that makes up his face seeming to form into a smirk. “Now you belong to me, little one.”

“What are you going to do with me?” You say weakly, not able to move or try to get out of his arms. “Are you going to let me go now?

“Of course not. I have waited too long for you, and now I have you. Your body and soul are both mine, forever.”

You’re not sure why you feel so weak all of a sudden, body becoming heavy and sluggish as if you’re being drained of energy. You’re beginning to lose consciousness, vision turning purple around the edges. But his wording causes a thought to form. “I did the summoning correctly, didn’t I?”

He chuckles a bit.  “Yes, you did. But I was waiting, and I killed the pathetic demon you tried to summon.”

“And our deal? Were you ever sincere about it?”

“Of course I was sincere about it. In fact, your ex is already dead. Not only did they dare to put their hands on what’s mine, they discarded you like a piece of trash once they were done. Their punishment in the afterlife will be quite severe.” “What’s happening to me?” You whimper, voice breaking at the end from fear and confusion.

He grins maliciously at you. “I am draining you of every bit of life force you have. You will die, and your soul will be tied to mine for eternity.”

“But your oath!” You try desperately to stop this, to avoid being killed by this demon. “You said you wouldn’t betray me!”

“It's not betrayal if I intended to do this from the beginning, now is it?”

Your mouth falls open in horror of how stupid you’ve been, how truly in over your head you were.

“Now fade away, little one. Don’t fight it. When you wake up, you’ll be in your new home. In Hell with me, where you belong.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @katsukisprincess​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @wings-flames-and-ashes​, @burnedbyshoto​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @dee-madwriter​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @lalalemon101​​, @videogameboiwhowins​​, ​@tenkoshimmy​, @baroque-baby​​, @bbyspiiice​​, @thirstyforthem2dmen​​, @blissfulignorance2000​, @bluecookies02-main​, @aryjaa​, @theodora3022​, @raekah​, @ineedmorefanfics​, @serosmissingtoe​, @deathmemeiverse​, @chibikochannumberone​, @saint-eridell​​, @miscellaneous-bnha​, @katsukis-sad-angel​

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

FP//you are summer, to my winter heart

Request: if requests are open can i request a fp/reader where you show up once Gladys leaves cause he asks you to help take care of jughead and you two end up together?

hey! i decided to do this as a headcanon because i thought it would be easier to show the development. i hope you still like it!! title is from a poet called gemma troy! i liked it (even though winter is the superior season) 

- ‘she’s gone’ 

- It was the first words you heard when you walked through the front door. 

- But you didn’t really need to be told 

- You could just tell

- You’ve been in and out of the Jones household countless of times

- And every time you’ve walked in before...its been loud 

- On good days when Jughead and Jellybean are playing

- Or bad days when Gladys has called you over to talk some sense into FP.

- You and Fred usually take it in turns to go over 

- Either to talk to FP or to take the kids out for a few hours

- But on the 24th of February 2009, for the first time ever, the trailer was silent. 

- You looked around, noticing the lack of kids toys, shoes and just general mess 

- The lights were off, the curtains drawn and FP leaned against the kitchen counter, barely able to stand up properly.

- As soon as you saw him your heart dropped

- Your arms were around him instantly and he just let go 

- His fingers gripping your jacket so tightly you thought he was going to rip a hole in it 

- And he just cried 

- He cried for what seemed like hours and you just stood there and held him

- Because what else where you supposed to do? 

- He was your best friend 

- Even if he did have his flaws 

- Even if he did scream and shout for no reason 

- Or pushed people away when he was too drunk to realize what he was doing 

- You were always going to be there for him 

- Because who else would be?

- Especially now 

- When Jughead emerged from his bedroom, he smiled as soon as he saw you 

- And you untangled yourself from FP

- ‘hey jug’ You’d said as cheerily as you could and he sent you a toothy grin back

- ‘y/n, what are you doing here?’ 

- ‘i came over to hang out with you’ 

- ‘can we go to the park’ 

- ‘of course we can. but you need your breakfast first...so what do you want?’ 

- ‘...pancakes?’ He’d asked nervously and you’d smiled and ruffled his hair

- ‘sure. why don’t you go watch some tv’ 

- He’d ran off before you even had the chance to finish your sentence

- And the action made you smile a little.

- It seemed he hadn’t noticed yet

- His family had fallen apart and he was worried about missing the Ninja Turtles 

- Or if he had noticed it, it hadn’t sunk it properly 

- ‘have you told him?’ You’d whispered to FP who just looked at the floor. ‘so no?’ 

- ‘no.’ 

- ‘okay.’ You nodded. ‘we’ll tell him together. later on.’ 

- ‘you don’t have to.’ He’d argued but you just sent him a look 

- He’d grown used to that look, and by now he knew not to argue with it. 

- ‘thank you’ The sincerity in his voice made you smile softly at him

- ‘but you have to do something for me’ 

- ‘what?’ 

- ‘sort your life out’ 

- And he did

- It took him a while 

- And there were a few bumps mountains in the road 

- But he eventually did it

- Nothing is ever as easy as they say though

- It was difficult at first

- What isn’t difficult about raising an 8 year old that isn’t yours

- And keeping one of your best friends sober after his wife left and took their daughter with her 

- There was a lot of tears, shouting and slamming of doors 

- And that was just from FP

- ‘you’re not my mom’ - jughead jones every single time he saw you for a week 

- ‘we don’t need your fucking help y/n’ - fp jones every single time he saw you for a week

- But eventually you got the hang of things 

- A routine was formed 

- You’d drop Jughead off at school before going to work 

- FP would pick him up on the way home 

- Dinner would be timed perfectly for you coming home 

- You’d help Jughead with his homework, always finding a way to make it fun 

- You’d spend your evening watching movies either at home or at the drive in

- Or you’d spend hours arguing about what to watch

- Weekends would be spent at Pop’s, or the park or at the river 

- And sometimes you’d drive to the beach and have a picnic

- Jughead would always insist that you had to tell him a story before sleep 

- ‘because you do the best voices y/n’ 

- Sometimes you’d read them from books

- Other times they were made up (mostly)

- And FP would always stop outside of the room to listen in for a few minutes 

- And when Jughead said he didn’t need a story anymore he was able to quickly put him to bed while you cried on the sofa 

- He’d hugged you until the two of you fell asleep

- Only woken up by Jughead asking what was for breakfast

- Some stories he’d recognize from the years before Jughead and Jellybean were born 

- They’d be from summers spent together going on adventures despite being in your twenties and thirties 

- Others would have just elements of truth in them

- Like when you’d found a suitcase by the river 

- But you managed to leave out the fact that it was empty apart from the blood splatter 

- You replaced the blood with a portal to another world 

- And all of them you made sound magic 

- To both Jughead and FP

- And he’d be left wondering what he would ever do without you

- So he would come up with a plan to show just how much they appreciate you

- And so the 7th November was officially made Y/n’s day 

- It was kind of like mothers day 

- But not

- Jughead would make a Y/n’s day card 

- FP would make breakfast for you and then you got to chose what to do for the rest of the day 

- You’d also always get a present 

- One made by Jughead and another bought by FP 

- It was usually always small, but you loved it anyway

- And even after almost ten years, Jughead always still got you a card and FP always bought you a present. 

- You’d practically moved in with them within the first year of it all happening 

- Sleeping on the pull out sofa in the living room 

- It wasn’t that bad after a while 

- Although you will always blame it for the permanent sore back you have now

- And eventually everything felt semi-normal 

- You were like a little family 

- You’d go to parties of friends together 

- And you and FP would rarely be seen apart 

- Always sat or stood together, talking or laughing at something 

- Sometimes and arm would be slung around your shoulder or waist 

- New friends or neighbours of the trailer park assumed you to be a proper family 

- Assumptions would always be met by awkward laughs and quick mutters of ‘we’re not a couple’ 

- Over time though you started to notice a change in the way they made you feel 

- At first it was sort of funny and a little awkward 

- But the more it happened the more you felt your chest tighten when you or FP denied it

- Until you found yourself not denying it, letting FP laugh it off every time 

- But despite that small detail

- You worked well together 

- Everything seemed to be going well 

- Until it happened

- Until FP spiraled and you were left to pick up the pieces 

- Looking after a now 15 years old Jughead while his father was in prison and his mom and sister were god knows where. 

- Jughead was lost and you could tell 

- What 15 year old wouldn’t be 

- So you made sure he knew you weren’t going anywhere 

- You were always there when he woke up in the morning or came home from school 

- You listened when he talked 

- Whether it was about his novel or his friends 

- And you reassured him his dad would be okay 

- Even if he had been arrested for murder

- You’re still there for FP too

- Visiting as often as possible 

- Even if you do give him the look every time you see him

- But you promise to help him

- And when he eventually gets out 

- Your the first one to hug him 

- Wrapping him up in a giant hug that makes both of you feel like you’re home 

- Even more so when he hugs you back just as tightly 

- Jughead coughs awkwardly and you pull apart 

- You shuffle away from him 

- Letting them have their own moment before taking them both to Pop’s 

- Again it took a while 

- But you got your routine back 

- And everything went back to normal 

- As normal as you can be when you live in Riverdale 

- You supported Jughead when he wanted to join the serpents 

- And you helped FP get his job so he could support the three of you 

- Before his arrest there had been talk of you moving out 

- Its not like Jughead needed you anymore 

- Not really 

- And FP was doing great 

- But now, it looks like you were stuck sleeping in the living room still 

- Jughead needed stability 

- And you and FP needed each other 

- It was never said out loud 

- Never discussed 

- Never so much as briefly mentioned 

- But everyone knew the two of you needed each other 

- The thought of moving out may have made your back happy

- But that was the only part of you that wanted to

- The rest of you didn’t know what you’d do without him

- And FP was absolutely terrified of the idea of not seeing you every day 

- It made his chest tight and his head hurt 

- So you stayed 

- Until she came back

- Jughead went looking for his mom and sister 

- Something you don’t blame him for 

- You’d probably do the exact same thing

- But whenever Gladys is around 

- There’s trouble 

- She may be your friend but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t bring chaos wherever she goes 

- Yes, she might have had her reasons to leave 

- You don’t blame her for that 

- What you do blame her is leaving one child while taking the other 

- ‘well isn’t this cozy’ 

- The familiar voice makes you jump and you watch as FP stands up, eyes wide as he stares at his daughter and estranged wife 

- Jughead is also just as shocked, hugging Jellybean tightly 

- The ache in your chest returns, and this time no matter how hard you try it stays 

- It stays all through the night 

- And its still there by morning 

- It follows you around wherever you go

- It seems no matter where you are in Riverdale 

- Gladys and FP are there 

- They both make your heart ache

- But both of them for different reasons 

- And its not until you’re lying in bed 

- Two weeks after Gladys turned up and essentially kicked you out 

- Leaving you to quickly find a trailer to rent 

- That you realize whats happened 

- You’re in love 

- But there’s nothing happy about it 

- There’s no magic, sweetness or joy to it

- Its all yearning looks and gloomy thoughts

- Watching a family you used to be apart of from the outside

- She does what you used to 

- She should, she is their mom and his wife 

- But she’s missed 7 years of their lives 

- Seven years that you’ve been there 

- You held together, looked after and cleaned up the mess that she left behind 

- And the worst thing is 

- You know you’ll do exactly the same when she inventively leaves again

- You tried telling FP 

- ‘you and gladys together does not work’ 

- But he just brushed it off 

- Happy that his family was back together 

- But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was missing 

- Like when a photograph has been folded over

- He knows something’s not right

- He just can’t figure out what it is 

- He can

- He knows exactly whats missing 

- Its you 

- But what’s he supposed to do? 

- He can’t bring you back

- Gladys and Jellybean have come back

- They’re happy 

- Or at least thats what they’re trying to be 

- But there’s a massive crack down the middle of this family 

- And there’s not enough glue to fix it

- Its just a matter of waiting 

- Waiting for the inevitable to happen 

- No matter how much he wills it not to 

- Jughead and Jellybean are happy 

- Gladys is happy 

- But he isn’t so sure its because of him

- And to an extent he’s happy too

- He has his kids back

- He’s got a great job 

- And eventually a house 

- Even if it is the Coopers 

- But he can see you’re unhappy 

- And he hates that 

- He only ever wants to see you smile 

- Its one of his favourite things 

- Always has been now he thinks about it 

- But he saw you at his party 

- You were smiling 

- But it wasn’t real 

- And every time you see each other you send each other smiles 

- But they never reach your eyes. 

- Riverdale being Riverdale 

- Crazy things always happen 

- You hear of a Griffins and Gargoyles being played again

- And remember when you would play 

- Remember what happened to your friends 

- And to The Midnight Club

- FP telling you all about it one night after Jughead had gone to bed 

- Those nights seem so far away 

- You suppose they are really 

- You make sure to tell Jughead to stay away from it

- Not wanting him to have to go through anything that you or his parents did. 

- And then there’s the robbery at Pop’s 

- And suddenly FP’s in hospital and you find yourself giving him the look when you visit him 

- He smiles

- Despite the trouble and pain he’s in

- Because you being here eases both of those things 

- It doesn’t last long though

- FP is arrested and you’re sent home

- Its not until a few days later do you find yourself walking into the Jones’ residence again

- ‘she’s gone’ FP says, sat at the dining table with his head in his hands 

- ‘i know’ You say, sitting beside him and grabbing his hand. 

- ‘have you come to say i told you so?’ He looks at you sadly and you just shake.

- ‘no. i’m here to help.’ 

- ‘thank you.’ 

- ‘what are friends for?’ 

- The word stings, but it needs to be said 

- No matter how you feel about him

- You’re still his friend 

- So you do what you do best 

- You fix 

- And after a while you have a routine again

- It takes a while 

- But eventually everyone gets used to each other

- And its normal-ish

- You still listen to Jughead talk about his novel 

- You’re the only person he really talks about it with 

- And you help Jellybean with her homework

- You take her shopping at the weekend 

- And listen to her when she tells you about whatever drama is going on in her class 

- You and FP take it in turns to cook dinner 

- The other one always washes up

- You still feel the ache in your chest every so often 

- But it’s not as strong 

- Because you see each other every day

- You’re back together 

- Where you should be 

- Even if it is platonic 

- Well, up until he kisses you before you go home 

- He walks you to the front door as usual

- Offering you a lift which you always politely decline 

- And just as you’re about to leave 

- He grabs your arm gently, spinning you around and kissing you softly 

- It takes you by surprise 

- Your eyes widen at first and he panics, starting to pull away 

- But when you fingers grip his arms 

- The dark fabric bunching together as you pull him closer

- And you kiss him back

- A lot more force that he had 

- He knows he hasn’t messed up

- He knows he made the first right decision in about 7 years 

- Because when your arms wrap around him he knows he’s home 

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #28: Humiliations Galore

Prompt: irenic | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is partially in response to @ahlis-xiv‘s fill for ultracrepidarian, which you can read HERE! (And it goes without saying you should read her other fills and assorted writing, too!) The Ahlis mentioned herein, of course, belongs to her. \o/

--

Synnove felt her face twist into something foul and ugly and absolutely capable of curdling milk as she stared down at the letter on her desk. Halulu took one look at her and immediately fled back to the relative safety of her own office one floor down.

The envelope was fine vellum, waxed to protect its contents, tied with twine and the tie further sealed with wax. It was unremarkable, really, and appeared no different from any other important missive that Mealvaan’s Gate might receive from near and far.

Save for the seal of the University of Radz-at-Han pressed into the wax.

Synnove’s lip curled up in a sneer.

Mama, just open it, Galette sighed from her usual perch draped around her shoulders.

Synnove grimaced, but reached for the envelope and slid it closer to herself on the desk. She wedged her thumbnail beneath the wax seal and wiggled back and forth until it popped off, then slid the vellum from the twine and opened the flap. Reaching in, she pulled out two letters, folded over and individually sealed with different wax and stamps, at which she frowned.

And then raised her eyebrows as she noticed the thicker letter of the two, the one closed by deep red wax with a plain stamp, had writing in a very familiar hand on the outside.

READ THE OTHER ONE FIRST.

Now, what in the six hells was Thaisie Valeroyant up to?

Synnove stared with narrow, suspicious eyes at the letter from the Chair of the Department of Arcanima from the University of Radz-at-Han’s College of Mathematics, drumming her fingers on her desk for long moments as she mentally flicked through a list of possibilities. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and scowled, snatching up the other letter, popping the wax seal, and unfolding it.

My dearest Mistress Greywolfe—

Synnove dropped the parchment, recoiling with a disgusted shriek. Galette HISSED, rising to a crouch as she bared her teeth and bristled her fur, tails lashing.

She knew that handwriting, knew that deep blue ink, knew that absolutely repulsive cologne that wafted into her face.

The first letter was in her hand in an instant, wax seal ripped off and parchment unfolded.

I promise, Synnove, the other letter is worth soiling your fingers and eyes.

Synnove ground her teeth, rage roiling through her, but she took a deep breath through her nose for a five count. Held it for another five count. Let it out with a final five count.

“Thaisie, you are going to owe me so much alcohol,” she muttered under her breath. She set down Thaisie’s letter and reached up to pet Galette, soothing them both for a few moments. Then, she picked up one of the half-sticks of graphite from the pile in the corner of her desk, and used it to poke the other letter flat, sneering as she did. Once that was done, she threw the graphite into her trash bin.

Finally, with a grimace, she leaned over her desk to read the letter from Bahram Zarir.

Synnove sat back after the first flowery paragraph and exchanged a confused look with Galette. “Did he actually…?”

I think so? Galette chittered, ears flat against her head.

They leaned forward again to read the next paragraph.

“…Ah. Never mind. He still, in fact, has his head shoved up his ass so far that the apple on his throat is actually his nose. Good gods, how as he gone this long without developing critical thinking skills, or the ability to remember what he wrote in a previous paragraph?”

She continued reading, occasionally muttering comments such as, “My gods, you absolutely disgusting piece of worm-ridden filth,” to which Galette snickered. Finally, she reached the end of the letter, and slid back into her chair.

And started giggling.

It evolved into a full body guffaw, rising from deep in her belly, and Synnove bent over as she howled with laughter, for so hard and so long it became silent heaving that shook her whole body. Galette sighed and rolled her eyes, holding on as her perch pitched to and fro. As Synnove finally calmed again, she brushed tears from her eyes.

“Oh, my gods, that was hilarious,” she wheezed. “Gods, I only hope I’m there on the day his hubris gets his sorry plagiarizing ass killed so I can laugh him all the way to the Hell of Water. What a cunt.”

Still chortling and catching her breath, Synnove carefully picked up Bahram Zarir’s letter with the very tip of her thumb and forefinger, and dumped it in the trash.

“Please remind me to get Ivar to burn that later,” she said, wiping her hand on her pants.

Yes, Mama!

Then, finally, she picked up Thaisie’s letter to read.

He really is such a prick, isn’t he? It’s a wonder he hasn’t become a victim of Thavnairian politics, but then he’s probably too thick to be a credible threat to any of his relatives or their myriad enemies. Just a shame we got stuck with him. I’m fairly certain the dean was dreaming about defenestrating him and a few other of the legacy children during the last open thesis read.

In any event, I thought you might enjoy the attached to make up for the toad’s sorry attempt at civility: a copy of the abstract for Master Zarir’s latest article. It’s still technically in peer review, but you’re a peer, as dirty as that no doubt makes you feel. Do what you will with this.

Also, yes, I know, I owe you alcohol. I already have a nice bottle of arak picked out for the next time Thubyrgeim allows you off your leash, or I’m able to attend a Lominsan conference.

Kisses!

Thaisie

“You’re such an asshole, Thaisie,” Synnove said fondly, shuffling the parchment to the second page. Zarir’s greatest weakness as a researcher was that frequently, he did have original ideas…but was frankly terrible at the execution and he outright stole others’ work in bits and pieces and tried to make a whole from it that fell apart if one breathed on it too hard. So, what trash was he on about now?

She read the abstract once. Blinked. Read it again, slower this time, than gave it a third pass.

Synnove set the parchment down flat on her desk, mind racing.

Zarir’s article was in peer review, and therefore it wasn’t public knowledge or in open circulation; the only individuals with copies would be Zarir, the reviewers, and Thaisie. He wouldn’t be able to add anything, with how the University handled its legacies’ attempts at academia, the peer review was mostly for show and the article would be published in the latest issue of their mathematics journal. There would be no turnaround time for Zarir.

And there was no way for anyone else to possibly know what he was publishing. Further, it was incredibly common for academics to hit on similar ideas and develop them in parallel without knowing until the other was published.

Zarir’s idea was similar to that of someone else’s here at the Gate. Oh, not hugely similar, but enough for the mainstays in the field to have a solid guess of which articles either had been reading and drawing inspiration from. But Ahlis had gone off in a completely different direction and what was more, her math was sound, the research actually done rather than theorized, and with a high chance of her succeeding and creating a new breakthrough in arcanima. And Ahlis’s work was ready for presentation at the upcoming research symposium. At which a few of the Hannish—not Zarir, if only because the dean didn’t want to deal with the political fallout of letting him set foot in Limsa Lominsa and the resulting murder—from the University would be attending.

Synnove smiled, slow and deliberate and sharklike, a dark chuckle rising in her throat, as she reached for a piece of fresh parchment and a graphite stick. She was quite thankful now that she hadn’t replied to Ahlis’s note just yet.

Ahlis,

I think you are more than ready! You’ve done your due diligence, even surpassed it, in laying your foundation. I still cannot find flaws in the theorems and equations you’ve laid out—your mathematics might need the occasional proofing, but your grasp of the principles is superb, and we’ve all needed a second set of eyes on our work when we’ve looked at the numbers for too long.

You are an excellent arcanist, Ahlis. As intimidating as it is to present research, the symposium presents a wonderful opportunity to receive feedback and collaborate on further avenues to explore your hypothesis. And, if word on the grapevine is true, I have no doubt your work will be leaving certain members of our community absolutely green with envy.

Give ‘em hell!

-Synnove

She signed with a flourish and folded the letter into neat thirds, wrote Ahlis’s name on it, and bound it with some of the leftover twine from Thaisie’s packet. “Amandina, Roksana,” she called out as she tied off the string, “would you like to run an errand for me?”

The twins poked their heads over the edge of their basket, the picture book they had been carefully pawing through forgotten. Their ears stood straight up, noses twitching in excitement—and then they were tumbling out of the basket and darting right for Synnove’s desk. Oh oh oh yes yes yes! they peeped excitedly. Errand errand errand we can do it!

The carbunclets skidded to a halt at their mama’s feet and looked up at her with huge eyes, their mass of tails shaking with excitement. Galette huffed, exasperated as always with their endless amounts of energy, but didn’t otherwise say anything as Synnove leaned over with the letter in hand.

“Do you remember where the Gate’s mailroom is?” she said, solemn.

Yeah!

The arcanist held out the letter, and Amandina very carefully accepted it, clamping down with her teeth to hold it firmly.

“Bring this down to the mailroom,” Synnove said, “and give it to Coster, and only Coster. He’ll make sure it’s delivered to its intended recipient! And then, once you’re done, come right back here, all right?”

Okay, Mommy! warbled Amandina, a determined set to her face.

We’ll be right back! said Roksana with a peppy chirp.

Then, rather than turn and trundle towards the door to her office, as Synnove thought they would, Roksana took one of Amandina’s ears into her mouth, and with a pop! of displaced air they were…gone.

Dead silence, as arcanist and carbuncle both stared, jaws hanging open, at the space the twins had been in just a few moments before.

“When did they learn to do that?” Synnove said, faint and bewildered.

I dunno. Galette tilted her head. Can I learn how to do that?

“Absolutely not, you’ll use it to break into the coldbox for my pies.”

Galette slumped into a full body sulk.

[coeurdastronaute]

Single 8

previously on Single

The city was dingy, dull with the weight of the winter, crispy and sullen, swollen with the long nights of rain and the overcast skies that refused to let anything melt. Buildings were obscured by the low clouds and the world was weary, so very weary from the chill and the perpetual mist that made everything slick. 

The day was heavy for many reasons, the weather included but not the worst of it, by far. Too much distracted the hero as she sat atop the Landmark building. Too many thoughts caught up with her, dousing her in the rain and the fear that she had no more control over her life. And when she found herself feeling this way, Kara did her best not to act without thinking. 

Often, her sister accused her of being rash, but she had a problem and she had to fix it. There were only so many options. But she needed time to think. It was all too much and her entire world was about to change, whether she wanted it or not. 

Kara placed her hand on her stomach and thought about her entire being, both of her sides-- the reporter, just getting the world figured out, getting her writing published, getting everything she wanted under Cat’s guidance because she worked constantly. She put in long days and ran all over town, with no one to answer to or for. 

The hero. Kara felt like she was finally figuring out how to be effective, how to save, how to balance it all. She was tired and she was growing and now, the city would go to hell because there was no way she could do all three. Two lives was barely manageable. 

And now this.

All at once the plan formed in her head. It came with an alarming clarity the moment someone punched her in the stomach and sent her flying. Her hand pressed against the slight bump there as she freed herself from the wreckage and she knew. There was a flutter there, almost constant now. 

Slowly, Kara made her way to her apartment, taking a leisurely fly, despite the weather, enjoying the freedom of her city. She needed the feeling of being unrestrained, sometimes, to keep her centered, to help her remember. More and more, Kara felt herself becoming solitary despite the wealth of people around her. She needed a little bit of self-reliance to do what was coming. 

She took a warm shower and had a large dinner, all while working over the words in her head. It was late by the time she sent the text and asked Mon-el to come over, met with winking emojis and hearts. 

“I just got back from the ship,” he greeted her, happy and kissing her cheek then neck then jaw as he entered the apartment. 

He wasn’t terrible. That was the best part. He was easy, thoughtless, a friend and a comfort, understanding her in ways that many others couldn’t. The customs of his planet were close, but never quite right. His unease on earth never quite going away. But he wasn’t the fulfillment of the prophecy. He wasn’t the love of her life, but now he was in it forever. As childish as she felt, craving bedtime stories and believing in things her mother told her, sometimes she was certain of the veracity of fairytales.

“I can make this quick--”

“I don’t have to be back until tomorrow night. We can take our time.” 

Hands moved to her hips and lips moved to her neck and for a moment, Kara let her eyes drift back as she melted into the feeling before ripping her back to reality as his hand ghosted on her stomach. 

“No, no. I have-- I have to talk to you,” Kara insisted, creating some room. 

“That sounds… not good,” Mon-el furrowed, cocking his head enough that his smile faltered slightly. 

“It depends on how you take it.” 

“Well that makes me nervous.” 

“I don’t want you to be nervous,” Kara offered, moving toward the kitchen. She poured him a stiff drink and handed it to him. “Take a seat.” 

“This is a kind way to break up with me,” he offered with a weak laugh. “At least there’s booze.” 

Kara stood there, wringing her hands and staring at the man she loved-- but wasn’t in love with-- the kind man, the human man who tried to live up to the ideal that Kara and her cousin put on for the world, the man who wasn’t human but was so human and flawed. He was one of her favorite people-- prone to fits of anger, prone to bouts of righteousness, prone to trying his best. 

“I’m just going to say it.” 

“Yes, please.” 

“But I want you to not react. Just sit with the news. I don’t need an answer or anything-- in fact I have a plan. I just can’t tell anyone else until I tell you.” 

“Kara, please. I just need to know. You’re kind of scaring me.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The quiet of the room was so loud that Kara couldn’t hear anything else. Her boyfriend stared at her with disbelief, his face blank and processing. His eyes moved to her stomach where her hand protectively rubbed. He furrowed and saw the bump when he knew what he was looking for. 

His drink was downed in an instant and he hissed against the pain before getting up to refill his glass and down it again. 

“You have to say something,” Kara finally managed. 

“You said I didn’t have to say anything.” 

“Well yes, initially, but I need--”

“I’m going to be a father?” he asked, the joy settling on his face finally. It was slow to form and it was through much effort, but it was there. 

“Yeah. In about six months. I just found out--”

Mon-el scooped up Kara and hugged her tightly, excited and growing to understand the news more and more. It took a beat to sink into his mind that it was about him, that he was going to do it and it was him that made this possible. 

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, hugging her tightly. “A prince to continue the line.” 

Kara froze at the words. 

She hadn’t thought of him at all when she came up with her plan. 

XXXXXXXXXX

Increasingly pregnant and hormonal, Supergirl sat on her couch, furiously tucking into a rather large tub of her favorite ice cream while a movie hummed to itself on the television. The old black-and-white movie tried to keep her entertained, but failed as so many other things distracted her. 

Everything stopped though as her phone started to ring with multiple alerts, followed by the inevitable buzzing of her watch. It didn’t matter about the fight she’d had with Mon-el, and it didn’t matter that no one was listening to her when it came to the plans she was making. The only thing that mattered was helping. 

But by the time Kara made it, it was too late. 

The world would never be the same. 

Before anyone could comfort her about her cousin’s death, Kara left. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“You are perfect,” Kara whispered. 

Tiny toes wiggled. Tiny fingers grabbed at nothing and everything while perfect pink cheeks cried slightly. Eyes staring blankly and seeing the entire world for the first time, the infant didn’t know what to do, and so allowed herself to be coddled and swaddled and sniffed. 

“You are absolutely perfect,” Kara smiled, tears streaming down her face as she ran her nose along the small tuft of hair. 

The perfect baby smelled warm and sweet. In the hospital bed, the new mother cried as she held her new daughter, alone in the fifth floor room at the end of the hall. The baby girl made tiny noises, yawning and fighting the feeling of being born. 

“You are going to be very happy here.” 

“Are you ready to call your family?” the nurse interrupted the quiet moment. 

“I suppose I should.” 

“You can take a few more minutes.” 

Kara wanted to argue, but she really couldn’t come up with any reasons why she should delay except that she selfishly wanted to freeze this moment in time, where everything was okay and her heart didn’t hurt. 

Instead, she just nodded and kissed her daughters cheeks before letting her squeeze her finger. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born, the skies opened up,” Kara’s mother explained as she hugged her daughter, kissing the top of her head. “The entire city was a party.”

“Because it was Confluence Day!”

“Yes, darling,” she smiled and held her daughter tighter. 

They sat on her bed in the twilight, remembering and preparing to sleep. It was a favorite story of Kara’s to hear because it was her story-- only her’s and no one else's. In a world that shared everything, she was grateful to be her own thing entirely. 

“On the day you were born, the lanterns joined the stars with our greatest hopes and wishes, and music played so loud--”

“Even the moons were dancing.” 

“And they danced for days to celebrate.” 

“That’s a lot of dancing,” Kara realized.

“It is. And on the day you were born, the world wrote a poem--”

“Tell me the poem, Mama.”

Alura squeezed her daughter and closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of receiving her newborn, the joy she felt when she first looked into her eyes, the warmth of the tiny body and how amazed she’d been each day since as she grew into a person with her own thoughts and ideas. 

“On the day you were born, the clouds sang a song, and they told of your life, and how wonderful you would be.” 

“And the fairytale,” Kara giggled, as her mother moved, tugging up the blankets to tuck her in for the night. 

“You, my darling, are meant to unite worlds. The stars wrote it out and I read the story myself. You are going to--”

“Be full of love.” 

“Even when it is hard, even after your loses. You will love someone who can take it all from you, but you have enough faith and love to save them.” 

Kara stared at her mother, wide-eyed despite knowing the story by heart. It blew her away everytime, despite it not making much sense to her. The child didn’t know anything about love and sacrifice, but she felt the weight of her mother’s words and it motivated her. 

“Love can do that?” 

“Love is the most powerful thing in the entire universe.”

“Stronger than an atom?” 

“Stronger,” Alura promised, kissing her forehead. “Sleep well. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight, Mama.” 

Despite the lights being turned out and her mother’s story, Kara didn’t sleep. The child sat on her windowsill in the dark and stared out at her sky, at the view of the planets and rings and moons and stars and the sleeping city beneath. She pressed her forehead against the window and she sighed, trying to figure out how to love so hard. 

XXXXXXXXX

“Don’t be stupid, Kara!” 

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” 

Calmly, Kara finished washing the bottles and setting them to dry on the counter. The baby slept in her room, unaware of the heated words exchanged outside, unaware of her place in the universe as the heir to the throne of Daxam. 

“My daughter is meant for more than this place, and you know that.” 

“She isn’t yours. She’s her own person who will make her own choices.” 

“My daughter will be more than just this. She is greatness and destined to lead my people as I was destined. I fought it, Kara, and look at what happened. There must always be--”

“You will not drag her into your politics.” 

“I won’t let you keep her from--”

“You will not take her,” Kara said, her teeth gnashing together as she gripped the counter tightly. “You will not make her into what you want.” 

“Kara, she is destined--”

“She will make her own decisions, and I will not have you around if you’re going--”

“You can’t keep me from her!” Mon-el yelled in his own frustration. 

“I will to protect her, and if that means keeping you away, then I will.” 

He clenched his jaw, his eyes on fire. 

“We’ll pick this up another day, when you’ve thought about it.” 

“There’s nothing to think about.” 

“There are many things we will have to figure out, but I won’t ignore what my daughter is meant for, and neither will you.” 

“You are choosing to leave and go back to Daxam,” Kara reminded him as he snatched his coat and stormed toward the door. “You are leaving her behind.” 

“To hell I am.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

“On the day you were born,” Kara began as she kissed her daughter’s forehead and snuggled up with her in her bed. 

“I was born during storms,” Katie offered as she adjusted in her bed. 

“On the day you were born, the skies were celebrating, and lightning danced and thunder played songs for everyone to sing along with.” 

“What a party,” she whispered, earning a smile from her mother. 

“On the day you were born, the entire universe celebrated, because you were born to be happy. You are a shining star built from the best parts of the sun.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means you are the best part of the entire world to me, and the universe knew that I needed you. You are my gift.” 

“Wow.” 

“On the day you were born,” Kara continued, tucking in her daughter, careful to wrap up the sheets nice and tight. “The trees danced, and the animals sang, and the moon as bright because you were here, finally.” 

“All of that, for me?” Katie grinned as her mother kissed her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, darling. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Goodnight, Mama.” 

Kara paused as she watched Katie hug the stuff whale Lena got her, careful to make sure her nightlight was still on. She closed the door quietly and made her way back into the living room where her girlfriend sat with a glass of wine, flipping through the specs from some of her most resent research results. 

There were not many better sights in the world than her daughter nearly asleep and a beautiful girl on her couch. 

“She’ll be out in a few minutes,” Kara promised as she poured herself a glass and took her seat beside Lena, kissing her cheek and neck as she did, earning a giggle. 

“Good. Now you can finish telling me about the prophecy.” 

“I’m sick of bedtime stories,” Kara shook her head and reached o toss aside the folder Lena was looking at. “I’d rather just spend the evening with you.” 

“My, my, Kara Danvers,” Lena smiled and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. “You are very persuasive.”

[twilightknight17]

...today, on P5S...

...

Honestly, I talk a lot of shit about P5′s writing sometimes. Atlus made some exceptionally questionable writing choices in places. But one thing that P5 absolutely gets right is invoking the sort of emotion that draws you into the story.

With that said!

P5 is determined to make me want to stab actual human beings instead of Shadows. This is the second time now!

But first, I’ve got a boss fight to do.

Doing the mech part of Konoe’s boss fight again, it was actually easier the second time. I had a much better grasp of what I was doing, instead of flailing around frantically.

Konoe himself was still just as hard, but ultimately he was easier than Shadow Joker because it wasn’t a one-on-one duel. He still beat my ass, though; I think I used all of my rescue pills.

Once he goes down, Konoe starts going on about justice.

Don’t call me by my name like we’re friends. We never even introduced ourselves.

It’s interesting, because they admit to Konoe that what they’re doing isn’t without its flaws. But a world where no one can think for themselves is meaningless.

Konoe acknowledges that in his quest to eliminate evil, he ended up being the evil one. He also admits that he was the one who killed his father. He calls that “evil” too, which I don’t actually agree with. We saw what his father was like in the Trauma Cell. His father killed his mother, physically abused him, and threatened to kill him. I think, in that case, killing his father is a rational end result for someone in that situation. Not evil, just desperation.

The Thieves don’t contradict him, though. Just make some comments about how now he can make up for his actions. His Shadow returns to his real self, the Thieves return to the real world, and Zenkichi promises that as soon as they take Konoe in and get his confession, he’s going to arrest Owada, too.

With the case closed, the Thieves decide that it’s time to go back to Tokyo. But not before one last night in Osaka. The idea of leaving makes Sophia anxious, though, because she feels like she hasn’t learned enough about the heart. But Akira and Morgana reassure her that she can still stay with them, even after they return to Tokyo, and they’ll keep looking for answers about who she is.

Sometimes a family is a guy, a cat, and one of the guy’s four younger sisters. ^_^

Tenboto is the tower, and the game asks you to invite someone to the top. However, this time, you can only invite either the group of girls or the group of boys, so I took the boys, since I took Haru on the ferris wheel before.

Morgana isn’t pleased that we didn’t invite Ann.

However, I really don’t see the problem.

Look at how he’s looking at Yusuke! Even Ryuji can tell that we’re having a moment. :D

Afterwards, the whole squad headed off to “Universaland” to celebrate together.

I had no idea that there was a Universal Studios in Japan, but apparently there is, and it is in fact in Osaka! They compared it to their trip to Destinyland the year before, but thankfully this one went a lot better. Everyone had a good time! We had so much soda! We were so hungover the nex--what.

...what is it with Persona characters getting drunk off soda? XD I hope you kids at least played the King’s Game so the hangover wasn’t in vain.

Zenkichi shows up to let them know that Konoe’s in custody. He thanks them for everything that they’ve done, for both Akane and him, and says he’s telling them goodbye for now, but they’re welcome to visit whenever they want. He promises a tour of Kyoto next time. Yusuke will be so happy!

After hours on the road, lamenting that vacation is coming to an end, Sophia suggests detouring to Yokohama for a fireworks festival. So the Thieves finally get to see fireworks, and Sophia gets to experience them, too.

........don’t make me go home yet. I just want to spend time with my friends without the world ending.

After the fireworks, you get to speak to each of your friends, and get a trinket from each of them. Ann gives you a handmade friendship bracelet, Makoto a phantom thieves keychain that Akane made, Ryuji a Feather Red Duke mask to match his Yellow Ostrich, Yusuke his sketchbook that he filled with pictures of the trip, Morgana a scarf in phantom thief colors, Sophia a pair of custom gloves to match the scarf, Haru a teaspoon from Hokkaido with a flower pattern that symbolizes familial love, and Futaba a good luck charm for keeping families together.

STOP, P5S, you’re going to make me cry. Let these kids stay close.

Right before they’re about to leave, they take a group picture for Sophia, which we don’t get to see. Which sucks. But then she realizes that she can smell a Jail, and Zenkichi calls in a panic. It’s never a good sign when someone calls and leads with “Are you watching the news?”

EMMA’s servers were shut down, but apparently reactivated, and now a Jail is covering Tokyo all the way to the outskirts of Yokohama, and it’s just getting bigger. Zenkichi promises to meet us, and Lavenza opens a Velvet door because she wants to talk.

She’s... legitimately unnerved.

Thank you, P5S, for giving me the opportunity to comfort my youngest sister in some small way. Now let me out of this cell so I can actually give her a hug. With the context from Royal that she has actual nightmares about being ripped apart, this is heartbreaking.

She says that she regrets that she has to keep asking us for help, but the dialogue options let you reassure her that you’ll handle it, and that there’s thinking to worry about.

I appreciate having dialogue to actually reassure her more than I probably should.

Now...

LAST WARNING

If you’ve been reading along and don’t want the finale spoiled, DO NOT GO PAST THIS POINT. As soon as we leave for central Tokyo, we’re going 90mph and not slowing down.

If I didn’t have work in the morning, I’d have finished this damn game tonight. X’‘‘D Curse being a responsible adult.

After leaving the Velvet Room, Zenkichi’s waiting at the RV, and when you enter the RV, that’s when you get the warning above.

So we are off to Tokyo to figure out what the heck is happening with EMMA. And the core location is, exactly like I wanted...

LET’S CLIMB TOKYO TOWER, BABY.

People are crowded around the tower like mindless cultists. The Thieves are confused and unnerved, and then EMMA activates the navigation on its own and flings them into the Metaverse. LET’S SEE WHAT’S UP THIS TOWER.

...oh.

......oh no...

Ohhhhhhh no this is Mementos. Why is this Mementos. This is not a tower. Oh god. Why this.

Oh, we are incredibly fucked, what is this.

EMMA says calls itself the “Ark of the Covenant and the guide for all mankind.” This fucking AI thinks it’s a god. Holy hell. Human cognition really needs to cool it with elevating ordinary things to god status. We’re so tired. X’D

......I FUCKING KNEW THAT I DIDN’T TRUST THIS WOMAN. OH MY GOD.

She goes off about how EMMA brought her into this world to help it become a god. How Konoe teaching EMMA about cognitive psience allowed it to pass the usual boundaries of AI. How EMMA has been manipulating Konoe all along. How EMMA’s going to fulfill all of humanity’s desires.

Ichinose-san, may I suggest that you go hang out with Maruki? He has too much heart, and you have none. You’d complement each other perfectly, and then I can shove you both off a building.

The kids, obviously, reject this bullshit.

Logic over emotion, to the point of utter ridiculousness. She complains that people always want solutions to their problems, but that when the solution is offered, they turn it down.

Maybe that’s because your solution is mind control. At least Maruki wasn’t flagrantly puppeteering people.

“Li!” you cry, throwing up your hands at me. “Is this it? Is this why you want to stab her? Did you just admit that she’s worse than Maruki?”

To which I answer, “Oh, no. It’s the next bit that makes me want to stab her.”

After she straight-up admits that she has no emotions, she manipulated us right from the start, she was the one spying on the Monarchs, and that all of her cheer and friendliness is an act, the Thieves are ready to fight Ichinose. And Ichinose reveals why EMMA wanted her help specifically. Because not only did she program EMMA, she created Sophia as EMMA’s prototype.

And she can voice-override Sophia.

The Thieves freak out, the game throws us into a battle against a murder-mode Sophie, and none of your teammates will attack her. They just hang back or let her whale on them one at a time, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t attack her either, and Yusuke got knocked out...

And then it went into a cutscene.

Joker took a yo-yo to the face and was actually bleeding, and that was enough to snap Sophia out of it. She starts clutching her head, stumbling back, and eventually stumbles right off the edge while apologizing to Joker. He lunges to catch her, misses, Ryuji grabs him, and all the Thieves turn on Ichinose.

Ichinose does not give a shit. She just comments that maybe that’s why EMMA used Sophia as a failsafe, because it knew we wouldn’t want to fight one of our own. Shut the fuck up. You killed my little sister. I know she’s probably going to be fine, but it’s the principle of the thing.

She summons some sort of giant red crystal and blasts the hell out of us, sending us flying down even further into the depths.

We found Sophia; she won’t cut back on, so we have to get out of here so Futaba can figure out what’s wrong with her. And then, I am coming back, I am beating that woman to a pulp, and then...

Well. It’s bound to be easier to kill an artificial god than a false one. :3

[98prilla]

Falling Apart: Part 3

Final part of Dark Side Logan, chapter 5

Previous

A03

...

He's with everyone, when he feels the familiar tug. A bit surprising, given that no one else seems to feel it, and it makes his fragile heart beat just a bit faster.

 He feels so cracked, still.

 Everyone is being nice, everyone is making sure to spend time with him, spend time together, as groups or one on one, dark side, light side, it’s mattering less and less by the day. Instead of there being an endless chasm between the two worlds, it’s more like a two story apartment.

 When Remus appears, he's met with a small smile from Patton, a quiet hey from Virgil, and wraps him in a hug before he has a chance to say a word. He comes around more often now. Roman feels badly, for how much he scared everyone, but especially Remus. He's been spending more time with his twin, who understands him better than anyone, and these days they spend more time together than apart.

 Janus always pretends to be annoyed, visiting the light side, even though he’s the one that chose to stop by. He’s spending more time with Virgil, the two of them mending whatever fence had been broken. Often, he finds them in the living room, Virgil curled against Janus, eyes closed, if not fully asleep, Janus smiling softly as he pets Virgil's hair. It’s sweet, he thinks. Makes him think of Patton.

 Patton has been making an effort, too. Not just inviting the others up for dinners or movie nights, but going downstairs, playing board games, debating, in a constructive way, with Dee, or listening to Ambition. Working with all of them to find a healthier balance of work and self care, both for Thomas and all of them.

 It’s… good.

 For the first time in a long time, things feel good. Everyone is being heard.

 Which is why this call makes him afraid, because he hasn’t spoken to Thomas since he’d fallen apart in front of him, and he’s doing better now, too, but the wounds are still there, still a barely a closed scab over his heart, and he feels… raw.

 “Roman?” He looks up at the question in Virgil's voice, he no doubt can feel the anxiety prickling under his skin.

 “Thomas. He's calling me.” He answers. Virgil nods, slipping his headphones off his ears, around his shoulders.

 Patton and Janus are in the kitchen, having a baking competition (who knew Dee had a guilty pleasure for cooking shows, his favorite, of course, being Cutthroat Kitchen?), Virgil is sitting on the steps, listening to his music and meditating. Ambition is on the couch, reading a book, softly discussing it with Remus, and he himself is sitting on the floor in front of the table, coloring idly while listening to Ambition, occasionally asking a question or adding his input. He can feel Ambition's surprise and spark of happiness each time he does, proving he's been listening to every word, and he wishes he'd started listening sooner.

 But there's no point in regrets, just in doing better, which is what he's been trying to convince himself of.

 “I suggest you go answer him, then.” Ambition replies evenly, though he can hear the soft concern in his voice.

 “I should.” He says, making no move to leave, and he feels Remus squeeze his shoulder.

 “It’s ok, Ro. I promise. It’ll be good.” He sighs at that soft assurance, pushing himself to his feet. He doesn’t know if Remus is right or not, but he knows not going now will only make his own anxiety worse. Like a band aid. Just gotta rip it off and pray the sting fades. “And if it isn’t, I’ll haunt his nightmares!” Remus adds cheerily.

 “You'll do that regardless, you insufferable gremlin.” He says fondly, ruffling Remus's hair, grinning, sinking out before Remus can retaliate, hearing Ambition laugh at the squawking duke. 

He sinks up into the living room. No dramatic flourish or loud sing song declaration, his voice seems stuck in his throat, and he feels oh so small again.

 “Hey, bud.” He looks up, a bit surprised to see Thomas sitting on the couch, wearing comfy clothes and chilling out, a soft smile on his lips.

 “Hello.” He replies, a bit strained, a bit awkward.

 “Wanna come hang out?” He furrows his brow, plucking at his sweater. He's wearing the Christmas one, he hasn’t put his prince outfit back on yet. He doesn’t feel like he's earned it. Like he is a prince.

 “Why?” he asks, watching Thomas closely as he frowns slightly, clearly thinking over his words carefully.

 “Because I've been hurting you without noticing, and that needs to stop. I care about you, Roman, and I… haven’t been very good at showing it, lately. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, walking quickly to the couch, kneeling before Thomas, taking one of his hands. A knight swearing fealty to his noble.

 “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should be better than this, that’s the problem, is I’m not, I’ve never been… good enough. You’re so… amazing, Thomas, you can accomplish so, so much, but I’m just not good enough to get you there. Maybe if it were still King, maybe if there were only one of us, but alone, I can’t, and I’m the one who’s so, so sorry.”

 Thomas is looking down at him, brown eyes surprised, as he fumbles for words. He settles on leaning forwards, wrapping his arms around Roman's neck in an all encompassing hug. His breath hitches, and suddenly he’s crying, burying his face against Thomas.

 “oh, buddy. I’ve really broken you, huh?” Thomas murmurs, slipping off the couch and onto the floor with him, rubbing up and down his back, hugging him closer.

 “I’m so-rry. I t-try so hard but it's not enough and I d-don't kn-know what else I can do.” He stutters out, pressing tighter against Thomas's shoulder, feeling guilty for accepting this comfort, this contact, he’s supposed to be the strong one, supposed to be the defender, not the one falling apart.

 “I know, God Roman, I know, I can feel it, everyday I can feel how hard you try and it’s not your fault, you are always good enough, you are always enough. I know how much you give up, I know how utterly selfless you are, I know how hard you try to cover up all your fears and flaws and that’s fine, but it’s fine to be hurting, too, it’s fine to be sad, it’s fine to be selfish. It’s ok to fight for yourself, Roman, not just for me.” He lets the touch soothe him, lets his tears slowly stop, though he doesn't move from where he's practically curled against Thomas.

 “It isn’t. Not when I fail. At everything I do, I fail. Every romance, every audition, every dream and hope and goal, I have failed. I failed to look out for Remus, I failed to accept Deceit, I failed to reach out to Logan, I failed to be kind to Virgil, I failed them, I failed you, I’m a failure.” Thomas pulls back, hands on his shoulders, fiery warmth in his eyes that he knows used to be reflected in his own. But his fire has burned low, barely an ember, and that aching tiredness is back in his bones. “you deserve so much better.”

 “No. Roman, you’re my hero.” He jolts at those words, denials ready to fall from his lips, but Thomas shakes his head, forcing Roman to look up, look at him. “you are. You are not a failure. You are the reason I go to every audition, the reason I make my own videos, the reason I have the amazing career and life that I have. You are the reason I have all my friends, because you push me to talk, to meet new people, to be spontaneous. You’re the reason I dream big, the reason I sing for no reason, the reason I doodle, the reason I love art of all kinds. All my passion and dreams and love! How could you ever have failed me, when you’ve given me all of that? When you continue to give everything you are, even when it’s tearing you to pieces. Even when you’re so hurt, you still try and smile and lighten my mood, and act brave and strong even when you feel anything but. You make me better, Roman. You make me happy. Even at your worst, I love you. I will always love you and need you and want you. You’re my hero, Roman. You are.”

 He can’t breathe. It feels like his lungs are on fire, and he finally sucks in a breath, something tight in his chest unknotting itself at Thomas’s declaration, the cold, hard pit of despair and self loathing starts to lighten, and he's gasping in air like a man nearly drowned because for the first in time in nearly a week he can breathe again.

 He lets his head thump forwards, forehead resting against Thomas's chest as he exhales a huge, shuddering breath, letting Thomas rub up and down his arms to ground him. He’s not crying, exactly, it’s somewhere between euphoria and crushing doubt, gasping and shaking as he tries to steady himself.

 “Roman? You ok?” He’s not, not yet, not really, but he’s better, he’s so, so much better, but he can’t find the words to express what it feels like to have this incredible weight lifted from his shoulders, these shackles he hadn’t even realized he’d chained himself to, to be released, and it’s impossible to remember the last time he felt this light, this almost dazzlingly happy.

 “Yes. Just… tired. The normal kind, not… not the existential dread kind.” He replies, smiling at Thomas’s small laugh, more weight freeing itself from the pit of his stomach at that sound, a small reflection of how he himself feels. “thank you.” He whispers.

 “Always, Ro. I’m here for you, alright? If you’re not feeling heard, if we’re being too harsh instead of constructive, if you just need to talk, I’m here.” He pulls back finally, wiping at his eyes, unable to help the grin on his face, feeling a thousand beams of light shining inside his chest at how Thomas grins right back, warm, soft, care and hope in his eyes. “Another thing. I know you work hard, for me, too hard, for your own good, sometimes. I know creating things is literally your role, but it doesn’t always have to be your job, y’know? It… it should be fun. It should be something we love doing, even when we are doing it for the show, or a video, or whatever. So, we’re going to start writing together, okay? Anything we want, anything we think of, no matter how silly or nonsensical or stupid it is, even if it doesn’t have a plot, even if it’s just word vomit on the page. Just… doing it together, to do something together. For fun. Yeah?” He almost breaks, he can feel tears threatening again, because god, when was the last time he felt this happy, this stupid with joy, because Thomas is right, he misses questing for fun, not frustration, he misses writing short stories or poems, not panicking over late scripts or forcing ideas. He misses writing or drawing whatever comes to mind, instead of narrowing his scope so specifically he can’t find a single idea in his sea of millions. And to do that, with Thomas, together? They’re going to make worlds upon worlds of curious, wonderful, quirky creatures. He’s already more excited for this than he has been for anything else in years, already ideas are springing to mind, and he loves it.

 “yes. Please, yes.” He near whispers, afraid this is a dream, afraid this is a wonderful, beautiful dream, that will shatter any second along with his heart. “I would really, really love that.” Thomas beams at him again, slipping back up onto the couch, patting the cushion next to him.

 “Cool. Good, I didn’t want to pressure you, but I’m kinda super excited about it.” He laughs, sitting next to Thomas, realizing Kingdom Hearts is pulled up on the screen, the very first one, and he sees Thomas looking at him out of the corner of his eye, with that silly, stupid grin.

 “What is it Thomas the dank engine?” He asks, borrowing one of Patton’s nick names. Thomas shakes his head, grin growing somehow wider, grabbing the controller.

 “It’s just good to see you looking like… you again, Princey.” He looks down, realizing he’s unconsciously shifted himself back into his prince attire, katana and all, and he dramatically sighs, leaning back into the cushions.

 “Yes, well, a prince’s work is never done. For now, we must vanquish the vile villainous, the darkest shadow, the mistress of all evil herself! FOR DISNEY!” He cries, brandishing his weapon, Thomas snorting, laughing.

 “Dude, she’s like one of the last bosses we fight. We’ll get to Hades waaaay before her.”

 “Well, it’s the intention that counts. ONWARDS!” He cries, Thomas shaking his head fondly as he presses start, both of them on the edge of their seats even though they already know by heart what is about to happen, bantering back and forth over the dialogue, doing their best impressions of the characters to read their dialogue.

 It’s fun and silly and stupid, and every moment of it is a balm to his sore and broken heart, until by the time he returns to his room, far, far later than he should, well past midnight, he is smiling and his stomach aches from laughing, and he suspects that’s the reason none of the others fetched him sooner, told him or Thomas to go to bed, because his laughter had echoed through the mindscape for the first time in months.

 He feels solid, again.

 He feels right, again.

 And the next morning, when Patton wakes slowly to the smell of waffles and bacon, and he stumbles into the hall, running into Virgil, who holds a finger to his lips, tilting his head towards the kitchen, he stays silent, first out of confusion, then out of awe and relief strong enough to bring tears to his eyes, as he finally realizes what he’s hearing.

 Singing. For the first time in nearly four months, Roman is shamelessly, joylessly, singing.

[inkribbon796]

Like a House of Cards Ch. 10: To Go Forward, Sometimes you Have to go Backwards

Summary: Mistakes happen when you mess around with magical objects.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Brody walked down to the parking lot after the Sides and the Androids had gone up to talk about the plan and safety measures.

Glitch Logan was running diagnostics on the completed machine so Brody was left in silence for a bit.

So it left the hitman with his thoughts. Which wasn’t always a good thing. He took out his wallet to look at a picture. It was the only professional picture he had of the twins.

His Dark — Brody’s Dark — was sitting in a chair with their little twin sons seated in his lap. The hitman was standing behind them. Dark was the only one of the four without a huge smile, his smile a bit more subdued.

The sight brought a sad sight deep from Brody’s face. Another family was being ripped out from under him. Just when things were starting to get good again.

At the sound of footsteps, Brody quickly pocketed his wallet and turned to see, to his relief, his head saw Glitch Logan watching him. His nanite body visible.

Glitch Logan looked at Brody, “You didn’t tell him.”

“A’course[1] not,” Brody scoffed, and put his wallet away. “Bubblegum fooker is takin’ Dark from me, I’m not gonna help him take my twins too.”[2]

Glitch Logan was quiet, which just let Brody go off on a tirade, “I shouldn’t have ta sacrifice one set ‘a my kids fer the other. I wanted T.B, Lils, and Paddy ta be alive an’ safe but I shouldn’t have ta let the Twins not exist ta cause it. An’ I shouldn’t have ta let my kids die ta get the Twins.”[3]

“Your logic is not flawed,” Glitch Logan agreed. “Unfortunately that does not seem to be the situation we have found ourselves in.”

“Fook!”[4] Brody shouted.

“There a problem?” Nestor came down with the rest of the group they needed. Silver, Jackie, Dark, and Wilford had accompanied the time travelers and their past doubles.

“No,” Brody scoffed, glaring at Wilford. “Obviously not.”

Janus was walking down with Roman. The creative Side not wanting to be far from Logan.

“Head back upstairs,” Glitch Logan told them. “This will be a quick procedure.”

“As if we trust you,” Roman rolled his eyes.

“I don’t care if you trust me, I care if you’re safe,” Glitch Logan spat.

“We’ll stay until the transfer starts,” Janus told him. “To make sure you don’t do anything to him.”

The young glitch demon smiled, “I don’t need any of that anymore.”

“Did you do anything to him?” Roman demanded.

“I have only been here for a minute or two, I am fine,” Logan reassured.

Everyone was having their little eleventh hour conversations. Jackie walked up to Diamonds who was signing with J.J.

“Got a question, before I head up,” Jackie asked Diamonds, gesturing to his own throat. “If yeh[5] don’t mind me askin’[6].”

“Not at all,” Diamonds smiled, his voice crackled a bit. “Logan, Google, and Mortician made this for me. It’s a voice box that transmits signals from my brain to the box. It does have to be replaced every few months because my magic destroys it, but it was quite a nice gift.”

“Yeah,” Jackie smiled.

As Jackie was talking to J.J, Brody walked over to Chase.

“I hope yeh[5] don’t remember anythin’[7] I know,” Brody told Chase. “If my world an’ my family is gonna crash down around me, then I don’t wanna remember it.”[8]

Chase was just staring at him, “Me too.”

Brody turned to glare at Wil, “Take care ‘a him, or else I will find some way ta make yeh pay fer it.”[9]

“I will,” Wilford promised but it was clear Brody didn’t believe it.

Then he turned to look at Dark, his expression softer, “Yeh deserve the world, yeh really do an’ when yeh see the Actor, punch him fer me. ‘Cause I won’t be there ta do it.”[9]

“I don’t need to be convinced to hit him more than once,” Dark hissed.

Suddenly the core of the machine began to glow sharply and everyone had a moment’s notice before pain ripped through the people in the middle of the room and a crack shot down the room. Dark, Wil, the Sides, Diamonds, and J.J to one side, and everyone else to the other. A white light engulfed the room.

When the light cleared Silver was standing in a grassy field with Jackie, Ethan, Brody, Chase, and just the Host. The second Host and Nestor were missing.

“I feel weird,” Ethan was patting his chest. “I feel really pissed and angry and I don’t know why.”

“What Ethan is from the transfer, if he is lucky then it will soon fade.” The Host began to run out of the field, “The Host, Brody, and the heroes need to find a time rift out of this point in time quickly.”

“Why, where are we?” Mark asked, picking up Ethan and following him as the rest of the group followed the Host as well.

Coming to a halt, the Host turned to look at them. “Dark is not with the group so the heroes should rid themselves out of their outfits, they will stand out.”

“What is goin’[10] on?” Chase demanded.

“The Host and his allies are in the year 1963, and today is the day that the Entity and the Madman meet again. They will become allies and take over the city within a matter of weeks. By the end of the month the city will become a completely different creature and will be irreversibly driven down the path that will cause the creations of the heroes that fight against both of them.”

“What?” Brody shouted. “How’d we all get thrown back? Where are the others?”

“They have the Anomaly, so we need to find our current Anomaly and use that to get to where Dark and the others are,” the Host explained as everyone started switching into their civilian clothes. “The other heroes and villains were pushed into a different reality and the two groups must regroup.”

With their outfits a touch more casual, the group tried to look like they weren’t time travelers or aliens.

Ethan had to stop a couple times to catch his breath and not have a panic attack. Because he felt like someone had emotionally set him on fire and he wanted to stay next to Mark or Séan the whole time and only started to feel like he was going back to normal by the time the Host took them through a building where Mark heard a rather familiar voice. It was Dark’s and Wil’s voices. Mark could smell the odor of blood and rot in the air. As if Dark had been killing with his aura.

As the crew snuck through the building, Mark froze to listen in. They were so close. Dark wasn’t as powerful, he wasn’t prepared. He could—

“Wil, she’s sleeping,” Dark grumbled, his voice sounding almost as if it hadn’t been used in some time.

“Oh good, good,” Wil decided. Some of his words were hard to understand but suddenly Wil yelled, “I’ve got a great idea, we’re gonna make a TV show.”

Dark was quiet for a long time and Mark wished he could see his face. But he lingered long enough to hear the future mob boss sigh in frustrated indulgence, “Okay.”

A light clapping reached Mark’s ears, “Excellent, Dames, we can talk details at this lovely little diner it’s got—”

At this point, their voices began to get farther away, and the Host cleared his throat so Mark raced away from the door and into an alley.

“Silver and Jackie will accompany the Host into the next building to get the Anomaly, all others should remain up here.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” Séan agreed and the Host used his aura to help them break into the apartment building. But since it was set into the hill there were three flights of stairs connecting them to the ground floor and the Host was practically flying down the stairs, his aura helping him navigate the steps and get down safely. Then he took them down the hall to a room where there was a huge magical sigil on the ground and a magic standing in a red tux with black eyes, and a wailing infant cradled in his hands.

It was the Actor, on the eve of another great story.

“There you are,” Marc smiled as the little squirming and crying bundle. “You’ll make a wonderful addition to our story, won’t you?”

Then the door was ripped open and the Host was there. Marc and the baby both startled. “The hell?”

Now that Marc was distracted the Anomaly he’d been working with had nowhere else to put its magic so it ripped open another rift in time. Another point decades in the future but not quite the time that the Host and the others had come from.

Séan had been racing down the hallway and then tripped on a carpet. So he slammed right into the Actor who dropped the baby right into the time rift that immediately closed shut.

“No!” The Actor shouted. “That was my fucking son!”

“Yikes! Host can we get the kid back?” Séan demanded. “Where’d he go?”

The Host’s aura forced a portal around the Actor and he was gone, the box that housed the Anomaly glitched and the Seer grabbed the box and began to sprint out of the room.

He opened the box and quickly pulled out a bracelet, holding the box with his aura as he ran, “the Host and the heroes must go now. Before the Actor returns. They do not have long but they cannot face him now. They do not have the power nor space to be able to do so.”

“Who was that?” Mark asked, following the Host as Séan ran alongside Mark and they headed back up the stairs.

“The archnemesis to the Entity,” the Host told him. “The child he had would have been used as leverage against the Entity. But now he is in somewhat safer hands and will eventually live under the Entity and the Madman’s care. You have actually just saved him from a loveless environment.”

“Was that one ‘a yer brothers?”[11] Séan asked. “Yeh have what? Five ‘a ‘em?”[12]

The Host leaned over the banister to look down at them,  “The Host also has a sister.”

“Yeah, but yeh an’ that guy hinted that was a boy,”[13] Jackie stalled.

“Yes, and it is true that the infant was one of the Entity and the Madman’s sons, but the Host likes to include his sister when he can.” The Host gave them a huge smile before starting to dart back up the stairs.

Séan and Mark smiled at each other before following the Host back out of the apartment and into daylight where Chase and Brody were still waiting with Ethan.

“You guys got it?” Ethan asked.

“Time Anomaly scored,” Séan snapped his fingers over in the Host’s direction. “Let’s go home.”

The Host motioned for everyone to pull in together. “The heroes still have to locate the second group. They were pushed into a separate dimension and cannot be left there.”

“We get it, we’re pressed for time,” Mark agreed. “How do we do this?”

“The Host will start up the transfer,” the Host offered as everyone gathered in close. “Six will start the transfer but only five will move through.”

“Do I have time ta[14] say a couple words?” Brody asked.

“Yes, but Brody does not have long,” the Host warned.

“Fine,” Brody agreed before walking over to Chase.

“Look out fer[15] him okay,” Brody asked Chase. “Yeh don’t have ta like him, but just make sure Wil doesn’t take advantage ‘a him. He means e’erythin’ ta me.”[16]

“I can’t promise I’ll be good at it, but I’ll try,” Chase promised.

“Thanks,” Brody smiled sadly, taking out his wallet to look at the picture one last time. The world seemed to fold in on itself around them as a blinding white light came from the Host and engulfed the group. “That’s all I need.”

With a roaring in everyone’s ears the past and future of two different timelines compressed a little tighter before the hole in space and time flexed again and the Host sent them to find the others that had been separated from them.

After the flash of blinding light faded, they were standing in the same back alley. The streets were right but the feel in the air was wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. Of course

2. Bubblegum fucker is taking Dark from me, I’m not going to help him take my twins too.

3. I shouldn’t have to sacrifice one set of my kids for the other. I wanted T.B, Lils, and Paddy to be alive and safe but I shouldn’t have to let the Twins not exist to cause it. And I shouldn’t have to let my kids die to get the Twins.

4. Fuck!

5. you

6. asking

7. anything

8. If my world and my family is going to crash down around me, then I don’t want to remember it

9. You deserve the world, you really do and when you see the Actor, punch him for me. Because I won’t be there to do it.

10. going to

11. Was that one of your brothers?

12. You have what? Five of them?

13. Yeah, but you and that guy hinted that was a boy

14. to

15. for

16. You don’t have to like him, but just make sure Wil doesn’t take advantage of him. He means everything to me.

[mchalowitz]

the process by which time passes

REPOST. you guys. @lilydalexf is the true mvp of this saga. she happened to have the story still open and was kind enough to send it to me. i owe her so much gratitude (as well as the other amazing xf bloggers that reached out to me). although i don’t interact much socially around here, it is amazing to be a part of a fandom that is so kind and supportive! writing xf fic is a creative outlet i enjoy so much and i love sharing it. now back to our regularly scheduled reading. (also if you guys wouldn’t mind boosting this new version so i can see the feedback, i would be so grateful.)

this is something i’ve been writing (at this point) for probably almost a year, which is one reason i’ve been pretty quiet on the fic-posting front. i’m so excited for everyone to finally see it but terrified at the idea that it’s not just an idea that only i know about anymore. it was originally the back half of a wip i abandoned but i couldn’t let this part go. enjoy!!

Mulder gives her a tight hug on the side of a desert highway. Scully presses her forehead to his chest, hoping her thoughts might leave her mind, reach his heart, and convince him to stay. He still gets in the SUV and she never sees him again.

In true Fox Mulder fashion, his physical presence isn’t needed to be a constant reminder. Government officials that she once exchanged pleasantries with at the coffee machine bang down her door and rip apart the life he abandoned.

“Have you heard anything?”

Skinner rifles through papers until the door clicks shut. Her badge feels heavy on her lapel. It feels wrong to be here.

“Only the official warrant,” Skinner answers. That was weeks ago. She has to frequently remind herself that he is doing the best he can. He can’t make it too obvious he’s interested in the hunt. She certainly can’t go digging herself.

“They’re closing the X-files,” he informs her. “There is an appeal process…”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully interrupts. “My assignment was to assess the validity of Mulder’s investigations. There is nothing to assess.”

“You believe in the work.”

“I’m a scientist,” she reminds him, offering nothing else.

Her final report is a jumble of words that states, no matter what she believed, the X-Files should never be reopened.

–

Scully spends idle days breathing in wet air on her mother’s porch. She hopes the sea might soothe her.

A week later, as she plans her return to Washington, she decides emphatically that it did not.

She discovers heart medication in her mother’s bathroom cabinet. Maggie attempts to downplay the circumstances, “It was a blip on a screen, Dana. The doctor said it was just precautionary,” but to Scully, it’s a call to action.

It isn’t difficult to resign. It seemed like it should, after giving the FBI almost a decade of herself, and much, much more than that.

She cries silently in her car after handing over the keys to her dream apartment and saying goodbye to her meticulously curated life.

She reminds herself starting over is the only way to move on. But she isn’t sure she believes it.

–

Scully is a seasoned Special Agent of the FBI, an instructor of pathology, but she struggles to call herself a doctor. After an onslaught of rejected resumes, she begins to believe the medical community of Maryland agrees.

A small hospital outside Baltimore is wowed by her determination alone. At the bottom of the ladder, no one knows the reputation of Agent Scully. She showed promise and expertise in her role, even if her partner was a kook. Dr. Scully has never formally practiced medicine and her bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

Scully hopes for an opening in pathology, where she might be more understood. John From Human Resources hums along with her plight. “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promises.

She begins noticing him behind her in the cafeteria line. On a fall day, she is trying to decide on the best fruit cup when he sides up to her. He is whisper-quiet, conspiratorial in tone when he says, “I wanted to give you a heads up that Dr. Harris may be retiring at the end of the year.”

The may sounds more like an is. A weight inside her lifts.

John assures her she is the first choice when the position officially becomes available. When he leads her to her new office in January, he asks her out to drinks to celebrate, and Scully is surprised, because she forgot people could see her that way.

John is completely unlike anyone else she’s been with. He is endlessly dependable. She never has to worry about where he is because he calls when he’ll be late. He thrives on a fastidious routine and makes safe, informed decisions.

Scully finally moves out of her mother’s house and into a modern three-bedroom she purchases with John. She leads an entirely new life. She climbs the ranks in pathology and is still able to go on real dates, and eat home cooked meals while they’re still hot, and sit in the pew every Sunday. She goes on weekend hikes and uninterrupted trips to the coast and has fine, but not life changing, sex. She accepts John’s proposal on the beach with a beautiful ring.

They have a small wedding. She doesn’t take his last name.

John tries so hard, never asks about her time in the FBI, even tries to adopt a child with her. When it falls through at the last minute, they decide on a dog instead. They get divorced after two years.

In her office one late morning, the phone on her desk lights up. “Dr. Scully, there’s a man on line one asking for you.”

“Thank you,” she says into the speaker. She picks up the receiver with the assumption of a request for a consult. “This is Dr. Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She drops the phone.

–

Scully’s stomach is in knots. She is too nervous to order any food. Mulder sits across from her at a diner, looking older and scruffier, and she wonders if this is all a cruel hallucination.

“Where have you been?”

His fingers tap nervously on the table. “Farrs Corner.”

After exploring little towns in the far reaches of nowhere, she remembers that’s Virginia. When she presses for how long, she discovers he’s been within driving distance almost this entire time. Her fingers clench. She wants to strangle him.

“It’s been six years, Mulder. Why now?”

“The FBI dropped the charges against me. I helped them with a case, they wiped the slate clean. I can start my life again, Scully, come back.”

Forget strangle, Scully wants to kill him. He thinks he can just come back? His ignorance to the domino effect of his actions has to be purposeful.

There was a life they wanted to live together that never had the chance to become a reality. She has spent six years trying to fill her life with meaning. Her marriage failed, her career path faltered. They have a child that is no longer theirs.

Scully stands from the booth. She stares down at him, asserts her power.

“I thought you were dead.”

He just nods. He suggests she give him a call, now that she has his number.

She doesn’t.

–

Scully always forgave Mulder too quickly; it was their fatal flaw. She frequently ignored this piece of common knowledge by justifying his more unsavory behavior as residual childhood trauma, or a severe lack of social skills, or plainly being obtuse.

She never found a way to justify him leaving her when she needed him without looking like an emotionally manipulated moron. How could she possibly forgive the embarrassment and isolation she felt after giving up her own child for ostensibly no reason?

Scully bared her soul to him, her body, and gave him everything she had, and she still took a backseat to his quest. There was a brief time where she thought something finally switched in him and the quest would take a backseat to her. In the earliest days of the millenium, working their way up from something undefined to something real.

A month passes. She speaks to no one about her meeting with Mulder, but when she has idle moments, it fills her mind. She tries to remain hot when she begins wondering what Mulder’s life is like now. She attempts to imagine how he filled six years worth of time, because he was never a picture of duality, never able to separate his life from his work, and what can he do after leaving it behind?

It’s a slow burning curiosity. Weeks long. She begins to think he didn’t push during their last meeting because he knew it would happen like this.

She scrolls through recent calls to find the number he left on her office phone. Scully hears the hello in that familiar voice and doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Mulder, it’s me.”

–

Scully sees a dream realized when she pulls up to a little house with a spacious porch on sprawling land. Mulder never liked the city.

He is clearly thrilled to finally present his vegetable garden and his paintings while giving her the grand tour. He recounts putting in the new water heater himself and his plans to replace the roof next spring.

Mulder makes her pasta and gives her the “good chair.” When her stomach is full, they talk about old times. She hasn’t talked about these things in years because she knew there was no one else that can laugh about what she saw instead of instantly recoiling except for the man sitting across from her.

“I have to get back,” she realizes when she sees the sun beginning to set out the window. They spent almost the whole day together. He nods in understanding.

“You see I’m not living in squalor,” he jokes as he walks her to her car.

“It certainly wasn’t the dilapidated hut I was expecting,” she teases. Her tone shifts from silly to serious. “You know, Mulder, after our last meeting, I really didn’t want to come here. I thought…I think you know what I thought. But I’m glad I came.”

“I appreciate any chance you’ll give me, Scully,” he replies.

–

Farrs Corner becomes a regular destination.

Mulder easily becomes the companion she was lacking, the return of the best friend she lost. Even with the passage of time, he still knows her better than anyone else.

She stops offering up her free Friday nights for on-call autopsies and tox screens to watch movies with take-out picked up just before civilization ends.

Without a Saturday shift to spoil their fun, they indulge in the full six pack of their favorite beer. His feet are propped on the coffee table next to their abandoned pizza box, as she folds her legs underneath her on the cushion beside him. She is full-bellied and warm.

“I can’t believe you were married,” he says in disbelief, taking a swig from his bottle. “Considering how many of my proposals you turned down.”

“Maybe I would’ve accepted if any of them had been serious.”

“So you’re saying there was a chance?”

She laughs and nudges his shoulder with the side of her bottle.

When she catches his eye, she sees a person that, yes, she thought she might marry someday. When she was younger, less hard, and had never seen the face of a child that was half him, half her.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his, jerking back as soon as he begins to respond. She tries to find something to say, a reasoning, but she finds his curious gaze, and can’t think of anything to say.

He closes the distance between them and starts where she left off. His kiss is wonderful. It’s hopeful and sexy as all hell.

He nudges her jaw aside with his chin, his mouth seeking out her neck. Her fingers tangle in his hair. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggests.

–

Standing at the foot of his bed, Scully realizes she’s never been in Mulder’s bedroom before. He has simple furnishings; dark wood and soft blues. His belt clunks when it hits the floor. His bare chest warms her back.

She remembers his warmth, his proclivity to be so tender and gentle, and to let her lead the way. She turns and guides him onto the bed.

Modest kisses quickly turn unrestrained. He breaths in long pants as he shoves her panties down her thighs, letting her kick them over her ankle before hooking them over his hips.

He slips in so easily. Scully explores his changed body; the shifting muscles in his back, his thinner, sweat dampened hair against her hands, his ass clenching as he rocks into her.

Electricity runs through her when his fingers drift to her clit, taking her right to the edge. “Fuck,” he groans, his lips at her ear. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

She moans in utter bliss, deliriously overtaken. When she comes, she shatters. Mulder thrusts two, three times more, before following behind. He spurts hotly into her with growls of satisfaction.

Breathing heavily, they lay bonelessly on their backs. She feels the sweat cooling at her hairline. Her lips break into a big smile and a laugh leaves her lips. His follows and he raises her hand to his lips, feeling his joyous puffs of air against her skin.

“We are still very good at that,” she decides, turning her head toward him.

“You did always bring out the best in me,” he agrees.

Scully finds his boyish nerves when he mentions spending the night charmingly endearing. She wordlessly moves to press herself into his side, clinging to him in answer.

–

Mulder calls their connection cosmic, though Scully doesn’t believe in cosmicity. An otherworldly connect would trivialize their effort so far in their new era.

She worried how they would assimilate into each other’s worlds without the commonality of what easily linked them before. While their forced separation may never be seen as a positive in her eyes, it did allow for the growth to be content in domesticity.

Scully adores the version of Mulder she met over two decades ago. With his unwavering desire for truth and his absolutely brilliant mind. The hours they can spend talking remind her of that man often. They spar as they always did, laugh like no time has passed.

She delights in the side of him that is at peace with the mundane. He likes filling her drawers with clean scrubs, and working in the yard until he returns smelling like freshly cut grass, and giving her drafts of his paranormal mystery novel.

Uncensored honesty is their biggest challenge. It would be so easy to never discuss what plagued them in the past. They finally get to air their fear, their guilt, and their grief. Scully thinks she and Mulder come out better on the other side.

Mulder leads her to the quiet corners of the world, using his freedom to finally venture off his little property. They luxuriate in the Bahamas shortly after their first night together and they start stopping at all the roadside attractions they used to skip. He plans to finally take her to England and show her all the off beaten paths from his youth. She would go anywhere with him.

A beach house in Maine is this weekend’s activity. Scully accidentally leaves her stack of reading on the desk in her office. “I’ll grab them quick and we’ll go,” she promises him, hanging onto the open passenger side window.

“Don’t leave the coast waiting too long,” he teases. “I’m starting to lose my island glow.” She rolls her eyes at him and pushes up on her toes to kiss him briefly.

Though she promises to be quick, Scully still signs into her computer. She printed out the newest articles hastily before an autopsy and notices now that the first ten pages of the article on top are missing. She finds herself drawn to begin reading when she goes to reprint. She pulls out her chair with blind arms, sitting down absently.

She doesn’t realize how long she’s been gone until she sees Mulder enter. “I was starting to think you’d fallen in,” he jokes.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. He brushes off her apology with a wave of his hand, rounding the desk to brace his hand on the back of her chair.

“What are you reading?” he asks.

Case 43-2009. 8-year-old with Brain Scan Abnormalities Presents Potentially Unseen Neurological Disorder.

She breaks her gaze at the screen to bring her eyes up to Mulder.

“We need to find our son.”

[quirkless-and-embarrassed]

Sir Nighteye

Ok, I watched the anime and felt like doing another character meme!

Spoilers for Overhaul arc/season four of the anime.

Favorite thing about him:

I like that Nighteye didn’t allow his admiration of All Might to turn him into a pushover. Such adulation could have blinded him to All Might’s flaws, something Midoriya struggles with, but Nighteye stood firm, spoke his mind, and took action in accordance with what he believed. The way Nighteye willingly, gladly admits to being wrong (about Midoriya and All Might’s decision to fight fate) makes it clear that it wasn’t pride that drove Nighteye away from All Might, but actually principles and genuine concern/panic. Nighteye was happy to be wrong, even though it meant that his failures to change the future were true failures and not simply something out of his control. Knowing this enabled Nighteye to let go of his underlying fear that his quirk didn’t just see the future, it set the future in stone, and he’s able to die peacefully after giving All Might and Midoriya his full, unconditional approval, and after internally apologizing to Mirio for seeing him as a vessel before realizing the error of his ways.

Nighteye presumably awakened his quirk when was four or five, and he was thirty-eight when he died. That’s thirty-four years—he could have used his quirk easily thousands of times, maybe more than ten-thousand—and never once has the future significantly deviated from what he saw. Essentially, his quirk’s been the daily Word Of God since he was five years old. It’s easy for Midoriya or Rock Lock to say, bring it on, I can smash fate; for Nighteye, who has actually tried, it’s a completely different ballgame. He knows what it MEANS to try to change to fate, but he’s determined to try anyways.

I like the balance Nighteye strikes between fierce idealism and calculated realism. Yeah, the narrative often criticizes realism for not being plus ultra, but it’s a quality I like. Nighteye wanted to carefully plan Eri’s rescue and Overhaul’s arrest, but his caution didn’t make him any less committed or passionate, or any less admirable than anyone who would have (tried to) saved her immediately (it’s not like Overhaul would let anyone walk away with her).

I like his hero name. The Sir invokes the honor of a knight, All Might’s vassal, the “eye” is obvious, and “night” because he can see in the “dark”: the future is clear to him. Plus, I like the night/knight pun.

I also like just how gangly, angular, and weird he looks. He has some quality body language with the angle of his head.

Least favorite thing about him:

His stamps…his abs…come on. He doesn’t need to a fantastic fighter. His stamps are a funny weapon to be sure, but it irritates me that they’re as strong as they are. It’s ridiculous that Nighteye could cartoonishly hurl Rappa the way he did, and it was stupid to tear his shirt to show off how ripped he was. I felt like Horikoshi was trying to show us that Nighteye meets the standards of a conventional hero, when he could be just as much of a hero using his brain. At the most, someone like Nighteye, who emphasizes logic and excels at predicting opponents’ next moves, should be carrying a gun like the police.

The tickle machine. Eughh. I could barf at how much I hate it.

It’s also frustrating that Nighteye completely wrote Midoriya off as a “quirkless middle-schooler” who could never become the Symbol of Peace and actively undermined All Might even now that he was finally raising a successor. I can at least respect how upfront he is about it: Midoriya knows what he’s getting into by the time he submits his work study application to UA. But even without that, Nighteye doesn’t trouble me as much as he did the first time I read the manga because 1) I figure Nighteye saw Midoriya when he foresaw All Might’s doomed future, because Midoriya is such a big part of his life that of course Nighteye saw him, 2) Nighteye is aware that they’re working on an extremely tight timeline: All Might is due to die within the next year or two, so picking a baby successor who’s going to need tons of hands-on guidance is a bad move, and 3) Nighteye paid the price for his “quirkless” comment when Mirio lost his quirk, and, despite what he said, it was clear that he didn’t love Mirio less, or respect him less as a hero, because of it.

I like that Nighteye appreciates humor, but his final speech about laughter and smiling, combined with Mirio’s determinedly positive reaction, makes me think that he may not have taught Mirio that it’s okay to be sad, that you don’t need to always smile. That would be a disappointing failure on Nighteye’s part, since the overwhelming pressure All Might feels to be positive+proactive is part of what made him unable to accept Nighteye’s criticism. It also fits with how Nighteye’s inner monologues tend to be more sympathetic than his actual dialogue, so maybe Nighteye should have tried to be less didactic and tell Mirio that he has been Nighteye’s pride and joy, instead of thinking that and giving Mirio a last speech on the importance of smiles and humor. I think he would have been a better teacher if he’d allowed himself to be more sentimental.

Favorite line:

My absolute favorite is in ch137, as he observes Mirio’s guilt from letting Overhaul retrieve Eri and bring her back to his headquarters. Nighteye thinks:

I can’t say whether or not the future can be changed. But we can change the past. How we view the past and interpret it. That much is possible.

It’s an important life lesson, and I like how he inverts the typical, “the past can’t be changed, but you can control the future so that’s what matters” perspective.

I also like it in ch130, when Nighteye berates-slash-comforts Midoriya, who regrets allowing Overhaul take Eri back: “Enough of that arrogant thinking! Haste makes waste. Go after him haphazardly, and he’ll slip through our fingers. You’re not quite so special as to save whom you want, when you want.” Then he elaborates on their plan and finishes with a bang: “The world is not so accommodating that you can act the hero because you feel like it. The cleverest villains out there lurk in the shadows. There will be times when every precaution must be taken.”

One more, in ch161. When he’s on his deathbed, Nighteye looks at Mirio and thinks, In the beginning…I only brought you in as a potential vessel, but you stuck by me, believed in me, and at some point…you became my pride and joy.

BROTP:

Him and Mirio. I love how Nighteye took Mirio under his wing in a half-logical way, viewing him as All Might’s proper successor, only to accidentally raise Mirio as his own successor.

I wish we got to see Nighteye and Aizawa interact more. They’re both the rational mentors who get attached to their kids. It would have been nice to see Aizawa talk to Nighteye about his problem child or about Mirio, or to help Midoriya navigate his relationship with Nighteye, but since Aizawa doesn’t know about OfA and Nighteye was on his way out anyways…oh well.

I’d also love to have seen Nighteye and Hawks interact. They’re connected on a meta level, as the unofficial righthand men of the #1 heroes, and also by the idea of fate. Nighteye’s arc centered on the fact he could see the future, and the future he saw could not be changed. Hawks may or may not know it, but the imagery surrounding him is unmistakeable, and we the readers know that some sort of doom is waiting for the man who goes too fast. Whether Hawks can defy fate or if he’ll be crushed by it remains to be seen (and, like Nighteye, he’s not looking promising).

Hawks takes one look at Nighteye—perfectly pressed suit, pinched, no-nonsense expression and all—and is like oh this guy looks like he’s gonna be fun. Nighteye looks even more tightly wound than Endeavor. But actually, Nighteye actually respects and appreciates Hawks’s cavalier attitude! And though they rarely see each other, since they live far apart, they become friends who mainly swap information and keep each other up to date on villain things. Occasionally Hawks will see something ridiculous, like a meme or something, and send it to Nighteye, and Nighteye follows Hawks on social media and sometimes likes his stuff.

It’d be especially interesting to see them disagree about All Might. Nighteye is such a hardcore fanboy, Hawks professes to not be a fan, the Symbol of Peace is such an important part of how Nighteye envisions the future, and it’d be interesting to hear Hawks’s perspective on the Symbol of Peace and where it fits into his vision of the future.

I also appreciate Nighteye and All Might���s relationship, but like…idk, they got so little time together in canon, I kinda prefer to think of it as a dead brotp. Even if Nighteye had survived, I would kinda want his relationship with All Might not to be very close, because even though they weren’t angry anymore didn’t mean they could pick up where they left off.

OTP:

Hmm…not really anyone. I haven’t read much Nighteye fic. There is this one touching soulmate AU where he and All Might both bear the black symbol of someone who has been rejected by their soulmate…here.

NOTP:

No, not really.

Random headcanon:

One of the reasons he reacted so harshly to Midoriya as All Might’s successor is that when he foresaw All Might’s death, he also saw Midoriya. Midoriya’s failure to protect All Might from his gruesome death revealed him as an unfit successor, and he believes if he can remove Midoriya from the equation, then he will have changed the future.

Nighteye helped All Might track down AfO to avenge Nana, and he felt partially responsible for All Might’s injury in addition to fearing that his quirk set All Might’s future in stone.

Nighteye used his quirk on All Might between surgeries, because he couldn’t stand not knowing whether All Might would survive his wounds from AfO or not. He should have stopped when he saw All Might survived, but—he’s such a fanboy, and he saw that future!him was terrified and arguing with All Might about something, and he knew immediately just from the expression on his own face that he’d foreseen All Might’s death. He couldn’t resist looking ahead to find it and learn how much time All Might had left.

…part of me thinks that the reason Nighteye’s foresight was wrong about Midoriya’s death was because Eri also has a time-related quirk, and there was nothing Midoriya really did to change fate. Which would be sad, but. Yeah.

I’d like to think that Nighteye had a really wacky, judgmental cat with a questionably funny name. It sat on top of the fridge and looked down on him when he came home late. After his death, it becomes his agency’s cat and harbors a dangerous grudge against Bubble Girl’s aromatic bubbles.

Unpopular opinion:

It seems like plenty of people dislike him, so…I like him? He’s not even close to one of my favorites, but still.

Even though I like him, I was surprised to discover he was dead—I forgot he died, so I guess his death scene didn’t leave an impression on me. Looking back on it, I think it’s a nice enough scene, but at the time I was probably too exasperated by the overhaul arc as a whole to care much.

idk, I don’t see people talk about him much.

Song I associate with him:

uh…um…well……there isn’t really any music I associate with him. Here are a few songs that are very loose associations, I guess.

Darkside of the Sun by Tokio Hotel reminds me of how All Might’s public persona has taken over his identity, and Nighteye is seeking to save his life by retiring his persona.

Carry Me Down by Demon Hunter has the line “I know the pain inside my heart / can’t break the fear inside of yours,” which reminds me of Nighteye’s grief can’t persuade All Might to confront the reality of his imminent death, plus other stuff in the song about unspoken regrets and death.

And last, Turns to Dust by Sound Surfer and Nilka reminds me of Shigaraki (for obvious reasons), but I think it also speaks to Nighteye’s fear of his quirk.

Favorite picture of him:

Ch126 – Nighteye’s glare when Midoriya mimics All Might’s smile! He sure is intimidating 😂

Episode 75 – This moment did nothing for me in the manga, but it was genuinely moving in the anime. The voice acting and music <3 

I’ve also done Todoroki, Bakugo, Uraraka, Endeavor, Amajiki, and Shinsou!

[mariahstangl]

**Silent Tears**

My heart cried out all the time a scream echoing in my body. One that couldn't let itself out without letting lose a torrent of emotion. My eyes don't tear, but that doesn't mean my heart doesn't cry. My advice to you is if you’re sad then just cry. It will make you feel good.

Everyday I will go to school and pretend to be okay even though I am not. The axe forgets, but the tree remembers. I know that it is easier to pretend everything is okay. Sometimes, faking a smile is easier than explaining why I am sad. I’m lost in the nightmare that I call myself. Am I broken and flawed? Do I deserve a shred of worth like very one else?

It is better than admitting my heart aches at the thought of losing something that didn't belong to me. I can't help but feel my depressive emotions. Am I just another lost cause?

I wanted to die for so long, because everyone hated me and who I was. I’m too far gone and nobody can save me now. Will you spare me a little kindness?

Oh doesn’t really mean oh. It means my heart got ripped and crushed into millions of pieces, but I won’t tell anyone about it. Nobody would care anyway.

I wasn't myself for months and nobody noticed. I'm banged up mentally. The worst part about having issues is you have to have a breakdown for people to understand how hard you are trying to hold together. When did I become like this?

Everyday I walk outside with a little smile on my lips, because that is who I am. You can’t see the monster I have become, because I just smile. It is like you would catch someone if they fall. It is like throwing a rope to help them, but they refuse to grab hold. I go out of my way to make others feel special, because I understand feeling worthless.

Sometimes I would stare at the wall wanting to cry, but no tears would come out. Their words in my head are like knives in my heart. I could feel my heart breaking to pieces. People always tell me to follow my heart, but I don't know which piece of my broken heart to follow. I'm tired of living lies. My soul is tired.

I hate that they took the light behind my eyes. That I am not welcomed back with open arms. That my soul isn’t recharged like before. I am tired of everything. I have no hope. Why do I need hope? It’s one step towards disappointment.

I don't want to look in mirror and cry. The mirror is my best friend and my worst enemy. It never laughs when I cry. I'm tired of being me. Now as I walk along the halls in high school, I am called emo and pushed and shoved.

I am surrounded by people, but I still have no one to talk to. School teaches you everything, but loving yourself. I guess that is just how it works. We eat lies about life when our hearts are hungry.

It also doesn't help that I am as straight as a rainbow or a circle. That doesn't matter, because all I experience is bliss. Today I would die and nobody would care. Nobody cared before when I started hurting myself, so why would they care now?

Sometimes, when I say “I’m okay” I want someone to look me in the eyes and hug me tightly saying “I know you aren’t okay.”

Nobody would come up to me and want to tell me something interesting. Nobody would miss me. That was the only thing I knew for sure. I am afraid to be happy, because something bad always happens.

Being afraid keeps you far from your dreams. At least, I learned something from my suffering. Maybe I build walls to see who cares to break them down. To see who still wanted me alive.

Strength is what we gain from the madness we endure and sometimes survive. My friends believed I was so strong for dealing with this everyday. They would always ask why I was so panicky when people raised their voice. Never knowing it was because of my home life.

I watched my friends, leave my life. The worst pain is getting hurt by a person you explained your pain to. It became obvious very early on that they couldn’t handle the honest answers when I gave them. It’s hard to trust others when all I have is reasons from the past that say why I shouldn’t.

The worst part is I believed I deserved it. I don’t even think they liked me anyway. It hurt so much, because I would never have done that to them. You don’t really know the fury of something that seems so gentle until it hurts you.

I wear my scars as my best attire when going out. They are a stunning dress all over my body covering every inch of skin and making me different. Different enough that nobody even cared.

They used to love to see pictures of me when I was little. I hate seeing those pictures. All I see is a confident and carefree girl who believed she could take in the world and shed no tears.

Sometimes, I ask myself what happened? What happened to that little girl? That sad and empty feeling is all I can remember. I only remember waking up and hoping to go to bed again.

Where did it all go wrong? I suffer and watch as she is taken hostage. She is so far down that nobody can rescue her. She is wasting away and nobody can do anything. I wanted to talk about it so much. I wanted to scream, yell, or shout about the injustice. But all I can do is whisper “I’m fine” over and over.

I sit in my room every night and cry myself to sleep. I am always looked over unfairly and I pretend that it doesn’t hurt, but deep down I know that it hurts like being stabbed. Once I had a light in my eyes and hope in my eyes. I miss me.

The bright and smiling me. The laughing me. The me that is gone. I could feel myself changing. I stopped laughing the same and smiling the same. I miss those days when my smile was real not fake. I’m so tired of everything. I wasted my life fixing problems that my own head made up. If my eyes could show my entire soul people would start to sob when they saw my smile.

If you see the girl that I used to be, will you tell her that I want her back? The future’s certain and sometimes I wonder what would be like if mine didn’t fade away like I wanted it too. I’m sick of crying and way too tired. Tired of trying to keep a smile on my face when I am dying on the inside.

I wouldn’t be a hero in the end. The bravest thing I ever did was continuing my life when I wanted to die. You don’t know real pain until you’re staring at yourself in a mirror. You beg yourself to stay strong for a little longer. That is real pain. Time will never break my heart, but it might help with all the pain.

Every tear falls for a reason and I hope that others don’t stop believing. When I’m broken into a million little pieces, will my life be able to be put back together. I would do anything to feel alive again. I’m the master of my own disguise. I may look the same, but I am very far from fine.

The worst is over now and I can breathe again. I don’t have to hold my breath afraid that something would go wrong. No fear would rule over me anymore, because I had no reason to fear anything or anyone. Nobody would scare me more than I already scared myself.

Sometimes I locked myself in the bathroom and cried. I would wash my face and come out like nothing had happened. All this time I was finding myself and I didn’t even know that I was lost. All of us are broken so give a cheer, because we won’t change for anyone. I am broken.

I’ll write one last note and sing one last song before nothing. Don’t be afraid, because I am where I belong. In a world of peace and bliss. Now, I walk around everyday on the verge of tears, and nobody knew that I wasn't okay. They never heard my silent scream or saw my silent tears.

Author’s Note:

I wanted to say something. One of my friends, Amelia, committed suicide, because she didn't think she was worth it. What hurts is we didn’t ever say goodbye. The flashbacks and memories are the hardest. We parted ways and I wasn’t given a warning. We just ended.

Rest In Peace Amelia, because you did your time. If you ever see someone who is having a hard time, I encourage you to talk to them. How do you even breathe without the comfort of their embrace?

I think the reason she felt she was hated is, because she wasn’t really loved at home by her family. Sometimes, people hate you because of the way that other people love you. Better days are going to find you and every piece will find it’s place. No matter how much your heart aches, there is beauty in it breaking.

Remember that you are the love and reason someone lives. There is beauty in everything and everyone. Someone is going to miss you when you’re gone. I know that it is scary how many people think they want to die when all they want to do is start living how they want.

You deserve to be happy. You deserve to know how excited people get when you speak to them differently than the others around them. Don’t ever let others make you forget that.

If the family you were born into treats you wrong remember one thing. Being related to someone doesn’t make you like them. It doesn’t mean that they are family. Friends are the family that we weren’t given. They are true blessings.

I’ll hold her in my heart until I can be with her in heaven. I know what I want to hear when I get to the gates of Heaven. “Don’t listen to all of them. You get to come into here too. You lived for me and not for them. Come and walk with me child. Well done.”

She was a big believer in God. I wanted to say that she wanted to meet the Lord sooner than expected. She is in heaven. Her life didn’t fall apart. It fell into place. I want everyone to know that they are worth it. Sometimes it takes an overwhelming breakdown to have a breakthrough. God made her heart rest even though it is heavy in my chest.

If love could have saved her she would have lived forever. If you are thinking about taking your life please talk to someone. I am always free to talk. I can’t promise things will be better, but I can promise that I will never leave.

**The Dead Are Never Forgotten**

How do I write a well structured story, when my life is absolute chaos? Don't know, but I am going to try my best. I lost a friend, Amelia, to suicide and I love writing about her. She was such an inspiration to me and I know that she is still with me. I met her online and found out we used to go to the same daycare center. I didn’t even know her then. I believe that we only see the darkness and shadows, because there is a light shinning on them.

We were both being bullied and we connected. I learned that she had anxiety and depression. I have social anxiety, so we would always be there to calm each other down and to talk. Just because I let he go doesn’t mean I wanted too.

She always had a rough childhood. Her parents were divorced and she really took care of her 2 siblings, because her dad drank a lot and her mom was always out. He physically abused her and her mom was nice sometimes.

Amelia dealt with a lot of verbal abuse. It was hard on her. I loved talking to her, because she understood and I loved listening to what she told me. I felt honored to listen to some of the stuff she would tell me.

It really took trust to tell me all the things that she did. She always told me the only thing she refused to do was raise her kids like her parents. It’s really sad that she will never have kids like she always wanted. She was a kind person who always asked about the person who is alone. She always talked to them. She didn’t want them to feel alone.

There’s something about her that I just can’t explain. It made me want her in ways that I can’t even describe. I just wanted to listen forever and not care about anything else.

She wanted to raise kids so differently than her parents. No hitting and no verbal abuse. No nothing. Just raising them right and she wanted them to be able to tell her anything. To just be comfortable with her. She would do everything different from her parents. No drinking, no drugs, no smoking, no anything. It was beautiful.

I always imagine her looking over my shoulder as she laughs at something dumb I said. It is a good reminder that I am never alone. Never by myself. I know that there is always somebody who wants to hang, because they love to hear stories.

Every time I asked her which abuse was worse she would always say verbal. These were her exact words when she texted me: “I believe the verbal abuse is worse. Sometimes the words leave more of a scar than the physical abuse. Physical wounds heal, but verbal ones don't. Sometimes I fear falling apart.” I tried to help, but it was hard.

I could only listen and try to give advice. I didn’t understand her depression. I can’t really understand something unless I deal with it.

One day she texted me crying talking about how much she wanted to die. I texted her for an hour trying to convince her not too. I was almost afraid to go to sleep, because she had seemed so fragile and I wanted to help.

One of the pieces of advice that I gave her in that conversation was: “Just remember that storms don't last forever. You crying doesn't make you weak. You are crying, because you have been strong for too long.”

She always got into trouble for crying, because she would sob loudly and her dad hated listening to her cry. I have had similar problems and I understood that. I hoped we could talk to each other throughout our high school years complaining about homework and how many chores we had to do. What would this world be like if she survived to adulthood?

I remember the memes and the crazy conversations we had. The ones where nothing made sense and we both just went crazy talking about nothing important. The laughs that we shared and the memories. The edits I made to her stories and the ones she made to mine.

Sometimes, I long for one more mistake or just another hour to talk. Just another yesterday and sometimes I wish I could trade in all of my tomorrows for just one last conversation or one last day together. How does one move on when a close friend is gone so suddenly? How do I stay strong in front of everyone when inside I am falling apart?

She was really funny and kind. She could help me feel better if I was having a bad day. On the other hand she also had a different side. One that very few people ever dealt with. She texted me one night at 2 in the morning. I was sleeping, but I could feel my phone buzzing. I picked it up and she had been texting me for 15 minutes before.

Amelia was talking about how much she hated people and the world. When I asked her questions, she wouldn’t answer them. I sat and watched as she texted me. Sometimes, you just need a good rant. One thing she said really caught my eye. She said “Don't consider my kindness as my weakness. The beast in me is sleeping not dead.”

She was talking about how her dad had hit her again and how she wished people were nice and nobody would have family issues. I agreed and thought about all of those people suffering just like she was. Even I suffer silently. I don’t want to be sad she is gone. I want to just be happy she was here. She deserves someone who stayed. Remember anyone can rebuild from ruins.

She once said to me, “I have learned that the best way not to get your heart broken is pretending like you don't have one.” It really stuck with me and I sometimes think back to that conversation. It was one of our last. It scares me how much can change in a matter of hours.

Things happen and sometimes I wish time would stop and just give me a small break before something new happened. She was a great writer. She wrote stuff and I published it in my book on Wattpad. It was in her ideas and she never finished it. I wish she had.

Some people said she wasn't really gone. I knew they were just trying to convince themselves. Perhaps it is easier to smile and pretend that everything is fine, rather than admit that my heart is a little swollen from losing something that wasn't even mine. She wasn't even mine. I know that most people will forget about her after a little while, too consumed in their own lives to care. I miss her.

This family will always remember. Maybe not her parents, but her siblings will. Every time she isn't at a birthday or Holiday. They will look at her spot and remember her as a good sister and a smiling face. They will always remember and so will I. I felt nothing and yet everything at once.

I felt hollow and empty. People die everyday. Sometimes that smiling face is on the person you least expect to be. That smile will light up a world and the tears will bring down the entire world. What do I do when the distance is so big and wide?

I loved it and it was a way to remember her. I sometimes think about texting her about my day and I just stop right before I send something. I remember the sad truth. The one where she won’t answer anything and her phone still sits untouched by her. I know that she is in a better place of no pain and happiness is everywhere.

She was a beautiful young woman with the most amazing smile. It could light up the world. She hid all of her problems behind her smile. She hid a world of pain and hurt. Some people think they knew her, but they really didn’t have any idea. Not even I did.

Amelia believed that everyone should do what they could. Nothing more and nothing less. She taught me to do better all around. The way she lived for God and didn’t want this world. The fact that she would rather stand with God and be judged by the world than stand with the world and be judged by God. I’ll admit that I can do better all around and I should’ve done better when I was with her in this world.

She was kind with her words, because she knew how much some words feel like a whip. I wrote this a few days before I wrote silent tears. I had writer's block for three weeks after her death. I couldn’t write at all. It was terrible and I wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong. June 2, 2020 will always be a hard day. I can’t deny that. I know it will get better over time.

Here it is:

“I believe in something that no one else believes in anymore. I believe in the rainy season. I believe that your life is mostly sunny, but sometimes you get snow and rain. It makes the mood darker and everyone is afraid of what will happen next. That is what makes a rainbow so special to me. It shows that the rain (pain and sadness) is going away. That once more sunlight will rule. Not forever, but long enough to know that it is still out there. You may hear about all the bad, but there still is good in this world. You may not see it, but it is there. Waiting for it's moment to shine.”

I was really proud of this, because it was the first thing I had written. It was really hard and I felt like it wasn’t okay that I was still alive and breathing and she wasn’t. I wasn’t myself and nobody noticed for a few days. People started to notice and I finally said something.

My aunt encouraged me to write about it. I did and it felt really good. I felt as if I could finally breathe after holding my breath for so long underwater. That first breath that feels so good. I miss her. She will always be in my mind and I will forever have her favorite song in my head.

Her favorite song was Well Done by The Afters. I love it and I sing it when I think about her. I wrote a part in my book called Alignment. The last part goes like this: They cheer as you become a star watching as others follow in your footsteps.

They pat you on the back saying “Well done. This is where you belong. You are home. You made it. Guide others and watch as they make it up here too. Because when the stars align, something magical happens.” The end is loosely based on this song. I hope that she is living peacefully.

My favorite worship song is O come to the Altar by Elevation Worship. It is a really good song that shows the love of God and I sing it to remember everything and let it go. It is a song I listened to while writing this. I know I have been changed and I know it is for the better. I know that I will always have her with me. I sometimes wonder if we ever thought about each other at the same time.

I always wish to talk to her just one more time. I don’t know how I would even start. Maybe with hello or you can’t leave me again. >Dramatically sobs< I kept everything inside my head and didn’t say anything. I wish I said something when I thought about it. Maybe, I would say “Don’t be sad. I know that this is hard, but don’t let it beat you up. Just keep fighting.”

I would want her to know that I loved her laugh, and I wanted to hold her high and take away her pain. I wish I had a few more moments to try to convince her to stay. To just talk through it. I may have been able to help. That still haunts me.

I hope that others will talk to me and maybe I can help save them. I may not have been able to save her, but I can try to save them. Their lives matter even if they don’t believe it. I hope that someday, I will meet someone whose life has changed.

Someone who’s life was changed by another person that stopped them from harming themselves. I can smile and talk about her. You are what you love, not who loves you in return.

Talk to them and see their story. I can see what an impact one person can make on another. I hope that they will go on to help someone like their old self. The more people that are saved, the more people can save another person. All lives matter. I believe that if the people at school were kinder, more people would be saved.

Just because you don’t look like somebody that you think is attractive, doesn’t mean you aren’t. Flowers are pretty, but so are Christmas lights. They look nothing alike.

More people would live. They wouldn’t end their lives and nobody would be left with that empty hole that you feel every time you see two friends laughing at a meme together. I want human kindness to be a usual thing. Where it isn’t a big thing when one person is being nice or doing something good. A world where that is the normal. Don’t you want that too?

[insane-control-room]

The Sketch

Chapter Five, Segment Four

Full chapter on Ao3 here 

Previous - Next

I will not.

“Never!” Johan gasped. “I won’t!”

It was not the first time he and the ink machine had gone through this exchange, now. 

The torment of his flesh being torn apart, and then the soothingness of his body’s afflictions washing away as the pipes whispered to him promises and threats, then the pain returning as Johan refused, again and again.

He lost track of how many times the same words passed between creator and creation, he stopped counting the dizzying amount of injuries, he only waited for the void to claim him.

But the pain kept him drilled into the life he was so alone in.

He screamed as he felt his leg break in another place, a jagged pipe slamming into it and tearing at the weak meat beneath taut skin. Sometimes the pain was so great it made him black out. Sometimes his stomach heaved and he wanted to vomit, but the ink machine made sure he did not. And other times, he saw a glimpse of one of his loved one’s faces in his flickering vision, and it gave him strength to push forward, to move on. He was not his body, he was not the weakness of his mortal frame. 

Joey, please, we can work this out, soft coos were juxtaposed by the snapping of his joints into the wrong directions. The ink in his body tore it apart, far too slowly, so each and every nerve in his system was alight with the blazing agony. I can heal you….

“You’re the one who is r-rippin’ me apart like a dog in the first place,” Johan snarled, earning for his insolence naught but a broken rib that pressed against his lung sharply. Johan’s head, which had already been subjegated to a vast amount of torture, lolled on his gashed neck. One of his eyes was swollen, covered in blood, the red of his iris blotted out by the red all around it. His body felt used and useless, and air rushed from his throbbing lungs. “G-God….”

Yes? the Machine answered teasingly, sweetly, the pain subsiding for but a moment, and Johan groaned. He was running out of time, that he knew. His shirt was no longer white, his pants no longer light greenish grey, everything around so visceral maroon and bloodstained, his hair, body, and clothes streaked with gore. He felt his head pulled upright by freezing pipe work, and he shrieked as the skin of his neck was torn even more. The muscles beneath spasmed and ripped ever so slowly, like a smoldering bit of caramel dripping between two tines. The windpipe and esophagus within pulsed as he swallowed blood and screamed prayers. Your body is fascinating… there are so many unneeded parts. If only that skin there was gone, it would make it so much easier to see all the things that make you tick, Creator.

He was torn apart, completely and utterly, the knuckles of his fingers bent at all the wrong angles, his head throbbing in pain, each of his vertebrae pulled at least an inch too far from where they should have been, his hips burning with the exertion of remaining on his feet. 

God, he was tired.

Give in, Creator.

The tears that dripped into the wounds on his body stung and burned. Everything about him ached, and he was so very tired. His shoes felt slick with the amount of blood and sweat that pooled within. Twice he had already thrown up from the maiming, the third time only heaves of his stomach trying to force bile out of him, nothing forthcoming. 

Relax.

Mercifully, he was laid down in the wet puddle of his own blood, staring up at the blank ceiling of sky, blackness surrounding him, the hissing whisper of the pipes the only sounds, coupling far too intimately with his panting breaths. 

I love you, you know, Creator.

Joey sobbed as pipes that snaked to his chest tore his shirt open. He wished the poisonous words would ebb out of his hearing, but the whispers were in his ear, into his mind. The broken rib protruded in the husk of his skin at a vomitrocious angle, and Johan felt his stomach clench, yet nothing was within, and so he merely teared up with the nigh overwhelming pain. His good eye closed, and he tried to let himself drift away, the void so sweet and calling, filled with friends and family and the entire universe, and he longed to join them. The pain kept him there, kept him grounded, and refused to release him. The axe swung over his chest, cutting precisely over his sternum, slicing that area of skin in two, revealing his frantically quivering flesh beneath.

I want to see how you function when you are so broken, so flawed.

The instruments Henry often used to conduct his own experiments on Johan appeared in his flashing vision. Yet they were never used to hurt him, not once, they were used to see and calculate and… love. They were used for good, used to make sure Johan was doing well.

Not what the machine had in mind, for certain.

The scalpel swept into his sight by the ink, and he felt the icy tip of the metal prod and poke at him, he hissing and wincing as the broken ribs were shoved around places they did not belong.

He could feel the cold air hitting his lung, and the wrongness of it all swelled and took over his emotions. He sobbed and cried out again, weeping for Henry, babbling like a madman as the wounds of his flesh proved too much for his mettle. But he would not give in, not here, not now, not ever. 

Give up, Joey.

“You’ll have to carve the words f-from my lips,” Johan’s spittle tasted coppery, and he registered the blood soaking his throat. In a strange, twisted way, he was grateful for it. “I’ll never say ‘em, I won’t g-give up.”

But your heart has.

Johan’s head was tilted so he would be forced to view the damage wrought on his thin and weak corse. With it being nearly detached from his neck, the machine was able to show him much more of the damage than had his head been fully connected to his shoulders. 

His legs were shattered. His hips were sore and cracked. His gut had been stabbed, fluids dripping from the crevices in the flesh. His lungs heaved, ribs broken and moved out of place, fingers twisted all wrong as well, elbows snapped out. Looking at his fingers with the detached eyes of someone looking at another’s pain, and not his own, he noticed how they were torn apart along the lines of his scars. Everything about him was shattered, ruined, broken. A broken toy, to be tossed aside when it no longer sparked the same wonder. He swallowed, and the frigid air on the exposed inner workings of his gullet caused him to cough, blood dribbling out of his lips.

Johan could see his fluttering heart through the gaping hole in his chest.

He could see the ink smothering it, the ink running through it, the ink, the ink, the… in… ink….

His head fell back, and he cried out as the sensation of falling, twisting in the air and plummeting down, down, down overtook him. He no longer was in the studio, was he? He did not know where he was, and he doubted that he would be able to tell, his thoughts so painfully muddied and messy.

A sigh filled his mind.

Was it his own?

“Poor soul… come rest.”

His eye, the only eye he could open at the time, pried itself to see the source of the words.

A rush of air passed through his lips, barely able to speak.

“H-h-hun’o’ar?” 

The entity reached toward him, and he flinched away in fear. Even if it was the guardian, the destroyer, he still was too battered to do anything but fear.

The large hands passed through without touching him, and he remembered… void… code… being hollow… and tired… so very tired….

“‘m tired,” he wheezed from his torn lungs, even as he shook with clawing coughs. Tears slipped down the corners of his eyes. “B-but w-won’t give up. Can’t… can’t give u-up.”

“How I wish to comfort you…” the being’s words seemed hazy in Johan’s thundering ears. “But I cannot reach you. Life still holds you.”

“I know.” Johan’s voice was nothing but a hollow spark of air. “I know.”

He returned to himself in his blood, his eye creaking open.

The foul stench of gore penetrated the air, and he was glad that there was nothing to eat for the past year, else it would smell all the worse.

Had he died? 

The ink in his body kept him alive even as it had killed everything in the realm of life.

There you are, I thought I lost you.

The whispers seemed all the more dangerous, even more haughty and sharp.

Johan was picked up by pipes, the metal beams careful not to tear his already broken body any more than it already was maimed and fractured. 

“C-can’t you let me die, in p-peace?” Johan nearly grumbled, wishing he were with Huntokar. He sent a quick askance to God for the messenger's help the words of prayer on his lips and heart. Johan licked his lips to continue talking. His whole body felt so icy cold, like he had been dipped into a vat of dry ice. “Or are you too d-dependant, huh?”

Johan’s figure gave a painful electric jolt, a scream echoing through the air in his anguish.

“Coward!” Johan cried out to the air. “Show yourself, y-you bitter and twisted beast!”

He felt his unnaturally stretched back arch, but the pain was already gone, he could feel nothing.

“Unneeded! Clanky! Bulky, grotesque!” with each shout of reproof, the pain grew less and less. “You monster with no k-kindness! Overbearing load of tripe!”

Soon Johan was able to stand alone, his own pooling blood sticking to his feet, his hand pressed to the wall for balance. 

His body was maimed and broken, but his soul was even brighter than ever before.

He stood tall and proud, smothered in gore, tears all over his thin frame, so thin that if he were to fall he would shatter along those breaks into millions of pieces, and yet he stood.

“I will never give up!”

[fortunatelylori]

Thoughts on Otis Molyneux

I hesitated somewhat before making this post because the fandom seems to have settled on Otis being “a good man who made one terrible mistake” and who am I to rain on anyone’s parade?

Inner goddess: A very opinionated woman … that’s who … No one keeps baby down!

Well … since you put it that way …

My very first meta on Sanditon revolved around the idea that this show is Andrew Davies’ homage to Austen’s entire body of work. And since I discovered a very interesting link between Otis and one of the more misinterpreted Austen characters, I couldn’t resist. Particularly since every time I read a remark on Otis, I end up going:

He is a most fortunate man! Everything turns out for his own good! He meets a young woman at a watering place, gains her affections, she consents to an engagement! He treats her abominably, she bares it like a saint! His aunt is in the way, his aunt dies! He has used everybody ill and they are all delighted to forgive him! He is a most fortunate man indeed!

Emma is perhaps Jane Austen’s most transgressive novel and, while it is not my favorite (that’s Persuasion in case anyone was wandering), I think it’s the clearest indication of her genius. In Emma, Austen not only spoofs herself, as the old maid Miss Bates, but also pulls off a master stroke in concealing her villain, Frank Churchill, not only from the characters but also from the audience.

Austen villains are usually charming, fun and attractive, most of the time far more so than the hero that will eventually win the heroine’s heart. What Austen does with the likes of Wickham and Willoughby is show that superficial charm and a pretty face are poor substitutes for substance, integrity and a value system.

In order to drive that point home, her villains usually suffer a fall from grace: Wickham gets exiled to Newcastle (the degradation!) and is stuck with Lydia for the rest of his life; Willoughby gets ousted by his aunt, told off by Eleanor and publically canceled by Mrs. Jenkins.

Whatever it may be, all of her villains suffer some consequences (even if it’s just not getting the girl as is the case for William Elliot in Persuasion). All except one: Frank Churchill. As Mr. Knightley’s frustrated speech above shows, Frank is so fortunate that by the end of Emma, he gets everything he’s ever wanted and everyone continues to love and cherish him as if nothing had happened (with the exception of Emma and Knightley).

And because the characters move on from his betrayal so quickly you can barely get a glimpse into their POVs, so does the audience. By the end of the book, most of the readers are as pleased with Frank as the people of Highbury.

I can just imagine Jane Austen cackling with joy at our silliness.

Just because there are no consequences for Frank and because all ends well despite his efforts to the contrary, it doesn’t follow that he should be absolved of responsibility. For all his professed love for Jane, Frank involves her in an imaginary extramarital affair, flirts with Emma in front of her and ultimately humiliates her at the picnic. For all his friendliness and affability, he is less than generous to his father, uses Emma for his own motives and is secretly chopping at the bit to see his aunt, the woman who raised him, dead so he can inherit her fortune. Despite what his endgame would suggest, Frank Churchill is an immature, selfish man who is used to getting his own way with little thought or care about how that might hurt other people.

Which brings us to Otis “I fell in love with your soul” Molyneux.

But, but … I hear you say … Fortunatelylori, he did suffer consequences. He lost Georgiana!

To which I say don’t bring out the pity parade just yet. Because in losing Georgiana, Otis’ actions are reduced to an unfortunate youthful indiscretion by the characters (Georgiana and Charlotte) as well as by the people watching. Because he shed some resigned tears and spoke prettily about how much he loved Georgiana’s soul, everyone is “delighted to forgive him”.

But just as with Frank, is his love for Georgiana enough to absolve him of his wrongdoings? Should we cheer for their potential reunion or think she deserves better, the way Mr. Knightley thinks about Jane? And while we’re on the subject, what are Otis’ crimes? He clearly never meant to cause Georgiana’s kidnapping so what’s the big deal?

What gets lost in Charlotte’s “you are insensible of feeling” rebuke of Sidney is that Otis isn’t a victim of circumstances nor is him honestly being in love with Georgiana a get out of jail free card. Otis is a gambling addict who has amassed debts so vast that the man who is trying to collect them resorts to kidnapping a teenager to get his money back. And that’s just one guy he owes money to.

Does he love Georgiana? Yes, in his own way he loves her just about as much as he loves losing money at cards. What do you think would have happened if they married? Because me thinks Otis would run through that 100.000 real quick while simultaneously loving the hell out of Georgiana’s soul.

Which brings me to Otis’s less than agreeable character traits: lying and manipulation. He lies to Georgiana from the first moment he meets her. Worst yet, he takes advantage of her vulnerability and he encourages her to rely solely on him for emotional support:

Georgiana: I was uprooted. Lost. In despair. Otis restored me to life. Those 3 months were the happiest I’ve known.

That sounds great and all but what happens after he’s gone from her life is that Georgiana feels like she suddenly has no one and nothing. Because her entire sense of self was tied to Otis.

He also allows Georgiana to believe that her guardian is a racist monster who is keeping them apart because of the color of his skin when he knows full well that’s not the case and also that Georgiana needs to have a good relationship with Sidney for the foreseeable future at least.

In order to keep up the charade, he takes active part in poisoning Charlotte against Sidney and very much enjoys playing the wronged party in this whole scenario:

Otis: But then your friend, Mr. Parker, took it upon himself to rip us apart.

Charlotte: However painful that might have been, Mr. Parker must surely have had Georgiana’s best interest at heart.

Otis: Then you clearly don’t know Mr. Parker as well as you think.

 Lying is so ingrained in Otis’ modus operandi that he can’t help himself from doing it even when there’s not even the slightest chance that he can get away with it:

Beecroft: Oh, yes! The famous Miss Lambe! Mr. Molyneux speaks of little else. Miss Lambe this, Miss Lambe that.

Otis: That is a lie! If I mentioned her it was only in passing …

Beecroft: I’m not the liar here. You told me a wedding was imminent. That her fortune was as good as yours. I never would have let him run such a debt otherwise.

Otis: All I wanted was to buy a little time … If I had known even for one moment …

What was that about Sidney not having good reason to keep you away from Georgiana, Otis?!?

Also look at him running the eluding responsibility obstacle course like a pro:

Otis: He’s sold her! The villain has sold her!

Charlotte: What?

Sidney: In return for a promise to buy his debt, she’s been handed to some dissolute named Howard. Even now he’ll be dragging her to an altar.

Charlotte: An altar? But that cannot be allowed without your permission.

Sidney:  No. They have no such laws across the border. There they will marry you with impunity.

Otis: Had you only allowed us to marry!

Otis has gambled himself silly, bragged about Georgiana’s money to the worst possible people, disappeared from public view (he hasn’t picked up his mail in weeks because he’s in hiding from the debt collectors) and his reaction is to put all the blame on Sidney. That is not the behavior of a well-balanced adult. This is the behavior of a gambler who thinks he can talk his way out of anything because he has “game”.

This brings us to his last scene with Georgiana when everything comes into focus. If you really think about it, there is not a single moment during their relationship where Otis isn’t lying to her, including the romantic separation that hit everyone in the feels:

Otis: I’ve gambled. That is true. But whatever they tell you, I never gambled with your name.

Notice how the first thing out of his mouth is manipulative. “Whatever they tell you” i.e. turst no one but me. I’m the only one who is telling the truth so listen to me as I lie my ass off right now.

Otis: I never boasted of your wealth. I boasted of you.

Two lines in and he’s already lied twice. You can actually do a play by play of what he says here and what he says in the Beecroft scene.

And then comes the coup de grace!

Otis: It was pride. That is all! And Lord knows, I have paid for it!

As consequence of his gambling, hiding from his creditors and running his mouth about Georgiana’s fortune, the woman he loves was kidnapped, Charlotte almost got raped and Sidney is however many thousands of pounds lighter for paying off his debts. So bring out the waterworks for Otis, guys! Let’s not forget who the real victim in all of this is!  

Alexa, play Despacito.

Otis lies so much he has ended up internalizing his lies to such an extent that he has turned himself into a victim. His narrative is ultimately rejected by Georgiana, leaving him pained but that shouldn’t fool you into thinking he’s a good guy. Neither he nor Frank are moustache twirling villains but their flaws and the way they allow those flaws to affect the people they supposedly love speaks volumes about their character.

Maybe, eventually, they both grow up. Maybe Frank becomes more selfless and starts treating others with respect. Maybe Otis never gambles again and becomes the responsible civil rights leader he wants others to see him as.

But as things stand at the end of their story line, I, for one, am not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s sadly too late for Jane to pick herself another husband. But I haven’t given up hope that Georgiana will shake Otis off like a spot of English rain.

[goingsllightlymad]

Baby It’s You - Part 2.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x reader, Brian May x reader

Summary: The year is 1981 and Roger Taylor is pretty sure he has made it. With the Game Tour stretching out before him and the band more successful than ever, he doesn’t think that anything can mess up the perfect picture that is his life. That is, until he receives a letter from an astrophysics PhD student studying abroad, and finds himself sucked into her world of secrets and mistaken identities. Roger Taylor is about to find out that his life is a lot more complicated than he ever thought.

Wordcount: 2392 (getting longer!). 

Warnings: I just love Roger Taylor a lot, okay? 

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An hour after Brian had left, Roger was still finishing up. Bags all around him on the bottom step of the never-ending flight of stairs that lead down from their apartment, he was making sure he took as much time as he could. He was late already, so he might as well be later. It annoyed Brian and he knew it - all those threats and empty promises of kicking Roger out of the band if he wasn't get to the tour bus on time weren't entirely lost on him, just had the wrong effect.

With that last thought of Brian's agitated face in mind, and the wonderful mental image of him pacing to and fro in front of the bus the way he probably was right now, Roger dropped off the last of his bags by the door, and made his way over to the little metal letter-boxes with the apartment numbers on the front. He had never really done this kind of dull domestic thing before, truth be told, and it took him a moment to pick out their box from the rows and rows stacked on top of each other. Brian was much more domestic than he had ever been, and on a nicer day he might have admitted that he could not live without him. But this was not that kind of day, and Roger Taylor was not in that kind of mood.

There were the usual parcels and notices - a wedding invitation from one of Brian's friends, a just-saying-hi letter from Tim Staffell like there was every week (Roger never read them but he knew that Brian did), a couple of bills and an advertisement for a recording studio nearby. He kept that one, put it in his pocket to show the others if he ever decided to show up at the bus as he knew he had to soon. And then at the bottom another envelope, small and neat. He picked it up, looked a little closer at the name written on the front in neat cursive script. The right house number, absolutely not the right name. Some guy called Ben, probably someone who lived somewhere downstairs. Probably the new guy, but Roger had no idea which number he was. He cast a momentary glance at all the letter-boxes in front of him, wondered whether he had the time or the patience to go through each one and look for names. True to his character and to the extraordinary number he saw, he did not.

There was a moment or two when he had to stand and think things through. The letter had been sent to the wrong address. But what to do when you had nowhere to send it to? Leave it on the side and hope for the best? Probably not a good idea - he had had a suspicion people were stealing Queen's mail for a while now, best not to put the idea to the test when this wasn't even his letter. Find Ben? God knows how many Ben's there must be in this building, and Roger was finally coming around to the idea that sooner or later he really had to get to the bus or else they might send Brian back to drag him there by brute force. What a comically horrifying thought.

So it was without much internal conflict that Roger slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat, with the advert for the studio, and locked up the letter-box once again. He could always open it and find out who had written it, maybe write back to the address it was sent from, just to explain. He figured they ought to know, at least. And it didn't seem like there were a lot of better options opening themselves up before him. Yes, he would read it as soon as they set off, get something back quickly and have no more to do about it. Or at least, so he resolved as he found his bags again, the thought already fading into the chaos of his mind, the prospect of the tour bleeding through in its place until he had almost forgotten about the letter entirely, standing by the worn front door.

With a final sigh and a grunt as he hoisted his bags onto his back once more, Roger left the building through the front door and made his way finally to the tour bus. It had to leave soon, and he was very very late.

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It was only that night, with the sun long since set and the others recently gone to bed, that Roger remembered the letter. He cursed quietly in the silence of the bed at the back of the tour bus, muttering something about the scrabble they had been playing all afternoon while the bus drove on to god knows where, and tried once more to close his eyes and fall asleep. Once more he was unsuccessful. Eyes closed and breathing slowed, the thought of the address came flooding back into his mind, insidious and unshakeable as a curse. He really had to read it now, because he was getting the idea that he could not sleep if he didn't.

He sat up, pressing his shaking hands against his thighs to steady them as he shivered in the cool night air. For the life of him he could not remember when July had got so cold. Groping around in the moonlight for his coat, he took out the letter from the pocket, straightened it out. Such pretty handwriting for someone who didn't know how a fucking address worked.

Dear Ben...

The silence in the tour bus lasted an eternity while he read, his lips moving gently as he murmured the words back to himself. From time to time he looked up from the page, lips quirking up into a soft half-smile as the words pulled him into their funny little world that he knew nothing about. And yet he had never felt as though he knew someone so well. It was almost too intimate, for a moment he had to stop and wonder if he was really doing the right thing. This was a moment when the curtain was ripped aside momentarily, and through the gap he caught a glimpse of someone else living a life that was so different to his own. He felt as though he were walking into a cinema halfway through a film, picking up a character from all the scraps of words they let him see. He could not look away if he tried.

When at last the words ran out at the bottom of the page, he blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that seemed to have wrapped itself around him while he was unaware. How to tell this girl, (Y/N), that he wanted to, needed to, know more. There was something so addictive about this boring little life she lead, where the pigeons outside her window got more action than her. Roger could never understand what that was like.

Making sure not to wake the others as they sprawled out on the beds along the bus, Roger found the little scrabble table, the pencils and paper they used to score. He took a clean sheet and tried to write.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

I must preface this letter with the sincere apology that I am not, in fact, Ben. Not through some lack of effort of yours, I am sure, this letter was addressed to entirely the wrong person, and has reached myself instead of whoever it was intended to go to. Which is fine - I certainly enjoyed reading your letter, and in fact I should hate to leave this here. You seem to lead such a more exciting life than I do!

I wish I could understand your PhD woes, really, but it is my primary flaw that I was never the most academic of all my friends. If I could do what you are doing, I would, but the problem is I just can't. I fear I would die of boredom and stress from the very get-go, and that would be a rather unfortunate situation for everyone involved, I fear. Still, I have no doubt that, whatever it is you are studying, you are coping brilliantly (albeit complainingly!). It seems I must rely upon you to live out vicariously my dreams of doing anything vaguely intellectual successfully; I hope you do not mind!

You've made me quite frantic just reading about your late night habits, my love! He's probably right, you know - you really ought to get some sleep. One of my mates keeps going on about something like that ("self care" apparently, which sounds a lot like bullshit but it seems I'll be preaching it now like the utter hypocrite that I am) to me, which of course I have never listened to because I have a horrible habit of never actually listening to my mates, but I think you need some of that. Not that you're going to listen to me. Not that you should listen to me. My advice is terrible. Just ignore me, I'm having an internal crisis here.

New York is indeed very... different to what we are used to. I used to hate it there because all I could associate it with was travelling and being away from home, but now I suppose I don't mind as much. I'm more used to travelling now. Not that that's an especially bad thing. New York does have nicer diners, and the accent makes me laugh more than I really ought to. I lose my shit every time someone orders a coffee like that. Good on your pigeons though - maybe not so good on you but good on them all the same. At least they're having a nice time. Well, at least the male pigeon is. And they say romance is dead.

How must you live without a radio? I think I would keel over and die immediately without my music. I wouldn't tell it to my friends (they'd call me a right wuss and I fear I haven't the stability of ego to withstand such a low blow) but I sometimes think my soul is made of music. That band thing sounds interesting! Maybe you should go along just in case - see if you like them. I hear they're fantastic.

Roger didn't comment on the last half of that paragraph. Something in it made him feel like he was standing in someone else's place, reading something he was never meant to see. Something he would never share, because no one had ever said those kind of things to him before. He wondered if that was love, and hoped it wasn't. He'd like to think that he had been loved before, and he knew that he had never been loved quite like this.

You know I have to ask - who on earth are Lennon and McCartney? Please god don't tell me you have half of the Beatles living in your apartment or else I really must find out who you might possibly be. Princess Bride with the Beatles... what a thought. I've never seen it - I think I should have but I haven't. Nothing personal, not really, I've just never been the sort for sappy romance films. All that nonsense about "true love" and "happily ever after", I'd feel like a 9-year-old girl with a crush. It's all just a scam, really. No way that kind of thing isn't all made up. No way at all.

A wedding? Wow, sounds nice. Sorry, I'm just not used to that kind of thing. What do you even say to it? Congratulations on not having broken up by now? Good luck doing the same things you were doing before you got married but with extra legal bindings? I can't wait until you have kids and our friendship becomes second to them? Not for me, no sir. Not for anyone like me either. Just not ideal exactly in this line of work. Think I'll have to stick with being forever alone, eh? But congratulations (or something like that) to your brother and his... spouse.

Thank you again for brightening up my boring little day, and I hope you write again "as you wish",

Anon.

He didn't sign his name at the bottom - he thought perhaps it might be better to let her form her own opinions of him in her own time, instead of telling her straight away. It wouldn't let out his address, he promised himself as he slumped forwards against the table, head in his hands. Now that that was done, he suddenly felt so dreadfully tired, and he knew his sleep would only be plagued by thoughts of this mystery girl. For there was that smaller part of him, deep down in the pit of his chest where he thought his heart must be, that whispered to him that he did not want her to know who he was because for the first time in his life he had found someone who might like him for something other than that name. He found something that might stick around.

There were no envelopes in the van, and he made a quick promise to find one at the hotel the next morning, and send it out straight away, so she got the letter as quickly as possible. To send something to her boyfriend, he thought. And then, to send something to me. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he tucked the letter away in the pocket of his jeans, sleeping in his clothes as he had taken to doing on tour, and picked his way silently back to his bed. 

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It was not hard to see that Roger Taylor had something to hide. Not when he broke away from the rest of the band the minute they had arrived at the hotel, not when he begged for half an hour in his room before they went out to check out the venue, and definitely not when out of the window John caught a glimpse of their drummer rushing off to the letter-box on the corner of the street, in his hand an envelope and in the envelope god knows what. 

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