#i suspect SOMEONE asked him to erase their memories

[nothing-but-paisley]

You ever just think about all the freshly unearthed heartache and bitterness Armand packs into the line "Why did I owe YOUGGh"

[hello-eden]

dead on main #3

destabilized Ellie and Dan are Jason and Danny's kids except Jason gives his permission to help stabilize the two when he's dead and when he's resurrected he has no memories of it.

 Danny and Jason met while he was dead and had a teenage puppy crush sort of thing. The two of them had a lot of things going on with one still being a vigilante in their town and one being recently murdered, So they never really were able to get together before Jason was resurrected. The two of them are from different dimensions and only meet due to the fact that the ghost zone is every Dimension afterlife. 

There is a bad reaction from Vlad finding out that Danny used someone else's DNA to stabilize the kids, Which leads to a very Reckless fight that leads to his parents finding out that the kids are halfas. The parents don't know that he is also halfa so they try to cure the kids. Danny flees To the ghost zone specifically to frostbite to make sure the kids are okay. While he's there Clockwork decides that was the best time to basically tell Danny that Jason's resurrected in his home dimension and that is probably best if he settles down there. Of course because Clockwork is still a menace before Danny goes through the portal he says that Jason does not have his memories of being dead and then pushes him through. Danny sets up his life there with Ellie and Dan.

Plot twist Danny ends up being neighbors to Roy in Star City. Danny is a trans single father of twins that appears to have run away from home due to bad situation. With all the Vigilante scars that Danny has it's a reasonable conclusion for him to suspect an abusive home.

Danny babysits Lian when Roy has missions and Roy babysits Ellie and Dan When Danny does work.  of course not always do their schedules so occasionally they have to call in another babysitter and when that fails we have the Red Hood himself. the unknown father of the twins( not really twins) and the Godfather of the other child( yes I made him The Godfather).

 Danny doesn't instantly recognize him due to the very obvious change. Two of them meet a couple of times through Roy. Danny usually just accidentally stopping in at a bad time before Roy introduces them together and Danny hears his name.

Danny does not tell him that he's the father of the children because one he was dead which means he's going to have to explain what he was doing while he was dead. and two because Clockwork told him he had his memories erased. Danny of course has a lot of feelings about this and Jason instantly gets a crush. Jason occasionally babysits the kids when the regular babysitter isn't working Nor can watch each other's kids because of schedules.

A situation happens with Ellie where she needs to go to the hospital and Jason brings her. this leads to an emergency blood transfusion. The transfusion goes badly and isn't working so Jason asks if his blood will work. It works perfectly. Jason questions for a little bit. Danny, whose phone was broken in  a villain attack two days ago and hasn't gotten replaced, shows up at the hospital after finally being contacted. Jason questioned him a little bit  Danny freaks out a lot which raises Jason's alarms quite High. When Danny's getting some food for Elle and talking to doctors Jason does a DNA test. Jason gets the results a week later when Ellie's finally back home which reveals he is the father. He has a lot of questions about this.

[jolalibrary]

vii. take care of me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut - p in v. reader has a bad day, soft romantic fucking.

word count: 4.7k

an: the biggest thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who read this before bake off and left me a bunch of comments that made me so excited, you almost had this chapter yesterday.

You had seemed downtrodden before he rocked up and ‘broke a rule’.

His pretence at forgetting all quickly seen through, as though he’s transparent. He had wanted to explain that he had only wanted to cheer you up, but you looked less in the mood for an apology than you did an explanation.

So he swallowed both.

From the middle of the week, he had suspected something was wrong. When he had finally managed to call you, you had sounded so close to tears, that he wondered whether he should drive back sooner.

Especially when you had barely laughed at a joke he made on one of his commutes back to the hotel—barely even answering when he asked it if was his movie choice or yours.

I don’t mind. You always mind. If I remember right, you have a real thing about me always pickin’ the movie, querida. Well, I don’t today, okay? You can pick—I—Frankie, I have to go.

When the end call tone flooded the bed of his truck, he’d strongly suspected that you’d fought your way off the phone with him so you could crumble. Cracking yourself open into a bunch of shards, all pressure-cooked by the weight of everything you take on, only to say you’re fine.

It’s why he had driven past your place the day before he had made plans to see you. Fighting with himself about getting out and going up to your door. Weighing up the options as to whether checking on you tonight or waiting for tomorrow would be best.

Then there was the fact he wasn’t sure if it was as your best friend or as someone who hopes for something more.

The lines blurred, practically erased. A speech is likely needed, but he’s as poor with words as he is with owning how he feels, so it’s easier to stuff them down—to drive away, wait.

It’s why he grabbed it to begin with. Why he’d been grabbing them since you put the darn rule in place anyway. A habit, a part of his routine seeing you—a thing he did to show you that you mattered, were important, cared for.

Which is why he’d wrestled with him again on whether to leave it in the car when he walked up to your front door or not.

“You broke a rule.”

You look glum, defeated. Whatever your working week had done to you, it had stolen more from you than you’d been able to—never mind willing to give.

And it fractured a part of him. Made his shoulders sink, his heart sinks—because nothing hurt him more than the look on your face. The one which should be full of smiles and twinkling eyes.

Kissing your cheek, he closes your front door behind him. “I think you’ll forgive me.”

You just snort. Momentarily smothering the sadness that had been there before he’d showed you the bottle—whatever had upset you buried, all of it being quickly hidden as you placed the wine down and picked up your water bottle.

It forces more confusion to swirl inside of him, more so as you begin to go back and forth with him on food, on what he wants to watch, and whether he wants to share a blanket or have his own.

He replies in his usual tone, even if his attention is split into equal parts—one part focused on the little things you do, the mannerisms you’re not aware to pretend. The other on the IKEA furniture he built, the memories pricking him, needling, making the zipper of his jeans suddenly feel uncomfortable over his cock.

“Work been okay?”

Your mouth falls open, all set to answer, but then something shifts in your eyes. A shadow—possibly—it dancing across the plain, suddenly all but desperate to thump its way out.

Then the words never come. Swallowing instead, discarding whatever you'd been about to say—pushing it back before any lingering parts of it are blinked away as you offer a nod.

“Yeah. Yours?” you answer, but your tone isn’t right.

It’s flat, without its usual infliction. There isn't any edge to your words, nor a tease or taunt, not even a Morales in sight. And, the smile you paint doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

It’s practically humming now, the fact something is wrong. It simmers, hanging around, whistling through the air.

Yet, you don’t break, don’t confess it all to him like you had once done with such ease. Instead, you just smear another smile on your face, nudging him, phone in hand as you mumble about food options and what he wants as you lead him to the sofa.

He knows on the surface, it looks the same—how the night is playing out. But it’s different. In all the ways he doesn’t want to put his finger on, and doesn’t want to acknowledge. Not as you order food, not as you chew the inside of your cheek as you wait for the order to be accepted.

Even less so when you mumble about the film, reaching for your remotes.

It's then he decides what he wants to do is take the remote from your hand as soon as you pick it up. Frankie wants to hold your fingers in his, even place a kiss on your wrist. He wants to place two fingers under your chin, and ask you again to tell him what has happened—wanting to be let him in, be shared with.

He wants you close, and not like friends do. A need to have your head to his chest, his fingers sliding gentle strokes against your cheek and neck, offering comfort, providing it in plenty.

His own head turns the options over, planning it out, trying to guess what the various outcomes are. Which, by the time he reacts, instead of managing to grasp your hand, he knocks the remote from your hand with a clatter.

Ears burning, he feels your glare before he truly appreciates it. It ripples out over him before it’s blinked away—a momentary flood of fire licking at his skin.

In the oddest way, it’s at least reminiscent of the person he knows. The sharpness in your eyes is more a friend to him right now than the gnawing going on in his chest. Especially, while the rest of you is lost to whatever you’re trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

“What?”

It’s simple, one word.

Almost feels normal. It's all sharp and layered, just like it usually is. Followed by your body sinking into the array of cushions you decorate your sofa with as you pull up his pick, rolling your head to him—nail-picking at the battery cover on your remote.

And he wants to ask again—just like he always would have done.

Instead, Frankie places his hand on your knee, thumb and index swirling over the cloth-covered bone as you look at the television briefly, before flicking back to him.

In the silence, it’s louder—the whistling. It's suddenly accompanied by the noticeable noise of your brain whirring, your cogs turning.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, but secretly he's pleading, begging.

He watches as your teeth pick at your lip, snuggling yourself further into the couch—knee abutting his leg as you sigh. “It's... nothing. Can we... can we just watch the movie?”

“Hey, of course we can. Is…”

He can't ask.

Fearful of asking. A lump forms in his throat, sticking, thickening second by second as he flicks his eyes over you.

Before you can blink it away, he spots it again. The shift in your eyes.

This time instead of a shadow, they fill with water. They vanish any part of your truth that wished to escape in its drowning. Before he can poke and push, you blink it away as quickly as it had first arrived.

And it needles him, pricks at his skin and stabs into his chest, twisting and twisting and twisting—

“I just… wanted my best friend,” you mumble.

“That it?”

You seem to fight it, whatever it is inside of you, before you curl against his arm again, tugging your blanket up closer. “I really missed you this week, that's all.”

It’s been on his to-watch list for ages, and yet he’s one hour into it and he has no clue what is happening.

The pizza box is still half-open on the coffee table, your plate still remaining with picked-at food that you never really made any dent in, and he blames that as to why he doesn’t even know who the good guy is and who is bad.

Because all of the parts of his brain that usually begin working on undoing and arranging what he thinks will and is happening, are working in overdrive on you.

It's also stopping his heart from hammering even louder down your ear. Because, even if the two of you have cuddled before—lots of times—it's not been post the whole sleeping together thing.

And, it feels nice having you against him, normal, right.

He likes the way your fingers occasionally clutch him a little closer, head turned in the direction of the television and the movie he should be watching.

Instead, he's piecing together the puzzle you've thrown on the floor. The one without the box lid, so no image to compare it to. Trying to assess where you missing him, lines up with the way your bottom lip almost wobbled as you confessed it, as though it was a sin and not a virtue.

Frankie tries to line it up with the fact he knows whenever he's found a moment to himself, he’s texted you. The sea of other unread messages piling up, collecting.

It adds to the knowledge that all of the normal conversation he has with you, quickly derails, slipping into something foreign yet wonderful. Casual phone calls, divert into him with his hand around his cock, listening to you breathlessly say his name and that you wish he was there.

And that somewhere between collecting the sweet noises you make and those innocent-but-not-innocent moments, are the soft moments he has where you’re resting—where Frankie has realised, decided and accepted, that there is nowhere else he likes being.

Not a single place.

Because he wants this.

Frankie wants the calmer person he is when he's around you, the thoughts which are less intrusive. He likes that the rain barely bothers him when he has you in his arms, that he doesn’t even overthink, if anything he just plans. Considering things, turning them over, thinking of a future that begins to sketch itself out and colour itself in.

Something which has been doing so since the time in the car.

Your words rolling and rolling, stitching themselves to other phrases you’ve let slip, until he’s sewing things together to create a gallery, a museum of moments he loves admiring and replaying when the world goes silent.

That's when he notices the movie, the shit-show of a plan formed involving a helicopter, and the words roll from him without stopping.

"That would never fuckin' happen. Not—can you imagine, if I said to you—" and he rambles. Feels himself doing so. So comfortable and at ease more and more things just flow and fall from his lips.

Even when the scene changes in the movie, more bright light than the softer one from before, forcing him to blink—he is still detailing how inaccurate it is. Only slowing to nothing when he realises you’re looking up at him. Hanging on to every word as though he's a poet reading something beautiful.

He feels the way they tracing him then, lightly glazing over all his features as he slowly holds your stare.

Because it’s the kind of gaze he sees in the movies you make him watch. The lingering ones—a blend of both fiery and craving. It all peppered with yearning, and swirling in so much he suspects you don’t want to say.

“You’re going to miss the movie.”

Blinking, you smile. Feeling you flick your eyes from him to his mouth. “Am I?”

Your smile slides further into your cheek, and he can’t help but brush his thumb over it. A dire need to touch you, brush your soft skin and remind himself how you feel.

He doesn’t expect it, but he likes that you curl into his hand. It allows him to trace his fingers along your jaw, down the side of your neck. Half-expecting you to tell him to stop, that tonight isn’t about that.

You don’t.

Instead, your hand cups his against your cheek, staring at him, lit up by the flickering scenes neither of you are paying attention to.

Faintly, blooming out in the shimmer of your eyes, he thinks he sees it again—what he thinks is adoration. It mixing, blending, swirling with care, love…

“Thought you wanted your best friend?”

“I do,” you say, low, just above a whisper, “So, take care of me.”

A second passes as your words drip into the air.

So take care of me.

His eyes flick over you. Likely needing you to say it again, give permission, tell him you want this.

You do. Fuck you do.

Your heart hammering against your chest like a drum because of it. All unable to speak, fearful, fucking petrified, with how much you want him.

Because all you do is want him, and if you speak, you worry you won’t stop telling him that.

Let it fall, leak. Slip out and stain like oil on a sheet.

Because you know it's only normal to miss him this much for one reason, and one reason alone. It's the same reason why you want him, crave him, and feel so desperate for him that you can’t think or breathe. It is all-encompassing, looming, forever there in between the days you don't see him and the waiting on replies to texts.

It’s so close to your tongue, held back only by your teeth.

It could come out, could escape. So you keep your mouth clamped shut. It is better, easier, and less bothersome than telling him you’ve been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could have your hands on him. Not for this, not because he makes you feel good and beautiful and wanted, but because you feel better. Happier. More you. You feel safe, like no bad work day could ever touch you.

“Querida…”

“I want y—”

The rest of your words are swallowed, stolen. Frankie seals his mouth over yours, barely needing a sentence, just enough.

And it’s searing, full of ache as his hands pull you close, your body singing, itching to come alive—has been since the scent of just him hit your nose.

The worst of days doesn’t matter when he’s around you, less so when his lips marry to yours, when he licks into your mouth, when he breathes you in, and you breathe him.

No one else has ever made you feel like he does.

Not the way your feet almost kick out when his message arrives, a smile gracing your mouth without control when he calls you.

Because he’s different, but then he always has been.

There's always been something, it thriving and growing, embedding vines you pretend are just because you're good friends. But you know, you do. It's hard not to.

Frankie saves you, oblivious to the silent plea for rescue—he just knows. He gets you. Understands every inch of you now, you're unsure how anyone else can ever read you as well. He's someone you could confidently rely on, knowing he’d never leave you alone, not even in the dark—forever a light, a way home.

You think you’re that for him too. Hope so anyway.

He moans your name. Kissing you like he never wishes to stop. He acts like he wants to drown in you, be overflowed by you, and fuck you want the same.

Mine. That’s what you want to say.

Instead, you bury it in a low moan when his mouth captures yours, tongue sliding past your teeth as his hands come to rest on your cheeks. Each touch softer, gentler—from the way he moves his fingers over your cheek, to the way he slides them over your jaw, landing on your neck.

Then, his mouth comes to your ear, breath dancing, all flooded with the flickering television—let’s go to your bed.

He doesn’t rip, he peels your layers off, leaving a trail leading right to your room. He smothers your body with his, his palm remaining flat to your spine, leading, hooking his fingers around the back of your neck as he steers you.

Careful, hermosa.

The consideration dripping from his lips like syrup, all adorned in affection, a taste you have to capture, spinning in his hold, hooking your arms around his neck as you pull him flush, close.

“Tell me you want me,” he hisses.

There's an edge that isn’t usually there but it’s pounding now, all sparkling and fucking shimmering.

You’re more sure of it when he lies you back on your sheets, his mouth exploring, taking his time, taking you to the edge with his mouth as you plead and plead—one hand sliding up over the softness of your stomach, as your back arches into him.

And you shudder, so close to your high—hips held down by his arm. “I want you, Frankie. Always want you. Want you inside of me.”

He pauses—cool air blowing over you as he flicks his eyes up from between your thighs, his skin flushes, a light beading of sweat at his hairline as he comes up onto his palms.

Watching him crawl up you, eyes enamoured, unable to look anywhere else even if they were commanded to. Because he’s more than a sight for sore eyes, he is the sight. He’s the best-looking thing you’ve ever fucking seen, clutching his face in your hands, feeling him drag the head of his cock through your slick walls, staring at you in waiting, like he couldn’t believe this is happening.

“Again,” he asks.

Taking your hand in his, he slots his fingers between yours, fitting, ever so perfectly, before he places your conjoined hands above your head. Eyes tracing up and down your frame, more so as you arch into him, hearing the breathed-out expletive as you wait for his stare to land.

“I want you.”

And, thankfully, Frankie doesn’t let you linger on it. Doesn’t allow you to hyper-focus on it, slowly sliding in, pushing in by inch until you’re full of just him—no more of him left that you can greedily take.

“Always take me so well, baby—“

“Frankie.”

You’re breathless. The air punched from your lungs—his hand remaining knotted in yours, grounding, your nails digging into his skin as his other hand finds a place on the back of your thigh, eyes dropping, all fixated on where the two of you are joined.

“Y'so good for me. Always so good for me,” he adds when his hips are flush with yours. “Take my cock so well.”

Letting his gaze return to you, you’re suddenly so grateful for the bedside lamp you’d left on hours ago because now you get to see him. Admire him, so much so, it makes your throat dry.

Able to watch his muscles contort when he moves, lips parting as he slowly cants his hips into yours, all deep strokes.

And, you know it’s still fucking, but it’s also not.

It’s a unique blend of need that feels right, and also wrong—lips messily finding yours, burying confessions as you eagerly swallow them.

Hoping your throat, lungs or stomach could begin to decipher them as you feel his hand slide down your wrist, and arm until it's cupping your face. His lips slide over your cheek, resting close to your ear, whispering compliments. Because he has to tell you that you’re gorgeous, he says; that you're always so stunning.

Each word that lands has more than an effect on you, as he stutters when you clench around him.

Mouth wrapped around an exclamation of his name as he slides out and sinks back into you.

Frankie has always felt big, but from this angle, like this—he’s somehow deeper, filling you more. He's in your soul. It all filthy and romantic and obscene, but it feels so good, makes heat bloom through your hips and up into your spine, it twisting, eroding the bad day, the bad week.

In a sense, he’s the perfect antidote. A person you trust, care for, lo—

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Frankie’s hand slides back to grip yours, pressing it down—lightly against the pillow above you, before placing the other beside it. And he’s enveloped in part shadows and the light from the table, blessed in golden hues, giving just enough to see how wild his eyes are and how deep the brown in them goes, how blown his pupils are.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You feel your cheeks warm, your ears—every bit of skin on show suddenly inflamed because of his words. His mouth lapping at your breasts, all arched into him, hips steadily meeting his.

“Always are, really.”

“Well. You’re handsome, Morales.”

It’s intentional, adding his surname. Taking the softness out of it, removing what you can, and adding barriers and throwing up walls.

He still sucks in a breath, eyes lingering on yours, fingers dropping to brush a line up and down your cheek as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you. You moan as the head of him keeps kissing that part deep inside you.

It’s different.

You know it; he likely does too. Thankful he slants his mouth over yours. Slowly rocking with you, thrusting into you as you murmur his name, it falling enriched in moans.

From the way you both kiss, to the way you keep an arm around his neck, desperate to keep as much of him against yours.

“You feel so good, Frankie.” Your fingers scratch at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel so full.”

Stuffed really. Packed in. Clenching around him, all tightening, purposefully wrapping your walls around him until he groans right into your ear. Each drag of his cock in and out feeling exquisite, perfect, amazing.

It’s never been like this with others, never been like this even with him. His fucked out face, the grunts and groans coming from deep within make your thighs unable to stop their twitching as fire floods up your spine and the way he plunges you in lust-filled brown.

And you clutch his face, feverish from him, quivering, shaking. Burying the words, “So close, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close baby,” against his mouth.

Pressing each letter in, stamping it—ensuring he knows it’s him doing this to you. Making a mess of you. The only person you ever want to make a mess out of you.

It thumping inside of you, hammering—all balled up fists and desperation because you want to tell him. Shout it at him. Paint the walls in it as he paints yours in white.

“Need you, Frankie.”

It’s close to the truth. Barely an inch from it.

“I know, need you too. Need to feel you come around me, hermosa. I need it, please. Please give it to me. Let me feel—fuck—feel you coming around my cock.”

And you hear it, the way he pleads—as well as realise the double meaning. You in the car, whispering words so close to the ones he’s spilling now.

“I will if you stay.”

He doesn’t still, but he does jolt. A hesitation in his pistoning.

Then he drops to his elbows around your face, cradling you, caging you in, as he kisses you—sloppily, messily, sweetly. It’s soft, but also full of heavy moans he wishes to force down your throat. It’s indulgent, a thing you never thought you’d have so now you take as much of it as you can get.

“Course I’ll stay. Never—fuck—anywhere I want to be but here, baby. Nowhere else.”

His eyes fix on you, digging the words in.

And, even if you knew it before, you realise how under your skin he is. How he’s woven in around tendons and ligaments, found a home, left marks against your bones you never want to rid.

You’re sure it’s that and not the words which make everything else mute.

Even if it’s all you can hear. Not the television in the other room, not the headboard clattering against the wall, not the sounds you’re making each time he drags his cock through your walls.

Just his words. Whatever he blesses you in. Your thoughts are all incoherent other than that. All shaky, practically vibrating; all gasping and torturous heavy heat, all unable to breathe and yet never wanting any of this to stop.

His hand slides around your thigh, pulling on your knee, bringing it closer as his grip almost grows bruising on you. He’s deep. Fucking into you so hard, hearing the concoction of his hisses, gasps and moans, before his mouth lands back on yours.

It’s overwhelming. The height you’ve reached, the way your mouth is only able to say his name as you watch him lick his thumb and distinctly feel it slide between the two of you. Finding it. Barely struggling to press the pad of it to your bundle of nerves before you lock up, the knot tightening, almost ripping inside of you.

It fraying from how much you’re fighting it, so close to bursting—

Then he draws quicker circles, all persistent, expertly, and you snap.

It surging, all white-hot, all blistering and mind-melting. You become both light and heavy all at once, your nails finding purpose in his side and your sheets, twisting, knotting to root yourself in this, in him—in how much you fucking love him.

“Fuck, querida—that’s it.”

You can’t respond, can’t even think up a response, but you do yank his mouth to yours. Pressing those three words there, laying them down, as well as thanking him, over and over until you slide your mouth against his cheek.

“Be good for me now, Frankie.”

His eyes flick to you, all ablaze and engulfed in want. And so you nod, knowing he can see it, feel it.

“Look so good, baby,” you add.

The noise is strained that comes from him, all sucked in breath. Then, his hips stammer, convulsing, all strangled, tightly entangled in a mess of your name and fuck.

And you kiss him.

Happily licking into his mouth to taste how delicious his moan is.

You try to fight the way your heart drops when you return from using the bathroom. Biting the inside of your mouth as you see the bed empty, sheets a mess, your throat swallowing back whatever sob wishes to escape.

Because the edges of your happiness crumble, your arm wrapping around the other, bottom lip almost wobbling.

That is, until you feel his hand on your lower back. Your head turns quickly, seeing him there. All hair-wild, and soft smile.

“Water, baby?”

Smiling, you thank him, taking several sips before handing it back to him, watching him do the same. Studying the way his throat bobs as he does, the faint marks of your mouth still lingering there on his skin.

“C’mon,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Let’s get in bed.”

“Oh, but the—“

“I’ve sorted it. Turned it off—folded the blanket, put the plates in water.” His hand wraps itself around yours. “So, let’s sleep.”

All you can muster is an okay. It leaves soft, slightly webbed at the edges from the way it catches on the growing lump in your throat.

It isn’t until you’re curled against him,

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

He lets out a laugh, little and breathy. “More than okay, hermosa.”

Guiding your leg to hook over his. Keeping his body flush as the two of you cuddle. His thumb swipes across your cheek, forehead close to yours as his fingers fan out over your hip, and he presses a kiss to the space between your brows.

You’re pretty sure your heart just tripled in size.

And those three words, the ones which have amassed into a chunk in your chest have suddenly begun pulsing all on their own—a beat completely separate, you find, to the one which pumps blood around your body.

CHAPTER EIGHT ->

[queenoftheimps]

Why I Think The Season 2 Finale Is Gonna Be Even Rougher Than We Anticipate

Something I am increasingly worried about as we approach the Interview with the Vampire season finale:

What if Louis knows that he doesn't know everything? What if that's what he prefers?

Most of the audience suspects Armand was involved in the trial. Daniel definitely does. There's clues already there that this is the case. I've seen chatter online about how next week will, presumably, be when Louis realizes the truth and splits with Armand.

...however. When Louis confronts Armand about his memories of 1973, Armand tells him Louis asked him to erase them. Louis initially pushes back, but seems to accept this.

Except: why would you ever accept that as an explanation -- unless you knew that it's something you would do? Or possibly even something you'd done already?

Armand, as suspicious as he is, has been laying some groundwork that Louis is deliberately taking part in altering his own memories: "The pages we tore out of Claudia's diaries -- we did most of those together!" Which Louis seems to confirm is true.

I think part of the issue is that Louis' evasiveness is being attributed to a desire to protect Armand & continue seeing him as the love of his life. And it may be true to some extent. But also -- I think it's at least partly to protect Louis from the weight of his own guilt over Claudia's death.

Because if Armand is guilty -- if he has been plainly, obviously guilty for decades, if Daniel can catch it from third-hand evidence 70 years later -- and it happened because he wanted to have Louis to himself, how do you even process that? How do you handle knowing that Claudia died a horrific death because of a romance she herself called you out on? After she told you that this man threatened her and you denied it?

Hell, how do you process it when she's condemned by testimony from someone you failed to kill? When Louis tries to convince Daniel that he really did intent to kill Lestat, that Claudia was the one who couldn't burn him, is it because he can't handle feeling responsible for Lestat being alive to testify against her?

Truthfully, I wouldn't really blame Louis for not being able to handle that level of guilt, and we know he winds up spending several years draining drug addicts as a coping method before ultimately attempting suicide. Being able to forget all of it, and forget that you'd forgotten them, would be appealing. (And I think it's noteworthy that Louis only seems to be willing to question Armand about his memories of 1973, which occurred well after Claudia died.)

That said: I have concerns about what this is going to mean for present-day Dubai.

Daniel clearly can tell something is up and is gunning to dig in. But Louis keeps shutting him down hard. ("Armand sold you out-..." "I'm talking now.")

We also have seen what happens when Daniel digs into something that Louis really doesn't want to talk about. When he asks for Claudia's missing pages, Louis deliberately seems to trigger his Parkinson's. When Daniel makes comments about Lestat's letter, Louis starts digging into Daniel's memories of Alice (which also seems to worsen Daniel's tremors, though that may not be deliberate).

So what happens if he starts pushing in on something that Louis has gone to great, deliberate lengths to forget about? Something that ties into the worst event of Louis' life, something he still feels tremendous guilt over?

Raglan James' line about "You fear Armand. You should fear the other one" feels like a shoe that hasn't been dropped yet. I've been pretty steadily predicting that Daniel is going to have some sort of massive medical issue in the penthouse, but I'm slowly wondering if Louis may be what triggers it (possibly by accident). Hell, I even kind of wonder if Armand suspects something like this could happen, which is part of why he's been so adamant about always being nearby, cosplaying as Rashid so he can run in whenever Louis gets upset.

I don't know, I would love for the finale to be as easy and simple as "Daniel helps Louis see that Armand is guilty, Louis dumps Armand". But this show has never been about easy, simple situations so I suspect we're in for a rough time.

[pilot-boi]

White Knight Time Travel idea : People are suspecting..

Jaune and Weiss are at the Vytal Festival , each one with their respective teams , their mission has gone..well.. so far. Even without trying to change so much some things never change like Team CVFY and Prof.Port saving the city or Ruby meeting Penny...

But that doesn't matter compared to the titanic work they would have to do during this specific moment..it was now or never

~Weiss Side~

Ruby:WE DID IIIT!!!!....Anyone esle is starving?....

Weiss listened to Ruby and Blake's chat from the side , each time they have this small moments the more she thinks how everyone took Beacon's days from granted

Having to relieve the fight against Team ABRN made her notice how..unprepared they were ; even herself with her "Competent" perfomance wasn't still not enough to face that monster..

Weiss..

The Grimm entering Beacon..

Weiss..

The Witch's inner circle playing right under their noses..

WEISS..

Pyrrha and Penny along many other students being casualties of the..

WEISSS!

Weiss:W-W-What?!

Yang: Your scroll is ringing , shouldn't you answer it?

Weiss noticed her scroll , the contact named "FATHER"..

Right..her time at Beacon was almost up..

Weiss:I will call him later , thanks for making me know Yang..

The Blonde Brawler has noticed her friend weird..this last few day , she can't say why..but it's there , spacing out of chats most of the time or reacting to certain words like Destiny , Maiden or even mentioning locations like Haven Academy can get her all shaky

Right now Ice Queen is looking at her Sis talking with Emerald and her silent friend like she's trying way too hard to keep herself civil , her face may not show it but that tense posture and hands behind shouted something was wrong

And to say the last person she saw acting this way her Dad after..her Supermom left was all she needed to know , Ice Queen's hiding something and she will find out

~Jaune's side~

Jaune did miss Beacon , the academy.. , but coming right back wouldn't make it any better..quite the contrary it shows him how somethings must remain as memories..

The Vytal Festival just started and the mood seems festive enough for him to enjoy a little. Children playing around , teens being themselves truly a moment to breathe fresh air

Miss : Gather around as I tell the story of the Girl who fell through the World!

Jaune tenses hearing that , it's just a woman reading a story to a bunch of kids..nothing dangerous..

Yet..

He takes a look at his armour , clean not rusted..his face is still young and Crocea Mors is still complete..

Ren: Jaune?

Jaune:W-What?!

Nora: You have been standing there for a while , did the story peak your interest? Alyx's story is a classic! The Curious Cat is my favorite character! So mischevious!

If looks could kill , Nora's smile would have been erased a while ago..

Jaune:That Cat is nothing but troubles..

Nora:What? Don't tell me you are a fan of the Red Prince? Or the Rusted Knight?

Sensing hostility , Ren tried to change the topic..

Ren:Why don't we go with Pyrrha? She's saved us a nice spot in that Mistralian restaurant.

Both teammates agree , Nora leaves because she has won another petty argument..but Jaune seemed so personal about it..The Girl who fell through the World is just a Children's story..why is he so defensive about it?

Lie Ren is someone who can read the room quite well and to his knowledge..there's something wrong with Jaune..

He acts like..an adult sometimes , there's nothing wrong with that but it seems off..

Even their stategies , they are a group of Four , Team JNPR..but Jaune always acts like only Nora and him are part of the team

Ren even hears his silent sobs when he has nightmares , the words "Cinder" "Kill" "Penny" "Pyrrha" is all he has as evidence , trying to make sense of said word it would be something like

Cinder will kill Pyrrha and Penny

That sounded so..dumb , Cinder is a student along her team but he would ask Jaune later right now they have a fight to win

👀👀👀

So many of these WK Time travel asks are from their POV, I LOVE this look into their friends’ view

[fashion-foxy]

You know something that's odd to me? How weirdly the child of the Beauty and the Beast get handled in media. (Obviously, my only examples are EAH and Descendants, but walk with me on this.)

The Beauty is someone who will, for better or for worse, always see the best in everyone. They are kind and good-natured but is usually someone who still holds people accountable for their actions and intentions, not what the Beauty thinks their intentions are.

The Beast is someone who typically does not look past the surface level of a person out of stupidity or willful ignorance. The Beast is also very selfish ,closed-minded , and stubborn. Unfortunately , that means in retellings, the Beast is the only one to go a character arc, and the Beauty comes off as judgmental or too forgiving.

Both characters being foils means that it could be a bit challenging to portray a character that is a result of both of those personalities, but if done right, it creates a very interesting character!

So, what did EAH and Descendants do with what they were given?!

Well, for starters, a bad job, but you already knew that. Let's take a look at Rosabella Beauty and Benjamin Florian No Last Name Given. (Idk most Descendants characters don't have last names)

Rosabella is judgemental, which could definitely actually be a super cool thing that she got from her dad, but based off the fact that she didn't go on an arc and it didn't get presented as a character flaw, I suspect this was accidental. Which is real shame. It would've been a really cool concept to explore Rosabella actually being the Beast.

She is also, by not getting any meaningful character development, giving off major 'I could fix him' vibes with Daring. Except, she's ignoring what's actually wrong in his life and looking at surface level interpretations of what she thinks he's like. Then, deciding he's a self-centered narcissist who she needs to fix so he meets her standards. Hey, wait a spell. She kind of seems to embody more of the Beast characteristics than the Beauty's. I wonder if the writers might have had other plans but were forced to change her into something else or perhaps Mattel wanted to sell a doll of her and Daring so they had to awkwardly force a relationship and not use their original plans?

Ben is way too forgiving. When we first see him, he says that he wants to give the Isle kids (kids who were born to villians who've been trapped in a magic prison all their life) a chance at a normal life, which is great! It's probably one of the best things a 16 year old king could do. So when's the next time he forgives someone? When he tells Mal that he knows she drugged him. So, it's at this point where you kinda realize that he isn't being too forgiving he's trapped in an abusive relationship. Once he sees that Mal realizes the implications of that, he goes back on it, and he tells her that it's not that big of a deal that it's ok that he still loves her.

When's the next time something like this happens? When Mal tries to erase some of his memories after catching her lying about using magic. He obviously yells at her because that's a fucked up thing to do. She downplays the situation and makes excuses. Shortly after, she runs back to the Isle. Ben, assuming that she had the best intentions, blames himself and ultimately gets kidnapped and then drugged again. All of these interactions are all portrayed as 'his fault' and that he'd deserved everything that happened to him because he was holding Mal responsible for her actions. In the third movie, he even stops doing it. Hades asks him why an Auradon kid gets to be excused and why everyone on the Isle doesn't, and he looks at Mal but ignores the question. Mal doesn't answer because she's the reason this Auradon person (Audrey) is hurt because she ruined her life and is currently being excused by everyone, including the writers, but Audrey won't. Ben definitely won't.

So, aren't these the best portrayals of the Beauty and the Beast characteristics? Because mixing the traits incorrectly. If Ben was given more Beast characteristics than just roaring sometimes. Mal wouldn't be abusive if their were actually moments where Ben was being unreasonable and too quick to draw surface level conclusions.

Rosabella wouldn't come off as rude and judgemental if she was given more Beauty characteristics. If Daring was actually self-centered and Rosabella considered others and thought about others instead of drawing conclusions.

[spoiled-milk]

dan heng as your roommate (modern au)

a/n: in compliance with dan heng’s five star release being yesterday here’s brainrot for my beloved also praying that those who pull for dan heng win their 50/50 or get him early (it took me 80 pity with guaranteed 😭😭). will be mia so i can farm more stellar jades for his weapon since he wanted to come home on hard pity

content warning: mentions of alcohol consumption, other than that none that i can think of. no mention of reader's gender

word count: ~1k words

you share a small apartment with dan heng. you used to share it with one of your friends, but a sudden job opportunity for them turns into you frantically finding a roommate to fill so that you’re not paying the full price of the rent next month

you find dan heng through one of your friend’s friend. March (your friend) knew someone with grey hair who then gave dan heng your details since he was looking for a place to live

you two officially meet at a coffee shop where you discuss rent, house rules, and the lease and you did not expect him to be hella attractive

rules are as follows: there’s a chore list on the fridge in the form of dry erase board, if bringing over friends you must let the other know before you bring them over, no going into the other person’s room without their knowledge, and keep hooking up to a minimum if possible or keep it quiet

at first he seemed like a quiet guy who wanted nothing to do with you which like didn’t hurt your feelings too much yk you just needed someone to pay half of the rent, but slowly he starts to open up to you and you have no problems opening up

usually you take turns cooking, but he’s come to realize you only know how to make is boxed food and breakfast foods, so after eating waffles for the 12th time that week he decides he’ll cook dinner for the most part

dan heng without fail will always give you the last piece of anything he makes. dumplings? you can have the last one. 12 pack of juice in the fridge? he won’t even go get more unless you drink the last one. you make brownies as a token of appreciation for him and insist you don’t want any and all of it is for him? you find the last piece tucked away in the fridge with your name on it

he makes it a point to do the dishes together. at first he argued that he could do it but after much begging from you, he allows you to help him rinse the dishes

this has become a nearly every night thing. you eat whatever dan heng makes then y’all do the dishes. most of the time you’re doing the talking, but it’s not exhausting to talk to him like you talk to others

you don’t know much about his past but he sure does knows a lot about your past. you’re sure march probably unintentionally spilled about your past, but you don’t really mind knowing it’s just dan heng. march has told you to ask him but when you do, he softly shuts it down

it doesn’t hurt your feelings of course. you understand that everyone has their secrets and no one is entitled to his, but it does hurt a little that he doesn’t seem like he wants to tell you since you thought you were getting pretty close as friends

oftentimes at the end of a stressful week, you find some movie on some streaming service and crash on the couch with snacks littering the coffee table. sometimes dan heng will come join you on the couch to whatever movie you put on, regardless of genre. rom com? he’s got his eyes glued to the screen. some environmental documentary about the gas leaks that effect a underprivileged community? he’s sat next to you nodding his head to the tv like a middle aged dad

most of the time you fall asleep in the middle of these movies and most of the time when you wake up in the middle of the night you either find yourself covered with a fluffy blanket or you find yourself in your bed with no memory of how you got there. you suspect dan heng carried you there, but you’ve never had the courage to ask him

there was one time when you woke up from sleeping in the middle of the movie and the tv was left on to the end credit scene. you reach for the remote next to you and turn off the tv. you start to shift a little but then you notice a weight next to you, it’s your roommate. he’s got an arm around your waist and he’s pulling you closer to him

you’re too tired to properly comprehend the situation so you let it happen. you lean your head towards his chest and end up falling asleep listening to dan heng’s heartbeat. when dan heng woke up that morning realizing what had happened, he could not look you in the eye for a week without blushing

he also takes care of you whenever you come home shitfaced from an outing or get shitfaced by yourself with 3 bottles of soju. it doesn’t happen often and you try not to drink often, but when you decide to go out, dan heng somehow knows that you’ve been out drinking and will always be at home waiting for your return

your friends drop you off at your apartment and dan heng helps you into bed. he takes a baby wipe and wipes off any dirt on your face. he’s so gentle with it that it honestly feels like a dream. you lowkey cherish it every single time, it feels so intimate that you wish he meant it in that way and not as just a friend

just as you’re losing consciousness, dan heng gets close to you but your vision is slightly blurring so you’re not sure what he’s up to, but you trust dan heng 100% to not take advantage of you

as you scrunch your eyebrows you feel something soft press against your cheek and then once again on your forehead. they’re brief and short, but you can feel your body get hotter and hotter, not even sure if it’s the alcohol or dan heng (or both maybe)

you pray that your big crush on him isn’t obvious but march tells you otherwise. so now you only hope that dan heng can’t tell but honestly it’s really hard to read his feelings, but you’re not sure how long you can keep up this “he’s just my roommate” act to your friends and yourself

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello again! First I just want to say a big thank you to you and @virginiaisforvampires and @cbrownjc for answering my really long DM ask awhile ago! <3

I’m again going to presume that during the first four episodes Daniel will keep having flashbacks causing him to realise that there is more to the fallout of the 70’s interview than he might at first suspect. He will probably remember Armand’s ‘Gentleman Death’ speech, which might cause him to fear Armand. Resulting in the new character telling him he should fear ‘the other one’ (presumably Louis) instead.

I’m really curious about the, “You fear Armand. You should fear the other one”, does this character know of Armand’s concern and/or history with Daniel? Might one assume that the character knows about Louis attacking Daniel, and possibly is more acutely aware (than Daniel) of the destructive nature Louis actually carries fairly close to the surface (Paris fallout comes to mind). So the words could simply be a warning to Daniel, who possibly at this point is quite relaxed with Louis but nervous of Armand. If this new character is basically a ‘body-snatcher’ looking to gain access to an immortal vampiric body - are they playing the long-con by befriending Daniel to gain access? Could I be on to something here? I agree and remember that Louis and Daniel will team up during this season, so I’m assuming Louis won’t attack him again - but is there anything that Daniel should fear during this season? Is there a threat?

I saw the interview, talking about next season but I’m not as optimistic as some that the relationship/romance referred to was meant to be DM/Daniel’s and Armand’s. In context of the whole interview it sounds more like it’s talking about Louis’ and Armand’s relationship. If DM stuff is revealed or takes place in Dubai I’m pretty sure it’s a secret that they wouldn’t talk about in interviews. I mean - it’s a pretty great twist, and it makes so much sense to me that a lot of the writers apparently are stage writers. Love it! I really want to see DM take place and the memory-erased dynamic play out that the TV series has set up, but I am worried that I’m getting carried away and what we get might be much more minimal - and that fans will hype and then get disappointed.

The idea of Armand and Daniel bickering/fighting during the interviews for the season to then end up revealing to Daniel that *surprise* this guy who has been annoying you, has revealed himself to sure be romantic but also scary controlling and is someone you’ve rightly started to fear is the love of your life - is pretty darkly comic in the best of ways! I would freaking love it. What do you think? I’m pretty much all in for f*cked up relationship dynamics, since the characters are all fun and interesting. I’m very invested in Louis’ and Armand’s romance too, looking forward to it playing out and I like hearing that the show decided to be more romantic with it! Freaking love all the actors - and I’m so happy to watch a TV series which is actually creative and compelling!

Is there anything related to DM you would wish to see play out this season? Sorry for long ask again! Less questions this time at least haha (sorry!). Again, love visiting your blog and reading all the speculation! Thank you!

:) Hey!

Yes, the "you should fear the other one" IS incredible interesting.

I mean, there is this canon passivity to Louis, a passivity that is almost a chosen trait, because when he snaps... he snaps. (I still hope we will get the "passivity speech" in s2, I think it is such an important one, and Jacob would just rule).

But... trailers are meant to entice, to hint, but also to misdirect. Sam said in the q&a video that there would be other vampires in s2 as well. I... I am not 100% convinced that comment in the restaurant was wrt Louis.

That does not mean that Louis is not to be feared!! I just... this could be a red herring. Who knows, maybe it has to do with the twist.

(What if (speculating!!) Daniel then turns to whoever Justin Kirk is there and goes: "what other?" Why is that "other" vampire not named? Why does the Justin Kirk character know Armand at all? Why does he know about the vampires in that apartment??? (And yes, he could be already be so interested in it all because the idea for the body theft is forming!) Why does he know Daniel might be in danger from that other vampire? You know?^^)

So. It could be Louis' carefully hidden destructive tendencies. Maybe. (Which, btw, Armand used skillfully in Paris, I mean, he literally orchestrated it all for Louis to destroy the coven, a win-win situation for him, lol.)

But I'm not convinced that is what Daniel should fear. Would fear. If modern day Daniel fears anything, then I think that has to do with something he remembers. The cage comes to mind, for example. The hunt.

Rolin's latest comment re Dubai does come to mind... as much as I think that Louis and Armand do actively love each other (including physically and I really hope they enjoy(ed) themselves!), but... I cannot see Louis go and have "fun" in interview-time-Dubai. I mean, the interview is happening over a few days real-time. Can you see Louis, the Louis growing more and more upset, depressed and crying and wanting to remember feel like having sex? For example? I think we might see Loumand sex scenes in the past, but in Dubai??? I'm... not sure.

And so... that leaves us with Devil's Minion. I'm not sure how much of the past of it will be revealed, but... I think there's a higher chance for sexy times in Dubai for them than for Loumand. For setup reasons 🤷🏽‍♀️

I also think that the relationship dynamics will be as messed up as they can possibly make them. While I expect Loumand to be extremely tender (I believe Assad called it that), I do think that Jacob's comment that Louis's time at the "murder mansion" was "one of the happy times" for Louis and that statement of "same shit, different vampire" needs to be factored in as well. We're talking about Armand after all :) Given the show likes to put its fingers into wounds I believe that will be a creeping realization... a slow, uncomfortable feeling (in contrast to the more open problematic things Loustat displayed). There is a "controlled" aspect to Loumand, because it was orchestrated (in Paris).

Devil's Minion... DM is about obsession, and almost helpless love. There will be tenderness as well, but also very high, messy emotions. It's not planned, it's not exactly healthy either, it's not (yet) with a happy ending.

As per what I would like to see in it...

I'm not sure. I want them to go full-in, in whatever aspects they choose to give us this season. The cage I would love to see, also as an echo to Lestat being tortured, maybe.

This season is about painful, uncomfortable realizations and repercussions of previous actions.

That goes for them all - and so what I hope for is what we'll get I bet :)) (At least nothing of the trailers, interviews or BTS pix has given me reason to believe otherwise^^)

Hannah Moscovitch said this season would destroy us, and I believe her... and I want that, badly :)))

[loustat-0]

I agree with most of your perspective on things , your blog sounds fun . Okay my question is I'm interested to know your thoughts on why are Louis and Armand still together in 2023 ?

Okay this is gonna be a long theory so please bear with me . ☺️ This might contain some spoilers 🔴

My honest opinion is that , they both have been rejected by Lestat again . Not just in the past but also in the 70s or 2000 too .

I suspect that Louis and Armand both know Lestat survived the burning of the theater , but bc of Louis's hatred of Lestat about what happened to Claudia he's still reluctant to go to new Orleans to see him , but young Daniel might challenge his memories and deeper feelings again and that's when Louis decides to go to see Lestat again . To visit almost ruined Lestat .

Lestat in that state probably can't really for sure tell what's real what's not he might think he's seeing Louis's hallucination or that Armand who was being around was making him think it's Louis so he doesn't believe him , Lestat might even think it's Armand projecting himself to be like Louis so he can make Lestat want him again . 😬 And Lestat believing that it's not really Louis or it's his imagination of Louis will reject Louis .

Lestat probably tells Louis something about how Armand and Santiago made him do all of that stuff in the trial . And then Louis feeling rejected by Lestat and suspicious of his beliefs about Armand's story goes back to Armand , but finds him and Daniel being together and Armand keeping him alive makes him assume some stuff about them . And Louis is probably very angry but also cold and he wants to either hurt himself or Daniel . And then Armand steps in and do something to Louis's and Daniel's memories , making Daniel believe he was with someone else giving hims some false memories , and making Louis thinks they never separated .

But he probably didn't completely erase everything he probably replaced and mislead them too . For example make Louis still hold grudges against Lestat but leaving the memory of Lestat rejecting him there leading to Louis's sad and also sadistic reaction to remembering all thoes loving words about Lestat still waiting for him longing for him while he actually found him it probably wasn't so , it's also probably because he feels Lestat leaves and abandoned everyone and everything because he believes Lestat's rejection as him abandoning Louis . Or making Daniel think he never asked for Armand's blood and he doesn't remember their relationship . Or making Louis believe that although there was a relationship between Daniel and himself he still chose Louis .

[kuiperblog]

Names as labels (and what I learned from Brandon Sanderson)

There are a lot of writing lessons I’ve learned from reading Brandon Sanderson.

This is true of Sanderson in a way that isn’t true of a lot of other authors, even those that I like (and strive to emulate), and I suspect this is part of what Sanderson is talking when he describes himself as “more craftsman than artist.” If you ask a craftsman, “How did you get that table to support up to 400 lbs when my table can only support 200 lbs,” there are probably very specific answers that they can give you that you can directly incorporate into your own table-building process.  It is significantly harder for a musician to answer a question like “how did you make this song that was so beautiful it made me cry?”

I wish I could write more like Daniel Abraham, but there’s not “one weird trick” that will help you write more like Daniel Abraham. However, if you want to write more like Sanderson, there’s many such specific “tricks” that you, like him, can use to make your writing more effective at communicating information to the reader: Brandon sometimes describes his writing as a sort of “telepathy,” in the sense that he is trying to take a story that exists in his head, and then make that story exist in your head, and a novel is the compression medium that he is using to convey those ideas. Anything that can assist the reader in assembling that story in their head is a plus.

For example, part of the learning curve of any story is learning to attach names on the page to the ideas of characters that we have in our head. A story isn’t just a bunch of ink printed on paper, and a name isn’t just a bunch of letters joined together.

Most of the time, this is trivially easy, especially if the author has done their job properly. Like many rules of writing, it’s something that’s best observed in the breach: if the central characters in your story are Tony, Steve, and Bruce, it’s easier to keep those names separate in our head than names were Jack, Jake, and Joel.

I am unlikely to put “Jason” and “Justin” together in the same story, because as a person named Justin, I know from experience that some people will hear the name “Justin” during an introduction and then later retrieve the name “Jason” from memory when they try to address me. If names are labels for distinct characters that we want to keep separate in our head, it makes sense for those labels to also be distinct enough that the reader won’t mistake one for the other.  Octavia shouldn’t be in a story with an Olivia.

If a character is just named “Octavia,” there are some people who, even in the absence of a similarly-named character, will mislabel her as “Olivia” in their head (much in the same way that people have heard me introduce myself as “Justin” and then stored the name “Jason.”)  I know this to be true, because I am currently publishing a web novel with a character named Octavia, and there have been multiple comments from people referring to her as “Olivia.” And this is fine, because when I read their comment talking about “Olivia,” I know they are actually talking about Octavia, because in my story, the label “Olivia” is unoccupied real estate (and Octavia is free to occupy it if she wishes).

This obviously isn’t true of the real world: if someone calls me Jason, I can’t decide, “Well, it’s okay for you to call me Jason, and in fact in order to remove any ambiguity that you might be addressing me when you say that name, I will go and erase every Jason from existence. Also, I’m erasing all the other people named Justin.” (That’s not only impossible, but even if it was possible, it would be unreasonable for you to expect that I do it, just to make things slightly more convenient for you.) But in the context of a story that I’m writing, I can totally do this. I can go to these “unreasonable” lengths to make things ever so slightly easier for the reader. In fact, it’s trivially easy to pick a distinct moniker for each cast member. Names are abundant, even if I have self-imposed restraints like “don’t let two characters’ names start with the same letter and vowel sound (e.g. Roger and Robert, Crystal and Christine), and "don’t have two names of similar/equal length that end in the same letter and/or phonetic sound” (e.g. Sarah and Clara, Mindy and Tracy, Travis and Jarvis, Jerry and Gary).  

Of course, there’s a corollary to this, which is that insofar as it makes sense to give characters distinctive monikers to keep them as distinct concepts, it also makes sense to give them similar monikers if you want them to be less distinct from each other. (For example, Jack and Jill are joined at the hip. Ditto for Re:Zero’s Rin and Ram.) Even so, I still think this tends to work best when the names are joined by something that’s non-phonetic: for example, Katniss and Primrose are names that evoke flora.  April and May are right next to each other on the calendar.

And what if you have two names for the same character?  It’s a point that seems obvious, but I didn’t realize it until Brandon Sanderson gave me a glaring example:

In Mistborn, when Vin goes undercover to infiltrate noble society, her alias is Valette. This is absurdly easy to keep straight, because these are the only two names in the book that start with V. (And there’s no confusion about which name she uses among her fellow street toughs and which name she uses when she’s pretending to be an aristocrat: Vin is terse, Valette is sophisticated.)

And, in a sense, your “past selves” are distinct from your present self in many ways, except for the ways that they’re not.  (Or as Orwell put it, “what have you in common with the child of five whose photograph your mother keeps on the mantelpiece? Nothing, except that you happen to be the same person.”)

Kaladin, the main viewpoint character in the first book of the Stormlight Archive, went by Kal when he was a kid.  This comes in real handy, because the story is partially told through flashback.  When you have a book that’s 400,000 words long, you’re going to have to put it down at some point and come back to it later, and it’s really helpful if, when you pick up the book after a week-long break, there’s some indicator that makes it completely and unambiguously clear that you’re in a flashback. And indeed, the book offers exactly that: in the childhood flashbacks, you will see the viewpoint character referred to in narration as “Kal” multiple times on every page.

[moiteneia]

The Mystery Twins:

Today, what we suspected was revealed. q!Bagi and q!Cellbit are siblings. q!Cellbit disappeared at the age of 13, and currently the last memory he has of his childhood is: being in front of a body, with a knife in his hand and covered in his victim's blood. And he wondered, seeing that he had a home, a family, a twin sister who loved him and was looking for him. q!Cellbit asked himself and to q!Bagi: what did he do when he was just a child to have the life he could have had taken away? Why did they throw him into the arena?

Can you imagine the pain it would be to have only love and protection as your biggest dreams and to find out that you always had that, but it was stolen from you? They took him to a battlefield full of hate, death and abandonment and all his good memories were erased from his memory.

"I was just a kid...If I was just a kid, why did they turn me into a monster? Why could I never have a family?”

His voice even got small when they entered their room: “I had a bed.. i had my own things"

And we know from his pov and the stories he told to Richarlyson, that he didn’t have those things in the war or in prison. For him, all this time, he never really have even food! He was just trying to survive.

Knowing this was not completly true. That he actually he always had someone and somewhere to go was too much for him. So, when he posses back his pet, a small worm and being alone again in his castle, he looked into the fire and threw the small creature into the flames.

His cruel self is a form of defense, refusing his emotions, refusing his vulnerability, focusing again on his investigations, trying to forget the past that he doesn't remember and that he didn't recognize as his.

He is not the brother that q!Bagi sought out and recorded in her diaries, he was destroyed by war and prison. He fell in love with the island, his family and his husband, focusing on the future believing there was no past to remember. To wish to return.

“q!Bbh: how are you felling about being q!Bagi’s brother?”

“I wish i feel something…Maybe deep down I feel something, but looking into her eyes...I can only see the life that was stolen from me.” Will the twins one day be able to be a family again? Or will Cellbit try to erase the small part of his life he was robbed of?

[whump-me]

Obscure: Chapter 11

Chapter 11 of Obscure, novel-length interrogation whump about a rebel leader who can erase memories with a thought, an interrogator who can see inside his subjects’ minds… and the connection they share that neither of them suspects.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the completed novel on Patreon

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Elias

The interrogation rooms must not have been cleaned on a daily schedule, because the next morning, Elias smelled his own sweat hanging in the air. The table was smudged with the nervous grease from his own hands. It cut the reflection a little, made it more bearable. He could have done without the sweat, though.

But if he was going to make wishes, he might as well wish himself back home.

Kirill sat across from him. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth were more pronounced. But those pale eyes themselves were daggers newly sharpened to a fresh point.

Kirill sat up straighter, inhumanly straight, like he was trying to blend in with the furniture with all its cold right angles. His breath came in a steady rhythm, like there was a machine in his chest breathing for him. The sound was hypnotic.

“What’s the mask this time?” Elias asked. “What game are we playing today?”

“No games,” said Kirill. “Not anymore.”

“You keep saying that. But we keep circling around to the same thing.”

As always when Kirill was in the room, a slow but steady trickle of fear-memories leaked out of him. A constant small betrayal on the part of his mammalian brain. Kirill might have been able to turn himself into a machine at will, but Elias didn’t have that ability. No matter what he had thought at first, in his hubris, with his hours of practice at desensitizing himself to his own grief.

“We were done with games days ago,” said Kirill. “If you think we’ve been playing, you haven’t taken my threat seriously enough. Should I show you a picture of your son, here in headquarters, to prove I mean what I say?”

The thought stopped Elias’s breath. But no emotion rushed out of him. A second later, when his chest filled with an inner warmth, he understood why. Negative emotion brought out the memories, Kirill had said. The thought of seeing a picture of Sammy, alive and grown up… that was the fulfillment of fifteen years of hope. Kirill could get nothing from that warmth.

The fear hit a second later. Because his dream had been to see his son happy and healthy, and if he was either of those things now, it was only because he was ignorant of the threat hanging over his head. Elias wanted to see him, but not like this. Not as a hostage.

Not as a PERI resource.

“Would you like that picture?” Kirill asked. His voice was strangely empty, even for him. Like someone had scooped out every ounce of humanity in him, and the thing in front of Elias now was what was left.

Elias shook his head.

“Do you still think we’re playing games?”

Elias shook his head again.

“Then let’s get started,” said Kirill. “You asked what part I was playing today. I’m not. I have a better way of getting emotion from you now. All I need to do is mention your son and what will happen to him if you stop giving me what I need, either through your memories or through what you tell me aloud.”

One more time, Elias shook his head. “Of course you’re playing a part. This isn’t who you are.”

“This?” Kirill looked down at himself, like he was trying to see what Elias saw. “There is no this. I’m not being anything.”

“Exactly. You’re nothing right now. No one is nothing inside.”

“Still looking for the answer to your question? You’re going to be disappointed. Anyway, we’re not here to talk about me. And we’re not here to play. I’m going to talk to you about your son, and you’re going to give me the information I want. If you’d like things to move faster, you can speak aloud, and spare yourself the grief and fear I’ll have to evoke otherwise. If I stop getting anything from you, I’ll take you to your son, and I’ll hurt him.”

The fear-wound tore a little wider, bled a little more. Nothing Kirill could use—Elias was certain of that. A face from a horror movie poster when he was a child, on one of the family’s big trips into town. They had always drawn looks—a dozen adults and twice as many children, clustered together in one big herd. Half of them small-mouthed and wide-eyed like a gaggle of country mice. The other half behaving like wild things, like the trip out was an excuse to let out the sides of themselves they had to keep buttoned up at home.

Their parents had let them, so long as they didn’t let their powers show—that was the only unbendable rule. The children had run around like rabid animals, grabbing all the unfamiliar brightly-colored things with their grubby hands, smearing fingerprints all over the ticket counter and the movie posters. The adults—eager for a chance to let loose themselves—had laughed too loudly and worn impractical clothes they never wore at home, and poured liquid from small metal flasks into their extra-large sodas.

Max had been one of the country mice. Elias had watched the wild things longingly, but had stayed with Max, letting him clutch his hand and hold him in place.

“We’re not here to talk about your ghost boy,” Kirill said, his voice sharp.

Elias blinked away the past. “We’re not here to talk about Sammy, either. Not really.”

“Your son is a means to an end. Focus on him. Think about the hands of the child you remember. How will it sound when those small fingers snap?”

Was Kirill’s cruelty another mask he could put on and take off at will, or was it part of who the man was underneath? There was no point in asking—no point in wondering, even, when he would never get an answer. Elias clung to the thought anyway, because any distraction would do.

But no distraction could hold up to the image Kirill’s words evoked, or the sound in his imagination of a tiny, delicate finger bone snapping. Sammy’s hands weren’t that small anymore, of course. They had to be the size of his own by now. Elias knew that intellectually. But when he thought about Sammy’s hand, he pictured the hands of an infant, of a toddler, of an eight-year-old. When he imagined them broken, those were the hands he saw.

Sick fear. Helpless rage. A river of memory overflowed its banks. A gushing wound, memory-blood pooling around him, bleeding out the entirety of his son’s history. In front of Elias, Kirill rocked back slightly as eight years of memory flooded him at once.

“The branches of your network,” Kirill said, his voice tight, his unfocused eyes darting back and forth like he was in the grip of a nightmare. “The command structure. Names and faces.”

Elias couldn’t control the flow. It carved a new path in his mind, veering away from Sammy’s childhood, passing through the details of the network he had painstakingly built over the past fifteen years. He tried to steer it back, but the memories were a river, and they flowed through his grasping fingers like water.

The names and faces Kirill had demanded poured from him and straight into Kirill’s brain. A rush of guilt followed. He was giving Kirill everything. And his people would suffer for it, the people had trusted, who had agreed to work for him despite the danger. The future children they could have rescued, the future Sammys, they would also suffer.

The river grew faster, stronger, drawing a soft noise of protest from Kirill. But Kirill’s mouth, curled in a hard smile, was satisfied, his hunger slaked.

Guilt was an emotion. Emotion made the memories come faster.

He breathed in. Breathe out. He stared his grief straight in its wide and helpless and relentlessly hungry eyes, and resisted the urge to reach out and throttle the creature. That wouldn’t help.

Fighting grief never killed grief.

Fighting fear never killed fear.

Fighting pain never stopped the pain from coming. It only multiplied it —the pain that couldn’t be stopped, times the pain of failing to stop it.

His son was in danger. But he had faced that before. He had stared that monster down, and it had blinked first.

His people would suffer and die because of his unwitting betrayal. But he had lost people before. He could still remember the feeling of hot blood on his hands, the thick and earthy tang of it in his nose, pleading eyes going soft and glassy. He could still remember the heat of the flames, and the dying screams of everyone he had almost loved.

Almost everyone. That last loss had come later.

So many losses. And he had survived them all. He had found a way to push the torrents of feeling down, to fight his way back to dry land rather than letting the current hold him under. Otherwise, he would never have survived.

Inhale for four.

Exhale for four.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The flow didn’t stop. But it slowed. The memories came in jagged bursts. Not a current, but the fitful expulsions of a broken faucet.

“Focus,” Kirill urged, and Elias did. He focused on his breath—inhale, exhale. He stared into Kirill’s pale eyes and imagined himself staring down his grief.

But Kirill said, “Sammy,” and Elias saw his son’s face. No amount of focus on his breathing could banish the memory of those eyes or those pudgy child cheeks.

“I’ll start with the little fingers,” said Kirill. “They hurt the most when they break.”

And then, “The locations of your safehouses. With addresses.”

His memory lurched. The river surged down its new path. The images hovered half-formed in Elias’s mind, like vomit struggling to come up.

But if Elias couldn’t stop the flow of memory, maybe he could choose where it went. He couldn’t keep Sammy out of his mind, so he stopped trying. He thought about those cheeks, about his dark and solemn eyes. Those hands, with their perfect fingers Kirill kept threatening to break. A small face contorted in fear.

“The safehouses,” Kirill said. Still colorless, empty of feeling, but Elias imagined frustration lurking underneath. He imagined it because it made him feel like he was winning. He needed to feel like he would win, like he could win, or he would stop trying.

Safehouses. House. Safe. The little house he and Lisbeth had owned together. Her with her hands on her swollen belly, looking doubtfully down the basement stairs. He’ll fall as soon as he starts walking. We should keep the basement door locked—get a padlock and just never open it. We never go down there anyway. Him telling her she was being ridiculous to close off an entire room of the house, an entire floor. He said it with a smile on his face, so she’d know he was joking even though he wasn’t, because he never knew what would hit her wrong these days. He felt a tiny squirm of unease in his belly, gratitude that she had been the one to say it and not him, because he had been eyeing those stairs with trepidation for weeks now.

“Clever,” came Kirill’s impassive voice. “Now show me your network. Where do your people hide themselves?”

His people, his family, his son. He kept Sammy’s dark eyes fixed in his mind—the best memories, the worst, anything with enough emotion to keep the current from changing course.

But Kirill’s words lodged themselves in his mind. His network. Hiding. He pictured cabins hidden deep in the woods—

But there had been a different network once. And a different kind of hiding, one he hadn’t thought of as hiding. He had thought they were all family, and all they needed was each other, and it was as simple as that. He hadn’t understood the danger that had driven all his mothers and fathers to buy a hundred acres out in the middle of nowhere. Not until the danger had come knocking with a lit match in its back pockets.

For decades, since long before the loss of Sammy, he had held those memories at bay. He had forced them down, burying them deeper and deeper, piling more and more dirt on top. He had buried them the way none of his family had gotten the chance to be buried. They had burned instead.

The memories came out in his nightmares sometimes, once or twice a year, no more than that. The memory of fire, the stink of burning wood and burning flesh. Or, more rarely, happy dreams—chasing frogs in the marsh, picking flowers in the meadow, he and his hesitant shadow. He and Max, who Kirill had called the ghost boy.

Was his face really that blurry in Elias’s memory now? Had Elias buried the memory of him that deeply? He hadn’t thought so. But Kirill had sifted through his memories with the deft skill of a long-time prospector panning for gold, and Max’s face was the one thing he couldn’t see.

If there was enough emotion in the memory of Max for that, there was enough emotion in that memory to hold his thoughts in place.

All he had to do was let it in.

Kirill wanted his network. But his family had functioned in much the same way. Protecting each other, using their abilities for the good of the whole. Keeping the children safe and oblivious. That long-ago home—that was his network. That was the network he would give Kirill.

Kirill wanted safehouses. He wanted to know where Elias’s people hid. They had hidden in houses they had built themselves, in a wilderness of marshlands and overgrown meadows. The electricity had gone out with every storm. Sometimes it had taken weeks to come back on. They had eaten canned food and built fires for warmth, and huddled together under hand-sewn blankets, everyone all together in one house. to conserve heat.

They had lived like animals, Max had said later—We’ve been living like animals all our lives. Even before we had to run. I’m tired of it. Aren’t you tired? But Elias had never seen it that way. He hadn’t felt deprived,  except for brief sharp pangs on those trips into town, glimpsing children who treated going to the movies or out for ice cream as ordinary.

He had never felt embarrassed by his hand-sewn clothes, not like some of the others had. The kids in town had blue jeans that looked like the ones in the movies, and shirts with cartoon characters on them. But Elias had pants rugged enough that he could climb the tall tree at the center of the marsh and never tear them. He had picked out the fabric for his favorite shirt himself, and sat with Mama Charisse in her living room as she had sewn it without using her hands to move the needle and thread.

“Your network.” Kirill’s voice was distant now, faded, compared to the vibrancy of Elias’s memories. Even so, Elias felt the pull of the current guiding him closer to the present day, closer to Kirill’s voice.

Thinking about his home wasn’t enough.

So Elias unburied the dead.

Mama Charisse hadn’t been what the outside world would have called his real mother, the one whose body he had grown in and pushed his way out of, the one he had shared a house with when he wasn’t sleeping over at Max’s house. That hadn’t mattered to him. Every adult had been his mother or his father. Every child had been his sister or his brother. It confused him, in the books he read and the movies he watched and the families he saw in town, how small the families were, and how many walls they placed between each other.

 He had called his real mother by her name, the way he did with all the others—the adults had wanted that way, hadn’t wanted divisions based on blood. She had been Mama Jessie. She had smelled like oranges and sunlight and could make plants turn green in the middle of winter with just one touch. She had died screaming, like all the others, when their home had burned.

Max had wanted to go back to look for survivors. Elias had said no. He had said PERI could still be there, waiting for them to come back. And that might have been true. But it wasn’t the reason for Elias’s refusal. Elias hadn’t wanted to risk seeing the charred bodies of the dead.

He remembered Mama Jessie’s arms around him, the smell of her, the roughness of her hands. All the things he had buried for so many years, so he could sleep without nightmares. Those first few weeks after they had run, he hadn’t slept, because he had seen her dying every time he closed his eyes, her and all the rest. And if he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t take care of Max. He had buried the dead so he could tend to the living.

He pictured his father, Papa Graham, with his bushy beard and his long, long legs. Elias’s eyes had always been too serious, or so everyone had told him, but Papa Graham’s eyes had always been smiling. He smelled like the cigars he bought in town and smoked when he thought Mama Jessie wasn’t looking.

And then there was Max. The ghost boy.

They had been born the same week of the same year. The family had called them twins. Mama Kelly had called them photo negatives of each other, one with black hair and black eyes, the other with pale, pale eyes and hair so light it was almost the white of snow.

They had shared a crib as babies, on the days when their parents couldn’t get them to stop crying. Max had stopped crying when Elias was there to take care of him, or so the family legend went. Elias had stopped crying when he had Max to take care of.

They had talked in full sentences to each other before they said a word to anyone else. They had learned to crawl together, walked together, steadying each other with chubby hands firmly clasped together. They had been two halves of the same person. First twins, mirrors, photo negatives. Then, once they were old enough to explore, they were no longer mirrors but opposites, each of their differences perfectly complementing the other.

They had both been serious—too serious, Mama Kelly had said—but in different ways. Elias had been the protector, Max the one who needed protecting. Elias was the hard shell, Max the soft, defenseless creature inside.

The adults had shaken their heads over Max, wondering who he would be what he would do when he no longer had Elias to rely on. It hadn’t been until years later that Elias had realized their worries had been misplaced. They should have asked themselves what Elias would do when he no longer had someone to protect.

He would set out to protect the whole world—that was the answer. Or as much of it as he could reach.

Maybe what he had created hadn’t only been a response to Sammy’s death after all.

The adults hadn’t needed to worry about Max. Max had grown beyond Elias in good time. He had formed his own opinions, gained the strength and the conviction to make his own decisions. He had been the one to let go first, not Elias. It had been Elias who had tried to hold on. Elias, in the end, who had struggled to let go.

The memories of their last fight were the ones that came into his nightmare most frequently. But today, Elias unburied the deeper memories. Like wine or cheese, they had grown all the more potent from their years in the dark.

Like Elias urging Max to climb a tree after him. Elias didn’t shimmy up trees as a natural instinct, the way some of his more reckless brothers and sisters did. He had studied the tree at the center of the swamp for weeks, climbing up little by little and then back down again, a little further every day. Gauging its weaknesses, formulating his plan of attack. He had shared his acquired knowledge with Max, but Max preferred to stay on the ground.

Maybe Elias should have let him. But he had been a child, and he had wanted to share the view. And eventually, he had talked Max into it. Max had never been good at saying no to him, in those days. Elias hadn’t realized his mistake, not until he was safely on the ground again, staring up at a wide-eyed and terrified Max.

He’d had to call Papa Oleg in the end, and asked him to bring a ladder, like someone in a book calling the fire department for a cat caught up a tree. He had apologized to Max for not knowing how to get him down. That, in his mind, had been his failure—and an unforgivable one. It was his job to get Max out of any trouble he could get him into.

That early failure had done nothing to inoculate him against his more permanent failure later.

He lingered on the end of the memory, the feeling of his small arms around Max’s shaking body. After a moment, he realized the flow of memory was less like a rushing river now, and more like being immersed in a small and warm natural pool, out of the flow of the current.

The current had stopped. Without Kirill’s reminders, the sharpness of the emotion had faded.

Kirill must have noticed. Why hadn’t he said anything?

Elias let the memory fade. It drained away, leaving him out of breath from all his work digging up graves.

Kirill wasn’t sitting across from him anymore. He had his back against the wall. His eyes wide and desperate. In those eyes, Elias saw—only for a second—the eyes of a small boy trapped up a tree.

“A clever strategy.” Kirill’s voice was thin and thready. If it was part of a persona, Elias could figure out what.

“I can see you still aren’t ready to cooperate,” Kirill said in the same tone. “I may need to put you in a room with your son after all.”

The threat lacked sharpness. Kirill’s voice wobbled, an overcooked noodle where a knife should have been.

He stumbled out the door, leaving a startled Elias alone.

Elias had won a victory. He just wished he understood why.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @suspicious-whumping-egg

Ask to be added or removed from taglist.

[felixisourayofsunshine]

Did ya'll watch SKZFLIX yet??

My god that was amazing 🤩....

The beginning was just so cute and wholesome. But I was in tears by the end. I mean the ending was just so unexpected.

I loved Minho and Felix's dynamic. And that scene with Han and Seungmin riding on bicycles was so pretty.

My god the visuals!!!!!!!!

The scenary, the musical, the picture quality,the colour palette. EVERYTHING was BRILLIANT a 100 out 10.

I did suspect something was wrong at the bus scene. In it everyone was sleeping and sitting together but Lixie was the only one who was awake and sitting alone. And he even said "I have to go now".... But out of all scenarios i could come up with THAT was not an option.

I thought Chan and Jeongin could see him though. Like okay chan is not talking to him in this one, but innie did talk to him when he offered him a drink. And in the camera scene we were shown, we could see Lixie. Them why wasn't he present in the movie. Was Minho the only one who could see him? Or it could be possible that they really did see him BUT he got Erased from everyone's memories.

Well do you know........

Who's Yongbok?

I really wanted to cry when Minho asked them "where's Yongbok?" And In return everyone said "who's Yongbok?"

Just imagine being with someone for quite some time, having fun with them and then one day you realise that you were the only one who could see them. Dude that's messed up.

And why was it so short though 😭... well I get it . I know the kids are very busy nowadays as they have comeback coming soon. I am grateful that they could manifest even a 10 min long video.it does look like it was shooted recently.even though it was shooted in a small amount of time,the work was so amazing and detailed .I hope they make a part2 of it ,because it was very confusing and Heart wrenching.

My boys slayed the acting so hard 💅✨.

I am so proud of 'em.

And yeah again ........

Who's Yongbok?

[ameliawarnerr]

Criminal Haven

Read the Prologue

Chapter 1: Old Friends

—The Leader—

“What the hell was that?” The unknown guy shouts. His soft facial features give away his youngness. From the five of us, only he appears to be frightened but he's hiding it well by the annoyed look on his face.

“You are asking us?” The bitterness in Hannah's voice has only increased. Six days ago she was freed. She was welcomed by her family and must have thought the craziness was over. I can only imagine her rage after finding her tied again and worst of all– her ex-kidnapper sits beside her.

The guys look at Hannah from me. Then, his face shows dismissal of whatever he was about to say. He lowers his voice, finding the right tone of seriousness and says without looking at any of us, “Look, if it's a prank you all are playing on me, stop it right now. It's sick.”

Jake cuts in. “Do any of us look like we want to be here?” His sharp voice cuts through the silence in the room. The guy falls quiet, his eyes flicker to me before they lower to the ground.

I examine the surroundings. There's nothing useful in the sight– except for these chairs and handcuffs bounding us. Although, to make the use of them, we’d need to first get out of them. I can't think of a way to get out this– our hands are cuffed behind the chair which restricts our movements.

I scan Richy’s body. He's not weak but neither strong enough to break through them either. My next target is the unknown guy– he's not particularly skinny but he seems tall which implies strength might not be his strong point. I have never missed Dan.

Disappointed, I turn to my last hope– Jake Donfort.

Before I can look at his body, I am distracted by his face. The crease on his forehead gives away how hard he is contemplating. And this is the time when I should be doing the same. But I cannot stop staring at him. Even if he's tied up like us, he appears to be in control.

Sensing my gaze, his eyes flicker to mine. I dart my eyes randomly around the room before they settle on the door behind Richy.

I notice the unknown guy glowering at Jake’s face as if he's making sense of something. He sighs in exasperation. “You really expect me to believe that you have nothing to do with this mess? You four know each other, I'm the only one—”

Jake isn't looking at him when he says, “I don't have plenty of time to play pranks on you. None of us do. Get over yourself.” His eyes only flicker to him at the end of his sentence and then back to where he was looking. He doesn't put much effort in when he speaks and somehow, that plays to his advantage.

The guy exhales, looks at me, looks at the floor. I furrow my brows at him.

Hannah’s drained when she tilts her head at Richy. “Why don't we focus on the one who can really do this?”

Richy doesn't react to her implicit accusation.

Hannah turns to Jake. “He has played the imposter before. He can do it again.”

I notice the softness in Jake’s eyes as he looks at Hannah. He has saved her, physically but he cannot erase the memories, the doubts that would arise everytime she has to trust someone. He can't undo the damage. I think he's realising that too.

“You know I'm right. He can't be trusted.” Hannah stresses as no one acknowledges her claim.

I dropped my head, eyes focused on my lap. I know Hannah is right about calling him untrustworthy but I'm more afflicted by his silence– he can't even fathom words to defend himself.

“No,” my head rises in Jake's voice. “Although you are right, he can't be trusted. But he's not the one behind all of this.”

Richy could have expected to be suspected but I'm certain that he didn't accept someone taking his side, especially not Jake. I know it because I didn't either. But I'm sure I'd hear a logical explanation if I question Jake now. But I have to add why I think Richy isn't the one behind this.

“He’s right.” I say, looking at Hannah. I don't know how much she'd care about my opinion. But she has to listen to it. I've contributed to her search without having a reason to. “As shameful as it is, but he had a reason then. He has none now.” I refrain from adding how he tried to end his life. And now that proves he couldn't have done this.

I can feel his eyes on me.

Before I could drown in the memory of that last video call, a clanging sound of metal grabs my attention. My eyes fly to Jake's handcuffs as his hands move flexibly around the metal, his long fingers bend skillfully inwards. I spot a long, narrow pin between two of his fingers.

The handcuffs drop the moment his hands cease to move. Everyone gapes at him, including myself as he rises on his feet, walking towards. “How did you do that?”

He answers when he is close enough for only me to hear him. “I’ve been fooling the government for years,” he stops at my feet as I crane my neck to peer at him, “Do you really believe handcuffs will be enough to restrain me?” There's a hint of a smile on his face.

“Well, I certainly didn't think you'd brag about that.” I speak as he bends around my side, attempting to free my hands too. I can feel the side of his face being merely inches away from mine. “Too close.” I whisper.

“Intended.” He whispers back. I'm glad his chest hides the best part of my face because I truly distrust my facial expressions right now. I restrain a shiver by fisting my hands and it doesn't help that he can see them. I brush off the flutter and focus on the fact that he wants to talk about something he doesn't want others to hear. “What’s the status? Who do you think we can trust?”

“Hannah’s in the clear obviously. Even if I consider it unemotionally, she could be revengeful but that's reserved only for Richy. Anyways, she's not resourceful enough to have planned this.” I whisper quickly, hoping my words are clear. He listens intently as his hands barely move.

“Neither is Richy.” He points out. “The unknown guy? Is he really your old friend?”

In my scrutiny, I almost forget our closeness. When I shake my head, my cheeks brush against Jake’s. I gulp, “If he is, he must be a really old friend because I don't recall ever meeting this guy.”

Jake commits the same mistakes as he nods and his face almost fits the crook of my neck. I exhale. He clears his throat. “I’d need you to talk to him.”

“I don't know. He seems resentful.” I argue.

“Not of you, though.” I hear the handcuffs drop and I sigh in relief, retreating my hands.

I run my palm against the reddish mark they have left. “What? How do you know?” I ask him as he retreats.

“I’m observant.” He reasons before moving to Hannah. He gets rid of her cuffs in less than ten seconds.

She doesn't get on her feet. Instead, she wraps her arms around herself then puts a palm on her forehead. I wish I had the time to empathise with her or comfort her but I’m on the edge myself. And one thing I know about life: get comfortable on the edge if you wish to survive. My being comfortable on the edge brings indifference and insensitivity with it.

I rise and walk to Richy. He acknowledges my presence by turning his head in my direction but his eyes don't meet mine. “Just because I vindicated you doesn't mean you have my trust. You want yourself out of those cuffs, give me your word that you wouldn't do anything reckless.” By the time I'm finished, Jake walks past me. He stops in front of the door behind Richy’s chair, examining it.

I drop my eyes to Richy again. This time, he looks at me. His face is worse than it looked from my spot earlier. “You think I’m crazy.” He says not as much to me as himself.

I cross my arms. “Like I said, I think you can't be trusted. And I don't care one bit if you stay tied to this chair. Give me your word and we free you. This is a one time and only offer you'd get from me. Take it or leave it.”

He nods a couple of times. “Fine. I'd ask you to free me but that’d contradict your distrust.” I avert my eyes from him. “You don't seem to notice that but I do. So I’d rather ask you to free me of this chair then you can keep me in handcuffs.”

Jake turns to me, waiting for me to make the call. I nod at him and he unlocks Richy’s cuffs. Slowly, Richy turns to Jake offering his hands to be cuffed again. Jake shoves one of the cuffs in his pocket as the other hangs outside. I glare at him. “What are you doing, Jake?”

“I’m keeping them with me, just in case.” He answers. Already aware of my dissent, he leads me to a corner.

“We cannot trust him, Jake. We have no idea what's going on here. We can't rule anyone out so easily.” I point out, not bothering to mention the exception to this: Hannah. He already knows it.

“You ruled me out of your suspicion.” He points out.

“I trust you.” These words come out as easily as they have many times before. “And don't you play with words or argue. Eloquence is my expertise not yours.” That's why I could get the things out of the people involved. Things they didn't tell their friends. Although Jake isn't entirely terrible with words when it comes to arguments, I don't say that to him.

“I know. It is mine to guide you back on track when you get distracted.” He implied. If it wasn't him, I'd get angry for being called distracted.

“What do you mean? I'm being practical right now.” I refute.

He takes a step forward, his voice lowering. “I know you trust him. You just want to punish him by showing that you don't.” I stare at him, blankly. “It’s reasonable but by the look on your face, I think you didn't realise it. And now that you have, I know you'd consider it unnecessary.”

“You might be right.” I murmur.

“That guy. Are you ready to talk to him?” He queried.

I nod. “Stop me if I get off the track again.” I walk past him.

He follows me. “That’s my expertise.”

While walking to him, I drag an empty chair with me and position it in front of him. I sit as Jake stands, a hand on the head of the chair.

He looks between Jake and I. He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You are not going to free me because I'm the odd one out?”

“You won't be if you tell me your name and how we are supposed to know each other.” The unknown voice called him my old friend. Since he got all our identities right. (Though he twisted them at his own convenience. Nevertheless, they were somewhat true.) I doubt that he'd be wrong about his and my old friendship.

“I’ll tell you my name but I'd doubt it’ll help much.” He hints.

“You don't get to decide that.”

“You’re right. I'll let you decide. My name is Kai Pierce. Doesn't ring any bells, does it?” His edged voice is infuriating. But he's right. I haven't heard that name ever before.

Jake cuts in. “Cut to the chase. You know something. It's obvious so don't waste our time.”

Kai’s amber eyes flare up. “You know what?” He glares straight into my eyes. “I am stuck here because of you. If it wasn't for you—”

I cut him off. “Are you sure about that? Let me remind you that the lunatic from before made it pretty clear that we are here because everyone of us has committed a crime or two. So you want to blame someone? Blame yourself.” I countered partly because now he'd want to back up his statement from before. I don't care if it is really here because of me. But now that I retaliated, he'd have to bring in evidence. And the only possible one would be his identity.

“No. You're wrong. I don't see every person who has ever committed a crime in this room. I am here because of my connection with you. And the least you can do is remember that connection.” His voice is rising and his patience drops. I don't even have to say anything before his patience lowers to nothing.

“But I'd give you a hint,” he says, growing restless. “The first time we ever talked, when we didn't even know each other well, you called me your old friend. Isn't that ironic?”

“It is ironic.” I break into an icky smile. “Darkness.”

He mirrors my expressions. “Your old friend,” he echoes.

Next chapter here!

____________________

I'm trying to bring out the side of MC that we often saw in the game: the smart, tactful leader yet emotionally available and compassionate. I hope that's working out.

If any of you are confused about Darkness: when we chatted with (normally like we do with others) him the first time, there was a dialogue option “hello darkness my old friend". This was in reference to that. For this fic, I'm assuming MC chose that option.

Also this post marks my 100th post and I have badge on my profile now!!!!!

Thanks for reading!

:)

[narashikari]

I know a lot of people are already sold on the idea of Rinne and Houtaro being secretly siblings... but hear me out. I have an alternate theory to offer, one that doesn't have the two as siblings.

Houtaro's dad was an alchemist on Kudo Fuga's (Rinne's dad) side, helping him smuggle out the Chemmies (which were under the Alchemist Union's control) little by little until they managed to get all 101 of them free. Maybe he brought some of them home with him, which was how Houtaro met Hopper-1 when he was a little kid.

But Papa Ichinose got caught by the Alchemist's Union, maybe because they found out Houtaro knew about Hopper-1. He refused to betray Fuga, so they either banished him somewhere he can't get out from and/or mind-wiped him of his memories of being an alchemist (as we saw with that classmate of Spanner's)... or maybe even killed him outright.

They mind-wiped Houtaro to remove his memories of Hopper-1 (under the guise of the rule where civilians' memories of Chemmies are erased). If they killed/banished Papa Ichinose, they would have made Houtaro and Mama Ichinose think he just went off on some adventure and will come back. They would also have mind-wiped their memories of him being an alchemist if they were aware of it.

It explains why Fuga just gave Houtaro the Driver, no questions asked. Sure, Hopper-1 and Steamliner "chose" him, but maybe he knew all along that he could trust this boy with it... because he knew why Hopper-1 chose him (that being Hopper-1 recognizing him as the little boy who befriended him years ago).

And if he knew Houtaro was his old friend's son, he would be compelled not only to entrust the Driver to him, but also to give his life protecting him- especially if Houtaro's dad did die helping him free the Chemmies.

It may also explain why the union inspector immediately suspected Houtaro being a spy yet was not surprised that he's able to gain the trust of the Chemmies and wielding their powers. If he knew Houtaro's dad was a talented alchemist who did manage to get the Chemmies to come along with him, then he wouldn't be all that surprised that his kid could do it too. Even more so if he knew about Houtaro having befriended Hopper-1 before. But of course he wouldn't trust Houtaro if his dad is considered a traitor to the Union.

(This doesn't explain why he didn't suspect Rinne of being the spy either, but because she is part of the Academy as a student even though her dad's been missing a while, it probably means someone within the Union took her in and vouched for her.

It also doesn't explain why Minato wouldn't have recognized Houtaro if his dad was a known alchemist, but maybe the Union unpersoned him in their ranks and/or Minato wasn't even around yet when it all went down.)

And maybe this also explains Atropos' taunts towards Rinne. She knew it was Rinne's dad protecting the Chemmies, after all, so if he was working with someone else she probably knew about it too.

What if when she said "it's all [Rinne's] fault" she was referring to Houtaro? She was saying that the whole reason Houtaro's the Kamen Rider because her dad got his dad involved, and in the process brought him into the whole affair too.

From a meta standpoint... well, it's not the first time an organization a Rider worked for made the Riders think someone was just away only for them to been killed as a traitor to that organization all along (despite actually being on the right side/trying to do the right thing).

That was basically what happened to Fukamiya Hayato, Kento's dad, in Saber- in his case, Hayato was manipulated into thinking he was doing the right thing when he "betrayed" the guild, and was actually acting on the orders of Master Logos, who had malicious intentions. Kento and the rest of the SoL were under the impression that he just ran off to join the Megid, when in fact he'd already been killed and the Calibur they were fighting wasn't his dad but another person entirely.

Notably, Gotchard is being co-written by Keiichiro Hasegawa, who also worked on Saber. And KR writers are known for their tendency to recycle their plots a lot.

In their case, Papa Ichinose and Fuga did betray the Union, but it remains to be seen why they did. Though, it would not be surprising if they found out the the Union had nefarious plans for the Chemmies and/or was in cahoots with Glion all along.

I mean, pretty much every official organization the Riders were affiliated with in Reiwa turned out to be involved with the bad guys in some way- AIMS being part of ZAIA which was involved in the Ark incident, the aforementioned Master Logos who lead the Swords of Logos being a bored nihilist whackjob, Fenix being founded by the leader of Giff's cult, the DGP being behind everything to begin with... so, if the Alchemist Union turned out to be involved with Glion, nothing new there.

I do think Papa Ichinose was more likely killed than imprisoned if the Union is involved with Glion. We already know they don't actually give a crap about the spy in their ranks when Minato reported it, nor did they care about Sabimaru being captured by the Abyssalis Sisters (or what could happen to him for that matter). I can't see them caring about offing an alchemist or two they believe to have betrayed them.

The banishment/mind-wipe scenario would be a mercy.

[fnaflucasverse]

The world needs to know about Mike and his stunning 2nd wife, his malewife

Mike

2, 8, 13, 20

Rodrigo

4, 13, 19, 23

this ask is going to be so long ill just put it under a readmore 😭 foxhound supremacy forever

MIKE:

2) What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

it's very easy for him to slip into a paranoid spiral when what he remembers (or thinks he remembers) doesn't line up with what's in front of him. if it's an isolated, easily explainable instance, mike can brush it off. when it becomes a pattern, mike will start distrusting either his own perception or reality itself, becoming very confused and agitated when other people act as if nothing is wrong.

usually faith or lucas would immediately sense what's happening and ground him by assuring him of a logical (usually faulty memory-related) explanation, or erasing his memory entirely (in faith's case). truly, what would mike do without them...

8) Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

probably not, or at least not very well... i think he would mostly feel too sick to his core to attempt to get away with it, even if it was in self-defense. mike doesn't like hurting people.

he'd definitely do better if he had help from someone who actually knows what they're doing in this situation (coughcough lucas).

13) If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

as strangers, we'd just be staring at each other awkwardly. if he knew who i was, he'd probably get mad at me for putting him in this situation and then i'd cry </3

20) Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

i think he'd only get jealous in extremely specific circumstances, like if doll (or a certain pirate) suddenly started pulling away from mike emotionally and spending a lot of time elsewhere, with someone else. it reignites a lot of the insecurity mike felt growing up, the idea that there's something wrong with him, that he's "damaged goods", that he's not good enough for the people he loves.

RED:

he'd direct a lot of this anger at himself, probably start drinking to cope until they (inevitably) break the news that they don't love him and are leaving him and he should go die in a hole. (there were at least a few times when mike suspected doll might leave him, especially early in their relationship, after they both got disowned for being together.)

4) When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

his first instinct is to flee, but if that's not possible for whatever reason (he's cornered or someone he cares about is in danger) then he'll fight tooth and claw.

13) If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

see mike's answer 💀

19) How does your OC behave when enraged?

23) What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

there are kind of two main stages: first, red goes completely cold and serious, dead-focused on whatever made him angry in the first place. if he can settle the issue with a (relatively) calm discussion, he will. he's not really one for confrontation, but his personal pride is something that he can't let stay chipped.

the second stage is after all negotiations have gone badly, or if negotiations were never on the table in the first place. rodrigo essentially just flips out and tries to (metaphorically?) bite the other person's face off. he is not stopping until they apologize, die, or he dies going after them. if this feud goes on long enough, he'll do anything in his power to ruin their life. but he's not a monster enough to bring their family into it.

probably existential dread. the idea that the world will go on and on without him and not even spare him a glance. he doesn't want to face the fact that he has been forgotten by everyone, even if he knows logically that it's true. it's why he keeps telling his stories, trying to relive the past glory days. he's not ready to give up on himself yet.

red finds it hard to express genuine love and affection, especially verbal affirmations like "i love you" or even "i'm glad you're in my life". he stays quiet about these things until they're too big to ignore, and even then he's probably going to ignore them for as long as possible until the other person makes the first move.