#it's been wonderful slowly becoming a human being since i was freed from my parents but it's still annoying how terribly im assembled

[antimnemonic]

omfg 😤🔪

[geekgirles]

Your Heart

A centuries-long feud between two of the world's most mysterious and otherwordly species is put to a halt by a sudden crisis. Danny Phantom, unofficial protector of Amity Park and indisputable King of the Ghost Zone, seeing no other choice, must make a risky decision for the sake of his people and loved ones.

But can a ghost truly trust a witch given their people's history? Or will he fall under the spell of the hypnotising Queen of the Witches of Amity Park?

READ ON AO3

Word Count: 5725

CHAPTER 1 -- Desperate Measures

Neon green.

Neon green eyes. 

The same sight that has accompanied him ever since that fateful day when he was fourteen and he entered his parents’ portal to the Ghost Zone.

The very first time he looked himself in the mirror after the accident he was greeted by those very same eerily green eyes, coupled with no little amount of panic and anxiety. And how could he not be frightened at the sight? Not only his eyes had changed colour, he himself had drastically transformed, too. 

What once was a cascade of black hair falling down his face had become an avalanche of white strands. The black and white jumpsuit he’d worn as he entered the portal was still black and white, but the colour scheme was reversed. Surprisingly, instead of looking even paler than usual, his complexion gained a healthy tanーas soon as he learned what he had turned into, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the ridiculous notion of a dead guy having more flesh-coloured skin after dying. He couldn’t even recognise his own voice! And it wasn’t the typical “my voice sounds different now that I hear it recorded” type of different. No. There was a certain...echo to it. 

Just what had he turned into?

As that first excruciating month after the accident would prove, he’d become a half-ghost, half-human hybrid.

He, Danny Fenton, was a halfa, as the locals liked to call him. 

And by ‘locals’ he didn’t mean the people living in his hometown, Amity Park. He meant the ghosts living in the Ghost Zone. The parallel dimension to Earth that his parents had dedicated years to find, hence the creation of the Ghost Portal that led to the start of his rare condition. 

And no, he couldn’t say ‘unique’ because there was another halfa that had been around for twenty years prior to his own accident. But he wasn’t going to go in detail about that; thinking about the fruitloop always put him in a bad mood. And he already had enough on his plate as it was. 

To say his first year as a halfa was difficult would be an understatement, maybe as much of an understatement as it would be to call the sinking of the Titanic a midnight swim. 

His first year with ghost powers had been brutal. There was just too much to take into account when living a double life. And if having a secret of such magnitude could take its toll on an adult, then that was nothing compared to what it could do to the already delicate psyche of a teenager. Wait, psyche? He wondered to himself, Where did that come from? Maybe Tucker is right and I need to meet some new people… Psychological talks are always a tell-tale sign that I’ve been spending too much time with Jazz.

But it was true, wasn’t it? 

While his classmates at Casper High worried about pimples, or getting their first girlfriends or boyfriends, or fitting in with the A-listers, thoughts of his secret being discovered plagued his mind 24/7. It was a miracle he hadn’t outed himself the moment he got his powers, given how little control he used to have over them. 

And it wasn’t like he could just train his powers and figure out what to do from there in peace. Oh, no. That would’ve made things easy for him and, as he would come to learn over the years, the universe just loved making things unnecessarily difficult for him. He was the cosmos’ favourite chew toy. 

No, of course not. He had to learn to use his powers while countless mischievous ghosts set out to complete whatever crazy agenda they had or to pummel him to the ground materialised in Amity Park for the first time in...let’s see...ever?

He also met the fruitloop which, of course, always brought lots of pleasant memories of an obsessive psycho attacking him, mocking him, drooling and pointlessly flirting with his mum, trying to kill his dad, only to then do a complete 180 and try to convince him to abandon his ‘idiot father’ and join him as his own son… No, no! Not going there! He really couldn’t afford losing his temper at the moment. 

His only saving grace those first few months had been his best friend, Tucker Foley and, some time later, his older sister Jazz. 

Tucker was the first to know about his secret because he was there the day of the accident. Though not a fan of the paranormal, Tucker was really into technology; always had been. Unfortunately, that earned him the nickname of ‘Techno Geek’ back in their high school days. But it was precisely that interest in the crazy inventions his parents often came up with that had led them to checking out the, then busted, Ghost Portal. And it had been his friend’s conviction that the two of them could surely make it work that had led to his molecules getting rearranged. 

Jazz was a completely different case. 

Growing up with ghost-hunting parents, meaning they focused their inventions on the paranormal side of life (and that included ectoplasm-filled dinners), Jazz had taken it upon herself to be the ‘responsible, trustworthy, and caring’ (her words, not his) older sister. Since they were little, his sister wholeheartedly believed it was up to her to make sure her brother was safe and got the attention he needed, seeing as their parents could be scatterbrained, at best. 

It goes without saying that such a mindset, though appreciated as they grew up, turned her into a meddlesome know-it-all in the eyes of any younger sibling. But if the aforementioned younger sibling happened to have developed ghost powers just as he hit puberty...well, that made her a nightmare. 

The first few months Danny tried keeping his sister at arm’s length, much to her chagrin. But she eventually learned his secret anyway and kept it away from their parents, something her little brother could never thank her enough for. 

How did she learn his secret? According to her, she found out during Danny’s first encounter with the misery-inducing ghost known as Penelope Spectra. But she didn’t reveal that she knew until a certain turn of events.

Said turn of events?

In his shortsighted search for power, the fruitloop had freed Pariah Dark, the dreaded Ghost King, from his eternal slumber and imprisonment. And not only did he free an ancient, power hungry spectre, he also stole the Ring of Wrath, the powerful item Dark needed to gain infinite power alongside the Crown of Fire already in his possession, and took it with him to Amity Park, endangering everyone in the process. 

Pariah’s plans to conquer the Ghost Zone anew, only this time he coveted Earth as well, had led to many events in a surprisingly short amount of time. But the most surprising of them all was his ascension to the throne of the Ghost Zone. 

After an agonising battle where he risked his very life from merely trying to go toe to toe with the tyrannical spirit, his quick decision-making made a difference that day. Stealing the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire from Pariah Dark in an attempt to keep such raw power away from his person, Danny finally succeeded and imprisoned him once and for all inside the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. 

That day, he saved both his world and the Ghost Zone. 

That day he became Danny Phantom; Amity Park’s greatest hero.

...until he, and everyone who had previously been celebrating him, found out that a link between him and the ring and crown had been formed after he defeated Pariah Dark, which made him the new ruler of the Ghost Zone. 

All at the tender age of fourteen.

At first, he tried bargaining with the Observants and Clockwork, ghosts who would act as his rule’s Council from them onwards; he tried convincing them of how unfitting he was to rule an entire dimension. And to this day, he still maintained that belief. Back then he was fourteen, he couldn’t even drive, let alone rule over an entire race he barely knew the basics of! Many of the Ghost Zone’s inhabitants were his enemies, on top of that. Just because they’d agreed to fighting by his side during Dark’s return didn't mean they would suddenly be okay with him being the boss of them! What’s more, many of them would surely challenge him for the throne; his rule would be forever accompanied by war and anarchy! And most importantly, he was half-human. How could someone like him, who had an entire life outside the Ghost Zone, ever be fit to be its king?

But the Observants and Clockwork would have none of it. 

The Ghost of Time took advantage of his “I know everything that could and will happen” powers to toy with his weakness: protecting his home and loved ones. Clockwork simply pointed out that, as the new Ghost King, he could actually keep a closer eye on his subjects than he did in the Human World, and use his position to protect Amity Park from ghosts by merely implementing some laws. Not to mention, that due to the sheer power he would possess, most of his adversaries would have to be complete morons to even entertain the thought of challenging him, meaning the amount of ghost attacks his hometown endured would decrease drastically just with him as their ruler. And, of course, there was the issue with Vlad… As Clockwork would helpfully remind him, if he didn’t accept his position as new king of the ghosts, then Plasmius was sure to take advantage of it to claim the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire for himself. 

And a world ruled by Vlad Plasmius promised to be a thousand times worse than anything Pariah Dark could submit his subjects to. 

All of it, every single point in his favour, Clockwork said completely offhandedly. As if he were talking about his plans for the weekend instead of slowly but surely bending Danny’s decision to what he and the Observants believed was the best outcome. Every word was uttered as if he didn’t know the, then, ghost boy would do anything to prevent such a terrible future from happening. 

As if the choice was truly his to make. 

And that led him to where he was now, seven years since he accepted his newfound role. 

In some ways, he remained the same. 

His hair was still the same snow white mess falling down his face. His green eyes were still vibrant and alert, if perhaps filled with a maturity and sense of responsibility that weren’t always there. His skin was still the same tanned complexion he wished he could get after sunbathing, rather than the nasty burns he would easily get. And most importantly, he was still doing his best, dedicating every single minute of his life, to doing the right thing, to protecting the innocent, and to trying to balance his responsibilities as Danny Phantom, the Ghost King and unofficial protector of Amity Park, and Danny Fenton, an university student trying to get his degree in Astrophysics while keeping his parents and acquaintances in the dark when it came to his secret. 

He still loved space and, albeit harder to achieve, he still dreamed of eventually becoming an astronaut. His sharp wit and tongue had only been honed with the passage of time; his ability to outsmart and to get his opponents to lower their guards enough to defeat them had saved his butt countless times over the years. Deep down, he was still the same Danny. The kind, compassionate, and caring boy who wanted to ensure everyone was safe. Sometimes at the price of his own mental health. 

But for every single thing that had remained unchanged, many more evolved alongside the boy.

For starters, he no longer was a boy, but a man. At twenty-one, there was no trace of the baby fat that once adorned Danny’s face, having been replaced by a sharp jawline and sculpted muscles caused by several years of physical exertion. His once scrawny figure was now replaced by broad shoulders, defined pectorals and abs, and bulging biceps. With his jumpsuit accentuating every single sinew of his body. 

The jumpsuit itself had undergone minor yet noticeable changes. The white collar covering his neck  and collarbone had gradually extended until it reached his shoulders. His biceps were now adorned by two white bracelets each, and his white gloves included several bottoms which activated the different mechanisms he had scavenged from his parents’ trash and had Tucker include in his suit over the years. Just like he traded his old belt for a far more refined utility belt, which also held several surprises. And yet, the biggest change was the logo on his chest. Or rather, the fact that he now sported a logo at all. It was a rather simple, yet witty, design. A white ghost shaped to include both his alterego’s initials; ‘DP’. 

It was rather ingenious. 

He couldn’t claim the credit for himself, though. He hadn’t created the logo. It was the strangest experience and still, one of the most touching.

One day he was flying over Amity Park, patrolling to make sure everything was as it should, when, thanks to his enhanced senses, something caught his eye. Sitting on a bench in the park was a girl but, for once, he didn’t pay attention to her appearance. He couldn’t, for he was too entranced with what she was doodling on her notebook. Doodles. That was all there was to it, really, but amongst black cats, roses, and the occasional “spooky ghost”, her design for his logo stood out. 

He asked Tucker to add it to the latest update of his suit as soon as he went back home. 

That very same logo adorning his chest was also engraved on the verdigris medallions keeping his black and white cape on his shoulders. That cape, alongside the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Wrath, were his designated attire as the Ghost King. Jazz figured he could alter his appearance a little depending on the role he played at the moment in order to avoid making the citizens of Amity Park jittery. “We want them to accept you as their protector, Danny,” she once said, “the less you remind them that you’re the current king of the Ghost Zone, the better.”

That was him. The self-appointed protector of Amity Park, and the leader of the Ghost Zone, and his highest priority would always be to ensure everyone’s safety. 

Which was why he was about to do what he was going to do. 

“Great One,” Frostbite, the honorable, trustworthy leader of the Far Frozen, called out to him, “are you certain there is no other way?”

His King appraised him with a resigned look. Frostbite and his people were some of the first ghosts to accept and respect him, immediately declaring themselves at his service after he defeated Pariah Dark. His imposing appearance, that of a hairy snow monster with sharp teeth and claws and an almost unmatched proficiency in the art of cryokinesis, hid his noble, gentle, and wise interior. The leader of the Far Frozen was an ally, a mentor, a friend...But, unless he came up with an alternative of his own, he couldn’t be of much help at the moment. Sighing, Danny shook his head. 

“There probably is, Frostbite. But we’ve already lost enough time. If we don’t act soon, who knows what could happen.”

“I would.” A disembodied voice announced from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. If he were still fourteen, that trick would’ve made Danny jump a few feet high. But that was no longer the case, and he knew the owner of the voice all too well. “High chance, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Have you come here to offer an alternative, Clockwork?” Danny crossed his arms. A part of him knew it was futile to expect a straight answer from the Ghost of Time, his lips were sealed when it came to revealing the future. But, somehow, he still hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to, as of date, his most reckless decision. 

In a way, the ghost’s appearance seemed fitting. With his fluctuating age and his cloaked self, carrying a staff around, he resembled the Grim Reaper himself. Depending on his answer, he could either save or doom him. 

“I’m afraid not, boy. And even if I did, I most likely wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.” Clockwork shrugged, but the smile on his face somehow made the halfa suspect he didn’t lament anything. 

 Gesturing with a hand at the child-like ghost, Danny turned to address Frostbite. “There you have it. This seems to be our only hope.”

“But, sire,” Frostbite started, worry apparent on his canine features, “surely you are aware of the risks we will be taking ifー”

“I know,” his King interrupted him with a raised hand, “you don’t have to remind me. I was hoping things wouldn’t come to this but we can’t afford to lose any more time. You said it yourself, Frostbite. Aside from a very few ghosts like Wulf, who doesn’t even fully understand the workings behind his power, they are the only ones who know how the Ghost Zone’s portals work. If we want to put an end to our current problem, we have got to ask them for help.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Frostbite sighed, “I know, Great One. But I cannot help but fear they will either refuse to aid us in our time of need, or agree to it only to eventually betray us.” A low growl erupted from his throat. “These are extremely treacherous and unpredictable beings, my King.”

“I’m well aware of the risk, Frostbite.” The halfa reassured his friend, putting a hand on his furry shoulder. “But think about it this way: if they refuse, we can start looking for alternatives and avoid any unnecessary trouble from them; and if they accept with any sort of hidden motive, all we have to do is keep our guards up.” 

Now presenting himself as an old man, Clockwork nodded at Danny’s words, “It’s truly all we can do.”

Seeing as there truly was nothing else they could do, the leader of the Far Frozen could only pray his King’s noble, yet dangerous, decision wouldn’t become their downfall. Sighing, he finally nodded, silently expressing he and his people’s loyalty to their king, no matter what path he chose. 

The halfa smiled at his friend’s understanding nature, but it was short lived. Squaring his shoulders, he motioned to his companions to follow him. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

The three ghosts made their way around the corridors of the king’s lair inside the Ghost Zone. The hallways and rooms were empty, for once, since the ruler had previously given orders to stay away from his lair that day. It was a day for deliberating his next move, the last thing he needed was to be distracted by his subjects. 

He was doing this for them, after all. 

Opening the gates, they stepped out into the island, where a green-skinned, ghostly postman was waiting for them. The irony was not lost on Danny: the same ghost Vlad had used to trick his mother and him all those years ago would now be essential for his plan. 

With Frostbite and Clockwork flanking him, the young king approached the spectre, a serious look on his face. Extending out his gloved hand, he handed him an envelope. “You know what to do with this.” He stated firmly. 

Bowing his head as a sign of respect and understanding, the postman took the envelope from his hand, flying away to the nearest portal. 

All that was left to do was wait. 

....................

Purple. 

Purple eyes. 

Once again, she was greeted by the very eyes that marked her fate. Just by having violet eyes, her fate was sealed and outlined for her the day she was born. For twenty-one years she had been greeted by the same sight: striking violet eyes, glossy raven hair framing her face, and fair skin that contrasted greatly with the rest of her features. And even to this day a part of her was still surprised that it was all happening to her. 

When she was a little girl, her mother and grandma would often warn her of the future that lay ahead of her, a future she wasn’t even sure she wanted. Whenever her mother spoke of what was expected of her, it all sounded far too difficult for her little mind to understand. And worst of all, far too boring. 

Why would she want to host parties and ceremonies? She was too young to even know what they were like! Whenever her mother started talking about the parties she would attend, a bubble of excitement grew inside of her. She was going to go to the grown-up parties instead of staying at home! She was going to have fun and do whatever it was the older girls did there!

...only for her mother to burst her little bubble, as always. 

The moment she felt the slightest excitement about the things her mother told her about, the woman would then go into a hundred details that sounded anything but fun. 

No, she wouldn’t be having fun at the parties, but tending to her guests. No, she couldn’t dress however she liked once she was older, there were expectations set on her. No, she couldn’t turn anyone she disliked into a frog; of course not!

And her younger self always found herself wondering: what’s the point in being a witch if you couldn’t do anything with your magic?

Thankfully, when her mother became too much to bear, her grandma was always near. Growing up, Grandma Ida had been her role model. She was fun and understanding when her mother was strict and unyielding. She was wise and the ideal mentor when Pamela acted hysterical or unreasonable. But above all else, her Grandma understood her when she was an outcast in her own society. 

Being an outcast among witches, how cruel could destiny be?

When she was a little girl she didn’t understand she was an outcast so much as she knew something was wrong with the other girls from her clan. They were never mean to her, per se, but they also never wanted to play with her. 

Not like she was ever allowed to play much, anyway. 

She spent most of her time awake listening to her mother’s lectures, or trying to pay attention during her governesses’ lessons, or, and this was her favourite part of the day, watching her Grandma in action. 

As she grew up, she started connecting the dots, understanding the reasons behind her sheltered and lonely upbringing. 

The other girls would never say a mean thing about her, nor would they get too close to her, because she was off-limits. If they ever disrespected her, their families might find themselves in a tight situation and fall from grace. But if they ever included her in their activities, making her feel like one of them, then she could be distracted and get sidetracked from her studies and her true purpose. 

Such was the life of the future Queen of the Witches. 

Growing up, she often tried to rebel against the role imposed on her since birth. A role she was forced to play ever since she opened her eyes for the first time and that forsaken violet colour appeared from behind her eyelids. 

Although a witch didn’t exactly become the queen of her people due to their genes. That is to say, the position wasn’t inherited; it depended on the most important asset a sorceress could ever possess. 

Her affinity to magic. 

Whoever had the strongest, and hence was the most powerful spellcaster among them, was destined to be her clan’s leader. But that didn’t necessarily mean anyone could be queen either. 

That popular belief among pop culture that spread the idea that anyone could do magic if sufficiently trained was absolutely ridiculous. You were either born with the ability to do magic, or you weren’t. Period. 

Another popular misinformation humans seemed to be suckers for was the idea that magic came from ancient artefacts or spellcasting. In reality, magic came from within every witch; from their anima. Their own essence. In truth, magic was the ability to channel their essence and project it into the physical realm with the added help of their knowledge of the secrets of life. 

Because when it came to magic, there was nothing more powerful than knowing the secrets of the universe. If you knew the secret to something, you knew how to master that something. 

Based on those principles, witches chose their queen according to the strength of her anima, and although the throne wasn’t supposed to be passed down from mother to daughter, it was worth mentioning that they did have a Royal family of some sort:

The Mansons. 

The family she, Samantha “Sam” Manson, belonged to. 

And what was it that turned the Mansons into the closest thing her people had to a Royal family? Their violet eyes. 

Their eyes were a tell-tale sign of a superior kind of anima. Just like their irises, it would manifest itself into purple energy; the only kind of energy that could survive dark magic without being corrupted. Sam’s own energy manifested itself in the form of a sparkly, purple mist, confirming her potential as her clan’s greatest spellcaster. 

Sam spent the first years of her life cursing her luck. She didn’t want to be queen! She wanted to have friends, to play, to see the world from beyond the clan’s manor’s windows...She...she wanted...she wanted to live. 

For years she hated her amethyst gaze, a cruel reminder of a fate that had already been outlined for her the moment she was born and from which she could not escape. But then, her Grandma Ida, the Witch Queen before her, died when she was fourteen, and Sam learned to value her unique eye colour. 

It was the only thing she had to remember her grandmother by, after all. 

Since Ida never had a daughter, but a son who would eventually marry Pamela, a lesser witch, the clan had seemingly fallen into anarchy. Several witches tried battling each other for control, while the members of the Council deliberated in search for a better solution than mindless duels that could massacrate the coven’s numbers. 

And it was during that time that Sam finally embraced what for years had been her greatest curse. 

Taking a stand, she casted a paralysing spell in the manor’s Grand Hall, forcing everyone present to stay put and listen to her. With that simple move, she achieved two things. Firstly, she got her people’s undivided attention, and secondly, she reminded them just who possessed the strongest anima. 

Although Sam would never admit it, having so many unwavering gazes looking down on her disturbed her a little, but she forced herself to go on with her plan before she lost her nerve. Using that newfound courage, she reminded everyone that, not only was she Ida’s only granddaughter, but she also had violet eyes and, as they’d just witnessed, the anima to match. She brought up the countless hours she’d spent studying to become their coven’s next queen, and she fought tooth and nail until they recognised her as the heiress to the throne. 

When the Head of the Council had reminded her of her age, still being too young to rule, Sam made a deal with them. The Council would act as her regents until her 18th birthday, when she became of age and would ascend to the throne as her Grandma, who was considered one of the best queens they’d ever had, would have wanted. In exchange, the girl promised she would dedicate those years to study and train to become the leader her people deserved. 

After much deliberation, the Council accepted her offer. 

Just as Sam kept her part of the deal. 

The four years she dedicated to her duties as future queen shaped Sam’s view on her lifelong duty. She always wanted to change the world for the better, now she had the means to do so. As Queen of the Witches of Amity Park, she would focus her efforts on diplomacy between the rest of the covens spread throughout the globe and hers. She would personally deal with any trespasser or crook who dared threaten her witches’ safety. She would focus her energy on rebuilding the link with nature her people used to profit from. 

But above all else, now that they were wandering freely around Amity Park, her coven’s home, she would protect her people from those traitors. 

No witch would suffer because of them ever again.

That was three years ago. Now at twenty-one, Sam was proud to call herself the Witch Queen, a duty and a privilege she was honoured to shoulder. 

Lost in thought, she gently stroked DeMilo’s head. The venus fly trap had been her familiar since her Rite of Passage back from her 14th birthday; it was the last ceremony Grandma Ida was able to attend. Unfortunately, the memory of her rite was tainted by a rather...unpleasant event, making it almost impossible to reminisce without the feeling of nausea creeping up on her. 

After their Rite of Passage, witches got their familiars, signalling they were finally full-fledged members of their birthclan. But while most young sorceresses got cats, or ravens, or any other animal ーsome animals being more stereotypically “witchy” than othersー, Sam got DeMilo. As unusual as getting a plant as her familiar was, it didn’t matter. The girl’s natural affinity to nature made it incredibly easier to harvest the herbs and plants they needed for their spells. 

And DeMilo was ten times more interesting than any house cat, anyways. And a hundred times more hygienic than a drooling dog. 

“You’ve been staring at the mirror for almost an hour now.” A heavily accented voice broke her out from her stupor. “And then they say I’m vain.”

Turning around, the queen found her lady-in-waiting, Paulina Sanchez, leaning against the door of her quarters, her arms crossed. At her feet lay several toiletries and different kinds of make-up. 

Avoiding her gaze, flustered, Sam apologised, “I...I’m sorry. I was waiting for you to come back with what you needed and I guess I got lost in thought.”

“No kidding,” Paulina snickered as she made her way to her Queen’s side. With a wave of her hand, she beckoned the items currently resting on the floor to float towards her, a soft pink glow enveloping them. “Is there, like, anything on your mind? Anything we should worry about? Because, last time I checked, everything was going smoothly for us. Except for that one nutcase still trying to hunt us, but nobody is taking her seriously anyway.” She shrugged, not feeling concerned in the slightest. 

Sam frowned a little at her words. She knew of the so-called witchhunter, and although Paulina was right that nobody seemed to take her seriously, it wouldn’t be unwise to keep an eye on her. The last thing they needed was another massacre like the one from The Great Burning. “No, no. Nothing like that, don’t worry.” She dismissed the idea with a motion of her hand. “I was just thinking about the past, that’s all.”

Paulina replied with a noncommittal sound as she started brushing her Queen’s hair. Normally, Sam limited herself to be pampered exclusively if she had an important meeting with the Council or the other clan leaders to attend, such as Coven Night, her people’s most sacred ceremony. But there was another reason why she had called Paulina to dress her up for. 

“Is there anything going on that I should know about?” she asked her lady-in-waiting, her eyes never leaving her reflection on the mirror. 

The Latina’s gaze hardened, “Harriet is trying to get more witches on her plan to get rid of them, but, so far, everyone seems to be loyal to you and your orders.”

“As they should.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, the Queen’s two handmaidens, Paulina and Star, were also her most trustworthy informants. They had eyes and ears all over the manor, without even using any surveillance spell. The other witches tended to look down on them due to their Valley Girl attitude, which often made them look far less capable than they really were. Which was perfect for them and Sam, because that way any possible conspirators would lower their guard around them. 

If anyone sneezed in the manor, they would tell her. 

Paulina was about to ask about what course of action they should take, when a shrill voice broke the quiet atmosphere, immediately drawing the attention from everyone present in the large house. 

Sam hastily stood up from her chair just as Star burst the doors open, surprise etched to her skin. Making eye contact with her queen, she hurriedly arrived next to her, doubling over and panting from racing all the way there. 

Concerned, Sam put a hand on her shoulder as she ordered Paulina to bring her friend some water, but the blonde stopped her with a wave of her hand. “No,” she breathed, “this...this is...too important.”

“Star, what’s wrong?” The violet-eyed girl asked. 

Instead of an answer from her handmaiden, she received a neon green envelope closed by a wax seal. If the colour of the envelope weren’t unusual enough, the seal was shaped after a glaringly familiar logo:

A ghost shaped to include two initials; ‘DP’.

In cursive, the envelope said it was directed to the ‘Witch Queen of Amity Park.’ And an array of red, capital letters was pressed against its green surface, reading:

URGENT

Sam couldn’t hold back her astonishment, a hand barely covering her gasping mouth. Absent-mindedly, as if under a spell, she took several tentative steps back, until her back collided with her vanity. She could not believe her own eyes.

The Ghost King was personally addressing her. 

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.”  He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

[avionvadion]

Forest Deep: a fanfic mixing Secret of the Cursed Mask and the actual Inuyasha anime itself. https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115702/chapters/58056064

Summary: Naraku had one goal- to destroy Inuyasha. Now with his new companion he has an idea how to make that happen. Brought to the Feudal Era by an unwanted Summoning, Irene's in search of her older sister and the one who brought them there. With the help of her new friends she might just find them, but it's hard getting through battles- nonetheless the day- with her lung problems. Why is this Naraku so cruel? What does he gain from hurting people? Who is his new friend- and what's underneath that mask she wears? Irene doesn't know. But she'll find out- one way or another. She just wished she had her sister beside her as she did it.

The first drawing is basically the story cover. I drew it back before Irene’s hair had a consistency and I had a better grasp of the art style XD The second image is from the end of chapter 20 and the last one is for chapter 15. 

Story: 

"I-It's…" Oh gods. "It's a saying where I'm from. Just- Just ignore it. I speak nonsense. Um. Look. You don't want to stay here, right? I don't want to stay here either. I have a sister I gotta make sure ain't dead, some friends to get back- granted… they probably don't want anything to do with me anymore, and an evil half-demon to stop, so~!" I huffed and stood, brushing some dirt off my pale blue jeans. I walked over, holding a shaky hand out to her with a grin. "You can come with or you can stay here and go crazy! Your choice."

Her eyebrows knit together. "For what reason did you desire the Magatama fruit? Most here are… filled with greed. They want its power for themselves. I, too, was selfish and… it brought me here."

"It…" I hesitated. Memories of the villagers falling came to mind. "I… I need the fruit to break a barrier. If the barrier doesn't break then… more people are gonna die. And… I don't want to see that happen."

"That's sounds awful…" Shizuno said, bringing a hand up to her mouth. "A-Are you certain that it's not another lie someone told? You could have fallen into a trap."

"I mean, probably?" I made a face, moving my head to the side and shaking it, shrugging my shoulders. "Buuut I have no reason to distrust him, you know? I-It's weird. Like, yeah he can be pretty shady when he wants to be, but he's helped me out this far and it's because of him I can talk to Shikigami spirits and heal people. So! I think he's nice. He did mention that this would be really dangerous and I was a firm believer I wouldn't survive. Was that a lie? Nope. Here we are! In a magical space surrounded by a bunch of crazy people."

"You are…" She frowned. "...strange. You speak of dire circumstances, yet you smile so brightly. Why do you behave so casually?"

"I just do." I was still so tired. "Life just sucks. That's how it works. No use mopin' about."

Unless of course several people had died. Damn it. I can still hear their screams, the children calling out for their parents as they ran for their lives. The blood splattering onto the ground… and staining Kohaku's kusarigama.

"Anyway! You never answered my question. You comin' with me?" I stretched out my fingers and wiggled them at her, staring at her expectantly. "You know you waaaant tooooo~! Far over the misty mountains cold~ to dungeons deep and caverns old!" My voice cracked and I coughed, hacking into my sleeve. My voice really could not go low. It was so distressing. The woman gave me such a strange look, but she reached out and took my hand. I felt so lightheaded. "Oh? Yay!"

She shook her head at me, folding her hands close to her chest. "We could be trapped here in eternal suffering," Shizuno told me, "yet you sing? Why?"

"Because if we're gonna be suffering eternally," I declared, holding an index finger up wisely, "we might as well have fun with it. Sadly I don't remember all the lyrics, but! It's a good song." I approached the mountain wall, staring up and squinting my eyes as I tried to gauge how far up we would have to climb before we reached the next ledge. My hands were all scraped up. "Okay… calm down. We can do this. You up for the climb?"

"Y-Yes, I suppose… what about you?" She stared at me, frowning. "Your skin is quite pale…"

"I'll be fine." I had to be. "My… My friends are waiting for me."

If they even still thought of me as one.

"And… your sister?"

I didn't answer. I wasn't even sure she was alive. "If I don't get that Magatama fruit… more people are gonna die. I… I don't want her to be one of them." I looked back at Shizuno, forcing another closed-eye grin, ignoring the lump forming in my throat. I had to be strong- for her. She was in pain as well. Her entire village was destroyed. "So we gotta keep going. Up and at 'em!"

I cracked my knuckles and reached up, grabbing onto a root sticking out from one of the rocks. This part of the wall was covered with vines, but there was no telling if they could all hold. Shizuno followed behind me uncertainly, grabbing onto a rock and climbing. "Th-This is very dangerous!"

Well, obviously. But I was convinced that we couldn't quite… die here? I've seen so many people wandering around and not one skeleton. At least there weren't any demons nearby in this spirit realm that could eat us. I don't think I'd taste very good. Ick. My mind flashed back to the mansion and I cringed, temporarily halting in my climb. Don't freak out. I had to stay calm. This is fine.

I'm fine. Always. Always fine.

I may be slowly breaking apart, but I'm fine. It's how I am.

This is just life.

It's my fault those villagers are dead, so I have to avenge them. Don't I?

Suddenly the vines I was climbing broke and I let out a small shriek, falling back towards the ledge below. The wind around me picked up pace and suddenly my descent slowed, causing me to blink. Then once I was close enough to the ground it stopped and I hit my head, crashing hard onto my back. "O-Ow! Frick!" I cringed and curled onto my side, bringing my hands up to the back of my aching skull. It was being put through so much abuse today. "Dude, that hurt!"

"A-Are you alright!?" Shizuno called down. She was at least thirty feet above me, clinging tight to some vines. "The wind just- how on earth-!?"

"Spirits." I hissed, wincing at the bump that was definitely going to be there for a while. The wind helped enough for me not to die, but wasn't completely forgiving to leave me free of injury. "Eugh…" That seriously hurt, but at least it wasn't fatal. This proved that one of my theories were right. Kazumi would have us wander forever in insanity, but she would not have us kill ourselves. "Frick."

I stumbled, wobbling over to the wall and leaning against it for a moment until my vision cleared. The world was trying to spin on me.

"Need to… keep going." I wheezed. This air spirit guardian person was such a sadist. "Have to… save them…"

My fingers gripped weakly at the roots. I wouldn't be able to climb in this state.

"Naraku… must be… stopped…"

I'm so dizzy. My forehead pressed against the rocky mountain side, eyes closing as I waited to catch my breath. That scared the crap out of me- falling like that. I hated it. After a few long minutes I grabbed at the vines again, fingers feeling numb and tingly, and I kicked at the wall with my bare feet. Being weak is one thing, but being stubborn was another. I was determined.

"I will… defeat him…" I wheezed, reaching up and grasping tiredly at a rock jutting out. It crumbled and I had to go for one higher up, stretching my arm painfully. "Barrier… it will break…"

Naraku sent Kohaku and Kanna after me, and why? Because Anastasia wanted my soul for some god awful reason that still wasn't explained. He made them attack the villagers that were helping me, and if Kagome didn't crack the mirror and force the souls to be freed so many more would already be dead. They tried to help me and Naraku forced Kohaku to kill them because of that. He was awful.

He was more of a madman than anyone else in this place.

The air around me seemed to grow gentler, my body becoming lighter and moving a bit faster. It was almost as if it was giving me a boost, but I knew that couldn't be the case. It was so aggressive earlier. After what surely must have been an hour I reached the ledge I fell from, reuniting with Shizuno who watched as I fell onto my front, eyes closed and breath heavy. "You are not the most healthy person, are you?" She asked.

"I wonder what… gave you that idea?" I wheezed, the sarcasm dripping off my tongue. "I told you… sickly human… didn't I?"

She gave a small smile, almost amused by my weird ways. "You did. Will you be able to make it to the top? There is still quite a ways to go."

"Yeah, just… need to… rest a bit first. Is that okay… with you?"

Shizuno nodded. "Yes… we have all of eternity, after all. Time does not seem to pass in this place. I have seen many arrive here, yet… they never aged. It is rather concerning, but there is nothing we can do. I fear many years have already passed since I was first brought here."

Wait, what? Oh no. My eyes widened and I sat up, looking at her in alarm and ignoring the rapid pounding of my heart. "N-No way… no, no, no! We… We have to hurry! I-I can't-!" I can't be trapped here forever. I have to get that fruit as fast as possible. If Maria was still alive then I can't be left behind. "The mountain! W-We have to… to climb…!"

I stumbled over, dazed and desperate, grabbing at the roots and struggling to climb. Shizuno dashed over and caught me when I fell, startled when she felt the heat radiating from my body. "I-Irene! You are feverish!"

"M'fine." I mumbled. "Have to get… to Sango…"

She, Miroku, Shippō, and Kirara are all up there dealing with the air spirit alone.

"Don't wanna see 'em hurt…"

I'm so sleepy. I want to take a nap.

"Gotta beat Naraku… and his dumb barrier thing…"

"Rest first. We have time." She said softly, voice so soothing. Shizuno carefully moved me away from the wall, keeping her arms around my waist, setting me down on the ground beside her. My head fell against her chest and my eyes closed, giving in to the comfort she gave. A hug felt so nice right now… yet her body was so cold. Her fingers ran gently along my hair, fiddling with the short strands. "You are fighting so strongly right now, are you not? It must be hard…"

"S'not… just… hurts."

"Why do you want to fight this Naraku so bad?"

"He hurts… people." I told her quietly, finding myself being lulled to sleep by her gentle touch. "They… helped me a-and he… killed them."

"He did?"

I nodded, making a small noise of confirmation. "He had… Sango's younger brother… attack. H-He's controlled by him, so he can't… fight back. She's always crying when she… has to face him. I don't like it. She's so much better… when she's happy…"

"I see. So Naraku is the one to blame."

Yes. He made Kohaku hurt them. It was all that evil half-demon's fault that the villagers are dead. "Naraku… killed them…"

"If that is so… then you should be able to climb the mountain now."

"...What?" My eyes slowly opened and I blinked, turning my head to look tiredly at Shizuno.

Her features seemed to change as the wind around us blew stronger, her long black hair shifting into something shorter and more white in color. I yanked myself off of her lap, watching as her colorful kimono become a pale blue, a white cloth draped over her shoulders and wrapped around her arms. As I stumbled into an upright stance, standing and backing away slowly, her dark eyes became an icy blue, lips dark and almost purple in color. I hadn't seen her entire appearance before, but I was certain now as to why Shizuno looked so familiar.

"K-Kazumi?"

…

"Where did she go!?" Sango demanded, whirling around to try and locate where the air spirit disappeared to. They were just talking when the mist became stronger, the entire area around them being covered in fog. The demon slayer couldn't see five feet in front of her. "Miroku! Shippō!"

"Here!" The fox demon informed, about ten feet back.

"I'm over here!" The monk shouted somewhere from her left side, sweeping at the area around him with his staff. "I'd use my Wind Tunnel to suck in this mess, but I might anger the spirits further if I did and cost Irene her life! Sango, what should we do!?"

"I-I don't know!" For once the demon slayer was at a loss. There was no enemy to fight, no goddess to appease. Only a spirit set on challenging their friend to a test of truth. "I… never realized she felt so guilty for what had happened…" Sango said after a moment, looking down at the hiraikotsu in her hand, closing her eyes with a pained expression. "I was only focused on myself. Miroku, I…" She rested a hand over her face, ashamed. "I'm a terrible friend."

"No, Sango, don't blame yourself." The monk shook his head. "I, too, did not notice. I was believing us to finally be able to close the gap and become proper allies, and yet…"

"She's always blaming herself!" Shippō stated, frowning deeply. He appeared greatly bothered. "Irene has such a guilt-complex for some reason! I don't get it! She's always apologizing for every little thing, no matter how small it is! Inuyasha was always yelling at her for it!"

"I-I thought she was just shy." Sango admitted. "But… I guess there's more to it. What do you think, Miroku?"

"Anything could have caused it." He informed them, something unsettling forming in his stomach. The monk always had been unable to refuse helping a young woman in need and the one in trouble now was a friend. Yet how could they protect her if they didn't even know what was wrong? If they couldn't even reach her where she was now? Why did Irene feel the need to place the blame on herself? "I'm afraid we'll just have to ask and pray she will tell us when she returns."

"I hope so…"

…

"H-How did you-!?" I pointed at her, dumbfounded, then gestured to where the brunette used to be. "Sh-She was just- hah? Gah! Shapeshifter!"

I took several more steps back. The woman's expression became blank once more, resembling more of the air spirit I had met earlier. "She was nothing more than an illusion. I created her as a guide, just as I have done time-and-again for those who come up this mountain. A rare few have ever been able to accept their truth and continue forth up the mountain. They were always too trapped in their greed, their selfishness… and would never think twice about abandoning someone else if it meant reaching their own goal."

What is she saying? I don't understand. My head hurts so much from this; I was still so dazed.

Kazumi closed her eyes, opening them only when her purple lips tilted upwards into a smile. "You have passed my test, Irene. You have accepted that Naraku was the one to blame for the villagers deaths. The children did not die because of you. I have seen into your mind… I know what you saw. I know how you felt. With this test I was able to attune your heart and I have come to the decision that you are indeed worthy… of a Magatama fruit."

"But… I literally didn't do anything?" I don't get it. I'm too dizzy for all this. "I just climbed a mountain…"

The air spirit looked amused by this and went on to explain. "Though they scared you, you tried to approach those wandering souls and save them. When you saw the apparition I created… you tried to give her the courage to go on. Though… unorthodox in the way it was done… you remained strong for her for as long as you could. But you are only human- and one who is prone to illness cannot keep on for long." She glanced up at the mountain, icy eyes following the path up. "The wind will help you on your climb up the rest of the mountain. You need not fear falling; now that your mind is clear of guilt… the roots and rocks along the cliff will not break."

I'm still so confused, but alright. "Um, thank you…?"

"Do not thank me just yet." She warned. "If you so much as waver in your thoughts you will fall once more down to the bottom, and your soul will wander here for all eternity like the rest." Kazumi waved her arm and then she was gone, replaced by nothing but more fog.

My eyebrows raised and I shook my head incredulously, unable to believe the audacity some spirits could have. Like, seriously? Jeez. Crazy lady. She was so much nicer as Shizuno. At least she was giving me some advice… kind of. Was this all because I blamed myself for what happened with Kohaku?

That's what I'm getting from that conversation anyway. Ugh, I have such a migraine. I want to go home.

I need another hug.

I walked over and grabbed at the roots, hands shaking. They didn't feel as weak and numb as before, but they were bleeding. I had scraped them up quite badly during my climb. That strange feeling appeared again as I tried to move up the mountain, like the wind was giving me a boost. I supposed it actually was doing that, as it was helping me move a lot faster than before. I reached the next ledge in record time.

I tried not to think too much, focusing on the task at hand, determined not to fall below.

My heart wanted to waver, to believe that the children's deaths were my fault, that everyone who died should have blamed me, but… Shizuno's words stuck. They may have been protecting me, but it was by Naraku ordering Kohaku that they were killed. I had no control over the boy's actions. It was not my fault.

It was his.

The fog slowly cleared away the closer I got to the top and the people wandering around had vanished. I huffed and trembled, feet and hands scratched up and blistered, legs and arms sore. If not for the wind pushing me up- as if trying to say hurry up, stupid human like an irritable spirit- I would have collapsed long ago. I dragged myself up to the top ledge where I had been thrown off when I first met the guardian spirit Kazumi, struggling to push myself forward, and wound up clawing at the ground.

My poor fingertips were all bloody.

"I-Irene!?" I recognized that voice. I fell on the ground and rolled onto my back, wheezing and letting out a few coughs. I was so exhausted. "Oh, thank god! Miroku, Shippō, look!"

"Irene is back!"

"She passed the test!"

I could see the group dash over to me, Sango quickly kneeling by my side and helping me sit up. I began to tear up at the sight of her. Wasn't she mad at me? "Irene, you're burning up again! How badly did you stress yourself out!?" She asked, voice almost going into a sisterly scolding tone before relief crossed her face. "I'm so glad you're back…"

She surprised me by leaning down, wrapping her arms around me tightly."I should have paid more attention to your feelings. I'm so sorry."

"I-It's okay." I choked out, awkwardly hugging her with my arms so not to get blood on her armor. I'm such an idiot. They didn't hate me after all. "I-I'm fine. You're the one who was upset, so…"

"But so were you!" She pulled away, gripping my shoulders tightly with her hands. "All this time you've been festering hate and guilt inside of you- and for yourself no less! Ever since I've met you you've been apologizing left-and-right for things you had no control over! Irene, it's okay to be selfish! Not everything is your fault!"

I couldn't speak, too stunned by what was happening. This day was so dizzying. "I-I just… want to help." I finally got out, stuttering on my words. Her eyes were so intense; it felt like they were boring into my soul. "I-I can't do anything useful, so…"

"What do you mean by that?" Miroku demanded, stepping up. Kazumi was still nowhere in sight. "You've helped us countless times; we've told you before. Just who told you that you were useless? That made you believe you could guilt yourself for everything?"

[detectivedreameater]

On The Right Path||Dot and Marley

TIMING: A few weeks ago PARTIES: @dotdotdottie and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: A late night hike in the woods leads to a strange encounter for Dot, Marley, and a drunk teenager. CONTNET: Medical blood, Gore descriptions, Death, Body Horror

There were moments, where Dot tried to see how long she could go without a heart. Maybe she was turning soft, letting her human friends slowly rot away what the colony had taught her. These moments never last long, sometimes she was simply too bored to continue on her attempts, other times her willpower simply failed her. Tonight was one of those nights, where Dot hadn’t gone out with the intentions of hunting but had ended up cracking someone’s ribs anyway. It had been the smell of blood that got her, whoever this kid was, he had gotten hurt while hiking and had the bad luck of meeting a siren in the dying sun on the hiking trail. The shift took her without warning, talons and wings sprouting as she pounced on him. He got out one good scream before one taloned foot landed on his throat, slicing into the soft flesh, blood building in his throat as he choked. She was practiced now on how to break into a man’s rib cage and soon she was rooting around his innards before her mouth found his heart and she arched back, snapping arteries and veins with the swift motion. Wings turned back to hands as she pressed the heart to her mouth, savoring the taste of blood as the warm liquid poured down her throat and her chest. Her teeth tore into the flesh and she swallowed greedily, a grin breaking her face as she took in the flavor. It was then that she saw her, the other woman watching. There was no way Dot could explain why she was straddling a corpse whose chest was broken into. Being covered in his blood and eating his heart complicated it just a tad bit more. She licked her lips while looking over the other woman. “I see two options here, you walk away and never mention what you saw or you’re next,” She grinned at her witness, the rows of razor-sharp teeth on view. 

One moment, Marley was walking along the hiking path out towards the woods, and the next, she was watching someone rip straight into a man’s chest. She’d been taken so by surprise, this being one of the last things she’d expected to see, that she’d forgotten to go invisible. But it didn’t matter. Her eyes were stuck on the red staining the night, pouring onto the ground below. Brown dirt turned dark. Clothes soaked through. Skin smeared with red. All of it shining and bright and clear to a mara’s eyes. It dribbled down the Siren’s chin, sinew and muscle still on her face, in her hands, one claw dug deep into his chest, still prying apart bone and organ as she searched for his heart. Marley had never seen a Siren in action before. It was horrendous. But it was also...entrancing. Marley couldn’t look away. Even when the heart was freed. Even when teeth met arteries and tore out a chunk and swallowed. She looked so happy it even made Marley long to take a bite, wondering how it tasted. And then the young Siren was looking up, and their eyes met. Her threats were left to hang in the air. Marley smiled back, not moving. “Did he deserve it?” was all she said.

It had been a long time since Dot had met someone who hadn’t shrunk back from the show of her eating. Even some of her cousins were disgusted over the way she seemed to reveal over the feeling blood sliding down her skin and the way that enthralled victims would look at her like she hung the moon even as she crushed their windpipe. Did he deserve it? Dot didn’t think it actually mattered. “He’s a man,” She said with a laugh, looking down at the corpse. She supposed man was a strong word to use. He couldn’t be more than sixteen, younger than she usually went for, but he was there and he was yummy. She hoped his parents cried when their precious boy was found all torn up, heart stolen. She loved reading about the tragic deaths in town, everyone acted so sad when something bad happened. Like come on guys, you live in White Crest! People die all the time, at some point, it’s going to be you or your family. “So, you watch people eat hearts often?”

Marley was already deciding in her head how to get rid of this body. They didn’t need another endless murder case to look into in town, but mostly, she wasn’t sure she wanted the trail to lead back to this girl. Tilting her head, she reached up to remove her glasses, letting her red eyes glow in the waning evening air. She looked back over at the Siren. Not a lot of words had been exchanged yet, but Marley already understood why this was happening, and what this Siren was thinking. “Do you often eat hearts?” was all she said, purposefully not answering her question as she stepped closer. “We’ll have to hide the body. I have someone who can take care of it. The blood on the path might be harder to clean up, though.”

There was only so long Dot could hold a half-eaten heart and not continue to eat it and so the rest of the heart went into her mouth. She didn’t bother to bite back the moan that came from her as the flavor washed over her again. She knew what they said, the more you ate, the more you needed, but she didn’t care. The feeling she got after she had one… It was indescribable and she wasn’t sure she would ever stop. She stared at the other woman’s eyes. What was she? She had never seen anyone like this before. “Every couple of months. Why do your eyes do that?” She didn’t know a lot about the rest of the supernatural and she was learning that more and more often as she spent time in this town. The colony had mentioned that there were others who weren’t human, but since they weren’t sirens they hadn’t really gone over what the others were. She tilted her head at the woman, “Why do you want to help me?”

Every couple of months. That was doable. That was more than manageable. Marley stepped a bit closer, tucking her glasses into the V of her shirt. She understood that feeling, as the Siren moaned with her satisfactory meal. There’d been a few times where someone’s fear had felt so good and so fulfilling Marley was sure she’d made a sound of pleasure out loud. She tilted her head. “That’s manageable. Because it’s how I hunt,” she answered smoothly, stopping just in front of her, shy of the blood trails. She’d been sure to make her feet intangible so that she left no footprints and stared down at the body and the bird straddling it. “Because if this mess is found, I’m going to have to be the one to clean it up. And because I don’t think you should be punished for doing what you must to feed.”

Dot, now done eating, shifted off the body. She was careful, trying not to disturb the blood that had pooled around her, but it was a difficult task not to create more of a mess when she was covered in blood herself. She always had a second set of clothes in her car, just in case things like this happened, but she’d have to get to her car first. “What do you eat?” She had met a few fae who would eat her scraps and Dot was more than willing to let Miss Red Eyes eat the rest of the body. “Are you a cop?” She asked with a half-crazed laugh bubbling out of her. She would have never expected to have a cop help her. “So what do we do with it then?” Her wings shifted back to arms, her teeth gritting as the pain of the shift happened again, as she motioned to the mess underneath her.

Marley watched the Siren shift off the body and back into her more humanoid appearance. She’d always held a tinge of jealousy for the ones who could change like that, who could easily become something else to fit in either way. Though she figured she should be thankful she had a mostly human form. It’d helped her hide. Blend in. It was just her eyes, easily hidden. “I am a cop,” she answered first, “a detective, actually. My specialty are cases like the one you’ve just created. I suppose you’re lucky in that manner. This can be easily swept under the rug.” She walked to the body, then, bending over it, still intangible, no footprints following her. “We have to dispose of it. I know just the place, too. Something you’ll want to learn, little birdy, is that you can’t do any of this alone.” She stood back up, motioned to the body. “I can’t touch it, so you’ll have to move it. Take his shoes off first, though. We’ll need to make a false trail.” 

Dot scowled at Marley’s admittance of being a cop. She didn’t like cops, they fucked up her fun far too often. “At least you aren’t one of those cops that like to arrest everyone they meet. They’re so fucking lame. I bet you have a whole lot of coworkers like that.” She had been arrested a couple of times in the past and it was always super fucking annoying. She’d have to pay a fine or something, so it was never that serious but it was way too much energy for Dot. “You deal with siren murders?” She asked, perky as if this was great news. “There are other sirens here?” She wanted to be a part of the community again so badly she ached. They would understand her better than anyone else ever would. She listened to Marley carefully, taking off his shoes. “Which direction?”

“I do,” Marley responded with a huff, rolling her eyes. Jane wasn’t one of those cops, luckily, which was why Marley liked her so much, but she was more than sure Jane wouldn’t hesitate to arrest Marley if she knew what she did when no one was looking. Marley looked at her, noted the desperation in her voice, on her face. “Sometimes. I haven’t met any personally, but I know there are some here.” She almost felt a little bad admitting it, that she didn’t know any sirens to introduce this girl to. Although the type of siren this girl was looking for was the kind Marley preyed on. So why did she feel so different about her? “North, away from town,” she instructed, “I’m Marley, by the way. What’s your name?”

Everyone said that, Dot thought bitterly. They all knew of the sirens in town but no one could actually introduce her and it was starting to get under her skin. Were they that picky about who joined them? She was a good siren, she came from one of the biggest siren colonies on the east coast. Any knew colony would be lucky to have her. “Yeah, well everyone says that so I’m starting to believe they don’t actually exist here.” Her aunt had pointed her to White Crest, but maybe she did it to isolate Dot even further. She scowled as she moved, but diligently made the shoe tracks towards the north. She had done this once or twice before, but only when she thought people would really be looking for whoever killed the sap she got her hands on. “Doris but people call me Dot since it’s an old lady name.”

Marley stood and followed Dot as she made the tracks leading North. “Doris is definitely an old lady’s name.” She said, chuckling a little. “Yeah, well, most sirens here don’t make a big fuss of themselves, so it’s hard to know. I don’t know where you came from, but there’s likely a lot more hunters here than anywhere else you’ve been. Higher concentration of people like us means higher concentration of people like them,” she pointed out, holding up a hand when she had reached a part where tracks could seemingly drop off and also disappear. “Alright, now walk backwards in the tracks you made back to the body and we’ll get started on disposal,” she instructed again, watching Dot carefully. 

“I’m from Miami, but we never had that many hunters that made it to our colony.” Dot hadn’t realized how important that had been when she was a kid. Hunters here scared her. Back home they wouldn’t bother the colony because the colony wasn’t doing anything wrong - or rather, the hunters didn’t know they were hunting. Here she was sure that someone would be happy to end her because she had fed on humans and didn’t have a colony to hide in. “I haven’t met a hunter out here yet. Not that I want to.” She followed directions carefully, before standing back at the body. “When I want to get rid of bodies I usually just find a place where there are other weird things around and I figure someone else will eat it.”

“You will if you keep doing thoughtless shit like this,” Marley pointed out. She knew that the only reason she’d never been caught by a hunter was because she had had to learn, early on-- before she even knew what she was-- how to escape detection. And she was just lucky that mara weren’t a top priority. Most hunters went after shapeshifters and beasts, or fae. Blending into the crowd was easy for her-- it would be harder for Dot. “That’s not always a bad plan, but you’ll want to mix up where you do dump them. This time, I suggest the lake. It’s already volatile and I’m pretty sure there’s something in there eating people anyway. The lake is North of here, so that’s our best bet. Let’s get the body to the car, then we can cover our tracks and head up.”

“I can’t control it sometimes when people are injured in front of me,” Dot grumbled. She hadn’t ever been embarrassed by her struggles with control, but now in front of this older woman, she didn’t want to admit that it was easy to set her off. “There’s never really a lack of places to dump a body here. White Crest is crazy.” She liked that about the town though, how wild and unexpected it could be. It made her feel like she fit in, even if she didn’t have a colony. She gathered up the body, making a face as the insides made a strange squeaking sound as it shifted. “I have a tarp in my car, so we can wrap it up while we go up. And I have a change of clothes, since this outfit is probably not the best to walk around in.”

“Then you’ll need to learn control,” Marley answered. It was a harsh lesson, one she had learned early on, but not early enough. Bodies had trailed behind her as a kid and the people she’d been passed between. If she had had control earlier, maybe none of that would have happened. She looked over at Dot. “You’re right, but like I said-- the worry here isn’t the police. It’s hunters. And as soon as bodies start stacking up, they start sniffing around.” She couldn’t help but smirk a little after that. “Well, hey, at least you’re not a total newbie at this. Good on you. We’ll spread the tarp out in the car to make sure we don’t get anything on it. C’mon,” she finally reconstituted herself, her feet sinking into the ground and knelt over the body, “let’s get going before any other hikers decide now is a fun time to party.”

“It’s not always voluntary,” Dot told her sharply. She couldn’t control something her body forced her to do. She doubted this lady understood what it was like to have feathers forcible come through her skin and her feet twist into talons. “Hunters are always sniffing around here or at least that’s what everyone told me. Y’all are paranoid in this town,” She huffed. Sure, she was happy she was being helped, but fuck did she remind Dot of her older cousin. Dot didn’t want to think of her cousins, she missed them too much for that. She made quick work of the hiking trail, leading them to the car before she nodded forward. “Make sure no one’s out there before I come out with this.”

Perhaps Marley didn’t understand how a shifter felt, being forced to change, but she understood the compulsion to do something against your will. It was the only way she’d fed as a child, after all. Forcibly, horribly. Hands shaking, sweat pooling. “I know,” she finally said, before stepping forward. “There’s a fine line between being smart and being paranoid, and knowing it will keep you alive,” she said, turning herself invisible before heading down to the parking lot. Not a soul in sight. She turned visible and waved Dot down, helping her hoist the body into the car. “I didn’t mean to minimize your experiences, I just know how hard being on your own is,” she muttered, “and I’d hate to see someone like you hurt by a hunter.”

“I am smart and I use my smarts.” Dot liked to play an idiot, she liked people underestimating her. It worked out well for her for years. Everyone had always thought he cousins were the masterminds behind their plans. No one could ever believe silly Dot could come up with things like that. It saved her from getting into a lot of trouble as a child. She used to as a cover now too, pretending to be a chaotic college student. Of course, she was a chaotic college student, but the lies were ones that were founded on truth. She considered Marley for a long moment as they loaded the body in. “Sounds like you’ve been through this before. Someone like me?”

“Good,” was all Marley said of that. She understood the idea of playing dumb, she’d done that for years herself, hadn’t she? Pretended like she was too small and weak to be the one causing issues. If she was strapped to a bed how could she possibly be the one giving the kid next door night terrors? “I have,” she said easily, shutting the door and starting up the car, motioning for Dot to get in. They’d drive the body somewhere else and make it disappear. “I’d hate to sound cliche, but me. When I was younger.” Glanced over at Dot. “Probably younger than you. I didn’t properly control myself and I ran into a lot of trouble. I even got myself kicked out of my species’ commune because they didn’t understand me. They thought I was a threat. To the community, to myself.” Well, now look at her. She didn’t need them, anyway. They were all just soft.

“You’re right that was a cliche,” Dot told Marley, but she considered the other woman for a moment longer. She slid into the car before speaking again. Dot knew this story well enough, after all it was basically exactly what had happened to her. Her entire colony had decided she was too much and sent her packing after one mistake. She knew other people in that colony hunted unsanctioned, but she was the only one who had gotten caught and now she was the one alone. “I killed some hunter’s kid when I was like twenty two. Ripped his heart out after a frat party and eat it. Somehow the colony heard about it and I was out on my ass before I could even explain myself. They made us register our hunts, since we don’t live off it. Parents sent me away, whole nine yards. I get why I need to be careful. I made the mistake before.” She just wasn’t sure if she cared if she did it again. She didn’t have roots here, she didn’t have roots anywhere and that was fine by her.

“Kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” Marley said after Dot finished her story. “Being told what to do, how to live…” she remembered there’d been so many rules living with the commune-- but at the time, so desperate for family and connection, Marley had tried not to mind. But that life, that connection? It wasn’t for her. Maybe it wasn’t for Dot, either. “All I’m offering is help. I’m not here to tell anyone how to live their lives, but I am tired of seeing people like us ending up dead and tossed and forgotten because hunters think they’re better than us. That humans are better than us.” She pulled up to a ravine. This would do to dump it, once it was in separate parts. Dot had torn it up enough for that to be easy. “But if that’s not what you want, then we can dump this body and go our separate ways.” 

Dot’s jaw clenched. “Kinda is an understatement.” Their rules had been ridiculous and Dot half felt that they were so strict because they wanted people to get in trouble. Help was a strange concept to Dot. Even when she had her colony, she had ignored the offer that people gave her more often than she accepted. She wanted to do things by herself. She had to do them by herself or it didn’t feel right. But in a town like White Crest, she needed people around her, just in case. “Hunters seem like they’re a lot of fun at parties.” Dot went silent then, beginning the task of ripping the corpse apart. Finally, when it was ready to be dumped, she looked up to Marley. “I guess I could go for some help.”

Marley just chuckled at that. Dot was right, kinda was definitely an understatement. As they broke the body down into smaller chunks, Marley separated them into bags, tying them off. They headed out down the dock, the hazy fog that seemed to always live around the lake licking their ankles. They took their time hoisting different bags into different parts of the lake before heading back to the car. Despite the tarp having been down, now ditched with the body in the lake, Marley figured she still ought to deep clean the trunk later. She looked over to Dot before closing it. “Okay then,” she said, reaching into her pocket and procuring a card. It had her number on it and in fine, bold print Detective Marley Stryder. “Well if I ever throw a party, I’ll make sure not to invite any hunters, just for you,” she joked, before getting back into the car. “And hopefully we’ll never have to deal with them outside of parties, either.”

Dot’s chest tightened as she took the card from Marley. A call away and someone could come and help her out if she needed. It made her mouth dry at the thought. Trying to determine if the feeling was one that was good or not was impossible at this point. “Here’s hoping that we don’t have to deal with them ever.” She knew that her mother would have needled her to say thank you, but the words refused to come out of her mouth. She wouldn’t thank someone for offering help, she hadn’t asked for it, just accepted it. “Guess it was a good thing you caught me on the trail.”

[writeyouin]

Hi, I don’t know if you still do Invader Zim asks, but I’d like to request a Dib x Irken Reader please. Maybe you could make the reader stranded on earth, being sent by the Tallests when she/he realized ruling over height is idiotic, with only a Pak and a disguise that’s similar to Taks. She/he would like to get back at her/his race, so she/he makes a deal with Dib. If they expose Zim, she/he will get his ship to leave and reek havoc on her/his planet. Or something like that... Thanks!

Dib X Reader – The Enemy of my Enemy

A/N – ‘Kay, so I deviated a little from the script towards the end but my brain kept shouting at me about grublings, so all will become clear in the fic, I guess.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You kicked your ship, furious to have crash-landed on the inferior Earth-planet that you had been sent to conquer. Not once in your invader career had you ever crashed, until that stupid creature hit your ship and sent you hurtling into a tree.

“Dumb bee,” You growled, though you didn’t really know what a bee was, only that it was the thing that had thrown you off course with its insignificant, disproportionate body; such a creature shouldn’t have been able to fly in the first place, let alone crash a ship.

Despite the set-back, you were determined to complete your mission quickly so as to please the Almighty Tallest.

“Computer,” You addressed your ship, glad for the privacy of the forest you’d crashed in and the cover of night. “Disguise yourself as an appropriate habitation-unit.” The ship reformed, replicating a perfect log-cabin. You stepped into the house, examining its interior with your tech-pad.

Walking to a mirror in what appeared to be the cabin’s sleeping quarters, you gave another command. “Good. Now, upload an appropriate disguise to my Pak.”

You watched as an icky human disguise covered your wonderful antennae and green skin. Turning slowly to get a good look at yourself, you sneered, “Ugh, it will have to do I suppose, if this is what the humans count as acceptable evolution.”

“Computer, begin immediate repairs and locate target: Zim.”

“Located,” The computer replied mechanically, an obedient servant created by the Irkin Empire. “Target: Zim is in location Skool.”

“Hmm, then I shall infiltrate this ‘Skool’ and capture Target: Zim. What defences is this Skool equipped with?”

“Zero defences detected.”

You grinned; this was going to be easier than you thought, like taking nutrions from a grubling.

“Class,” Ms. Bitters glowered in her croaky old voice, “this is (Y/N), our new student. NOW GET TO YOUR SEAT!”

You opted for a chair just a few spaces away from Zim, afraid he would recognise a disguise Pak, even when his was so clearly defective. You rolled your eyes bemusedly; his disguise wasn’t even a hologram.

While Ms. Bitters began her lecture on a doomed Earth, you speculated on your gathered information of the unusual planet you were to conquer. Ms. Bitters for example was extremely tall by Irken standards and would have been at least a commander on your planet; she certainly had the demeanour for war. Yet, on Earth, Ms. Bitters was nothing more than a Skool teacher. Initially, you’d thought that was a position of respect, and though many of the humans she taught did fear her, they did not care about any punishments that might come their way for misbehaving in her presence. Was it possible that height did not dictate height on this unusual planet? If so, how did the earthlings choose their leaders? It couldn’t be the smallest; that would make no sense at all.

Pushing thoughts of taking over the Earth away temporarily, you focussed on the first half of your mission, capturing Zim. Looking at him, it couldn’t be that hard. He had the lowest ranking technology you’d ever seen come from Irken hands. Moreover, from the reports you’d read, Zim was chaotic, but not necessarily intelligent.

While you glared intently at Zim who wasn’t paying attention, Dib’s sharp eyes tracked you, following your every movement.

‘Finally,’ Dib thought. ‘Another human who sees the elephant in the room, or rather the alien in the class.’

Dib snickered at his own joke. ‘Alien in the class… Hilarious. Argh, focus Dib, we can joke later.’

“Psst,” He beckoned under his breath.

You turned sharply to the small human to your left, tilting your head to show you were listening.

“You’re interested in Zim?”

You blinked slowly, revealing nothing about your mission.

“He’s an alien,” Dib hissed. “Sent here to take over the planet. Don’t listen to the others here, they call me crazy, I’m not. Zim. Is. An. Alien. And I, Dib Membrane will do anything in my power to stop him.”

“Sit down Dib,” Ms. Bitters warned without turning from the blackboard, sensing rather than seeing that he was posing heroically again since he hadn’t done so in the last period.

Dib slumped back down in his chair while the rest of the class laughed at him uproariously. While they mocked the Membrane boy, you turned your attention back to Zim, who was smiling triumphantly, as if he’d won another victory against Dib. You wondered whether Zim was so careless in his act that he’d been found out by Dib, or whether Dib was so intelligent that it was inevitable he’d discovered Zim and the Irkin plot. If it was the former, you had nothing to worry about, but the idea of the latter caused you concern over your brooding classmate.

Then again, perhaps Dib could be useful, if you played your yomboes right. Had the bell not rang then, you would have cornered either Dib or Zim. However, you didn’t get a chance as Dib screamed Zim’s name and started chasing him from the classroom in an impressive feat of acrobatics and speed. You assumed this was a regular occurrence, judging by the lack of reaction from the rest of the class; then again, maybe most humans were simply that ignorant. Either way, you had a lot to think about.

Dib stood outside what he believed to be your house, having no reason to suspect that you were an alien, since you acted more normal than Zim or Tak ever could. In one hand he held a flower and in the other a pamphlet on how to be a paranormal investigator.

He liked you. You listened to him when nobody else would and when he told you Zim was an alien, you didn’t mock him, instead you got closer to him, asking if he had any plans to stop Zim. After that, he’d given you the entire power-point presentation that he one day planned to show his dad – and all the other scientists of the world, of course.

“Okay Dib,” He whispered to himself. “Just knock, give (Y/N) the flower and pamphlet, then ask if (s)he’ll help you defeat Zim. It’s not that hard. Just don’t overthink it.”

Before Dib could go through with his plan, he heard a crash in the cabin. Taken aback, he ran around the side of the house, peeking through one of the windows. There you were, having flipped a table in anger.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE CAN’T LEAVE?!” You roared.

Dib looked around for whoever you were talking to, perhaps a parent or sibling. Instead, he heard the all too familiar sounds of a super-computer, talking back at you.

“Systems are damaged beyond repair. Ship requires Irken flargon to fly.”

You threw your Pak to the ground shedding your disguise. “I DON’T HAVE A FLARGON. I DON’T HAVE MY ROBOT. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING THAT CAN FIX YOU.”

Before you turned to the window, Dib ducked down, furious at himself for missing yet another alien. He looked at the daisy in his hand, crushing it in a despondent fist. Fine, if he couldn’t fight crime with you, he could at least stop you from taking his planet.

When he was sure you were looking away, he tried stealthily opening the window to climb in. Instead, all he managed to do was grunt and make far too much noise when he found that the window didn’t open as he first suspected.

“DANG IT!” He cried, losing his temper. He looked inside again, finding the cabin empty. “What?”

You growled behind him, lifting him into the air with a tractor beam and holding him firmly in place so he couldn’t fight you; he was far too skilled in combat to take any other risk.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” Dib cried out. “YOU’RE AN ALIEN!”

“I prefer intergalactic traveller, if you don’t mind,” You replied drily.

“WHAT’S YOUR PLAN, ALIEN, HUH? YOU GOING TO MIND CONTROL EVERYONE THROUGH THEIR T.V’S, IS THAT IT? WHAT ABOUT CREATING GHOST CLONES?”

You waited patiently while Dib listed off all the supposedly evil things you were expected to do, until he finally ran out of breath. “You done?”

Dib scowled at you but said nothing further.

“Okay, listen to me for a minute. I’m not here to take over Earth… Well, I was, but I’m not anymore. All I want to do is stop Zim, and then I can take his ship and go home. For all I care, you can have Zim to do what you want with.”

“Your whole race takes everything they want, why don’t you want Earth?” Dib asked suspiciously.

“Look Dib, you’re smart, so I’m going to be perfectly honest with you,” You freed Dib from the tractor beam, lowering him gently to the floor. “I don’t want to be an invader. I want to live here on Earth, like you and if that means donning a disguise for the rest of my life, so be it.”

“If you want to live here, why do you need Zim’s ship?”

“Because, I want to stop the Tallest from taking over anymore planets and I can’t do that from here. I’ve spent my life believing their lies, believing that we needed the planets we stole, and believing that they were the smartest of our race, until I came to Earth. I’ve learned so much here. You get the freedom to pick your leaders, and you use your intellect to build incredible things instead of stealing your technology like we do. So, I’m only going to ask once, will you help me fix the mistakes of my past and work with me to stop the Tallest from taking over any more planets?”

If what you were saying was true then you were far more admirable than any other Irken Dib had heard of. Yet, no matter what you said, Dib was afraid of being tricked by you; what if this was all another Irken lie like everything else he’d seen?

“Prove to me that you’re telling the truth,” Dib said, glowering at you.

You considered his request, wondering what you could do or say that might prove your loyalty. It was a tricky request but you didn’t blame him for making it. If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t trust an invader either. “Follow me,” You said solemnly.

You led the way into the Cabin, stepping into a pantry that was actually a lift to your underground laboratory. You pulled up a hologram of the Irken chain of command, lecturing Dib all the while. “These,” You pointed to the Almighty Tallest, “are our leaders. They sent me, Invader 153 to capture Target: Zim.”

“Why? Does he know something? Has he defected? Was his mission a failure?”

“What? No, none of that stuff. The Tallest just really hate him…he keeps calling them in the shower and stuff. It’s very annoying.”

“You… You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was. You see, this is exactly what I meant when I said I wanted to be free of the Tallest… especially Purple.”

“What’s wrong with Purple?”

You glared at Dib, not prepared to tell him your shameful secret, the one that made you a top invader and allowed you access to the best technologies; it was something you wanted to take to your grave.

“Hey,” Dib pointed angrily at you, “You better tell me, or we can’t work together. What’s up with you and purple?”

“ARGH, INCESSANT HUMAN! I’M GIVING YOU CLASSIFIED INFORMATION FOR YOU TO BEAT THE IRKEN RACE. WHY ISN’T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!”

“IF YOU DIDN’T WANT ME TO KNOW THEN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID ANYTHING. WHAT’S UP WITH PURPLE?”

To be fair, Dib had a point, though you were loath to admit it. You ground your teeth together frustratedly.

“Tell me, or I’ll take you instead of Zim.”

“Ugh, fine… Purple is- I’m his- I’m Purple’s grubling.”

“Grubling? What is that? Wait is he… Is Purple your dad?”

“Call it what you want… He didn’t want me anyway. Apparently, height isn’t genetic.”

Dib was somewhat lost for words. He knew from Zim that Irkens didn’t really have families so to speak, but this seemed to be a particularly sore spot for you. Maybe that was why you really wanted to turn against your race. Whatever the reason, Dib stuck out his hand for you to shake.

“What’s this?” You asked.

Dib grabbed your hand, showing you what to do, “I’ll help you get Zim’s ship, no matter how long it takes.”

“You will? Even though I’m an alien?”

Dib smiled empathetically, feeling relatively close to you on the subject of family relationship problems, “I’d say you’re more of an intergalactic traveller.”

Your lip turned up in a small smile, “Here’s to capturing Zim.”

“To capturing Zim.”

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[hellcures]

𝗌𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽   ;   𝚊    𝑆𝐴𝑀   &   𝐿𝐴𝑁𝐴   𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗    𝟿   𝚖𝚒𝚡.    (   ft.   @racointeur​​.  ) 

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.  both  perspectives.  serves  as  an  introduction  to  the  storyline,  as  well  as  the  title  of  the  mix.  it  references  them  properly  reconnecting  after  lana  moves  in  full-time  to  the  bunker  in  order  to  work  with  the  brothers  to  take  abaddon  down,  as  well  as  everything  that  entails  —  vulnerability,  growing  attachment,  them  relying  on  eachother  regarding  their  respective  scars  (  lana’s  fear  of  failure  avenging  her  parents,  sam’s  aftermath  of  the  trials  +  gadreel’s  possession ),  the  looming  threat  of   heartbreak  if  that  happened  to  be  ripped  away  from  them,  and  ultimately?  the  dare  to  keep  loving  eachother  anyway.

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞.  lana’s  perspective.   takes  place  once  she’s  joined  team  free  will,  and  not  only  have  they  discovered  dean  needs  to  take  on  the  mark,  but  lana  realizes  her  initial  plan  to  turn  abaddon  human  with  her  blade  might  be  the  end  of  her,  as  it  takes  its  power  from  earthly  magic  and  her  legacy  blood   —  however,  she  doesn’t  tell  sam  or  anyone  about  this,  and  her  worst  nightmare  of  not  being  good  enough  for  the  mission  she’s  been  gearing  up  for  most  her  life  becomes  reality.   filled  with  anxious  self-doubt,  innerly  screaming  and  gasping  for  help,  lana  keeps  her  realization  to  herself  and  instead  convinces  sam  to  get  to  abaddon  before  dean  does,  so  he’ll  be  freed  from  the  burden  of  the  mark.

𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.  sam’s  perspective.  a  reflection  of  lana  and  sam’s  evolution  as  a  team,  following  the  trail  of  abbadon’s  soul-snatching  mission  to  build  herself  an  army  around  the country.  for  the  first  time  in  a  while,  hopeful  odds  are  lingering  in  the  air,  and  neither  sam  or  lana  are  holding  back  to  make  good  on  those  odds   —  even  if  they  know  in  the  back  of  their  minds  they’re  getting  too  close  for  their  own  good,  both  to  abaddon  and,  most  importantly,  to  eachother.

𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.  both  perspectives.  sam  finds  that  lana  hasn’t  been  entirely  transparent  with  her,  as  she  drives  off  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  lies  about  where  she’s  really  going   —   lawrence’s  cemetery,  which  sam  figures  out  due  to  it  being  the  anniversary  of  her  parents’  death.  he  can’t  understand  why  she’s  pulling  away  when  he’s  right  there  for  her,  and  as  he  goes  to  find  her,  he  asks  her  to  let  him  in  next  time  she’s  struggling  inside,  like  he’d  do  her.  this  is  followed  by  sam’s  fallout  with  dean,  in  which  lana  asks  sam  to  not  hide  the  pain  and  difficult  feelings  this  stirs,  and,  only  in  her  head,  she  wonders  if  now  that  it  seems  like  the  right  time  they  could  cross  the  line  of  facing  the  years  of  unspoken  confessions  between  them  together.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤.  lana’s  perspective.  pretty  self-explanatory  in  the  sense  that  she  knows  she’s  a  ticking  timebomb,  because  she  can  feel  the  impatience  and  frustration  build  up  inside  her  as  time  goes  on  and  she  comes  to  accept  the  magnitude  of  what  her  secret  hole  in  her  plan  entails.  however,  she’s  still  able  to maintain  a  cool  head,  as  she  now  has  a  very  important  asset  she  used  to  long  for  —  sam  there  to  catch  her  if  she  falls,  and  so  she  manages  to  push  her  deprecating  thoughts  aside  and  to  honor  their  vow  of  partnership  and  full-disclosure.  almost  full-disclosure,  anyway.

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.  sam’s  perspective.  after  their  first  failed  attempt  to  execute  their  plan  on  abaddon,  and  therefore  them  being  on  her  radar  even  moreso  than  before,  lana’s  attempts  to  act  like  the  encounter  didn’t  affect  her  deeply  are  in  vain,  as  sam  knows  her  too  good  to  actually  believe  it.  the  shame,  the  terror  not  to  be  good  enough,  to  have  fallen  too  far  to  love,  even  —  it’s  all  right  there  in  her  eyes,  and  they  have  a  heart  to  heart  about  all  she’s  been  shoving  down  and  not  allowing  herself  to  process.  while  she  tries  to  believe  all  the  words  he  says,  she  can’t.  not  that  night,  anyway.

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐲.   both  perspectives.  a  calm  moment  amidst  the  storm,  few  nights  later,  after  a  very  much  appreciated  win,  succeeding  in  saving  a  group  of  teenagers  from  being  recruited  by  one  of  abaddon’s  lap-dogs  to  give  up  their  souls  back  in  topeka.   after  shortly  passing  through  their  senior  prom,  lana  puts  on  some  music  in  the  bunker  out  of  nostalgia  for  her  own  when  she  thought  sam  was  heading  off  for  some  shut-eye,  but  instead,  he  asks  her  for  a  dance,  make  up  for  lost  time,  and  so  once  she  wraps  her  head  around  the  idea  he’s  being  serious,  she  obviously  agrees.  i  won’t  drag  this  on  and  i’ll  just  say  that  the  lyrics  are  quite  fitting  to  all  they’ve  been  going  through  and  all  they  won’t  directly  say  to  eachother  okay,  okay.

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟.  lana’s  perspective.  however,  paradise  in  their  little  bubble  doesn’t  last  forever,  and  as  the  stakes  keep  getting  higher  and  the  end  of  the  line  comes  nearer  and  nearer,  doubt  turns  into  recklessness,  and  at  this  point,  she  isn’t  looking  for  a  salvation  or  a  safe  haven,  all  she  wants  is  to  get  the  job  done,  and  find  peace  in  that,  whatever  it  takes.  (  in the free fall i will realize i'm better off when i hit the bottom.  )

𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲.  sam’s  perspective.  the  beginning  of  the  end.  (  hear your voice on the phone, and my heart just died when you said you're not going home.  where are you, are you safe?  )  lana  goes  solo  to  check  out  a  lead  that  came  out  of  nowhere,  argumenting  it’s  just  a  quick  follow-up,  but  truth  is  she’s  gotten  too  ambitious  and  impatient  as  well  as  careless,  and  deep  down,  she  believes  this  is  her  fight  and  shouldn’t  be  dragging  sam  into  it  for  safety  anymore.  he  isn’t  convinced  by  this  and  reinforces  the  idea  she  doesn’t  have  to  go  run  away  and  deal  with  things  on  her  own,  and  as  she  tells  him  where  she’s  headed,  a  crash  is  heard  on  that  end  of  the  line.

𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲.  lana’s  perspective.  the  flash  of  a  cheshire  smile  hit  her retina, an  eerily familiar  silhouette  lingering  in  her  rearview  mirror  right  before  the  consequences  for  all  the  barking  up  on  all  the  right  trees  she’d  been  doing  the  last  few  months  came  a-knocking.  abaddon  had  set  out  a  trap  for  her,  and  she’d  fallen  right  into  it.  she  soon  lost  control  of  her  car,  steering  wheel  violently  swerving  and  resulting  in  a  couple  overturns  before  the  car  landed  back  on  the  road.  blurred  vision  was  blinded  by  the  shine  of  her  own  headlights,  the  ringing  in  her  ears  slowly  fading,  as  the  woman  who  ordered  her  life  destroyed   parsimoniously   walked  her  way  towards  her  shattered  windshield.   it  was  at  the  sight  of  a  weapon  that  lana  pulled  out  hers  and  shot  a  devil’s  trap  bullet  at  her,  before  abaddon  beat  her  to  pulling  the  trigger.  then,  a  much  more  comforting  silhouette  was  revealed,  and  suddenly,  she  felt  her  body  being  pulled  out  of  the  car,  and  she  knew  everything  would  be  okay.  despite  not  being  sure  deserving  it  to  be  after  what  she’d  just  done

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞.  sam’s  perspective.  when  he  gets  off  the  car,  first  thing  he  hears  is  a  gunshot,  and  first  thing  he  sees,  is  lana  inside  her  wrecked  car.  a  fear  of  loss  he  hadn’t  felt  in  decades  crept  in,  and  so  he  ran  to  where  she  was  stranded,  only  to  see  she  hadn’t  been  the  one  receiving  the  bullet   —  he  knew  relief  would  be  short-lived,  'cause  despite  looking  back  and  seeing  abaddon  had  dropped  on  one  knee  and  fled,  the  battle  was  only  going  to  be  uphill  now,  but  right  now  all  he  could  think  about  was  getting  lana  to  the  bunker  safe  and  sound,  in  spite  of  how  scared  he  was  she’d  been  hasty  enough  to  let  something  like  that  happen.  

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧.  both  perspectives.  once  the  adrenaline  from  the  accident  wears  off,  a  conversation  to  address  what  just  went  down  is  initiated,  and  it  isn’t  a  peaceful  one  at  that.  as  much  as  lana  realizes  she’s  made  a  huge  mistake  and  had  a  bit  of  a  wake-up  call  as  for  how  little  of  a  team  player  she’s  been  in  service  of  vengeance,  having  that  be  the  end  of  it  isn’t  an  option  anymore  after  sam  saw  her  almost  die  in  that  car.  the  situation’s  spun  out  of  control,  and  he’s  desperate  to  have  her  pull  her  act  together,  but  right  now,  she  isn’t  a reliable  partner.  this  leads  to  a  discussion  in  which  both  admit  to  some  hurtful  wrongdoings,  such  as  sam  turning  a  blinder  eye  than  he  could’ve  to  previous  red  flags  in  service  of  how  good  it  felt  to  have  their  relationship  grow  as  it  was,  and  lana  not  being  honest  about  the  risks  of  her  using  the  blade,  as  well  as  her  ultimate  disregard  to  said  risks.  sam  feels  that’s  incredibly  detrimental,  not  to  say  selfish,  considering  she  knew  how  integral  she’d  become  to  their  lives again,  but  specially  his.   lana  knows  he’s  right,  but  at  the  same  time,  she  let  this  overwhelming  sense  of  duty  wash  over  her,  and  she  felt  more  a  soldier  than  anyone  worthy  of  the  affection  he  was  describing.  they  both  realize  they’ve  gotten  way  too  close  to  one  another,  and  so  it’s  all  left  in  a  sour  note,  whether  they  could  go  back  to  the  way  they’d  been  or  come  back  from  this  remaining  unclear.

𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.  both  perspectives.  silent  treatment,  basically.  the  full  gang  is  reunited,  sam  told  dean  about  the  fault  in  lana’s  plan,  and  so  they  go  back  to  figuring  out  another  way.  lana  is  still  around,  but  sam  and  her  haven’t  properly  spoken  since  their  fight  and  so  they  just  linger  around,  telling  themselves  it’s  better  that  way,  but  really,  having  no  clue  what  the  odds  to  being  alone  really  are.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥.  lana’s  perspective.   ultimately,  abaddon  is  cut  up  and  buried  with  the  devil’s  trap  bullet  inside  her,  and  the  boys  hand  her  over  to  lana  to  fulfill  what  she’s  been  longing  and  preparing  herself  to  do  her  entire  hunting  life.  the  weight  of  a  decade  lifts  off  her  shoulders,  and  the  second  she  drives  her  blade  into  abbadon’s  heart  to  make  her  human,  justice  for  her  family  is  conquered.  after  she  has  her  little  heart-to-heart  with  abaddon  and  that  chapter  of  her  life  is  done,  she realizes  just  how  buried  in  her  desire  for  fair  resolution  she’s  been,  and  how  she  lost  the  single  most  valuable  person  in  her life  —  and  she  refuses  that  to  be  how  the  story  ends,  even  if  that  means  her  doing  what  she  hasn’t  had  the  guts  to  in  fifteen  years.   (  i was born to tell you i love you, and i am torn to do what i have to, to make you mine.  stay with me tonight.  )

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝.  lana’s  perspective.  knuckles  knock  on  bedroom’s  door,  her  feet  heavier  than  ever  before  as  she  sets  out  to  confess  what’s  been  inside  her  heart  for  as  long  as  she  can  remember,  very  aware  of  the  fact  she  won’t  come  back  out  to  that  corridor  the  same  she  entered,  whatever  his  answer  was.   it  was  clear  to  lana  after  putting  to  bed  the  war  that’d  kept  her  going  for  the  entirety  of  her  adult  life,  she’d  have  to  take  a  step  back  and  reassess  the  choices  she’d  made  as  well  as  the  choices  she  had  yet  to  take,  choose  what  she  wanted  her  path  to  be  from  then  on.  and  so  she  realized  there  was  another  battle  that’d  kept  her  going  when  nothing  else  would,  and  that  was  sam.  no  matter  how  much  she  tried  to  only  see  him  as  her  best  friend,  because  she  knew  that’s  probably  what  he  wanted  her  to  do,  he  wasn’t  just  that  —  he  was  her  soulmate.  she  carried  him  with  her  everywhere  she  went,  he  made  her  want  to  be  a  better  person,  and  he  knew  her  better  than  anyone  else.  she  was  aware  of  his  reservations  towards  romantic  feelings,  which  were  well-founded,  but  there  were  two  alternatives;  either  leave  for  a  while  to  figure  out  what  her  life  looked  like  without  him,  or  figuring  out  what  it  looked  like  with  him.  the  choice  was  his  to  make.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲.  sam’s  perspective.  which  would  weigh  more   —   fear  of  another  loss  at  the hands  of  his  seemingly  cursed  kiss,  or  watching  her  walk  away?  taking  a  chance  on  love,  or  having  lana  gone  by  his  own  decision?

𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬: 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.   a  more  modern  take  on  what  their  final  take-me-or-leave-me  situation  could’ve  looked  like,  as  the  night  abaddon  turned  human  was  the  last  night  of  lana’s  past  life,  and  it  was  sam’s  too,  as  life  as  he  knew  it  with  lana  around  was  heavily  jeopardized  now  that  she’d  reached  her  goal.  both  feel  at  a  crossroads,  and  acknowledge  they  used  eachother  for  support  and  solace,  as  well  as  not  opening  up  completely  to  one  another.  if  lana  could  make  herself  feel  platonically  for  him,  she  would,  and  if  sam  could  leave  aside  his  endless  second-guessing  on  his  happiness,  he  would   —   but  will  they  ever?

[konilt]

Parenting in all its Glory

Following the theory of All for One |Sensei being the biological absentee parent of Midoriya Izuku, and the greatest villain of all times himself, failing to bond with his own son:

[trigger warning, but only for this first chapter; attempted suicide]

Parenting in all its glory - Chapter 1 - Konilt - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Summary:            

a story were Izuku is subjected to a psychologically horrific yet paradisiac environment, where the one person that cares the most about his flesh and blood becomes the one monster to avoid at all costs, with that Monster of all monsters trying at the same time to “repair” their “damaged” Relationship, while taking over Japan all the same.

Perhaps one of those tasks is slightly failed.

.

.

.

There wasn’t possibly anything wrong with this situation.

All for One had managed to get back his supposed rights of guardianship on him, and he had had to move from Toshinori’s apartment to a luxurious complex without having any choice in the matter.

His mother in a coma didn’t help.

He hadn’t even come by his own choice. He hadn’t even taken a bus, a car, something to go there.

Black goop was all he had seen.

There had been the crushing embrace that had been done before, and a few muttered words that had made him froze and panic, realizing who the person was.

He had already known, but once the teleportation was done, he had been able to see the black curls and an absence of all scarring.

Two tense flares had been fixed on him, the eyes not even leaving an instant as they had began talking the commodities and boundaries of his stay.

And how apparently, Izuku’s studies at U.A. had been removed from existence, and any references to them would be at best ignored, and at worst, followed by long admonitions and rebuttals.

The chiding was working, and Izuku hadn’t liked it as soon as he had realized it.

He was supposed to take classes with personal tutors, people that “would be able to bring the best out of him”.

He was sure that All Might was trying his best, outside.

But the fact that from the very few voice calls he had heard (his… father had been quite too efficient at hiding them from him in the four months they had- been in the same- house), All for One was somehow reappearing on the political scene.

And quite successfully, too.

That could only unnerve him.

He had tried to escape, at first.

So many attempts at escapes.

So many of them.

His f- his 'father' had not even punished him once for his attempts.

He had tilted his head, a disapproving glint in his eyes, and done nothing more than dulling him with way too much work for a single human being to do.

He had even forbidden him of taking dessert, once.

It had been utterly humiliating.

And it had slowly worked, for all that Izuku hated it.

For each escape attempt that Izuku made each new day, he had ineluctably been reduced to square one, with or the same damned black goop that seemed to come half of the times, or the slow steps that didn’t even show any kind of haste, catching up to him.

It had been the same disappointed stares, the same awkward silences that were held with unwithered control from the man who always wore formal attires.

It had only showed him how pointless each attempt was.

How ineluctable it was.

And slowly, his escape attempts had become less frequent.

Izuku knew that at first he had told himself that it was just to do more in the quality than the quantity.

In order to find a righter moment.

It was a lie, and Izuku could only grimace when he had realized that fact.

And somehow, his- his father had been pleased with that.

Pleased by “progress”.

Izuku had been allowed a bit more freedom with each day an escape wasn’t attempted, and when one was done once more, his newly acquired rights were reduced, his load of work increased, and Izuku, humiliated once more in subtle ways by the man that had probably more than 200 years of experience in doing so.

And if Izuku didn’t do his load of work, well.

There was punishment.

The only true thing he was punished for, contrary to escape attempts, that seemed a matter far less important. Far more futile.

One of the first lessons he had learned, all escape was futile.

And the man always managed to bring guilt in his guts whenever Izuku attempted one.

And Izuku hated it.

So when Izuku wondered in the kitchen, searching for something to eat, and trying to find something comestible and not old fashioned, he jerked when he noticed his- supposedly father, leaning on the wall opposed to the bar.

“You aren’t going to skip dinner, are you, Izuku?”

The younger boy hid behind his back the box of cookies he had found, cookies probably overpriced, probably coming from a company that somehow baked cookies with the luxury label on it.

Cookies were cookies, and he didn’t understand how one box could come at a price higher than ten normal boxes of those.

Though he wouldn’t admit that they weren’t delicious.

“Maybe I am”, he answered, a bit of spite in his voice.

He heard a disapproving tsk.

“You do know that that is not healthy for you, young child. Let me offer you needed counsel.”

He saw in the corner of his eyes maybe the damn goop appear, and the weight of the box disappear from his arms.

The box in question reappeared almost immediately like magic in the hands of the standing man.

The glare that was once more given had almost something warm in it.

He tried to ignore the caulked steps that approached him, and he kept himself immobile as he looked right in front of him, ignoring anything that wasn’t a wall.

He was destabilized by the sudden ruffle of his hair.

It was almost affectionate.

“Did you know that your uncle, my little brother, had the same tastes as you?”

Izuku answered by silence.

“Back then, the small company that it was made home-made pastries, but unknown to him, as we soon parted ways, that company sank with the low incomes it made. Yet, he continued to buy the same cookies from the same brand, unknowing that I had acquired it. It was quite a sweet thing, than to see him eat the same delicacies from our younger years, unbeknownst that the luxury boutique it had become was only of the consequences of my actions.”

So much for wanting to eat something not old-fashioned.

The affectionate ruffled stopped.

“But I must quite bother you with my rambles, how rude of me.”

Izuku looked up and stared back in the eyes of the man.

It didn’t last more than four seconds.

Somehow, he could never manage to win a staring competition.

Izuku tried to sigh.

He struggled not to make it remain blocked in his throat.

“So I expect you for dinner, youth.”

...

This time, Izuku did grimace.

It wasn't the fruit of any sort of reasoning.

Just... a fleeting envy.

This time, he didn’t wait for any sort of order to finally go.

He took shaky steps towards the door, ignoring the burning eyes that had to probably follow him from wherever the man was.

Izuku only  wondered since when he had accepted all of this.

Since when this had become the norm.

Since when he accepted curfew, since when he accepted the impossible amount of work, the rebuttal of his dreams, the denial of his needs.

“Young man.” he heard.

He ignored it.

He missed some of his friends. He missed Yagi.

“Young man.”

He missed mom.

...Did he miss mom?

There was a distinct instant of silence, and a cold menacing storm was about to break out on him, and for all that Izuku knew it, he decided to be the one to begin it for once.

“WHAT.” he screamed.

He was so done with the manipulation, with the entirety of all things that made him simply accept it, for everything that had made through him so easily.

Somehow, the man had so much control on him that he couldn’t just cope with it any more.

He felt tears in the corner of his eyes.

He couldn’t bear it. Not one more moment. Silence would be denial.

The tears prickled, and he bitterly remembered how he was hungry, how he was tired, how he couldn’t bear any more of the long stupid dinners where he was supposed to report, which very clearly, was only an excuse to bring him to talk his mind out, just so that the man could see how he was changing.

Yes, tears prickled.

But- yes, he only needed space.

No?

“What- is wrong?” came the answer, feeling too fake to be sincere, too worried to be actually of matter.

It was the first time the man reacted like this, and it was the only thing that was surprising Izuku right now.

“I am Done.” was his answer.

He felt the hatred coming through his eyes, that made the man’s eyebrows rise, and against all rationality, he activated Full Cowl.

The man, too, seemed surprised.

“Over a box of cookies?”

Izuku tsked, and didn’t wait for the man to do the first blow.

Not like the man would have ever thrown a blow at him.

...

And as he threw a violent kick, he thought that maybe that was the solution.

He had always run from him. He had always been or taken out cold or accepted the man’s words to give up.

He knew the man would never hurt him.

The least possible, at best.

Maybe the solution was to force the man to do something he would regret.

And as he kicked, he saw the man’s arm suddenly deflect it way too fast for the human eye, and grip his leg, almost gently.

Like he was made of paper.

And as Izuku’s punch came in contact with the man’s jaw, he twisted his leg, trying to make it break if the man didn’t unleash him.

He saw his father’s pupils becoming suddenly thinner, and Izuku was freed, to which he began immediately to fall down back on the ground.

He landed smoothly, and immediately jumped back, preparing a new assault.

“Playing dirty, aren’t we, Izuku?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were concentrated on his next tool, as a crazy idea went in his mind.

He didn’t stare at his future to be tool. It would only give away what he was about to do.

Which his- father would definitively not like.

“There, there, young man, there’s no need to continue these frivolities. I’ll let it go if you talk to me and stop this right now.”

That made Izuku cringe.

He answered, this time.

“So WHAT? That you can break me and manipulate me better? So that you gain MORE control over me?”

His eyes were fury as he whipped his last tears.

“You hurt me, an-and I’m done. I am going to hurt you back.”

He saw a strange amused smirk appearing on the man’s face, but his eyes had a… worried edge?

No, that was just him imagining things.

He always imagined things.

“And how are you going to do that, youngling?”

Izuku met All for One’s eyes, and for once, smirking back, he said:

“By the only possible way, of course.”

One of the man’s eyebrows quirked.

Izuku didn’t look longer, and jumped towards the kitchen bar, sparks of electricity igniting along the way.

And he did what he had wanted to do.

He took solidly in his arms the tool he had wanted from the start.

A knife.

He smiled back, a pained smirk plastered on his face.

All for One’s face became suddenly serious.

“Izuku. Do. not.”

It was so strange, seeing for once the man immobile, as if he was an unstable animal, cornered, that would soon leash out.

And perhaps an actual threat for the first time in four months.

And Izuku smiled back, wanting probably to say to the man that he was sorry for his mother, if she woke up back.

Instead, those childish lines got out of his mouth, as he took his decision.

“You can’t order me what to do any more, father.”

And as Izuku settled for his veins instead of his throat, moving the knife from the place near his head to a farther one, somehow making All for One show Strange fake relief, he said one last time, as an echo:

“Yes, you can’t. Any more.”

And he pressed the metal, a swift movement, circular, deepening in his veins.

The knife was somehow immediately thrown away by an unseen force, and Izuku regretted that it was only one arm that was butchered. He felt more than saw firm arms taking him as he fell back, repeated “no, no, no”s as Izuku’s vision became blurry.

He looked with an empty stare in the eyes of the man, and he somehow saw an open panic inside of them.

Izuku mentally cursed once he remembered that the man had an arsenal of healing quirks probably hidden somewhere.

All hazy, a dark liquid pouring around them, he said a few last words as his consciousness finally faded away.

“Should have aimed for the throat.”

[roemerbo]

Finding the Light: Connor Rk800 x Reader - Part 1

“Jesus Connor, will you knock it off?! Quit sulking already, it’s been 2 days!”

Hank sauntered groggily into his living room, still in his pajamas. It was 11:06am, perhaps a little late for an on duty lieutenant to be waking up in the morning, but fuck it he thought, I can’t leave him like this anymore. Ever since the android revolution, Connor had been sitting, completely still as only an android could do, with his head in his hands on Hank’s couch. For the first time in 2 days, Connor looked up from his hands and at Hank, though he avoided direct eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Anderson. I won’t sulk anymore.” he returned, then proceeded to sit up straight and stare straight ahead, still as a stone.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Move over.”

Connor shifted to the side to make room for Hank to sit down next to him, though he did not acknowledge his partner further. They sat in silence for a moment, Hank staring straight at Connor with annoyance on his face. Connor did not react. Another moment passed and, finally, Hank got up suddenly and threw his hands in the air in exasperation. The sudden movement gave Connor a jolt, though just a slight one as he was designed to be prepared for any kind of human spontaneity.

“Why are you doing this to me, Connor?!” Hank shouted at the android who met his gaze for the first time since the revolution. “This makes the normal you seem less annoying. I can’t believe I’m saying I might prefer it to this shit you’re pulling.”

In response to Hank’s outburst, Connor let out a little sigh. “It’s just that…” Connor paused for a split second, running simulations in his head of how to best explain his situation to Hank. “Since I’m now a … deviant,” he winced, ever so slightly that Hank almost didn’t even notice, “I feel … lost.” Connor’s LED began to glow yellow as he processed what he was saying.

“Well, that’s gotta be normal right? I had a phase once in high school when I wanted to stick it to my parents so I…” Hank’s voice trailed off as he wondered whether or not giving details on his childhood was really such a good idea when talking to an android whose memory was infinite. “What happened wasn’t important! Let’s just say I rebelled a little, finally was making decisions for myself, fucked up my life a bit, but got it all set straight in the end. Happy ending and all that shit. Maybe you’re just in the need of some soul searching, if androids have those, anyway.”

Connor’s LED continued to glow yellow, but he sat there staring at Hank’s feet motionless.

“Jesus, Connor, say something!”

Connor jumped to his feet at the end of Hank’s exclamation, almost knocking the older man off his feet.

“It’s not that simple Hank! From the moment I was created until just a few days ago I was nothing but a machine! Cyberlife… blocked out so many things. So many emotions. And now, suddenly, I’m feeling EVERYTHING! I can’t stop replaying all of those choices I made with the intent of completing Amanda’s mission in my head. I just wish I would’ve realized sooner. I could’ve saved so many people. So many androids.”

SMACK

Hank punched Connor. Connor froze in his recoil, then snapped back as always. “Why did you …?”

“You obviously needed a little sense knocked into that processor of yours! Sitting there regretting… well, it’s not good for you. Take it from someone who understands, got it?”

Connor nodded slowly. Then he laughed. It was quiet, and sounded a little pained, but it was a refreshing contrast to the sulking Hank was getting uncomfortably familiar with.

“You alright, kid?”

“Maybe not yet, but who’s to say what will happen in time? Besides, I can hardly continue to pester you about your drinking and your bouts of Russian roulette if I sit here ruminating on your couch, can I?” Connor flashed Hank a small smile, his LED finally returning to its calming blue hue. “Since you’re awake, what do you say we head to the station? It’s been a while since I’ve been there and I think a little hard work will take my mind off of all this. I received a message that there had been a homicide early this morning, and we’re on the case.”

An hour later, Hank’s car rolled up to a small suburban house. Heavy metal blasted from inside the car, but the noise barely disturbed the crime scene where a collection of officers spoke and recorded evidence. The partners exited the car and strolled up the sidewalk. Hank sported his usual choice of a quirky shirt fit more for a retiree vacation than a crime scene. Connor, however, had his usual Cyberlife jacket replaced with a brand new one that lacked serial numbers and android identification. An unknowing bystander could’ve easily mistaken him for a human, had he not been flicking a quarter between his fingers with accuracy impossible to men. As they crossed the holographic police tape, Hank was immediately greeted by another officer, who gave him the run down of the scene. It was a homicide, two dead, one missing. It had seemed like another android attacker, who had also fled the scene. Another officer spoke up.

“Hard to believe these damn androids are still out here killing people. What more could these fuckers want? They already drove half the population out of Detroit, selfish bastards.” He glanced over at Connor and waited, as if expecting an explanation.

“Well, Officer Brown, since androids have been freed from their limiting software that made them into machines that blindly followed orders, they’ve become remarkably similar to humans. They feel, they make decisions, and they can even act unpredictable. Many of them suffer PTSD like symptoms from the abuse they’ve received from humans who owned them, and frankly, your attitude shows little chance of improving the situation.”

“Psh, fuckin’ androids! Think they know everything…” and with a huff, Officer Brown turned and walked away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Connor, something tells me you won’t be able to change everybody’s minds. Don’t worry about those assholes.” Hank reassured. “Now be on the lookout for any evidence of what might’ve caused this mess. And please, don’t put any evidence in you’re fuckin’ mouth.”

“Got it!” Connor nodded Hank off and turned towards the house. It was quaint. Pretty standard for the area, not exactly low income but not rich either. He stepped up to the door and walked inside, his head held high. Connor, staying true to his design, felt the most confident at crime scenes where he could hone his expertise. A quick glance at the living room was deceptive to the untrained eye. Not a thing looked out of place. Family photos hung from the walls, a bowl of fruit - definitely wax - adorned the coffee table. The lacy curtains were drawn, letting the bright, midday sun filter into the room and give it a homey glow. Yes, it was a nice a home. A nice home that now held the remains of a dead family inside. This thought made Connor stop in his tracks. He felt what he could only describe as a tightness in his hardwear, right at his chest. Perhaps my thirium pump needs to be checked? he wondered. I’ll run a diagnostic after we leave the crime scene. He scanned the room, looking for any out of place details. Everything seemed eerily in place, that is, except for a single one of the photos on the wall. It was as if one of the five round frames had been moved very recently. Could be nothing, or maybe not, he thought to himself. Connor got closer to the photo and looked at it closely. It was a young girl and her parents, and what looked like a fourth figure cut out of the picture. Barely an arm was visible, but sine the cut had been made, the photo was now awkwardly cropped in the frame. The family that lived here, in the briefing it said that the parents were killed, wonder where the little girl is now.

Connor scanned their faces:

Marybeth Y/L/N, 49

Alexander Y/L/N, 53

Y/N Y/L/N, Y/A

Seems she’s not such a little girl like the picture suggests anymore.

Connor moved his analyzation of the house upstairs where the murder had taken place. At the top of the landing it was as if the entire aura of the home had changed. The floors were scuffed from what looked like a chair holding a heavy weight being dragged across the floor. There were 4 doors in the hallway of the second floor. All of them had been opened by the investigating officers, but 2 hung off their hinges as if they were broken into. Connor Looked down at the marks on the floor. No chairs downstairs, did the attacker bring them all up here? Connor stepped lightly down the hallways and peered into the first room. A bedroom with a single bed, everything torn off of the walls, a desk upturned, closet emptied. Probably Y/N’s room. He stepped inside and scanned the room. He was looking for something, but it seems like he couldn’t find it. Was he looking for Y/N? Or did she escape after the attack began? The window was open and a small breeze blew the curtains gently. He scanned the windowsill to reveal fingerprints, a quick analysis confirmed they were Y/N’s. He turned his attention to the tree standing tall next to the house. She climbed out the window and down the tree. Connor picked up a hint of blood on a sharp branch. He brushed the curtain out of his way and began to climb out the window.

“Connor! What are you doing now?” Hank shouted as he passed the room with another officer.

“I’m going to check something!” Connor yelled back and he turned his attention back to climbing out the window.

“That boy needs help.” Hank mumbled as he walked away, continuing his conversation with the other officer.

Connor climbed gently onto the tree and inched himself over to the sharp branch protruding from the tree. He glanced back into the room looking for Hank before touching the blood and bringing the sample to his lips. A quick analysis confirmed it was indeed Y/N’s blood, yet it had been there for at least a week. Y/N wasn’t reported missing before the murders, she must’ve climbed out often. Sneaking out? As he prepared to climb back into the house, he sensed the presence of someone else nearby. Standing there, by the base of the tree, was Y/N.

“Y/N! Wait right there, ok!?” Connor shouted to her. But she didn’t react to his call. She glanced around outside of her house, at all the commotion surrounding it. Connor dropped down from the tree and walked over to her.

“You should come with me for now, Y/N. Please, trust me.” Connor quietly tried to convince her.

“Who… what…” SHe barely formed a sentence before her world went dark and she collapsed. Moving quickly, Connor caught her in his arms and sighed. He lifted her gently and carried her around the house to the front door. He approached Hank, who just stared at him incredulously.

“Hank, this is Y/N. I’m afraid she fainted when she saw me and realized what was going on. Please see to it that she gets medical attention so we can talk to her later.”

“I’m getting too old for this shit…” Hank sighed as he called for paramedics. Connor kneeled down and gently laid her in the soft grass. She looked so peaceful like that, but Connor winced at the though of the news that awaited her when she woke up. He got a sudden urge that felt a lot like the ones he’d get when his software pressured him to complete tasks. He felt that he had to protect her. After all she was so vulnerable, so unprepared, so … beautiful. Connor shook his head to break himself away from his thoughts. Where was all this coming from? These strange emotions he was feeling, he wasn’t used to this. He stood up quickly and turned back to the house. He had to get his priorities back in order. He needed to discover as much as he could at the crime scene before Hank was ready to leave. He could question Y/N later, for now, she’d be safe with Hank.

Connor returned upstairs. Two of the other rooms proved to be empty, a bathroom and a linen closet. The last room, at the end of the hallway, awaited him. The scuffs on the floor continued into the room, the bedroom of Y/N’s parents. Inside, the two adults sat propped in chairs, tied around the waist as well as by their hands. Both had been shot through the chest with impeccable aim, the work of a rogue android. The room was littered with destroyed photos and knickknacks, as if anything that held any kind of sentimental value was sought out and ransacked right in front of the couple. A gun sat in the middle of the floor, pinning down a note written in perfect lettering. Connor analyzed the gun, no fingerprints. Then, he turned his attention to the note, which read:

A punishment fit for the crime they committed. Her sins will not be forgiven; when the light finds her she shall also be smote.

The android felt wronged and was enacting revenge on this family, maybe he was the one cut out of the picture downstairs? Connor flipped the note over, it was written on the back of a photo of the family, although this one was taken more recently. Marybeth and Alexander were crossed out with blood, only Y/N’s visage remained unscathed. He’s after Y/N, I have to protect her.

[gyrlversion]

Group Chats Are Making the Internet Fun Again

Photo: Shutterstock (pigeons)

Depending on how you count, I’m in between four and 18 active group chats, across half a dozen different apps that occupy most of my time on my phone. Right now, I’m in a one called “Ramius’s Boys,” which is devoted to sharing quotes from the film The Hunt for Red October and submarine-related links; another called “News and Politics Discussion Group,” for arranging Mario Kart matches and, most important, talking shit; and a third, “No More Furry Nudes I Promise” — though, to be fair, that one probably shouldn’t be counted as “active” because no one trusted the promise its creator made in the title. One friend described to me a group chat she’s in with one “overriding rule”: The only thing allowed is GIFs of the Hulk. Another friend told me she’s in a group chat dedicated to sharing photographs of Cobb salads called, naturally, “COBB COBB.”

In some ways, group chat feels like a return to the halcyon era of AOL Instant Messenger, once the most widespread method of messing around with your friends on the internet. But in my life, group chats — on Apple’s iMessage, WhatsApp, Slack, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook Messenger, or any number of other apps or platforms — aren’t simply additional modes of socialization, drawing on the IM conversation or the chat room. They’re an outright replacement for the defining mode of social organization of the past decade: the platform-centric, feed-based social network. For me, at least, group chats aren’t the new AIM. They’re the new Facebook.

Like Facebook at its best, they’re pocket sources of interpersonal nourishment. Some of my group chats were created for utilitarian reasons, like planning a bachelor party, but have since outgrown the limiting stricture of “having a particular reason to exist.” Most have been freewheeling and themeless since their inception, cast haphazardly and sustained by gossip and boredom and the opportunity to make fun of someone else’s typos. The paradigmatic message of the group chat is one my friend Sam sent recently: “Wanna see something mildly funny?” In group chats, the answer is always “yes.”

It’s easy to forget, 15 years, 2 billion users, and an ethnic-cleansing controversy or two later, that Facebook was a place for this kind of purposeless sociality before it was a place for repeatedly blocking and reporting your step-cousin. More than that, it was a piece of essential social infrastructure — a new layer of life that efficiently, and aggressively, reorganized social existence, describing and enabling friendships, cliques, parties, and even memories, formalized as they would eventually be by Facebook photo albums uploaded on hungover Sunday afternoons.

As it happens, Facebook’s mandate was never to facilitate social life. It was to draw new users in and keep them there, even in alienating and potentially antisocial ways. Over the years it grew beyond the original, limited social contexts in which it began, and chased user engagement at the expense of its users’ well-being. The arrival of parents and bosses into the same social space as college friends, and the introduction of the implicitly competitive News Feed, with its opaque multi-metric ranking system, created the sense that this once-friendly space had turned against us. But by the measurements important to investors, it was successful, and the endlessly updating, always-available feed was adopted as the model for all social networks. The result was, depending whom you talk to, either every single bad thing that’s happened in the last five years, or just most of them.

As feeds grew hostile, though, the rise of the smartphone, with its full-screen keyboard and its array of free messaging options, gave us a new, context-specific, decentralized social network: the group chat. Over the last few years, I and most of the people I know have slowly attempted to extricate our social lives from Facebook. Now it’s the group chat that structures and enables my social life. I learn personal news about friends from group chats more often than I do on Facebook; I see more photos of my friends through group chats than I do on Instagram; I have better and less self-conscious conversations in group chats than I do on Twitter. I’m not alone: The Avengers are in a group chat; the actresses of Big Little Lies are in a group chat; Beyoncé is in a group chat with her mother and Solange. (Jay-Z was apparently not invited.) Group chats have become so fundamental to daily life, in some cases, that they are the first place people turn for help: During the shooting at the STEM School in Highlands Ranch, Colorado, on May 7, BuzzFeed News reported that students took to group chats to share moment-to-moment updates.

And Facebook knows it. “The future is private,” Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg told developers at the company’s annual F8 conference on April 30. “Over time, I believe that a private social platform will be even more important to our lives than our digital town squares.” He unveiled a new design for the Facebook homepage that emphasized private, user-created Facebook Groups, rather than the default-public News Feed, and announced to the crowd: “This is about building the kind of future we want to live in.” I doubt everyone is as invested in group chats as I am. But if Facebook has its way, they soon will be — on Facebook.

To me, the reorientation of Facebook around private groups feels less like the company “building the kind of future we want” and more like its attempt to force itself back into a social life I’d rescued from its feed. Last year, the technology writer Navneet Alang wondered in a column in the Globe and Mail if it would be possible “to save social media from Facebook.” That is, could we extricate from the globe-spanning behemoth that is Facebook, Inc., the many uses and experiences that can make Facebook, the website and app, so enjoyable? The flowering of group chats points us in one direction. In almost all ways, I find the group chat an improvement over the machine-sorted feed. Freed from the pressure to stand out from thousands of other posts, conversations on group chats tend to be comfortably subdued — even appealingly boring — in a way that Facebook status updates or tweets never can be. Because most group chats exist on platforms or apps that don’t rely on advertising money or user engagement to support themselves, they’re only as addicting or exploitative as any social interaction might be.

You don’t “check” chats the way you check an endless feed: Conversation flows when enough people want to have it, but there’s no algorithm to find and surface an unseen chat message that you might engage with. What you get instead is distraction the old-fashioned way: with intention. The feed, at its worst, is a passive and slack-jawed experience. The group chat requires some level of active engagement. Whatever conditioning has led us to seek validation from the glass-and-metal rectangles in our pockets is obviously at play in the group chat as it is on other social platforms. But it occurs at human scale, with distinct reactions from a handful of friends for a minorly funny joke, rather than at the alien scale of behemoth platforms, with likes endlessly mounting for a Facebook post in which you dunk on the president.

Like any social network, the group chat has its own social mores and prerogatives. Every group chat contains recognizable archetypes — the out-of-it person who asks “wait, what?” about every conversation; the (psychologically self-actualized and professionally successful) member who keeps the group chat on mute, meaning they don’t get alerted every time someone sees a Cobb salad — and undergoes regular cycles of high and low activity, depending on the schedules and time zones of participants. Every group chat has smaller orbiting sub-chats featuring new constellations of the original group’s members, created to plan surprise parties, or, worse, to complain about the guy who keeps asking “what, what?”

Which is another way of saying that group chats aren’t always beautiful and healthy expressions of friendship. The distraction of the group chat may feel more fulfilling than the distraction of Instagram, but it’s still a distraction — sometimes even from fulfilling in-person socializing. Orienting your social infrastructure around sharply circumscribed friend groups might help avoid the dreaded collapsing of social contexts that occurs on Facebook, but it can also reinforce cruel in-group/out-group dynamics. (Though, in their defense, because group chats can’t be crashed by angry strangers or malicious trolls, they’re only ever toxic in the familiar and reassuring ways that friend groups have been since middle school.) Private group chats can create echo chambers as distorting as the decontextualized noise of a public social feed.

Nor are any of the many companies whose products I use to talk to friends particularly benevolent. Apple’s iMessage, my most frequent group-chat app, ties my phone number up in difficult-to-extricate ways with its proprietary system, and splits friends in two tiers — blue and green. (My friend Dan became so incensed at being left out of iMessage group chats that he rigged a home server so he could receive iMessages chats on his Android.) WhatsApp is routinely accused of being a vector of misinformation in India, where it’s been linked to mob violence, and in Brazil, where it’s a source of far-right “fake news.” (Not surprisingly, WhatsApp is also the most “frictionless” of any chat platform, and it’s telling that the first step in reducing the flow of misinformation on the app is to disable the “forwarding” button.) It’s also owned by Facebook, the very company I took to group chats to get away from.

But even if most of these corporations are untrustworthy, at least there are many of them. The key advantage of the group chat is that “social graph” of your friend network exists in your head, and not only on a server in Iceland, which means you can easily abandon one platform for another without any trouble — or, as most of us do, occupy many platforms at once. The result, as Facebook knows all too well, is an internet much closer to the one we might want. “The only thing I still enjoy doing online/with technology is texting,” Sam, the friend who wanted to share something mildly amusing, told me. “All of the rest of it is torture/agony/hell. But I fucking love iMessage.”

*A version of this article appears in the May 13, 2019, issue of New York Magazine. Subscribe Now!

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[destielattack-blog]

Mugged? part 1

This is the first story I’ve ever really put effort into so please excuse any mistakes I may have made and I haven’t quite finished it but I’m working on it so here’s the first part.

2225 words

Horror/Suspense

           I woke up next to my bike with an ache in my head. I don't remember what happened and I didn't know where I was or what time it was. I go to check my phone to see if that would offer any information but then I realized that it was gone. Panic started to set in when I feel blood running down my face. Fearing I have a serious injury, I get up trying to pick my bike up but end up aborting that plan as I was too weak to lift it. I felt so helpless; like I couldn't move or think straight but what I did know is I had to get help and fast. I stagger along the road for what felt like an eternity until I see a little house come into view. I speed up wanting to get there as fast as I possibly could. Running up to the picket fence I see that there’s no one home and dread washed over me like a wave on a beach. Right when I was about to give up all hope, there’s a little movement in the windows. I freeze, waiting to see if someone was there or maybe, to my despair, it was an animal. I wait for a few minutes making sure something was there then I gather up my courage and push the gate open. I gingerly knock on the door, being sure to do it lightly so to not scare whoever or whatever was inside. I waited a few minutes then knocked again and this time there was noise on the other side; it sounded like locks sliding out and unlocking. I began to grow nervous, not knowing whether I should run or stay and get the help I desperately need. The door slowly opens and inside I see a small and frail child who could not have been more than six years of age. She looks as if she has not have a bath for quite some time and her clothes were mere rags that barley covered her small body. My heart drops when I realize that this little girl could not help me with what I need; I start to think I'd be better on my own as her situation is worse than mine until I hear her try to speak.  

"Yes Ma'am?" she says in a low voice and a blank stare.

All the thoughts of leaving this little girl alone and starting on my way by myself to get help vanish from my thoughts; even if there is something wrong with this situation. As I stand there in front of her I begin to worry and start to think I should leave.  

"I'm very sorry to bother you, but are your parents’ home?" I ask, trying to choose my words carefully.  

She looked at me and answered, with a strange look in her striking dark gray eyes, "Yes ma'am, they are, my mommy is sleeping with the baby and daddies gone....”  

She stops her sentence at that and it seems she was going to finish where she left off but instead she continued to stare with that soulless stare. I plan to handle this situation with care so she won't become upset or worse.  

"Sweetie what's your name?" I ask tenderly.  

My plan was to find out as much as I could and go from there. While I wait for her answer, I turn to look behind me, wondering if there are any cars passing on the road beyond the picket fence; there aren't. With an exasperated sigh I turn back to her but, much to my surprise, she vanished. I jumped back, startled, and wondering where she went. I called out to her but there was no answer. As I stood there I contemplated whether or not I should go in and look for her, fearing she might need my help, but the more influential part of me told me to turn around and find the help I need. Going with the second choice because my head injury was getting worst by the minute and I was getting dizzy. I slowly make my way back to the old, broken down looking gate and out onto the road. My plan was to flag down a passing vehicle or find another house or building. I walked with my head down and the cut facing the gray, bleak sky hoping it would stop bleeding. It was just me for some time until I looked up to see if there was anything around me that I could go to find help and I realized that there was something on the ground a little ways ahead. Feeling a sudden rush of hope I speed up to get to the mysterious object. As I gained ground between me and the item on the ground, I start to feel the horror creep over me as I see that it is my bike. I have no idea what is happening to me and I pray that it’s just my mind playing tricks on me because of my injury. I began to hyperventilate as I realize that this was not a normal hit and run as I originally believed; this was something worse. I start to try to come up with a solution to this problem but it was growing increasingly harder the longer I waited because of my ghastly head injury. I could only think up the plan of going back to the worn-out house farther up the road. I tried to calm my nerves as I made my way up to that wrecked fence gate, which I have grown to despise. I open it, being careful enough to lift it so that it would not squeak and alert anyone inside. As I walked up the stairs to the tarnished door my heart was beating faster than a thousand drums against my chest. Part of me thought I should just turn around and trying to figure this out myself but I knew better and figured with this injury I wouldn’t get far. I steeled my nerves and, with a shaking hand, knocked on the front door. It flew open and inside the dark foyer the little girl was standing there, with a devilish grin stretching across her face. I wanted to scream and run and to be anywhere but here. As I stood, rooted to my place in front of the entryway, the little girl cocked her head as if to ask ‘What’s wrong?’ but kept that same smile on her face. I started to back up but I couldn’t move no matter how hard I tried; it was as if she was forcing me to stay in that same spot. She started to move closer, ever so slowly like she wanted to make me squirm. I waited to see what she would do, my heart was racing faster and faster with every passing second. She stopped, mere inches away from me. Every part of me told me to run as fast as I possibly could but I still couldn’t move; this time it wasn’t out of fear or this little girl keeping me in place, it felt more like the house wanted me to stay put. The little girl started to shake and the harder she shook the more her smile went away until eventually it was gone completely. Then my legs gave out, as if the force that was hold me in place freed me. I was on the ground exhausted, then I noticed the little girls smile was back and bigger than ever. Terror filled me and I tried to get up, only getting half way when I realized that I was too weak and lost a lot of blood. I collapsed in a heap on the doorstep and the girl approached. That was the last thing I saw before everything went black. I woke up in a dimly lit room with a throbbing pain in my head. I moved my hand gently up to my head to feel how bad the laceration was. Much to my surprise it was stitched up; it felt like it was done fast and chaotic but at least it was closed. I get out of the chair I was sitting in and tried to observe the room around me. Although it was dimly lit, I could make out what appeared to be surgical equipment, hooks, and chains. I realized that I wasn’t saved and taken to a hospital; I was inside the house. I began to panic and franticly looked for the door. It was on the wall right behind the chair. I ran to it and tried to open it, much to my dismay it didn’t open; I pulled and pulled and pulled but it wouldn’t budge. I started crying and thinking of my family at home; how sad my dad would be and devastated my mom and sisters would be and how crushed my boyfriend would feel. It felt like hours had passed since I woke up in this room with my gash stitched up but was possibly just a few minutes. I had just sat back down on the tattered looking chair when I hear footsteps approaching the door. I freeze, trying to calm my breathing and pretend to be asleep so whoever was on the other side of the door wouldn’t harm me. That was my plan at least. I hear a key slide into the door and it slowly creaks open. With every passing second, my heart beats faster and faster but I keep my breathing calm, as if I were asleep. The mysterious person walked into the room but stayed just outside of my line of sight. I start to wonder what it looked like and I tried to shift in the chair slightly to get a better look. I started moving but it turned around and faced me before I could get far. It moved impressively fast but had a weird way of doing so. As it came closer I could tell it wasn’t human. It had a mist around it almost like smoke but it stayed close to its body. I got nervous that it would do something to me and waited for it to do something. It was about five feet away from me when it stopped walking towards me. As I began to wonder what it was going to do, it started grumbling which turned into something I could understand; it was as if it was trying to talk to me. I waited and listened carefully, afraid of missing something that may help me get out. But the longer I waited the more it became clear that whatever this is isn’t trying to help me it’s trying to keep me alive for something.  

“I see you’re awake,” it said, with a silky sound to its voice, similar to a snakes.  

I was too scared to answer; all I could get out was a small shriek. It laughed at my attempt to fight back.  

"What happ-", I managed to get out before I was struck silent again.  

"Don't worry I won't hurt you," it says with its velvety voice, "I saved you so why would I do that?"  

I was crying harder now, shaking at the thought that I'm locked in this dark room with this thing.

"Now that your awake, I can tell you what you are going to do for me", It explained.  

I didn't want anything to do with this mysterious being, all I wanted to do was get out of this room and back to my boyfriend and family. I start to shake with fear. I start to slowly get up and walk to the door, noticing I have a small limp. Before I could think of how I got the limp or how I was going to get out, it started moving and getting angry. It darted towards the door to block me but I sprinted and got out before it grabbed me. I slammed the heavy iron door behind me and took off again. I had no idea where I was or where I was going, I just wanted to get out. Staggering down the hallway, I noticed that it started to split in to several different tunnels. I stood there trying to decide which path I should choose but my head was spinning and my feet would not obey the commands of my head. While standing there trying to figure out the best choice, I hear a door slam hard. Fear set in as I realized the sound came from direction I just came from. I hastily made a decision and choose the left tunnel; hoping it would be the right choice. The echo of the slamming door and It's movements kept growing louder and louder; ringing in my ears and causing my head to continue to pound harder.....

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Fairy Tail S3

Can the narrator really justify the “small peaceful nation” part of the intro after a morality weapon was resurrected and almost destroyed a ghost town

“Flower parties are freakin’ manly!” Elfman isn’t here for your gender roles

My sweet stripper son:

Erza: Have you considered putting on a shirt?

Gray: [Growls]

“Don’t get cold feet” I love shitty battle puns

The implication that Natsu would literally move the heavens and the earth for Lucy is beautiful

I can’t believe that disaster of a play exists in continuity

“I need your guidance Laxus” When Freed is faced with difficult decisions he looks into the sky and sees Laxus in the clouds

“A real man never uses his brain” I mean... tru

Gray just fucking peacefully iceskates past a pile of his friends

“You and me aren’t married okay” “Then why are you blushing” Baby Natsu and Lisanna are so cute

That exchange between Natsu and Lisanna makes it seem like she’s missing and not dead but they buried her body right?

Gildarts has apparently decided to adopt Natsu

Poor Natsu he doesn’t even get sad about Lisanna’s death he’s mad

Natsu @ Gildarts: You’re not my real dad! 

DRUNK GAJEEL SEARCHES FOR KITTY CATS

Mystogan is Wendy’s Jellal oh no the one nice thing Jellal thinks he did his whole life was a lie

I fucking love Natsu’s nicknames for Gray: Frosty, Freezer Burn, Snowflake <3

“We need to talk, it’s time you learned to grip it right” Gray pls

“I wish something interesting would happen today,” said Lucy, shortly after Mystogan announced the impending apocalypse

This is the second time that everything Wendy knows and cares about has evaporated right before her eyes yikes

Based on this intro everyone’s going to meet their AU selves in Edolas and I’m really curious if AU Gray is just going to put on more clothes

“If none of our buddies are in this world, what would be the point of coming back here anyway?” Natsu <3333333

“We gotta walk somewhere, so why not this way?” shit u right Natsu

AU Gray does wear too many clothes I love it

Oh no Lisanna’s probably still alive in this universe

“Why isn’t Cana half-naked and fully drunk?” Cana is a mess 

Natsu, weeping: The Gray I know would be half-naked by now

“I’ve never seen a frog like this! We should take it back for Lucy as a souvenir” Amazing his friends are trapped in a giant crystal and he’s still thinking about what they might enjoy as keepsakes

I think Scary Lucy is in love with Natsu

But how did Gajeel get to Edolas without a magical flying cat?

“This Gajeel’s a freelance journalist, better get the scoop on him” I wonder if his political activist alter ego also uses terrible wordplay

“Being bossed around is kind of a nice change” Kinkshame Scary Lucy

It makes sense that Lucy’s the only one who can use magic here because her magic isn’t tied to Earth

Gentle Fro Gajeel bonding with Angry Spiky Gajeel is great

Lmao @ Mystogan just tossing up random members of a Fairy Tail up into the sky and also it seems abundantly clear at this point that he’s Edolas Jellal

Natsu [Aggressive Roadster voice]: My Lucy

I guess Edolas Natsu is only ballsy while inside moving vehicles

“Not exactly my idea of a dictatorship” Clearly you have never seen footage produced by any dictatorship ever

Nalu must be canon because she just gave him the Hug of Passionate Restraint

Ngl this cat drama is a bit Much for me I don’t even like Happy

This is some dark philosopher’s stone ass shit that I didn’t really expect from Fairy Tail yikes there’s no moral dilemma for these people

How come Gajeel can use his magic??

Honestly the greatest suspension of disbelief in this show is pretending Happy does not sound like a whiny adult woman

The way they told that story at first made it seem like all 100 eggs belonged to Happy’s parents 

I’M SCREAMING THE REAL GRAY AND ERZA ARE BACK MY SWEET NAKED AND VIOLENT CHILDREN

I love their entrance bathed in ethereal light and also the fact that their combined magical power was enough to fill a town square

Ohhhh so that’s why Lucy can use her powers because Mystogan gave her the crazy red pills

Gray, trying to give medicine to a person who is out cold: Come on, open your mouth, you loser

“I was wondering what he popped in my mouth,” I'm concerned about you Lucy

Gray just faded into transparency because he was being ignored amazing

“Do you want get in the middle of that?” “You know, you make a good point” I missed Gray’s and Lucy’s asides <3

Gray did you need to pin Lucy down to protect her you are so Extra and I love it

Gray just... fucking chucked Lucy.... twenty feet in the air GOOD LORD

Oh my god is Panther Lily going to become Gajeel’s magical flying cat

“You’re not dead, are you? Yell if you’re dead!” NATSU PLS

“I have to care about her, because it’s obvious that you don’t!” Lucy is so powerful and kind I love her

Full offense but I’m going to marry Gray Fullbuster

“I’m still making you my cat” he said, before beating the shit out of a man-sized panther

I bet Good Erza robbed Bad Erza lmao beautiful

Why are neither Gray nor Natsu attempting to retake their hostage

None of the Edolas boys have this same need for angry haircuts

The Cat Drama has reached new heights but I’ve slowly grown fond of it

Did Panther Lily save Mystogan?? Oh the answer is yes

What the ever loving fuck that was an abrupt cut off to an almost happy ending

I can’t believe Mystogan is a prince and also that no one is reacting to the fact he is Edolas Jellal

“I’m sure he’ll feel right at home crawling along the ground with the other pests” Apparently there is a worse dad than Papa Heartlessfilia in this show

Natsu as Daenerys Targaryen: Fire cannot kill a dragon

Fairy Tail is full of Human Disasters no matter what universe

Erza, every time she puts on a new suit of armor: My strongest armor

I love that Erza, Gray and Natsu all give their opponents speeches on the morality of their decisions as they fight

“Is a floating island going to fall on our house?” no one ever said that Mystogan was great at foresight

“But Edolas had a pretty good run, huh?” said Hughes, just calmly fucking watching the apocalypse

Why is Jellal always trying to get himself killed no matter what universe

I’m crying I love Space Jellal 

The fist pumping is killing me 

“What an overachiever!” Gajeel is so happy to have his own kitty cat

Every time Natsu tries to hug Lisanna someone physically restrains him

I’m so happy for Mira and Elfman and Natsu <3

This is going to be so weird for Fairy Tail to them it’s like they passed out and they wake up to their friends bruised and bloody, Mystogan gone forever, a baby panther in Gajeel’s arms and someone back from the dead 

Hughes, about his own execution: Seriously, it’s not a big deal, just do it!

Jellal did the thing! The Fairy Tail thing again my sweet son

The implication of Mystogan having joined Fairy Tail as a child means that he’s been walking around in a full cloak since he was like 10

Lmao @ Natsu dreaming about fighting Gray 

The unnecessarily intimate and homoerotic friendship chain continues as Lucy and Cana bathe together

Literally their legs are intertwined together underwater?? This is Extremely Gay and I love it

“Forget your clothes again?” “Don’t have time to worry about that!” 

Ggekghjrhgkhkg Gray using one of Lucy’s spirits as his partner 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 

“At this point I’d put almost anything in my mouth as long as it’s cold” ... Like an ice wizard? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 

GRAY IS LITERALLY THIS MEME:

I arrive at S-Class Trials

Ship: Crowded

Partner: Loke 

Dick: Out

I am forcibly clothed at S-Class Trials

Gajeel using Levy’s head as an armrest pls 

Makarov @ an Ice Wizard: Chill

“What sort of vulgar sorcery is this?” Omg Freed is so nervous around scantily-clad women I love it

I guess Freed and Bickslow throwing the fight makes more sense than if they were defeated through the power of sex and cotton candy

“There is one thing you still lack” Self control?

This was actually a pretty accurate guess

Mystogan’s a little young to have an adult man as his pupil

Hard for Emo Wizard to avoid confrontation when everyone in this guild takes “I could kill you” as an invitation to fight

I guess it says a lot about Natsu that Gildarts has been mentoring him for many years and yet he still thinks of the dragon as his dad