#its insane how i make people worse by accident just by being so intense

[this-guy-is-insane]

How do i stop traumatizing people by being myself

How do i stop ruining people

How do i stop being

Bad

[sincerely-sofie]

The """"villain""""Twig!AU is making me go insane over what would happen. I haven't hyperfixated on something so much, so quickly in years. I need to give my 2 cents or I just might implode

(Tw: self hatred, suicide implications, Death, Caps lock)

Twig would think of herself as an irredeemable monster for indirectly hurting her friends. she would probably think that, because Darkrai made people have nightmares because of malice, (while not knowing its just a thing he can accidentally do without realizing it.) she would think that on some level that she WANTED to hurt the people closest to her. Her self loathing would get SO much worse. BUT she CAN'T be self destructive because she wouldn't want anyone else to be cursed with this power. She would spiral even further. She wants to die, but she knows she can't from age because of Celebi. She would hate herself even more for even thinking of finding someone to put her out of her misery. She loves her friends to a fault. She wants to be with them, but she thinks that she's inherently evil. It wouldn't help that she would not be able to practice controlling her powers in isolation, give that nightmare aura invariably needs someone else to practice with.

Everyone in her friend group, the Guild, heck, maybe even team skull, would desperately search for her. Combing every place they can think of. Searching every mystery dungeon, forest, mountain, cave, even going under the sea to search. But it's no use. One by one all of them would give up and accept that she is missing. Maybe forever. Except Kip. He would never stop searching for her. He's madly in love with her and knows her better than anyone else. All he wants to do is tell her that he still loves her, and that he would endure any nightmare, no matter how awful, just so he could wake up next to her. And that they would figure out how to control her powers together. But he can't. Maybe he evolves from the constant stress and work put in searching for her. He can't accept that she's gone. He CANNOT live without seeing her one last time. But no matter how much he tries, he can't find her. All of his effort, YEARS of searching with no results. He would either fall into an intense depression, rarely eating or getting out of bed, or die in an accident during an expedition. His thoughts for the last who-knows-how-many-decades have almost entirely been about Twig. And that doesn't change during his last breath.

Grovyle would possibly take it the worst out of all her friend. She was the ONE person he SWORE to protect, and he SCREWED IT UP! HE COULDN'T HAVE DONE ANY WORSE! He would consider himself an utter failure on every conceivable level. It doesn't help that his old savior complex habits resurface worse than ever. He doesn't want anyone to worry about him. He needs to be strong. He always puts on a mask whenever he's around others. He denies everything when someone confronts him about obviously not doing well. Whenever he's alone, he wishes he could just, dissappear. But that would mean someone else would wonder what happened to him. So he can't do that. As a result, he becomes more distant from everyone. His friendships fade because he's never genuine. He runs away whenever he begins to get too emotional. And denies that he is doing such a thing.

Dusknoir would be incredibly distraught by this. He hurt Twig before, who's to say he hadn't done hurt her again? She didn't even say goodbye to anyone, least of all him, why would she even care about him? And now all he wants is to beg her for forgiveness. Completely unaware of the fact that she had already forgiven him for his betrayal a long time ago. He has no idea that she would be appalled that he would want her to forgive him when she would be the one begging for his forgiveness for hurting him and "being evil". Both of them recieve no closure for this. And both of them live without knowing that the other wishes they would ask for forgiveness.

Celebi would become more reserved than ever. She learned that; not only could a legend be killed, but also what happens to the person that kills them. She would consider her powers to see the future and the past a curse. One that only she can bear. She becomes so much less adventurous and adverse to risk. Whenever the other Celebi's ask her why she looks so glum, she quickly changes the subject. She can't have them know. It would destroy them. She would consider all of this her fault as well. If only she knew what would happen, she could have stopped it. If she had been more responsible, she could have had Twig live her life, and all of this would have been avoided. But she can't change it now, because if she were to try and go back in time, another Celebi might come to this timeline and learn what happened. Then they would tell the others, and then they would talk, and she would be solely responsible for ruining the lives of infinite Celebi's. It would all have been her fault. She shoos any celebi that arrives in her timeline out of there. Her relationship with Dialga crumbles as a result of how often she threatens other Celebis to tell him that they are interfering with other timeliness. Eventually, the other Celebi's start avoiding her altogether. "If she's gonna be so mean, then we just wont talk to her" they reason. She's alone, her friendships are ruined, the only people that can relate to her hate her. But they are all safe. That's the only thing that matters now.

Cressalia would take some time, but eventually she finds out what would happen. She would feel responsible for being the one that got Twig cursed with this power, but also she would try to police Twig the same way she tried to control Darkrai. "She must be doing this on purpose". Perhaps Cressalia is the catalyst that made Twig leave in the first place. By trying to help her in Cressalia's own special way, by guilt tripping them while assuming they know what they're doing. It's only after her experience with the Snivy that she realizes what she has done. And now she did EXACTLY what she did to darkrai. To someone who never wanted or asked for this power. She would want to seek forgiveness, but Twig doesn't sleep. She doesn't know where she is. This guilt would eat away at her, leaving her a shell of her former self.

I love a good (fictional) tragedy, because all of this is no-ones fault in particular. Celebi thought legends couldn't be killed and didn't take any precautions in the possibility of that happening, Cresselia thought she was doing the right thing, both before and after Darkrai's death. Twig, Kip, Grovyle and Dusknoir couldn't have known that any of this would happen. It was the perfect storm and set of circumstances that caused this. The most tragic part of all of this, is that by trying to protect everyone, Twig hurts them more than she would have if she had simply stayed. If she didn't have a tendency to put the well-being of others over her own, she could have lead a much happier life, with some pain at the start. Rather than being in pain forever, while unknowingly causing so much more suffering. Ignorance is often bliss, but it is a curse in this.

I dunno how in character all of this is, (Personally, I think my interpretation of Celebi is a bit iffy, she probably would have known that legends can be killed, seen this future, and taken steps to prevent all this from happening) But my brain latched on to the implications of this AU like a steel trap and would not let go until I wrote this down

Thank you for continuing to make art Sophie! I love this suffering more than you probably realize. (Genuine)

Okay so like. When you said you were gathering your thoughts I was so excited. But I would have never DREAMED of this amazing ask.

This is such an interesting continuation of the AU’s premise! It really drives home the irony of Twig’s belief that she makes things worse for those around her, and that her friends would be happier if they never saw her again— Twig is the heart of the main cast. She’s keeping everyone from going off the deep end with just her presence.

I don’t know what to say other than GOOD GLORY do we ever need a tag for this AU because I’m getting attached to it 😭

[let-them-read-fics]

Youth With You

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,113

HC Count: 31

This is a mix between headcanons and a one shot

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Little Hot & Heavy, (Public) Teasing, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my first writing for Lisa; I’m pretty proud of it! Feel free to let me know what you think. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Becoming a new trainee was terrifying in every sense of the word. The media, the practices, the tests -- everything. 3 months into your coaching, however, things hit an all time high: you gained the opportunity to enter the competition Youth With You, as an independent trainee. Your freedom and right to expression was important to you, so it wasn’t an accident that you were going in independently. A company would only put pressure and bans on you, restricting your creativity and keeping you from being your most authentic self.

Finding out that Lisa was a mentor only made your nerves worse; at the same time, though, you’d never been more excited for something in your whole life.

Having friends in the industry proved to be an important factor as you prepped for the show. Producers and managers gave you advice, knowing exactly what each of the teachers looked for and demanded from their groups. You worked tirelessly to ready yourself for the whirlwind that was sure to come.

When you arrive at the production building, you’re in awe; the interior is ginormous, with insanely high ceilings and huge doors. Everything is coated in various colors, all of them pristine and beautiful. The labyrinth of halls that winds throughout the building before you is quite intimidating, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself of your reasons for being here. It’s far too important to chicken out now.

The staff had tipped you off to the fact that the mentors would be there today, but they neglected to tell you when. You had surely expected them to come in after everyone got settled. Alas, you were sorely mistaken; thus, you can imagine the surprise that etched into your features upon entering the main room.

Ella and Kun were invested in their papers, flipping through the stacks and whispering to each other; Jony J was turned to his right, chatting with Lisa. Your presence was announced by the rather loud thud that echoed through the room at the closing of the door.

The bright lights nearly blinded you as you turned to face them again, dread creeping into your mind.

“Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words came out cooler that you had expected, and you patted yourself on the back for remaining so calm. You’re known for managing to hide your nerves well and remain professional, but that’s no easy task with this group of talent. Especially her.

You purposefully tried to avoid looking at her, knowing you’d blush and get majorly sidetracked. You feared you wouldn’t be able to recover from that.

“I see that you’re an independent trainee,” Kun said, a smile spreading across his lips. You swallowed at the sight, knowing the questions were about to come rolling in. “Yes, that’s correct. I prefer working alone; I only have to rely on myself.” He studies you, head tilted to the side as he considers your answer, and you nearly melt under his astute gaze. “I was the same way. It’s never easy, but the mentors and I will be right beside you during your time here.” Knowing that these 4 amazing people were here to share their experiences and guide you through your troubles made the task at hand much less daunting, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Despite the intensity of the competition, you felt at ease, knowing they genuinely want the best for you.

“Ah, look at that face! So cute,” Ella coos, grinning back. You hide your face behind your hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone chuckles at the sight, and you join in. With the atmosphere officially comfortable, you allow your eyes to trail over to Lisa. To your surprise, she’s already looking at you, lip between her teeth. 

“I see that you have 2 special talents listed.” Lisa starts, leaving room for you to elaborate. “Yes ma’am. While studying abroad in my youth, I learned 3 languages in addition to my native English.” The mentors look pleasantly surprised, and you continue with your other skill. “My mother is a professional chef, and we’ve always been close. She’s trained me over the years, and that’s something I’m very thankful for. During my time away from home I was fortunate enough to learn new techniques and styles from across the world.”

As you finish talking about yourself, you look to each and every one of the judges separately. You know it’s important to have a good connection with all of them, and you use this chance to do just that.

Upon locking eyes with Lisa again, your breath hitches. The light blush that rests on her cheeks, combined with the look she’s giving you, is enough to make you swoon. It’s innocent enough, the way she’s watching you; after all, she can just blame it on her role as a teacher -- she has to get a good understanding of her students. However, though, behind the innocent facade lies a much more sensual reason for her behavior. You don’t miss the way her eyes rake up your body, nor her smirk as she notices your hands mindlessly toying with the band of your shorts. You do your best to keep your attention on the others as they ask you questions about your resume, but that’s easier said than done.

Once they’ve finished with their questions, they invite you to take a seat anywhere you’d like. Despite your desire to book it next to Lisa, you don’t want to be impolite; that’s also not to say that you didn’t enjoy the company of the others -- you truly did. Clearly, though, no one can compare to Lisa.

You give them all another smile, the dimples of your cheeks on full display, and approach them one-by-one to shake their hands. They appreciate the gesture, and you’re confident that you’ve won them over that much more.

As you make your way to the seat beside Lisa, your heart beats wildly. It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress your anxiety for the time being. Letting your control slip now is definitely not an option.

In contrast to the heated look she had been giving you just moments before, Lisa now dons an adorable smile that nearly makes your heart burst. In the moment, you almost reach forward to touch her puffed out cheeks. 

You sit down beside her, and she takes a minute to look you over again. It’s baffling how she can go from so wholesome and adorable to flirty in such a short period of time. 

As the time ticks on and the mentors work through the list of contestants, the two of you continue to steal conversations and teasing glances.

Things are ramped up, however, when Lisa’s hand finds its way to your thigh, settling there for a bit. You attempt to push the intrusive thoughts from your mind, but they come flooding back the second she leans in to whisper something into your ear.

“You look gorgeous,” she tells you, warm breath fanning over your neck. Her slight accent only adds to the effect that her words have on you. All you can offer is a breathless thank you, thoughts completely jumbled at having the stunning woman do such things to you.

Before anyone can get suspicious, she backs off. The disappointment must’ve been evident, because she chuckles lightly and pats your knee in response. Thankfully no one had been paying you two any mind.

~~~ Practices ~~~

It wasn’t often that you came into the studio upset or exhausted, considering you knew you’d soon be cheered up once you saw Lisa, but she made sure to take care of you when those times came around. She could read you like a book, easily knowing when you’d had enough and needed a break. That’s not to say that she lowered her standards, though -- she was firm and demanding, but she checked on you often. She respected all of her students, but she couldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for you. You lived for her soft gaze and gentle touches on the days you needed them most.

Other days, though, you got a kick out of teasing her; playing dumb, purposefully missing steps, ignoring her instructions -- anything to pull a reaction from her. 

          ↪“Eyes forward,” she would call out, voice strong, upon catching you talking to a fellow trainee when you were meant to be practicing. Her jaw would be set, eyes menacing.

          ↪“You keep messing up. Here,” she’d declare, demonstrating the moves directly in front of you. She knew exactly what to do to get you going, and sometimes your plans backfired a bit.

          ↪Those times that you’d play dumb were by far the best, both of you secretly loving the back and forth of it all. “I’m sorry, miss. I just can’t seem to get the moves right.” You’d say, appearing innocent and sweet all the while. It was hard to contain yourself when she’d approach you from behind, pressing her body against your own. “One here,” she’d inform, placing your hand on your hip; “...and one here,” she’d finish, correcting your position once again. When the music restarted, she counted next to your ear, keeping time as her warm hands held yours, guiding you through the positions.  

And of course, the majority of the time, you were a great student for her. Her praise had a mighty effect on you, and there existed a mutual love for it. Being a strong dancer often worked in your favor.

~~~ Performances ~~~

Anytime you were set to perform, Lisa made sure to settle in and get ready to enjoy herself. The two of you had spent many weeks getting to know each other better, growing closer in the process. She found you captivating, and always loved to watch you on stage. The same can be said for you; seeing her dance was always the highlight of your day.

The two of you made sure to play things up, having a knack for getting the other riled up and squirming in their seat.

Watching her cool demeanor falter and ultimately crumble before you was one of your favorite things in the whole world. One of its only rivals was how she had to attempt to conceal it, knowing the cameras would be on her often. 

“I-I loved it. I’m very proud of you, Y/N.”

You smirked at her stutter; no one else was capable of making her blush as much as you did

~~~ Bonus: Backstage ~~~

“You all did so well. I loved that dance break in the middle of the song.” You gushed to a group of your fellow contestants, smiling at how happy they were. Over the course of the competition you had become something of a “celebrity” yourself, noticing that the other girls would always approach you for help and get giddy when you agreed. Not to mention that the mentors were always proud of your progress and dedication to the craft. The conversation continued, and you settled into a comfortable rhythm; everyone taking a turn to share their favorite part of their performance. Seeing these girls -- your friends -- so proud of themselves was a wonderful thing. Everyone worked so hard, day in and day out, to put forth their best effort in everything that they did. Celebrating each other’s wins just felt right, despite the fact that this is a competition. It always hurt to see anyone go home, considering you spent so much time getting to know each other. These were the people who were there for you when you needed it most; all of you know how hopeless it can feel, and you wanted to protect the others from that in every way possible. 

“Y/N!” The sound of someone calling your name pulls you from the conversation, and you send a quick bow and goodbye to the girls before departing. 

Your eyes travel across the crowded stage, searching for the source of the noise. You spot Lisa looking at you, hand beckoning you towards her. A familiar warmth spreads across your body at the action, and you don’t even attempt to stop the smile that takes over your features.

“Yes?” You ask sweetly, approaching her. Her hands slip into yours, fingers lacing in a sweet embrace. “I want you to come to my dressing room once everyone goes back to the dorm. You impressed me tonight, but you still have some things to learn.” As that last sentence falls from her lips, your blood runs cold. Her voice had dropped lower, and you feared what she meant by that. Had you mixed up the choreography without realizing it? Surely not. The only thing you were sure of in that moment was the way she was studying you, almost intimidatingly. Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, and you swallowed thickly upon noticing this. “Of course. I appreciate the feedback.” She smiled, seemingly pleased with your answer.

With a swipe of her thumb across your knuckles, she was gone.

A sigh left your lips, your mind racing at all of the possible things to come.

~~~ Bonus: A Private Meeting ~~~

“You wanted to see me, Lisa?” You announce upon entering the room and shutting the door behind yourself. The two of you had long ago left the formalities behind, opting instead to be on a first name basis. It was much more intimate, and you preferred things to be that way with her. Of course, occasionally you would use her official title just to get a certain reaction out of her. Slipping it into conversation when around the other instructors always worked to get her attention and catch her off guard. It was easy to see that she enjoyed it, the innocent way it rolled off your tongue. 

You sit down in the chair opposite her, feeling the coolness of the leather press against your calves as you get situated.

“Good job tonight; you get better and better with every performance.” You thank her, both well aware of how much you enjoy her praise. Her expression turns more serious, and you take a deep breath. Here goes. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be so close with some of the other contestants, though. Not all of them are interested in gaining your friendship for the right reasons.” With furrowed eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, you look at her. “What exactly do you mean?” Her expression turns unreadable, and you sink into your seat a little more. “Some of them may want to get into your head to throw you off your game. Despite what you want to believe, Y/N, this is still a contest.” You sigh, now a bit upset that she’s treating you like a child. “I’m aware of that, Lisa, but I can take care care of myself.” At the change in tone, the air around you shifts into something more tense. “Are you sure? Because you seem to be pretty oblivious to their actions.” She bites back, shifting her seat to get a better look at you, and crosses her arms.

When you don’t respond, she takes this as her cue to continue. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I see the way they look at you, so entranced. They know that acting helpless will get your attention. It’s just to distract you!” She says, exasperated, jaw set and eyes cut, just like earlier.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a contrasting tone of accusal and uncertainty in your voice. No turning back now.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Of what?” Her eyes setting on you again, a cocky expression on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you start, toying with her; you know exactly what to say. “Maybe at the fact that they get to be so close to me all the time, like you want to be. Or maybe that we sleep together, especially when it gets cold in the dorms.”

It’s her turn to be speechless. “I’m more observant that you act, miss.” She gulps, and you bite back a smirk. “I see how you look at me; your desire is obvious. We’ve both known it for a long time now… Why don’t you just admit it?” The teasing tone in your voice is thick, and it’s clearly getting to her. Who knew you could make her feel like this with just your words?

“Y/N…” Lisa says your name almost as a warning, knowing that you’re on the edge of crossing the line. She failed to deny your claims; after all, it would do no good. She can’t disguise her feelings for you.

A surge of confidence washes over you, and you take that as a sign to scoot closer to her. Soon, you’re mere inches away from her, your body pressed against the side of the seat as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, soothing her lips.

You take her in for a moment, enjoying the sight. Her long dark hair tumbles past her shoulders in loose waves, and a blush takes residence upon her cheeks. Having her like this was something you only dreamed of in the past; seeing her so aroused because of you truly made you think back on how far the two of you have come.

To put an end to the silence, you loop two fingers underneath her chin, successfully coaxing her into meeting your gaze. Your eyes fall to her lips as you ask, “Am I wrong?” Before you can continue, her resolve fades. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Any ounce of doubt that you had before melts away as she pulls you closer.

With inhibition and processing skills long gone, you slip from your chair and into hers, settling in her lap. One of her arms wraps around your waist to hold you steady, while her other hand tangles itself into your hair. A swift bite to your lip, paired with a flex of her warm thigh beneath you, sends a jolt through your body and earns her a low groan. She shudders against you, and that simple act works wonders in boosting your confidence.

All too quickly, a sudden noise from just outside the door startles you; reluctantly, Lisa pulls away. You nearly gasp at how dark her eyes have gotten in the heat of the moment. “I’m going to go see what that was,” she informs, gently setting you down in her seat as she stands up. Before turning to walk away, however, she plants another kiss on your lips. “Don’t even think about moving. I’m not done with you yet.”

[dropintomanga]

Yuta Okkotsu - The Curse and Blessing of Love (Jujutsu Kaisen)

"I've always believed that love manifests the most distorted curses."

Before the curse of Ryomen Sukuna became the main problem in Gege Akutami's Jujutsu Kaisen, there was another curse that was feared/revered in the Jujutsu world. A complication to that curse was that it was associated with a then-timid young man who was trying to find meaning in his life. Yuta Okkotsu (who would become one of the strongest characters in the series so far) was dealing with grief and his origin story in Volume 0 spoke volumes about what's scary and joyful about love.

Back when he was a child, Yuta was in love with a childhood friend of his named Rika Orimoto. One day, Rika gave Yuta a ring as his birthday gift to put on his finger as a way of proclaiming marriage with one another when they grow up. Rika then gets hit by a car afterwards and dies on the spot. Yuta, who witnesses the incident, becomes traumatized and accidently curses Rika, who was begging him to help her. Rika's spirit becomes insanely devoted to him and starts causing harm to other people. When Yuta becomes bullied in school, Rika comes out to severely hurt his assailants. Yuta is then transferred to Jujutsu High to learn how to break the curse while dealing with the possibility of being executed for having a curse like Rika, who was starting to become more powerful at the time.

When Yuta is first approached by Satoru Gojo, the one teacher in Jujutsu High who opposes Yuta's execution, Yuta talks about how he doesn't want to interact with anyone because of his curse. He wanted to kill himself, but Rika wouldn't allow it. There's a lot of unhealthy guilt here which isn't exactly his fault. I sometimes feel like some kids (like Yuta) are afraid to get close to people so they don't get hurt or hurt other people. They see the pressure of fitting in. There's this fear that no one will like them after discovering what flaws they have.

Sometimes, that fear happens even in adults which can lead to issues like social anxiety and loneliness. Yuta admits that he wants to help people and be around people. He just didn't know how. I realize that a lot of advice given towards youth is very focused on what to do rather than how to do it. The "what" is super important, yes, but there's not enough emphasis on the proper steps needed to make the "what" happen. Of course, the "how" part is sometimes vague and generalized.

That's why for youth, the focus should be to take things one step at a time. For Yuta, it's just to learn how to exorcise curses and using Rika (the source of his trauma) to help others. Youth want to do amazing things with their lives, but are stunted due to mixed messaging and cultural/societal constraints that easily label them for "safety" reasons. Even worse is when youth are rushed in a way to do great things that feels more performative (i.e. doing things on a "to do" list to feel productive) and not because they genuinely want to.

Yuta would become a target of Jujutsu Kaisen's main antagonist, Suguru Geto. Geto wants to add Rika (he calls her the "Queen of Curses") to his collection of curses. When the two do fight, an overmatched Yuta decides to sacrifice his life by using Rika's powers to enhance his own cursed energy in order to defeat Geto. Yuta declares to Rika that he loves her and that they can die together with a bang. Yuta does beat Geto and was ready to accept his fate much to the chagrin of his classmates.

However, the curse on Rika ends up being broken as Yuta was able to finally let Rika move on to the afterlife with the words he expressed earlier during the fight with Geto. Goto tells Yuta that he's a descendant of a great Jujutsu sorcerer and that's why he was able to curse Rika. Yuta realizes his love for Rika was perhaps more intense than Rika's love for Yuta.

Love can go extreme in both ways. When it's good, it's one of the most beautiful feelings in the world. When it's bad, it keeps someone stuck. One of the tricky things and hardest parts of growing up is dealing with the effects of love. Yuta thought back to when he saw Rika die and how he basically told her "Don't die!" when it was already too late. Love can cause loneliness as professing your love to someone can feel like a demand.

I think the scary thing is when someone important in our life suddenly dies, we don't how to grieve or take time to. Or the grief swallows us whole. Youth usually have it worse with grief than adults. Their understanding of death is usually limited especially when many adults treat death as a taboo subject.

Before Yuta became a Jujutsu High student, he kept on thinking that he was a victim due to Rika being destructive. No one could understand his pain and trauma. That's what he believed for a while. There's a scene where the character Maki Zenin chastises Yuta for being a bit too passive for his own good.

I liked the approach that Gojo takes with Yuta when discussing his problems. When Yuta says he was okay with dying, Gojo didn't say anything like "Oh, but you have so much to live for." He suggests that his curse might be useful and that Yuta should see for himself before deciding suicide. Gojo sensed Yuta's loneliness. He tries to encourage a reframe of Yuta's thoughts ("Rika's too scary. I'm sorry she caused so much pain. It's all my fault.") to something better ("Rika's strength can save lives.") based around Yuta's values (being helpful and kind).

Reframing pain in a way that appeals to one's core values is what really drives progress. You can't just provide the silver lining as a solution unless you really understand the person you're saying it to. You need to think about what really matters to them.

I could go on and on about Yuta's story because love shouldn't be devoted to just one person. A single person can't (and shouldn't) do everything for you. I think about why marriages have failed and a big reason is that couples expect their partners to be everything they lack in themselves. It's mentally draining. While Yuta and Rika's relationship wasn't that of a married couple, its intensity felt somewhat similar to a real-life relationship. Just like how fast-paced reality has cursed a good number of marriages, the cursed sorcery of the Jujutsu world was taking its toll on both their lives and had lingering effects on those around them.

But while love hurts, I think it's important to experience what good things come out of it when it's reciprocated in return. A single relationship can lead to more quality relationships with other people. Love teaches you how to be appreciative of other people in your life.

Before Yuta defeated Geto with his enhanced strength given by Rika, Yuta proclaims that his actions are those of pure love while Geto proclaims that his actions are those of justice. So yeah, pure love over justice as it's a huge step up. Pure love revolves around embracing the flaws of people while justice isn't always that understanding. To me, that's the real sorcery we need to learn and master for the real-life curses in our world to be reversed.

[fanfictionfansmiction]

Hot Chocolate

Here is a cute Remus reader insert. Sorry if there are any mistakes and that it ends a little abruptly. But basically it’s an au where you and Remus went to school together and you bump into each other twice. word count: 2638

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I’ve never been in a relationship. I point blank don’t like vulnerability and not being in control. I never go on dates with people I like. I don’t actually think I’ve ever fancied someone enough to want to know them. Or to get close enough to them to get hurt.

That was until I saw him. All golden and bright. When we first met properly, I remember his ears went pink when I bumped into him. I could not understand why because he steadied me and prevented me from falling on my face. Something I thanked him for with a cup of coffee and a box of chocolates. I knew I recognised him. Which was perhaps why I was so bold in insisting on repaying him. It wasn’t in his face which had become stronger and more defined since last I saw him. It was his kind nature and in the way he spoke. Soft and smooth like a cup of hot chocolate.

“I’m sure I know you.” I said, attempting to be heard in the bustle of the crowded café.

“I feel the same, I’m Remus maybe we went to school together or something.” He said gently placing his mug down but still managing to spill some on the saucer.

“Yes! That’s it we were at secondary school together; I think you were in my English class. You sat with that loud group of boys who really pissed off our teacher.” I said loud and thankful that I wasn’t going insane.

“Oh, good old Minnie, you know Sirius is still in touch with her.” He said giggling.

“In some strange way that makes so much sense.” I said reaching for my cup laughing.

We sat in that small golden café until they closed. Something neither of us had intended to do. Remus asked if he could walk me home because it was getting dark too early for his liking these days. There was something in the way he asked as though he’d been waiting to ask since he stabled me. Or maybe the way he said my name in such a way I felt a blush creeping up my neck. Eyes wide and a smile breaking it’s way onto my face I accepted.

“It’s not too far from here don’t worry I won’t keep you for long.” I said with a look that suggested I wanted to keep him. Ridiculous I know considering we’d spent a few hours together and here I was wishing he’d ask if he could come in. The walk to my small flat above a corner shop wasn’t long enough for my liking. Although the walk was nice, we’d bumped into each other and exchanged small smiles that lit something in me. Like I’d just drank whiskey.

“I suppose this is goodbye for now,” he said followed with my name again, “I hope to see you again soon.” A smile broke out on his face that made its way to mine. Grinning at each other like idiots I kissed his cheek and said I wished the same. He looked at me intensely like all day long he’d been trying to not really see me. Hazel eyes that now I couldn’t make myself look away from even if I tried. But why would I want to look away. So, we stood together in the doorway to my flat taking each other in. The air changed and it felt thick and warm. This closeness, the smell of coffee and chocolate, his entire being. I felt drunk. Until my flatmate opened the door. Walking between us, she kissed my cheek said she was going to meet her girlfriend and just like that the spell was broken.

“I do hope to see you again Remus.” I said touching his elbow. A smile that told me I would see him.

Predictably I dreamt of him. He was golden. A halo ordained by the winter sun. Truly magnificent. I’m not even sure what happened in the dream just that he was there. Standing tall and smiling at me.

Two weeks went by until I saw him next. Completely by accident. This time it was my chance to stop you from falling.

Me and Marlene stopped by the local for a drink. Marlene and her girlfriend were in an argument and history told us this was the way to get her mind off it. Sitting at our usual booth I was on a mission to buy as many of the rounds that night as I could. So far, I had gotten three rounds of cider and I was working on getting the fourth. Before I spotted Remus I saw the boys from my year 9 English class who were no longer boys. James had a mop of curls that flicked around his neck and ears pushed away from his strong face which his glasses took up most of. Sirius almost as tall as Remus but not quite. His hair much longer than before which was pulled back, so his face took centre stage. Much angular than before but his eyes were as piercing as ever. Then Peter, who hadn’t grown much. His blonde hair once straggly and poorly cut now shaved close to his scalp. Still a little chubbier than the rest but now it filled his face well and he seemed surer in himself. All of them laughing. They were always laughing. As I approached the part of the bar, they were stood around Remus began walking backward as though animatedly telling a story. All his friends wide eyed knowing what was about to happen but offering Remus no warning. His foot caught on the carpet that started a few meters away from where his friends were stood. Just as he was about to fall back, I stopped him. Grabbing his arm and stabilising him causing his friends to laugh even harder. James and Sirius doubled over having to hold each other up and Peter threw his head back laughing manically as he did.

This time it wasn’t just his ears that turned pink, but his entire face turned beet red. Stumbling over his words shooting murderous looks at his friends and a soft apologetic look to me. I’m not sure he even recognised me at first. But when he did it seemed like he was confused asking himself: does it being them make it worse or better? The boys answer that question for him when they addressed me by name. Which is funny because I’m not sure they ever learned it in school.  

Looking shyly down at me Remus said my name with a smile. Ruffling his hair and shoving his hands into his pocket all fidgeting and nervous. “I think now I owe you a drink.” He said with a lopsided grin.

“How about we call it even.” I say to him feeling a little embarrassed myself though I didn’t know why. I got the attention from the barman and order for me and Marlene completely intending to leave the group alone and return to my booth. But James attempted to drag me into the conversation.

“Remi here was just telling us about his date he had last week.” He said before taking a swig of his drink.

“Yeah apparently Remi here is in love. Though whenever anyone says they’re in love with someone other than me I’m always sceptical.” Sirius joked.

Remus stayed red and stumbled over his words, “I didn’t say I was in love.” He says to me in a way that suggested he thinks that bothers me. Which it does but I won’t tell him that.

“Well do invite me to the wedding Remus. Sorry boys but I have a friend to get back to. Have a nice night.” I say as I sway back to my table simmering with hot vile jealously. I put the drinks down with a little force causing a spill that I mop with my sleeve leaving it sodden and stinking of cider.

“What was that all about?” Marlene ask peering at me over her drink.

“Oh, just some idiots I went to school with. Nothing important.” I say downing my pint.

“Oh, okay I sure do believe that” she says sarcastically then her face changes, “wait, isn’t that the guy who walked you home?” She asked like she already knows the answer. Then she puts the drink down and stares at me like a mother about to scold her child. “Is that why you haven’t brought anyone home these past weeks. Jesus, I thought you were a found again virgin or some shit. Now I know you’re just hung up on some guy I feel a lot better.” I lightly whack her arm.

“I didn’t bring anyone home for two weeks I think born again virgin is a bit of stretch don’t you Mar.” I whack her arm again for good measure. “And he’s not the reason I just haven’t been into anyone recently and the date I went on last week with that weirdo Lucien or whatever his name was, was awful because he was a raging tory not because of some old school friend I ran into.”  I say with a little bit too much annoyance because I know that she is a little right but who cares.

“Someone’s a little defensive.”

“Well someone else is being a little- “

“Sorry to interrupt.” I hear him say. Marlene and I snap our heads at him because we love a good drunk argument to get it out of our system. There Remus stands with two ciders in his hands and rosy cheeks, smiling widely at us. Completely unaware of what we were arguing about.

“Don’t apologise,” Marlene says changing her tone, “we were just chatting, talking, you know conversating.” She smiles like she thinks she’s gotten away with something.

“Oh right, um I brought over these because your friend here stopped me from falling on my arse in a very crowded room, so I decided I owed her a drink.” He says placing them down on the table.

“Oh, so this one isn’t for me.” Marlene says pouting as if she hasn’t got half a pint in front of her (that she didn’t even pay for)

“It can be, if you want but I was wondering if um,” he said my name again and it regrettably still made something glow inside me, “you wanted to go and have a bit of a chat.” He looked at me with big soft eyes and an even sloppier smile.

Is this the version of Remus I want to talk to? I ask myself. Is this weirdly jealous and angry version of me who he really wants to talk to? Before I have a chance to answer Marlene decides for me.

“Yeah actually I have to go,” she says hastily grabbing her stuff, “Dorcas just texted me, I have to go now.” She says kissing my head and I see her sly grin as she leaves.

“Well I suppose we don’t have to go anywhere for that chat a seat just opened up.” I smile at him sliding one drink to me and the other to the space next to me. He sits down and shuffles along to sit beside me knocking knees as he does. He gets comfortable in the seat taking off his dark denim jacket and takes a sip of his drink. As he puts it down, he spills a bit and wipes it up with the beige sleeve of his jumper.

“So, did seeing the boys make you realise that we’re even louder than you remember?” He says nervously looking over at them. They were looking back until I too stared and suddenly they were extremely interested in James shoe.

“Yes actually. I am a little shocked they even know who I am. Beside the point though it seems like you’re always having fun which is nice.” I say eyes still trained on them. A girl around my age approaches them, tall and radiant. Her auburn hair twisted up on the top of her head, she looked like she’d just come back from work. She kissed James on the top of his head. He looked up at her with big warm gooey eyes and kissed her cheek. A moment so tender and intimate I want to look away.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” I ask intending to be told who James beautiful girlfriend is.

“There is no lucky girl those gits were just trying to wind me up.” Before I can interrupt he continues, “They knew that the girl I was talking about was you and they knew your name because I used to have the biggest crush on you in school,” he stop momentarily to rehydrate, “So much so they were sick to death of me talking about it which is why they were such a pain in English. I didn’t say I was in love you by the way I just said that I couldn’t stop thinking about you and was beating myself up because I cannot believe I left without asking for your number or without kissing you. I mean I truly am the biggest moron I know. Although sometime in school I probably did say I loved you. I was a little dramatic back then. Evidently not much has changed.” He looks at me with half lidded eyes. We stare at each other for a while because I’m not sure he knows what he’s said. I see him slowly figure it out because his eyes widen and suddenly looks entirely sober. “Oh god.” Is all he says as though he’s about to rest his head in his hands. I intend to show that I feel the same by taking his scarred rough hands in mine, but he’s obviously committed to throwing his head in his hands because his head hits the sticky table.

“Remus.” I say all high pitched and concerned. Then his friends follow it with a chorus of laughter.

“Oh god.” He says again.

“Come with me.” I say taking his coat and his hand.  A chorus of high pitched ‘oohs’ follow from his friends.

I lead him to my flat knowing Marlene will be MIA for a few days. I turn on the lamp and Remus looked like he wanted to curl up into a ball and be forgotten by the world hunched over on the patch work sofa. Still dramatic.

“Remus,” I say sitting next to him on the old sofa, “look at me you idiot.” He swings his head up but his eyes are closed and his hands covering most of his face.

“I don’t want to.” He says grumpily.

“Look at me,” I say taking his hands in mine noticing a small cut on his head, “you got to do most of the talking in there and no offence but if I were to declare my feelings for you I’d rather it not be with your friends eavesdropping.” He groans again. “I did have a really nice time with you, and I did feel jealous when your friends made up that girl. I really want to be a hopeless romantic, but we don’t really know each other. I did have fun with you, and I would go out with you again. But next time please ask for my number because this is rather dramatic.” I say smoothing his hair and holding his cheek in my hand.

Remus looks at me with big eyes warm and gooey like James. A smile playing on his lips like I somehow said the right thing. Then he says my name again. Smooth like hot chocolate. “Can I have your number?”

“Of course.” I say and smile playing on my lips. Then he leans in and kisses me softly like a whisper.

[browniefox]

The Spectral Turnabout 2/?

Chapter 2! Last chapter was about Phoenix when he got introduced to the spectral world, this one is about Miles :D

oOo

Miles passed out in the elevator with a scream ringing through the air, one that will haunt his dreams, haunt his footsteps, haunt his every moment for the next fifteen years.

When he woke up, his world had been turned on its head.

When he’s a little older, Miles goes through the events over and over and over until the story makes sense, until he knows the events forwards and backwards. It goes like this:

Miles got into the elevator with his dad and Yanni Yogi. There was an earthquake. The elevator became stuck. The oxygen ran low. Yanni Yogi started attacking his dad. Miles threw the gun. A shot rang through the elevator, and the scream chased Miles in darkness as he passed out. And Miles goes crazy.

The days after The Event are a blur, are foggy, and they tell him it’s from the trauma mixed with the lack of oxygen. What Miles does know is that when he’s capable of forming memories again, he sees things that aren’t really there. Creatures, monsters that lurk in the corners, brightly colored mist coming off of them. An energy that Miles could see coming off of himself in muted purple waves. 

They said Yanni Yogi’s lawyer had him plead insanity. Brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. There was a precedent for it.

Miles was an orphan for six months before Manfred von Karma adopted him. Miles’ used those six months to perfect ignoring what he could see. He didn’t want to think about how he’d be treated, how people would look at him, if they knew something had snapped in his head from The Event. Even more so once he was under Von Karma’s roof. Imperfection was not tolerated. So Miles would be perfect. He was perfect.

He was a perfect child, who most certainly didn’t see things that weren’t there. 

oOo

Pess was the first spirit to ever speak to Miles. 

It’d been an entire year since the accident. It wasn’t always easy to act completely normal. When the figments of his imagination actually come into contact with him, he felt phantom pressure, and a time or two they’d run into him with enough force to bowl him completely over. No, that was wrong, they didn’t run him over. Miles tripped or something, and for some reason his brain had decided to place a make-believe monster as the reason.

Pess had slipped into Miles bedroom in the evening, straight through the walls. She had landed on the floor, curling up into a tight little ball in the corner. Miles hadn’t thought much of her at first, aside from allowing himself to openly track her movement. He was in the safety of his room, he’d allow himself to look. 

This one imaginary monster was shaped like a very curly-furred greyhound, if greyhounds had tails longer than their bodies, three pairs of legs, and wings instead of ears. The back two pairs were bird feet instead of paws, and there was another set of wings tightly closed onto the monster’s back.The colored mist coming off of her matched Miles’ own to a ‘T’, but something looked off about it. 

Miles shot a look to his door, making sure it was still closed, and then for extra good measure he locked it and pulled the curtains shut over the window. Then, he got a little closer to the creature that wasn’t real, staring. The mist usually came off of things like steam off of warm water, but for this creature it was also coming from spots that closely resembled would. She had gouges in her sides and bite marks on her legs, long scratches down her snout. 

The hallucination opened one of her eyes and then flinched back at how close he was. Miles responded in kind, head whipping around to check the door once more. He felt like he’s standing at the precipice of something dangerous here, of showing so much acknowledgement to something that isn’t really there, but his curiosity still has a hold on him. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize a spectral lived here, I-I’ll, um, I’ll…” The thing got to her feet, all six of them, and shook her coat.

“Wait…!” Miles whispered, and then slapped a hand over his mouth, going bright red and shame filling him. This was too much, talking to her was a step too far. But then, she actually stopped, and turned her big and warm brown eyes on him. “Wh… what did you call me?”

“A spectral? You are one, right? In fact, we match.” She said. Miles couldn’t deny that.

“I don’t know what that is.” He admitted, sitting back. Why would a hallucination use a word he doesn’t know? 

“It means you can see us.” She explained. 

“‘Us’?”

“Spirits.” 

Miles looked at the door again and raised a hand to bite one of his nails before yanking the hand down.

“Come on,” He said and crawled underneath his bed and the hallucination - the spirit? - followed after him, “Tell me more about spirits.” 

The spirit introduced herself as Pess, and she explained how spirits weren’t ghosts, really, but more like the conglomerations of leftover energy from dead things. Spectrals were people who were still alive but could see them. There were very few of them, to the point that Miles was the first one Pess had ever met. 

It seemed like far too convenient an explanation. Oh, yes, Miles wasn’t crazy, he was just special, like a character out of a book his teacher’s used to read out loud to the class before he switched schools. 

“I don’t believe you.” Miles told her right to her face. “Ghosts don’t exist.” 

“Oh.” Pess rested her head on her front paws, looking over at him sadly. “Well, why can’t they?”

“If they did, then…” Miles trailed off. He opened his mouth and closed it, unable to form the words. He didn’t like thinking about The Incident, and definitely not talking about it. But… but if spirits were real, if ghosts were real, then why did Yanni Yogi get proven innocent? Why would Misty Fey claim to have channeled his dad, and his dad to have said it was Yanni Yogi.

No, Miles needed to remember to focus on what was real, what was physical, what he had evidence for. 

Pess seemed to understand anyway. The wings on her head closed up tight and her tail swept over to rest on Miles’ hand. It felt soft and warm. No, it was the heater kicking on somewhere, a gust of warm air, and the broken part of his mind had decided to make the hallucination align with it just so. 

“I need to go to bed.” Miles said out loud. He did not say it to Pess, because Pess wasn’t real.

“Okay,” Pess asid, and while Miles crawled out from under the bed, she simply phased right through it to sit on his bed and then settled on top of the blanket. She didn’t so much as rumble the comforter, because of course she didn’t. “Uh, Spectral, I don’t want to bother you, but…?”

Miles knew he should set himself straight again. He’d been working on ignoring what wasn’t there for a year now, he should be better than this. And yet, Miles found himself sighing and looking at her. 

“But?”

“Spirits can heal on their own, but they heal faster around a spectral with a color that matches their own. C-could…? Could I stay here? Until I’m better?” She begged. She had the puppy-dog eyes down pat. 

Miles cast another look to the door, clenching his hands into fists until his fingernails were embedded into his palms. 

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Just until you’re better.” 

oOo

Pess didn’t leave after she was healed up.

Sometime between that night and the time wounds had closed up, Miles had become used to her presence. One would think that having a figment of his imagination that he did acknowledge at time would make things worse, and that was what Miles had feared at first, but he’d found he didn’t deny the comfort of cuddling close to her at night, and she never complained if he ever hugged her too tight when he had nightmares. She followed him everywhere, at first so she might heal up quicker, but Miles found himself enjoying her constant presence at his side. 

It certainly made him feel a little less lonely at school. He hadn’t had much luck yet making friends. Manfred von Karma insisted that Miles didn’t need to think about things like that. Miles nodded to that in perfect agreement.

Pess was very soft, very nice, and very excitable. She always seemed able to pick up on when Miles was starting to get anxious and would come over and rub her face against his hand. He couldn’t say anything to her, or look at her, or purposefully try to touch her. At least, not out in public. He only allowed himself to indulge in that sort of thing when he was sure nobody else could see him, and even then he only ever talked to her in low and quiet whispers both he and pess could barely hear, let alone anybody who might try to listen in. 

He asked her, once, if she’d ever wanted to leave. She must’ve done something before being here, being with him. She’d stopped chasing a smaller ‘spirit’ around his room and looked over him, cocking her head, a doggish grin on her face. 

“Why would I leave? I have you now.”

He wondered if she’d been alone before she’d met him. He didn’t ask. He felt he knew the answer. 

He tried to convince himself over the years that he was passed needing her there for him. She was nothing more than an imaginary friend. He got older, he shouldn’t need it her, he shouldn’t like having her there. A couple times he’d even managed to find somewhere far and secluded and yell at her to go away, to leave, to let him finally be closer to perfect.

Both times, Pess did leave, tail between her legs. 

Both times, it hadn’t sat well with Miles and he’d gone out late at night searching the city and calling her name until he found her. 

The older he got, the more he realized he didn’t ‘leak’ spectral energy constantly. It surged particularly when he had intense emotions. He seeked that out, stifling his emotions, burying them so he came off self-assured. He asked if there was a big reason for the energy, telling himself he was just curious of what his mind would come up with to explain it, and pess told him she wasn’t really sure. She knew spirits were made of it, and she’d heard rumors of spectrals being able to do something about that, but again, he was the first spectral she’d ever met. 

The habit of her accompanying him to court came about naturally. Where he went, Pess went, and where did he need her more than during a case? 

Miles found a balance of almost-nearly perfect that he told himself was Perfection. 

It had to do.

[tsukihoshino]

Super long Sasori post

I’m going to begin this by saying everyone is entitled to their view on Sasori and how to characterize him within the parameters set up by canon or whatever AU/Bent Timeline a person has inserted him into but I do believe there are certain things about him that remain the same no matter what situation you put him in-- otherwise he’s just no longer Sasori (IMO.) So much of his character is about hyper analyzing his words and actions, and what others have said about him through a microscope because the fact of the matter is for such an interesting character he really had such little time.

I was originally not going to bring shipping into this but as I was writing Sasosaku kinda slipped in there, mostly because it felt like it provided a good contrast to what we get of Sasori in canon and how it can translate into fanon.

(All of these opinions are based on the Manga and the Akatsuki formation because OP cannot be assed with novels and filler for the most part...Making an exception for Komushi.)

1. He’s highly manipulative. He’s a puppet master and he has a spy ring. He gathers information so he can use it against people, he manipulates the corpses of what used to be people--or things that LOOK, very often like people. That says a lot about who he is as a person.

And when you first see his real face, when he reveals himself to Chiyo this is the face you get; 

I don’t get the impression that he’s actually happy to see her given the events that follow, its largely about trying to put his grandmother off center and BOTHER her. Sasori is perfectly capable of acting to get to a desired result--which makes a lot of sense to me because while Bunraku is largely about the Narrator's words there is also the performance element to it via the puppets.

2. He’s all about control. Control of himself, of others, of events. It's really an offshoot of manipulation but I don’t think Sasori blinks without putting thought into the action. ( I mean technically, lmao given his unique anatomy in canon that might be 100% accurate.)

3. He’s not only an artist. The guy is the very definition of being a mad scientist. He sits at a place where Art and Science meet and become something more. It's not one or the other when it comes to Sasori, there is something almost Frankenstein like in the way that he creates his human puppets, the 3rd and himself. Think about the knowledge that had to go into that from basic human anatomy to the chakra system as a whole. I mean we never get a play by play on HOW he did it but we know he’s the only one who ever did and then repeated a similar, much more complicated process on himself.

Then there is his poison, we know he’s primarily relied on the infamous one because it was sooo effective (until it wasn’t, thanks Sakura.) But we have to assume given how he is Sasori makes ART out of deadly concoctions and methods of murder.

To him synthesizing that poison was probably no different than an artist trying to get that perfect shade of red.

The weird thing about Sasori ( and I guess it's just ONE of the many weird things) Is that for an Artist he is very...clinical. When we think about people in the arts we often imagine passionate people like Deidara--bombastic and flamboyant free spirits. 

4. Logical and likely to the extreme.

He’s not a sore loser. When he loses and it's fair he accepts it. He's not bitter about the end of his fight with Sakura and Chiyo, he’s not pissy with Konan--he respects it because to Sasori the weak die and the strong survive, losers don’t have a right to complain when they shoulda got gud to begin with.

I don’t doubt that in Sasori’s logical mind he came to the conclusion that his parents died because they were weak. Ergo unlike Chiyo he’s just completely unaffected by seeing Kakashi, the world just followed its natural order in the death of his parents.

He’s got a reptile brain and he just sort of views people as animals because it's probably simpler--except for himself. He thinks he’s above that, to himself he is a god.

The thing with Komushi...I perceive it as largely an accident but in Sasori’s “perfectly” logical mind he was just like well: it’s sort of Komushi’s own fault and never let a tragedy go to waste because again, hyper logical. Not only that but he was BEGGED to do something for Komushi and there really was nothing to be done for him at that point other than make something useful out of his death.

The problem with being TOO logical is that it is just as detrimental as being too emotional. If we all just went around doing what was logical we’d be no different than animals or machines. Logic dictates we do whatever it takes to survive and come out on top even at the expense of others but because we are balanced by emotion most people don’t live like that.

On the flipside because he’s logical he can be convinced by compelling arguments without ego getting in the way. In this same vein he finds it very difficult to feel sorry about things he’s done in the past but when able to recognize it was wrong he can accept it and simply resolve not to do it in the future--he doesn’t have the capacity to agonize over feelings of guilt.

5. He hates being lied to and he’s impatient. Sasori will lie to everyone around him and even to himself if he can manage it but if he finds out He’s the one being lied to? Intense hate. See points 1&2.

6. He’s blunt and often rude when acting as his natural self. I don’t find the need to explain this one much.

7. Sasori is largely self-focused. He thinks he has a perfect handle on himself and understands exactly why he is the way he is--but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He really doesn’t understand his own feelings much less those of others and what he does understand he often doesn’t care about. This can be changed if a person is able to get through to him.

This is the guy who thought that by removing his concious from a human body and sticking it into what's basically a decorative vase all his problems would MAGICALLY vanish. Because as smart as he is, he was also desperate to escape his own feelings not realizing that when you pour the water in one glass into another glass the contents remain the same.

No matter how hard he tries he cannot escape the problem plaguing him; himself.

8. Sasori does not value life, not his own and certainly not others. Unless you are like that ONE person who is able to get through to him. He has what I would call a “Very narrow heart.”  which simply does not have a lot of space for people. To him it's probably Sasori and “That Person” VS the world.

9. He likes things that last, sculptures and paintings, classical music and literature, things that have been around for ages and withstood the trials of time.

10. He does not do well on his own. He thinks he does but he really doesn’t, when he is by himself he is destructive. When he feels alone he is at his most dangerous. Sasori is very much a person who NEEDS someone to essentially be his emotional center otherwise we get him turning himself into a puppet in what amounted to a one longass theatrical suicide.

11. Sasori was probably always a little...different even as a kid but environment and events certainly played a role. His parents died at an early age and he was essentially lied to and given false hope. (hence the impatience and hatred of lies.) Throw into that an intellect seldom seen in a time of war where child soldiers are the norm. He killed his first person at 8, he earned himself a title denoting that he was so good at killing he soaked the sands in blood. Imagine what that's like at 8, getting a pat on the head everytime you kill someone?

Of course you would become conditioned to believe that killing is right and good when you’re being congratulated and rewarded for being proficient at it.

Its assumption on my part but I do believe Sasori lays somewhere on the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum.

12. He’s vain AF. Look at him. He made sure to replicate himself in his prime to perfect detail in the places that were most visible, his face and his hands. He could have made himself look like anything but in the end he still chose that form.

13. When he wants something he makes a plan and gets it done. Doesn’t matter how long or what he has to do to get to point A to point B he’s going to do it.

14. He has three main expressions; blank, smug and insane.

15: His power levels are again, insane. He is a master of multiple trades. The guy ganked a Kage at 15 the strongest one Sand ever had by that point, ( Orochimaru was waay older and came out way more damaged as far as we know when he fought Sarutobi.) toppled a nation, made himself a new body with mysterious methods.

It's time for the Sasosaku bit:

Part of the reason why I think the two of them fit so well together is that they are opposites and yet complimentary. Sakura is an antidote and Sasori is the poison, but sometimes a medicine can become a poison and a poison can be used as medicine. Sakura is a close range combatant and Sasori is long but they have this odd intersection of skill sets and interest. They both deal in the human body and the manipulation of it, Sakura’s focus is to maintain it as it is and improve its condition if needed and Sasori’s is to both destroy and create it anew all at once.

If they weren’t trying to kill one another in canon they would have had tons to talk about.

Ultimately Sakura gets gut stabbed not because he was aiming for her but because she got LITERALLY in the way of a family feud. He was going for Chiyo and you can assume that's because he thought his grandma was the bigger threat or because he was still bitter about the past on some subconscious level and was gunning for her--i mean he goes in for Chiyo a second time after he disconnects from the arm Sakura was death gripping. But Sakura’s selfless action is something that viscerally shocks him: 

And it only gets worse when Chiyo starts feeding her life force into Sakura--a second selfless act on the part of someone he hates and feels wronged by.

Sakura values life and Sasori doesn’t because he doesn’t understand it. He was raised his whole life to think that people like them--Shinobi had no value other than to kill or to be killed. He’s visibly shocked when she starts yelling after socking him in the face about Human lives and family bonds. Like no one had ever mentioned that to him before and forget about risking your life to save someone else's, that goes against his logical lizard brain.

At that point he’s already beaten, he’s already impressed with her. It’s right after her punching him that Sasori gives what amounts to an odd marriage proposal IMO. It was completely pointless of him to even bring it up but you can tell by the “Glint” in his eye that he meant it.

Sasori: Want to become like me? You’ll get what I mean. An undecaying body, Unfettered by a mortal lifespan, capable of being rebuilt over and over again. ( if you were immortal would you offer immortality to someone you had no interest in? Not me. I wouldn’t want to have them around for virtually “forever” in any shape or form. And Sasori is not talking about making Sakura into just some controllable puppet, he’s talking about being JUST like him, sentient thought and movement.)

Sasori: I can make as many people as I want out of puppets….-Looks dead at Sakura- If I want them...but my collection isn’t just about quantity. Quality is important too.

That whole conversation is like A CREEPY FLIRTATION from him because we know what he considers “True beauty” to be. Eternal.

And then it comes to a head where he gives her a “sentimental reward” in the information she wanted. Now I’m not saying Sakura was interested or anything but it seems like he was in some shape or form.

In my opinion when you put someone like Sakura--who is brilliant and logical but also heavily swayed by her emotions with someone like Sasori, brilliant, logical and emotionally repressed. A person who values life with someone who neither values their own life or others what you get is agitation.

Agitation is not a bad thing, it breaks stagnation--which is what, imo drives Sasori to his death. It is the lack of change, he’s made it so he cannot feel physically and he has tried his hardest and for the most part succeeded in numbing his inner feelings.

Part of me is convinced that what ultimately kills him is complacency. He gets so used to being at the top that when he is confronted with someone who neutralizes his life’s work and destroys his collection and keeps confronting and beating him with all the qualities he deems useless and pointless it just drives home the point that everything he has ever done or thought was in vain and on some level wrong. There is no point in winning against them because everything is already destroyed. There is no going back to what he was before, therefore death is preferable.

Through Sakura, in Au’s or alt timelines, or w/e she is able to reach him through their similarities but change him due to the fundamental differences in their nature. 

As to what Sakura gets from Sasori; Someone who clearly respects her skills and understands her interests because his own align--and therefore would be supportive and present. The two of them actually have things in common and therefore shit to talk about.

 In that same vein Sasori seems like the type of person who if he were to fall in love it is to the point of obsession, for someone who was repressed and held themselves apart from others I see him in a lot of ways as almost touch, and certainly affection starved. It becomes addictive to him. (Which is probably why when I write him he’s handsy.) 

We know how Sakura likes to take care of people--we see it with Naruto, Sasuke and Sai. In some of these cases it is often to the detriment of her own well being and Sasori, the selfish person that he is, can reign that in and pull it back so that it isn’t so all consuming. (mostly because the only person she should be worried about is herself and him.)

In the end, If Sasori is the logic and Sakura is the emotion, what you end up with is something more balanced. In the same way that if you were to mix a Poison with an Antidote you would end up with a neutralization.

These are just my personal opinions and thoughts on the matter.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also I headcanon that Sasori is basically Sakura-sexual so -cough- there. I guess that's a topic for another time...

Look at all these conceited Sasori faces: 

[missjosie27]

Prompt Response #40- Ethren Whitecross

“Would it really be a crime to let yourself have some fun once in a while?”

The first in the responses for the prompts. I will say in advance that not all of this may make sense or appear ‘canon’. It’s also a sequel to ‘The Other World’ a story I wrote awhile back in honor of Ethren Whitecross. What first started out as a fun concept between two MCs, I turned into this for better or worse. And it was tough at times emotionally. But I poured my heart and soul into it. It is also non-canon and completely AU. That being said, I do love the multiverse and this was a great way to explore that.

@hogwartsmysterystory​ My friend. This is for you. And for Ethren. I hope you like it.

It had taken many moons for David Grant to achieve what was previously thought to impossible: the ability to hop dimensions at will. Since the end of the war and his mind blowing foray into the universe that housed another curse breaker, the twenty five year old not only joined the Department of Mysteries part time in addition to being reinstated as an Auror but began exploring the power of the veil for more timelines.

It was partially due to self interest, which his boss Croaker didn’t need to know about. Happy to further the Department’s investigations of the unknown magical branches, the experience of visiting another world had touched him so deeply David resolved to do more investigating: specifically if there were any other scenarios involving Ethren Whitecross in which he did not die. Despite technically never meeting the American, he already felt a sense of kinship with him, a kind of surreal connection one couldn’t explain in so many words.

He deserved better...so much better

Many months passed, but at last David was able to tinker with the magical properties of the veil so that it revealed a wondrous discovery: the cosmos was damn well infinite. Billions of people making billions of choices creating infinite earths. And it didn’t take long for him to discover a timeline in which Ethren was still alive and in Hogwarts.

“Hang on, mate. I’m coming,” he said as he stepped through, making sure his protections were sufficient to protect him from the other realm the veil lead to: death.

Of course, David had never actually met Ethren for obvious reasons and so had no idea what to expect from him. The only aspects of his life he knew for certain were that he was American, died in the war, engaged in a relationship with Merula and unknowingly had a son in the process. The other timeline’s Merula had given him more grisly details, but nothing so specific as to his personality, likes, dislikes, or anything else.

As it turned out, much to his chagrin, Ethren Whitecross was a bit sour to say the least.

He was short for a male, only 5’6 but with intense, clear blue eyes to go along with caramel brown hair and conventionally attractive features. He wasn’t terribly athletic but could swing a beater’s bat well enough. Similar to himself however, Ethren was a top notch dueler and excelled in the subjects he genuinely enjoyed, but struggling in those he did not care for. However, his less than sunny disposition was certainly off putting and it didn’t take long to figure out why.

“So let me get this straight,” Ethren said skeptically as they lay on the shores of the lake at Hogwarts. “You’re from another universe where my family never existed and in my universe your family never existed. Like me, you’re an amateur cursebreaker, date Merula, and apparently need to warn me about my impending death? Do I have everything correctly?”

“Uh, yeah that pretty much sums it up,” came the response.

Unfortunately for David, he had stumbled into a timeline where Ethren was completing his 7th year at Hogwarts as opposed to being a full grown adult. But it was just as well, finding Ethren was easy given his reputation. Getting him to believe his story was quite another debacle altogether.

“Well, guess what, you’re a bit too late. I already know I’m dying from my blood malediction and that R still wants to kill me. By the way, thank you so much for bringing up such a painful subject. A paper cut with lemon juice would have sufficed.”

He got up to leave but David moved to stop him.

“Wait, wait, hear me out. I can explain everything in a bit more detail.”

“Or I could go back to the library and read.”

David scoffed.

“More like you would brood all day.”

Ethren flushed from indignation.

“And how would you know that?”

“Believe me, I know enough...look I’m just trying to help.”

“My cranky on and off girlfriend is a bigger help than you’re being right now and that’s saying something.”

David took a breath of the evening Scotland air and breathed out. He should have known it wouldn’t be this easy, but that last statement left an uneasy sensation in his stomach. He remembered vividly a drunken twenty six year old Merula wanted by the law while drowning herself in vodka tonics and narcissistic self loathing. He was beginning to see just how much of an emotional toll she was taking on the poor lad. So he decided to switch gears.

“Look, I have an idea. Classes are done for the day right, you’re a legal wizarding adult...come hang out with me for a couple hours.”

“I can’t leave Hogwarts,” Ethren shot back.

“Right, since when did Dumbledore’s rules ever stop us from leaving whenever we wanted?”

“Point taken but still no.”

“By God, Would it really be a crime to let yourself have fun once in a while?” David half laughed in amazement. “Trust me, let’s go have a good time and I’ll explain everything afterwards, alright?”

He didn’t think it would work given the clear suspicion still lurking in those blue eyes but to his surprise, Ethren relented and nodded.

“Fine.”

“You can apparate right?”

“Yes and I can also blow you to smithereens if you try anything funny.”

“You know part of me does want to know what would happen if we ever dueled,” David grinned. “However, I went through a war mate. Got a bit of a head start on ya.”

“Fantastic.”

“And here I thought we Brits were the uptight and sarcastic ones. Aren’t Yanks supposed to be expressive?”

Ethren simply snorted and walked past him into the open field.

“Be thankful I’m saying anything at all.”

The two young men walked until they reached the boundaries of the school just beyond the entrance, David leading the way.

“Follow my lead,” he said. “Unless you can’t keep up,” he added teasingly.

“Just go,” came the grumpy response.

Bollocks, this is going to be harder than I thought David mused to himself with exasperation

And with a loud *pop they apparated into the sunset.

--------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long for the two to land in random cobblestone street with Ethren keeling over, grimacing severely.

“Yeah I hate apparation too,” David said, pulling out a flask and taking a sip. “You get used to it.”

“I only recently passed.”

“Fair. Which is why where I’m taking you next will simultaneously relieve that discomfort and get you to loosen up.”

Ethren looked up and saw a wooden sign in maroon lettering which read the words ‘The Mayfair.’

“A bar?”

“Never underestimate the value of a pub,” David told him sagely. And before the younger lad could object he pushed him inside the door.

Inside was a setting not altogether spectacular. There was a small dining area, a large bar that spanned about fifty feet with two bulky TVs that currently were playing the latest football matches. However there was also a small staging area that contained a microphone with another TV sitting overhead. A sizable crowd graced its floors- a hodgepodge of young professionals, crusty regulars, football fans, and those who were just looking for a good time. Which was precisely why they were there.

In his time after Hogwarts and during the war David found that muggle bars offered a lot more in terms of entertainment and alcohol: a primary factor in why he chose a casual London pub as opposed to a place like the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles also tended to write better music which was also key to this night.

“It’s a good thing we aren’t in robes,” Ethren said above the general chatter of the pub.

“I made sure your classes were over before we came here,” David replied. His own dress was unremarkable: brown leather boots, jeans, jacket, and a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt (they were the most popular band in the world in the late eighties/early nineties after all). They fit right in.

David dragged Ethren over to the counter and caught the attention of the barkeep, knowing full well that in England you never got carded for ID as they did in America.

“Two Guinnesses please.”

“You got it.”

He flipped a couple of pounds and soon enough was presented with two full tankards of the dark stout.

“Cheers, mate,” David told him, clinking his glass with Ethren’s.

The twenty five year old relished the taste but clearly his counterpart did not, grimacing as though he had swallowed stinksap.

“Dear God that’s awful. Why do you drink this stuff?”

“Keep sipping and you’ll find out,” came the cheeky reply.

Ethren merely shrugged and did his best to keep drinking. David peered around and saw the exact person he wanted to see: the DJ.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

For his part, Ethren Whitecross was highly confused by this whole affair. He still wasn’t sure he believed that this person, whoever they were, was supposedly a dimension traveler who’d apparently met another version of himself by accident. It was just too insane to believe. And yet somehow he knew details about his life that no one else popping up like that could know.

And now he wants to just drink our night away at a bar? What is this guy about?

Indeed, that appeared to be the most intriguing aspect of this. David Grant apparently not only came back to warn him but to spend time together as if they were old friends. Ethren wasn’t sure how he felt about that just yet given that R was still after him however this fellow didn’t appear to be unseemly...yet anyway. For now, he decided to keep drinking the beer, which oddly enough began to make him feel a bit warm and fuzzy in the head.

Soon enough David returned a big grin on his face.

“Finish that up soon. We’re on next.”

“Next for what?” Ethren asked, utterly nonplussed.

“My friend you are about to experience the wonders of karaoke.”

“Kara-what?”

David laughed, deep and true then drained his beer in one gulp.

“You’re about to find out.”

Ethren found himself dragged away to the staging area where they were handed two microphones and a pair of spotlights shone down on them.

“Should have asked this beforehand but how familiar are you with muggle music?”

“Umm not very?” came the unenthusiastic answer.

“Do you know ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel?”

Ethren nodded. His father kept a collection of old muggle records at home and that was a song played quite frequently sometimes to his chagrin.

“Yeah, I know that one.”

“Smashing. We’ll be just fine.”

The crowd started to cheer as the opening piano chords began to play. Ethren squirmed uncomfortably but David put a strong hand around his shoulder and began to sing in earnest. There was no backing out now.

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday

The regular crowd shuffles in

There’s an old man sitting next to me

Making love to his tonic and gin”

Ethren had to admit that this stranger sang well, but he wasn’t so much of a musician himself. But he had no choice as the microphone was pressed into his face.

“He said son can you play me a melody

I’m not really sure how it goes

But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete

When I wore a younger man’s clothes”

The young Gryffindor understood better why the beer was necessary. One drink already had him buzzing but it sure loosened inhibitions. Slowly he began to enjoy himself as he belted the chorus alongside David.

“Sing us the the song, you’re the piano man

Sing us the song, tonight

Well we’re all in the mood for a melody

And you got us feeling alright”

To Ethren’s amazement the crowd began cheering despite the fact his pitch was probably way off. Apparently it didn't matter how good or bad you were at actualling singing, enthusiasm for the song and the camaraderie of the patrons was enough to send everyone into a frenzy. Feeding off that energy, the two young men sang into the Scotland night, following the lyrics with gusto.

“Sing us the song, you’re the piano man

Sing us the song, tonight

Well we’re all in the mood for a melody

And you got us feeling alright”

The last of the harmonica sounded off into the exit riff of the piano and the song was over. Ethren could hardly believe it ended so fast, but the cheers of the crowd were practically deafening. Indeed the feeling was so exhilarating, he almost didn’t notice the shadowed face of his counterpart, lines of worry practically melting off his face.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only cursebreaker that had problems.

Afterwards, the two sat down and drank a few more beers, which were on the house due to their riveting performance. Several regulars gave them cheers and pats on the back. The two chatted about a number of things, but it wasn’t until they stepped outside for a breath of fresh air that the conversation turned honest and even somber.

David lit a cigarette and took a long inhale before issuing smoke.

“Told ya I knew how to have fun.”

“Maybe I wasn’t the only one in need of it,” Ethren observed astutely.

The older man shrugged but tried to play it cool.

“I’ve been through…a lot,” he said simply. “Moments like the one in the bar are the kind that kept me going over the years. It’s what makes life so wonderful even when it’s not.”

Ethren paused before asking.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty five to be exact. Twenty six in four months.”

“You look five years beyond that.”

It was blunt but David knew by now Ethren didn’t pull punches. He could relate to that. Neither did he.

“I didn’t come back merely to warn you about your malediction, Ethren,” he said quietly. “You beat that.”

“So...I die another way?”

David swallowed, feeling a lump pop up in his throat. Now was not the time to get super emotional. He needed to tell the truth.

“You have a relationship with Merula just as I do, yeah?”

“I do. Though I can’t say it’s always a happy one. We either bicker or just end up making out half the time.”

The older man chuckled sardonically, knowing full well what his wife was like when she was sixteen.

“Sounds about right. Believe me, I know how she is sometimes.”

“You’re at least eight years older than I am right now….what happened with you and her?”

David knew this was the moment he came back for. The essence of his visit.

“We married after Hogwarts. During the war, she was kidnapped by her parents and placed under the imperius curse. I was able to free her during the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Ethren’s eyes were practically popping out of their sockets.

“Wait, wait back up. There’s a war? Merula becomes a Death Eater?”

“Let me explain,” David said, raising his hands in the air whilst also flicking his cigarette. “Yes, You Know Who will return in four years time and begin a new war against the Ministry. And no, my wife did not become a Death Eater. She was shanghaied against her will. At that point in her life, she wanted nothing to do with her parents. Can you say the same for yours?”

Ethren’s head was practically spinning at this newfound revelation. He felt a desperate need to sit down but remained standing, running a hand through his caramel locks.

“She...she would never.”

“If you believe that, you’re wrong. If Merula doesn’t break off her toxic relationship with her parents, she’ll go right back to them once they’re freed from Azkaban.”

Denial morphed into pain as the younger man shook his head.

“Why...why would she do that?”

“You know as well as I do how badly she wants their approval and how it affects her judgement. My Merula made the right choice, but I also helped her to see what kind of path she was heading in. You must do the same.”

“And what happens if I don’t?”

In a reversal of moods, David’s hazel blue eyes bore into Ethren’s crystal blue ones, hardening with each passing second, though there was still tremendous sympathy.

“I will not lie, however the answer will be difficult for you to hear. You will each find yourself on the opposite side of the coming conflict and Merula will realize her error far too late. In the end, you will sacrifice your life for hers during a great battle. And as a result, a son will never know his father.”

Tears were forming into Ethren’s eyes and David was trying his best not to do the same though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“W-what...what should I do?”

“Guide her,” David responded softly. “Show her that there is a better way to happiness than simply attaining power. Help her to see that she can trust people unconditionally and that those people are not her parents….especially her mother,” he added with a heavy hint of disgust.

“I don’t know if I can,” the teenage Gryffindor said, his voice still wavering. “She won’t listen to me. She never has.”

“She will. I guarantee it.”

David stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ethren, embracing him in a hug while silent tears fell from his eyes.

“You can do it, Ethren. I’ve seen war, I’ve seen death, and I’ve seen a world where a family was ended before it began. Trust me when I say this, you and Merula Snyde are meant for each other for better or worse. And if I can do my part to ensure you end up happy instead of six feet under, I damn well won’t hesitate.”

They broke apart with both men wiping their eyes.

“Bloody alcohol,” David joked.

“I think I’ll hold off on any more beers.”

The older man placed a hand on Ethren’s shoulder though this time he did not hug him but instead gave a final guiding message.

“I made a promise to thank you for what you did for my wife and to honor your memory. This way, I can do both. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Now go break your malediction, defeat R, and live the life you deserve.”

Ethren nodded, finally gaining back control of his emotions but also feeling a deeper sense of purpose as well as gratitude to this stranger.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said somewhat lamely, cursing his lack of ability to express his feelings properly.

“You’ll never have to,” David responded kindly. “Consider it a favor from one friend to another.”

He released Ethren’s shoulder and nodded with a smile.

“Now let’s get you back to Hogwarts. If memory serves, I believe curfew should be soon. Don’t want Snape catching you out of bed.”

Ethren gave a smile of his own.

“Since when has Dumbledore’s rules stopped us?”

David laughed one more time before they disapparated with a small *pop.

“Never.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Merula Snyde did not like feeling guilty. It was a useless emotion better left for fools who believed in sentimentality and other such nonsense. But when it came to one special boy, her heart could not help serve as a constant reminder of how much she mistreated him. Such as their fight from earlier that morning.

Working late into the night in the library, the ambitious Slytherin had poured through book after book and page after page in order to see if there was anything about maledictions they hadn’t already discovered or knew about thus far. In a sense, it was her attachment to Whitecross and their past experiences together that drove her to do as she did. There was no need to say that you cared, that’s what saving him from his blood curse was for. Even so, the young Slytherin couldn’t avoid the guilt or her memories.

“Why do you do this?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Whitecross. Spit it out.”

The Gryffindor clenched his fists but then let out a sigh and then unclenched them as they stood outside in the corridor near Charms.

“You claim you’re on my side but not once do you ever take responsibility for your own shortcomings. Nothing is ever your fault or a bad idea. Is it your job in life to torture me?”

Merula snorted as she dismissed him yet again.

“You torture yourself enough all on your own. If there was a shred of common sense in that empty head of yours, you’d acknowledge that you don’t have the bollocks to take out R same as it was with Rakepick. I’m not going to apologize for speaking the truth.”

Ethren usually swept aside her barbs no problem but this one appeared to hit home in a way her usual ones did not. He took her hand in his.

“Merula, I don’t know that I can call you my girlfriend anymore...I’m not sure what we are. But...those feelings we have won’t just go away. Why can’t you just at least pretend you care about me?”

But his appeal to her better senses fell flat as she withdrew her hand and gave a hard stare with her vivid, violet eyes.

“If you want a hug, Whitecross go to Haywood. Don’t waste my time.”

And without another word, she spun around in her combat boots and walked off not bothering to see the pained reaction on his face.

Merula clenched her jaw as the remorse became almost overwhelming. Why? Why was she like this? It wouldn’t kill her to throw the poor blighter a bone now and then, right?

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered aloud.

A second voice entered her mind, one that was hauntingly familiar.

You should know better. There are no such things as happy endings. The only person anyone can rely on is themselves….

The voice became disturbingly soothing.

You’re special my little blackbird. I will always love you

Merula resisted the urge to cry as she planted her face on one of the many books layed out in front of her. She did not care if Madam Pince yelled at her for staying too late. Wallowing within her inner demons outweighed any potential punishment.

“I never realized the true depth of your self loathing narcissism until much later in life,” spoke a voice. It frightened her so much, that she jumped at least a foot in the air and wheeled around, wand in hand.

Standing by the window of the library was a young man, light beard, longish brown hair, tall, wearing a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, brown boots, and a dark cloak. He wore his hoodie up and so could not see the face clearly. Nevertheless, she kept her wand trained on him.

“Who are you and what do you want? I promise I’m the last witch you want to mess with,” she snarled.

“My identity is inconsequential. As for what I want, I only wish to impart a gift.”

Merula did not believe a word of what this stranger said and had half a mind to hex him if it wasn’t for the fact that damaging the library in such a manner was a bannable offense.

“Whatever the intentions, you picked a really bad spot. Don’t you know where you are? Madam Pince will disembowel anyone who mucks about in here...of course she won’t have the honor of doing so before I do.”

A condescending chuckle emanated from underneath the hood.

“I have a silencing charm and a protective ward around this area. We won’t be interrupted I assure you. In any case, what I have planned isn’t going to take long.”

The teenage Slytherin silently checked the magical energies around her and realized he was right. Those kinds of wards were only the kind powerful Aurors knew or worse. All of a sudden, real fear entered Merula’s bones though she did her best to hide it.

“W-What are you going to do? What is this?”

The figure did not move, only uttering a single sentence.

“The day you finally understand.”

He was too quick for her to react properly, so fast was the draw of his wand. There was an incantation she didn’t recognize and a jet of white light that struck her in the forehead.

A swarm of images flashed through Merula’s mind and she was forced to witness every single one of them: two teenagers triumphing over an evil organization, an emotional breakup, darkness arising in the British wizarding world, an escape from Azkaban, a young woman kneeling before the Dark Lord, a night of raw passion, the birth of a child, and finally the scene of a young man with an arrow lodged in his chest, a despondent woman in Death Eater robes sobbing over the lifeless body.

‘Ethren! Ethren! ETHREN! PLEASE! DON’T GO!!!’

Then just as quickly as they came the images were gone and so was the unknown figure. Only a reeling and emotionally fragile young woman who had only one thought on her mind.

“Ethren,” she breathed out.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The young Gryffindor teen was slightly annoyed as Jae told him someone was waiting outside the tower for him. Who on earth was so desperate to talk to him this late at night? Did they not have the password or some other such nonsense? He wasn’t in the mood for a prank.

As he stepped past the portrait of the Fat Lady, however, his questions were answered right away as a mess of brown hair with an orange tuft slammed into him.

“What the- Merula?”

“Ethren,” she whispered as she clung to him for dear life. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Utterly shocked, Ethren separated himself ever so slightly, still holding her in arms and looked into beautiful, violet eyes; eyes that were swimming with tears.

“Sorry? For what?”

“For everything...I didn’t realize...I didn’t know…”

Words failed her as she pressed her lips against his. Ethren didn’t hold back, returning the passionate kiss, long and deep. Fireworks were exploding in his mind.

When they broke apart, he saw she was still crying but there was also the same determination that sparkled in the orbs he’d come to love for better or worse.

“Things are going to be different from now on...I promise. I love you,” she said.

Ethren traced a finger along her soft, porcelain cheek, taking in the small freckles that dotted her adorable nose. He’d never felt so amazing, so enamored with the girl in front of him.

“I love you, too.”

As they embraced once more, Ethren Whitecross couldn’t help but think of the man who’d changed his life in one fell swoop. The one who’d gotten him to simultaneously sing karaoke and drink Guinness on the most memorable night of his young life. He smiled as he took in the scent of cloves, nail polish...and something elusive.

Thank you, David Grant

[secret-engima]

...If it makes Cor feel better, he absolutely could NOT do worse than the people who had Cloud/Prompto before. That probably won't make him feel better, but it is the truth. And now i have a Mighty Need for Cor and bby Prompto shenanigans. How did the first diaper change go? the first time someone told Cor his "son" was cute/such a good kid? The scenes that make Cor see Prompto as /his/ kid rather than just the lab baby. I will totally understand if those are under spoilers and wait impatiently.

No, no it doesn't. Because “better that that” is still solidly in the zone of “might kill the baby by accident” and Cor is hyper aware of this but has no idea what to do to FIX that. He’ll figure it out.

Uhhhh some of those I haven’t written yet and the very first diaper change is extremely kept short for both Cor’s sanity and bby Prompto’s, BUT I can let you see a snip since it’s relatively short (also there’s gonna be a scene soon where some cranky rural Nif housewife finds Cor the Hopeless with his bby and bossily teaches him the basics of childcare and THAT SCENE is gonna be fun. The scenes where Cor comes to see Prompto as “his” kid are also unwritten and in the planning stages so mostly spoilers BUUUUT *whispers* Prompto takes his first steps in a dingy hotel room, making a beeline right for Cor and Cor is an Emotion when he realizes he’s watching Prompto’s FIRST STEPS. Have this instead:

...

     He pulled out a granola bar and managed to open it one handed. He took three big bites out of it before he registered the tiny bundle in his jacket squirming again. He looked down and saw one very pale hand had worked free of the bundle and was reaching for the bar. The moment the baby saw his attention, the hand jerked back in what could only be a flinch, blue eyes watching him for a reaction as the hand shyly slid back into the jacket. Cor felt an intense flash of hate for the scientists that had taught a baby to flinch from being looked at, then realized-.

     The granola bar. Food. Baby.

     What was he going to feed the baby?

     Babies didn’t eat military rations they needed ... he didn’t even know what babies needed. How long did babies need milk? Was this one past that age? Not yet? He was so small it was hard to even tell how old he was. Even if he was off milk then he needed soft goods or- or pureed things or literally anything but military rations and Cor had stolen a baby and now that baby was going to starve to death in his arms-.

     Some minutes and many, many wheezing breathing exercises later, Cor came back to earth from a panic attack the likes of which he hadn’t had while in the field since he was fifteen and realizing that he’d almost died because of his own hubris. He tipped his head back and counted. Five things he could see. Four things he could hear. Three things he could touch. Two things he could smell. One thing he could taste.

     The baby was very, very quiet.

     Cor looked down sharply, panic rising in his throat again because what if he’d hurt it in his panic attack or worse-.

     Blue eyes blinked up at him, calm and somehow sympathetic looking despite being an infant that couldn’t understand the concept of panic attacks. Cor exhaled slowly, gingerly reached out a shaky finger to touch the pale cheek. The baby stiffened in his grip, something he could feel even through the jackets and Cor slowly pulled his finger away, “You’re alright,” he whispered hoarsely, “you’re safe. I’m … I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take care of you, somehow, and get you to Insomnia. No one will ever hurt you again. Not while I can help it.”

     A sluggish squint, not quite a blink but close to it, and Cor indulged in one more breathing exercise before he squared his shoulders like he was about to face down Gilgamesh again and turned toward the supplies, “There has to be something in here you can eat,” Cor muttered half to himself and half to the baby, “There has to. At least until I can … get something better.” Like rob a general store of its milk or something. He’d figure it out after he got himself and the kid through the night.

     He ended up feeding the kid soup broth. Just the broth, because while the chickatrice pieces and noodles in it were soft, they were bigger than the kid’s entire mouth and just thinking about it made Cor have nightmarish flashes to a tiny baby choking on food. So he carefully picked out the bits of things that might possibly potentially kill the baby he’d just stolen and carefully dripped broth into the baby’s mouth using a plastic spoon. The baby hardly seemed to eat anything at all before yawning and dozing off, but Cor consoled himself with the thought that, as such a small —tiny, frail, delicate, easily breakable— human being, his stomach was much smaller than Cor’s and couldn’t hold much soup. Cor poured the rest into a thermos he found in the supplies to save for later and carefully propped himself up against the crate the supplies had come in and dozed off. He’d figure everything out in the morning.

     Except several hours later, Cor got woken up by a smell and a baby that was awake and whimpering very, very faintly with discomfort —not crying, and that was worrying, Gladiolus had cried all the time as a baby and Noctis still cried a lot as a tiny child himself— and Cor realized that … oh. Oh yeah. The diaper thing.

     Cor held a staring contest with the unhappy infant before muttering a prayer for mercy and rolling up his sleeves.

     One ordeal, a sacrificed spare shirt, much angry kicking by the baby, a diaper change treated more like the field dressing of a wound, and the baby was clean, the scratchy lab diaper had been replaced by a makeshift one made out of much softer Lucian cotton, and Cor now knew that the infant he had rescued was a boy. Cor bundled the baby back in the coat --ignoring the vague sense of humiliation that he could kill Behemoths with three precise hits but had barely survived changing a diaper-- and tried to doze off again, already dreading the nightmare levels of stress he was sure were going to come for the rest of this exfiltration.

     At least the baby wasn’t whimpering in discomfort anymore, so at least he done something right.

     Unless the silence meant he’d done something wrong and now there was something wrong with the baby and there weren’t any safe doctors —or any doctors at all— for miles around and-.

     Cor opened his eyes and stared miserably at the ceiling. He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight was he? This was why Regis and Clarus complained of being exhausted after the babies were born. This slow descent into insanity. The baby wasn’t even his.

     He was never teasing at Clarus for falling asleep in council meetings right after Gladiolus was brought home from the hospital ever again.

[thewhumperinwhite]

Just for fun: Soulmate AU

I was reading a fanfic about an au where you’re born with a mark representing your soulmate somewhere on your body and i was feeling sappy, and this uhhh.... got WELL out of hand;;; So I’m gonna post it in two parts because otherwise it’s longer than I’m comfy putting in one tumblr post. (i’ll put it as one complete piece in ao3 when it’s complete, though.) Also, i wasn’t even sure this would be that whumpy when i first had the idea but UH

Please note!! This oneshot contains a fairly graphic suicide attempt. I’m tagging it accordingly, but please err on the side of caution and be safe.

TW for: suicide attempt, gore, implied parental abuse, drowning, mild internalized ableism, underage whumpee (at this point Kent is 17, Sol is 19 and Pax is about 21).

@whumpitywhumpwhump

----

Sol Michaelis has two soulmate marks instead of one—an eye with a slash through it sits just under his collarbone from the day he’s born, and then when he’s two a second one slowly filters in, twin patterns of three lines around each of his wrists, just above the veins, in delicate summer-sky blue.

To be honest, Sol doesn’t think about it that much. He’s got too much to do, always—he’s in every sports club where they’ll let him play on the right team, and he always has to force himself to study if he wants to do good in school; he doesn’t tell anyone because his dad’s a genius so he can’t let anyone know he’s stupid, but it takes him three times as long to do anything as he knows its supposed to, always. It doesn’t leave any time to think.

About three times a month, he has nightmares about drowning, where he braces his hands and tries to push up out of the water but there’s a big hand around the back of his head and it holds him under, and he wakes up gasping for breath, pinned down against his sweaty pillow by the feeling that it’s his fault, that he deserves it somehow, that it’s only justice.

He honestly believes they’re just normal stress dreams, and they usually don’t stick in his head that long. And he’s always so busy. He’s busy in high school and then all of a sudden he’s busy surviving instead, busy finding jobs he hates and doing them as many hours as he can, and just barely making rent and food money, and he really doesn’t have time to think about soulmates.

And then in the middle of a workday he drops an entire tray of dishes because his wrists are on fire.

----

With the caveat that they have never met, Pax Field sometimes resents their future soulmates.

There’s a specific flavor to feelings when they aren’t yours—you’re not quite feeling them, you just know they’re happening, in some room and brain you aren’t actually a part of. But you can’t ignore them, either, no matter how much you try. And Pax always tries. Their own feelings are plenty without worrying about the feelings of absolute strangers, thank you very much. And they’re never good feelings, or at least hardly ever; always cold prickly sorrow-embarrassment-shame around their wrists and hot itchy anxiety-fear-loneliness over their heart.

Occasionally at night, when Vic is out doing unethical science or whatever and they’re alone, they put their hand over their heart and rub the skin there, or they massage their wrists as softly as they can, and try to—feel outward, which they’re not sure is even possible; whisper into the skin of their wrists that this stranger should fucking relax, fucking lighten up a little. Once they woke up from a nightmare—unrelated to soulmates, presumably, since it prominently featured Vic—and rolled over onto their stomach so they could press both wrists against their heart and bury their face in their pillow and cried, hard, because they didn’t know what was happening but they knew it wasn’t fair and they also knew there wasn’t anything they could do about it. Then they woke up in the morning and did their absolute best to forget about it, because they don’t know these people and anyway they aren’t going to waste their time on things they can’t change.

But they’ve never felt anything like this.

It’s a Friday evening and they are, by the grace of god, alone in their apartment, which means no one has to see them stagger and then fall hard onto their knees in the middle of the hallway, staring at their wrists.

The little blue marks there don’t look any different, which seems insane, because they have never ever been more sure that something is wrong.

It isn’t like being in pain—it isn’t like being in their own pain. It’s like seeing a car accident on the news and hearing your phone ring at the same time and knowing you can’t get there fast enough, but you run out the door anyway, because you can’t do anything else, you can’t do this, you can’t lose him, he can’t do this.

Even though Pax knows while they run into the bathroom, slipping and sliding on nothing and having to catch themself against walls and doors, that whoever “he” is, he already has.

They saw this in a movie once, where someone had to warn their soulmate about a murderer or some fucking dumb thing. So it probably doesn’t even work, and their soulmate’s going to bleed to death on expensive bathroom tiles before Pax even gets to meet him.

But they can’t not do anything. They turn the shower all the way to hot, and the sink all the way hot too, and they close the bathroom door behind them and stuff a towel underneath—and the bathroom mirror still isn’t fogging up quick enough, so they breath on it, hard, too, even though that’s objectively dumb. Then they stand at the sink, staring at their own wild-eyed reflection as it fogs out, one hand clamped white-knuckled around the opposite wrist, which burns with pain that’s so much worse for not being theirs.

 ----

It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore, actually.

Well, it does—it stings like a really terrible papercut, except much deeper and almost the whole length of his forearm. But it’s getting easier to ignore, even when he makes fists and squeezes to make the blood come out faster.

Kent kind of thinks, at least based on the movies he’s seen, that you’re supposed to strip naked before you do this, and he knows that would make the least mess. But he’s in the bathtub, and he’s stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt, so it shouldn’t be too hard to clean up, anyway. And the maids are mostly older ladies, or young ones working through college, and stuff, and he’s too embarrassed to let them see him naked, even if he never has to know about it. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of the bathtub, with his hands in his lap, so the bottom of his boxers are getting wet and sticky, but that’s getting easier to ignore, too. The blood is bright against the white porcelain, by far the most he’s ever seen, and it’s hard to look away from. Kind of pretty, even.

His heart is going a little faster, now, and he thinks he might be sweating. He squeezes his fists again. It’s taking longer than he thought it would.

Maybe he should make another—

People are looking at him.

Kent sits bolt upright, looking around the empty bathroom. He has a sudden urge to hide his arms behind his back, and he thinks he can feel an embarrassed flush in his cheeks.

“I-I,” he says, like he’s going to try to explain, even though he has no idea what he would say.

“Oh, god,” the brown-skinned boy with the round face and black hair says. He’s on the floor in the middle of a big kitchen. There are people around him but Kent can’t see them as well. It isn’t like looking through a window, or like the boy is here with him; it’s simply the new experience of seeing clearly into a room he is not in.

“Call for help,” the darker-skinned person says. Their hair is long and lose around their shoulders in tight waves. It’s dyed a violent pink. They’re staring into their bathroom mirror with more intensity than Kent has ever been looked at with, and they must be mad at him; he grabs one of his wrists and squeezes it with his other hand, makes blood bubble out and gush over his hand and onto his leg.

“Fuck,” the black-haired boy screams. He’s kneeling in front of a metal dishwasher with a foggy reflective surface and he throws himself towards it, grabs the sides of the dishwasher with both hands. “Don’t!”

Kent loosens his grip, panting. He’s staring straight ahead, seeing the blank tile wall of his own bathroom and the industrial kitchen behind the black-haired boy and the bathroom behind the person with pink hair. His heart is pounding now, rabbit-fast, in a way that’s starting to feel scary.

“Don’t do that, baby,” the black-haired boy says, and his voice is shaking like he’s in pain, even though Kent knows, somehow, that he can’t be, that Kent would know if he was hurting.

“Who’s in the house with you?” the pink-hair-person barks, and Kent shakes his head, because his father is home but his father can’t see him like this, he can’t, he’ll make sure Kent doesn’t die so he can drown him himself. “Call for help!”

Kent shakes his head again, harder, trying to scoot back away from them, except they aren’t really here so there’s nowhere to go.

He’s lifted his arms, now, holding one wrist in the hand, and now there’s blood down both his forearms and slick on his legs, soaking into his boxers and the bottom of his t-shirt, and he’s—beyond embarrassed, scared, doesn’t want them to see this, doesn’t want anyone to see it.

Kent doesn’t think of the golden sun that’s always sat on his chest, over his heart, and he doesn’t think of the smaller slashed eye beside it, because he is not thinking of much at all, but he’s always been glad they were easy to hide under his clothes. Not because he was ashamed of them, but because if no one else saw them they were his and nobody else’s. Sometimes those marks are the only parts of his body he likes, the only parts he never wants to hurt.

Both marks are warm, now, but the rest of him is becoming cold so fast that Kent doesn’t notice.

“Oh, god,” the black-haired boy’s voice says again. He hits his fist lightly against the dishwasher, like he wishes he could come through it, and Kent stares at him, because he’s lovely, and he’s sad, and it’s Kent’s fault.

“I-I—” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“God damn it,” the pink-haired person says, and their voice is wild, almost a roar. Then they say, “Where are you?”

Kent shakes his head. “I—I don’t—”

“Are you in the city?” they snap. Their hands are braced on the bathroom sink, and they’re lovely too, and Kent didn’t mean—he didn’t think— “Hey!” they snap their fingers, eyes blazing, and Kent crashes back to earth with a start. “Are you in the city?”

Kent nods helplessly.

“Where?”

Kent blinks rapidly. Their eyes are so bright that he mumbles an answer before he’s even decided if he wants them to know or not.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” they say, diving for the pocket of their sweatpants.

“That’s near me,” the black-haired boy whispers. “That’s near me, that’s near me, I’m coming to get you!”

Kent balks, scooting back in the blood along the bottom of the bathtub, shaking his head rapidly. “You—you can’t,” he says, and then his mind goes blank with terror, because more than not wanting to be seen in bloody boxer shorts, “My father is home!”

 ----

Sol only kind of hears this, because he’s already scrambling to his feet and wrestling his apron off over his head.

“You can’t just run off in the middle of your shift—” his boss starts, and then cuts off because Sol’s apron has just hit him in the chest.

“Then fire me,” Sol says, and he takes off across the restaurant floor at a dead run.

The address is ten or eleven blocks away—the restaurant where Sol works is right at the edge of the fancy part of town, and the blue-eyed boy’s house is in the heart of it. Sol doesn’t have a car, but it makes objective sense to wait for a bus or run to the train station. He does not consider this for even a second.

Sol runs, hard, his work shoes pounding on the pavement in time with his breath, and it doesn’t occur to him that it’s a summer night, still hot, or that he’s wearing his binder, or that the sidewalk is crowded with strangers who yell and dart out of his way. He doesn’t see any of them, doesn’t feel his ribs aching, doesn’t feel anything except that the blue lines on his wrist are pulsing—warm one second, like he’s going the right way, and cold the next, because his soulmate is dying.

Sol is drenched in sweat by the time he grinds to a stop in front of the tall fancy apartment building—and he knows immediately which one it is, because there’s an ambulance parked out front with it’s lights flashing.

Sol rounds the side of the ambulance and the stretcher is halfway in, and he stumbles sideways and almost falls—but he can feel the warm pulse in his mark and the boy on the stretcher gasps and moves, arching his back slightly.

The EMT about to shut the ambulance door turns at the sound of Sol’s pounding footsteps, looking alarmed, and Sol raises his arm and waves it over his head.

“He’s my soulmate!” He pants, holding his arm out so the EMT can see the mark, pulsing and flickering in a way that makes panic burn the back of Sol’s neck, but definitely giving off a soft glow. “He’s my soulmate. We’re soulmates.”

The EMT frowns, and then opens the door back up and lets him clamber inside.

Sol’s never been inside an ambulance before; it’s cramped, with two EMTs hovering on either side of the stretcher, now staring at Sol, but Sol barely sees them because the boy on the stretcher is looking at him too, and there’s blood everywhere—they’ve put tourniquets around his arms, but only just now—and Sol loves him.

Sol holds up his arm, still panting, hard. The paramedic on the boy’s left frowns at him, then down at the boy, and then tugs the collar of his t-shirt down.

There’s a big yellow sun over the boy’s chest, glowing bright and steady, like it’s mocking the weak stutter-pulse of the glow at Sol’s wrists. Sol flushes, feeling almost embarrassed, like his mark is showing off.

The EMT sighs and gestures for Sol to sit down.

The boy on the stretcher gives a little gasp. His eyes follow Sol when he awkwardly arranges himself on the little bench next to the stretcher, bright blue and reflective as glass. The EMT on his right leans over to scribble something across the boy’s forehead with a black marker—“TK” and the time—and the boy blinks at Sol around the EMT’s arm, his lips slightly parted.

“Hey,” Sol says softly. He wants badly to take the boy’s hand, but it’s covered in blood and he’s worried he’ll hut him. He pats his knee awkwardly instead, and the boy gasps again, sounding punched-out and rough but not pained, exactly. “My name’s Sol. I’m one of your soulmates.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispers, staring at Sol, and it sinks into Sol’s belly like a punch, and he gasps, hard, because he can feel it, not like it’s his own but still so strong he can taste it: shame and guilt and heart-fluttering panic.

Sol folds forward, the wind knocked out of him, and lowers his head to touch his forehead, as gently as he can, to the back of his soulmate’s bloody hand.

“I’m not mad at you,” Sol whispers, and he hears the boy gasp again, his breath starting to come in hard quiet sobs. “I’m not mad, baby, I’m not mad, I’m not mad, I’m not mad.”

[jj-lynn21]

Moroccan Sands ch 4

Warnings/notes: A dash of real life here taken from my experiences, Hope its not to boring before a little smut in the next few chapters that are complete fantasy, AU: In case you need to know this is not exactly how these actors are irl as far as I’ve experienced. 

Ch1, ch 2 ch3  ch5   ch6 ch7 ch8

alexisisdumb  mr-yesbody meandmystrangehabits super-pink-a-palouza

You pick up your pink bag, your carryon over your shoulder and head towards the sign. As you follow your handler out the door to the van you look back. Several security guards and a large man dressed in black seem to be helping Bill get out of the chaotic situation.

When you get to the van the door is opened. There is someone else you know from set which makes you feel more comfortable. Laura says, “You know the drill (YN) in the back-back seat.”

You say, “No, problem. Good seeing you here.” You pull yourself up into the van as the driver puts your bags in the back. There are two other extras sitting in the back already but there is plenty of room for you.”

Laura turns, “We are glad the three of you made it. Some couldn’t get on the flight so had to cancel.”

The van door opens again. You can’t see who gets in, but you are pretty sure its Bill.

She says, “Sorry you had a hard time getting out here. How was your flight.”

Bill says, “No big deal. It was excellent, thanks you for asking.”

The radio walkie goes off, “Are packages being delivered.”

Driver says, “One more stop, and will be delivering within a half.”

Laura gets up beginning to move to the middle seat as the van starts moving, “Full house so I’ll move so you and our other passenger can sit there. We have three others in the back-back.”

You didn’t hear Bill respond. You kind of thought if even for a minute he thought you were there he would suggest you come sit with him or at least acknowledge you in some way. Everyone was quiet until the pickup at the hotel.

As soon as you hear the vernacular, “Hey, mate.” You are sure its Tom.

One of the other extras, whispers to you, “Is that Tom Holland?” You just shrug as you listen.

As if cementing who it is Bill says, “Morning Tom.”

Tom excitedly continues like he has had way too much caffeine, “I’ve been here almost a full day already. Its amazing. It is a great set they have created. “

Bill said, “Cool, you learn all your lines for today.”

Tom scoffs, “Of course mate. No problem with that. Were you able to read through our scenes on the plane?”

Bill admits, “No man, but I had a real good flight.”

You smirk. You want to say out loud, is that so Bill? But there are rules in these situations. You know its best for you to keep your mouth shut at this time, so you keep this job. When you started working as an extra one of the papers, they emailed you listed several rules. One of them was no approaching the actors to speak with them while on this production. You heard others got kicked off set for merely saying hello, but some said talking with the actor wasn’t a big deal as long as they initiated the conversation.

Tom Chuckles, “Better be careful.” He pauses, “Oh, really?”

The van gets to the drop off point. Tom and Bill get out first. Laura has you stay inside several minutes before you and the rest of the extras get out and are ushered into a near by tent not far from filming. You do catch a glimpse of Tom and Bill getting ushered off in an air opened jeep.

Of course, the tent has a table with coffee, bottles water and snacks. At 8am they bring donuts, bagels, cream cheese and jelly for breakfasts. That is one of the best things about filming this movie, they feed you constantly. After the crew comes back for breakfast and leaves, you and the other extras are taken to set.

You see Bill and Tom across the way with Tom and the director talking. Tom’s sitting in a chair his head down. Bill is standing there looking stressed with his arms crossed. You just have to walk a few feet each time action is called. You can’t exactly watch the scene since you are not supposed to be paying attention to the soldiers completely. After a reset you have to run through what seems to be the same scene as pyrotechnics are going off like bombs in the distance. After hours of this you are taken back to holding for a while.

Laura comes in, “I need (YN) and Eric to come with me.”

You are all smiles following her out. When you were initially hired you were told the director hand picks people even extras for each scene. That is why you need to send so many photos. Laura takes you to a costume tent area that have various fatigues. The costume person looks at you and goes back to grab you an outfit. She gets you a green tank top and camouflage patterned pants and points to a small makeshift dressing area.

You tell her, “Thank you.”

The cloth fit you perfectly. Eric gets a similar outfit. Then you are taken to set. Laura sets you at a table in a big barracks looking room. Some other military personnel looking actors come in to sit. The assistant director looks everyone over.

He points to you, “I want you down here. And you towards the back. I think this should work. Everyone just pretend to be talking about your day in the field. It was exhausting and unpleasant. You could have scene friends die.”

The person they put you with is another woman.  She is an extra from the area but seems to understand what we will be doing perfectly. You look up as Bill and Tom walk in the room to do their scene. You know it might not make it in the film but because you are right behind where the actors are, you might actually be a blur you can make out behind them. You try to flash Bill a quick smile, but his eyes are cold when he glances at you. It gives you chills.

Then once the scene shoots the first time, you realize why he looked so cold. The characters are having an intense argument. You feel bad for both of them but worse for Tom who seems to be taking a lot of angst coming off Bill. When cut is yelled everyone in the room takes a breath.  

Bill cracks his neck, “We’re cool Tom. You got this. Just come at me with everything you got man.”

Tom replies, “Yeah, cool, cool. This is fucking insane.”

He brushes a hand over your back as he walks by quickly to reset the scene. Its so quick you’re not sure if it was a real acknowledgement or an accident. He doesn’t do it the rest of the time the scene is being shot.  It takes hours to get the right angles in multiple takes. You estimate 10 takes for each angle.

The actors leave. Then all the extras are taken back to holding where you will be waiting for the crew to eat before you. There is a huge buffet being set up as you get back to the tent. 

Even though you saw Bill being cool to Tom between scene takes a few times, you also saw several takes back to back to back where the angst just escalated to a frightening level. You wanted to ask Bill and Tom if they were really ok after that. The whole thing made you feel emotion so you believe people will really love it in the theater.

[hillnerd]

Idea: Hermione has an accident and loses her memory. What would Ron do to make her fall in love again?

My initial reaction to this prompt: OH NO. That is a good way to F^CK me RIGHT UP. Also I would read the hell out of any fic like this. I’m sure there must be a memory loss fic like this out there- so let me know guys! BUT THEN I HAD TO KEEP WRITING...Lots of ways this can go! Here’s my take (2.7k words) :

So in this scenario- it’s about five years after the war. Things are finally a bit more peaceful, but they’re still rounding up the last of the war criminals every once in a while- one such war criminal is brought in to the Ministry and Hermione is helping with the case- somehow they wrestle a wand off of someone and have Hermione at wandpoint. That’s when they decided to do a terrible spell to ‘teach the presumptuous m**blood a lesson.’ They hit her with a spell and she passes out.

She wakes up in a hospital she doesn’t recognize- her head is pounding. She is sitting up on the bed very confused when a tall red headed man walks into the room holding a mug of tea.

“Hermione, you’re awake!” he says, looking relieved and like he really really cares. She has no idea who he is. Perhaps he’s one of the doctors? He’s not wearing a white coat- but some of them are more casual right? Then he’s holding her hand which seems very odd for a doctor. Then he leans in and kisses her. She slaps him.

“Don’t touch me!”

He looks at her stunned. Some doctors(??!!) come in responding to her yell, they are wearing bright green uniforms, and are waving a bunch of sticks at her. She begins to panic. What is going on?! So she’s feeling insane- and like something is deeply wrong with her and is witnessing people staring at her like SHE’S the one who is nuts as they wave sticks at her like a bunch of lunatics.  Finally she lets out a yowl of, “What’s going on? Where are my parents! Stop pointing those sticks at me!’

“Hermione?” The redhead asks, looking at her fearfully. He tentatively reaches towards her.

“I said don’t touch me! I don’t know who you are, but if you think you can come in and start kissing a stranger, you are very much mistaken! I’m going to report you!”

One of the strange doctors/kidnappers points a stick at her and she feels a flash move through her body- making her suddenly feel very sleepy. The last thing she sees is the red headed man looking at her in shock.

She wakes up restrained, but calm. She’s on some medication of some sort they say- ‘Potions.’ Whatever… Where are her parents? They ask her questions about things she remembers- She can remember her childhood, then snippets of summer and winter vacations, a few dinners with her parents- some odd memories of Australia… Her memories just seem to get vaguer and vaguer. Those are the last memories she has that are clear. Even through the potion, she feels fear gripping her. She asks how old she is- she’s almost 23. What??? When she looks in a mirror she’s shocked, as on many levels she still feels she’s just a teen.

The ‘healers’ do a lot of tests after giving her some sort of medicine that makes her feel even calmer-

They explain magic. It’s a think apparently. She’s magical. She seems to have lost a great deal of her memory.

They just had a vague notion of what the spell cast on her would do after they translated it (because spells are all in latin and there were multiple witnesses to the spell.) They thought it might be a spell to make her unable to remember spells or inhibit her magic. Instead it is something far far worse.

They figure out all her magical memories have been stripped from her mind. This isn’t just spells and such- this is everything linked to magic at all. Every person, every memory touched by magic. The spell caster basically wanted to make her a ‘muggle’ the only way they could.

The Healers have no idea if they can restore these memories or not, as the spell used is not one they had heard of before.

They bring forth a ton of people to see if she can recognize any of them- she doesn’t know any of them- a black haired man, a ton of red heads, a weird girl with blonde hair- an endless sea of people. The only one she can remember the name of is Ron, and that’s only because apparently he’s her fiance, and it’s hard to forget someone practically molesting you in a hospital.

They give her a stick to see if any route memories of magic come to her. She waves her wand about and says ‘abra kadabra’ which makes them all look very frightened as they take the wand from her saying she could have killed someone! What? With the stick? Sorry- the wand?

She wants to go home!

She wants nothing to do with the wizarding world and all its nonsense- she wants her parents.  

Her ‘friends’ she’s introduced to all seem to want to push her to stay, so she can try to prod her memory more and do more of the ‘do you recognize this?’ game, but she doesn’t want to listen to any of them at all. Who even are they? The only one who doesn’t push her is Ron. He hasn’t tried to touch her again since he found out about her memory. He has barely spoken to her, but hasn’t left the hospital, even though she’s been there a week since waking.

She tries to give him the engagement ring on her hand- which he urges her to keep. She thinks it ridiculous to be engaged to a stranger- but he almost brokenly says ‘maybe you won’t be one eventually…’ so she keeps it. She hadn’t thought about how hard this would be for him- the stranger who loved her? She feels a touch cruel now for trying to give the ring back. There is something about this Ron fellow that makes her not completely hate the idea of trying to get to re-know him. Someday. Not now though.

Everyone is pushing her and pushing her (except Ron and the odd blonde girl with protuberant eyes)- but Ron mournfully is like ‘I’ll support you… Just do what you want. Whatever will make you happiest.’ She wants something familiar and calming- which is to be with her parents at home.

They seem pleased to have her, though worried. They’re tiptoeing around her like she’d insane- and maybe she is now? How sane can you be when you are missing half your life and everything that you learned. She thought this would be a way to heal- but honestly she feels on edge and like all the thoughts and learning she’d ever done had been stripped away from her. She feels oddly empty and lonely.

The healers said they’d be doing research on her spell damage- as if they blindly go in with their normal spells they could make it permanent- if it isn’t already. So they say she can leave- she can do magic- perhaps try things to spark her memory. They’ll do weekly tests to make sure of improvements/worsening memory but beyond that she doesn’t have to go to the hospital again.

A trunk of items that might help her with her memories is brought by Ron about a week into her stay. He came all this way and is looking at her with such intensity she decides to invite him in. After all, he’s basically lost his fiance. Maybe it would be interesting to get to know him and wants to see why she had wanted to marry a man who, so far, seemed good looking but beyond that not all that impressive. He is polite, doesn’t push things, as they go through the trunk. There is nothing very personal in there. He decided to start with her old school things- nothing all that personal yet- since that was how she was first introduced to the wizarding world, and she’d always been into academics. That was thoughtful, she decides. She definitely wouldn’t have been comfortable looking at photos and being forced to remember things.

There are tons of books, quills, and she sees her handwriting all over the place- not in spiral notebooks but in long pieces of rolled up parchment like she was writing patents of nobility or something. She laughs at how stupid and inefficient it is to have things on scrolls. Ron quietly watches her as she looks through it all. She begins looking through the books and finds them fascinating.

“I could really do… This is real then? Real magic? That I could do?”

“You are the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met,” he says nodding. Being called witch makes her feel uncomfortable. Sounds more like an insult than a positive identifier.

Ron asks if she’s curious to try a spell.

She decides yes. He conjures up a feather like object- from nowhere! And has her try a spell called ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ She says it wrong and he coaches her to say it ‘Levi-O-sah, not LevioSAH’- and the little flick at the end. She does it! She made the feather float! They’re grinning at each other, though she sees he looks misty eyed.

He’s being really patient with her as she learns such an easy spell. Apparently from their first year at Hogwarts. There’s something fascinating about him; his lopsided grin, his shockingly red hair, his blue eyes- how tall he is, and how genuine and sweet he seems. He doesn’t treat her like she’s nuts or to be pitied.

She asks him to tell him about himself, as she doesn’t know anything. He does- all about his family (A few stories making her laugh as he describes people and does the voices for them), his job, his favorite things including some sport she’d never heard of, and Chess.

“Oh! Let’s play chess,” Hermione says. Her dad has a board somewhere in his study. They play chess and he beats her very quickly. She tries a few times, but it’s like playing a computer. He’s smart.

She has to admit- her ‘fiance’ is seeming more impressive by the minute. He’s good looking, sweet, thoughtful, funny, smart. It was like going on her very first date, really. A very nice first date. And she already knows he loves her- I mean, they’re affianced!- but even if it weren’t for that, she could tell with how he looks at her. He hasn’t tried once to bring up their own history or force anything.

An alarm goes off from his wand, and he looks at her regretfully. He has to go to work- but maybe he can come by again? Beyond taking her to the hospital, as her parents can’t get into St Mungos.. She says she’d like that.

Each week they go to the hospital together, each week she’s the same. Ron keeps coming to the house though! They try more spells, play more chess, he brings her cat from their place (their place!- what an odd thought!) and the cat is the most perfect things in the world she’s ever seen. He goes with her to St Mungo’s for them to try spells on her after a month- they don’t work. This is just the first round! Don’t lose hope!

His visits get longer each time, and by her asking, not his. She asks Ron for more and more of the stories of their youth- the adventures they went through- the war stuff. She’d been through a war? She’s nearly died? It’s especially hard for him to tell of the people they lost, including his brother dying. She holds his hand hoping he know she cares.

He brings Harry over a few times too, and Ginny- and brings over Luna and Neville. George. Little Teddy and his amazing hair. More and more people visit her. The wizarding world really has some wonderful people in it.

She reads about apparition and flying- and he does apparition with her in her parent’s house (Which gives her a thrill as the two of them are so physically close) and he swears he’ll take her for a fly when he can.

She’s feeling more and more herself (well, she THINKS it’s more herself) and slowly she starts to become more and more comfortable with the wizarding world- getting to visit the Burrow, Harry and Ginny’s place (they’ve just found out they’re pregnant!), Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade. Ron takes her for a fly at The Burrow. She doesn’t think she’d ever like to do it on her own, but with him it was quite magical, his arms wrapped around her as he guided them around at a steady pace. She gets to watch him and everyone else play quidditch, which is very impressive. He’s so fast- they all are! Especially his little sister! She says she’ll bring Hermione to one of her professional matches soon. Ron shows her his childhood room, which makes her laugh at how adorably shy he is about it- this incredibly tall man, who’s been her guide through everything- being embarrassed to show her his room.

That’s when she realizes- she’s starting to become smitten with Ron Weasley!- he’s a little rough around the edges- he curses a lot, jokes a lot, is informal etc- but he’s been a real gentleman with her, patient, and perfect.

She decides she’d like to see their place- her and Ron’s. He tells her to give him 10 minutes (As he hasn’t been keeping it as nice without her there…) He apparates her there after he’s cleaned, and even though she knows she doesn’t remember the place, it feels familiar. It’s how she would have wanted things to be. He gives her a tour- There are book shelves all over, and it has character- and there are photos of her and Ron kissing and being obviously a happy couple.

He’s keeping his distance from her as she looks at the photos on the mantle. Ron is looking at her with that intense look she’s seen on his face at times- the look of sadness, longing, love? She talks to him about the thoughts going through her head- how it’s odd to think that she’s been kissed. They only had one bed, so most likely she’s done all sorts of intimate things with him she can’t remember. She feels like her body should know it, somehow, but she feels the same. She decides she’d like her first kiss to be with him. He’s uncertain.

‘Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to push you!’

‘I promise I won’t slap you again,’ Hermione says with a smile.

It’s a very chaste kiss, but it’s wonderful.

She falls for Ron one day at a time. She eventually wants to see where she’s been working- realizing she hasn’t seen it yet- and that’s when it strikes her how broken she feels having all her memories gone. She sees the pitying looks on people’s faces- they seem to think she’s an imbecile now! And she realizes she might just be one now- she doesn’t have an education anymore. What is she fit for? What will her future be!? She’s panicking, but Ron is able to calm her a bit when he says no matter what, she’ll have support for whatever future she chooses- and she can catch up and be amazing at anything.

It’s been several months- they’ve tried cure after cure at St Mungo’s- but no progress is made.

Over the months, she has fallen in love with Ron (again) and is ok with moving back in with him. He’s her fiance, after all- so she doesn’t feel odd for doing this so quickly. They have history she doesn’t remember- but it just feels right.

Things are very chaste for a long time- and they have a good routine where she is trying to catch up on 7 years of Hogwarts education (both on her own and with correspondence with teachers) and magical law.

They get intimate over time and it’s odd how he knows her body better than she does as she’d never done all that much to explore her body’s wants by herself- but he knows all sorts of ways that she likes being touched. She’s happy that some day she will marry him- even if she never remembers their initial timeline again.

One not so special day the healers think they have a solution. They have gathered a tons of memories from Ron and Harry and everyone else they could find- and think they can use this and a lot of other spells to perhaps access the hidden ones in her mind and help ‘unlock’ them if you will- they do the spell. It doesn’t seem to have worked. Hermione didn’t think it would. They go home, feeling a bit deflated but Hermione says: “In the end, it doesn’t matter if I remember all that or not. I’ll always love you.”

She suddenly has a bit of a headache as they go to sleep together, cuddling in a way that makes her feel so protected and calm, despite the disappointing day. She wakes up with her head hurting even worse than the night before- and stumbles into kitchen.  Maybe she’s hungry?

“I’d love if you could conjure up some croissants,” she says to Ron who is making some tea.

He recites off Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration.

“That was impressive!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron says with a smile.

Then something clicks.

“Wait… Say that again?”

“Gamp’s laws? Merlin, I knew quoting that brainy tosh would turn your head. We’re not using that in the bedroom,” he jokes, but she’s not laughing. He looks at her seriously now. She’s making that face she makes when she’s working out a puzzle.

“You’ve said that before…” she says feeling like she’s reaching for a dream she can barely remember. “The ‘always the tone of surprise.’ You’ve said it… And I’ve said it…”

Ron immediately is helping her sort it out. Telling her where the memories are from- as he says it those specific memories from Bill and Fleur’s Wedding and from after the Battle- the feel of hugging him when he was alright- They’re back- clear as day! She can remember them.

“Quick! Say something else you’ve said!”

They start going through memories and they start clicking into place- she is able to provide more and more of the memories without him prompting things.

It takes weeks- but her memory is finally back. There are times where certain obscure things are a bit vague- but they snap into place as more structural memories are snapped back into place.

In most ways she’s so happy her memories are back- She can remember all the good times, all the spells, all the little moments that made her become the person she is today. Some days when she has to mourn for people or remember something horrible she wishes they weren’t back- but getting to remember all the moments she shared with her friends, and with her Ron- they’re worth the hurt.

Plus, it’s not everyone who gets to have two first kisses with the love of their life.

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia: Chapter 34 (Part 2)

Well this chapter ended up being way too long. I had planned more for this chapter, but that ended up being long enough to be its own chapter and I’m tired of feeling that I have to finish the whole thing in order to post it. So here’s the last bit of the chapter. You can find the whole chapter on ff.net, and I’ll try to have it up on AO3 with a illustration soon. Sorry again for the long wait.

Also tomorrow is my birthday. I guess you could say that finishing this chapter on my own terms was my gift to myself. :)

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Chapter 34: No Me Dejas (Part 2)

“Three days have passed since Dia de Muertos, and the country still mourns the abrupt and tragic loss of Ernesto de la Cruz, widely considered as one of the greatest musicians in the modern history of Mexico. Señor de la Cruz had just finished performing a concert that evening when sources say that a giant prop bell had accidentally broken off from the stage rigging above the singer, crushing and killing the singer instantly.

Since then thousands of grieving mourners have flocked to the gates of de la Cruz’s magnificent mansion in Colonia del Valle, holding candle light vigils and singing prayers while also leaving tokens and flowers outside. The mansion has also served as the home to his goddaughter and rising starlet, Coco Rivera. Whilst being known as a favorite topic of gossip this pass year in newspapers and magazines, Señora Rivera has surprisingly been keeping a low profile and out of the public eye since that fateful night. It can only be assumed that she is taking this time to mourn as well for the loss of such an important family member.

In related news her father Héctor Rivera, de la Cruz’s longtime business partner and songwriter, has been in hospital since that night after being taken from the scene by paramedics. There is no word on his condition, but his lawyer has assured that Señor Rivera was not injured in the stage accident but is instead seeking treatment for an undisclosed illness. We here at Excélsior wish him a speedy recovery and our thoughts and prayers are with him and his family.

Petitions are already being made to have Senor de la Cruz’s body to be lain to rest in his hometown of Santa Cecilia in Oaxaca, despite heavy requests to have him entombed in la Panteón Civil de Dolores alongside other famous people in Rotonda de las Personas Ilustres.

At the time of his death Señor de la Cruz was in the middle of several movie projects that will sadly forever remain unfinished, including a biopic about the Mexican Revolution, and was in talks of a deal to lend his voice for an American animated movie with Dis-“

A low, quivering moan broke Imelda’s concentration on the newspaper and turned it towards her husband currently occupying the hospital bed in front on her. With a sigh she folded it and placed it to her side, reaching out and grasping one of his twitching hands with hers. She winced at the tremors she still felt rattling slightly through his fingers, as well as the awkward way she was forced to hold his hand.

What with his wrist being tightly braced and strapped to the guard rail of the bed.

His other hand was also strapped on the opposite side, and a large padded belt wrapped around his thin chest to keep him firmly in place on the bed. An oxygen mask was placed over his face and several IVs were pumping him full of fluids and medicine. And despite being in a deep state of sleep, his teeth were clenched tight and his brows knitted into an expression of intense distress. A keening whine escaped his throat that gave into a deep, hacking fit of coughs.

Imelda immediately pulled off the mask and brought a clean handkerchief to his mouth as Héctor coughed painfully, only the straps keeping his body from convulsing on the bed. Finally, with one good expulsion he was able to clear his airway for the time being, gasping as Imelda wiped the corners of his mouth and placing the mask back. As he settled back down, he gently started to tremble again, whining pitifully and tears leaking from his dark sunken eyes.

Imelda sighed as she brought a clean corner of the handkerchief to wipe the tears from his face before placing it down to run her fingers through his greasy, unwashed hair to offer some form of comfort. It only seemed to distress him further and with a broken dry sob he wrenched his head away from her touch, lost in his nightmares.

It was truly heartbreaking to see Héctor reduced to such a state, but she was grateful to see him getting at least some form of rest. Especially after the last few days.

“What is this?!” she had screamed at the doctor, watching on in horror as several orderlies fought to restrain her husband’s mad flailing. “This is not pneumonia! What is happening to him?!”

Before the doctor could answer Héctor let out a wail and swung a punch at an unfortunate orderly standing too close by and knocking him off his feet. His arm now free he managed to rip off the IV out and began to frantically scratch at his chest, all the while yelling out profanities and indecipherable words as his eyes tracked at unseen figures and visions. As Imelda was hurried out of the door the last thing she heard was Héctor calling out for Ernesto.

And then for her.

“It’s the DT’s.” the doctor had explained after he was able to calm her down some with Coco and Julio by her side. “Delirium tremens. It’s alcohol withdrawal. If he’s been drinking for as long as you’ve said, Señor Magallanes, then it’s quite dangerous for him to just completely stop. It causes vivid hallucinations, irregular heart rates, sometimes seizures and, if severe enough, death.”

Ignoring the agonized weeping from her daughter and her own chest clenching in grief, Imelda whispered. “What can be done?”

The doctor wrung his hands and looked down in dismay. “Honestly, not much. There are medicines that can be given to treat this, but they would adversely affect his respiratory system. Given his pneumonia I can’t recommend giving it to him. Also, there’s the fact that he’s malnourished, and the shock… All I can do is give him some mild sedatives and monitor his heart and lungs. The rest is up to him, I’m afraid.”

They had returned to his room a few hours later to find him as he was now: strapped down and barely able to move, Dios knows that he was trying though. Despite the small amount of medicine that was given to calm him down, Héctor still saw visions that were terrifying to him and he strained to lash out at them. His screams had died down to pitiful whimpers and moans, and tears streamed down into his hair and ears. Over the next few days he was either in this state or a death-like sleep, and Imelda didn’t know which one was worse.

She felt absolutely foolish about it now, but seeing her husband going insane right in front of her had caused her to lash out at her daughter. Why didn’t she tell her that it was this bad? That he was starving and drinking himself to death, that his cold was actually much worse than it was, and that he was so miserable and broken-hearted that he screamed for her in his nightmares?

Instead of a cowed child being rightfully chastised by her mother for keeping secrets from her, Coco had met her glare dead on and even more. Imelda flinched back in shock at the righteous fury that showed on her daughter’s face, and what she had said next had finally knocked her off the high pedestal that she had set herself up on:

“What do you care, Mamá?”

And Imelda had to admit, she was right. Nothing she had done the past few months had shown that she cared about the man that she had kicked out of her life. She ignored every call, sent back every letter and telegram, even dodged each mention of him when Coco would talk to her on the phone. When she had bid a warm goodbye to Julio and Victoria she told them to give her love and warm wishes to Coco when they arrived. But not to Héctor. She just didn’t care.

But that was wrong. She did care. She cared about him and loved him so much that it hurt. And seeing her husband now, so lost in his sickness and misery, Imelda couldn’t bear the guilt that was crushing her from the inside.

“idiota… This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Imelda whispered as she locked Héctor’s cold fingers around hers once more. “You weren’t supposed to do this. Héctor…”

But he continued to sleep fitfully, his breathing hitching and occasionally giving in to more cough fits, and she continued to stay by his side. It was all she could do, now that it was too late.

-----------------------------------------

It was quiet now.

The walls had stopped melting into putrid puddles of gore and maggots, the bugs had stopped buzzing in his head and stinging his flesh, and the monsters had stopped attacking him.

The monsters were the most terrifying though. They held onto his arms and legs so tightly that he thought he would end up breaking his bones in his efforts to get away from them. They had looked human too, but humans didn’t have glowing white eyes and rotting flesh. They’re voices were low and distorted, filling him with dread despite what the words they said that were supposed to sound soothing.

Señor Rivera, calm down. You’re safe!

We have to give him something!

We can’t risk his lungs giving out! Just strap him down!

Dios, turn him over! There’s too much fluid, suck his lungs out!

It took forever for them to finally let him be, after many terrifying episodes of not being able to breathe and more fits of screaming in terror of the horrible visions in front of him, but he was finally able to break free and make a run for it. Well, run wasn’t the best word for how he was able to finally move. Floating wasn’t either. The world seemed to dissolve into a myriad of distracting colors and sounds, and he simply let his mind flow with it in a dream-like state.

And then suddenly he found himself finally there.

Back in front of the bell.

With a cry of triumph, he made his way over to it and braced himself against it in a sort of clumsy hug. “Don’t worry Ernesto! I’ll get you out! You’ll be alright!”

And so he had pushed. And pulled. Digging his feet into the earth and straining as hard as he could against the cold hard bell. He shouted encouraging words towards his friend, not letting the lack of a response deter him in any way. It seemed like he did it for hours, for days even, his throat hoarse as he cried out for help from someone, anyone! He’d even accept the monsters help if he could find them. In a last ditch effort he had even called out for his wife, pleading with her to help him even if she wanted nothing to do with him afterwards.

But she didn’t come. He could swear he heard her voice whispering to him, but he couldn’t make it out no matter how hard he tried to listen. With a broken heart he could only conclude that she was telling him to leave her alone. She had no use for such a lousy husband and a terrible father to her children. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He couldn’t even help his brother escape from his prison.

He was worthless.

And so, for the longest time, there was nobody except him and that bell. When he couldn’t push against it anymore, when his voice finally gave out and his spirit broke, he sat in front of it and softly cried. He murmured apologies to Ernesto, to Imelda, to his children, to anyone he had wronged in his existence. There was no use. There was nothing left for him. Except that bell.

“What are you doing?”

With a gasp Héctor looked up at the new presence before him. At first he feared it was one of those terrible monsters come back to take him away again, but it’s voice was not bone-chilling and grating. Rather it was sweet and clear, the clearest Héctor had heard in a while, but the figure itself was… light. A vaguely human shape ball of light that burned so bright yet oddly didn’t hurt to look at. If he squinted a little Héctor could guess that its head was slightly tilted in a sort of curious quirk. It was sort of cute, if a ball of light could be considered cute, and Héctor found himself slowly start to relax.

“I-…” he sniffled pitifully and turned watery eyes towards the bell. “I can’t move it… Ernesto’s under there and… I have to save him.”

“Really?” the light said and floated over the bell. Héctor saw a hand reach out and knock against the bell, and it rang out loudly enough for Héctor cringe back with a wince. He didn’t like that sound. Not at all. “I don’t know. Sounds empty to me.”

Héctor gaped at the bell, his heart sinking, and frantically shook his head. “N-no!... He’s under there! I saw it drop on him!”

The ball of light chuckled in tinkling sort of way, and Héctor glared at it. “Well, si, you did. I saw it too. But that was a while ago. He’s not under that bell anymore either. This bell,” it said and knocked on the bell again, the loud clanging causing Héctor to grip his head in pain. “… is hollow. Empty. And is just here to waste your time.”

Tearing his hands from his head, Héctor stared wide eyed at the ball of light. “Waste my time?... What do you mean?”

“I mean you need to wake up and face reality, tonto!”

Suddenly the ball of light zipped towards him and enveloped him in a soothing warm glow, almost as if it was hugging him, and Héctor found himself being lifted towards his feet. Once he was firmly standing up the light took him by the hand and started to lead him away from the bell. He resisted a little with a slight whine, his gaze fixed back on the bell, until a sharp tug jerked him away and pulled him forward. With a huff he glared at the light leading him away, gritting his teeth when he thought he could make out a sly smirk flitting across the vague features.

He continued to look back though, watching as the bell slowly faded from view into a white void. Then he noticed that the walls started melting again. His breath hitched a little in fear, terrified that the horrible visions from before were coming back to haunt him. The light gripped his hand tighter, but in a soothing manner, and Héctor managed to find comfort in the light for the first time since he met it. It was then he noticed that the walls weren’t exactly melting, but rather… falling into place.

Windows stacked next to each other, light fixtures dotted the ceiling in a straight line, and floor tiles tumbled into place just as his feet managed to touch them. It was then he noticed the pattern of the tiles, the color of them, and the shape of the windows and other fixtures. He had been here before. It had been a long time ago, but he had been here long enough to recognize the way the hallway was set up, and what doors led to what. It was engrained into his memory.

“I don’t like this place.” Héctor whispered.

“No, I don’t either,” the light said softly. “But it’s where you need to be right now.”

They continued on at a comfortable pace down the hallway, and slowly people started to materialize in Héctor’s vision. Men and women in sterile white clothing walking past them without even noticing them. Two of them were wheeling a bed down at such a speed that Héctor barely had time to react before they barreled right through them and raced down the opposite direction. The light giggled at that, and Héctor couldn’t help but give a shaky smile himself.

But suddenly a thought came to mind that chilled him to the bone, and he looked down at the light apprehensively. “Am… Am I a ghost?”

“Hmmm… No, I wouldn’t say that. But I wouldn’t worry about that. It’ll all be over soon.”

That was when the light finally led him into one of the rooms and let go of his hand. Looking up Héctor stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw: It was him. Lying in a bed, his hands strapped tightly onto the railings and his chest rising slowly with breath. And sitting beside him… was…

“No.”

The light paused on its way to bed to turn back and look at him. “No?”

“No I-I… I can’t.” Héctor whispered, his eyes never leaving his beautiful wife’s face. “Why is she there? She… She doesn’t love me. I can’t take it anymore… It h-hurts too much.”

“I’m pretty sure she loves you. Why else would she be sitting with you? Look at her. She looks so sad.”

Héctor shook his head miserably. “She’s just waiting for me to wake up… to tell me it’s finally over. That she’s moved on… I can’t face her… I’m too tired.” He dropped to his knees and stared at the floor, all the peace he was starting to feel again being crushed by despair. “Maybe it’s for the best… That I don’t wake up at all… Ernesto’s gone. Imelda hates me… I have nothing left.”

His head hung low and tears clouding his vision, he almost didn’t see the light step towards him until he felt its warm glow cup his face gently. With a sniffle he raised his eyes its face, or what he could guess was its face, and let it wipe the tears from his cheeks. Then he watched as it raised its hand slightly above his line of sight, and then…

*THUMP*

“OW!”

Héctor reared back onto his rump and flashed a hand up to his stinging forehead, rubbing it and staring at the figure before him in shock. “Did… Did you just flick my forehead?!”

“Si.”

“Why?!

“For being an idiot.”

With a snarl he managed to get back onto his knees. “I don’t need to take that from- GGGNAK!” His head was yanked forward as the light grabbed his nose, twisted, and pulled down hard. Then with its other hand it pulled his ear as hard as it could and started to shake his head back and forth. “GAH! What are you doing?!” he screamed nasally. “Stop!”

“What do you mean don’t wake up at all?!” The lighted shouted at him, continuing its assault as Héctor’s eyes watered with pain instead of sorrow. “Where is that coming from?! ‘Riveras never give up.’ Isn’t that what you’ve always said?”

Trying to pry the figure’s hands from his face, he glared up at it. “I’m not a real Rivera… I just married one- ARGH!”

“You’ve been a Rivera a whole lot longer than you haven’t been, old man!” the light yelled back. “And you haven’t lost everything! What about your children? Coco, and your granddaughter! What about Miguel. Are you really going to leave a little boy to grow up without his father? And who’s going to greet Matty when he comes back from the war?!”

“As for your wife, she right there waiting for you to wake up! She can’t run and hide in Santa Cecilia anymore! If you have something to say to her, then you make her listen to you! Think about it, you’re sick in a hospital bed. At the very least you have pity on your side, right? But don’t give up on her so easily, cabrón!”

“All right, all right! Ow! Just let go of me already!”

With one last shove the light let go of Héctor’s head and he cradled his face in his hands, getting his breathing back under control and trying to rub away the burns and stings. He flinched as the warm hand landed back on his shoulder, but when no further violence came his way he dared to look back up.

“I know this has been hard on you.” The light said gently. “And I know that you’re scared. But even if things don’t work out for you and your wife, you shouldn’t feel the need to give up. You still have a lot to live for.”

Héctor stared at it for a few long moments, before turning back towards the bed. Towards Imelda. It was right, she did look sad. And tired. If he woke up now, maybe he could talk to her. Maybe she’d talk to him. Despite his brain trying to convince him over and over that he was done, it was his time, and there was no need to linger on, his heart wouldn’t let him. It was leading him back to her. To his family.

Just like it always had.

Damn poet.

With a heavy sigh me slowly stood up and made it to his feet, his gaze now fixed on his unconscious form on the bed. With a new determination he made his way over and paused at the edge. Do I just… lay on myself? With a short snort of laughter he did just that, and was surprised to see his leg phase through himself as he climbed onto the bed. Rolling over he laid down onto his back, stared up at the ceiling, and waited.

…..

And waited…

…..

“Uh, nothing’s happening?”

The light shrugged. “You have been sleeping for a long time, and you’re sick. It might take a while for you to actually wake up.”

Before Héctor could reply to that, he started to feel changes slowly flowing into his body. Ah, this must be it. He started to feel heavier, more solid. That itself was a comforting feeling. He settled back down onto the bed and let the sensations build up through his limbs. He stayed still like that for a few minutes, with his eyes closed, before a tinkling little laugh next to him caused him to open them.

“This is taking forever!” The light giggled. It was such a sweet sound. So pure. Where had he heard it before? “Though not surprising. Even when you were healthy it took forever to wake you up, even when I jumped on your chest in the morning and tried to pry your eyes open.”

Héctor brows furrowed in confusion. He tried to lift his head off the pillow to look at the light properly… but found that he couldn’t. Slowly the solid feeling of his body turned into a heavy burden. He was so heavy! Too heavy! I can’t move!

“W-what?... What’s hap-”

The heaviness started to form inside his chest. His breathing turned into frantic gasps as he struggled to get air into his lungs. And now his body started to hurt! His arms and legs cramped and his head started to pound. Behind his gasping he heard his heart beating loudly in his ears. This is bad! This is bad! What’s happening to me?!

Then suddenly the light was leaning over his face, and Héctor stared at it with fright. Was this it’s plan all along? To trap him in this pain filled husk and laugh at him for his foolishness? He never should have trusted it! It started to lower itself to him, and with a small whimper he clenched his eyes shut and braced himself against... What? Oblivion? Mutilation? The destruction of his very soul? Whatever it was it couldn’t be good! It couldn’t-

“And don’t worry about Tio Nesto. He’ll be all right. I won’t let him be alone.”

….

Tio Nesto?

Héctor’s eyes snapped open and he saw the light was hovering over his face. He saw that smile again grace it’s face before it leaned over and… gave him a small kiss on the forehead. It was quick and chaste, but it was so warm and sweet, and it slightly soothed the aches that were afflicting his body. It drew back again and stared at him with such love in it’s eyes, and Héctor realized with a start of the fact that he could see it’s eyes.

They were his eyes!

Her eyes.

“You feel better Papá.”

With a choked out sob, reached out towards the light- my daughter!- but found that he couldn’t. He glanced down at his hands and saw that they were strapped to the railings of his bed, and no matter how hard he shook or strained against them he could not tear them free. Sitting up was also not an option, as the thick belt across his chest prevented him from lifting even an inch.

He turned his attention back towards his little girl, but she was gone. She had left him. Again.

“Leti!” Héctor cried out, tears streaming down his face as he tried to strain against the bindings once more. “Leti, don’t go! Leti come back, please come back! Don’t leave me, mija. Please don’t leave me again! Please, please, please…”

“Calm down Héctor.” A tired voice broke through his weak sobbing, and he glanced up through watery tears as his wife ran a hand through his hair in a calming motion. She began to speak to him, numbly, as if she had been repeating the same things over and over. “It’s not real. You’re alright. None of this is really happening. She’s not here. It’s okay, Héctor.”

Héctor concentrated on his wife’s face, forcing himself to calm his seizing chest and his pounding heart. He listened to her soothing words and slowly the hysteria faded away, leaving him exhausted and light-headed. And as the minutes passed and he became more and more aware of his immediate surroundings, the visions from before slowly faded as well. What had he been dreaming about? There was a light, he remembered. And a voice. It was so familiar. But even those vague recollections of his dream faded into nothingness as well, as for the first time in over three days Héctor was finally awake and aware.

“Imelda?” Héctor whispered. “What happened?”

“…Héctor?”

[aphreal42]

Something something Dragon Age; something something cyberpunk?

(Hey, it turns out I’ve already got this one! Or the start of it, anyway. It’s been sitting around for verging on three years, I think, so I might as well dust off what there is of it and put it out there.) 

The Fadezone is another place, alongside this one. Or above it. Beneath it. Woven through. All of the above. Or none of them. An xyz grid breaks down when you’re not talking about three-dimensional space. It doesn’t matter where it is, only what it is: a whole separate world with its own rules, all governed by code that we don’t understand. Not yet.

Nobody knows how it got there. They say that when the first person plugged in a port, the Fadezone was already there, like it was waiting for us. Some people believe the code came from this single, amazing hacker, the “Maker”, but nobody’s ever found a trace of him beyond some crazy conspiracy theory “prophets” finding patterns in random junk code. Other people say that’s dogshit, no way a single guy coded the whole Fadezone; it had to be eight of them. Why eight? They have their reasons, hidden secrets, their own patterns in the code. Another sect believes the Fadezone is alive, that it made itself, and it grows and evolves and learns.

What do I believe? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is what it believes. And it -- the Fadezone -- believes that it’s far more real than we’ll ever be, and we should be wondering who -- or what -- made us.

The Fadezone is another place, somewhere your mind can go without your body. Anyone with a port can get there, at least to the daydream levels. But some of us can see the gaps and go deeper. We’re called mages. And if you’re a mage who plays in the Fadezone without the “appropriate supervision” of a phylactery chip, well, they call us apostates.

A mage who isn’t careful and goes too deep into code they shouldn’t be messing with usually brings some of that code back out with them, whether they mean to or not. We call them corpses and husks and abominations. The only question is how long it takes them to get to dead and how much else they take out along the way.

The only difference between them and me is that I’m going to do it on purpose.

The Templars might have started out well, back when the Fadezone was new, when mages had no idea what we were capable of or what risks we faced. Maybe it made sense, back then, to have someone who could stop the chaos that happened when a naive mage found a virus that corrupted them into an abomination. Maybe it made sense to have someone who could wake the Dreamers who get so entranced by the code they forget they have a body that needs to eat. Maybe the Templars were a solution once.

But now they make the disasters they were supposed to prevent.

For every mage who becomes an abomination out of careless curiosity, ten are driven to it by fear of the Templars. By anger at the phylactery chips that seep control through your blood until they can close the gaps only mages should see, jamming your port and locking you into the flat reality of bodies and pain. By threats of having your port ripped out and being stuck forever in the bleak dimness with half of your brain burned out. Abominations die, but they take Templars with them. They fight back.

The Dreamers aren’t getting lost by accident any more; deep code is a refuge from the prying eyes and mouths and hands that take apart your very self. Who knows what happens to a Dreamer when their body dies? Maybe they blink out into nothing, but maybe they become part of the code, stay in that refuge forever. It’s not such a bad dream to cling to. Not so much of a risk to take, an easier escape route than the deep red lines up your arms, a tea made from the right-wrong herbs, leaping where you know you can’t fly.

Mages will always find a way out, whatever tiny freedom they’re left with. I’m going to change that. No more desperate clawing for freedom of the self, no more seconds of relief bought with everything you have. Freedom. Real freedom. For all of us. Forever.

The light is dark, and Garrett speeds up, his heavy treads a dull thud on the dirt-covered floor. The sound echoes, but not like it should. Too quiet, too flat, like the walls are stealing the sound instead of reflecting it. Everything always sounds wrong down in the tunnels, feels wrong.

Varric rolls his eyes whenever Garrett says that, tells him that he’s crazy and imagining things. And they all know that making shit up is infringing on Varric’s territory. But if there’s nothing weird about the tunnels, why does Varric use every excuse he can come up with to avoid coming down here?

Of course, there’s the smell, the dirt, the increased chance of getting stabbed in the kidney by someone poor and desperate enough not to care about the consequences. Maybe Varric’s the smart one for not wanting to be here. Garrett has to admit the place doesn’t have a lot to recommend it. Except for one thing…

The unlit light pulses dimly, the guttering of a dying battery gasping out its last flickers of power. Garrett’s pace falters, his half-formed hopes withering as he banishes the lure of a quiet evening at home, relaxing together and taking a few moments to be utterly selfish for a change. It’s a nice dream, and Garrett tucks it away as a hope for “someday”, when things are different.

For tonight, he’ll help Anders in the clinic. It’s enough to be together, and what kind of man would he be to begrudge saving lives?

Besides, a quiet evening at home is a fantasy. They would get interrupted by someone with an urgent problem that only Garrett can fix. Allegedly. Because everything in this city would fall the rest of the way apart if he weren’t there to take care of it. If he’s going to spend the evening taking care of strangers’ problems, there are worse ways to do it than tending to the wounded. And most of those ways involve people trying to stick sharp pieces of metal into him. So the clinic it is.

Garrett grunts as he forces open the heavy door. It’s sticking again. They should do something about that. Patients shouldn’t have to risk dislocating their shoulder to get in to see the healer. Even if it would be ironically convenient.

Garrett freezes as soon as he gets through the low doorway, alerted to danger by the feel of the air a second before the shouting. His hand goes automatically to the hilt of the blade concealed at his belt as he evaluates what kind of danger Anders has gotten into tonight.

A quick scan gives him a feel for the room. The cots are empty, patients all gone, hopefully after treatment rather than out of fear. Anders’s hands are clenched, and blue energy crackles around his eyes. But he doesn’t look scared. More angry, defiant, maybe a little bit defensive.

Garrett sizes up the figure on the receiving end of his lover’s electric blue glare. Female. Elven. Angry. The energy that crackles around her hands matches the flare Anders is putting off and marks her as not a Templar. Of course, that doesn’t make her harmless. Not all threats to an apostate agitator wear the Sword of Mercy.

“No, Anders. I’ve seen the insane shit you’ve been posting lately. You need to stop.”

Someone else complaining about the damn manifesto-blog. Garrett almost wants to like her.

Anders points accusingly at her, sparks flying off his outstretched hand, his channeled energy barely in control. “You’re on their side now? Wanting to silence the truth about their oppression? I would never have taken you for a templar lover. When did they rewrite you into a good little obedient mage?”

Garrett misses the rest of the tirade as he dodges out of the way of a ball of wild, blue energy flying his way. Only after he jumps aside and bangs his shin painfully on a stray cot does he realize it’s the cat. Pounce darts around to take shelter behind Garrett’s bruised leg, energy crackling off his raised fur and exposed circuitry.

The woman’s laugh draws Garrett’s attention, the flat sound as harsh and ugly as her sneering glare. “I hate them every bit as much as you do, and don’t pretend you’ve forgotten it. The only Templar who’s gotten near me since I got out of the Tower is dead. I made damned sure of that.”

“All by yourself? Because if you’ve got that ArchDemon in your pocket and hungry for more, let’s go visit the Gallows.” Anders smirks, taunting and superior. Garrett tries not to wonder what it says about him that he finds his lover’s haughty condescension appealing, distractingly sexy even in the face of an immediate threat.

His verbal sparring partner - Surana, she must be his old “friend” from Kinloch if Anders is bringing up the ArchDemon - seems unaffected. “Maybe I didn’t put a blade through his heart, but I helped it along. If the enemy’s eager to die, let him. But there’s a difference between hating them and trying to start a war that will only get us killed. There are ways to hate them - even kill them - that are safe. You used to know that. You used to be smart. Don’t try to tell me that virus hasn’t started messing with your thoughts.”

“He’s not a virus!” Vibrant blue energy flares off of Anders’s entire body, and Garrett recoils from the intensity.

Surana flinches, too, but she doesn’t back down. “Well, it sure as hell isn’t original code. And it needs to get out of your head.”

Anders’s incandescent glow dims, the eerie blue light never leaving entirely but fading back to the usual blue sparks that crack off a mage. His mocking grin returns, and Garrett tries not to imagine the effort it costs him to regain that control as he taunts her further. “How? You want me to just delete him, the same way they erase the parts of us they don’t like? Or are you offering your port for a file transfer?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Surana’s sneer isn’t convincing. The pinpricks of sweat on her forehead shine in the clinic’s dingy lighting; she knows how close Anders is to losing himself entirely, becoming the abomination that haunts the subconscious of every mage who’s touched the Fadezone. “I’ve got the damned Blight virus poking holes all over my firewalls as it is. I’m not looking to take on any more malware.”

“If you’re not here to help, then leave.” Anders grits his teeth, blue light flaring in his eyes again. Does Surana realize that dismissal was a plea? “I don’t have time for another person pointing out problems they aren’t willing to help solve.”

“If you’d stop running your mouth about the evils of injustice and your grand plan for martyrdom long enough, I’d give you a real suggestion for how to change things. One that doesn’t involve deletion or spreading your virus to someone else stupid and screwed up enough to take it. When you decide you’re ready to listen, you know where to find me.”

[cicadas-epiphany]

Black Hat’s past lovers: 426-AHQ

Harry worked to summon a being from the underworld.

It was his first try, but he had been studying for years. He was confident in his abilities, so he tried something more complex.

He summoned a beast.

It wasn't the one he wanted. He performed the ritual incorrectly.

He panicked. He was ashamed of himself. He fled, running to throw himself into the sea. I chased him and caught him, grabbing him by the torso and pulled him back.

I was still impressed with him, nonetheless, and I had never seen this beast before. It was completely unknown to me.

Harry summoned a beast I didn't know. And it was by accident!

I reassured him as I brought him back, making sure he knew that I was still proud of him. It took some time, but he was convinced.

The beast told us its name. 426-AHQ.

It’s voice was deep and metallic, ringing in our ears. It carved into our minds, digging into our thoughts. It blurred my vision and blurred my mind. Harry’s ears bled and he fell to his knees and shook.

I found it fascinating, but Harry didn't feel the same. It caused him pain, and he wanted it to stop.

The beast was twice our size. It was grey, and had a large bulk to its chest. Their head floated, but lacked a face. The legs and arms floated as well with a lesser bulk, giving off a magnetic pulse. Being near it caused static to fog the mind.

We weren't sure what to do with the beast; if the people saw it they would run in fear. They would surely exile or even kill Harry for bringing this thing into their world.

We decided to leave the city on our own. We went to the mountains and made a home for ourselves. The three of us lived in peace, away from civilization. We were free from laws and social rules, and made our own.

426-AHQ and I worked together away from Harry to teach him to speak without causing him pain. They learned quickly; it only took them a year.

He soon showed interest in Harry. He liked him for the same reasons I did.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond at first. He was confused.

But he came to a solution.

The three of us could form a relationship. There was not a word for it then, but we were polyamorous.

I had trouble returning feeling to the beast, but they seemed to grow to me immediately. I allowed them to show affections for me and allowed them to make advances, though I struggled to return them.

It took time, about a decade, but I warmed up to them. I returned the feelings, but not to the same extent as them.

The three of us were together and we were pleased.

As the years went on, Harry lost his mind more and more. It could have been due to being insane from birth, or it could have been due to our constant presence. Maybe both.

He acted more demonic than human. His body was jerk and convulse, and he’d go into outbursts of crazed laughter. He’d occasionally have fits where he acted like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and collapsing onto the floor with seizure-like actions.

426-AHQ and I, we didn't mind. His demented mind was admirable. The fits were concerning, but we didn't think much of it as we had no way to help.

Harry was, for lack of a better word, completely insane. He made Dementia look almost normal.

One day we went to check on him, since he hasn't gotten up for his breakfast. But he was gone.

We went to the city and found him harassing the citizens, causing destruction, and, well… going insane.

We were unable to intervene, as it would make the situation worse for him and us. The people had grabbed him and started dragging him away.

He was taken to an old building away from the city. He was locked in and left there, never to leave.

I have since visited the ruins of that building, and I can hear screams of the dead echoing off the walls. The building was used to lock up the unstable, similar to modern day mental asylums.

I can pick out his voice, and I have listened to him. He sounds like he was beaten and tortured. His voice was weak and strained, as if in pain. I do not know what caused his death, but that could have been a part of it.”

Cambot sunk down, sad about his misfortune.

“Oh get over it, you piece of junk, humans die. Do you want me to continue or not?”

Cambot straightened out, giving an eager nod.  

“I was left with the beast, which we didn't mind. We still liked each other.

We lived together another few hundred years, and we formed a strong bond. We were inseparable.

But… things started changing. 426-AHQ started getting restless. They were constantly moving, jittering, and unsettled.”

Black hat paused and took a deep breath. He seemed like he didn't want to talk about this and like he wanted to leave. He stared at the floor for a moment, an odd look in his eye. Cambot almost thought it appeared to be a mix of hatred and… dread?

“They grew aggressive. It started out small, but I figured it would pass. They would latch onto me and scream, a piercing metallic screech.

I’d push them off, and they'd lie for a moment before going back to normal.

Soon it became worse.

They'd grab me and thrash around. They'd sink their claws into my body and they’d push me down and hold me there.

I tried to tell myself that it would be over soon, that this will all pass, that maybe they were sick. But soon I’d had enough. I started fighting back.

We would fight each other for hours. Each fight was worse than the last. It became an impossible fight to the death between two immortals, and neither of us could win. We would leave the fights torn, bruised, and missing chunks of our bodies.

I’d lost and regenerated near every part of my body almost every day, and so did they.

The fighting was very obviously driving us apart, but they refused to leave. I proposed a break up, but they said no. I proposed anything, but they said no.

I tried to flee. I went to the opposite side of the planet, but they found me and we fought. I went under the sea, but they found me and we fought.

I left the solar system. I went far beyond, but they STILL found me. And we fought.

I slipped into another galaxy. Surely they couldn't find me then.

But they did.

They found me on a rocky planet, deep in a wet cave. I was alone only three days before they caught up to me.

Again, we fought. But they fought differently this time. They had an odd need to pin me to the ground instead of actually harming me.

If that's all they wanted to do, I thought so be it.

I let them pin me down. I stayed still.

That was the biggest regret of my life.

An odd tentacle burst from their chest. It seemed to be studying me, looking for something.

I stared back, perplexed. It swayed from side to side, a hypnotic motion. I couldn't look away, I couldn't move.

The tentacle shot forward, digging itself into my chest. I yelled out in pain, god it hurt.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

It was burrowed deep into my chest, squirming and carving itself deeper in.

It seemed to latch onto something and it jerked. The pain was so extreme it blurred my vision, but I stayed conscious the best I could.

It jolted back, pulling something from me. An emptiness washed over me, and my vision went black.

I was out for… I don’t know how long. It was the most intense, torturous pain I’ve ever felt.

When I woke, I felt nothing. No pain. No emotion.

I was an empty husk.

The beast stood over me and cackled. A low, echoing tone that scratched my mind. But it didn't hurt.

They revealed everything to me. They were a beast created for the sole purpose of stealing the hearts of other abominations.

They used Harry to get to me. They never cared for either of us. They were the reason Harry went back to the city, they convinced him to go back. They told him he’d be welcomed with open arms, and that they were waiting for him. They purposely got close to him and got him killed just to get to me.

The past few hundred years were a lie.

Their plan and purpose, since the day they were summoned, was to steal my heart.

They tried to convince me that Harry knew all along. They tried to make me hate him, they tried to make me curse his name.

I wanted to forgive Harry. I didn't blame him.

But I couldn't. I couldn't feel forgiveness. I felt nothing. I still feel nothing.

That bastard STOLE MY FUCKING HEART!

I was… angry. I can feel anger. Was it anger? I don't know. Anger doesn't come from the heart. It’s from the mind. Anger is corrupting. And I had no choice but to give in to it.

I wanted to attack, but I couldn't. I was too weak.

He opened his chest to show the hearts. There were hundreds of them. All pulsing and wriggling in an unnatural fashion. They were from others… others like me.

They were fused together as a deformed pulsating mass, but one sat out among the rest. It hadn’t fused into the group yet.

It was mine.

I lunged forward, but I was still sickly and weak. They brushed me aside and I fell to the floor. I was pathetic.

They laughed at me. I wanted them dead.

They told me they stole the hearts of abominations to gain power, and gloated that mine was delicious.

I told them to go fuck themself.

They glared at me. They decided they’d had enough of me and snapped their fingers, and I blacked out again.

I woke up back on Earth, on the spot we first met.

I never saw them again.

I never wanted to.”

---

Fic 1: Hazel

Fic 3: Harry

Fic 5: The Queen's Arrival

[masked-puppetmaster]

giant BATIM pre game headcannons post

So um I may have gotten carried away with this- 

This is gonna be a long post guys buckle up 

* When Bendy was first summoned, he was very anxious and shy. He really only trusted Joey at first, but grew to trust everyone else eventually. * Wally had the hardest time gaining Bendy's trust * After getting used to the studio and it's workers, bendy outgrew most of his shyness. He still gets pretty anxious, especially in crowds, but around the studio he's pretty comfortable. * Despite being a demon and all, bendy still has a few fears: stage fright, crowds, and heights (also abandonment but we'll get to that later) * Elaborating on that, bendy is fine preforming in front of a camera or anyone in the studio, but put on a stage in front of a large group of people he doesn't do so well. Living with a limited amount of people in a small studio, he tends to panic in large social situations. Crowds bother him also because he's very small. Heights taller than a table are a problem, mainly because he tends to always somehow get someplace high by accident and can't get down. The only real exception is Boris carrying him. Boris is very tall but bendy allows it. * Bendy is kind of claustrophobic (this gets worse after the events of the game but shh these are pre game headcannons) * Boris and Joey are the only ones who can carry bendy without him getting scared. Bendy will allow the others to carry him but it makes him very very uncomfortable. * Henry or Sammy carrying bendy on their shoulder is okay, but only if bendy climbs up there himself.

* Bendy hides behind Joey, Henry, or Sammy's leg like a five year old when he's nervous 

* Bendy also "melts" when experiencing negative emotions. Sometimes it's just drips, other times it's more severe, depending on how intense the emotions are * He can melt and change shape on his own accord too though. Like if he wanted to get into a locked room he could melt into a puddle and go underneath the door * All the toons can shift but bendy is the only one who can do it to that extent. The only shifting the others can do is like toon logic, like getting literally flattened by a safe and then immediately going back to their regular form * Toon logic/ hammer-space is something all the toons can do. * However they don't really use it too often * It normally doesn't take much work to use toon logic but doing too much too often can wear them out * Since bendy didn't use it very often, at first no one knew about toon logic. This led to bendy getting hit by a car and everyone flipping out, only for bendy to get right back up and be confused why everyone was so alarmed * Toon logic works to a certain extent in the real world. The toons can still feel pain and get injured, but things like getting safes dropped on them that would kill a regular human won't kill them. It still might hurt like hell through. Toon logic also allows the toons to be very strong at times, no matter what their size is. * Then toons are made of ink. They can't break bones because there are no bones to break. * All the toons have some sort of ink monster form, but it's literally almost never used. Maybe once or twice in a situation of genuine danger * Pretty much everyone in the studio can sing really well. The exception is Joey, who can't sing for shit * However, Joey can play the guitar and the piano * People never really want their kids around bendy (with him being a demon and all) but bendy is actually really great with kids * Bendy is very needy when it comes to attention. He constantly has to be paid attention to * He's got a pretty big fear of being left behind or abandoned (something that intensifies after the events of the Henry incident but shh we don't talk about that) * Even though he doesn't really like getting picked up, he does like cuddles. He is very small and will just kind of....curl into you like a cat * He likes warmth * In my own mind, bendy will always be some form of ace. But if he did date, I'd say he was pan. * Like he doesn't date but if he did he wouldn't give a shit about what gender you are * Bendy really likes animals. He especially likes dogs, but wether or not this is because his best friend is a wolf remains a mystery * Bendy and Boris don't get along super well in the show, but outside the show they are inseparable * Bendy and Boris didn't take an instant liking to each other. Boris was very open to being friends but bendy was too suspicious. After a while though bendy grew more comfortable and the friendship grew * After the friendship grew, they became best friends to the point of being brothers; they are insanely close, even if they make fun of each other a lot * Bendy is the "says they know what they're doing and to trust them and then immediately makes a complete fool of themselves because they didn't know what they were doing" friend * Boris is the "I'm much more sensible than you and will warn you if you're about to do something stupid" friend but he's also the "You mean a lot to me and I'd die to keep you safe but if you just ignore my warnings and make a total fool out of yourself as long as you're not severely injured I'm gonna laugh my ass off" friend * A lot of the times bendy will do something stupid and after confirming he's okay Boris will laugh really hard for a while * Bendy gets really offended like "*sniff* how dare you laugh at me" * Boris continues to laugh but still tries to make bendy feel better like "That was hilariously stupid you're an idiot now let's go get ice cream and watch movies k" * Boris is normally a kind, soft boi™ (if not somewhat savage at times) but you dare hurt someone he cares about (ex. Bendy) He is a ferocious beast ready to destroy you * Bendy also gets a lot of nightmares and Boris is ON IT * at the slightest sound of any distress Boris will get up and sleep with the bab and comfort him * Alice was harder. Alice and Boris got along pretty well since the beginning but bendy seemed to despise her. * This went along for a while, which upset Alice because she'd never done anything to bendy * Turns out bendy was just scared, mainly of being replaced. Bendy and Alice talked a while and after that gradually started to become friends * To anyone from the outside, it would look like bendy and Alice hated each other. This is, in fact, far from the truth. They care about one another a lot- they're just extremely competitive. * Everything with bendy and Alice is a competition. EVERYTHING. * As you may guess, this rarely ends well. * There's only ever been a serious accident once or twice. Most of the time they're just small mishaps that everyone laughs about later. * they stick out their tongues at each other like 5 year olds and everyone else in the room rolls their eyes * Sometimes it even gets a little ridiculous- bendy has the tutu because he got it just to prove he could look better in a skirt than Alice * They asked joey henry and Sammy to judge who looked better- Sammy took bendy's side, henry took Alice's side, and joey walked out of the room mumbling "is this seriously my life now?" * They're always playing a constant game of everything you can do I can do better * They insult each other a lot, but it's more in a sibling manner than anything else. * Alice isn't too nicey nicey towards bendy most of the time but if bendy is hurt or scared or upset She definitely shows how much she cares about him and tries to help in any way she can, even if all she can do is provide a little comfort (this goes the other way around too- Alice will comfort bendy and vice versa) * Alice and Boris always had a good relationship from the beginning * They weren't exactly best friends or anything but they were definitely friends * Boris always respected Alice- he always made every attempt to think of Alice and include her in things (despite knowing all too well bendy didn't like her much) He never looked at/thought of her differently just because she was a girl- he fully saw that she was very strong and capable of taking care of herself (although she was not above using her feminine charm and looks to get her way) * When bendy and Alice finally started getting along his response was basically "well it's about time you two" * Whenever bendy and Alice get into fights he just kind've rolls his eyes and doesn't get involved unless it gets physical, and even then both Alice and bendy are basically the size of small children so really all he has to do is sigh and stand in between them, pushing the two away from each other while they take no notice and continue to scream at each other and throw useless air punches * When Alice was upset that bendy disliked her when she'd done nothing she confided a lot in Boris (seeing as Boris was the closest to bendy) * Boris always tried to comfort her, insisting that "its not that he hates you, he just has a hard time trusting new people. He'll come around eventually." Boris eventually turns out to be right and even after Alice and bendy start getting along she continues to confide in him * Boris is always happy to pause anything he's doing and listen * He's a helper and tries to help in any possible way he can * Out of Sammy, Joey, and Henry, Sammy is the youngest of the three adults. He tends to act much more emotional and child-like than an adult should. He's very extreme: if he's happy he's singing and laughing and dancing, if he's sad he's crying an ocean * He likes to help- he gave bendy his tutu and Boris his overalls * Most clothes the toons have were given to them by Sammy, either Sammy had them already or he took them out to a store * Sammy has a large abundance of sweaters and bendy fucking loves sweaters 

*everyone has a closet at the studio, for extra clothes, pajamas, etc. bendy often sneaks into them and steals sweaters

*The toons are the only ones who actually live at the studio, but at least one human stays at the studio per night with the toons. They usually rotate but sometimes there's voulenteers. * Sammy is also super clumsy * The toons usually look to him for fun- he's always willing to play with them and assist them with pranks and shenanigans * Despite how he acts he's smart and he knows what he's doing * He's also amazing at comfort and singing: if the toons need some cheering up they go to Sammy, and there's been more than one occasion bendy woke up from come crazy nightmare and Sammy sang him back to sleep * Everyone HATES seeing Sammy sad * Its almost unbearable * He's basically the toons dad/cool older brother * He's also a bit of a mom too * Carries around ponchos and snacks and band aids and stuff like that in case anyone needs them * He also carries around bubbles literally everywhere * Like weirdmageddon could be happening and you could count on Sammy to have bubbles * He's a wonderful person (although somewhat salty at times) and an amazing musician and singer but a terrible horrible cook * But he loves to cook * And no one has the heart to tell him he can't cook for shit * Sometimes Sammy gets involved in the toon's shenanigans * He's more neutral when it comes to what side he's on but he tends to take bendy's side a teensy bit more * Henry is the oldest of the three adults, though not necessarily the most responsible * He likes to have fun: he likes taking the toons out places and is the one that does it the most often * He's very protective of the toons- he considers them to be like grandchildren * He's also been in the army before and he sometimes will entertain the toons with old war stories: the toons enjoy them and sometimes will just come in while henry is drawing and sit down and ask to hear one- henry is happy to oblige and will tell the story as he works * He adds sound effects and gestures to make the stories more entertaining * He wears glasses but he really only needs them for reading * The toons love henry and are always super happy to see him * He's also a bit of a teacher- if the toons have any questions about the human world Henry's always glad to explain * Joey is younger than Henry by about a year and half but is still a lot more responsible (he's honestly the most responsible one there) * He likes to have fun as much as everyone else but he actually cares about if they're getting work done and reminds everyone of their work and deadlines (TBH the studio would probably be completely gone/bankrupt if it wasn't for him because if it wasn't for him no work would get done smh) * Everyone makes fun of him being serious but they all love him anyway * Joey does have  a tiny bit of a temper- he's very easily frustrated and can be a little scary * He sometimes forces the toons to be pushed a little beyond their limits but the moment he realizes he's fucked up he feels really really bad * Despite coming off as serious and strict he cares about the toons very much, they're like his children (he actually has gotten used to referring to them as his kids and the toons have taken up a habit of calling him papa drew) (the first time they called him that he nearly cried because god they're precious) * He's very proud of his ink kids he loves them very very much even if he doesn't show it 24/7 * He also has a bit of anxiety and he gets panic attacks sometimes * (The only others prone to anxiety are bendy and Henry- while Joey's panic attacks aren't too frequent (though definitely not unheard of) bendy has a lot. Henry on the other hand has very little and only get them if something triggers a war flashback) * Joey needs glasses because he is 100% blind without them * He's very prone to losing them however and has to blindly fumble around Velma style to find them * The toons have stolen them a few times just because its funny * Sammy plays many instruments. Henry and Alice don't play anything but they sing. Joey and bendy play the piano. In addition to the piano, bendy can also play the violin (but he doesn't very often). Boris plays the clarinet. Joey, in addition to playing the piano, also plays the acoustic guitar. * Wally doesn't play anything. He can dance, but he rarely ever does (in front of other people at least) * Sammy is a serious musician. That being said, one of his favorite pastimes is kicking down the door to joeys room and playing careless whisper on the kazoo. * Bendy is the shortest of everyone, he's about the size of a four or five year old. Alice is about a head taller than bendy. Bendy is just a TINY bit smaller than the size of joeys leg, if that gives you any indication to how tall Joey is. Henry is a bit taller than Joey but not by too much. Wally is about the same height as Henry. Sammy and Boris are about the same height, and are taller than everyone * The toons are completely fine in regular water. * However, holy water hurts them. They can't step foot inside a church without nearly dying. * The toons mainly survive off of ink. They can eat regular human food but too much will make them sick. They also can't have sugar. Everyone learned both of these things the hard way. 

* Everyone finds it hilarious how much the toons are fascinated with the most normal things like touch activated lamps and microwaves * Sunsets and stars were a big deal to the toons they were so amazed the first time they saw them * Most of the studio is fine with fireworks. They exceptions are bendy and Henry. * Bendy doesn't like fireworks (they're too loud and scary) and Henry doesn't like them because the loud boom noises remind him of the war. So on the Fourth of July bendy and Henry have just made a habit of staying together in the studio and having their own small celebration with food and old movies. They both enjoy it.