#its like your brain gaslighting you and making you very confused about things that you have evidence of

[the-silent-hashira]

i do so love having psychosis

[makeyoumine69]

Call Me Babydoll 4

PAIRING: DBF!Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Anything that seems too good to be true probably isn't. After a dinner with Patrick that didn't go well, you realized that your relationship with him is more complicated than you initially thought.

CONTAINS: Angst, mentions of food, cursing and use of pet names (babydoll), smoking, gaslighting & manipulation, humiliation & mild bulling.

WORDS: 4.1k

A/N: This chapter is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it!💕

LINKS: [Ch.3]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [MASTERLIST]

God, you couldn't imagine a worse situation than this — being stuck in the limo with Patrick Bateman after he discovered your little secret about your virginity. Panicking from the lack of oxygen, you looked down at his deadly grip on your wrist, your brain overloaded with thoughts of a possible escape route.

"Patrick, I should go," you tried to release his grip when you noticed that the car had stopped, but he kept holding you tight. "My Dad is waiting for me!"

"Your father can wait a little longer," he demanded, pulling you a little closer, forcing you to raise your shy eyes to him. "Tomorrow we'll have dinner and talk about...this whole thing."

From the raspy sound of his voice, it was obvious that Bateman was doing his best to save what was left of his self-control, his skin burning yours with its heat.

"And what if I say 'no'?" You snapped at his cheeky way of speaking.

With a soft chuckle, he let go of your wrist and grinned as he saw you rubbing the spot where he was holding you a moment ago. "You don't want to upset your Dad, do you?" When Patrick met your confused gaze, the corners of his lips turned up. "I mean, the last thing you want is for your dear father to find out about all the nasty things you did…with me."

Your nostrils flared with anger, but you tried to play it cool. "What? Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"No," Bateman grinned at your irritated stare. "Just a little reminder not to try to play games with me. It's pointless anyway."

Uh yeah, sure. We'll see who laughs last. 

Saying nothing in return, you looked at him one last time before opening the car door and getting out.

"I'll pick you up at six. Wear something nice...something that hides your tattoos." Patrick ordered through the half-open window, the wide, smug smile never leaving his face.

The urge to turn around and show him your middle finger was so damn high, but as you faced the facade of your house, the memories of your father occupied your mind and stopped you at the very last moment.

"I don't have any of those clothes you're talking about," you simply replied, spinning around and crossing your hands over your chest. "Because I—"

"That's not a problem, babydoll. We can buy you some fabulous dresses or skirts," his brown eyes traveled over your body like a scanner, making you feel completely naked, you even shrugged off the shiver. "By the way, does your father forbid you to wear skirts or dresses because he knows someone would kidnap you? You have such pretty legs."

You closed your eyes and counted to ten to calm yourself. "I love my jeans, and pants are just much more comfortable for me!" Your voice trembled with embarrassment and anger. "If all the girls around you look like sluts in their skimpy dresses, that doesn't mean I have to! Jesus, why am I even trying to justify myself?!"

Your little tantrum only made him chuckle in pure satisfaction. "I have no idea why, but I like it," his arrogant smirk made you sick. After checking his Rolex nonchalantly, Bateman added, "See you tomorrow, (y/n). And tell your father that my old man has approved those investments we talked about a week ago."

Wait, what?

Now it was your turn to try to stop him, but just as the last word fell from his lips, the limo pulled away, leaving you with an unspoken question stuck in your throat like a lump.

The air of your house greeted you with a sharp smell of smoke, signaling that your father was home and not in a good mood — he had taken up smoking since your mother died, and now you knew pretty well that when he was feeling down only a cigarette could bring him some relief.

Walking slowly through the halls of your not-so-luxurious but spacious house, you found your Dad sitting in the living room with a glass of his favorite whiskey and a pack of cigarettes that he twirled nervously in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," you called out quietly, halting in the doorway — the strange pangs of guilty causing your heart to pound painfully against your chest. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I didn't hear you coming," he turned to you, his wrinkled face lighting up the moment he saw your apprehensive expression. "I'm fine...just had a busy day," he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got up from his comfortable armchair. "How did you make it home?"

His sudden question caught you off guard, as your father didn't usually ask such things. Frowning, you stepped into the living room and looked at his tired face — he seemed to have aged even faster in the last few months, when his business had stopped being as profitable as it used to be.

"I'm fine, thanks," you carefully took a seat on the couch next to him, noticing that the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table was half empty. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear," your father smiled at you and poured himself another glass of alcohol before sitting back down in his armchair. "What is it?"

"Did you really ask Pat—" you stammered and coughed a little. "I mean, did you really ask Mr. Bateman to pick me up after work?"

Right after you asked, you tried to catch a glimpse of your father's reaction, to notice any strange expressions or anything that might discredit him, but to your surprise, your father just gave you a sympathetic grin, sipping his drink and looking at you adoringly.

"Maybe I did..." he tilted his head thoughtfully. "...or maybe I didn't. Forgive me for my bad memory, it gets worse every day."

Sighing, you couldn't help but smile at his words, as your father was always the one who could warm your heart just by saying a few simple words.

"All right, all right," you paused, rubbing your tense temples. "He asked me to inform you that the investments you discussed some time ago have been approved and..." as you noticed your father's face changing so quickly, you had to pause for a second. "...is it something important?"

Your father took a quick drag on a cigarette, blowing a few rings of smoke to the side to keep them away from you. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes," you fidgeted nervously in your seat, seeing your Dad's reaction. "Yes, he did."

"That's...that's one of the best pieces of news I've had in a long time," your father stood up again, looking for something. "I need to make a call..."

Nodding, you decided that now was not the best time to ask more questions, so you just decided to leave and go to your room, but as soon as you strolled away, you heard your father's enthusiastic voice again: 

"(Y/n), wait," he stopped beside you, holding a phone in his slightly shaking hand. "I know I've always been too strict when it comes to you, but I've always tried to give you as much love and care as I could...since your mother..." His words cut right through your heart, and you even had to grit your teeth from the itchy tears that welled up in your eyes.

"Father, please...let's not talk about it." You interrupted him, not wanting to open up your old wounds.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that...Patrick Bateman seems like a good man," you almost lost your sense of orientation in this room at his sudden statement. "I haven't allowed you to hang out with boys much, but you can get to know him better since he's been asking about you a lot."

Fuck, you couldn’t believe it. 

First, Bateman had his eyes on you. Then he tried to seduce you, break you and make you forget your morals, and he fucking succeeded, because in the end Patrick managed to get his hands on you, and now his farther suddenly approved the budget for your Dad's business. Was this just a coincidence or another way to manipulate you?

"Well, you tried to protect me from...everything and everyone, I can't judge you..." you murmured as you reached the door. "You always want the best for me, so... I promise I'll think about it."

With that, you closed the door behind you, leaving your father alone in the living room. A wild cocktail of emotions swirled in your chest, as if you had drunk something extremely hot — you wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. How on Earth did that happen? That your own father was directly encouraging you to get close with Patrick Bateman? Was that someone's bad joke?

As soon as you got to your room, you opened the closet, looking for some "fabulous" dress Patrick wanted you to wear. 

"Fucking narcissistic idiot," you cursed aloud as you flipped through your clothes, getting more and more annoyed by the second. "Why do I even care what he thinks about my appearance?"

You exhaled tiredly and hid your face in your hands, feeling the strong shudder in every inch of your fragile frame. This man, damn it, this man was a devil himself, and your father just called him 'a good guy'.

Unbelievable. 

"All right, I have to pull myself together." You moved quickly to the mirror, breathing steadily and rubbing your cheeks. "I'll do it for Dad, I'll figure it all out."

Winking at your reflection, you returned to your search for a suitable dress, not realizing that it was getting late.

The next day started with a heavy rain which woke you up with its sound, so loud that you couldn't fall asleep again. So, you decided to get up earlier and write a bit before your work. 

Your father was already gone when you got downstairs — the memories of your earlier conversation were still running through your mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As you made yourself a cup of coffee with your favorite organic milk, you couldn't stop thinking about what might happen tonight — the unknown made you feel a little nauseous, but the breathing exercises your mother taught you always helped you in such moments. Uh, what would your mom say to you if she were here, if she knew the situation you were in? 

Would Patrick be able to enchant her so easily?

The workday went by so quickly that you didn't even realize you were rushing back home in the taxi. During the ride, you tried to distract yourself with your poems, some of which you had written during the break at the café where you had been with Patrick the day before. After many attempts, you noticed that whenever you tried to describe the feelings Patrick evoked in you, it seemed as if your mind was losing touch with reality. The pen he gifted you was burning your skin as if it were some cursed relic, but yet this phantom pain was something you probably missed in your life, it didn't feel like grief or sorrow — it was something completely new.

Even though you were not a huge fan of Manhattan, you couldn't deny the fact that it looked absolutely breathtaking at night, with all its lights, mesmerizing atmosphere, and soaring skyscrapers that made your head spin whenever you looked at them.

There was no doubt that the restaurant Bateman was taking you to would be exquisite and luxurious, so when you entered the establishment, you were not surprised that most people were paying attention to your persona, as you had no jewels, no beaded clutch — just your modest but tight black dress, which was one of your shortest. The maître d' escorted you to your table, and from that moment on, the game began between you and Mr. Bateman, although your conversation didn't flow at first.

"So, do you like this place?" Patrick asked a little indifferently after swirling his drink — J&B Whiskey, that seemed to be his favorite.

"Mmm, yeah, it's pretty good." You replied, avoiding his gaze and staring at the napkin on the table that you were nervously crumpling.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Pretty good?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Uh," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly. "Do you even know what this place is?"

Finally, you left a poor napkin alone and looked up at him. "This is Dorsia, right? I saw a sign outside."

For a moment his face remained blank, but the next moment a deep, prominent line appeared between his knitted brows.

"Yeah, this is fucking Dorsia," he spat out his words and took a sip of his whiskey. "Nothing special."

Actually, his suddenly confronting tone was embarrassing. "Well...I'm not a frequent guest in these chic restaurants. Come on, you know that."

Unfortunately for you, your voice sounded more sad than irritated, and Bateman didn't miss it. His warm palm touched yours gently, but he didn't dare to look at you.

"Huh," he mused, drawing an invisible line across the back of your hand with his soft fingertip. "It's pretty hard to impress a girl like you, since you just don't understand—"

"The taste of luxurious life?" You cut him off, causing him to raise his brown walnut eyes to your face. They looked so mysterious in the dim light of the restaurant hall. 

Patrick pulled his hand away as if struck by the electric shock, clenching his jaw in tension, and this sight was something you never thought you would have to witness.

In a few minutes of awkward silence, the waiter brought your food, and since you refused to take any alcohol, you asked him to give you a dessert menu — maybe something sweet would cheer you up and help you get through this strange dinner that was hard to identify as a date or whatever it might be.

"We have amazing cheesecakes, good choice." The waiter replied as you handed the menu back to him.

"Thank you," you made yourself comfortable in your seat and gave Patrick a warm smile, which left him a bit confused. "I need something to compare with the desserts I've had in my favorite café."

Although you hadn't intended it to be a joke, you weren't irritated at all when you heard his soft chuckle for the first time during dinner. "Just don't tell anyone about this," he crossed his arms and looked at you with a mischievous grin. "I don't want the local chefs to end their lives."

"Oh, God," you laughed, looking at his drink. "Why do you all have to drink whiskey? My Dad can't work without a bottle of his favorite drink next to him," as soon as Bateman heard about your Dad, he straightened up in his seat and fixed his Rolex. "Speaking of him...can I ask you a question?"

"You can try, babydoll." Bateman sneered in a mischievous voice and looked around quickly as if he noticed someone familiar.

"I want to know about the investments—"

"Hey, Halberstram!" An unknown male voice echoed from behind you, shamelessly interrupting your conversation. "Haven't seen you for a while, how have you been?"

A handsome man with light brown hair — wearing a stylish suit that was one hundred percent overpriced — came closer to your table and offered Patrick a handshake, which he accepted, but you couldn't help but notice a glint of anger in his hazel eyes.

"Allen," Bateman shook his hand and then quickly glanced at a woman next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here, I heard you were on vacation in Paris."

"Well, Meredith didn't really like it, so we decided to come back a little earlier," Paul replied, pulling a beautiful blonde girl closer to him. "I thought Halloween was over." Allen chuckled and pointed at you, making you palpably uncomfortable. "Nice manicure, so gothic."

Frowning, you checked your black manicured nails and then looked up at him, suppressing your inner battle to tell him to fuck off. "Thanks." You replied coldly and noticed Patrick clenching his fists in tension.

"And where's Veronica, Marcus? That big-titted chick you were hanging out with at the last yacht party?" Allen asked, continuing to stare at you with undisguised interest. 

What the hell was going on? Why did he call him Marcus?

"Veronica?" Bateman interjected, pretending to try to remember. "She's probably with her family in South Hampton."

"Oh, and who is this punk girl?" Paul's question made your nails claw at the soft skin of your knee. 

Patrick closed his eyes for a second, definitely trying to find the best answer. It was obvious that a man like him didn't want to ruin his reputation, since you were not a person from his circle. This seemed to be a dead end until an unexpected idea came to your mind.

"I'm a journalist," you explained in a confident voice. "And I'm interviewing...Mr. Halberstram because I'm writing a book about Wall Street."

"Wow," Paul seemed to be surprised. "That's...pretty impressive."

"Yeah," Bateman cleared his throat and unclenched his fists. "She's one of the best journalists in New York, and she wants to write a book, too."

Oh my God, please shut up!

"It's pretty impressive that you were allowed to come here," Meredith suddenly blurted out, giving you a disgusted look. "There's a dress code, you know?"

"I'll leave you for a while, since you have things to discuss." You fumed and got up from the table — Patrick didn't even try to stop you.

In a few minutes, you found your way to the outdoor terrace on the upper level. As you stepped in, you noticed another blonde woman — she looked gorgeous, with her elegant, red-manicured fingers wrapped around the burning cigarette.

"Um, excuse me," you approached her from behind. "Could you pass me a cigarette, please?"

As soon as she turned around, you could see her sad blue eyes, cold as ice. "Sure."

Carefully, she reached into her black clutch to find a pack of cigarettes and offered you one.

"Thank you." You smiled after she lit your cigarette. 

"No problem," she grinned back, looking away to see the lights of New York city. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it? I wish he could be with me right now."

Her question left you speechless, because you didn't know how to react, but just as you were about to say something, you heard the door open and the unknown man with the red hair joined you on the terrace.

"Courtney, you're here. I was looking for you," he chirped with an affectionate intonation. "The cocktails are ready."

Unlike the guy, the woman — that apparently was named Courtney — didn't seem happy, you would even say she was getting sadder — her previous words puzzled you, because now it was obvious she was talking about someone else.

With the last puff of smoke, Courtney took a quick glance at the night city and turned to you. "Take care."

Even a few moments after they left, you could still feel the wisp of sharp sadness in the air. Shivering with cold, you came closer to the railing, looked down and smoked, the signals of passing cars distracting you a bit from your train of thought — that fucking snobbish bitch and her supposed boyfriend pissed you off completely and you didn't really want to come back. Her behavior reminded you of why you hated yuppies, Wall Street, money, luxury. You hated it all, while your father tried his best to give you such a life so you could turn into a heartless ghost with no emotions except greed and...disgust?

A sudden touch of soft, warm fabric made you almost flinch. "Are you trying to catch a cold?" A familiar voice asked, and a jacket was wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

No way that could be him. "Patrick?"

The next moment, the owner of the familiar voice — which was indeed Patrick — deftly snatched the cigarette out of your mouth, eliciting an irritated groan from your chest. "You don't need this, believe me."

As you turned around, you watched him puff on your cigarette, but when he blew out a few rings, his face cringed in disgust. "Jesus, this is some girlish shit." Patrick ranted and quickly put out the cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" You crossed your arms in a defensive gesture and stepped away from him.

Patrick chuckled softly, your eyes accidentally glancing around his broad chest and the fashionable suspenders that looked so good on him.

"You could have just told me that you wanted to suffer alone on the terrace like a crybaby. Then I wouldn't have had to look for you all over the fucking restaurant." His voice became slightly stern as a sign of the high level of irritation — his patience seemed about to snap.

"I didn't ask you to come after me," you retorted, but didn't take off his jacket because it was so warm and nice. "Besides, what the hell was that? Why did that guy call you Marcus? Is that your real name? God, maybe you're a fucking scammer trying to deceive my father?"

His loud laugh echoed in the fresh air, Bateman couldn't help but applaud because your theory was fantastic. "That...that was hilarious, babydoll," he theatrically wiped away a few tears and came closer. "We stopped at your question about your father, as I recall."

"You know what?" you suddenly charged at him, almost bumping into his solid torso. "You should have hired several hookers instead of taking me to this useless dinner. At least it would have been a lot cheaper!"

"What?" He asked, still giggling as if you had told him another joke.

"My father has been waiting almost a year for some extra funding," you started, shortening the distance between you to a mere inches. "And just like in fairy tales, the necessary investments were approved as soon as you got your hands on me. What a great coincidence, don't you think?"

Patrick hummed to himself, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Go on."

"You won't get it," your voice wavered, as if your nature refused to utter the words. "I know that rich guys like you can buy anything and everything — houses, cars, yachts, corporations, girls..." the more you spoke, the darker Bateman's eyes became. "Girls of all body types, ages, virgins or not, and so on. But for me — money is nothing, and I won't do it even for my father".

"You're done?" Patrick asked, pressing a finger to his lips and looking at you with an unreadable expression. When you nodded, he took you by the chin and tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as if by accident. "Now, listen to me, babydoll. I invited you to dinner because I wanted to apologize...for the things that happened between us..." your heart skipped a beat at his last words and your legs went weak, but you stood still, looking straight into his dark hypnotizing eyes. "I must say, you're a really cute, sweet girl, pretty even," he smirked as you shivered from his finger sliding down your neck. "But I don't want to be a babysitter."

"W-what?" You gasped, your voice barely audible as your breath hitched from the hard lump in your throat.

"(Y/n), listen, your father's business can be profitable enough, that's the only reason my Dad and I decided to finance it," Bateman removed his hand and stepped aside. "The long wait was caused by bureaucratic processes and my old man being away on business all the time."

There were no words to explain the feelings you were experiencing — frustration, deception, embarrassment? 

"I…I understand," you bit your lower lip to keep the tears from forming in your dejected eyes. "Thank you for telling me the truth." 

Just as you were about to take off his jacket, Patrick stopped you and after a small hug, he added: "Unfortunately, I don't like messing around with little girls because I'm pretty demanding when it comes to sex.” His arrogant grin was about to become the last straw of your self-control, but you kept fighting. "Let's go back to our table, your dessert must be waiting for you."

With a quick flick of your hand, you wiped away any traces of your tears when he didn't look at you. "I'm not hungry. Go, I'll join you soon."

Bateman gave you a worried look, then glanced at the railing and shook his head. "No, we'll come together, I'm responsible for you tonight and I don't want your father to be nervous."

How fucking cute.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[notvv0ltz]

Self

Alright everyone, this topic isn't going to be about an art but rather about self… Or selves (foreshadowing). I'm writing this because not much of people are describing their experiences in this complicated sense of self.

So, like… Originally this post was planned to go deep through my traumatic experiences, but then I realized that no one needs to hear that. And it was also mentally breaking to me, so I will mention things only briefly just to give a context.

Still, the warning stays the same: my opinion on such matter and use of terms may differ from your own, and it still stays as an extremely personal post from a mentally ill person, read at your own risk.

I'm a guy who lives in a much better place now with queer found family, but before that my life quite sucked. I can barely remember my childhood, but I know that my trust was betrayed, and I couldn't rely on people in real life at all for different reasons. Not going into details of this one, but I'll just say this: I feel physically unwell when people are angry at me, especially when they're gaslighting me, and that's not without a reason. There was also a time when one parental figure drank heavily since I was 4 and continues to do so in a "mild" manner. I also have a physical evidence that I was "too tired" when I was 6 already. Overall, there were situations which my brain perceived as not safe.

It all made me socially isolated and apathetic for a long period of time. And I also had a vivid imagination. So vivid that I could stare at ceilings for hours without moving. It became maladaptive at my worse periods of life and disrupted me from doing schoolwork. But out of every other ways to cope I could have at that time, this one was the most harmless.

This had its own consequences, though… Everything changed when I had a breakdown in teens and I started feeling someone patting my back, but no one was there. It was my character (if you know, you know), that since then lives rent-free in my head.

What that truly was is still unknown to me, like why he suddenly feels like a very real person talking to me and why his speech doesn't feel scripted at all. He progressed from being my protector from The Bad to someone with his own desires and urges that contradict mine. To someone who disagrees with me sometimes and gives me another perspective. To someone who feels differently. But at the same time, with a lot of similarities because, well, we share the same brain.

What did none of us expect is that there were times when he took control of the body. No one from outside notices anything different, but internally it was quite weird to hear myself in my head in a muted way, as if I'm in a backstage. And it was odd and agonizing even for him to control the body that didn't reflect at all his self-image. Every time it happens, we prefer to wait out when he goes back to the "backstage". He is very ashamed of his own existence, so if he ever makes an attempt to not hide, please be nice to him.

Even with such complications, I love him very deeply. Without him, I wouldn't survive, and I'm serious about this. He helped me to process emotions, "co-piloted" when I was in severe stress, he made me feel less alone and misunderstood.

I think, at it's core, it's a healthy coping mechanism. It's just that there are conflicts that are unresolved, and that requires a therapist. I also tried to fit in plural communities, but it did literally nothing good to us. We felt like we needed to qualify for the label and thought that I'm just asking for attention despite us documenting our "huh that's interesting" moments. Because I'm in a better state, the other guy in my head appears less, but that doesn't deny that I have something going on. I don't think that collapsing over a sudden change in feeling self means that we're just, you know, role playing. We should treat people in this confusing state better, even if it ends up that they weren't plural. The rampant fake claiming culture misses the fact that no person that didn't struggle in life would consider this label. You can easily make someone's health worse by not giving them a room to explore themselves and sometimes admit that they were wrong. So please, be kinder.

I hope this post wasn't a bit too much for this blog and was helpful to someone. I tried to cut off the details of my traumas, but it was crucial to note that without them nothing would've happened to me. I also prefer to use more broad terms over specific ones to describe our experience because we're still not sure what's going on. Thanks for reading.

[we-out-here-simping]

i wanna know how you wrote kiss it away honey, because i read it twice and there's something in the writing that fucks with my brain so bad, i don't really know how to explain it but it confuses the hell out of me and it's just so good

oooo i LOVE this question!! tysm for asking and i'm sorry this took me a while to answer

i'm so so sooo glad people really like this fic bc its so special to me! i feel like i really hit the jackpot when i wrote i really am so so proud of it!

i'm not quite sure if this is an answer but here have my ramble <3

to a certain degree its supposed to be a take on a general x reader fic, where the reader is worried or going through something and the character just does everything right and fixes everytging. so i guess, reader really is a self insert for me because when i first thought of this fic i was having an awful time and just wanted to cry in this guys arms. but somehow that got demented into the monster it is now!

it really is just one of those fics that gets better with on the second read, if i do say so myself. when i do put the part 2 out, i think re reading this will i think give u a lot of 'oh shit' moments (again, if i do say so myself)

the writing style is so fun to do. actions/emotions are written in very concise, short sentences. theres a lot of repetition for impact ofcourse we love her. both sort of add to the vagueness and ambiguity of it all that messes with your brain.

theres this juxtaposition of their more mundane and domestic moments as well as the very fucked things happening behind the scenes yk like murder and what is practically gaslighting your partner and yourself. Fun!

i feel like the way steve is written in this fic is so interesting. his devotion towards the reader is unparalled and unending. when @procrastinationprincesses was reading this fic for the first time, she mentioned how crazy it is that steve is dating what is practically his god, because the reader created him. and i think about that a lot lol

this is a bit embarassing to admit but around the time i was writing it, i was hyperfixating on a lot of the five nights at freddy's lore lmaoo like i was watching video essays that were multiple hours long so, many of the sentiments seeped from it. one particular one is one of the characters promises one dying character that he wil 'put him back together' which paralells 'he's the only one who could ever fix you' in the fic if that makes sense?

another thing that affected the tone of this fic was the fact that i always had to listen to mitski's "my love mine all mine" everytime i sat down to write. and i still have to do that when i try to get into the mood for part 2. the fic isnt necessarily based on it but the vibes are very much there

another thing i might have subconsciously taken from def was wandavision. i think that is self explanatory in of itself.

one of my fave lines i've ever written def has to be "silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed in with your heartbeat" :( bc thats crazy i ate that i fear

[theoldlesbianwithcats]

On your last post about lesbians, it might sound weird, but I am asking it in genuine faith. How do I know I am lesbian and not bi. I never experienced sexual attraction to men, but sadly I had plenty of grouping, grooming, exposure to inappropriate materials, assault experiences when I was teen. That left me very confused. For a while I tried to date men in hopes to fix what is wrong with me (lack of sexual attraction to them whatsoever). I am still unsure I can really say I lack attraction to males, despite not dating anyone for more then decade and not wanting to date them ever. But I have had all those experiences. Should I consider myself bi based on that? So far due to amounts of trauma I am only stuck exploring my memory back and forth and sometimes panic 'what if i actually liked that second just a bit'? Or how do I really know I did not like it, outside of not liking it, bc what if I am confused/in denial/just traumatized? I know it sounds weird, but it is honestly how my brain works at the moment due to amounts of gaslight that surrounded all of it and peer pressure due to living in very conservative society. I did not knew or see any lesbian till much later in life, and for long time I was sure that I am just traumatized het that needs fixing her repulsion and I have weird escapist obsessions with my female best friends. Is that a bi experience people on tumblr always talk about that I should not go with to lesbian places? I know I said I lack attraction to men, but I wonder how can I really know for sure to prove it. Would I know if I have had it? I am much ashamed to bring it to any lesbian space to be honest, so I lurk on the side and don't talk.

Hi anon!

This is what I mean when I say that traumatized bi women calling themselves lesbians make things more difficult and confusing for everyone: traumatized lesbians don't willingly date men, no matter how hurt/confused we are, it's het/bisexual behavior. (I'm making an exception for having a "boyfriend" in elementary or middle school and not going further than a kiss, normally at that point any lesbian would be sure she doesn't want to do that with any boy.)

To be clear, I don't blame you here. I'm just saying that if bi women were more honest instead of calling themselves lesbians, you wouldn't torment yourself nearly as much. In my country, 50% of lesbian-identified women admitted that they were attracted to men. So surely this makes things confusing and that's why the common lesbian narratives don't make sense: lesbians have sex with men when we're miserable, we can be married with men for decades and have children with them before realizing we are lesbians, the only way a lesbian would be a gold star is if we have a perfect privileged life free from violence and homophobia, etc. Truth is, a lot of lesbians (including me) showed early signs of homosexuality no matter how ignorant we were of its existence and we never seriously think of dating a man, let alone act on it, no matter how traumatized we are and how much it can protect us from lesbophobia.

In my opinion, lesbians are not the women you should confide in about this, but bi women, so you can have a better idea of how wide that spectrum of experiences is. Sure, a lot of bi women hook up with men regularly or end up marrying a man, but that's not all of them! I personally know a bi woman in her 30s who never did anything with a man because, while she feels attraction, it's not enough to want to act on it. I know another one who is simply not interested in dating at all because she prefers reading and traveling alone.

You don't need to prove anything to anyone. As someone who did a lot of therapy for trauma due to male violence and lesbophobia, I think your focus should be on letting go of your past and creating the life you want, which is something you can do no matter your sexual orientation :)

I hope it helped!

[gncrevan]

cw: depp/heard trial, abuse

.

if johnny depp defenders can go on all day about how he's just like them forreal because they were also completely falsely accused of being a bad person once uwu, then so can i, here goes:

no matter what you think of amber heard, the shit you're doing to and saying about her on the internet right now is fucking triggering to survivors and you need to stop. you are so convinced that you're justified because you think you know she's lying, but you don't. you don't know. you can't know. you're basing your conviction on how she divulges information, that her memory isn't always entirely complete and correct, how she performs her grief; and i'm here to tell you that all of these are things survivors do.

trauma is locked behind layers of dissociation. that means memory is altered, distorted, distant. some things are perfectly in focus while some cannot be recalled. time and place is often unclear. and i wanna emphasize, even normal non-traumatic memory is notoriously unreliable. add to that the way fear responses affect the encoding of memories and you end up with something "fragmented, associated with intense arousal, readily primed and triggered, and poorly contextualized into memory".

another effect of this is the division of narrative memory and emotional memory. that means on the one hand you may have poorly intelligible (for yourself and others) emotional fragments floating around in your brain, that can be triggered easily and lead to flashbacks or meltdowns. on the other hand, you may be able to recall something traumatic with clarity, but without emotion, or with a poor connection to the emotion.

when the brain processes hugely painful and scary experiences, it often gets tripped up and doesn't fully integrate them. you can think of it like the different things that make a memory - outside narrative, thoughts, physical sensations, emotions - getting stored in separate boxes instead of coming together to make a whole.

therefore it's not uncommon for survivors to recount traumatic events like they're talking about the weather, or for their emotional reaction to their own story to seem mismatched or disconnected, or for them to mix up the exact order of events, or for them not to recall everything (such as, "i was in the kitchen and then i was in the bathroom and i don't know how i got there or how much time passed"). their expressions and gestures may not fit the emotion you would expect given the topic (not to mention, all humans emote differently and body language analysis is junk science).

it's also exceedingly hard to talk about painful, intimate things while people and in this case even cameras are watching you. you are very aware of their expectations of how you perform your trauma. expecting any person to behave natural and authentic under this sort of pressure is asinine. having to restate your trauma over and over again is hard enough, being judged for it and knowing there are people watching, ready to tear you apart, is at best triggering and at worst retraumatizing.

the expectations you are projecting onto amber in order to be a "convincing" victim cannot be met by a real person. victims forget, victims show disparate emotions. victims also very often, both during and after the abuse, exhibit irrational and erratic behaviour, they might become aggressive and fight back against their abuser, taunt them, provoke them, even attack them; or lash out at others. none of that makes their claims of abuse false.

this is the personal part, i cut a lot of what i originally wrote because it felt too intimate, but i wanna try: my trauma doesn’t look like amber's, but my experiences of gaslighting and victim blaming are starkly reflected back at me in the way she is treated by media and observers. every time i tried to go up against what was happening to me, or reach out to a person of authority to help, it was turned on its head. my pleading, my crying, my detachment, my aggression, my confusion - all were taken as justification to either say that i was causing it, i was to blame, or that it wasn't happening, i was imagining and misinterpreting things, i was making things up, i was a liar. to this day i sit in therapy and have to hear my therapist tell me that my emotional expressions don't feel authentic, and i know it's because i can't connect to them, i can't touch them, i'm floating somewhere above my head, i'm always watching myself. i know that if i were sitting in a courtroom to try and prove what people did to me, i wouldn't remember it right, i wouldn't show the right emotions, i would try to overcompensate and come off as fake.

regardless of what you think of amber, abuse survivors are reading your posts and seeing your videos, and the message we receive is very clear: that you wouldn't believe us if we spoke out, because we can never be the kind of victim you deem acceptable and believable.

as a survivor, you really can't win. whatever you do will be used against you.

.

more about trauma (pdfs):

trauma and recovery

the body keeps the score

cptsd - from surviving to thriving

.

terfs dni, i'm trans & not aligned with you

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. I’m curious. What did you mean by “women who read fiction might get Bad Ideas!!!” has just reached its latest and stupidest form via tumblr purity culture.? I haven’t seen any of this but I’m new to tumblr.

Oh man. You really want to get me into trouble on, like, my first day back, don’t you?

Pretty much all of this has been explained elsewhere by people much smarter than me, so this isn’t necessarily going to say anything new, but I’ll do my best to synthesize and summarize it. As ever, it comes with the caveat that it is my personal interpretation, and is not intended as the be-all, end-all. You’ll definitely run across it if you spend any time on Tumblr (or social media in general, including Twitter, and any other fandom-related spaces). This will get long.

In short: in the nineteenth century, when Gothic/romantic literature became popular and women were increasingly able to read these kinds of novels for fun, there was an attendant moral panic over whether they, with their weak female brains, would be able to distinguish fiction from reality, and that they might start making immoral or inappropriate choices in their real life as a result. Obviously, there was a huge sexist and misogynistic component to this, and it would be nice to write it off entirely as just hysterical Victorian pearl-clutching, but that feeds into the “lol people in the past were all much stupider than we are today” kind of historical fallacy that I often and vigorously shut down. (Honestly, I’m not sure how anyone can ever write the “omg medieval people believed such weird things about medicine!” nonsense again after what we’ve gone through with COVID, but that is a whole other rant.) The thinking ran that women shouldn’t read novels for fear of corrupting their impressionable brains, or if they had to read novels at all, they should only be the Right Ones: i.e., those that came with a side of heavy-handed and explicit moralizing so that they wouldn’t be tempted to transgress. Of course, books trying to hammer their readers over the head with their Moral Point aren’t often much fun to read, and that’s not the point of fiction anyway. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Fast-forward to today, and the entire generation of young, otherwise well-meaning people who have come to believe that being a moral person involves only consuming the “right” kind of fictional content, and being outrageously mean to strangers on the internet who do not agree with that choice. There are a lot of factors contributing to this. First, the advent of social media and being subject to the judgment of people across the world at all times has made it imperative that you demonstrate the “right” opinions to fit in with your peer-group, and on fandom websites, that often falls into a twisted, hyper-critical, so-called “progressivism” that diligently knows all the social justice buzzwords, but has trouble applying them in nuance, context, and complicated real life. To some extent, this obviously is not a bad thing. People need to be critical of the media they engage with, to know what narratives the creator(s) are promoting, the tropes they are using, the conclusions that they are supporting, and to be able to recognize and push back against genuinely harmful content when it is produced – and this distinction is critical – by professional mainstream creators. Amateur, individual fan content is another kettle of fish. There is a difference between critiquing a professional creator (though social media has also made it incredibly easy to atrociously abuse them) and attacking your fellow fan and peer, who is on the exact same footing as you as a consumer of that content.

Obviously, again, this doesn’t mean that you can’t call out people who are engaging in actually toxic or abusive behavior, fans or otherwise. But certain segments of Tumblr culture have drained both those words (along with “gaslighting”) of almost all critical meaning, until they’re applied indiscriminately to “any fictional content that I don’t like, don’t agree with, or which doesn’t seem to model healthy behavior in real life” and “anyone who likes or engages with this content.” Somewhere along the line, a reactionary mindset has been formed in which the only fictional narratives or relationships are those which would be “acceptable” in real life, to which I say…. what? If I only wanted real life, I would watch the news and only read non-fiction. Once again, the underlying fear, even if it’s framed in different terms, is that the people (often women) enjoying this content can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fiction and reality, and if they like “problematic” fictional content, they will proceed to seek it out in their real life and personal relationships. And this is just… not true.

As I said above, critical media studies and thoughtful consumption of entertainment are both great things! There have been some great metas written on, say, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and how it is increasingly relying on villains who have outwardly admirable motives (see: the Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier) who are then stigmatized by their anti-social, violent behavior and attacks on innocent people, which is bad even as the heroes also rely on violence to achieve their ends. This is a clever way to acknowledge social anxieties – to say that people who identify with the Flag Smashers are right, to an extent, but then the instant they cross the line into violence, they’re upsetting the status quo and need to be put down by the heroes. I watched TFATWS and obviously enjoyed it. I have gone on a Marvel re-watching binge recently as well. I like the MCU! I like the characters and the madcap sci-fi adventures! But I can also recognize it as a flawed piece of media that I don’t have to accept whole-cloth, and to be able to criticize some of the ancillary messages that come with it. It doesn’t have to be black and white.

When it comes to shipping, moreover, the toxic culture of “my ship is better than your ship because it’s Better in Real Life” �� is both well-known and in my opinion, exhausting and pointless. As also noted, the whole point of fiction is that it allows us to create and experience realities that we don’t always want in real life. I certainly enjoy plenty of things in fiction that I would definitely not want in reality: apocalyptic space operas, violent adventures, and yes, garbage men. A large number of my ships over the years have been labeled “unhealthy” for one reason or another, presumably because they don’t adhere to the stereotype of the coffee-shop AU where there’s no tension and nobody ever makes mistakes or is allowed to have serious flaws. And I’m not even bagging on coffee-shop AUs! Some people want to remove characters from a violent situation and give them that fluff and release from the nonstop trauma that TV writers merrily inflict on them without ever thinking about the consequences. Fanfiction often focuses on the psychology and healing of characters who have been through too much, and since that’s something we can all relate to right now, it’s a very powerful exercise. As a transformative and interpretive tool, fanfic is pretty awesome.

The problem, again, comes when people think that fic/fandom can only be used in this way, and that going the other direction, and exploring darker or complicated or messy dynamics and relationships, is morally bad. As has been said before: shipping is not activism. You don’t get brownie points for only having “healthy” ships (and just my personal opinion as a queer person, these often tend to be heterosexual white ships engaging in notably heteronormative behavior) and only supporting behavior in fiction that you think is acceptable in real life. As we’ve said, there is a systematic problem in identifying what that is. Ironically, for people worried about Women Getting Ideas by confusing fiction and reality, they’re doing the same thing, and treating fiction like reality. Fiction is fiction. Nobody actually dies. Nobody actually gets hurt. These people are not real. We need to normalize the idea of characters as figments of a creator’s imagination, not actual people with their own agency. They exist as they are written, and by the choice of people whose motives can be scrutinized and questioned, but they themselves are not real. Nor do characters reflect the author’s personal views. Period.

This feeds into the fact that the internet, and fandom culture, is not intended as a “safe space” in the sense that no questionable or triggering content can ever be posted. Archive of Our Own, with its reams of scrupulous tagging and requests for you to explicitly click and confirm that you are of age to see M or E-rated content, is a constant target of the purity cultists for hosting fictional material that they see as “immoral.” But it repeatedly, unmistakably, directly asks you for your consent to see this material, and if you then act unfairly victimized, well… that’s on you. You agreed to look at this, and there are very few cases where you didn’t know what it entailed. Fandom involves adults creating contents for adults, and while teenagers and younger people can and do participate, they need to understand this fact, rather than expecting everything to be a PG Disney movie.

When I do write my “dark” ships with garbage men, moreover, they always involve a lot of the man being an idiot, being bluntly called out for an idiot, and learning healthier patterns of behavior, which is one of the fundamental patterns of romance novels. But they also involve an element of the woman realizing that societal standards are, in fact, bullshit, and she can go feral every so often, as a treat. But even if I wrote them another way, that would still be okay! There are plenty of ships and dynamics that I don’t care for and don’t express in my fic and fandom writing, but that doesn’t mean I seek out the people who do like them and reprimand them for it. I know plenty of people who use fiction, including dark fiction, in a cathartic way to process real-life trauma, and that’s exactly the role – one of them, at least – that fiction needs to be able to fulfill. It would be terribly boring and limited if we were only ever allowed to write about Real Life and nothing else. It needs to be complicated, dark, escapist, unreal, twisted, and whatever else. This means absolutely zilch about what the consumers of this fiction believe, act, or do in their real lives.

Once more, I do note the misogyny underlying this. Nobody, after all, seems to care what kind of books or fictional narratives men read, and there’s no reflection on whether this is teaching them unhealthy patterns of behavior, or whether it predicts how they’ll act in real life. (There was some of that with the “do video games cause mass shootings?”, but it was a straw man to distract from the actual issues of toxic masculinity and gun culture.) Certain kinds of fiction, especially historical fiction, romance novels, and fanfic, are intensely gendered and viewed as being “women’s fiction” and therefore hyper-criticized, while nobody’s asking if all the macho-man potboiler military-intrigue tough-guy stereotypical “men’s fiction” is teaching them bad things. So the panic about whether your average woman on the internet is reading dark fanfic with an Unhealthy Ship (zomgz) is, in my opinion, misguided at best, and actively destructive at worst.

[wolf-queer-discourse]

Adventures in Aphobia #3

My last two Adventures in Aphobia both took on similar flavors of eye-rolling at shameless, obvious bigotry to anyone willing to look or care. But today, I found a different type of aphobia, and I’m actually eager to talk about this one. Have a read of this first.

Look, the bar of respect for ace people is so low it’s all the way in hell, but I mean, to many people, especially allosexual people, they may look at this post and think, “No, this isn’t aphobia. The poster wasn’t blatantly cruel.” But what some fail to realize is that politeness can be the thinnest of veils over the ugliest of takes. Polite bigotry gaslights the victims into thinking they can’t be upset about this.

So what’s the deal with this post?

PARAGRAPH #1 starts off innocently enough, saying ace discourse wouldn’t exist if people recognized complex relationships to sex and relationships. Even taken on its own, I do not agree with this. Ace discourse ranges all the way from outright denial of asexual existence to the strong hatred for and exclusion of aces from the queer community. Nearly everyone recognizes people have complex relationships to sex...that...that doesn’t mean ace people won’t be discriminated against. In fact, it’s an argument aphobes use constantly to try and gaslight ace people into erasing themselves. Ace discourse comes from a lot of places, but at the end of the day, it all stems from people’s refusal to acknowledge ace people and their unique experiences. This poster absolutely does not get to say “IT’s CoMpLicAteD”, and expect ace people to just disappear. Honestly, it’d be better and more honest if they said “Lol, ace people should go fuck themselves and hop to the back of the line with everyone else.”

PARAGRAPH #2 and #3 are not very objectionable on their own. Everything said is true. Society has very complicated views on sex, and life happens to all people. The ugly part of this is that the poster is setting up an argument here in which they will hand wave ace people into the “everyone else” crowd and pretend as if we’re all just too similar and no labels should even exist.

This is literally what enby-phobes do. They say “Well, gender is COMPLICATED”, which is true, but then they say “So like...aren’t we all really nonbinary when we think about it? Why should enby people label themselves?” I swear we’ve all seen this. The poster is agender. This argument could easily be whipped in their face. Different forms of bigotry can share very clear overlaps, and it’s very important to acknowledge where these arguments come from and why they exist. It exists as a way to shut people up. It happens to bi people too! Every day, people come out as bi and someone tells them “pff, everyone thinks girls are hot. I had a crush on my best friend once, that doesn’t mean I’m not straight! All people are like this!” Let’s call out this erasure where we see it. It’s not the same thing, and if anyone saying stuff like this truly believes what they’re saying, maybe they’re the ones who need to reevaluate their own identity.

PARAGRAPH #4 dips its ugly toes straight into blatant aphobia, having the gall to call ace and aro people “obsessed” with pretending their relationships with sex and romance are wholly unique and different. Nah, fuck right off with that bullshit. The poster even goes on to say ace people have created entire new social classes. Uh...WHAT? Is there some secret ace society with a caste system living in the shadows?? What is this person talking about?? I suppose you can’t be a true bigot unless you have some vague grievance to weakly hand-gesture at that you couldn’t prove given 20 years to do so. For the love of my sanity, just say you hate ace people! It’s okay! (I mean, not actually, but Jesus Christ does it save us all some time). They also say things like “somehow excluded from”. Replace asexual people with nonbinary people and take a joyride through this section, because the arguments are scarily similar. What would it take for this poster to acknowledge ace and aro people have their own experiences? Seriously, what? What holds you back from doing this?

It’s also funny to note the actual lack of substance to this argument. The poster is not giving any specific examples or even bringing up what being ace and aro mean. Yes, there is a pretty noticeable difference between feeling sexual attraction and not feeling sexual attraction. How many “allo” people do you know that say they’ve NEVER experienced this? Come on. The poster reduces asexuality and aromanticism down to allo people’s, in their own words, hyper-specific contexts where they don’t want sex or love. At least the poster admits any circumstance that allo people are comparable to ace people are extremely specific. But for real, are we hinging a whole argument on a few very specific examples of allo people having some similarity to ace people?

“Nothing about your relationship to sex or love makes you more or less LGBT. If you are gay and don’t want to have sex, ever, you are still gay. “

Mini strawman alert for the idea any ace person thinks you’re less gay if you’re also ace. And bonus points for an aphobe who refuses to use the definition of asexuality: not experiencing sexual attraction, and instead goes for “don’t want to have sex”. For the last. Fucking. Time. Not wanting to have sex and being asexual are NOT the same. Don’t make me pour gasoline in my eyes every time I see this.

After this, the poster goes on a tangent, which by the tone, seems to think it's very inspiring, and says no matter how you want to have sex (including only certain days of the week), you’re still straight! It’s so fucking condescending and gross to talk ace people out of their own identity like this.

“EVERY person who is heterosexual is different in how they perform or experience.”

Oh. My. GOD. THEY DIDN’T EVEN SAY STRAIGHT. THEY SAID HETEROSEXUAL. WUGGYUEGYUG. God help me. Can one be both bisexual and heterosexual? No…? Okay. So then. How is one both asexual AND heterosexual? What single brain cell in this poster’s head was responsible for this Chad of a sentence? I—

*deep breath* 

So. It’s interesting how the poster says “perform or experience it”. Asexuality is an identity. It is not a performance, and it is not defined by your actions. A straight person not having sex does not become asexual. And sure...people with the same label can experience their sexuality differently, but...to a point, guys. You can’t experience your sexuality out of the DEFINITION of the label. Heterosexual: Sexual attraction to the opposite gender. Asexual: Sexual attraction to no one. If a “heterosexual” isn’t sexually attracted to anyone, they are by definition, not heterosexual. It takes insane mental gymnastics to make this argument, so A for flexibility, I guess? 

“Gayness, straightness, and bisexuality are not defined by HOW you do or don’t want sex or HOW you do or don’t want to date, it’s just defined by WHO you want to be with.”

The first part of the sentence is correct, but it also defeats this person’s entire argument. Ace people AGREE with this. Being asexual is not the act of not having sex!! It’s not experiencing sexual attraction! You can google this! The second part of the sentence is mostly correct, depending on your interpretation. The issue is in part with the words the poster used: gayness, straightness and bisexuality. These words are not all equivalents. Gay could refer to sexual and or romantic orientation. Thus an ace gay person. Straightness is not actually an equal word to gayness. This is because straight is an exclusive term for a normative sexuality (in society’s eyes) in terms of sexual and romantic attraction. Some ace people DO call themselves straight, though it’s inaccurate. Ace people can be heteroromantic, but because being straight is so exclusive, you need to be both sexually AND romantically attracted to only the opposite gender.

The post basically ends telling ace people they’re all actually straight and were just confused the whole time. Lovely. And an erasure of gay aces too! Believe it or not, gay ace people do not like having their ace identities erased. Who’d have guessed?

Honestly, if anything this post is just kind of sad. A sad reflection of what people believe and how they truly do not see their own bigotry. They believe they’re freeing ace people from an incorrect label. They’re the heroes.

They’ll say “it’s okay, you’re not asexual” as if they've like...lifted a burden off of ace people. Like, “Oh, you think I’m not asexual? Cool, cool. Glad you cleared that up for me!” It’s sad how aphobes think, some very genuinely, that asexuality is just some high school party that went off the rails, and we’re all just coming out of the drunken haze, ready to go home. Ready to all laugh about it later, tease one another about how wild and silly it all was. 

Having your identity erased like this is fucking horrible, and I hope people like this can take a look in the mirror and see themselves clearly. All ace and aro people have a right to their identity, whether gay, bi, heteroromantic or anything else. End of story.

[logically-asexual]

Hold me like you mean it

summary:

Logan’s feelings for Virgil and the fact that now Virgil barely notices him are stopping him from getting any work done. Janus offers a way for Logan to cope, by disguising himself into Anxiety. but is this really what Logan needs? and what’s in it for Janus, anyway?

Alternatively, an angsty story about rejection, denial, and manipulation.

warnings: (for the whole fic) unrequited love, rejection, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, gaslighting, dependency, dubious consent and non consent for kissing, sad ending, depression (vaguely described), angst in general, nightmares, self harm. let me know what else i should add.

taglist: @gummibearbullet @chara-07 @the-sympathetic-villain

Read on AO3

Chapter 4

| First | | Previous | | Next |

words: 1281

important: i added another warning (self harm) because of something that happens very briefly later in the story. stay safe!

In spite of his lack of rest, Logan’s day went on without difficulties. He felt almost disappointed in himself for not being able to take full advantage of the effective communication he had established with Virgil, needing instead Deceit’s assistance to keep his own mind under control, but he reminded himself that he was Logic. He couldn’t control everything occurring in the world, he could just try his best to make sense of it, and to find a way to work with it. He managed to go through the day finding tasks to distract himself from speculating about his appointment with Janus later, until the hour finally arrived.

When the alarm rang five minutes before six, he stood up from his desk and picked up an empty notebook and a pen. After all, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to gather data about Deceit’s room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the effects it might have. Once ready, he made his way to the selfish Side’s door and knocked.

Janus opened the door, showing a pleased smile upon seeing Logan. “My, my, what do we have here?”

“We agreed that I would meet you at this location and time.” He deadpanned.

“Right, of course. Come in.” He said, gesturing dramatically with an open hand towards his room.

Logan walked in, carefully studying the place, although he couldn’t see much of it. Once the entrance was closed, the space seemed to be even darker than Anxiety’s room, leaving visible only objects around one meter or closer to where he stood. It didn’t help that the black-tiled floor was so clean that it reflected the furniture on it, making it even more difficult to orient himself. Thankfully, Janus noticed the hesitancy in his steps and offered an arm for him to hold on to.

He was guided to a dark grey loveseat, where they both sat down. Logan went to pull out his notebook from his pocket, but realized that he didn’t have it. It was an odd occurrence, but perhaps he forgot it. He’d have to rely on his memory.

“First of all,” Logan began, “we need to agree on a measure for me to be able to distinguish between you and Virgil.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

“This isn’t for fun. The objective of this activity is to clear my mind of the unwelcome thoughts and emotions that hamper my work. I thought I made that clear.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “What do you propose?”

“Considering your past failed attempts to impersonate us, I think the most logical option is that you wear Virgil’s old jacket.” This would also help the act be more credible, since Virgil and Logan’s relationship was closest when he used to wear that hoodie, but Logan thought that argument was too emotional to confess in front of Janus.

Janus gave him a knowing smile, before he shifted into Virgil’s old appearance, including the less intense eyeshadow. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, and whispered. “So, Logic. What do you want to do?”

Even though Janus’ impression was unnervingly accurate, Logan felt awkward, and found it hard to let go. Nevertheless, he leaned back and made an effort to believe the lie.

“We could watch together one of those troubling documentaries about paranormal events that- that you like. I enjoy pointing out the inconsistencies and misconceptions in them.” He replied timidly.

Virgil smiled at him and materialized a laptop. He laid it gently on Logan’s lap and pressed play on the documentary as he sat closer, extending his arm on the back of the couch behind him. It was a little too close for Logan’s comfort, moreso after a few minutes, when Virgil moved his hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Um... Vir- I mean, Janus. I would rather take this slow, and keep the relationship strictly platonic, so that the experience isn’t too overwhelming.”

“Sure thing.” He replied, with no trace of Janus’ voice or tone, but the only movement he made was to withdraw his hand to the back of the cushion.

Gradually, Logan was able to feel more at ease, snickering occasionally at the other’s commentary on the film. He didn’t notice that the hand had been back on his shoulder until he felt it rubbing circles soothingly, but at this point he didn’t mind. He still felt somewhat nervous, but he attributed it to being in Anxiety’s room. Virgil had been very kind to invite him into his personal space, so he wasn’t going to protest now.

He didn’t protest either when Virgil hugged him tighter, moving his arm from his shoulders to his waist. The documentary had ended and they started a second one after laying the laptop on a small table in front of them. Logan was captivated by the mystery in this story, but Virgil seemed less focused, directing his attention to Logan’s face instead.

A sensation of unease kicked in as he felt a cold kiss being pressed to the side of his forehead. His mind reminded him weakly about Deceit, but the thought was easily pushed away by the satisfaction and warmth he felt about his affection for the other Side being reciprocated. A second kiss followed and his cheeks flushed immediately. Logan turned away slightly, hoping to convey that he wasn’t confident about this kind of intimate display. Virgil gingerly moved his free hand to hold his chin between his fingers. There was no strength in his hold, but Logan felt his head turn on its own to face the other’s. He registered that the volume of the laptop had lowered, and that his field of vision became narrower, making only the side in front of him visible. His deep brown eyes were half-lidded as they looked into his own.

After his previous two experiences with being this close to Anxiety, Logan was wary of what would follow. However, this was still what he had wanted, what he needed. He was now convinced that this was the only way, and once again closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

This kiss felt different to the one in his dream, it was more present, more real (logically). There were many sensations and textures that Logan’s brain hadn’t been able to imagine in his sleep, like the surprising coldness of the other’s lips, or the softness of the wet gliding of their mouths. Most remarkable, though, was the drive Logan felt to keep going. This impulse was unexpected, and unlike any other non-physical sensation he had ever experienced. He had always been analytical with his actions, driven only by a clear, meaningful objective, but in this situation there was no goal, only the necessity of maintaining contact.

Even so, he had to pull away after a few seconds, because the overwhelming new experience had left him out of breath. Virgil allowed him to take a minute to collect himself and decide if he wanted to continue, but before he could make a decision, both were startled by a beeping sound. It came from Logan’s watch, apparently it was already eight, and he had to move on with his scheduled activities.

Logan quickly turned off the alarm, feeling like he had just been woken up from a dream, and turned back to Janus, who looked once again like his regular self. Embarrassed, Logan stood up and excused himself, before clumsily making his way towards the now slightly visible exit on the other side of the room. He closed Janus’ door behind him with a little too much force, eager to be back in his own room as soon as possible.

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notes: it's begun!

this chapter is a bit of a mess but it's supposed to be like that because my boy logan is confused.

[insufferablelust]

Pretty Little Thing, (I)

Hi! i’m back to bring new mini series i’ve been working on during my hospital stay! i hope you wnjoy this! and give me your feedbacks! thank you.

Warnings : this series will be filled with Adult content, upcoming smut, murder, psychotic behaviors, dark kinks, traumatic events, manipulation, gaslighting, and isolation. It started out as Professor!Spencer x Reader, but it’ll progress to Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader. WITH PLOT TWIST heheh, enjoy.

MASTERLIST.

——————

Y/A/N was never the one to rush into classes, she always took her time and were never late. She’s the epitome of perfect straight A’s student, many teacher’s pet. And to say that she has a lot of people who would want to see her struggle was an understatement, one of those people would be Spencer Reid.

Weird to imagine a professor who would want to see his student fail, yet something about her irked Spencer beyond belief. Maybe it’s the natural tension between them ever since she walked into criminal psychology, most of his students were either had a slight interest on the subject or just on him— but Y/A/N she seemed to have an interest on both. The moment she stepped into his class, he was intrigued by her, not just her outstanding beauty but also the way she responds, her body language and her overall demeanor.

Spencer was aware that she was your typical good girl, but something about the glint in her eyes just doesn’t settle well with the good girl esque that she was portraying. There was something much darker about her, that much he knew— being a profiler and an iq of 187 would tell him that, but this time it was his guts talking to him. She raised her hand almost every time he asked questions to his class, even when he thought it was a rhetorical question. She managed to frustrate him in ways he gets so fed up that he needed to do some research on who she was. Truly.

And what he had found might as well killed him on sight, digging through files of her faces, confusion rake over his brain like storms. Initially, he was going to do some background check, maybe she turned out to be a child prodigy just like him. But what he found shattered his every thought, There she was, with different hair styles and colors, different contact lenses, styles, her various names scattered through tons of criminal data bases.

Spencer gulped as he saw her amongst the women affiliated with Cat Adams, the woman who put him in jail, the woman who irked him to no end just like Y/A/N now. His eyes kept on glazing over the files on Garcia’s laptop, tying her to more evidence that she was in fact not the girl everyone thought she was— god how old even is she? She’s good at hiding, and he knows it.

“Well genius, have you finished stalking that fellow super genius student of yours?” Garcia popped her head back inside her bat-cave as she carried two mugs, one over sugared coffee and one tea for her. As she sat down, she finally realized that Reid was pale— as in ‘horrified’ looking pale.

“Reid, hey what did you—“ Penelope left her jaw open when she finally saw the two matching photos from the face recognition program of a uni student and next to it was a wanted assassin named,

“Y/N Y/l/N...” Spencer beat Garcia on saying her name, the only thing in his mind was ‘Y/N, Y/N, Y/N’ his head spinning as he tried to rake through his brain, trying to find a reason why he didn’t recognized a wanted assassin- Cat’s close relations in his class. He finally looked up to a seemingly horrified Garcia and muttered a pained, “We have to tell the team.”

—————

“The Unsub is 24 years old Y/N Y/l/N, She has been under the radar since Catherine Adams’s arrest back in 2015, we believed that she is one of the Hit woman working alone with Cat at the time of her arrest even going as far as recent.” Prentiss placed her hand inside her pants pocket as she looked at Tara to continue the profile which being given to FBI agents as well as International crime task force. Her eyes then flickered to Spencer, which seemed to be occupied by the face recognition photos still.

“She’s a very well trained assassin, she was taught to manipulate, to hide in plain sight, and most likely is multilingual.” Tara continued,

“She’s a dangerous serial killer, her targets has always been men with higher status, She’s narcissistic, most likely misandristic, and psychopathic.”

“We believed that she hasn’t been killing in over 2 years, but now started again because her partner was executed few months ago.” JJ took a deep breath as she continued after Alvez,

“Cat Adam’s execution is her stressor, she knows we’ll find her, that’s why she risked on changing her identity to Y/A/N, a student of SSA Spencer Reid. We have every reason to believe that he’s her next target which makes her our primary target, and now that she have our attention, let’s get her before she continue her plans.” Prentiss finished, nodding off to the field agents, before turning back up to the meeting room where Reid was.

“Reid you know that—“

“How can i not recognized her? we profiled her years ago, she was in one of Cat’s list, and how did i missed it?” Spencer stresses, hands gripping the table tightly and breathing heavily.

“Listen to me, you found her, you knew something was wrong and you followed your guts, and we will get her Reid.”

—————

Y/N delicately put on the white knee high socks before slipping into her converse and slip her pocket knife onto the small strap on her thigh— smiling at herself as she applied the pink lipgloss then grabbed her bag and head out to campus. She looked over her watch excitedly as she realized who’s class she’s going to spend the first period at.

She parked her car on the usual spot as she preparing to get out, but something caught her eyes just before she opened her car door,

FBI Agents, everywhere. Her eyes widened as she hurriedly presses the reverse pedal and returned to the way where she first came, hoping none of those agents could realized that was her car.

————

I let out a frustrated scream as i went as far as the gas pedal would allow me to in this godforsaken traffic, my mind race back to the campus that was swarmed with Agents, to other people that might blend in like college kids— but not to me, the earpiece their glasses, and years of hiding from them has taught me well.

“Fucking Adams!” I punched the steering wheel when the red clouded my vision, my knuckles all bruised and my hair out of place. This is not how its supposed to go, i was supposed to be Y/A/N not the Y/N who cat claimed to be an assassin. She could still control my life even from underneath her grave, i chuckled as i sped up down the highway to the one place i could release all of my anger at.

As soon as i reached Cat and I’s old place, i can’t help but to tear the whole place down, smashing every piece of furniture i could lay my eyes and hands on, screaming on top of my lungs and let myself be numb to the pain of the sharp glass nick and slice through my skin.

After i’m sure there’s nothing left to break, i sat on my knees— feeling the hardwood floors dig through my skin and cried as loud as i can. “You fucking bitch, stop destroying my fucking life!”

“Y/N Y/l/N put your hands on the air and hand us your weapon!”

——————

Taglist is open! just message me or leave me an ask!

upcoming fics : the artist and his muse (vii), and few requests that i’m working on.

Thank you for your patience for the past few days, hopefully things will get better soon and i can be more productive!❤️

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 29 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: While Daryl and the others are fighting their way through Alpha’s trap, the reader comes face to face with their fear as Beta enters Alexandria. 

Word Count: 4826

Warning: Swearing, Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes

Note: So, this scene is a bit different. Judith is not in Alexandria at the moment as she’s with her mom in Hilltop. I am not removing Michonne from the story like she is in the show. So, this fight is gonna play out a bit different!

-------

Arriving back home in Alexandria, Enid words followed you.

She was right, Lydia should not have been out there alone and it would be your fault if she got hurt or worse, fell back into the hands of her mother.

Even as you walked down the darkening streets of Alexandria, there was a part of you that didn’t care if Alpha took more lives and that terrified you. You loved your friends, your family, but if collateral damage was necessary for Beta and Alpha to die, then so be it. 

The bitter taste in your mouth followed you as you walked towards home. When you noticed Rosita pacing outside the cell, you slowed.

“What are you doing?” you asked. Rosita looked up at you and then walked forward wrapped her arms around you. 

Confused, you hugged her back before letting go. “Ro?” you asked again. 

“Sorry, I’m just… A lot has been happening,” she said. 

“Like what? I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Gamma is here,” Rosita said, gesturing towards the cell. 

“What?” you asked, glancing towards the small window. 

“She arrived earlier, said she wants to help us,” Rosita said. 

“And you believe her?”

“I don’t know. That’s why she’s locked up,” Rosita explained. 

“You think she’s another spy?”

“No,” Rosita said, shaking her head. “Though, I don’t know what to do with her. I keep thinking about when Dwight switched sides.” Nodding, you understood where she was coming from. Dwight had given you valuable information that helped you win the war against Negan and his men. 

“Dwight had someone he cared about pushing him forward,” you reminded her. “Sherry was everything to him.” 

“Gamma has her nephew,” Rosita reminded you and you knew she was right. Earl had taken in the Whisperer baby after Connie had saved him from his mother abandoning him in the sorghum field. 

“Is Adam enough?” you asked. 

“I hope so,” Rosita said. “I don’t know if we can win this fight without her help.”

“Is that willingness I hear, Espinosa?” you asked. 

“It just might be, (Y/L/N),” Rosita countered. 

“Well, what does Daryl think? Michonne?”

“Michonne is a bit MIA at the moment. She’s travelling from Oceanside or to Oceanside, I don’t really know. Daryl however, is gone.” 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you asked, suddenly concerned.

“He, Jerry, Aaron, Connie, Kelly, Magna, and Carol got a lead on the horde. They went looking for it,” Rosita explained and you could see that she was worried as well. Sighing, you rubbed at your temples. This was why Carol had wanted you home. She needed someone to watch the front lines so she could go find Alpha’s Walkers. 

“They should have waited for me,” you said, clenching your fists. 

“I think one unstable person is enough,” Rosita mumbled and then realized what she said. 

“Nice,” you quipped, storming past her. 

“(Y/N)!” Rosita tried, but you kept walking, not wanting to hear what she had to say. You weren’t stupid, you knew that you had been acting irrationally. That much was clear and you could see that when it came down to it, you were not thinking clearly. However, you couldn’t get Beta’s face out of your head. 

It would be a cold day in Hell before you let him win. Then again, you felt as if the last decade had been Hell on Earth. Still, you pushed on, ignoring the worried looks of your friends as you headed to your house. 

Gabriel was coming out of Rosita’s house as you passed the front steps and he looked as if he was going to say something, but didn’t. Considering how pissed you were, he must have figured it was better to give you a moment alone. 

Shoving open your front door, you let it slam behind you. You went straight to your garage. The overhead gaslight illuminated the myriad of maps laid out on your workbench only reminded you of the failure you had experienced when trying to find Negan. Lashing out, you swept your hand across the table, scattering the maps across the map. 

Bracing your hands on the table, you struggled to keep it together. “I really need you,” you whispered to the empty room. A single tear dripped onto the old wood and you scrubbed the second from your cheek. Your knees sunk to the floor as you began to feel the loss of him again. 

“He’s not dead,” you reminded yourself. “He’s out there.” Even as you encouraged yourself, Negan’s face remained behind your eyes. Negan being alive was the only thing that was keeping you going. 

Sitting there on the floor of your garage, you thought back to a conversation you had during the war against the Saviors with the one and only Rick Grimes. 

Eight Years Ago…

“Hey, Boss,” you said as you walked into Rick’s house. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Rick said with a small smile. 

“Ah, well, it’s a force of habit. You are, in fact, our boss. One that I am more than willing to follow.” 

“Well, thank you, (Y/N),” he said. 

“So, what’s up?” you asked, hopping up on the counter of his kitchen. 

“I need your advice on something,” he said. 

“Is this about Dwight?” you asked. “Because if it is, then I have to tell you that I don’t trust the weasel, no matter what he told Daryl.” 

“It’s not,” Rick said with a small frown. “It’s about Negan,” he said. 

“What about him?” 

“Carl thinks that he’s more than we think,” Rick said. 

“More than a psychopath who murdered our friends?” you asked, not liking where this is going. 

“Carl thinks we can reason with him.”

“And I think that the dinosaurs are going to come back,” you deadpanned. Rick gave you one of his looks, but you weren’t deterred by it. “Come on, Grimes, you don’t actually think that we can resolve all of this by a damn conversation, do you?” 

“I want the killing to stop,” Rick said. 

“I know, I know,” you said. “I just don’t want you to lose focus.”

“You think I should kill him?” Rick asked, but you paused. Taking a moment, you reviewed everything that had happened since the Satellite Station. 

“I think,” you began, “that you should do whatever is necessary to protect our people.” 

“What if that doesn’t include killing Negan?” Rick asked.

“Then it doesn’t,” you said with a shrug. “Look, I don’t know the man. I haven’t had the opportunity to actually speak to him or see what’s behind the cocky grin so I can’t speak on his character. I believe in a person’s actions and so far, Negan’s have been horrendous. Do I think that maybe one day he can be a decent person? Yeah, sure. I don’t think anyone is truly lost, but the future is a long ways away and we need to think about surviving now.” 

Rick was quiet for a moment before he looked back up at you and nodded. He then reached out and gripped your forearm and you mirrored the movement. “Thanks, Shots,” Rick said, using Carl’s nickname for you. 

“I’m always gonna be here, Rick. I ain’t never leaving you behind,” you promised. Rick smiled at you. 

“I know,” he said. “You never leave anyone behind. That’s why I love you so much, kid.” 

“Not a kid,” you reminded him. 

“Shut up and take the compliment,” he said and then you pushed him back. Rick feigned surprised and then pushed you back. The two of you ended up wrestling in the kitchen, laughing the entire time. Regardless of what was to come, you would be by his side as one of his closest friends and that was all that mattered.

--------

A loud thud pulled you from your thoughts. 

You waited, listening, and when you heard it again, you grabbed your sword and slipped out the side door, picking up a spare radio on the way. 

Pausing out front of your house, you searched the darkness around you. Something felt off and it made your skin crawl. Drawing your blade from its scabbard, you began to walk along the sidewalk, checking around every corner you could find. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but your breath remained steady. You were trying to rationalize that it could have been anything. Maybe a stray animal had gotten in and couldn’t get out. However, there was a part of your brain that knew how ridiculous that was. 

You never got this particular feeling unless it was for a good reason, or rather, a bad one. 

Slipping in between the houses, you searched darkened windows, checking in on your fellow Alexandrians, but everything seemed to be okay. That is until you came across a specific house. You could hear dull thuds as if someone was redecorating at the odd hour. 

Sneaking up to the front window, you peered into the dark living room. Suddenly, a pair of white eyes and a gaping jaw appeared at the window, startling you. As the freshly-turned Walker fought to get to you through the pane of glass, you noticed the slash mark on its throat. One that a very particularly large blade would make. 

“Shit,” you swore and pulled your radio as you stumbled back from the house. “Gabriel?” you whispered into the radio as you tried to get your nerve back. 

“What is it?” he asked, answering your call. 

“Walkers, there are Walkers inside the walls,” you said, finally turning away from the house. 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, looking around. It was then that you noticed a trail of fresh soil on the ground. If you hadn't been trained by the best tracker out there, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. However, the large boot prints in the soil only confirmed the fear in your mind. That fear turned to rage as your eyes began to scan for your target. 

For Beta. 

“(Y/N),” Gabriel said. “What is going on?” You went to answer him when you had a realization. 

“Gamma,” you gasped as you took off running, letting the radio crash to the ground as you ignored Gabriel’s worried tone that crackled over the line. You pushed your legs harder to get to Michonne’s house as quickly as possible. 

Throwing yourself down the cement steps, you burst into the jail that had its door broken down. When you beheld what was in front of you, however, you nearly crumbled to the ground. Instead of Gamma, you found Laura on the floor with blood across her face. 

Sliding to her side, you grabbed for her face and neck, checking for a pulse. “Laura? Laura, wake up,” you begged. Her eyes opened weekly as she saw your face. 

“(Y/N)?” she asked. 

“I’m here,” you said, trying to wipe the blood from her face. Her blonde hair was soaked in her own blood as she struggled to stay awake. “It’s going to be okay,” you promised her. As you pulled back your hand, however, they were drenched in red. 

“Beta,” she choked out as blood dripped from her lips. “Run,” she said, gripping at your shirt with weak fingers. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said to her as she kept staring into your eyes. “You’re not alone,” you whispered. Gripping her hands tight, you felt her trying to return the favor, but she was too weak. “Where is Gamma?” you asked her. 

“Got her out,” Laura said. “Safe… I… Think…” she said just as a tear fell from her eye. “I, I can’t,” she struggled. 

“Shh, don’t talk,” you said, trying to soothe her, but you didn’t have any more words of comfort to offer her. How could you tell her everything was going to be alright when he had done this? 

“Eugene,” Laura sputtered, choking a bit. “Tell him, thank...you.” 

“I will,” you promised as she reached for your face once more before her hand fell to her side and Laura drew her final breath. “No, no, no,” you cried as her pulse dwindled and then stopped altogether. “No!” you yelled, clutching her body to yours. It was as if the world stopped spinning. You knew that there wasn’t a guaranteed amount of time, you knew that and you had to finish it before she came back. There was a universal agreement across all the communities, nobody turned.

Pulling the knife from her belt, you quickly slipped it into the base of her skull, silencing her soul. As you pulled the blade, you fell into her again, hugging her close to you. Your tears mixed in with the dirt and blood on her skin as you clung to her, not ready to let go.

“I’m sorry,” you cried into her neck, holding onto her with dear life. “I’m so sorry.” As sorrow filled you, the anger began to boil over, nearly drowning you. Beta had done this. He had taken yet another person from you and probably enjoyed it too. Laura had been given a second chance after the war and he had stolen her life as if it meant nothing. 

Gently placing her down onto the floor of the jail, you shut her eyes with your steady hand. Taking a deep breath, you got to your feet and gripped your sword tight. Looking down at Laura again, you felt your heart breaking, but you ignored the pain and channeled it into fury. 

A loud crash came from above followed by a loud grunt. Turning from the body of your dead friend, you ran from the cell just to see Beta run from Michonne’s home, his knives in both his hands.

His large form was even more terrifying than you remembered. Daryl’s voice was in your head as you were reminded of what happened when Beta had fought him, but you weren’t Daryl and now, this was even more personal. 

As Beta turned his focus to Rosita’s home, you attacked. Drawing a smaller knife from your boot, you reeled your arm back and threw with all your strength. The knife embedded itself into Beta’s shoulder, making him stumble from surprise. You ran at him with all the speed you had left in you. 

Beta turned just as you raised your sword, aiming for his head. Beta ducked, parrying your blade with both of his. He knocked you back, but you returned with a strike aimed at his torso. Beta spun around, knocking you off balance, but you never stopped. 

Trading blows back and forth, you finally had another opening and aimed for his throat. Beta blocked once again, leaning in close as your blades scraped against one another. Looking into his eyes, you didn’t show an ounce of fear, but recognition lit up in his eyes as he groaned against the pain in his shoulder. 

“You,” he spat, his lips pulling back in a sneer. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Me.” Beta roared in anger as he kicked at your stomach, sending you to the ground. Rolling to your feet, you slashed at his leg, cutting into the back of his thigh. Beta stumbled again but remained on his feet. “Did you get my message?” you asked, lowering yourself into a crouch. 

He ran at you again, swinging his blades over your head. Ducking just in time, you avoided decapitation. “What did you do with Gamma?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” Beta said and then braced himself. “Yet.”

As Beta stalked towards you, all you could think about was Jesus and Tara and Laura and everyone else they had taken from you.

Red encompassed your mind as Beta aimed for your heart. With a quick turn, you pivoted on your right foot, ducked under his arms, and brought your sword up along his back. Your blade bit into his flesh as the leather tore. 

Beta yelled out in both pain and alarm as you drew your sword back. He whipped around, landing a blow to your head. You fell to the ground as stars danced in your vision. Beta kicked away your blade as it fell from your hand. Reaching down, he lifted you from the ground and got in your face.

“You are not worth death,” he spat in your face before throwing you against the curb. Your head hit hard and just before the darkness overwhelmed you, you swore you saw Beta smiling.

-------

Negan had no idea what Alpha was up to.

There were cryptic whispers around camp that led him to believe that Alpha had attacked Carol and the others, but he wasn’t sure of anything.

Then there was the Beta problem. Negan had no idea where the human Rottweiler had gone. 

Alpha was across from him, staring into the fire and she looked to be waiting for something. Negan wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but whenever she was that calm, it was never good. Just as he was about to speak up and ask her what was going on, her attention snapped to the shadows as Beta finally reappeared.

Negan watched as the second-in-command arrived and he looked rough. Even in the dark, Negan could see that Beta was injured. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think the Terminator douchebag could get injured, let alone bad enough to warrant a limp.

“Beta,” Alpha greeted as she didn’t move from her spot. Beta stopped before her, kneeling on the leg that seemed to be the less injured one.

“Gamma has betrayed us,” Beta reported. He then noticed that Negan was there, but Alpha kept her attention on her second, not caring about who was listening. 

“What happened?” Alpha asked, looking at the fresh blood. 

“She was hiding,” Beta said. “I couldn’t find her. These people are protecting her.” Negan had to hand it to Aaron, the man sure did know how to make friends. Negan continued to listen. 

“And the blood?” Alpha asked tilting her head to examine the wounds he had sustained. Her fingers threaded through the torn jacket and Negan could see the blood on her hands as she pulled it back. “Yours?” she asked, confused. 

“Ambushed,” Beta responded. 

“The archer is with Carol,” Alpha said. “Who else could have done this?” she asked. Clearly Alpha thought that Daryl was the only worthy opponent to go up against Beta, Negan thought. However, she had never seen Rosita when she went all “Mama Bear” and Negan hoped that he himself would never be on the other end of one of Espinosa's fists.

“Broadsword,” Beta bit out, the rage echoing out of him like steam on a train. At that one word, Negan’s blood ran cold. He tucked his hands under his legs before either of them could see the small tremor that was sneaking up on him. Negan fought to keep himself from swearing out loud as he put the pieces together. 

You had attacked Beta and you had nearly defeated him. 

“Are they alive?” Alpha asked casually. 

“For now,” Beta said. “I have plans for them. That one, dies by my hand.” Alpha nodded to him and then dismissed him to get his injured taken care of.

“What do you know about this sword-wielder?” Alpha asked him. Negan met her eyes and then relaxed further into the ground, shrugging one of his shoulders. With a lazy look on his face he vaguely waved a hand. 

Beta huffed and disappeared back into the camp. Negan watched after him, trying to keep it together. He knew that you had placed your sights on Beta, but now the man was turning his on you and that terrified Negan. 

“Absolutely nothing.”

-------

When you woke up, you were in a somewhat familiar room. 

An ache in the back of your head made you wince as you tried to sit up.

“I would take it easy if I were you.” Blinking, you turned towards the soft voice to see Enid standing over you. It was then that you realized you were in the medical trailer at Hilltop. “Here,” she said, reaching for your arm. Enid helped you sit up, placing a few pillows behind your back. 

“What happened?” you asked, trying to get your mind to stop racing.

“Beta knocked you out pretty hard,” she said with a sigh. “You hit your head and you’ve been out for almost two days.”

“Two days?” you asked.

“Siddiq brought you here to keep you off Beta’s radar,” she explained.

“That won’t last long,” you said with another wince as you rubbed at your temples.

Everything from that night was coming back in waves and it was making you feel a bit nauseous. Emotions swelled in your chest as you remembered the rage you felt when attacking Beta and the sorrow and dread you felt as Laura died in your arms.

Beta had done all of that just to find Gamma. A stranger had brought death back to Alexandria and you now had lost someone who truly understood you.

“Laura’s dead,” you whispered.

“I know,” Enid said, reaching for your hand. You squeezed hers back as you sat in silence.

“Where is she?” you asked. “Where is Gamma?” 

“Safe,” a new voice said as Michonne approached you. She was looking at you with concern but also relief. 

“Good,” you said, nodding. If Gamma had been taken or killed, all those lives lost the night Beta stalked Alexandria would have been for nothing. “I’m glad you’re here,” you said to Michonne. 

“We’re all here,” Judith’s voice piped up as she appeared behind her mother. 

“Hey, you,” you said, reaching out a hand to her. Judith walked forward and took your hand in hers. “I almost got him, kid. I was pretty damn close,” you promised her. Judith nodded as Michonne placed her hands on her shoulders.

“There’s something else, (Y/N),” Michonne said. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Daryl’s missing.” You fell back into your pillows at the news and you fought the urge to scream. You didn’t know how much more of this you could handle. It was starting to look as if Alpha may win and that made you want to beat her that much more.

--------

Holding a mask made from Walker skin was the last thing Negan expected to receive from Alpha.

"You've earned it," Alpha said as she stood next to him. Standing next to her, he could see the blood that streaked her clothing. Something had happened when she went off on her own hours before. Negan figured she had been in a fight, but he couldn’t be sure who she had gone up against. 

He did know that it wasn’t you. Beta was someone who would be a challenge for you, but Negan had a feeling that if you got Alpha one on one, she wouldn’t be standing next to him right now. No, this was someone else. Trying not to think about any of it, he returned to what was in his hands. 

"Why?" Negan asked, not liking the way the leathery skin felt against his calloused hands.

"You were right about Gamma," Alpha said. She then stepped forward and ran her hand down his arm. "She was the spy. You proved yourself to me."

"All I did was share my opinion," Negan pointed out as he met her eyes. Alpha was examining him and Negan knew what she wanted. His hand slipped into his pocket to rub along the marble, keeping his connection to you.

"You showed me that you want this. You are a crass man, but a smart one. The mask proves my loyalty to you as your words proved it to me."

"Well alright then," Negan said with a small smile. With a shake of his head, Negan pulled on the mask and secured it behind his head.

He could appreciate the irony, the act of putting on a mask when he was already wearing one. As soon as it was in place, Alpha reached up and ran her hands over his new face.

"Perfect," she whispered. Negan stared down, afraid of what he may have to do in order to keep his cover. He had done a lot of shitty things in his life, but sleeping with the enemy was not something he was eager to do, not when he still yearned for you and your touch.

The way that you lay your hands on his skin was as if you were searching for solidity kept him sane. He was your rock, grounding you into this world just as you were his. Without you, Negan wouldn't want to survive and he just hoped you hadn't lost that love you held for him because he sure hadn't. 

“Since we are trading trade secrets and all,” Negan began, causing Alpha to stop looming over him. “I had another idea.” 

“Go on,” she said.

“I know you are all about destroying everyone and proving you’re the alpha female. Though it’s not like you need to, you are the damn Alpha.”

“Your point?” she pressed.  

“How about we get them to join us?” Negan offered. “You were right when you said that these places with their walls and doors don’t last very long. I’ve seen many kingdoms fall since this whole shit show started and trust me, it’s only a matter of time. However, we get them to see how much better the way we live is…” Negan splayed his hands. “I’m just saying it would be something to think about.” 

Alpha was silent for a moment, thinking over his words. Negan was just hoping that she didn’t see the true intentions behind this sudden epiphany. The truth was, after Beta had admitted that you had done some serious damage, Negan was not eager for Alpha to exterminate you and your family. 

“What did you have in mind?” Alpha asked finally. Adjusting the mask on his face, Negan grinned at her. 

“I have some ideas.” Alpha raised her eyebrow at that but gestured for him to keep talking. “First, we’re gonna need a big ass tree.”

-------

Enid had finally cleared you and you were eager to get back on your feet. 

Walking out into the bright sunshine, Hilltop was bustling around you. You felt as if you had the worst hangover in history, but you pushed on. Dianne was on watch, Alden was over at his blacksmithing station, and you could see Ezekiel over at Barrington speaking to Kelly who looked distraught. 

Aaron spotted you then and jogged over. “Hey, you’re okay,” he said, grabbing you into a hug. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said, pushing him back. “What happened while I was out?” you asked, gesturing to Kelly. Aaron sighed, running his hand through his curls. 

“Alpha, she trapped us in this cave full of Walkers. Her entire horde was down there,” he said. “We managed to find the exit, but…”

“But what?” you pressed.

“Carol tried to take out the horde with some old dynamite,” he said. “The explosion caused part of the cave to collapse.” The look on Aaron’s face told you enough. 

“Who?”

“Magna and Connie are trapped down there and we don’t know if they’re even alive,” he said. You hadn’t known Magna that well, but you liked her enough. However, Connie had become someone you turned to at times and you knew how much Daryl cared about her. Not to mention her sister who was her everything. This was too much after just losing Laura and now two more may be down.

“Are you okay?” you asked him. 

“Not really,” he admitted. You took him back into your arms, hugging him tightly. 

“Me neither,” you admitted, sinking into the embrace. 

“Open the gates!” you heard Dianne yell from her spot up top. You and Aaron split apart then and with a look, you both took off towards the main gate. 

You let out a breath of relief as you saw who was walking into Hilltop. Daryl and Lydia leaned on each other as the gates shut behind him. Daryl seemed dead on his feet as Lydia struggled with both of their weapons. You ran forward and grabbed the crossbow from her as Aaron took hold of Daryl. 

“Daryl fought her,” Lydia said as she breathed heavily. Daryl’s leg was bleeding, and he looked as if he had been run over by the horse and the carriage. Michonne came running behind you, helping Lydia stay on her feet. 

“You’re a moron,” you said to Daryl, grabbing at his face. “But I love you.” Daryl snorted and then you were taking his other arm and helping him to Enid. Lydia followed close by as Michonne carried her staff for her. “I’m sorry, Lydia,” you said to her. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go looking.”

“It was my decision,” Lydia defended. “I didn’t find him, but we have a new problem.” You, Aaron, Michonne, and Daryl all looked at her then. 

“What is it?” Michonne asked. Lydia grimaced. 

“My mother’s coming.”

TAGS: @lucillethings​ @cameronsails​ @stark-dreams​ @amaroho​ @thanossexual​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @boom-bunny​ @delusionalteenagewhispers​ @scootankle​ @ritajammer21​ @writteriguess​ @tea-atfive​ @jennydehavilland​ @waspyyy​ @yespleasejayhalstead​ @hoemadegrace​ @writingdeadangel​ @huffledor-able541​ @pulplorrd​ @felicisimor​ 

[austarus]

Harry Wells x Reader Crisis of Infinite Wells (Part 4 of 5)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @moonymartell​ and @countlesswells​

** *Insert angel face emoji*

Word Count: 7267

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 5

‘Systems Online,’ a pop-up signal had indicated on the tablet you held with flashing red and white lettered lights. But the adrenaline in your veins would not subside. Taking in a breath of rushed air, you walked towards the monitors on jittery feet with the notion of checking on Nash. Looking back up at him, his eyes were shut, and his lithe body was reclined in the chair with machinery hooked up to him. You dread ball up in the pit of your stomach as silence hung in the air.

“Did it work?” Ralph questioned, glancing to everyone then back to you; confusion written on his face.

“Is there something that should have happened?” Barry followed up beside Ralph.

“Well if there was a big bang sound, followed by multiple spontaneous sparks flying everywhere and the room’s electricity short-circuiting along with small fires combusting from the machinery then we’d be in trouble.” You watched Nash’s neurological and physiological vitals rise and fall within homeostatic values on the monitors. Normal. Stable. “I- According to my theoretical calculations- yes, I’m getting science-y right now-,” you exhaled while you gestured with your hands as you spoke, “each psyche that had manifested itself into Nash’s being should have effectively split from his psyche and returned to their respective bodies in each dimension harboring a Harrison Wells doppelganger. Harry and the others hypothesized that their bodies must be unconscious, but alive in order for their psyches to remain intact within Nash’s mind.” The others looked unsure. You rubbed your exhausted eyes. “It’s just like how when you and Iris used the Mindscape Machine to enter into Nora’s mindscape when she went into Grace’s mind. Sherloque said you both would enter with your psyche’s and they had to be intact in Nora’s head in order to ensure you’d be able to return to your bodies unharmed. If the psyche is harmed and killed in any way, then the body essentially dies,” You took a step towards them away from the monitors with the tablet held close to you. “The reverse should be correct as well. If the psyche is absent from the body, the body must be preserved at stable levels in order for the psyche to return and realign itself in its proper body. That’s what we’re relying on. Hopefully they all made it back to their respective bodies.”

“In this case, it’s the multidimension of Wells,” Chester interjected, lowering his voice to a whisper. “So freaking cool.” Allegra rolled her eyes as she continued to cross her arms.

“Nash would have felt the absence of a Wells in his psyche if another doppelganger’s psyche had deteriorated due to its unconscious body not surviving. Wolfgang would be able to pinpoint who it is because he has a neurological roster of the Council of Wells that he had implemented into his own mind, therefore his own psyche.”

Iris spoke up after you finished, running a hand over her forearm as she resisted the urge to itch the patch of skin. Side effects from remaining in the Mirrorverse for too long. “So, they get back to their bodies. Then what? How are they going to get here?”

“Each Wells should be able to use their intelligence as well as tapping into their own resources on their Earth and use the dimensional coordinates they have to get relay their dimensional coordinates and the states of their Earth’s back to Earth-Prime,” You answered in a heartbeat with a snap of a finger. “Sherloque, Harry, and Wolfgang should be coming as soon as they wake up. They work fast and everything.”

“Ugh,” Cisco groaned in irritation, throwing his head back, “not Herr ‘off-you-go’ Wells.” The rest of us giggled at impending misery. “I swear if he makes one snide remark.”

“Wait, how do you know if we’ve got all the Wells and their dimensions? Is there some sort of algorithm the satellites are tracking?” Kamila added from beside Cisco. You watched his eyes melt a bit at the fact that she takes interest in understanding his areas of expertise like how he does to her photography and artistic nature.

You gave Cisco the honors of explaining that one. He turned to his lovely girlfriend. “My babies up in the heavens, god bless my mechanical genius, are calibrated with the finest technology to identify any molecular or subatomic shifts produced by any wave of dark matter or antimatter.” Kamila grinned at him as he continued. “But we won’t know for certain until Grumpy Cat, Tea Leaves, and Herr Prim-Posh Pants summon themselves through to correctly calibrate the DCP (Dimensional Communications Projector) to the actual dimensional values. You know, the Wells touch and all. God, but I swear if they break anything-”

“-They’re not,” you giggled as you cut off your annoyed friend, “I already told Harry that this area would be a ‘No Throw’ zone. The guys know better than to throw things that aren’t theirs too.”

“What about Nash?” Cecile pointed at the unconscious man.

Right, this part. “I will stay here to monitor any changes to his vitals until he wakes up. I already have a universal blood sample from our very own speedster in case Nash’s body were to start entering a state of flux. Barry’s cells should be able to repair any damage in Nash’s body if that were to happen. Just like he did to Ralph.”

“But Ralph’s body is pure elastic. It can bend and readjust itself to anything. Nash’s human.” You make a very excellent point, Cecile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already run tests on myself and Cisco in order to ensure that the small blood transfusion would work on non-metas.” You fist-bumped your bro, who nodded approvingly. “Tiny increments should be able to do the trick.” Cecile nodded at you, giving you a motherly proud look before it contorted into a pointed one. You knew what she was going to say, but before she had a chance to say it the meta alarm went off.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave things to you,” Barry smiled at you, before nodding everyone to the direction of the door.

“Don’t die out there,” you teasingly yelled at their retreating figure.

“We’ll try not to.”

“And Barry, you need to do a prognosis physiological and biochemical report on your body from using the artificial Speed-force. Can’t have you losing your speed halfway through the day.”

“Yes, mother, I’ll be home before dinner to do homework,” Barry snickered, as he waved you off as he left with the others.

You rolled your eyes playfully at your antics with him and the others. Taking a seat in front of the monitors, you gave Nash another look. No matter how many times I can joke around with the others, I still feel the weight of their lives on my shoulder. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your eyes flickered onto the screens. You need to wake up soon Nash. Running a hand through your hair as you set your head against your arm which leaned on the metal table. I need to know I didn’t kill you.

***

An hour had passed, and you felt your head was down to its last brain cell. You blinked slowly as you laid it against the cool metal. Nash was still unconscious, and you were starting to get worried. His vitals were still substantially at equilibrium. You shut your eyes for a moment. Allegra strode in with an annoyed look on her face as her eyes landed on Nash then to you.

“I don’t get why you care about him,” her rushed voice caused you to lift your head up. She continued while you quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why you’re wasting time watching over him. I mean after everything he’s done to me and the rest of us. Hell, he took your boyfriend away from you for some shit myth-busting. How is it that you still try to make yourself available to help someone like him?” It pisses me off and so does his existence!

“Allegra, Nash’s a human being too.”

“Ugh, whatever.” The young adult padded over to where some tech lied in attempts to obtain the thing that Cisco had described he needed.

“Ok, no. I can’t do this today.”

“Excuse me?” she narrowed her eyes at your change in tone. What’s got her panties all in a sudden twist?

“I’m am so tired of your bullshit attitude towards him,” You threw out, standing up from your chair with flared nostrils. “Your incessant whining when we don’t tell you every little detail about us, and how you treated the rest of us like dirt as if we haven’t been trying to stay by your side.”

“I haven’t-”

“Do you honestly not remember the way you treated Joe and Cecile? With rudeness and hostility and utter venom? When they had tried to get you to trust them to keep you safe from your cousin? How you were so pissy at Iris for not telling you about Team Flash? How you sneered and lashed out at Frost for trying to help you with your boy problems? We’re just going to sweep all that under the rug and call it a day?” You rhetorically asked with utter frustration. “And Nash, what is your problem with him? That he didn’t tell you that his adopted daughter who died right in front of him is your doppelganger? That’s your reason to emotional and mentally abuse him?! Boohoo, he didn’t tell me the truth. I’m a journalist I have to know the truth.”

“I don’t know wh-”

How can one person be so selfish? “Yes, you do. I’m a family practitioner, I know the signs of abuse even if it isn’t physical. 1) The silent treatment you give him whenever he tried to approach you to see if you were alright or if you needed help. 2) Not taking any responsibility for your toxic behavior towards him. 3) Pushing him to the point where he questions himself and his sanity because of how much you openly despise him. 4) Leading him to believe almost everything that goes wrong around you is his fault when it’s not. That’s gaslighting. 5) Using shame and his guilt to make him feel worse about himself regarding problems he already deeply regrets and works every day to make up for it. 6) Appearing indifferent when he’s clearly hurt/sad/upset. That’s called lack of empathy. And 7) ignoring him when he’s trying to express his feelings or trying to explain himself to you, but obviously because of all of the above you never gave him the fucking chance.” I get that her upbringing was rough but isn’t it hypocritical of you to pry at everyone’s hidden secrets when you have some of your own. We barely know anything about you other than the CCPD records and your meta abilities.

You had taken a few steps closer to her, seething and seeing red. Allegra struggled to retaliate, “I didn’t know-“

“No, you clearly didn’t because every time he tried to talk to you, you always shot him down harshly. Nash tried to give you time and space, always hoping that you would be ready and one day just listen to him. Do you not know how hard it is to wake up every morning to see the doppelganger of your dead child? Do you not understand how hard it is for him to relive the memory of her death over and over again? How much grief he’s carried in his heart and all of a sudden, by a stroke of chance his daughter’s doppelganger is part of Team Flash on this Earth?”

“…”

“You call yourself a journalist, but only when you don’t get what you want. You used that card so many times against Iris, especially when you snooped on her computer and found out about the crisis.” You took in a breath from your heated speech to calm down. Your headed started to pound even more Never in your life have you gotten this ballistic. You counted to 10 and regained control of your breathing and your tongue. Allegra was downright speechless, stunned in her spot at your ebullient words. “I’m not sorry for everything that I’ve said. You needed to hear it to wake up from that closed off and childish world you live in. Because whether you like it or not, he’s family too. And he’s here to stay, just like you. That’s the truth. You have trust issues, even when you’re with us. All of us. You doubt yourself and hesitate. That’s another truth. And you just use him as a punching bag to let out your frustration and pent-up annoyance on someone who only wants to protect you. Penance for not being able to protect his own daughter.”

“I didn’t ask for him to protect me. I’m not helpless.”

“We don’t ask for a lot of things in life to happen, but they do so anyway. Barry got struck by lightning. Frost and Caitlin watched their father die. We’ve lost so many precious souls. But life goes on. Is Iris helpless when Barry saves her? Is it true when vice versa happens? Frost distracts the baddie in time for Cisco to work his tech magic. Is he helpless? Is Ralph helpless when Sue took down those assassins even though she knew he was Elongated Man who is more than capable of handling a few bullets?”

“I- No?”

“Having another person around isn’t a sign of weakness, but strength. Surrounding yourself with people who love you, who you can call family isn’t an exhibition of helplessness. Allegra, you have a home now. A family that will always want the best for you whether you choose to trust us or not. And no matter what happens, Nash’s resolve is to ensure your safety even though he knows you are your own person. For his dead daughter’s sake. That’s how he believes he can redeem all that he’s done. Is that wrong?”

“But he manipulated me and then basically started the crisis.”

“Then I guess you don’t know the full story about that either,” you mocked her. Some reporter, huh. “First off, Nash told you about Team Flash before Team Flash told you about Team Flash. Why? I can only assume that he wanted you to know before you found out the hard way. Meaning if something where to happen to you unexpectedly like Blackhole targeting you because of your affiliation with Iris. He wanted you to already be aware of them and to know who to go to in case things got rough. Secondly, he gave you the push you needed to not fear your powers. To trust yourself. He foresaw that you’d need your powers and so would the others. So, where in all of that does Nash win and leave you for ruin like Eobard Thawne has done to the others? Was it wrong for Nash to indirectly help you in his own awkward bargain-y kind of way?”

Allegra ran a hand through her hair as you spoke, wanting desperately to prove you wrong that Nash was just using her. “It’s just… weird. I’m her doppelganger, I’m my own person. I’m not… her. I don’t even know her name.”

“Her name is Maya and if you asked Nash, he’d be more than willing to tell you about her, and you’d see for yourself that you and she are not the same.”

Allegra nodded at your words, looking as if she would contemplate it. You hoped anyway. The man didn’t need to be broken further. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s honestly pretty simple to push his buttons a bit before he spilled his pent-up feelings to me after we exorcised Eobard out of him. And I’m pretty sure Harry’s been giving him hell for Nash’s unsuccessful attempts with talking to you.

“Who’s he again?”

“An evil murderous speedster that has a thing for ruining Barry’s life and ensuring his existence in the timeline. Not the first time that’s happened, but the crisis allowed for us to do an exorcism was very… eye-opening.” You grinned mirthlessly to yourself causing her to smile a bit. You sighed and took a seat, gesturing for her to take it. Rubbing your eyes, you spoke up, “Nash isn’t the only one.”

“I don’t understand”

“4 years ago, Zoom was terrorizing Earth-1 and Earth-2. A speedster that could breach back and forth if all 52 breach-points weren’t sealed. It was terrifying to say the least. Barry, Cisco, Harry, and I breached over to Earth-2 with a 24-hour time limit in saving Jesse. She’s Harry’s daughter. His pride and joy, his one weakness but his true.”

“You sound like she’s yours too.”

In a way, she kinda would be if- “She’s a brilliant young soul who rivaled her father in intelligence and had a high-spirited personality. Later on, she was accidentally gifted with speedster abilities when Harry and the others tried to regain Barry’s speed. Abilities that Harry still dreads to this day because he’s an overprotective grouch. You’d like Jesse if you met her. Any who, I’m going off topic-” You laughed to yourself. “We had a strict time limit to find her before Zoom and his meta-minions expunged us off the multiverse. And Barry, he went undercover after kidnapping his nerdy doppelganger- “

“-so, Barry basically kidnapped himself- “

“-Yeah. A lot of weird shit goes on with us, but those are all stories for another time.” You waved the thought off before continuing. “So, he was undercover, and he met up with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers on Earth-2’s Jitters. Barry couldn’t help himself when it came to protecting them when Earth-2 Killer Frost and her boyfriend crashed the little party in search for Barry and us. In the name of Zoom, they were sent out to kill of the breachers. Barry got involved when we were supposed to be incognito getting in and getting out. He sped E-2 Joe to the hospital and E-2 Iris away before she could shoot at E-2 Killer Frost. Even though, Harry told him that these doppelgangers were not his Iris and Joe, that he shouldn’t get involved with the people there. Barry saw the differences and, I kid you not, yelled at Harry that even if they were doppelgangers, they were still his Joe and Iris. He had a sense to protect them, just like Nash does for you.”

“That’s…”

 “It’s a lot, I know. We’ve all been through a lot in these past 6 years. Just… just think about it. Give Nash a chance to talk to you. To explain everything to you from his point of view. Because deep down, he knows you are your own person, but that you’re special just like Maya. Just as what Barry saw on Earth-2 with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers. Lives worth risking for.”

You watched as Allegra took in a breath, really letting everything sink in before nodding at you. The gem that Nash had given her was still in her jacket pocket. It amplified her UV powers into mentally confusing the person in front of her. She fiddled with the tech in her hands. “I need to go give this to Cisco. He’s probably wondering if I drowned or not.” You nodded at her with an understanding smile as she retreated out the speed lab. Sighing harshly, you allowed the tension to leave your body as you reclined back in your seat. You shut your eyes. I hope I made the right decision to speak my mind to her.

“Didn’t think you thought that highly of me.” Your eyes fluttered open as you took a sharp intake of breath. Nash chuckled to himself at your dismay. His head felt incredibly murky as he blinked the dark spots away. He remained reclined as he rolled his head to the side, the feeling of his limbs returning to him as he urged his fingers to twitch and curl.

“Nash?! You were awake the entire time?!” Nash just smirked languidly at your embarrassed outburst, ignoring the slight throbbing sensation in his head. “Why didn’t you chime in?”

He watched you slowly sit up with worriment. Nash noted your continued exhaustion. “I was intrigued on what you had to say on my behalf.”

“Worried I’d tell her to UV your existence off the planet?”

“No, you wouldn’t do that.”

“And how do you know that? I can be pretty mean.”

And pretty bossy when you berate me for running into danger. But in either case, still pretty. “I understand. But then the question begs, why would you go to such great lengths to defend me?”

“I didn’t defend just you, Nash.”

“But almost the entirety of the conversation revolved around me and how I felt. My regrets and intentional self-punishment. You could have told her that you didn’t care and that she could continue to give me the cold shoulder… but you didn’t. Isn’t that right, little lady?” Nash coyly mocked you, causing you to roll your eyes at the Wells doppelganger. “Like you said, I’m a human being as well.”

“And a dumbass,” you muttered in a hushed voice to yourself as the taller man moved to stand up, he swayed not quite oriented yet. You were on your feet at once to steady him back into his seat. “Let’s do a couple of tests before you do any gallivanting across the city.” You checked over the monitors, noting that some vitals had dropped below normal which could be due to him waking up from the psyche-neural mental surgery.

“Do you want to take Barry’s blood?” You held up the syringe of speedster blood O-.

“Pass. I’m not a vampire.”

“I know you’re not a vampire, you idiot! This should speed up your body’s biochemical processes for you to retain homeostatic levels and for your mind to reorient itself to the psyche-neural splicing.” Nash stubbornly agreed to the blood administration. He rolled up his sleeve while you pulled out the necessary equipment to work your medical magic. You were just about finished when the geological myth-buster spoke up.

“Thank you… I owe you a favor.”

“Huh?”

“I said, thank you.”

“Sorry, just one more time. I don’t- I don’t think I… caught that correctly.”

“How does Harry even put up with you?”

“You can ask him yourself when he gets here,” you responded cheekily with a huge toothy grin on your face. You won’t lie and say that your heart didn’t jump that Harry would be coming soon. “Now what’s this about owing me a favor?”

Geez don’t smile like that at me. Nash pushed away those pesky thoughts. “I honestly really hoped you wouldn’t catch that, but,” He paused for a moment to collect his words as he sat up, now not taking for granted the silence within his own mind. “After you put the Psyche Segregator on me, I realized something. The favor you owed me, protecting Allegra, it’s… a favor without an expiration date.”

“So?”

“It wouldn’t be fair if I did not do the same.”

“I’m not following.”

“Gods! What I’m saying is, that I owe you a lifelong favor. But only one.”

He owes me a favor. A lifelong favor. A favor that’s lifelong. A favor that doesn’t expire. An expirationless favor. I get a lifelong favor. A dumbass owes me a favor. “…”

“What’s it going to be?”

“… I can’t think of anything right now.”

Nash only blinked at you. “Seriously, you can’t come up with something in that ditzy head of yours?”

“Hey, I take great offense to that!”

“Good, it’s the truth.”

You put away the medical equipment and disconnected the screens that held his vitals. While you were up, you gave him a water bottle and some food to help with the dizziness. Nash felt his strength return to him as the blood transfusion allowed his body to work faster in restoring itself. “You never told me; did it work? Are they…?” You trailed off pointing to your head as he stood up.

“No mo-”

Swouush, swooush

The crackling sounds of atoms and the fabric of this dimension cut you off. You turned around to see two breach-like holes open up in the middle of the speed lab, familiar and friendly faces exiting safely. They pocketed their newly synthesized dimensional extrapolators.

“Vhy don’t you take ein gut look, schatz?”

“Oui, we’d be more zhan ‘appy to answer zhat for Nash.”

You greeted them cheerily with a hand wave as they approached you and Nash. Wolfgang nodded at you before making a beeline to where the DCM remained. Sherloque tipped his hat to you before nodding at Nash.

“You guys made it safely.” :D

“Zhat we did, petit fluer. A few bumps on zhe way, but nozhing eizher of us could not ‘andle,” Sherloque piqued up,

“Then that means-,” You pulled out caramel vanilla flavored chap stick out of your pocket and applied it to your lips. Your heart waited in anticipation not even wanting to waste time to even fix your hair. Harry will be here soon. The boys just watched you carry on with a dumbstruck smile on your face as you stood in place and waited for a breach to open up. Wolfgang resumed working on recalibrating the DCM for the others.

“Did you just put on chap stick?” Nash asked with quirked eyebrows and an incredulous look.

“Well, yeah? When I see Harry, I’m going to wanna kiss him, duh.”

“You didn’t get enough from-”

“-Sherloque, don’t-”

“-when you were making out wizh ‘arry in Nash’s ‘ead?”

You shut your eyes and groaned, blood rushing up to your face as you covered it with your hands. “They did what?? Seriously, in my mindscape?” Nash’s flare-up caused Sherloque to snicker as he smirked at your bashfulness.

“Ja, zhey did zhat.” Wolfgang sighed, pulling up new schematics one the computer screen. He worked diligently with any piece of technology at his fingertips. “Alzhough, Sherloque vas zhe unfortunate one to valk in on zhem. Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht.”

“Oui, zhey were getting very ‘ot and ‘eavy zhat it took Wolfgang and moi to interrupt zhem from what people on zhis Earth would say ‘rounding zhe bases like deux ‘ormonal teenagers.”

“Sherloque, stop! Please!”

Your cheeks were on fire and you know they could see the colored hues. Sherloque and Nash continued to tease you while you attempted to ignore their playful jabs. No Harry yet. It’s been… 15 minutes. Don’t panic. He’s ok. Probably held up or something at his Labs. He’s ok and he’s with Jesse. Just breathe. “I-I should probably run some small physiological diagnostics on you guys since you just crossed over and we don’t know if the dimensional travel will negatively impact you or not.”

“Great, she gets nervous and all of a sudden to distract herself, the little lady wants to run tests.” Nash facepalmed while Sherloque just gave you a look.

“Hey, I’m not nervous! How many times are you going to offend me today?”

“As many times as necessary.”

“Everyzhing zhat you’re doing right now are common gestures of being nervous. You keep playing wizh your fingers and biting on your bottom lip. You did zhat last year whenever we were discussing Cicada.” Sherloque added much to your chagrin.

You pouted with crossed arms. “I don’t do it often.”

“Yes, you do.” Both Nash and Sherloque responded simultaneously and you felt yourself shrink a bit under their combined blue gazes. Before you could say anything, Wolfgang let out low whistle. The three of you turned to him as he began to speak.

“Systems are all online und fully functional. Zhe ozhers should be sending us zheir dimensional coordinates und ve can commence vizh zhe cataloging soon.” The German man continued speaking as he finished typing up a few more algorithms on the computer. “I’ve already uploaded ein copy of zhe roster from my mind zhat vay ve could check zhe ozher Vells off Stück für Stück.

You nodded at Wolfgang’s words, but felt your stomach squeeze in your lower abdomen. “What about Harry?”

“Ve vill just have to vait until he shows up, schatz.” Wolfgang adjusted his glasses as he gave you a brief glance. You weren’t the only one to notice that since arriving on Earth-Prime that Wolfgang wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Do no vorry, Harry vill come.” Your shoulders sagged at the idea, an action Sherloque picked up on which prompted him to give his two cents.

Mh, une distraction semble être de mise. “(Y/N), Wolfgang ‘ere told me an interesting story about ‘is Earzh and a particular person ‘e ‘ad come across. Say, your doppelganger for instance.” The Frenchman took off his fedora to card his fingers through his dark locks whilst Wolfgang momentarily froze. Nash stretched fully before retreating out of the room, knowing he wouldn’t be needed and wouldn’t allow himself to be psychoanalyzed by the one and only Sherloque Wells. Sherloque smirked as Nash left and Wolfgang’s reaction. Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires.

“Nein, halt- Ich-”

“-He told you or did you deduce it from him like you do to everyone else?” You questioned your friend slyly before turning your head back to the German Wells. “Wolfgang, you knew my doppelganger?”

“Ja, ve… ve used to be close in university.” His cheeks dusted pink as he fumbled about with the wiring of your Earth’s extrapolators. “She vas zhe one zhing zhat remained constant zhrough zhe years.”

“What happened to her? You’re talking as if-”

“She passed avay. Ja, she did. She vas terminally ill… Multiple Sclerozis.”

So that’s probably why he doesn’t like to look at me for too long. “I’m sorry. My brother- he died a few years ago from Multiple Sclerosis too. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the family tree even across the multiverse, huh?”

“Ja.”

Ok (Y/N), way to make it super awkward. “I should- leave you to your sciencing. Sorry about that.”

Wolfgang just nodded his head in thanks before sending a glare to the detective while Sherloque advised the both of you to venture out to the breakroom for to make drinks. With a smug look on his face, obviously. Qu’est ce qui retarde ‘arry? The same thought echoed hauntingly in your mind as well. You allowed the French detective to pull you down the corridor for some coffee and tea, but your mind could not for the life of it let go of Harry.

***

You waited. Patiently, if I might add. It’s been 2 days since Wolfgang and Sherloque had popped over. Obviously you had gone home to shower and change before coming back with some snacks. The cataloging was running smoothly. Wells one by one projected themselves over via the DCM and recounted their dimensional coordinates as well as establishing the state of their Earth in this new dimension. But you grew uninterested in the different variations of your boyfriend. Each second ticked away at your heart. Like a fool you’d look up at the different sounds that would come from the center of the Speed Labs only to be met with disappointment. Sherloque eyed you as you waited around like a lost puppy for the Earth-2 man, even at points getting up and pacing. The detective saw the anxiety ooze from you at the fact that Harry hadn’t arrived yet, so he did his best to distract you from your worries and thoughts. But he was running out of stories of Earth-221, interesting cases, and discussion topics to tell.

Barry had sped in a couch for you and Sherloque to sit in as you waited for Harry to make an appearance. The detective calmly sipped at his new flavored tea, one that you had provided. Wild Raspberry Hibiscus. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, willing yourself to be alert. You had already consumed 4 cups of coffee with espresso yesterday, but those sleepless nights were slowly pushing against you. The two of you sat in silence with only the hums of working electricity and noises from the DCM.

“I zhink,” Wolfgang took a step back from the computer monitor, “I should retire for zhe nacht.” The German took off his glasses and rubbing his closed eyes. Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt werden. “I’ve reprogrammed zhe system in order for it to catalog incoming Vells automatically.”

“I’ll keep my eye on it,” Sherloque piqued up, gesturing with his porcelain teacup to the DCM and subtly side glancing at you. Wolfgang only nodded at his doppelganger.

“Yeah, you should go rest. Sorry if it seemed like I was keeping you here,” you stood up and stretched, walking over to the German Wells.

“Nonsense, zhink of it as a favor to Harry,” Wolfgang waved off your statement. You offered your hand to the platinum-haired Wells which he shook gently before bidding your goodbyes to each other as he strode through the dimensional breach. Which reminds me. You scrunched your face and blinked a few times over then turned back to the seated detective.

“Sherloque, you don’t have to say here. You should go back home to Renee.”

“I- Comment puis-je lui dire? … Renee and I didn’t exactly work out. Encore.” You observed him as he set his teacup down, Sherloque chuckled sadly to himself. Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois.

“You deserve better. You really do, Sherloque. Love will find you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Hey, head up,” You found yourself sitting beside the now cynical man as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting hug. “It could even literally run right into you one day when you least expect it. But it doesn’t mean you can run yourself ragged from sleep loss.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly and reciprocating the gesture of affection. You knew he had no problem with loving, it was the fact of having that love fully reciprocated without it becoming superficial.

“I cannot, I promised ‘arry I would not leave your side in zhe case zhat zhere would be some sort of delay on ‘is end.”

“He asked you to do that for me?”

“Oui”

“Do you think… something happened to him?”

“I wouldn’t worry. ‘e’s a capable and determined man, plus ‘e ‘as ‘is daughter wizh ‘im. Now come on, I believe zhe bozh of us deserve a change of scenery.”

“I’m feeling the need for Jitters coffee actually.”

You pulled said man off the couch and moved towards the direction of the door. Sherloque raised an eyebrow at you incredulously as he scrunched his nose in disgust at the prospect of coffee. “Coffee at zhis hour? Its 10 PM.”

“WHAT?”

“Well you’ve been on zhe Netflix entire time, peeping up every once and awhile to see if ‘arry come or not. I’m not surprised you lost track of time.”

“I guess I can drink some hot chocolate from the breakroom.”

“No need to get up,” Nash’s voice caused your head to snap up as he stepped into the Speed lab with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, “I figured you’ve had too much coffee in your clumsy existence within the past 12 hours.” In truth, Nash had made, dumped, and re-made hot chocolate 7 times in the past 2 hours because he had no idea on how you’d react when he’d make it. He had no idea why he impulsively decided to make one of your favorite drinks instead of letting you waste away at the prospect of coffee. The adventurer talked and scolded himself because you clearly don’t need him to help you out. You’re a capable, independent ditz after all with a war veteran of a boyfriend on the way. Although, Harry’s delay did ease the unsettling feeling in the pit of Nash’s stomach. Finally, the myth-buster had made a decision and added some peppermint extract to give it more flavor with some marshmallows. Fuck it, I’m going to do it anyway because… I secretly want to see her smile at me while it lasts. FuCk.

“I resent that statement, but I do thank you for the hot cocoa,” you hummed in contentment of the fresh brew. Nash saw the weight momentarily leave your shoulders and your body visibly relaxed. You saw him eye you oddly but chose to shake it off as you took another long sip. “Mm, I never got to ask, but have you met any vampires?”

“What?”

“Vampires. You said you weren’t one and I obviously know that, but I’m intrigued if you’ve encountered any on your travels through the multiverse. Cisco accidentally met one when he saved Breacher a year ago.”

“Do you always come up with bizarre questions to ask?” Nash poked your cheek as the three of you moved back to the couch. You batted his hand away. Sherloque baby blue eyes followed the banter between

“I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or a criticism.”

“Take it as you will. I honestly don’t care.”

“Well?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows as you were seated in between Sherloque and Nash on the couch. You blinked a few times and shook your head a bit.

“Well, what?”

“Have you caused any trouble with any vampire?”

“Why is it that you think that I always cause trouble?” Nash countered your question with his own. He ignored the mockingly smug look on Sherloque’s face.

You shot Nash a look before retorting and Sherloque held in a laugh. “I’m not even going to answer that, Nash.” Nash stammered a bit before succumbing to that determined look on your face, the sparkles hidden in your eyes as they twinkled with curiosity.

“There was this one time-”

“-I knew it!-”

“-Would you let me finish before judging?” He lightly scolded you as you took another sip of your hot cocoa, your head started to throb against the hardness of your skull. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” but you did not look in the least regretful, “this was before I met Maya. I had… overheard in a tavern on a dark Earth rumors of the Alexandrite Crown or better known in the dark legends as the Queen’s Crown. A crown thistled with alexandrite gems but infused with Thallium and Platinum. Poisonous according to the naturally occurring substances on that Earth.”

Nash continued painting the pictures to his adventure and his encounter with a Vampire Clan in a clash over the Alexandrite Crown and the mystical way of obtaining Chrysolite in order to cleanse it from the noxious spirit that’s locked away within. You hung onto each word as you pushed away the blurriness in your vision and the hazy state of your mind. With each second your head got heavier, feeling like lead and your eyes threatened to droop, but you needed this distraction from worrying about Harry’s wellbeing. Taking one deep breath, you shut your eyes as your body went out of commission. The geological adventurer breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his voice to a stop as your head gently lolled to the side, resting against Sherloque’s shoulder. Both men observed your breathing pattern relax to soft puffs of air.

“Sleeping powder, impressive and you even stalled until it took effect. Maybe zhere’s hope for you just yet,” Sherloque smugly spoke up as he readjusted you to rest your head onto his lap.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nash narrowed his blue irises at the detective.

“Non, nozhing. What else did you bring?”

“Huh? What-I didn’t-”

“I’m a detective Nash, I notice zhe most miniscule of things. Bring over zhe pillow and blanket you ‘ave ‘idden in zhe vacant room beside zhe corridor.”

“How did you…?”

“Skill, mon ami. Skill. Just because I’m not in your ‘ead does not mean zhat I cannot see zhrough your pure intentions.”

Nash sighed in defeat as he pulled up the blanket and pillow. He first covered you with a fluffy blanket, ensuring that he would not meet Sherloque’s eyes. “She gets cold when she falls asleep.”

“And zhe pillow?”

Nash handed his doppelganger the pillow, who placed it on his lap before setting your head on it to sleep comfortably. “You already know so I’m not going to even say anything.”

The detective quirked a teasing, but knowing eyebrow at the explorer, “Be honest wizh yourself, what prompted you to essentially drug her?”

“Okay, with the way you’re saying it, you’re sounding as if I’m going to do vile things to her. And you know what? I’m not going to even pretend to not be offended by that.”

“Well in reality you technically did drug her, but zhat’s beside zhe point.”

“She hasn’t been sleeping well. You know it. I know it. Hell, everyone on Team Flash noticed, but no one had the will to reprimand her to take a day to rest.”

“You mean ‘zhe ‘eart’ to.”

“Whatever!-”

“-Shh!-”

“-The little lady needed to sleep. She can’t be running herself ragged while making sure everyone around her stays safe and healthy.”

“Zhat’s very noble of you, Nash. C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir.” Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter.

“What did you just say?”

“Nozhing!” Sherloque just gave the other man a mysterious smile as he took off his fedora and tossed it onto a spare and vacant table on the side. “You know it’s nozhing to be ashamed of, right? Caring about ‘er and ‘er safety, zhat’s what zhis team does to a person. It doesn’t make you weak. You should know zhat by now.”

“…”

“You just need to know not to tip over zhe line.” Sherloque knew his doppelganger didn’t like being deduced, didn’t like his actions thoroughly analyzed to told what and how he was feeling. But sometimes, he needed a little push in the right direction by the detective in order to fully face the intentions behind his actions. That was one of Nash’s flaws. The ability to push aside all the pain and emotions behind current actions in a little box and thrown out the window in order to press on with the adventures that he lived on. Sherloque had discretely gone through some of his recent memories and noticed it occur with not just you and Allegra, but with the members of Team Flash as well.

“I know what I’m doing,”

“Zhen I believe you have some… patching up to do wizh a certain teenager.”

“She’s not a teenager, she’s a young adult.”

“All in zhe same wizh ‘ow she was acting.”

Nash left with a slight huff as he had every intention of turning in for the night, mentally contemplating a few things. Rubbing his eyes, the explorer took one glance back from where he stood in the corridor. He dismissed the skilled detective’s words, but yours had echoed in his mind. The detective reclined back on the couch, his own mind wandering in the depths of his own nightmares and regrets. He took one look at you before shaking his head. Sherloque smirked as his ears perked up to familiar sounds causing the detective to tilt his head back.

“Eh bien il était temps”

German and French Translation:

Deux - Two

Mh, une distraction semble être de mise - Hm, a distraction seems to be necessary right now

Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires – There’s no harm in sharing some stories.

Qu’est ce qui retarde Harry? - What is taking Harry so long?

Comment puis-je lui dire? – How do I say this?

Encore – Again

Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois – I don’t know why I tried an 8th time.

C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir – It is ironic, no? Even though she cannot be yours your heart can’t help but to secretly desire something dangerous

Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter. – Your logical mind scolded you to relish with your friendship instead. Something you will have to learn to become content with.

Eh bien il était temps - Well it’s about time.

Mon Ami – My friend

Stück für Stück – Bit by bit

Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt warden - It was a tedious task, but it needed to be done

Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht – Thank God I didn’t

Schatz – sweetheart

Petit Fleur – Little Flower

[sunandrainfic]

@daenerysismytruequeen​ I never played the original but what you just said makes me appreciate him so much more. It’s something I barely registered because I didn’t understand the backstory when I played the remake first. Then I googled it and things that confused me makes so much more sense and I’m replaying it with a deeper understanding and appreciation of his complex character

Aww, I’m glad! They haven’t really gotten to the meat of his story yet in the Remake, so I think you’re pretty on the level with every new person playing the game. :) 

Cloud’s got a complicated psychology for a JRPG character. Dude literally has an existentially crisis mid-game in the OG. Usually you get fairly straightforward anime tropes in these things. Like Sora or, in the FF7 universe, Zack, or FFX’s Tidus (all of whom I adore): their plot goals and psychology are straightforward and heroic and romantic. It’s easy to root for them, no matter what your age. With Cloud, I know some folks like to dismiss him as “mopey” or “weak” -- and I think he’s difficult to fully appreciate unless you’re old enough to comprehend mental illness. 

His story is always going to be about learning to live with abnormal brain chemistry. He’s written to have complex-trauma-onset PTSD and schizophrenia (and later, depression and survivor’s guilt), and his archenemy is the physicalized embodiment of both of those: fighting Sephiroth is fighting the lows of his mental illness. Which, of course, is why Sephiroth keeps coming back, over and over, to haunt him -- you can't really “cure” yourself of mental illness. You can really only learn how to live with it.

I always thought it was interesting that the abnormal chemistry that allows Sephiroth to tear him down is also what allows Cloud to beat Sephiroth and save the Planet (Jenova cells and mako). I don’t know if that was intentional on Square’s part but, knowing a few folks who struggle with mental illnesses like his, I found it a heartening note to his story that his both helps to cause his problems and helps to fix them.

What I do think is intentional is that, whenever he’s the main character of an FF7 story, they always end up using the Planet as a direct parallel to him. In FF7, Shinra abuses the Planet, refusing to recognize Her sentience, only interested in what use the company can get out of Her. Sephiroth likewise abuses Cloud, refusing to recognize his sentience, only interested in what use he can get out of him. Which is all a physical reflection of Cloud’s internal struggle to come out of the throes of a post-trauma schizophrenic delusion. In Advent Children, since the Lifestream is poisoned and the Planet is dying, Cloud must also be poisoned and dying, all a physical reflection of Cloud’s internal struggle to overcome his survivor’s guilt.

It’s honestly really cool to see a video game so thoroughly embrace mental illness, having it manifest in its main character and permeate through every part of the story. Take Cloud's mental illness out of FF7, and its story is fundamentally changed. And so is its villain. When we fight Sephiroth with Cloud, we’re fighting that voice in our head that tells us we’re not enough; that mocks our sincere emotion for weakness; that gaslights us into thinking we can’t trust ourselves. That’s so cool to me.

It makes a lot of sense to me that Cloud’s very popular in Japan, with so many in that country suffering from depression and suicidal ideation. In a lot of ways, his character is a beacon of hope for people living with mental illness: if Cloud, lugging around that Gigantic Sword of Psychological Baggage and Messed-Up Brain Chemistry, can be the hero and save the world while looking like a badass... maybe you can get through the next day and be okay.

(P.S. Apologies for the essay.)

(P.P.S. I love your username. All hail the Khaleesi.)

[nellied-reviews]

Little Revolución Re-listen

Hey again! It's episode two of my epic Wolf 359 re-listen, which means:

Little Revolución

In which Eiffel hoards toothpaste, Hilbert and Minkowski get gas-happy and Command are, reading between the lines, the Actual Worst.

We open up with Mussorgsky's Night on the Bare Mountain, which I will always mentally link to my primary school, because for some reason they played it before morning assemblies a lot? (Which, in hindsight, was kind of weird.) Personal connections aside, though, it's just the right music to set the tone for this episode: big, bombastic and stupidly overdramatic.

What follows is a comedy-heavy episode, with slightly more fleshed-out versions of the non-Eiffel characters, which is nice to hear. Hera is sarcastic, Hilbert is suitably menacing, and Minkowski also sounds more like herself - and they all do things that actually advance the plot this time round! Yay!

That said, the star of the show, is still, without a doubt, Eiffel, who somehow manages to be even more ridiculous than last episode? This time round, we start in media res, after Eiffel has stolen the last remaining tube of toothpaste and is holding it hostage.

And okay. That in itself is a really funny idea. Of all the things to mutiny over, I love that it's something as mundane and low-key as toothpaste. It's just enough of a creature comfort to give the conflict stakes, but also... it's toothpaste, man. And it's one single tube of toothpaste! 

But I think most of comedy in this episode comes specifically from the fact that it's Eiffel holding the toothpaste hostage. Which means we basically get to spend the whole episode watching him dig himself deeper. There's a sense of futility to his mutiny from pretty much the moment he mutes Minkowski at the beginning, and from that point on, the it’s just a question of "how ridiculous will this get, before Eiffel breaks?"

The answer? Pretty darn ridiculous, and it is 100% Eiffel's own fault. I mean, at every step in this episode he just escalates things. From bringing up hostages in the first place to his whole announcement, complete with dramatic music that I assume (?) he must have added to the message himself just to make it sound cooler, to barricading himself in the comms room, literally everything he does here is totally nuts.

It's enough to trigger Eiffel Protocol M - and I really, really want to know what all the other protocols are, and why they were invented - which means that when the log comes back, we have a shivering, miserable Eiffel, slowly being driven mad by random loud noises. Which, again, I love. Putting characters in some sort of extreme physical discomfort feels like one of Wolf 359's go-to beats, both for comedy (case in point, this episode) and for drama (hello, Pan-Pan, and Mayday, come to think of it), and it's fun to see it used for the very first time here.

It's also at this point that we get an insight into what Minkowski and Hilbert are planning, and honestly, I really wish this episode featured more of them working together, because the glimpse we get is so good! Hilbert just straight up gassing Eiffel! Minkowski asking if there could, possibly, be some pain! "Minimal risk of brain damage"!

The show, at this point, is still pretty firmly committed to the log format, though, and will be until... actually, I'm not sure when we stop just getting Eiffel's recordings. Is it as late as Season 2? 

Either way, it means we do miss out on Minkowski and Hilbert having to work together, which is kind of a pity, although the episode works find without it. And in a way, it's almost funnier, because we're just as confused as Eiffel is, especially when the gas doesn't knock him out and gives him weird hallucinations instead. I mean, what is up with that? Did it just not work? Is is some weird psychological warfare tactic on the part of Hilbert and Minkowski?

In any case, it pushes Eiffel right to his breaking point, just in time for Hera to distract him while Hilbert dissolves the door hinges. Eiffel folds pretty rapidly after that, and ends the episode in the supply cl- sorry, in the brig. He honestly seems pretty resigned to his fate, as well. So at least he knows when he's beat. 

And to be honest, I actually feel sorry for Eiffel here. The whole episode, after all, shows how space can slowly chip away at your sanity, messing with you in small, irritating ways until, inevitably, you snap - even before Minkowski and Hilbert go to work on you. Eiffel's overreaction to running out of toothpaste is funny, sure. But behind it lie months and months where, little by little, he's been deprived of all his creature comforts. It's small stuff, but I can totally see why it would, cumulatively, start to drive you nuts, until any little thing - even toothpaste - might just push you over the edge.

Even worse, Command had to have called this. There is no way they "accidentally" failed to pack enough toothpaste - because it's not like the Hephaestus is anywhere near the end of its mission. So Command must have known that this would happen, and either they didn't care, or they actively wanted it to happen, as part of some kind of twisted, gaslight-y psychological experiment, not unlike the Empty Man, later on in the season.

Either way, it means that by the end of the episode, we're left with a sense of the negative psychological effects of daily life in space, and, potentially, our first hint at how awful Command is. Not bad, for an episode that is, still, a comedy episode about Eiffel hoarding toothpaste.

Because it is still, at the end of the day, a comedy. Sure, there's some dark bits if you read between the lines. But it's also just straightforwardly lightweight and funny, and after listening to the end of the series, do you know what? That's actually kind of refreshing. We don’t get many straight-up comedy episodes after season one, so revisiting this one was pretty great! 

Miscellaneous thoughts: 

"Nothing is premeditated here! The very suggestion that I would meditate anything... I mean, it’s laughable." Hah!

Well their new brig is going to come in v e r y handy, v e r y soon

Aww, Eiffel asking if anything is wrong with the star. Just you wait, Doug...

Also I 100% fell for Hera’s misdirect the first time I listened to this and I don’t know it that’s because Hera’s good or because I’m gullible

“When in doubt, whip it out. "It” being hydrochloric acid.”

[snake-noodles]

Hidden Away - Chapter 4

TW: Anxiety/paranoia, body horror, bugs (specifically butterflies), feeling of bugs on skin, lots of death talk, arguing, threats of death, guns, gun violence, implied sensory overload, possible manipulation/gaslighting

Words: 5607

Read on AO3

> Welcome back to Lobotomy Corp, THOMAS.

> Important Message from A

> "Thomas,

Do you believe in the existence of soul? I do. I also believe that the soul itself is the reason of one’s existence. Then, is there a perfect soul? I do not think there is. However, one can endlessly get closer to perfection. The process of it is an endless wave of agony. At the end of such effort, I expect that we will be able to make valuations of everything correctly.

We can make things perfect. Even if some people have to die along the way. I trust you feel the same?

But of course you don't. You have emotions to get in the way of your rational thinking. When you're ready to become a real leader, lets eliminate the ones that are keeping us behind.

Keep up the good work, sir. I expect nothing but perfection."

> …

> Delete message?

>YES

> Message discarded.

Logan felt strange. Not in the way he felt yesterday, but something… different. He feels as though he's forgetting something important. But he can't think. His head hurts. Not from any of the abnormalities, either. No he's been doing good with the abnormalities today. But, speaking of such, he hasn't been tasked to talk with Deceit. It's not as if he cares, but he wonders if they assigned a different employee to him. He's not sure why that would happen, though. He's been doing an excellent job, in his opinion.

Perhaps it was because he messed up and let the abnormality affect him like that. That was quite stupid of him. He should know better. Be better. He's been raised to always be his very best. If he can't do that, then what use is he? No, wait, he cannot allow himself to think like this. He's acting like Virgil.

And look where Virgil ended up.

He shakes his head, adjusting his glasses and deciding to save those thoughts for later. Rationalize them later, and not while he's doing very important work. He looks down, pleased that he's been doing so well today, but something itches at the back of his brain. He swears there's something he's forgetting. Whatever it is, it shouldn't be too important if he forgot it, right? He almost never forgets things.

He straightens his tie as he walks down the hallway. He shouldn't waste more time than he already has. And he hates wasting time. Funny how working makes him less stressed and relaxing makes him more stressed.

He'd been going through the same routine all day. Seeing abnormalities and taking notes. He'd seen all on his team today except for one. Talking to them- or at least listening to their nonsense- and gathering energy. But at least he hasn't messed up today. Everything has been going rather nicely.

And then he spots something that makes his heart (figuratively) drop.

"Logan." The colorless AI catches him, staring with his cold emotionless eyes. And next to him was Thomas.

What the hell was Thomas doing here?

There's a nervous pressure in his chest, and he swallows, adjusting his tie and walking up to the two.

"A." He says as a greeting, straightening his posture. "Am I needed for something?"

"Oh, no. Thomas has decided to stay and run this place himself. Why not introduce him to one of our best employees?" He gives a smile that was out of place on him. Seeing the 'emotionless AI' pretend to feel left him with a strange feeling. Logan decided to look at Thomas instead.

"Mr. Sanders. It's a pleasure meeting you in person, sir." He holds out his hand, which Thomas shakes with a smile- before that smile quickly drops. He wonders why, but doesn't voice his question.

A looks between the two, before facing Logan.

"You did a swell job yesterday. Unlike the rest of your foolish team," He straightens Logan's coat, staring him in the eyes, "You're not afraid to get things done… Your team could learn a lot from you."

Logan doesn't miss the way Thomas tenses up. There's alot to be questioned. But, he's a little confused to say the least. He thought yesterday was a failure. What did he do to deserve any praise?

"Thank you, A, though I am confused why I am getting such praise?" He says, and A doesn't respond, simply giving a knowing smile. Logan doesn't understand. Is there something A knows that he doesn't? He never gets an answer to his question, and it takes some effort to not fidget with his tie.

Quickly, the AI pulls away, standing back at Thomas's side in an instant. They shared a look that Logan couldn't quite understand before he waves his hand in a dismissive manner, closing his cold eyes.

"That will be all. Keep up the good work, Logan. We have some work we need to attend to. Right, sir?"

Thomas doesn't respond. It takes him a moment to realize that Thomas hasn't said a word since Logan approached the two of them. He opens his mouth to speak, but he feels a buzz and looks down. Ah, right. He needs to get back to work. When he looks up, the two are already gone. But, something doesn't feel quite right. Why is Thomas here? What is A planning?

Will things change? And if so, will they be for better or for worse? Then again, he wonders how it could get any worse, unless they end up killing people for no reason, but that'd be illogical to do. He gets another buzz.

> "Logan,

Once you are done with your work for today, I ask that you meet me in my office.

-A"

And that's a terrifying message to receive. He hasn't visited A's office in a long time. What could he even be needed for? He can already tell the rest of the day is going to be long. There's a sense of dread sitting on his shoulders, but he tries his best to ignore it. He knows its not healthy, but he needs to do his job. He's not sure what he should expect. Maybe he'll get thrown out of the window and fall to his death.

God, he can't be thinking like this.

He shakes his head, and enters T-01-68(H) 's room once again. He'd already seen this abnormality, but he was tasked to come in here before it's qliphoth counter reached zero. The tall humanoid's butterfly head flutters as he enters. The calm and solemn atmosphere of the room almost makes him forget how dangerous this abnormality is. Almost.

"What happens when people die?" The question is asked. No matter how many times he enters this room, the abnormality's voice always makes him shiver. Maybe this abnormality wasn't the best one to visit while he was in his current mental state, but he couldn't ignore his orders.

Logan doesn't respond. He simply lets the abnormality talks, all while ignoring his existential dread.

"What happened to those that worked here?" It asks, butterflies landing on its shoulders. "They must have returned home… Where family and warmness await."

The Funeral of the Dead Butterflies- what a long name- gazes down on Logan in silence, with eyes he cannot see.

"But everyone knows that the employees can't leave the company unless they retire." It continues on, the butterflies inside the large coffin festering.  "They must have 'retired' and returned to their homes, having earned what they wanted and full of hope."

Logan could hear the smile in its echoing voice. He exhales through his nose, writing his notes. Just don't think about it.

"But retiring isn't as easy as it sounds. Just like how feathers do not fall out on their own free will. Then where did the retired employees go?" It tilts its head, wings fluttering. "They are bound to the company the moment they enter. They cannot leave even if they retire."

Logan snaps his notebook shut, and the abnormality falls quiet.

"... My coffin isn't big enough to replace hundreds of graves… Do you mourn your fallen coworkers?" It asks, its echoing voice softer than what Logan is used to. He didn't think its voice could get any softer, really.

"No… I don't have time to mourn." He says simply. He's not sure why he answered. He never answers. The butterfly wings flutter once again.

"I've failed to provide proper rest to your friends…" It looks at its empty hands, the two others still holding up the heavy coffin. "... I will wait until the end of time… Wait until I can put their bodies to rest..."

They both fall silent, staring at each other. He could hear the numerous butterflies inside of the large coffin festering and fluttering.  There was a strange feeling of understanding.

...Understanding? No, no, he's just tired. He shakes his head, and leaves the room before he can fall for the insect's trap.

Talking to the abnormality affected him more than it should have, and his results were mostly good. In fact, they didn't need much more information on the abnormality. The only reasons employees were still sent to see it was because if they didn't, it would break out again. And last time it broke out, well… It was certainly not fun. He scratches his arms at the memory, trying to get rid of the phantom feeling of butterflies on his skin.

Why they don't just make better containment cells, he's not sure. Maybe they just wanted everyone to suffer. He wouldn't doubt it, really. The bastards probably count on all of them dying. Then again, if they all died, they wouldn't have people to work for them. Unless they replaced everyone with AIs. That'd probably take a lot of money, though. In fact, how is the company even making money? Is it paid for by the government? Eh.

He shakes his head, sighing. He's thinking too much about the wrong things. He should strictly be thinking of work. Work and nothing else. Just think about work and- oh look Patton's approaching. When did Patton get here? What does Patton need him for?

"Lo-lo! Are you busy? I wanted to talk to you." He says, a strange seriousness in his expression that Logan isn't used to seeing.

"I am in fact busy." He states without a second thought. At that, Patton frowns.

"I made sure to catch you at lunch time- can you not take your lunch break?" He tilts his head.

Was it lunch time already? God, he really needs to focus if he's losing track of time. This doesn't happen to him. He's always on top of things. Always.

"... I suppose."  He says after a brief pause, and the tension in his friend's shoulders releases, a smile on his face.

"Cool! Can we talk somewhere more private?" He blinks, but nods, leading the two of them to an empty breakroom. The breakroom wasn't often used- filled with plants that are probably fake and cheap cafeteria tables and chairs. The two sit down in the uncomfortable seats, Patton shifting and tapping at the table.

Patton looks nervous, still. He isn't sure why.

"Sooo… About what happened yesterday…" He pokes his fingers together, averting his gaze. Logan frowns at this, glancing at the table before looking back at Patton.

"Ah. I am aware I messed up yesterday." He sighs, adjusting his tie.

"Oh-! Really?"

"Yes. I shouldn't have been so careless and let that abnormality affect me. Thank you for the medicine, by the way. I'll try not to let this happen again." He closes his eyes, frowning a little. He doesn't like admitting his mistakes. It's even worse that Patton's not saying anything. Cracking open an eye, he sees his friend looking confused.

"No, Logan, I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about you… y'know... Threatening the abnormality." His voice goes quiet as he says this, pouting.

This was certainly news to him.

He had only visited Deceit once yesterday, and went back to work after he got his medicine from Patton. He never went back in, and he has no memory of threatening anything.

He blinks in surprise, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at this. It takes him a few moments to get his thoughts together to say something.

"Patton- I don't recall ever doing such a thing. Are you sure it wasn't a coworker?" He tilts his head.

"Huh? No! I'm sure it was you!" He squeaks, eyebrows pushed together in concern.

"I can assure you that it wasn't."

"But- what if, uh… What if you got brain wiped?!"

Logan raises an eyebrow, and Patton's face flushes a bit. He sighs, crossing his arms.

"There's probably a more logical explanation to this, Patton. Have you been getting enough sleep? Taking your medicine?"

"I have!" He shouts, stamping his foot and puffing out his cheeks. Logan stares, before looking away with a sigh, shaking his head.  

"We will… resume this later. We should both be getting back to work." He was already tired of today. So much nonsense is happening. His headache grows.

"... Okay, fiiiine. But you better keep your word! We will be talking about this later!" He wags his finger and Logan smiles, only for it to immediately disappear.

"Alright. I'll contact you after I meet with A."

"A? You have a meeting with him? What for?" Patton looks worried again. But that's to be expected. Everyone knows how scary A is.

"I'm not quite sure. I'm certain I'll be fine, he was praising my work this morning, after all." He hums a little. "But we should really get back to work. You may have patients who need you."

"Alright… I'll see you later!"

And with that, they part ways.

It was… a strange conversation. He wonders why Patton would think he'd do such a thing. It would just make his work harder if he were to threaten an abnormality. So silly.

He looks down for his next task and. Wow. Alright. Of course after that strange conversation he's tasked to talk to Deceit. He looks around. There were cameras everywhere- or at least he assumed so. They must be very well hidden, because how else would they receive information? Then again, this may just be a coincidence. He's starting to think like Virgil.

… He stops that train of thought quickly.

It's the same old thing, walking down the hallways to get to Deceit's cell. It wasn't exactly hard to navigate, there were only four abnormalities per team, after all. Three if you didn't count objects- even though they still affected people in strange ways. Standing at the door of the containment, though, he felt odd. Odd like he felt earlier. His gun felt heavier than usual in his coat. But surely it's nothing. He's thinking too much about Patton's words. He huffs, entering the cell.

Deceit looks up, coiling up tighter on himself when he realizes just who it is that entered. Logan doesn't miss the glint of his fangs. He blinks, pulling out his notebook.

"Logan, just the person I wanted to see." He hisses, voice low. "Are you here to finish the job?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Deceit." He squints his eyes, and the snake scrunches his nose, tongue flicking out for a moment. He stands slowly, tilting his head to the side, and Logan looks up at him.

"Hmm…" He hums, inspecting Logan with a cold and calculated gaze. Logan doesn't look away, a tense silence hanging in the air as they hold their stares, neither willing to submit. It lasted for a while, a heavy feeling in the air. Logan willed himself to not click his pen or mess with his tie. Finally, Deceit sighs and steps back, shrinking down onto the floor and resting his head in his hands.  "Whatever. Lets get this over with. As lovely as you are, I don't feel like dealing with you. You understand, right?"

He wears a sickly sweet smile, tilting his head. Logan rolls his eyes, before noticing something. Something that makes his blood run cold.

A bullet hole? In the wall. He blinks slowly, trying to process this new information. How could this happen? Unless Deceit somehow got a gun, this would mean that an employee used their weapon in here. He thinks back on Patton's words and feels his head pounding. This is already too much.

"Oh? Did you finally notice?" He smiles, standing again. "You left that there, you know."

"...What? No. Falsehood! You're a liar, certainly you must be able to manipulate the surroundings. And somehow you got Patton to believe such as well." He straightens his posture, glaring at the serpent.

"Acting so innocent… But you're just a wolf in sheep's clothing. I'm not the only one you've threatened, hm? You've scared others before, right? You've killed others! Surely this isn't out of the realm of possibility, little wolf! I bet you're just waiting for the day I escape so you can kill me yourself !" The snake shouts, drawing closer still to Logan.

"Quiet! This is all utter nonsense." He wills himself to not step back, standing his ground. "You simply want to get under my skin. Enough of your trickery- I'm just here to get my job done, and I don't have to deal with you."

The snake straightens, and laughs, hand coming up to his mouth in an attempt to silence himself.

"Oh little wolf, you have no idea…" He smiles, showing off his long fangs. "But, fine. Don't listen to me. No one said you had to in the first place."

Logan grits his teeth, hold on his pen tightening, before he lets out a breath.

"You're quite an annoyance." He purses his lips, rubbing his temples and trying to get himself to calm down. Getting upset won't do any good for him.

"Oh, I know!" He says a little too enthusiastically. "Maybe if I'm annoying enough you guys will get tired of me and throw me out."

"That wouldn't happen."

"... I know that. For someone so smart, you don't understand others very well, do you? You can't read the room, or tell sarcasm. You're just horrible when it comes to emotions and other people. Am I right?"

Deceit was, in fact, incredibly right. But Logan would never admit it. And like the snake had just said, he didn't have to listen to any of his nonsense. Though, something still tickled at the back of his mind, and his eyes once again trail to the bullet hole. It's not true, that'd be completely illogical if it were. He remembers no such thing occurring, after all. It's an illusion, perhaps. He'll have to write down that this abnormality is capable of making illusions. There's a lot of things in the works just to keep this abnormality contained. He overheard plans to remake the room so that he cannot connect to others. Then there's also the eyepatch he won't be able to remove. He wonders what else they'll do. He wouldn't be surprised if they put a muzzle on him and chained him down. That's what they did with Remus, after all.

"You're thinking hard over there. Did you really learn so much from just standing in this room with me?" The snake asks, laying on his stomach and kicking his feet like a teenage girl, his tail swaying slowly.

Logan doesn't acknowledge him.

Of course, remaking the room would mean they'd have to put the snake to sleep and in an even smaller containment while the room gets renovated. Most abnormalities become more violent after being temporarily relocated. He imagines that being in a dark metal box with no light at all would be alot worse than this already small, plain room. He isn't sure how abnormality's minds work, but humans being in isolation like that without light would drive someone mad, depending on how long they're kept in there for.

Wait, why is he even thinking about this? He has to be working.

"I doubt you will answer me honestly, but may I ask about your history before coming here." He raises an eyebrow to the reptile.

"Of course! Why, I was born on an alien planet and was sent to earth as a child once my planet exploded." He says, a fake smile playing on his lips.

"As expected. I'll have to ask a different time." He sighs, shaking his head. "I am surprised though. Isn't that a plot for… a superhero thing? I didn't think you'd know of such tropes."

"I lived in the woods, not under a fucking rock. I may not look like you, but I was raised mostly the same way. Yet, I'm held in captivity like a wild animal." He hisses.

"Interesting." Logan hums, writing this new information down, to which the snake curses under his breath for even giving a sliver of information about himself.

It's silent again. The only sounds being Logan's pen scratching at the paper. This research has been going better than expected- even though he hasn't learned a lot of new things from the snake yet. Deceit has been staring at him. He's not sure why. When he chances a look, he's met with green and gold, staring him down in an unreadable expression. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

"Are you really okay with dying here?" The snake asks, never tearing his eyes away. "Employees that work here aren't allowed to leave, right? Why would you accept working here and accept inevitable death? Why did you sign up for this?"

His questions made Logan uneasy in a way he didn't understand. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it quickly, staring.

"Are you really okay with being forgotten, dead in this hell?"

"How would I be forgotten?"

The snake smiles, leaning back and laying out his hands.

"Well, allow me to propose a… hypothetical." He starts, making dramatic gestures as he speaks. "If someone was alone in the forest, and no one saw the death blow, and no one found the body… Did the attack actually happen?" They go silent for a few seconds.

"Of cou-"

"The answer is: nobody ever knew they existed. Therefore, nobody will care no matter what the answer is. They may as well have never been alive in the first place... Do you understand what I'm saying, Logan?" He stares, standing once again.

"I…" He stammers, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Everyone here will be forgotten. In a few decades, their families won't be there to remember them. And this building is hidden away anyway, right? You'll die, and it'll be as if you've never been alive in the first place. Your death doesn't change anyone else's lives."

"Yes, but that could be said about death in general."

"That's true… But do you really want to die here? Die without letting yourself be known? Humans are capable of doing great things, yet you threw away your life to study freaks of nature, never to be remembered."

"I do not wish to be remembered." Logan states after a long pause. "I do not care if I make an impact or not. It is my life, and mine alone. Why should I care if no one remembers me?"

"Then why'd you throw away your freedom to work here?"

He hesitates, before settling his firm expression. "I have no obligation to tell you anything. I think I've heard quite enough from you today." He sorts his things, his posture straight. The serpent gives a low laugh.

"Even though you're smart, your mind is so fragile. They've already got their claws around you… manipulating you like a puppet." Before Logan can argue, he continues, "But whatever… Move along, little wolf. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere."

Logan stills for a moment, staring at the serpent. There was something he was missing. But he's not quite sure what it is. He narrows his eyes.

"What is it that you're planning?" He asks. The snake smiles, as if he knew this question was coming.

"I have no idea what you mean." He replies simply. Now, Logan could easily press the abnormality to speak more, but he didn't want to risk anything. The snake was probably venomous, after all. He does wonder what effects the venom has, but he should save that for a different meeting. He shakes his head, sighing.

He doesn't say anything as he leaves the room.

The halls, although employees and clerks walked to and fro, felt incredibly empty. He notices that the lights are a lot dimmer in the hallways than in the containment rooms. He's not sure how he's never noticed it until now. For the hallway that leads to Virgil's containment it makes sense. The man is terrified of the dark. But it suddenly feels dimmer everywhere in general.

His thoughts go back to Deceit and Patton's words. It was a strange thing to think about, really. Death… illusions… so much nonsense that's hard to sort through. His head is pounding, and he can tell that he's almost at his limit. Just a bit longer though. Everything will be fine.

It seems he only has one more task to do before going up to see A. That felt… quick. A little too quick. Days here are usually very long. Perhaps he's lost track of time again? He hopes not. That'd be very unfortunate.

But he should get to work, then he'll mentally prepare himself.

Surprising as it is, talking to the abnormality actually calmed him. She was happy when he walked in, so that probably explains it. But now that he has no more tasks, a heavy feeling weighs him down. He hasn't been to A's office in a while. It's on the very top floor, too. His heart is beating more than it should. He shouldn't be nervous about something like this.

Shaking his head, he enters the elevator. Usually, he doesn't mind silence, but the pressure in the elevator was suffocating. He's fine- he keeps telling himself this. The way up to his office is long. The only thing reminding him that the elevator is actually moving is the small shaking and the clanging. He flexes his fingers, before holding his hands together- adjusting them awkwardly before holding them behind his back. He couldn't tell if it was just him or if the elevator was making him shake. He straightens his posture, taking a few deep breaths.

It's fine. He signed up for this job. He can deal with talking to an AI.

He doesn't know how long it took for the elevator to get to the very top floor. In actuality, it was probably only a few minutes, but it felt a lot longer.

When the doors open, he squints at the bright fluorescent lights, a huge change from the dark hallways underground. He steps out, looking around. He hears something tapping. Like soft patting against the walls. It takes him a moment to realize what he's hearing is rain. He hasn't heard the sound of rain in awhile. If only he could see it. It seems even up here there are no windows. He exhales slowly, walking down the empty, white hallways. It felt almost like a hospital, only much more quiet. The only sound present was the tapping of the rain against the building. He makes it to A's office a little quicker than he would have liked, but it's fine. The sooner this gets over with the better.

He knocks twice on the door.

"Hello. This is Logan. May I come in?" He asks. There's some shuffling behind the door before it opens itself. He gives a nod, walking inside.

The room was dark compared to the bright hallways. The only light was on the large screen, and A sat in his chair, staring at Logan. Thomas was nowhere in sight.

"Logan." He says with a nod, gesturing to the seat in front of him. He takes the seat.

"A." He says back. "May I ask why you've called me here?"

"Well, it's about yesterday's performance." He gives a smile with no feeling behind it. It looked incredibly out of place on him. "You're quite bold, I must say. Usually I would be against harming abnormalities when they haven't even breached, but…"

He leans in, and Logan feels his heart drop.

"Between you and me, I think everyone should be taking notes from you."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." Logan says, voice much quieter than usual.

"Oh, I know." He gives a knowing look, and straightens his coat. "I know everything that happens here. And I know things you don't. Like how you threatened O-01-62(H) yesterday. But I already know you don't remember that."

Logan opens his mouth, trying to find the words to speak. But nothing comes out. This can't be right. This must be a trick or something. He has no memory of this. It can't be true- this is all nonsense. His grip on his knees tighten.

"You're thinking quite hard… Don't worry, I won't punish you." A promises, but with how flat his voice is, it's hard to tell if he really means it.

"Why… How did I forget such a thing?" Logan asks, the smallest hint of distress in his voice, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh, Logan. You think we don't have the technology for that stuff?" He leans on his hand. "You know, everything in this building affects our employees and their performance. The gas we release and the medicine for example."

Logan swallows, a lump in his throat at this new information. "I don't understand… why would I threaten an abnormality like that?"

The AI stares, eyes cold against him.

"That doesn't matter, dear." He ignores the other's distress easily, rising from his chair and walking to his computer. "But enough of this. I didn't call you here to coach you through your pathetic emotions. You're a good employee. One of our best. And you… will be my ace in the deck."

"What do you mean?"

The AI is quiet for a while, staring up at the screen while Logan sits behind him.

"You will be the key to this company's success. Thomas is set on ruining everything… But you know what's best, right dear?" He turns around, his eyes staring straight into Logan's. It made him feel a strange dread.

"I'm… not quite sure I do." He admits, tearing his eyes away. A approaches, settling a cold metal hand against Logan's cheek.

"Oh, you will soon enough. I expect nothing but perfection from you." He stares Logan down before slowly pulling away.

"Yes sir."

He hums, pleased.

"Good, you'll do good." He nods.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"That is all, but-" Suddenly there's a cold press to his head and the sound of a click. He doesn't need to look up to know it's a gun. He holds his breath. "You will not utter a word about this, understand? You have information that other employees underground do not. I will know if you say anything. Understand?"

Logan holds his breath, before closing his eyes. His body is incredibly rigid, shoulders squared. "Understood."

The gun is taken away and the AI smiles. It's funny how much he smiles for an AI with supposedly no emotions.

"Good. You're dismissed then. I will send you more information later on, my ace." He waves his hand dismissively, looking back at his computer.

Logan nods, and slowly leaves the room, the sudden brightness making him squint his eyes. He blinks a few times, sighing. He has a lot to think about, the new information still processing in his brain. The sound of rain returns to him, and he allows himself a few moments to listen before heading to the elevator.

And once he steps inside, it takes every ounce of self control to not overload. He can wait it out just a bit longer. Just a bit longer and he can go back to his room and let his emotions out. It'd be unprofessional to breakdown like some sort of child.

He hadn't realized how much he's built up, though. There's a throbbing pressure in his head, and he loosens his tie to make it easier to breathe. There's so much buildup. And today was a pile of different emotions he doesn't know what to do with.

A would be ashamed. Emotions shouldn't be necessary. The shaking of the elevator is enough to ground him, but he finds himself swaying absently more than once. His fists are clenched hard, leaving crescent shapes in his palms. His jaw hurts from being so clenched.

Just a bit longer.

The elevator shakes to a stop, and Logan has to keep himself from immediately running to his dorm. The day would be over in 3 minutes exactly.

He reaches his dorm and then…

An alarm sounds, red lights blaring everywhere, bathing everything in a bright red that hurt his eyes. This isn't helping. It's too loud. Too bright. Too much all at once and he wants to scream. He wants to scream, he wants to scream, he wants to-

"Urgent! Abnormality F-06-58(W) has escaped! We need to immediately suppress it!"

His stomach drops.

Remus escaped.

He wants to just enter his room. He can calm down there. He can hide under his covers and wait for everything to pass. His hand itches to open the door, but he decides he can wait just a bit longer.

He's expected to do nothing but perfection, after all.

So before he can even process it, his legs are moving.

[dukeofriven]

Captain Marvel Didn’t Need A Subplot About Sad Familyman Pain: A Very Late Captain Marvel Review

So I finally saw Captain Marvel last night  (like a week ago now but it was the Tuesday before Endgame came out and then this sat in my drafts folder for days and days) - yep, down to the wire almost - so I’ve obviously missed all the Super Important Captain Marvel discourse that Tumblr prattled on about: still, I’ll add my thoughts to the pile.

An incredible cast with great chemistry can do nothing to fix one of the blandest scripts since Doctor Strange, which at least had imaginative vistas and unusual set design to carry some of the story-telling weight. Captain Marvel is possibly the worst-looking Marvel film: at the very least I am confident it is probably the worst-edited, and unquestionably the worst-lit film in all the Marvel canon. Captain Marvel almost consciously doesn't seem to want you to see anything in the movie, going out of its way to shoot scenes at night, in boring and dark spaceships, and in sandstorms at night on dark planets. Lousy fight choreography, coupled with rapid-fire edits with lousy coverage, made the film’s frequent hand-to-hand combat scenes visual nightmares. The worst offender is probably Danvers’ escape from the Skrull ship, in which basic shot-to-shot continuity is lost. The action becomes a literal blur as an anarchic assembly of seemingly-random coverage is cut together to create a confusing mess of movement. A fantastic late-film aerial dog fight and an incredibly powerful 'gloves come off' space sequence make the movie's last twenty minutes its visually strongest, but can't repair the damage done by the previous 90 minutes of blur and uncertain scene geography. (Rogue One has this exact same problem viz. rear-loading the entire movie onto the last twenty minutes.) The movie is at its best when it chucks the undeveloped plot out the window and just lets characters talk to one another, revealing their warmth and great on-screen chemistry, making otherwise forgettable dialogue work through great delivery and comedic timing. This is how most MCU films work anyways: good-to-great actors take weak dialogue and make it work through talent and charm. Off the top of my head I can’t think of any dialogue in the MCU that’s good for reasons other than excellent delivery: Marvel doesn’t seem to care much for writers who have a grip on the craft of dialogue.

The moment the plot reasserts itself, which usually means pretending that anyone cares about Jude Law's one-note bad guy, anything good about the film disappears. There's the bones of a great movie here hampered by incredibly poor framing decisions. Rather than reduce the flashbacks to five-second bursts of mental confusion, a better version of the film would have had two parallel stories A) Carol's quest to become a great pilot while fighting against prejudice and B) A present-day fight to regain that past. As is, the film makes the pretence that it has a feminist theme about overcoming patronizing men, but in practice this is introduced through jumbled flashbacks at the start of the film, essentially dropped for the rest of the run-time, and suddenly re-introduced at the final moments with a triumphant declaration of "I don't need your approval." Had the movie spent any of its middle running time acting like Carol was being patronized by anyone, this might have carried more weight. However, perhaps unwilling to make Nick Fury seem sexist in any way, Carol spends most of the movie surrounded by completely supportive people who do nothing but tell her how great she is. A single shitty stranger on a motorcycle with four lines of dialogue does not a 'triumph against chauvinism' narrative make. Even Jude Law's villain seems to be holding Carol back largely out of a need to follow orders and make sure her brainwashing was working - not out of any chauvinistic impulses. You could make the argument that the brainwashing is an analogy for the way patriarchy brainwashes women into accepting false limitations, but the movie isn’t that subtle: it wears its themes on its sleeve. Besides, you don’t get the sense that the Kree are doing anything out of gender motives - frustrating given that neighbouring franchise Guardians of the Galaxy has proven time and time again that you can still fo Asshole Space Chauvinist  without detracting from the heroism of the leading female. (Well, sorta. Guardians 2 does this much better than 1). Part of the problem is that Jude Law spends most of the movie on a ship waiting to get to Carol and having exposition-only phone calls. We get very little sense of Carol's relationship with him outside of the opening punch-up in a dojo - and the weakness is reinforced by Law’s character insisting only that Carol isn’t ready yet to do various things. This could work - there’s more to sexism than blunt and obvious HURR DURR WYMINS CAN’T DO THINGS declaration, but the the narrative repeatedly demonstrates that Jude Law is correct. It takes the whole movie for Carol to learn how to take her own breaks off. Which is a serious problem when she confronts the villain insisting he’d been holding her back. Not... not really, Carol. At no point in the movie did you seem like you were holding back because Jude Law’s voice was in your head telling you you weren’t good enough. You didn’t do X, Y, Z things because you just didn’t know how to do them, and you needed more experience. Jude Law spends the whole movie... not being wrong? It’s an issue. So when Carols stands there and says ‘I've never needed your approval” or some-such it’s great on a thematic level to see a female superhero so utterly reject the so-called necessity of some kind of male mentor (and if nothing else everything Carol learns in the film she learns on her own) - but it’s nonsense in the context of the film itself, where Carol spends most of it ignoring anything Jude Law says to her and doing her own thing, It weird to have her reject a man who has power over her - when he has had no power over her since the pre-credits sequence. She doesn’t listen to him at all the moment they go on their first mission. And, again, despite the text of the movie that framing suggest that Jude Law is not wrong about her not being ready to do the Light Thing until she was ready to do The Light Thing. A better movie would let Larson’s great chemistry with Lashana Lynch sing. I was so hyped going into this movie because Larson was quoted as saying that the “real” relationship of the movie was between Danvers and Rambeau but it’s... it’s not. Maybe in the script Larson originally filmed, maybe it felt that way on set, but if that was the case then it’s completely lost in the edit, where Rambeau has a nice through-line about regaining her place as a pilot but whose relationship with Danvers is mostly relegated to being another “no you’re super great Carol” hype man. Her best scene - where she and Carol sit down and she says how hard is was to lose her best friend - is undermined by some of the most mawkish music ever inflicted on a Marvel film; all the power of the acting  marred by a track that sounds like it came out of All My Children. In a better movie we’d get to see Carol live her life as a woman triumphing in a sexist airforce - half the movie should be flashbacks that build to that fatal, final flight. Danvers and Rambeau meet and crush on one another, mutually crush on Annette Benning (because god-damn), fly planes, fly better than anyone else flying planes, and do karaoke together to forget all the shitty airforce dudes in the lives who resent their good, good plane flying. This shitty people might have identities as villains and maybe do double-casting with Jude Law so we can see the parallels in her old life and her new life instead of pretending for an hour that Jude Law is her friend - like hell, movie, we’re not stupid, that’s not a shock. You cut between those scenes and modern Carol - and you do Good Writing Stuff like make New Carol a different person than old Carol: more timid, more cowed by the brain washing, more subservient to this guy who feeds her approval and virtue. You know - the stuff you do when you want to tell a movie about gaslighting like actually feature gaslighting. And we, the audience, who can see old Carol and how incredible and tough and take-no-shit she was, stare at the screen with burning eyes, hating Jude Law’s guts and waiting for the moment Carol beats his shitty ass into the ground and smooches Rambeau. And we see that Carol come back - fighting and clawing against this brain chip. And maybe the Supreme Intelligence could actually be in the movie as a villain like the movie seemed to want, instead of a brief cameo at the start of the film and then a baffling return at the end as some kind of ‘final boss’ that we don’t give a damn about because they sat out the entire movie. The film should come to a head with the crash of the experimental jet coinciding with the moment Carol remembers it in the present - maybe we take it a step further and use that great Skrull framing device at the start of the film: the past and the recent present align in the actual-present in the Skrull machine as Carol both remembers her old life, realizes the Skrulls are just trying to help her, and wakes up. Her eyes Do The Thing and she leaps out the back of Rambeau’s plane and blows the Supreme Intelligence’s armada up (not Ronan, because nobody gave a shit the first time why would you introduce a nobody like this instead of the person you want to be the Big Bad in your movie?) like a badass just like she does in the current film and then beats the shit out of Jude Law for some serious emotional catharsis. A casualty of this would be less screen time for Samuel L. Jackson. Who gives a shit? This is Carol and Rambeau‘s movie not Scary CGI Plasticine Jackson and Really, Really, Really Scary CGI Plasticine Clark Greg’s movie. You might get less Ben Mendelsohn too. A shame but, and I can’t stress this enough this should be a movie about Carol and Rambeau and Anette Bening. Ben Mendelsohn’s need to reunite with his loving wife and daughter has no place here. Did not need a subplot about manpain.

Or, conversely, if you want a movie about a totally badass female superhero kicking ass then cut out the gaslighting plot entirely. Make a different movie. Go the Iron Man route where Tony Stark is allowed to be an egotistical badass throughout and nobody ever patronizes because we don’t write movies about men that way. Just do the same for Carol (but not literally, because Ant-Man already did “Iron Man But Again” and it sucked). Really: you want to write the great feminist superhero movie? Don’t make it about a woman’s struggles against shitty men. Just make it about an awesome woman doing awesome things and stop making The Woman’s Superhero Movie be defined by her relationship with A Man’s World (see also Wonder Woman and almost every period piece about a female character ever made). Stop Othering the woman in her own movie! Finally, Captain Marvel has one of the most generic and instantly forgettable scores, a problem with Marvel generally but actively noticeable here as scenes with good acting are ruined by saccharine music like a bad soap opera. Captain Marvel is a mediocre and forgettable film, another in a long line of movies I got hyped for as some kind of ‘feminist masterpiece’ and discovered a lot of the same old shitty, lazy superhero tropes with the clunky addition of what a boardroom of executives think constitute feminist themes according to their quantitative marketing data. I will say for the eight year old girls out there it was a powerful movie and they were inspired seeing a woman superhero and I won’t take that away from then or pretend it’s not great. But they could and deserved a much better version of this movie - one in which that unquestionably glorious fuck-shit-up scene where Carol smashes through a battle fleet like it’s fucking paper because fuck you I am the biggest badass this franchise has ever seen Thor got punched by a star once who cares watch me atomize a dreadnought with my face! was matched with the same level of care elsewhere in the picture - so when Danvers lands and beats the stuffing out of Jude Law we’re not struggling to remember his character’s name which I haven’t successfully done once this entire review. I have yet to see Endgame but I have high hopes that - much like Paul Rudd and Benedict Cumberbatch - once out of the confines of her own under-written movie Brie Larson will get a chance to really shine, because we don’t get to really see Carol Danvers until that one great ship-smashing scene and that’s a pity. We should have had a chance to know the Captain Danvers of the USAF and to be able to mourn her even as we celebrated the emergence of the new Space Badass Danvers - who isn’t the same person, who can’t be, but is something greater than before. (For the record this isn’t a bad movie. It really is just a mediocre one. It’s far, far from the MCU’s worst film. That would be - despite my biases screaming ‘Ant-Man and the Wasp’ - still probably Thor: The Dark World, which you likely forgot existed again.)