#judge i hate you i hope you rot in hell

[beanghostprincess]

It would be cracked if judge had no problem with them being trans. Like during whole cake island yonji is already transitioning in a hyperfem raid suit.

Sanji is in shock like

Sanji: it's fine when you do it but it's a problem when I do it?!?!? What the fuck? How is that fair?!?!

Yonji: Dad didn't hate you because you were trans. He hated you because you were weak...... Also, you might need to invest in getting a push-up bra looking a little flat there sweetie.

Yoiji would be so mean pointing out Sanji's "flaws" and " imperfections" In reality she's just finding ways to make herself feel superior to Sanji because she doesn't get that much support at home from her brothers or dad. Judge allows her to transition but he won't recognize her as a girl or his daughter and will misgender her. He also made it a rule for everyone in the Germa Kingdom to do the same and her brothers well...... after Sanji left they needed another scapegoat to pick on and take out their complicated feelings out on and unfortunately yonji was it. She does fight and stand up for her self, she may not admit it but it does get to her most of the time.

Sanji hates her but does sympathize with her asking why she chooses to stay even though they treat her so terribly. Of course she's welcomed with defensiveness and anger. How dare you ask that question like you care!! I never cared about you why do you care about me?!?!

Deep down she doesn't know why she stayed maybe because this life is all she knows. She's kids scared of what's beyond those castle walls and she's not really ready to find out.

TW // Transphobia (Because the Vinsmoke siblings can always get a little bit more traumatized)

I adore this whole thing so much. Judge lets Yonji do whatever she wants but never acknowledges her as a woman. It gives Judge also the opportunity to say shit like "You owe me for indulging you in your dumb wishes like... Choosing to act like a woman". Yonji wishes she could complain but both Niji and Ichiji also tell her she should be glad Judge is giving her this opportunity.

Aside from the egg, do you know what else is cracking open? Yonji's emotions. Realizing who she truly is is making her feel things she has never felt, and yeah, she turns sadness and dysphoria into frustration and anger. But she's on her way to feel more stuff.

And now I can't stop thinking about that other ask about Yonji wanting to fight Sanji but Sanji refusing to do so because she doesn't hit other girls,,, Yonji keeps pointing out things about Sanji that make her seem "not feminine" but it's only things she doesn't like about herself. And Sanji knows, even if the things Yonji says get to her sometimes, that Yonji only needs help. She can't forgive her but she can't leave her there either.

[sleepyyywriter]

Just You Is Enough For Me

A/N: I’d like to point out that my recollection of the movie is vague because I have only watched it once, but I needed a fix it fic asap. This one is for me but if you enjoy, yay! (Also, might’ve altered or moved events around but, you know. Fiction. Also, also! I did ridiculous research on pleas and whatnot and again, because this is fiction, I used what I liked and ignored the rest.)

Word Count: 8k

Genre: Fluff, fix-it fic

Heads up, this is not the fic for you if you liked Lee's character. Sorry.

Finally, thanks to @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend for listening to me spiral about Arthur and for giving me the space to come up with this idea. Love youuuu! 💜

The pencil in her hand snapped in half as she gazed up at Arthur, her eyes wide and the terror clear as day in them. The biggest mistake he could make at this point was firing them as counsel.

“My client needs a break, your hon-“

Before she even knew what she was doing, she had grabbed at Arthur’s suit and yanked him down, her eyes boring into his and effectively halting his protests.

She wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him with her eyes, she couldn’t actually say anything aloud, even if she could get her mouth to open, but Y/N needed him to understand what she knew in her heart.

They were his only shot at not rotting at Arkham for the rest of his life. They were his only shot at getting the help he so desperately needed. That he deserved and had been denied his whole existence. She knew that, why didn’t he?

The voices around her sounded so distant as they looked into each other’s eyes, hers pleading and his avoidant.

No. Not avoidant. He was looking for her, no doubt. All he did was look for her, the one responsible for this shitshow. The one who was in it for the fame and publicity that came with being the joker’s girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she was.

Y/N knew about her, who didn’t? And she hated her. She told herself it was because of the harm she was causing Arthur’s case. And because it was so obvious she didn’t actually care for him. Not all of him anyway. But if she were to be honest with herself… Well. There was no time for that right not.

Right now, they had to figure out if there was a way to salvage any of this.

As they made their way to the room they were provided with by the court, Y/N could tell Maryanne was pissed. They had been dealing with the repercussions of everything Lee said and did in front of the media, and Arthur’s outburst could very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if Maryanne herself asked to be dropped as counsel.  

As the bailiff shackled Arthur to the table at the center of the room, Y/N intercepted Maryanne at the door, involuntarily cringing at the glare sent her way.

“Let me talk to him first?”

“This is not the place for your stupid cru-“

Y/N yelped and shut the door, hoping Arthur hadn’t heard that from the other side.

“This has nothing to do with that!” she interrupted, lightly shouldering Maryanne away from the door and towards the bench outside of the room. “You need to calm down. If you go in there, guns blazing, he is going to shut down and we won’t be able to convince him to stay.”

“You think we can? You think you can?” she sneered, her lips pursing in anger as she massaged her temple with her fingers.

Y/N smiled tightly and made her way back into the room, “I’m gonna fucking try.”

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

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, arms across her chest as she leaned into the closed door, her eyes on the squirming, hunched over figure in front of her.

A part of her was trying to find the words, nice ones at least, to try to talk some sense into Arthur. Another part of herself, the pettier side, was enjoying how uncomfortable Arthur seemed.

Good. She hoped he knew he had fucked up. She especially hoped he knew how he had hurt her feelings.

She was very aware the crush was one sided, judging by the dopey smile he got on his stupidly handsome face every time Lee was brought up. And that was okay. Really! Her main concern was getting Arthur the help he needed, not any silly schoolgirl fantasies her exhausted brain would concoct right before she passed out on her bed.

Y/N had accompanied Maryanne from day one as she worked Arthur’s case, and she thought they had formed a friendship. Maryanne of course cared for him and wanted to help; she was more centered, maybe even more professional? And that why she was so damn good at her job.

Y/N was the younger associate. She could afford to be swayed by emotions. She could afford the reassuring smiles and the daily jokes and teasing banter. She was the good cop to the clients. And more so with Arthur. She could still remember how skittish he was at the beginning. How accustomed he was to people hurting him or making fun of him, that he didn’t talk to them at all for the first three days.

It wasn’t until Y/N told a joke, a very bad one she profusely apologized for, that he finally acknowledged them. She remembered how her heart ached at the sight of his scabbing eyebrow and his busted lip. How a smile made its way to her lips at the sight of his smile, so child-like and innocent and a perfect match for the twinkling seas of juniper leaves in his eyes.

It was with that memory in her head and those emotions in her heart that she finally moved. She pulled the chair next to him and sat, her elbow on the table as she rested her face on her palm.

“What the fuck, Arthur?” she sighed, her eyes searching his.

Laughter burst from his lips, but she recognized this one. It wasn’t that breathy huff before a genuine smile painted his lips. This was the laughter he couldn’t contain. The one that hurt him and wouldn’t let him get enough oxygen into his lungs. This was the laughter that left him hunched over in pain, gasping for air and afraid.

Y/N pursed her lips, mentally kicking herself for triggering him like this, and placed her hand on his back as she hummed Durante’s Smile, hoping it was as comforting for him as it was for her.

He was always singing something, nothing she ever knew of course. He had once wrinkled his nose in the most adorable way when she had played some of her music for him, her AC/DC and Bon Jovi “too loud” for him. She had laughed and they had both agreed that music could be important to both of them without necessarily meaning the same type of music.

Still, this one was one of the few “oldies” she had in her repertoire, and she hoped it was offering him some comfort.

As his chest stopped heaving and his laughter had been reduced to sporadic bursts that didn’t leave him as breathless, he began to speak.

“Lee is trying to free me. She is helping me, Y/N.”

“Arthur,” she began, her eyes shutting as she tried to keep her distaste for Lee from her face.

“We’re going to build a mountain! We’re going to be happy! And you just want me locked up. She said-”

Her hands balled into fist over his suit, and she had to make a conscious effort to pull away and not pull at his clothes.

“She said what, Arthur?” she asked, her voice tight with poorly disguised anger.

“That you- you don’t want to help. That- that you’re like them. You underestimate me and you think I’m dumb, and you don’t care about me. And-”

She raised her hand to silence him, using the other to push away from the table and get herself to her feet, needing space from him.

“I’m here, jeopardizing my job to beg you to please let us help you. Every day I go home from the office, I have to make sure nobody is following to scream at me, throw rotten shit at me or hit me because I am defending you. Which has happened by the way. And every day, every fucking day Arthur, I go back into that office and stay there until the break of fucking dawn trying to find a way to help you. And you’re telling me I don’t care? Because the one who is actively sabotaging your defense told you so?”

Maryanne came back inside at that, surprise on her face at the tone Y/N had taken which usually only she used when she needed to strongarm stubborn clients.

“You know what? I actually don’t fucking care whether you fire Maryanne or not. I quit regardless.”

Y/N ignored Maryanne’s calls and she certainly didn’t look back at Arthur as she stormed out of the room, with what felt like her whole heart stuck in her throat as she blinked the tears away.

She knew it wasn’t fair to talk to Arthur like that and much less to up and abandon him. Even if that was what he was asking for. She had proved to him once more that everyone left him when he needed them the most, but his words had cut her too deep.

She had poured her heart into doing everything in her power to help. She had called witnesses, she had read over files numerous times, fighting through the tears as she read about every despicable thing Arthur had lived through.

When what she read began plaguing her dreams, she would get back up and continue her work at home, hoping to find the smoking gun that would get the world to see he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He was a product of his fucked-up upbringing and the disregard society had for the poor and ill. Arthur needed help, proper help he was not going to receive where he was currently locked up at and so every day she worked. How could he say she didn’t care? How could he believe her? Y/N was in his corner first. Which was a stupid sentiment. Childish even. She still couldn’t stop feeling it.

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

Y/N couldn’t remember how she had gotten home. She must’ve taken the right buses because there she was, keys in her hand and her back to her door as she blinked into her dark apartment.

With a sigh, broken and drawn out, she took off her shoes and chucked her briefcase and purse somewhere into the living room. She’d look for them in the morning but now, she was a woman on a mission as she stalked toward her kitchen, two things on her mind. Vodka and ice cream.

As she carried her bowl and the entire bottle into the living room, the phone rang. She groaned and looked down at her occupied hands. There was clearly only one thing to do. Y/N poured a hefty amount of vodka into her ice cream and set the bottle aside as she grabbed the phone and carefully held it between her ear and shoulder.

“What the hell happened to ‘I’m gonna fucking try’?” the voice on the other end laughed.

“I will hang up on you if you’re calling to scream at me. Or make fun of me. I’m off the clock, you can do it tomorrow and pay me for it,” she grumbled, shoveling a spoonful of her special ice-cream into her mouth.

“You’ve been ballsy today,” Maryanne snorted and Y/N rolled her eyes at the sound.

“Can I help you or…?”

“He’s not firing us.”

“Good! Best of luck to y-”

“-on one condition. He wants you back on the case.”

Y/N scoffed, wincing as the too big spoonful of ice cream momentarily froze her brain. “And you told him to fuck off?”

“I most certainly did not. I said we would go up to see him tomorrow bright and early because you have a good head on your shoulders and a lengthy career ahead of you and you’re not going to let a stupid crush keep you from working this case, winning it, and watching your career take off.”

Y/N glared into her bowl, her eyes following the puddle forming around the lump of speckled white, both from the vodka she had added and the heat from her hands that was melting the rest.

“He’s a person. Why can’t we just help him because he deserves it? Not because of what that can do for us?”

Maryanne sighed and her tone softened, “We’re doing that too, Y/N.”

They spent a couple of minutes on the line going over ideas on how to salvage the shitshow that was today before they both agreed to meet at Arkham bright early tomorrow morning.

Y/N had an idea. She thought it would gain sympathy from the jury and get rid of Lee. That would break Arthur, but it would help their case. Even if it meant he hated her for it.

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

Y/N refused to look at him. It was “Mr. Fleck” this and that and even Maryanne couldn’t contain her laugh.

Still, the backstabbing bitch found a way to leave them alone for a bit, something about speaking to the warden about something. Oh, Y/N could’ve killed her.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I-”

Okay, maybe shoving an unlit cigarette in his mouth was childish, but if it kept him from speaking to her, who was actually winning?

Absentmindedly, she lit the cigarette with the lighter she always seemed to carry now. Even though she didn’t smoke. This definitely did not coincide with meeting Arthur.

Arthur sighed and took out the cigarette, putting it out on the ashtray as best he could with shackled hands before trying to apologize once more. “Y/N I-”

“You hurt me. What you said was mean and hurtful. And-” Y/N faltered as she tried swallowing down the knot in her throat. “I know she is, you know. But you know me. You know I care. And you still doubted me.”

Their eyes met and her breath caught in her chest. His eyes had the tendency to change according to his surroundings. The room they were in was poorly lit, but the pale hues of his jumpsuit still found a way to reflect on his eyes. They were favoring the ocean today, the one that used to be in her backyard during her childhood. The ocean that lulled her to sleep and brought her safety and comfort. His ocean was currently twinkling with unshed tears, and she hated being responsible for that.

Maryanne barreled into the office in that moment, not paying attention to them as she slammed a file on to the table.

“She has been lying to you and using you to get back at her rich daddy. And it’s about time you knew.”

Y/N turned to Maryanne, her eyes wide in shock. This was news to her and certainly not the plan of attack they had come up with last night. The plan was to get Arthur to denounce the Joker as a figure meant to incite riots and violence. Y/N figured that the minute that Arthur separated himself from the madness and violence done in his name by people who didn’t know or care about him, Lee would leave. Since she was just in it for the exposure. For Joker, not Arthur.

Arthur was meant to bring attention to who he was. A hardworking, devoted son who woke up day after day and went to work and sought out help and wanted to get better. He just needed a little bit of help to get back on his feet and the death penalty was not the way to go. That was the fucking plan. Not this!

“Maryanne?”

“Y/N? Did you know?”

At this, Y/N found herself at his side, his shackled hand in hers as she gazed into his eyes. “No, Arthur. I did not. Please believe me this time.”

Arthur nodded and Y/N dropped his hand, sending Maryanne a glare before she picked up the file and read on.

She could feel the warmth of Arthur’s body as he leaned into her to read the file as well.

Arthur had told her that Lee had set fire to her mother’s home. She had painted quite a story for him, and Arthur believed her.

Instead, she was a rich girl who hadn’t struggled a day in her life. What’s more, she had voluntarily committed herself for some crazy reason, and had then convinced Arthur it was his fault she was being sent away. The only truth she had ever told him was her name. “That bitch!”

Arthur stiffened beside her, and Y/N gritted an apology through her teeth. That was still his girlfriend at the end of the day.

“I want to talk to her.”

Y/N and Maryanne looked at each other; they both knew that was a bad idea. She would find a way to twist the facts and he would believe her. She would be free to continue wreaking havoc and inching him closer to the death penalty.

Arthur was trusting and more than anything, he just wanted to be loved. To be seen. That was the key to manipulating him. She could do it too. While she knew he didn’t feel the same way for her, she was aware that she become a friend to him and she could use that to get him to do what she wanted him to do. What she needed him to do for his own good.

Just thinking about it made her feel wretched and she knew she couldn’t do that. Especially after she had just begged him to trust her seconds ago. No. She had to do better. He deserved that much.

“Arthur,” she began, turning to him and taking his hands into hers once more, “can you give me a few moments of your attention? No interruptions. No questions. Just listen to me for a minute. And then I promise to listen to you. Can you do that?”

His head tilted to the side as his eyes bore into hers, trying to figure her out. Everyone always brought up his upbringing, his poverty, his low IQ. As if that made him less. As if life hadn’t seen all of that and still deemed it necessary to teach him lessons in the hardest, most despicable ways possible. Arthur had the uncanny ability to see through people’s intentions. He knew when he was the butt of the joke. But he wanted to be loved and so he put up with the taunts and the abuse because a part of himself thought it was a small price to pay to be loved. What a silly, hauntingly beautiful man. God, when had this become more than a crush?

With a nod and a squeeze to her hands, Arthur broke her from her reverie. And so she talked.

She explained how it would be a good idea to hold off on talking to her. How, it was great that they loved each other (that was a lie but he didn’t need to know that) but the public didn’t care for that. How, as much as we shouldn’t care what the world has to say about us, in this instance, public opinion literally held his life in their hands. Finally, she explained how she would not be able to live with herself if they were unable to win his case, if the same society that failed him again and again won in the end and took his life. Y/N begged him to please let her help him in the best way she knew how. She reassured him how Lee and he could go back to being a happy couple as soon as this was over and nobody would be able to tell him otherwise. What she didn’t say, however, was how she didn’t think Lee would stick around when the news outlets and camera flashes stopped following her every move. He could hate her for the rest of his life so long as he was off death row and living the life he always deserved. She could live with that.

“I know it’s not what you want. You deserve to talk to her and ask her to clear this up. I’m asking for the impossible from you, Arthur. But I need you to help me help you. Yes?”

His face was contorted in agony and despair, the lines around his eyes deepening as he furrowed his brows and a part of herself broke knowing she was once again the cause for his pain.

She didn’t speak and neither did Maryanne; they both knew the ball was now on Arthur’s side of the court and whatever he decided would dictate the course of his case.

“How much longer will this go on for?”

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

They left with a tentative agreement from Arthur. He wasn’t willing to cut off contact with Lee for too long and so now they had the difficult task of trying to end this trial quickly, and in their favor.

“I have a feeling he would hate this. But… what if we file a written motion for a change of venue?”

“That would push the trial date back, Y/N.”

“Yes, but you know the riots and general unrest in the city are not doing him any favors. Any jury picked from Gotham is going to convict him no matter how good our case is. And-” Y/N trailed off, collapsing into the sofa in Maryanne’s office.

“-and it creates more distance between Arthur and Lee if we move it?” Maryanne finished knowingly, handing her over her own glass of whiskey.

Y/N grumbled a plea for her to be quiet and took a generous gulp of her drink, scowling at Maryanne’s laughter.

“You know, Dent is not going to agree to that.”

At this, Y/N smirked and straightened in her seat, “oh! Did I forget to tell you how he got Sophie Dumond to testify in court?”

“Did you find something?”

“No. But I can.” She begun, shushing Maryanne before she could even get a word in. “Do not ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

Maryanne nodded and with that, Y/N left her office and made her way to her own, to draft up the motion and call up one of her old contacts.

Fabricated evidence would never hold its own in court, but the threat of said fabricated evidence tarnishing Harvey Dent’s stellar reputation? Well. That would work. Y/N meant it when she said she would do everything in her power to give Arthur a fair shot at the life he always deserved. And he would never know the lengths she’d go to. Because she didn’t need him in her debt. Y/N just wanted him to have his happily ever after. With whoever and wherever.

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

Lee had not taken the forced separation from Arthur well. It had been a week since they had filed the motion and had gotten it approved. Once news outlets caught wind of it no longer taking place in the city and noting Lee’s absence from the hearing, and general cluelessness about everything that was going on, they had lost their interest in her. She was no longer page one worthy news and judging by the number of times she stopped by the office, shouting and shoving at the security guards, she was not handling it well.

Which is why it was no surprise to her when she received a call from Arkham’s high security wing from a contact, letting her know Lee was currently in a visit with Arthur, despite explicit instructions to the warden to not allow her in.

She was in the area and so she quickly flagged down a cab, cursing up a storm and throwing the driver a few extra bills to entice him to break any laws necessary to get her there as soon as possible.

Once there, she knew exactly who had allowed Lee in, if the terrified expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Sullivan, I swear to God I will sue you and every single one of your fucking descendants if you don’t open this goddamn door.” She seethed, satisfaction filling her as he jumped off of his stool, his fingers clumsily clicking and clacking in his rush.

With a final glare, she stalked into the visiting area as soon as the gate was unlocked. She paused momentarily and gave a final warning over her shoulder, locking eyes with the only one who needed to hear it. “And if you take this out on Arthur, I will know. Remind me, what was your lovely granddaughter’s name again? She’s a second grader now, isn’t she?”

She watched him gulp and nod before she gave him a smile dripping with every ounce of distaste she had for him and continuing her trek.

Instantly, she caught sight of Lee’s back. She also saw Arthur. His lips pursed even if his eyes shouted the love and adoration he felt for her. Her heart melted at the knowledge that he was trying to keep his word and not talk to Lee. Even if she was right in front him and there was likely nothing he wanted more.

“What are you standing there for?” She barked at the guard in the corner.  “Get her out of here. She is not an approved visitor, and you know that.”

Arthur’s eyes flew to her face the minute he heard her voice; his eyes wide and pleading, almost as if begging her to believe he had nothing to do with the woman currently in front of him.

Y/N barely had the chance to reassure him before Lee’s hand connected with her face, a sharp smack ringing into the silence of the visitation area.

Her jaw tightened as she brought her hand up to her cheek, her eyes hardening as she wiped away the blood drawn by the ring Lee was wearing.

The silence was cut by Arthur’s shout of Lee’s name and Y/N felt the proverbial butterflies in her stomach at the sight of Arthur’s angry expression directed towards Lee. His eyes, stormy and narrowed as a scowl marred his usually smiling lips; Y/N was ridiculously in love.

“Don’t you get it?!” Lee shouted, struggling against the guards who were dragging her out, “She is trying to keep us apart because the little bitch wants you all to herself!”

Y/N watched as she was finally out of the visitation area, smirking in satisfaction as she hissed after stupidly banging at the iron door keeping her out.

A part of her wanted to stay that way, her back to Arthur as she willed the universe to open up and swallow her whole. She likely would’ve stayed there long after visiting hours were over had she not heard the soft call of her name. Like a moth to a flame, like a sailor falling prey to the siren’s song, Y/N turned and closed the gap between them. As much as she could with the glass in between them, at least.

“Is it true?” Y/N didn’t know if he was asking about whether she was trying to keep them apart on purpose or even worse, about the crush, but answering neither would be of no help.

“I told you from the beginning, everything I do is for your own good. Not because you can’t make decisions on your own, but because I know how things work in these cases and I want to use that knowledge to help you. The power is in your hands, Arthur. You can choose to let me go whenever you like.”

And he could. He could choose to hire someone else. Or worse even, to represent himself. But she didn’t mean it that way and she prayed he hadn’t caught her slip up. Even if it would be good if he did.

Maybe then he could release her from the hold he had on her, a hold he likely didn’t even know about. Maybe then he could stop doing things that were confusing her. Like smiling at her like she was the only person in the world. Or murmuring her name, soft and intimate, like it was made from fragile glass. Maybe then she could get her head out of her ass and behave like the professional she was before she met him. Before she fell for him.

Oh, but sweet, shy, lovely Arthur didn’t catch it. For someone who was as in love with the idea of love as he was, he was quite blind to people who actually cared for him and loved him for him. She hated and loved that about him.

He nodded, his face softening with a smile that lit up her whole world and she cursed him and loved him a little more for it.

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

These had been the most agonizing weeks of her life, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine how Arthur had been feeling. Alas, the day was finally here. Today would decide Arthur’s fate.

These last few weeks had been tedious, and Y/N had learned just how high her threshold for hate could go. More than once, she was ready to bash Dent’s head with a chair, that’s how despicable she found him. She didn’t understand how he had built a reputation of a respectable, protector of justice, when he was quite frankly a piece of shit.

Y/N had convinced Maryanne not only to change the venue, but also to move it to a more affluent area. Y/N knew there was nothing rich people loved more than pretending they cared about the little people and with the evidence they had to support Arthur’s not guilty by insanity plea, she knew the rich people who would encompass the jury would be on their side. They would be able to boast about their good deed and feel better about being filthy rich while the rest of the city died.

They wouldn’t be making the wrong call. They had more than sufficient evidence to support their claim, and anybody with half a braincell would agree that Arthur needed help in the form of rehabilitation, not incarceration.

Why then, was it that this pillar of justice was so adamant to lock Arthur up and throw away the key? Almost like he was also just after what convicting Arthur would do for his career. God, Y/N could kill him.

Arthur was a bundle of nerves beside her. She was a tad concerned that he would dislocate a knee with how he was bouncing it. She couldn’t look at him, afraid that he would see how nervous she was as well and that that would set him off, so she simply placed her hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly.

She heard him inhale to say something, but the jury walked in, the bailiff and judge right after. Her insides origami’d themselves into a gnawing creature as she helped Arthur to his feet and stood as close to him as professionally acceptable.

As the foreman affixed his reading glasses atop his nose and cleared his throat to begin reading the verdict, Y/N sent one last prayer above. This had to go in Arthur’s favor, or she didn’t know how she would live with herself.

“We, the Jury, having carefully considered all the evidence presented in this case, find the defendant, Arthur Fleck, not guilty by reason of insanity.”

Everything else was drowned out in the rush of blood inundating her head and she found herself with an armful of Arthur, his face cradled in the crook of her neck as he cried. She was counting on Maryanne to listen to the rest of the verdict as she clung to Arthur and whispered reassurances in his ear.  

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

“So what now?” Arthur asked, looking so fragile and small as he sat in the corner of the interview room they had been sent to as they made preparations for his transfer. The minute he had been uncuffed and had been able to decide himself where to go, he had picked that corner to retreat to.

Y/N’s heart broke at the realization that this had been the first time in years he had been able to make a decision as simple as this and she had found herself sitting next to him, his hand in hers as she traced soothing patterns on the back of it.

“Maryanne is drafting a document asking the court to take into account the time you have already served. If we are lucky, you’ll only be required the three-month rule in a state institution, and then your life begins. Well, kind of. You’ll be required therapy for the rest of your life, but that is a good thing. I will ensure that whoever sees you now actually cares and helps. I promise,” she finished with a squeeze to his hand, a smile on her face as he breathed out a soft laugh.

“Will you visit?” he murmured after some time, not quite turning to look at her but she could feel his eyes gazing at her from under his eyelashes, as if afraid of her answer.

“As many times as you want me to,” Y/N reassured, slightly distraught at how vehemently she meant that. Fuck, she was stupid in love with a man who saw her as nothing more than a friend.

“Every day,” he beamed. His eyes finally meeting hers and she marveled at the weight that had clearly lifted from his shoulders. His bejeweled emerald eyes shined brightly in the dimly lit room and for a split second, she forgot how to breathe. She didn’t think breathing was as important as not missing a second of the awe-inspiring sight in front of her. The way his chestnut locks framed his face, or the way his thick lashes dusted the thin, purplish skin of his eyelids. He was beautiful and how she wished to be the one to gaze upon him every day. Sadly…

“Have you talked to Lee?”

Her smile tightened and she cleared her throat, hoping to swallow down the distaste. “I called her myself after the verdict but got her answering machine. As soon as she calls back, I will let you know.”

“I think she’s mad. I hope she doesn’t hate me,” he mused sadly, his shoulders slumping forward.

“You did what you had to do for your wellbeing. She loves you, I’m sure she’ll understand,” Y/N consoled, nudging him with her shoulder. “Besides, you can blame me if you want. That way she can’t be mad at you.”

His eyes searched her face until they settled on the new scar on her face, courtesy of Lee. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his free hand nearing her face, but right before he could make contact, she jumped up. Y/N didn’t know if she could come back from knowing what his hands felt like on her face.

“There is another thing we must discuss, Arthur,” she began, hoping she was successfully playing off how flustered being so close to him made her. “Medication. I know you don’t like the way you feel but taking it will likely be a requirement.”

He slumped over once more, an adorable pout taking over his lips and Y/N cursed the heavens for the feelings lighting up sparks within her.

They discussed the topic a bit more, and Y/N died a little when he admitted he was not aware he was allowed to ask to be switched to other medications until they found a good fit for him. He assumed the lifeless, zombie-state was the norm and Y/N’s heart broke a little more for him. He deserved the world and she wanted to be the one to give it him.

Maryanne came in then, a grin on her face as she sat on a chair, beckoning for the other two to do the same.

Y/N obliged and offered Arthur her hand to help him up, then guided him to a chair and took one next to him. He looked at her then, questioning, but all she could do was shrug as she did not know what Maryanne’s grin was about.

Their questioning looks soon turned to astonishment as Maryanne explained how the judge, who happened to regularly play golf with her husband, had agreed that the time Arthur had served should be taken into account. What’s more, he believed one of the ways society could atone for its sins against Arthur was to waive the three month rule and set Arthur free, to the care of a guardian who would assume responsibility for him. He would still be required to attend counseling for the rest of his life, and follow any guidelines his medical team recommended, but that was of course next to nothing compared to being institutionalized.

Y/N’s mouth hung open; she could almost feel her jaw unhinge as she tried to comprehend the feat Maryanne had just accomplished.

“I- I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Her heart, bruised and battered, broke a little more at the sound of his broken whisper and she turned to him, words of comfort on her lips before Maryanne cut her off.

“Sure you do. Y/N is the court-appointed guardian the judge, Dent and I agreed on.” Maryanne said this nonchalantly, but Y/N could hear the smugness on her voice. “By the way Y/N, verify your address with accounting. Due to your new circumstances, we’ll have to ship a PC to your home. I’m thinking you can do three days at home and two in the office? Or as necessary. We’ll figure that out later. For now, we have accommodations to make.”

She then sashayed out of the room, and had it not been for Arthur’s hand on her shoulder, Y/N would’ve sat there frozen for God know how long.

“Is- is that okay? You can say no, Y/N. I don’t want to trouble you.” He said this with a smile, and she knew that even if she refused to house him and this meant he would lose his freedom and go back to being incarcerated, he would truly not hold that against her. God, he was so good. How could anyone ever think about hurting him? When he deserved nothing short of the world?

“And why would I do that, roomie?”

The grin he gave her was like the sun peaking from the horizon on a freezing December morning. Nothing could’ve ever topped it, except for the tight hug he gave her.

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

It had been a couple of months since Arthur had moved in. The first few days were… a learning experience. She tried to accustom herself to having another person living under her roof, a person she had feelings for but could not act on. And Arthur was trying to remember how to be free again. As free as he could be considering the restrictions he had on him.

Y/N’s heart broke every time he forgot where he was and would wait around for the door to be unlocked and opened for him. As he waited for permission he no longer needed to accomplish mundane tasks, Y/N would approach him carefully and softly, as if afraid to shock him, and she’d remind him that he could move as he pleased. She’d remind him that he was home now (God, how she hoped he felt like he was home) and was in charge of his actions.

Without fail, wonder filled his eyes, and he looked around the room, as if taking it in and reminding himself where he was before settling on her face. And then, then he’d steal her breath as he smiled at her, soft and sweet. Oh, how she loved him.

Lee had seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth. As much as she didn’t want to, for Arthur, she had called in favors to try and find her.  To no avail.

Last she heard, her parents had shipped her overseas to distance her from everything she had said and done in front of the cameras, but that was the last they had been able to find about her.

Arthur was of course heartbroken, but he claimed he was at least happy knowing she was safe. It didn’t matter that she no longer loved him and didn’t want to see him.

For her part, Y/N swore that if she ever saw her, she’d rip her face off and keep it as a trophy.

Today was one of the rare days off they had. Arthur had no session today and she had finished her work for the week. After breakfast, she had asked him what he wanted to do for the day and, without missing a beat, he had suggested a walk around the city.

The area Y/N lived in was on the other side from where Arthur grew up. It was decidedly nicer, cleaner and nobody seemed to know or care who Arthur was. Arthur loved going on walks whenever they both had the time, and without fail, he would steal yet another piece of her heart as he marveled at the most mundane things they encountered on their walks.

She recalled the giggle that escaped his lips the first time they had come across a flock of ducks in the park and Y/N could do nothing more but slip into a bodega to purchase frozen peas so Arthur could feed the ducks. Nothing could put a price on the delight lighting up his face.

And so, the plan was the same today. As they walked out of the familiar bodega, hand in hand and frozen peas secured, Y/N marveled at how good of a life she had.

As they made their way to the park, they stopped every few houses and marveled at the Halloween decorations adorning the streets. It was mid-October, her favorite time of the year, and she loved the way the city looked.

As they approached an empty park bench, she turned to Arthur, wanting to point out the ducks to him only to find him already looking at her.

That had been a recent development and she wished she could ask him to stop. She, of course, couldn’t do that. Not without explaining that her heart threatened to leap out of her chest and into his hands whenever he looked at her like that. Not without confessing her feelings to him, which would be incredibly unfair.

He didn’t feel that way and she had no right to take away the only safe place he had ever had. Arthur deserved a good life, he deserved to experience everything that had been denied from him his whole life and she couldn’t rob him of that by telling him about her silly little feelings.

What was she supposed to do when he told her he didn’t feel the same? Even worse was the thought of him feeling pressured to reciprocate out of fear his new world would be yanked from his feet. No. She would never tell him. But God, how she prayed he would stop looking at her like that. How she wished to dig into her chest and rip out her heart, to lock it in a box and shove it somewhere it could never come back from. How she wished not to feel. Just for a bit.

They sat at the park for what was certainly hours. He talked about his sessions and how they had finally settled on a medication that did not make him feel dead. It made him a bit sleepy, he said. But he could think, feel, and eat.

That she could attest to. He often asked for seconds during meals and just last week, when she was coming out of her room for a mid-day break from work, she had encountered a shirtless Arthur coming out of the restroom after a shower. Recovering from the shock, she turned back to her room with a squeak but not before allowing her eyes to roam his shirtless frame. She had noticed how his ribs were no longer protruding, and there was a softness cushioning his belly that was not there before when she had helped him dress for his trial, which seemed like eons ago now.

In turn, she talked about work without going into many details. Confidentiality and all. And she asked about the at-home nurse that would come in whenever Y/N had to go into the office. Arthur had no complaints and he confessed she almost felt like a mother, a proper one. Y/N grabbed his gloved hand and squeezed, a surprised squeak leaving her lips when he pressed his forehead against hers. If her breath hadn’t abandoned her, and her limbs obeyed her, she likely would’ve pushed him away. Instead, she shut her eyes and allowed the tremors to wash down her back and could do nothing but nod dumbly when he suggested they head back.

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

 The walk back had been quiet. She thought she had done well at not making it awkward despite the silence from her part.

A talk would likely need to happen. If she wanted to hold on to the last bits of her sanity, boundaries would have to be set. Maybe she’d take up Sam’s weekly invitations to go out for drinks after work. Maybe that was what she needed to get over Arthur. Or to at least not go into cardiac arrest over physical contact.

He unlocked the door for them, likely realizing her dazed state and gently guided her inside and on to the couch.

Arthur left her eyesight for a bit, and she figured he had gone into his room. Even as she heard clattering in the kitchen, she didn’t turn to look, too lost in her thoughts.

It wasn’t until he reappeared in front of her, a steaming mug of hot cocoa in hand, topped with whipped cream and marshmallows like he knew she liked, that she broke through her dazed state.

“I thought you were cold, so I made this for you,” he began as he set it on the coffee table in front of her. He then reached around and grabbed the blanket draped over the couch and fluffed it before wrapping it around her. “I shouldn’t have made you stay outside this late. I forgot how cold it gets.”

Like a petulant child, she pulled the blanket over her head with a groan, wanting to lovingly punch his stupid face for making her feel feelings. This was too much for her.

Arthur laughed out a ‘what’s wrong?’ as he attempted to free her from her self-made blanket prison, soft giggles leaving him the more she fought against him.

Knowing she wasn’t going to win this battle, she broke free, furrowing her brows as she looked at the giggling man beside her.

Arthur snorted and reached over to smooth down her hair, his eyes twinkling with amusement, his cheeks flushed and lips curled in a smile.

“Arthur,” she began, grabbing his hands and placing them on his lap before folding hers in front of her chest, as if that was going to protect her heart.

“You know I care for you. And I will always be here for you. But-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have…” he trailed off. He remained silent for a few seconds before giving himself a reassuring nod. His eyes met Y/N’s briefly before he turned to focus on the long-forgotten mug. “Dr. Sloane recommended I tell you how I feel but- I’m not good with words, Y/N. I hoped my actions could, I don’t know,” he trailed off with a half-hearted shrug.

Y/N, on the other hand, was fighting through the static ringing in her ears as she tried making sense of Arthur’s words.

“How you feel?”

“I’m sorry Y/N. You’re probably just being nice. I knew you didn’t feel the same. But Dr. Sloane said I should try and-”

“Arthur!” she called to him firmly, her hands finding his as she tried to keep him from going down the spiral he currently was. “You have feelings for me?”

Arthur nodded shyly, his eyes on their intertwined hands as he rubbed the tips of his index finger and thumb together, a nervous habit he had picked up now that he was trying to quit smoking.

“You like me? But, Lee?”

“I don’t know if she was real. If what I thought she felt or what I felt for her was real. But you,” at this he smiled, so blindingly bright that for a moment she wondered how he had captured the moonlight in his smile.

“And you haven’t noticed I’ve liked you since day one?” she interrupted him, fighting a smile as his hands stiffened in hers.

Arthur���s head snapped up as his eyes searched hers, trying to decipher whether she was lying or not. She let him look, making sure to let her face and eyes shout about the love for him she had been trying to bottle up for what felt like an eternity.

“How- Y/N, how long?” he whispered, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Since I set foot in that room, shitty joke in my notebook. Since you laughed, so soft and shy and then told me one of yours.”

He made a choking sound and before she could worry about hearing him choke on that laughter that rarely made an appearance now but he still feared, he had closed the distance between them by pulling her into him.

She squeaked and surprised, allowed him to wrap his arms around her. He felt so warm. So safe. So right.

“We’re going to have to talk about this Arthur!” she laughed, succumbing to the kisses being peppered on her face.

“I’m serious, Arthur. We’re going to talk.” Y/N valiantly tried once more, sighing at yet another peck to her nose. Her forehead. And the corner of her lips. God, this man was a fuckin’ tease.

He groaned before cupping her cheeks with his palms, warm and calloused. “We will, later. But can I please kiss you now?”

It was Y/N’s turn to silence him, her lips finding his and her eyes fluttering shut. She didn’t know how the fireworks going off in her stomach had travelled to just behind her eyelids, but as Arthur pressed his lips to hers, urgently yet sweetly, she found she didn’t really care.

In that moment, nothing mattered. Not the road they had travelled to get here. Not where the road would take them tomorrow. All that mattered to her now was how his lips, chapped and warm moved against hers. How his hands felt, one on her back, branding her with his fingertips through her clothes. The other on her cheek, his thumb ghosting over her skin, staking claim to what had long belonged to him.

Nothing mattered but him. Always him. Forever him.

[brewstersbru]

More halstarion cuz ive been playing my lil origin run; also happy halloween folks !

Pain. Sharp, dragging, unbearable agony against his back. Astarion huffs a small noise of pitiful discontent before clenching his mouth shut. Quiet. Can’t let him hear you. His fangs tear a little into his gums, but there isn’t enough blood in him for any to really trickle out of the wounds. 

A voice- disembodied, but cold and lilting as ever- sounds from behind. “My dear, how prettily you bleed. Even lovelier now, with the poetry I am bestowing upon you. Truly, a gift. And what do we say to gifts, Astarion?” 

Astarion moans miserably into the ground- or is it a steel surgical table? He can’t remember, he can’t focus. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. There’s a feeling of hands in his hair, grasping, tearing- the flash of a derisive, fanged grin- “What do we say, Astarion?”

His name sounds like rot coming from his lips, similar to the way one would utter the word “disgusting” or “vile”. Astarion hiccups with the force of his suffering- it’s simply too much, never before has Cazador been so persistent, never before has he carved so deep, for so long. Astarion’s weak, starving body cannot maintain itself against his tides of cruelty.

There is quiet as Cazador waits for his answer, he knows Astarion will do his very best to give it. Years and years of this torment had to have culminated into something- into an exceedingly loyal dog, he’d hoped. It’s why he tries not to command anything; not only because it takes the fun out of things, but also because it encourages a kind of devotion to the task that a simple order could never elicit. Pain can be such a useful tool, and he’s spent years honing his skill with it. 

Astarion gasps, chokes on a putrid mix of saliva and droplets of rat blood as they clog in his throat. “T-Thank you.” He coughs. Cazador hums and pushes his head back down. He runs a sharp nail down the middle of the warm, wet mess on Astarion’s back. It stings like a million tiny needles.

“Thank you, what?”

He digs the nail into one of the runes he’d just finished carving, ever so slightly, and Astarion writhes in agony. His breath comes choppy and ragged, and tears track endlessly down his nose. A moment, two, as Astarion brings a heaving breath in and steels himself against the revulsion he is about to feel.

“Thank you, Master.” The hum this elicits is decidedly pleased and Astarion hates himself all the more for earning it. If only he was stronger, if only he were able to hold out just a bit longer. If only he’d been able to make himself wait; Cazador would have grown tired, would have ordered him, eventually. 

Now, he is little more than a lapdog, bereft of even his pride, and the pain will only continue. How he despises the man he’s become, the man Cazador has moulded him into. 

The agony in his back resumes, even sharper and more unbearable than before. Astarion muffles a scream behind clenched teeth and wrenches his eyes open to reveal a circling of trees. A cool gust of air swipes across his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, slightly. 

Astarion takes a moment to orient himself. He’d been trancing, curled into himself and facing away from the fire- Gods know why, he could use all the heat he can get with the way his undead body refuses to hold onto it on its own; some lingering self-flagellation, perhaps. 

He’s no longer bound to Cazador- for the time being at least- he’s fine. The ‘dream’ or whatever that had been was only a memory. Nothing more. He’s fine. 

Sitting up, he swats at the tear tracks on his cheeks and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Halsin, who had been whittling, it seems, judging by the knife in one hand and the partially carved wooden-something in the other. Astarion ducks and covers his face with a slender hand.  

“What in the hells are you doing, you oaf!?”

“… Whittling?” Halsin’s voice cracks a bit as he stumbles over the word. Astarion tries not to notice how endearing that is. He huffs.

“I gathered. Could you just- turn around? Please?” 

Halsin tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and stares at him with furrowed brows, mouth set in a firm line. He speaks carefully, but directly, unable to tiptoe around a subject when they’re both aware of the gravity of it.

“Are you alright, my friend? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I noticed-“

“Not now.” Astarion’s voice comes out rough, grating, and he cannot bring himself to look Halsin in the eye as he speaks. 

“… Alright” There’s a shuffling as- assumedly- Halsin picks himself up and heads back to his tent. Astarion only allows himself a breath of relief when the other man’s footsteps retreat outside of his range of hearing. 

On one hand, Astarion is astoundingly, exceedingly grateful to have his wishes honored. On the other, it is so, very quiet, and he can still feel the ghosts of fingers petting, clawing and grasping at his skin. He feels dirty, a vile little thing ought to be left in the dirt. 

His back aches- phantom pains, he knows- and even years after their conception his scars throb. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s been able to focus on it, the first time no other, greater pain can distract him from the dull shock of remembrance. Maybe he’d never healed correctly, maybe it’s his mind playing its usual tricks. 

Suddenly unable to stand the scratch of cloth against the raised skin on his back, Astarion wrestles his shirt off of himself. Sharp nails dragging uncaringly against the skin as if trying to sate an itch. He wants the ‘poetry’ off of himself, he wants to be clean.

His scratching becomes more fervent, less careful as his thoughts spiral. A sob works its way up, only to die in his throat, he chokes a little on it. Off. Off. Off. He needs it off. He wishes he could claw the taint away. His skin crawls under his fingernails, even as they scratch past skin. Blood flows, sluggish, down the bony curve of his spine. It is not an unfamiliar feeling. 

A sharp gasp sounds, quiet, but cutting in the previous silence that had pervaded the space around the campfire. Astarion does not dare look up from the ground. Great. Another interruption to him losing his fucking mind. 

Thankfully- which, who could guess he’d ever think the word in relation to the druid- it’s just Halsin again. Arms now laden with jars and cloth, rather than the sharp woodworking tools he’d left the fire with. The jars are labeled, but his scrawl is too small for Astarion to parse the words. 

“Astarion, my friend, please cease this needless self-mutilation!” He rushes to Astarion’s side, carefully placing the jars on the side of his bedroll and gently, loosely grasping at Astarion’s wrists- assumedly to encourage the vampire to pry his claws from his skin. He doesn’t push, simply holds him there.

The warmth is welcome, grounding in the swirl of pain and cold and despair that had previously been clouding Astarion’s mind. He lets out an unnecessary, but comforting breath and allows his hands to be pried away. 

“Good. That’s good, my friend, thank you.” 

Astarion grouses a discontented sound, to which Halsin huffs a small chuckle. 

“Alright- you’re alright. You were looking rather pale- moreso than usual at least- and I had hoped some of my oils or salves could soothe any injuries you’d overlooked, or old aches.” He pauses for a moment and rifles through the pile of goods he’d brought over, “As elves, our ‘nightmares’ are more memories, than anything. I’m more than familiar with a long-forgotten wound making itself known after a particularly jarring remembrance. I am sorry yours were so visceral.”

He’s babbling, Astarion notices, low voice rather quick compared to its usual steady thrum, but he can appreciate the effort in attempting to keep him grounded. His body doesn’t want to move, though, and he simply slumps into himself, gaze steadily forward, hollow, almost in its vacancy. 

“Here let me-“ A warmth hovers over the mess of Astarion’s back. Well, this is rather familiar. But it pauses,hesitates. Still, Astarion can feel himself tensing. A short, ragged sound punches out of him, unwitting. Halsin hums. 

“Apologies, my friend, it seems my manners have escaped me in my nerves. May I touch you? I wish only to soothe the hurt, I have a balm that should do the trick well and once I’ve applied it, my hands will not touch your skin again should you wish it.”

Astarion takes a moment, another unnecessary breath, then nods. It’s curt, almost imperceptible really, but Halsin had been paying very close attention to his body’s reactions. He thanks him- what for, Astarion cannot even begin to fathom. 

It’s quiet as Halsin’s deft fingers tenderly pass a wet towelette down his spine to clean the blood from it. It soothes, cool and stinging against new cuts and Astarion can only hope that at least he’d left new scars. Something to disrupt the carving of pure malice that had lain there, undisturbed, for so long. 

“Thank you.” It takes a while, and his voice is fairly destroyed by what he can only assume had been long minutes of screaming and sobbing in his sleep, coupled with the panic attack after waking. Halsin’s fingers continue their deft work. 

“Please. No need. If I may I- I hate to see you struggle so. Is there anything that caused it? Anything we can avoid?” His sincerity is sweet, but useless. Astarion shakes his head.

“Comes and goes, really. Used to be able to ignore it with other things. Can’t focus on memories when the present is fucked too, right?” Astarion chuckles, but Halsin does not join in. 

It’s quiet for a bit, Halsin’s hands feel almost hesitant against his skin, “I am not a man easily drawn to violence but- well- your old master deserves nothing but the slowest, most painful death possible. I know it means little but I am sorry. You did not deserve his torment. No one could deserve that.”

“I was no angel in life, druid. For a long time, it seemed like a penance.” The words are almost hissed, but the sincerity in them is unmistakable.

“Even penance ends, eventually, Astarion. Forgiveness usually follows. Two hundred years is more than enough time. Especially when you had not even truly lived before being thrust into undeath- I mean thirty-nine? You still bear your child name.” Halsin sounds almost pained, although his hands remain steady, now pressing fingerfuls of balm to each cut, and even the undamaged rune-scars too. Something in Astarion howls, surges forward into an incessant rage at the tenderness.  

“And perhaps I was a truly devilish child, druid! Perhaps I deserved it!” Halsin sighs. 

“No one deserves that, Astarion. You have to know that.”

“If I allow myself to believe that, then I have to accept victimhood. I have to accept that loss of control. I have to accept that it’s not that I deserved it, it’s that no one cared enough to try to save me. Tell me, druid, which would you rather believe.” With a final, gentle pass of his thumb Halsin retreats. Shamefully, Astarion misses the warmth of his touch. The druid rounds his bedroll, settling criss-crossed in front of him and busying himself with organizing his bottles into a neat pile.

“Well, first, I’d like it if you used my name and not my title. It feels rather impersonal talking to you when you won’t even call me ‘Halsin’. Second, I truly don’t know, but I have always favored the truth over anything else.”

Astarion hisses, “I will call you what I like, not what you tell me to call you.” Halsin simply nods, and something inside him deflates. Backs down from its haunches. 

“Oh, alright, you big baby. Halsin. Maybe the truth is that I was- however implausibly- the kind of person to deserve my penance.”

Halsin seems to light up at the sound of his name from Astarion’s lips. Astarion tries to find it dorky and uncool and not hopelessly endearing. Then, “I find that incredibly hard to believe. Had you even chosen an adult name? Had anything in mind?”

Astarion falls quiet at this. “I had an idea, a few, maybe. I remember being excited about them, I thought I was so clever with the word choice… But I cannot remember them. Cazador only called me by this name, when he deigned to adress me, and I did not exactly have the time or energy to care about choosing another.”

Something within Halsin cracks at the admission. To have that rite stolen from him was abhorrent. Heartbreaking. 

“Truly you remember nothing?”

Astarion shrugs, “Hard to find that kind of thing important when there are other, more pressing matters. It’s not like the names would fit me anymore, either, two hundred years have taken their toll, after all.” He smiles, a crooked, self-depreciating thing and gestures to himself, the scars on his back. “Thank you, by the way. I wouldn’t have treated them on my own.” The thanks doesn’t even need to be forced from his lips. Halsin smiles at the ease with which it is offered. 

“No need. And I know.”

It’s quiet for a while longer. The two of them take the time to simply look at each other. Astarion wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Halsin is seeing as he gazes at him with such open fondness and admiration. Surely it cannot be him. Godssakes he hasn’t even seen himself in two hundred years, who knows what kind of effect it’s had on his wrinkles. He tries not to dwell. 

“I’m going to read.” Astarion says, when he can no longer stand the thought of just how many lines have been carved in his face, without the help of Cazador’s many painful instruments. Halsin simply nods, but continues searching his face. Astarion is unsure what he’s looking for, but is fairly certain, whatever it is, has long since left him. Nowadays he’s mostly bared teeth and vengeance more than anything.  

“Please, go right ahead. If you would not protest, I would very much like to join you. I’ll whittle, stay quiet so you can focus. Would that be alright?” He tilts his head to the side, and, with the way he’s fiddling with a jar, seems so incredibly bear-like in the moment that Astarion has to clamp down on a giggle.

“… Alright. But you had better keep that promise to stay quiet.” Halsin grins, a warm, blinding thing. 

“As a mouse. And we druids are rather good at mimicking animals, you know.”

A laugh punches itself from Astarion’s throat as he heads back to his tent and settles on some pillows, his most recent thick tome open in his lap. 

It’s not long before Halsin is quietly announcing his presence, shuffling around to settle a few feet away, legs tucked up under him as he situates himself against the nearest surface- a stolen chest from one of the many towers they’d rummaged through. 

It’s easy to forget he’s there- or, no, it’s easy to simply exist in a space with him. Astarion doesn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything to him- after all, he’s basically seen him at his worst- and the silence is warm. Interrupted, every so often, by the methodical scrape of metal against wood, or the crisp flipping of a page. 

Before he can stop himself, Astarion’s fallen into another trance. This time blissfully devoid of any visions or memories. 

He wakes to an empty tent, but his book is neatly bookmarked and stowed beside his bedroll. He, himself had been carefully tucked under a pelt of some sort- a piece he knew was not from his own tent- and next to the book lay a small, intricately carved wooden star. On the back, a careful engraving:

little star, how you shine

It feels like a declaration. 

[olivianyx]

Hi, so I know this might Sound weird from a reality shifter, but what exactly is respawning?

I saw a succes Story you told about a Coach of yours who respawned, ans it's not the first time I heard about it, but I don't really understand it, can you please explain????

Thanks a lot💕

RESPAWNING

TW: mentions of de@th, suicide, abuse and others. If you're an anti, or feel uncomfortable reading this, please feel free to not read this. If you don't like this topic, respectfully fuck off. Haters just keep scrolling this topic ain't for y'all.

Hey! Sorry for the late response.

It's completely okay to not know something, and I don't mind it sweetheart 💓

So, julie, she was my coach, she respawned in October 2023.

Respawning means to completely cut ties with this reality by either having an intention of not coming back (since in shifting community, most of them come back to their 'original reality' where actually no reality is your original reality) or by a clinical de@th and replace their consciousness with another one, or choosing to end their life in that reality and erase their remnants and memories and go to their desired reality to start a whole new life. The reason why can vary. Cus some people may had an abusive childhood or traumatizing one. It's their choice. So anybody that's judging it too quick just go fuck yourself with sticks. It's okay to go for a whole new reality if you don't like this one. We don't gotta rot in hell.

Well, it's got a really bad reputation in the shifting community since those mf shiftokers spread rumours that it's suicide, well in fact, it's none of the haters business.

RESPAWNING VS PERMASHIFTING

Ig you've heard permashifting too, the same as respawning but you have an option to come back to the previous reality. Meanwhile, in respawning, there isn't. But actually, you can come back to another reality where the version of you haven't reapawned.

SOME RANT (pardon since I'm outta my mind this time)

Well, I needed to address something to those goddamn haters in my asks and those in the community too. People have something to complain about all the fucking time, like bitch how bout minding your fucking business?? Am I or someone else hating on you for breathing and being alive? No right? Then fuck off, nobody needs your fucking opinion. Just fuck off of its hurting your feelings or violating your rights as an individual blah blah blah. Idfc just get your asses off of these precious communities.

I hope this helps :)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

From Hell to Home To Back Again

Summary: At the talent show, Chrissy Cunningham is so hungry that she nearly collapses. When she's found by Hopper, her parents ended up losing custody of her. She ends up being placed in the care of the Hendersons, and she finally finds the family she so desperately needed. She also ends up falling in love. What other changes are made in this alternate universe?

@emen-98 @1lostsoul0fishbowl @vulpixsworld

Prologue . . . Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chrissy had been having a pleasant dream until a certain annoying little brother woke her up. Ready to yell at him, Dustin opened his mouth and said something that made her heart stop.

"Eddie's house blew up."

"What?!" Chrissy screamed as she sat up.

"Yeah, it's on the news," Dustin said.

"Is Eddie - is he - ?" She couldn't say the words.

"I don't know, they didn't say if they found a body. They did say a cop got shot, though," he replied.

Chrissy grabbed her robe and kicked off the covers. Mews landed on the other side of the bed with a loud meow.

"Sorry, Mews," Chrissy said.

She ran into the living room with Dustin, the news blaring on the TV. They watched with rapt attention as they waited for them to say whether or not there was a body. All they said was that a young man had been arrested. Once they said that, Chrissy immediately picked up the phone to call Hopper.

"Is he alive?" Were the words out of Chrissy's mouth as soon as Hopper answered the phone.

"Yeah, we got him. He's in our holding cells," Hopper said.

"What happened?" Chrissy asked.

"I don't know. He's not saying much. I think the kid is in shock," Hopper said. "All I know is that there were shots fired at his house. Officer Moore responded to the call. There were two guys holding Al and Eddie at gunpoint. One of them shot Officer Moore, and Al took off, leaving Eddie to help Moore by stopping the bleeding. It worked. The kid saved his life. Knowing Al, he probably conned his own kid into helping him."

"Jesus," Chrissy muttered and paused. "I'm glad he's okay. When you do go to talk to him again, make sure that you don't call him Junior. He hates that."

"I'll keep you updated," Hopper said. "Get some rest, you're going to school soon."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Chrissy said. "Thanks, Hop."

She hung up the phone and relayed the news to her brother.

"Chrissy. . .did Eddie's dad really con him?" Dustin asked.

"That's what Hop thinks, and judging from what I've heard about him, Hopper's probably right about that," Chrissy said.

"A lot of people say a lot of stuff about Eddie, but you still say that he's a good man," Dustin said.

Chrissy frowned as she thought about it. In one way, what Dustin said was true, but in another, he was wrong.

"Well, some rumors are true, and some aren't. Maybe there's good buried deep down inside of him, but considering that he abandoned his son yet again tells me that it must buried really deep," Chrissy replied and paused. "By the way, what were you doing up so early?"

"I had a nightmare, couldn't sleep," Dustin muttered.

Chrissy sighed, knowing Dustin was probably having a nightmare about her again. She pulled him close her and kissed the top of his head. They fell asleep snuggled up together. Pretty soon, it was time for school. Ronnie wasn't waiting at her locker this time, which sometimes happened now when she chose to wait by Robin's. She didn't see Ronnie until lunchtime. Hellfire had officially joined their lunch table, and Chrissy could tell by the looks on their faces that they learned about what happened or what they thought happened.

"I hope Eddie's okay," Nancy said softly, looking sympathetically at Chrissy.

"I hope he's rotting in a jail cell," Gareth snorted. "He deserves it."

"Really?" Chrissy asked.

"He was an asshole who abandoned us, and it's his fault he got caught up in all of that shit, anyway," Jeff said.

"I'm not saying that that's not true, but do you really think he deserves to have his home destroyed?" Chrissy asked.

"He was leaving it anyway," Dougie said.

"Doesn't everyone leave home eventually? Doesn't mean that it's still not home," Steve said, and the boys gave him a look. "But I could be wrong."

"No, Steve’s right. Eddie's home has always been Hawkins, and he never felt welcome here. He saw a way out, and he grabbed it," Chrissy said. "Could there have been a better way to do it? Yeah, possibly. You have every right to be hurt, but Eddie learned the hard way in what it means to trust Al Munson. No one is harder on himself than Eddie is right now."

"Shouldn't you be more pissed than anyone? You two were - ," Gareth started to say.

"Of course, I'm pissed but I figured that could wait until later because right now, all I can feel is relief that Eddie is alive," Chrissy said. "As you should be. I was woken up this morning by my brother: "Eddie's house blew up." It scared the shit out of me because suddenly, I was picturing Eddie's body burnt to a crisp. So, no, he didn't deserve to learn the lesson that way."

Chrissy bit her lip, trying to stop the tears from falling.

"Shit, sorry, Chrissy," Gareth said.

"Okay, enough talk about Eddie," Ronnie said, glaring at Gareth. "At least for now."

After school, Chrissy found Hopper waiting outside, talking to Jason. She frowned. Gareth found her outside and walked up to her.

"What's going on?" Gareth asked.

"I don't know, but it's Jason, so it could be anything," Chrissy said.

"Did you know Jason stopped hanging out with Tommy Hayes and Connor?" Gareth asked.

"No," Chrissy said. "How do you know that?"

"I accidentally saw him arguing with them. I briefly heard them bringing up Eddie's name, but then Jason pushed him before mentioning something about Higgins and pills," Gareth said. "I moved on before they could notice me."

Hopper caught Chrissy's eyes and nodded at her for her to come over. Chrissy squeezed Gareth's arms and walked over to Hopper.

"Hey, Hop," Chrissy greeted him with a smile.

"Mr. Carver just told what really happened the day Eddie dropped out of school. Apparently, Higgins convinced the teachers not to let Eddie use their classrooms but neglected to inform him and then set them on Eddie when he tried to break into the classroom. He's been pressuring his players into messing with Hellfire and Eddie just so he could get him to drop out. Jason also let me know that Higgins has been giving some of the players drugs to help their performance," Hopper said.

"Why?" Chrissy asked Jason softly.

"I didn't like who I was when I was on them," Jason shrugged. "My parents are going to get me some help. I'm sorry about all of it. You didn't need me to protect you and to mess with Eddie like that. . . I just wanted to win. None of its an excuse for what I did."

"You here to arrest Higgins?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to need a statement from you from what happened that day, if you don't mind talking about it," Hopper said.

"Whatever helps nail that asshole to the wall," Chrissy said cheerfully.

"I should probably get in there," Hopper said. "I'll be watching you, Carver."

Hopper walked away, storming into the school with Officer Powell. Jason turned to look at Chrissy, looking extremely guilty.

"It's going to take some time for me to forgive you because what you did was so fucked up," Chrissy said and looked at him softly. "But in the end, you did do the right thing, and I do understand that you were drugged by someone who was supposed to protect you. He took advantage of you, and that wasn't right. So, I'm going to get there a lot quicker because of it, but it doesn't mean you have a chance with me."

"Of course. I know that I blew that a long time ago. I'll still spend the rest of my life making it up to you and the others," Jason said.

He said goodbye and walked away. His shoulders slumped as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Chrissy wandered back over to Gareth, only to find that the rest of Hellfire had shown up.

"What the hell was that about?" Ronnie asked, and Chrissy told them what happened.

"Isn't that going to ruin his basketball career?" Gareth asked.

"Probably," Chrissy said.

"Ugh, I'm feeling a little bit of respect for Jason Carver. Gross," Gareth said. "Still hate him."

"Well, I'm not leaving until I see Higgins come out in cuffs," Jeff said.

Apparently, word got around, too, because suddenly, most of the students were standing by the school doors. They opened, and Hopper came out with Principal Higgins in handcuffs. The school erupted into cheers. Apparently, most of the students didn't like him very much.

"Take that, you arrogant dick!" A student yelled out.

Higgins' eyes caught Chrissy's, and he glared at her.

"This is all your fault, you and your - ,"

"My meddling dog?" Chrissy asked cheerfully, and everyone laughed.

"One phone call and Miss Ecker's dream of going to New York is over!" Higgins exclaimed.

"Are you seriously blackmailing students in front of two cops?" Powell asked.

"I don't think anyone is going to take you seriously once they learned you've been arrested for giving drugs to your students," Hopper said. "Move and don't you say another word to Chrissy. You don't even fucking look at her."

Chrissy waved happily at him as he looked away. She turned to say something to the others, only to find them looking at her.

"Is that what happened in Higgins' office?" Ronnie asked softly. "He told Eddie that he would put the fight on my permanent record, and he would call New York? I lose my scholarship, or Eddie drops out?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said.

"That dumbass," Jeff said affectionately.

"I can't believe he did that," Gareth said.

"I can," Ronnie said. "And you knew?"

"Trust me, it killed me not to say anything, but I didn't want you to lose your scholarship. You mean a lot to Eddie, but you also mean a lot to me, too," Chrissy said.

Ronnie pulled her into a tight hug, sighing into her hair.

"You're both idiots," Ronnie laughed. "And you both deserve each other."

Of course, Chrissy didn't expect Eddie to start back to school right away, considering it was almost the end of the school year. With his grades being what they were, he still would have had to come back next year anyway. She gave it a few days before going to speak to him, giving him some time to settle in with Wayne. A little part of her kind of wanted him suffer a bit. It was petty, she knew, but she was also a little peeved about how he treated everyone even if she knew where he was coming from. Plus, she was a bit hesitant to learn what happened with Paige. She ended up showing up to Wayne's trailer on a Friday afternoon. She leaned her bike up against the trailer and walked up the porch steps to knock on his door.

"Hey," Eddie's voice came from her left and startling her. "Sorry."

Eddie was lounging on the couch that sat outside. Judging by the fact there were cigarettes in the ashtray, he had just got done smoking.

"I didn't see you," Chrissy said.

"Clearly," Eddie snorted.

Chrissy walked over to him and sat down next to him. He didn't look at her, just twirled one of his rings around his finger.

"Glad you're not dead," Chrissy said, and Eddie popped his head up.

"What?" Eddie said.

"I said I'm glad you're not dead. You know, the fire?" Chrissy asked.

"Right," Eddie said softly.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Chrissy asked and paused. "You know, if you want to."

Eddie sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, wiping his face with his hands. Chrissy pressed her cheek to his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. She jutted her bottom lip out as she peered at him.

"Don't do that," Eddie said.

"Do what?" Chrissy asked.

"Do that with your lip," he said.

"I'm not doing anything with my lip," she said and poked it out further.

He glared at her and reached out with his finger to push her lip back in. She giggled.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you what happened. Little witch," Eddie sighed and proceeded to tell her everything.

Chrissy sat back against the couch as she processed everything that he told her.

"So, let me get this straight. . . Your dad told you he lost a bunch of money at a casino, and a couple of guys were after him to pay up. He convinced you to rob a weed truck from a drug king pin to turn it around to sell said weed, but it turns out he was working for said drug king pin. So this Charlie Greene sent two men, the same two men who you robbed, to collect the money. They shot at you, shot Officer Moore, and then set your house on fire. Meanwhile, you managed to help Officer Moore while your dad left you to clean up your mess," Chrissy said. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "Are you okay over there?"

Chrissy leaned her head back as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She sat there for a whole, not saying anything.

"I'm trying to figure out why I'm attracted to such an idiot," Chrissy said.

"I still don't get it either," Eddie replied.

"As much as you're an idiot, your dad's a bigger one," Chrissy said softly. "You're here, and you clearly want to fix things. Your dad ran away like a coward. I hate that this was how it woke you up. I wish it had been something else that hit you on the head."

"You wanting me to stay should have been enough, but I just thought I was doing the best thing for you, but I know now that running away from my problems isn't going to fix things," Eddie said.

"No, because it wasn't you who was the problem. It was your dad and the people in this town who hated him. People like principal Higgins, who coerced the jocks to go after you and your friends. If you had left and Jason hadn't turned Higgins into the police, they would have gone after the rest of Hellfire," Chrissy said.

"What?!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Yeah, apparently, he's been feeding some of the basketball players drugs. Jason told Hopper the whole thing. He arrested Higgins, and Higgins ended up spilling the beans about blackmailing you so that's no longer an issue," Chrissy said. "I think Jason is really coming around to realizing that there is more to life."

"Starting to make sense why he bailed me out, now," Eddie said. "Well, I guess none of us are perfect. Except for you."

"That's not true. I totally fell for this guy who had a hard time seeing what was right there in front of him," Chrissy said.

"Hm, well, I think he must have gotten his vision checked," Eddie said. "Because suddenly he can see better. Something must have shaken those rocks loose because he totally fell for this girl who is miles out of his league."

"Yeah?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said, and he leaned to kiss her, but then she leaned back. "Woah, did I read this wrong? Oh, God, were you actually talking about someone else? Is it Jonathan?"

"No, you idiot!" Chrissy laughed.

"Is that my new name?" Eddie asked.

"You're still on probation," Chrissy said.

"No, they said they can't charge me with anything, or something like that. I wasn't really listening. I know they're looking for my dad," Eddie frowned. "No probation."

"No, with me, you freak," Chrissy said. "You're going to have reach a higher level to reach these lips, mister."

She kissed his nose before cuddling up to him and pressing her cheek into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose into her hair.

"I'd fight all the monsters you'd throw at me to get to those lips of yours," Eddie sighed.

"Eddie. . . What happened with Paige?" Chrissy asked.

"I mean, she did try to kiss me, but I fell out of the van trying to stop her. She stopped when I told her I had feelings for someone else. Though I think she thought that I was playing hard to get. I don't think it helped when I said I didn't have a place to stay in Los Angeles, and when she offered her place to me, I said yes," Eddie said.

"Eddie!" Chrissy exclaimed, slapping his chest.

"Oh, God, did I just go back a level?" He asked.

"I can't keep calling you an idiot," Chrissy laughed. "The word is starting to sound weird."

"I'll just make it my second middle name," he replied.

"Oh, speaking of middle names. . .mine is Elizabeth," Chrissy said.

"Elizabeth?" Eddie asked in a choked voice.

Chrissy sat up, looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Chrissy asked.

"Elizabeth was my mom's name," Eddie said softly.

"Simple twist of fate, huh?" Chrissy asked.

"Oh! I forgot. . . I thought. . .not all of them burned," Eddie said. "I gave you my mom's Bob Dylan."

"Oh, your mom's records burned?" She asked softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, you still got Bob," Eddie said.

"I think at this point, it's our record," Chrissy said and laid down on his chest again, her hand over his heart. "Ours."

Chrissy sighed in contentment, feeling much lighter than she had before. She hadn't even realized that she had been carrying much weight. They enjoyed the silence and the fresh air, the smell of summer on the breeze. She could feel that Eddie was a lot less stressed, too. A form of entertainment soon came along to interrupt their quiet. Two neighborhood cats ran out in front, fighting over a piece of chicken. Pretty soon, Eddie was commentating on the fight and placing bets, leaving Chrissy giggling happily against his chest.

Chapter Fourteen

[puella-1n-somn10]

⚔️Puella Magi Madoka Magica x Pokemon Sword/Shield: Hop and his Witch Form⚔️

Word count w/o intro: 11,703

Look, I know that the Traveler from Genshin won that poll, but...if I may be honest, I am not ready for what concept I had for them to completely topple apart all thanks to a single shred of lore being aimed at my head at mach speed. Trust me, fellas, I saw the roller coaster that is the Fontaine chapter; if shit is that crazy while we are halfway through the main story, then I dread the revelations that will befall us all when SNEZHNAYA rolls around-!

With all that being said...welcome back, ladies, gents, and those who have casted the dreaded concept of gender out of their lives! For those who are unaware, we are here today to witness what would happen if I were to take the worldbuilding of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and apply them to other media. Today's unfortunate guest for today is none other than the goat himself, Hop!

...Not funny? Ah, alright-

Yes, I am aware that Hop's reputation amongst the fanbase is...controversial at best. Generally speaking, I've noticed that the negative image of this character was formed by the fans prematurely judging him based on his initial lines of dialogue, passionate (which is often mischaracterized as cheerful) attitude, and, I shit you all not, animations (which is more of a fault caused by tight release schedules and the developers being rushed than that of the character himself). From these alone, he tends to be placed on tiers lower than the fucking Gen 6 rivals (no hate towards them, promise, I just wish they were fleshed out more)- which proves to me that not only are those types of Pokemon fans purely visual beings, but that media literacy is dead, rotting, and its tombstone has been Hyper Beamed to Hell and back-

BUT we're not here to rant now, aren't we? My...personal, burning distaste towards those who call him a Hau clone aside, we are here to dissect his character- in more literal ways than one! If I may be honest, this analysis post thinly disguised as a silly, crossover ficlet was created as a thought and writing exercise for myself, and it was quite fun, if I must admit! So I hope from the bottom of my heart that you guys find as much joy in Hop's pain and suffering as I did while writing it!

Just a few quick warnings, this post will contain mentions of child neglect and favoritism, implications of social ostracization and public shaming, and, I cannot stress this enough, mentions of self destruction/S-H/su-c-de. If any of these themes are too triggering, especially that last one, please, please click away! I am being serious here- take the utmost care, and be safe!

Of course, spoilers for Madoka Magica, Magia Record (Anime ver.), and Pokemon SWSH are right up ahead! If I may be honest, I haven't touched upon the DLCs yet, so spoilers regarding them will be minimal at most. There will also be shades of PostwickShipping (Hop <3 Gloria) present, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I sincerely apologize.

It would also be fitting to play some Decretum on the side, too, especially when we get to the despair bit- God damn, he and Sayaka need to be buddies.

-The Wish, Possible Powers, and Soul Gem-

"Before we ever started out on this journey… I remember watching Lee on the telly. He was like a bright star, so strong I could hardly bear to look right at him. But now, I can tell just how strong he really is… And what he's got that I haven't…"

Now, I could go the easy way and say that he'd wish to be as great as Leon- to become as strong as the champion and equally undefeatable, but, honestly, not only does this feel cheap, it feels so...unlike Hop as a character. He doesn't just want to defeat Leon- he wants to prove his worth and make his mark as a trainer. Hop, like the rest of Galar, idolizes his brother- so much so that he copied his strategies and every move; a mistake that had gotten him to lose the fight in the Circhester stadium even after facing off against so many trials and tribulations-

After all, as Bede said it in his own...brutish way, if people looked down on Hop, they will do the same to Leon - the man who Hop looks up to as not just an older sibling, but as a symbol- as an unshakable LEGEND, and not just as a human being -. So if the perception of the man who Hop saw as a hero was to shake all thanks to him...it'd be quite devastating, to say the least. It was this possibility that hit him the most- where his worth and identity came into question.

Hop may dislike losing - a sentiment that grows stronger every time you defeat him -, but what he fears even more is disappointing others; lowering his and his brother's worth in their eyes. He wanted to be number #1 because it was expected of him to do so, by himself, by the public, and, when you think about it, even by his family - whether consciously or not -...

After all, just look at his home- do you see any pictures of Hop around? Left and right you find memorabilia and trophies belonging to Leon, but how much mementos of Hop can you find? Whether or not he was aware of it, Hop craved not just the glory of his brother, but also the validation and positive attention.

This was his path in life- no, this was his destiny, as he'd put it; to become as strong as his hero and receive that blazing torch after living in his shadow for so long. To live up to his splendor, to inspire others to get up and take a stance, and to make something out of himself. His brother was a hero- so it makes sense to imitate someone as amazing and strong as him.

So, after analyzing his character for a bit, his wish could go along the lines of wanting to be by his brother's side, or, more appropriately, to make an impact on the world and the lives of others like he did. After all, we are assuming that he made the contract a bit before his constant losses began to fuck with him; he had confidence in his abilities at least during the beginning, and was certain that he was going to emerge from the final battle victorious.

The powers resulting from this wish could go in a lot of different ways; after all, wishing to make an impact is quite abstract. It isn't like he wished for someone else to get healed or to win on a lottery; so trying to make powers based on that would be tricky. My best guess is that his powers are associated with memories and legacies, which, once more, also fits in really well with how he documented and tried to mimic Leon's strategies and actions.

Now, before we focus on his soul gem and witness it crumble along with his self-esteem, we're going to take a good look at his attire upon transformation into his Magical Boy form- an aspect that, regrettably, I've forgotten to cover back while I was analyzing Medic. Now, this part may be a little unclear to some upon first reviewing the designs present in PMMM, but a pattern is there- and one of the most common reasons behind a magi's design is the intent behind their wish and their desires before or after taking on the contract. In order to prove my point, I'm gonna list some examples:

Sayaka Miki is a knight in shining armor; she wanted to uphold the ideal of a magical girl and fight for what's right

Homura Akemi's outfit is rather...funerary, for lack of a better term; she made her wish as result of her losing Madoka, and had more or less doomed herself to watching the demise of her beloved over and over again

Nagisa's outfit looks like an everyday, ordinary outfit for someone her age; she craved a normal life where she was able to be just like the other kids around her- not having to worry about living in a dump and caring for an unstable parent

Iroha's design invokes the idea of a ranger or even a mercenary; she is dedicated to finding her sister at what cost, even if most of the evidence (or lack there-of) pointed towards Ui not existing in the first place

Being in the spotlight of someone else's life, looking up to his brother, and making said champion an example on how he should lead his life...I think a stereotypical, legendary hero might do it; the main protagonist of tales like Beowulf or even your everyday JRPGs. Hop often made references to him 'weaving his own legend', so this would make perfect sense!

Speaking of-

Regarding his soul gem's shape, simple- upon transformation, it would look just like a small flame placed on his solar plexus like a brooch or button. Comparisons to Leon's charizard aside, it is a simple and straightforward symbol representing his personality; passionate, competitive, hot-headed, and bright- but all flames are prone to dying out one way or another. Hop's association with fire is also presented to us in-canon in his second league card, with him pulling off Leon's signature pose as flames wildly danced around him.

This also brings the idea of him burning himself away to fit into his ideal of a champion to mind, or literally burning himself out. A raging fire ready to render all that is in its path into ash- including himself.

The emblem on the middle of its egg form is a little harder for me to interpret fully. I could go with the easy way and say that it's probably the same as its form upon his Puer Magi transformation, but we all know that my perfectionist ass would not just simply settle with that. The options on our hands are as follows;

The easy option, the Hop flower (symbolizing how becoming a professor is his true calling in life)

A coat of arms (royalty themes- also, a pun on Eternatus' eternamax form, coat of ARMS, heheh)

A spiral (symbol of futility, continuation, cycles, and a downward spiral)

A coat of arms WITH a spiral in the middle (look at the above two points)

A flag (him wishing to create his own legend, and how he was initially a foot ahead of us during the start of our journey together)

A windmill (...we'll get to that, but let's assume it's because of Postwick for now- I personally prefer this one)

A shield with two crossed swords (again, royalty and hero themes)

As for its color, here is where things get interesting; I already spoke about how most soul gems correspond with the eye color of their respective magi, since "eyes are the windows to a person's soul", so a brilliant gold would fit both with this unwritten rule and thematically. However, then I got thinking- Red is also an applicable color, right? It fits his personality, and would clash really well with the cool purples and blues...until I realized that not only is red already going to be present as a sort of secondary (if not primary) color to go along with the existing cool palette in mind, but the added gold highlights would embolden it and make sure this design really pops.

Besides, making red a central color for his magi outfit also adds in to the idea of him still mimicking Leon, whose associated colors are purple, gold, and, of course, the reds of his cape! We aren't completely sure as to how much control a magi has over the outfit they'll don upon transformation, but we do know that Madoka actually designed her own magical clothing, so some input from the magi themselves, whether consciously or not, does contribute to the matter. This would also make a cute little homage to his champion outfit in Pokemon Masters EX!

One last point before we get to the part you've all been waiting for, we have to look at his weapon; yes, his powers are probably associated with memories or even perception, but, according to my research, one's weapon doesn't necessarily have to be tied to the wish. As a matter of fact, aside from Mami's ribbons (symbolizing her being tied to the life of a magical girl and her capturing others in this web of malice whether consciously or not- a literal lifeline), most of the cast's weapons are unrelated to the wishes made, and, like the aforementioned outfits, are more tied to the magi's intents or even personalities;

Nagisa's is a trumpet that blows out bubbles. She wanted her mother to hear her, but she's only ever able to let out little squeaks; the dichotomy between her desire to be acknowledged and wanting to be a decent daughter to a horrible person like her mother.

Homura's is a shield; she wishes to protect Madoka, but a shield alone cannot deflect everything threatening her sweet rose. There's also the symbolism of her hiding behind a shield, both as Moemura (shy and reserved) and Cool Homu (covering her emotions with an aloof exterior); in both cases, she's hiding herself away from the world.

Sayaka's is a cutlass sword. Go figure.

I am not completely sure on Madoka's; she dislikes brutal fighting, so it would make sense for her to use a long-range weapon that she's able to use to snipe enemies from a safe-enough distance. I also heard that a bow and arrow have some sort of significance in Christian lore, but, to be frank, I am not completely sure about this; this section requires further study.

Again, I gotta thank @bluethepearldiver for saving my butt here and on the upcoming natures section! According to them, since I had already removed swords and shields from the equation in order to make space for both Gloria and Victor, a polearm type of weapon would fit him the most! In their own, brilliant words, it is "representing how unattainable his goal ultimately is", and, in my opinion, it is a mid-range weapon- when utilized correctly, Hop would be able to conquer battles that would require either long or short ranged attacks to clear! Also, personally, it brings the image of a sheep herder to mind.

As for the specific type of polearm, that one would require a lot more creativity, but, since Hop comes from Postwick, a weapon that originates from Europe would be fitting. After thinking about it, I believe his weapon is probably a Halberd, due to how it can pierce, chop, or slash depending on the situation. It would also symbolize poor, bright-eyed Hop constantly changing his strategies and teams in order to catch up to us- to finally match us in strength. Every time we met him, he would have different strategies, a different team, a different outlook- he tried every viable, effective strategy, tearing apart the aspects of himself that were deemed roadblocks, pushing himself until he was burning himself way too brightly for his own good, yet...

-Descent Into Despair-

He lost. He had lost yet again, hasn't he?

His grip on the pokeball was shaky. The eyes of the crowd fixated on him as the last of his pokemon fell to the ground. Frozen air filled his lungs; his eyes felt like they were turned to stone, as did the veins in his arms.

The whispers grew louder; the crowd's collective judgement was being passed from one attendant to another. His teeth were about to shatter from the pressure around him alone. Not even Melony's concerns were registered on his mind; all the words around him amalgamated into a brute cacophony that choked all the will and rationality out of him.

His heart was on fire. His lips were dried as he stared at the nothingness before him. It was so hard to continue standing up- fucking impossible to focus on anything but this blunder forged by his own hands- which he now sees as nothing but useless vestiges. His heart was a war drum in the midst of conflict; beating as though the drummer's life was on the line if they were to dare and drop the pace. How he wanted to gouge his own eyes out and rip those ears out...

"Pitiful."

What on Earth was he missing?

He tried to change his strategies, he really did. The sad look on his pokemon’s eyes broke him every time, but they just couldn’t be of good help…he had to be a better trainer.

That’s what good trainers do, right? They make sure their teams were optimal. After all, strategy came first; that was what he learned from all these battles that long moved his heart.

"Foolish."

Another loss.

He looked down at his final, fallen comrade, not taking his shaking hands into account. Was it the cold? The stress? The sheer disbelief of what was before him?

Or was it frustration? A poison seeping between his clenched teeth- ready to curse out himself and direct his anger to the world? Readying him to pound against the earth beneath him until his knuckles were mangled and bloody?

No...no, this can't be it. He had to push himself further- he had to be better. Not a single Pokemon of his would listen to someone as fragile as he was; he had to make an example out of himself if he had to be a strong leader- a hero to them...

"Hypocrite."

Wooloo...

You promised, didn't you?

He stifled his own sobs. Oh, how could you have done this to them, Hop? They were the closest thing you had to a childhood friend! They were right by your side to the very end! All you had to do was to keep their head up, tell them it wasn't their fault, and that you would still enter the league together if you both focused! All you had to do was stay strong-

But you couldn't. You just had to up and leave them; cast them to the dirt where you dragged his good name through.

In the end, he couldn't even uphold that.

"Pathetic."

Over and over...over and over, he had repeated this fruitless, pitiful endeavor- all to no avail.

Finding himself floating adrift, Hop feels as though his very existence was slowly slipping from his fingers; becoming one with the very void surrounding him. He couldn't even feel his limbs, much less his face.

No matter how much he had stretched himself so thin, it just wouldn't work. The evidence was there before him, for all of Galar to see- his true rival and his brother on that field together, the latter holding the other's hand and raising it up in the air...that no matter what he did, all the sacrifices he had made, it was all up there in the air like smoke. His dreams, hopes, and ambitions- gone with what shine in his eyes that were left.

Oh, little sheep...do you not realize that you have tangled yourself within this spider web- the very definition of insanity?

"Worthless."

He's tired.

With each loss, it got a lot harder for him to get up and walk away.

His legs were shaking, and not just due to the harsh winds around him. The winds were picking up their pace, but the eyes, the eyes, the eyes-

Why must you insist on further embarrassing yourself, young man? Can't you tell when it's the time for you to just drop everything and move on with something better for everyone else's sake?

You're just embarrassing yourself at this point- nothing more than a clown attracting disrespect and shame like flies to a rotting carcass much like yourself.

...

Yeah...

What if...it was him?

He couldn't take the watchful gazes of the crowded streets anymore. Oh, how he wanted to hide away in the corners of the world- render his own face into nothing but a crimson pulp just so their judgemental glares, mocking smiles, and whispers would finally leave him alone and hollow.

His heart was racing- his veins were on fire, and his arms were about to burst.

It was too much... Upon stumbling upon a silent, empty, dirty alleyway, he slumped onto his knees as he shook from both the cold and pressure of all the bottled up frustrations in him. At long last, the waterworks finally broke out. Only the night sky and howling winds were his current company; doing little to distract him from his pained heartbeats and dried up throat.

He couldn't hold on to his victories, no matter how feeble or small. It didn't matter what he did or how much he tried, all that he's tried holding on to will just slip away from his fingers, like the breaths of fresh, cold air escaping him; inhaling just enough as to not allow him to pass out on the spot, but it was only that much.

The sound of metal clanging on the ground escaped his ears. It was only when he was finally slumped on the ground that he had noticed the fading luminescence just before his reach. Even as his body shook from the mental strain and the cold, he still recognized the jewel that was on the dirtied ground. Hands shaking, he slowly picked up the once brilliant object...

Through jittering teeth, he just couldn't help but sob whilst instinctively smiling; the sound coming out like a sort of soft giggle...

Hahahah...oh, don't tell him- don't tell him he couldn't...

What a mockery- look at him, everyone! Not only had he failed the challenges before him, but, oh, this poor damn pest- he couldn't even look after his own damn soul gem! The very thing he had traded away what was left of his identity outside of the league for- and even then, with his wish, it only made sure that his mistakes would return to him in even stronger, more merciless manners. Was it due to him being unable to focus on both perfecting his strategies and his duties as a puer magi?

For all Hop cared at that moment, it was just another sign of his pathetic, useless existence. Worthlessness- no, he was way beneath that; he had failed. He had failed, he had failed, he had failed, he lost, he had motherfucking lost.

Answer yourself this, Hop- Do tell how you expected to come so far like this! How you have managed to shamble and shuffle through the league challenge like the worm you are, with nothing but another's achievements to your name- and you couldn't even take good care of that!

"...Useless..."

Hop shakily breathed out.

"Hah...if only I wasn't born so useless..."

His grip on both sides of his head grew tighter. As he gritted his teeth and his eyes twitched, one last thought flashed in his mind-

"There's...nowhere left for me..."

"Everyone else is moving on without someone...some pest like I am..."

With all the air that was left in his lungs, Hop roared into the night and unleashed all the grief in his heart. His anguished wail was interrupted by a sudden crash, and all that was left were the howling, autumnal winds...

.

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.

Word of the contestants' escalating behaviors grew amongst the people of Galar.

At first, it manifested as deepened anxieties; competitors being so overwhelmed by the upcoming events that it caused them to hyperventilate, shake uncontrollably in between sobs and unintelligible screams, or, at worst, completely melt down; faces reddened by tears as they were unable to remove themselves from the ground due to the paralyzing nervousness and hysteria. Initially, these incidents were brushed off as being related to the individuals' worries over the nature of the Gym Challenge, on top of the resulting trauma caused by the Darkest Day; even after the region was granted another chance at seeing the bright, blue skies, tensions were still at an all-time high, so, at the time, this appeared to have been the most rational conclusion.

It was when they've descended into thrashing bitterness and violence, however, that concern was finally demanded and raised- and, along with them, a whole basket of questions that craved all the answers in the world; anything to make sense of what was unraveling. Many a stadium had to close down - some even in the midst of these breakouts - for investigation purposes in order to get to the bottom of this anomaly.

Before long, rumors began to spread amongst the Galarian public- both on the streets and on social media; ranging from a contamination of sorts, to possible side effects of the Darkest Day that the current chairman was uninformed of. In the end, one by one, the majority of the gym leaders had to step forward admit that they knew as much as the rest did regarding the matter, but that did little to help stop the creation and spread of conspiracy theories, and they soon devolved into a competition of its own; on whose hypothesis is the most click-worthy and attention-grabbing.

Nothing was stacking up; everything had been tested - the water, the air, the soil, and especially the power spots -, the stadiums were inspected from top to bottom, and even the gym leaders were interviewed; it all came back negative.

The chairman himself had gone dark.

In the midst of the mass hysteria, right everyone's noses, the range of whatever was influencing these stadiums, the...being that has sending all these people into these frenzies...was growing.

Violent breakouts and missing persons reports spiked without ever showing a sign of slowing down. Nay, not even the gym leaders were spared- with Bea finally coming to her senses while Allister tried to subdue her and not hurt the rest around her, and Milo's herd of Wooloo going completely berserk and in complete panic not unlike the contestants and their own pokemon.

It was at its assumed worst when it had finally reached Postwick Town. Most of Galar had succumbed to what was engulfing it with its malice and twisted hopes, and, according to theorists, they doubted it would stop there. The people residing in the Isle of Armor and Crown Tundra were given the order to lock down and cease all functions until further information's released, in the vain hopes of preventing the spread of its influence.

And then-

Silence.

Everything around them was completely dim, with nothing but small flickers of flame and their own eyes' adaptation to help traverse them through what became of the region; a dim, cold land with ashy skies overhead, overrun with scared wildlife and...monsters- beasts you have never seen the likes of before. Perhaps staying still while you're able to recognize Galar while you could would be the wisest choice; stray far enough, and the world around you will fade, shift, and turn, until you find yourself not outdoors anymore, but in a dingy, suffocating hallway filled with cracks and little to no light-

and, soon enough, you will realize that you are not alone.

To the most fortunate (or unlucky, depending on the perspective), the sight of the missing people was there for them to see; lined up for their next battles and subsequent executions. Days of being trapped, fought, beaten up, and isolated in pain did a number on their psyches, and that is without mentioning the existing effects that have already engulfed Galar; plunging them into insanity.

By the braver and most informed few, most of the missing people have currently been accounted for- most, had it not been for the unfortunate casualties resulting from...all that has been unfolding around them, whether they were still yet to be found, were done in by beasts swarming through these twisting tunnels, condemned by whatever's waiting for them at the center of this cursed maze, or...just couldn't take it anymore, is still up in the air. Those whose statuses have not yet been confirmed included the younger brother of the former champion himself- who, quite possibly, may have been one of the earliest victims, if the timeline was to serve them right-

Oh, but if only they knew better- that the bright-eyed, enthusiastic Hop was right back to where it all started; watching the competition from atop the stage, waiting for the next match to begin. The empty husk that was once "Hop" was silent; slumped to the back to his seat with his dull, milky eyes staring into the distance, as the crowds roared once the hero and his new challenger entered the fray.

Yes...yes! Cheer for him! ONLY HIM!

Shaking from the cold and the tension of her surroundings, Gloria's attention darted from the armored monstrosity to her unconscious rival amongst the masses. His colors all but completely desaturated- it was nothing short of a miracle seeing his body still somewhat intact, though his sunken face and sloughing skin - some even falling as soon as she grabbed on to him; revealing pale bone -...without thinking, the armored girl screamed.

Contrasting Gloria's priority shifting from grabbing on to Hop's corpse and make a break for it to taking down that thing who must have caused it, Leon was...silent. His heart sank as he fell on his knees- his eyes shook as he fixated on the monster before them. His blood ran ice cold; it was so hard to breathe without sobbing...

Gloria and the gym leaders who have finally located the arena - those who have and haven't contracted - deemed that being a monster- Hop's God damned murderer, but Leon knew better.

The gold hues that were pooling from what's assumed to be the monster's eyes were unmistakable.

His own little brother was right before him, waiting to fight him in the middle of this arena-

Just like how he had promised- like how he had always wished for...

-The Witch's Nature-

Ah, the most unpredictable section of this post- the one where yours truly is expected to agonize and sob over all the options before me. Character complexities are complex! Multiple reasons behind despair! Oh, how is your truly ever going to choose the perfect nature for a warlock that would not only encompass the magi's goals and history with only a few words, but one that would also feel fitting for a spooky being like a witch?!

Welp- once more, I have thank Blue for their brilliant input once more! They've decided that his nature would be Admiration, and, honestly, it's genius! It not only fits his overall character, goals, and what caused his sanity to go downhill with the brakes cut off, but it has the right amount of dissonance that the witches of PMMM are known for! Again, this has been your reminder to support them- c'mon, chop chop, that's an order.

Of course, nothing wrong with mentioning all the other, though scrapped, natures. Again, you're all free to reinterpret the warlock to your hearts' content, and if you do have any other suggestion that would fit, please let me know! I not only want to understand Hop's character better, but I do wish to improve my character-deciphering and writing skills. Once more, I encourage all sorts of fair criticism heading my way, and, with all that being said, here's the losers' club:

Reflective

Smitten

Idolizing/Idolization

Competitive (decided that this one might fit Nemona better if I ever got into ScaVio and made a witch for her. Later. Inshallah.)

Self-abandonment (look at the above, but with Bede instead)

Self-immolation

Guilty

To yearn/Yearning (again, Nemona)

-The Witch's Appearance-

"It's not enough! I've got to try harder! And harder and harder till no one's laughing!"

Alright, first thing's first, before we dive into ANYTHING, we need to touch upon Hop's self-image and how it transforms through the course of the game. From the beginning, he is just so confident in his abilities and goals; it wasn't just a desire, it's a goal- he will beat Leon! He will become champion! One day, he's going to be on that stage; he WILL fight Leon, and he WILL beat him- just we wait!

And 'wait' we didn't.

For all his talk about creating his own legend, of taking up the mantle, we have done nothing but drag his face through the dirt without failure.

The more we beat that poor fella up, the more...desperate he became, and it gets cranked up to 11 once Bede humiliated him; calling him a waste of space, and that all he is doing is tainting his brother's legacy by trying, so it would be best for all parties involved he should just stop that. If he just stopped trying at all. If he just gave up at once. He still tries to maintain the spirit of friendly competition between the main character and himself, but the constant humiliation has been getting to him, and the talons that are digging in to his mind are sharp.

It is then that we finally realize that the once-confident trainer who initially accompanied us is no more. This hatred towards himself only grew with time, and, even when he had reintegrated Wooloo/Dubwool into his team, his self-worth was still nigh-non existent; he dared not accompany us during even the post-game story, believing that he would just be slowing us all down, and how we would fare and be better without someone like him around.

In Hop's eyes, he was a burden; a waste of space, and, no matter how much he tried to fight it, those words would persistently repeat in his mind. His constant defeats didn't help, either, whether it was by our or any other trainer's hands-

Hell, it can be argued that Hop's earlier confidence and passion were nothing but "fronts"; he had always cheered Leon on and idealized (dare I say even worshiped) him to no end, but, aside from the promise that he would, one day, defeat his brother and become a champion, what other positive things did he say about himself? What other dreams did he hold? He owed so much of his own knowledge about Pokemon battles to Leon, after all. This can be seen in the third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings, if we choose to interpret Wooloo's actions as reflective of Hop's- trying to be something it is not, and, ultimately, causing it to stray far from "home".

He wanted to be the hero of his own story. That's all he wished for. Instead, we've shoved him into the sidelines- face first on the dirt, without even realizing our strengths.

History repeats once more- the tale of Leon and Sonia all over again.

The image of a knight, a warrior, a hero is definitely a strong base to start it all off. The ideal knight in shining armor, he who stands up for everything right- the unbeatable champion of the people. Not just a person to look up to, but a symbol- that's all he wanted to become; just like how he saw his brother.

When he realized that his current tactics didn't work, everything had to go out the window. We aren't saying this lightly- everything. His plans, his . He had to change everything about himself- until he realized that the problem weren't his teams or his plans...it was him. It has always been his fault- he was just weak, nothing more than a pathetic worm.

The armor is scraping every fiber of his being. No matter what, he still cannot attain the strength and glory of a champion- so he has to keep doing this; break and melt himself. It isn't right, it hurts, but he deserves that pain- he deserves the agony and so much worse for the sin of his existence.

But it's not enough. It's not enough, and it will never be enough. Flaming hot, red daggers will forever pierce through his flesh and skin; melting and reshaping him not necessarily just to fit his desired goal, but as punishment.

It doesn't matter, though. It doesn't change his sheer, fucking incompetence. He'd bash himself against the wall, turn his knuckles bloody, and have his howls of torment be drowned out by his observers' whispers and harsh judgements, but it doesn't change the fact that he deserved every second of it. He had to keep molding himself, he had to suffer, he had to pay for being such a pest to everyone's lives and for being so weak...

No matter how much he tried, it doesn't change the truth that he is no damn hero; he is here as a prisoner, present to repent for his crimes of his pathetic existence...

Oh, yeah. Futility is not just a present theme, but we are running to the HILLS with it.

Next up, we look at his actions- the "spice" and depth this brings to his warlock's design.

Let's retrace our steps a bit and look at Hop's character before and after the main story; as soon as we boot up the game for the first time, there we see Hop being so excited over his brother finally coming home- he was practically shaking and jumping by the news of it alone! He just couldn't wait to see him again, much less what he must have brought back with him- and, when he laid his eyes on the starters and chose his, he was over the moon and the sun; this was the beginning of his legacy! Ah, even his own mother said that he had to learn some patience.

Compare and contrast to his attitude in postgame- he's a lot more mellowed out, but that can be better described as him finally being burnt out. He had nowhere to go, no goal to attain, and not a single strength to his name. Bede and Marnie are training to become gym leaders, Leon's the new chairman of the Galar league, Sonia is on the way to become the new regional professor, but Hop? There was nothing left for him. There isn't anything he was able to do that others could do even better- all that was left for him was to rot in the fields, forgotten and cast away like the object of shame he was.

"I don't know how much I can really help... If I come along, I might just end up slowing the rest of you down..."

I've already established how the warlock might be imprisoned in a sense; all to symbolize how he must have felt during his downfall and the lengths he went through in order to become someone worthy of becoming champion- of sharing his brother's legacy, but we should also take how he first started off into account. We already have the pain, but where is the tragedy in it all? The downfall of his confidence? The fall of Hop, the once bright-eyed, confident, and proud young man? How could we symbolize the face that we have flicked his passion and convictions away with the push of our buttons?

Passion...glory...destruction...hotheadedness...Lee...Charizard...

"Fire- and lots of it!"

Yeah, this should not come off as a surprise - given how I have already mentioned it dozens of times already -, but, hey, if Ophelia has a lot of flames in her design to symbolize the tragic end of her family and her own hotheadedness, then I can't see why the same cannot be applicable to our uncrowned prince of Galar. Truth be told, I think the fire is burning at him to this day; as I already mentioned, he is in a constant state of melting down and reshaping himself to no end to fit an ideal that is so far away from him, and what better way to do so than by forcing himself to endure these flames to no end- not just to burn away all his mistakes, but to subject himself to what rage and disappointment he believes Leon must be feeling? You cannot ask for a more fitting punishment, no? Quite ironic as well, if you'd ask me.

Plus, as a warlock, he wants the people to cheer for him- only him! What better way is there to grab their attention and love than by becoming the brightest thing on the battlefield?! Yes, it's all worth it in the end, hearing the people of Galar scream just for him alone- oh, he couldn't be happier! That is all he desires! If we thought Oktavia craved attention, think again.

Speaking of lengths he went through to become someone he is not, let's talk about him changing his teams; this is his point of transformation as a character, where the cracks in his confidence begin to grow alongside his desperation. At this stage, Hop was willing to make any sacrifice necessary to meet that goal of his- if he fails, not only were his dreams on the line, but so was Leon's reputation. The only constant between these teams is the starter Leon gave him- with teary eyes and a regretful heart, he had damned the experiences and memories he shared with the 'mons he caught along the way, for all that mattered at that moment, all that was worth keeping, was the one thing that held any sort of direct connection to his future glory; the very gift his brother gave him. It should be worth it though, right? He's only becoming better, becoming stronger, becoming the best trainer he could be-

Isn't that right, Wooloo?

Oh, man, wooloo. What kind of Hop-centric design would this be if I didn't incorporate this cute little sheep in some form or another? If not the sheer GUILT he must be feeling? Since I already covered how the warlock would be forever unsatisfied with his form, let us talk about the promise he made with Wooloo, and how him breaking it must be haunting him. Just up and abandoning them, his lifelong partner pokemon must hate him for such a cowardly decision- it should hate him; he had backed out of such an important vow between them, and implied that it was their fault that he was unable to reach his goals. Ultimately, it is his guilt and self-hatred that got him here; whenever he wasn't melting down and reforging himself, he was always fighting for the audience's attention- a whole herd of sheep who constantly demand a spectacular show. It felt right for his first partner pokemon to judge him, after all- he must be condemned for his disloyalty...

Building upon the last point- since Wooloo, his very first pokemon, was also removed from the team, this would translate beautifully into him removing parts of himself to fit that perfect mold, and what better way than to add in sheep elements to his design? The warlock having hooves as dark as obsidian for feet? Broken horns that might be mistaken for parts of his armor? Heck, even the gnarly skeletal system resulting from us combining that of a human's and a sheep's? While I am not too sure about what exactly is going on underneath his helmet, I will just assume that at least its base form resembles a mutilated black sheep's face, because of, well, Hop seeing himself as the black sheep of the family. Combined with his halberd, which I am certain would carry on from his last form to this one, this would bring the idea of a twisted sheep herder of sorts, on top of the existing themes of sacrifice that are already associated with cattle in multiple religions.

Of course, we can't go wrong with referencing him copying Leon's tactics in battle and said worship! This, too, will be a source of pain to his warlock; not only does his armor resemble draconic scales (again, Charizard), but the base of his helmet would bear the shape of Leon's beard. This also ties in to the above point of him trying to reshape his form to that of the champion's in order to achieve prestige and victory by following in his hero's footsteps, but its ultimate purpose in the end is the further erasure his form and himself; all that made Hop 'Hop'. He is constantly slicing away at his being just to fit that mold....

Yes, he also gets to keep the cape; much like his halberd, I can't see why this element of his magical boy form would not get carried over here, as it also assists with establishing the theme and desire to be like a big shot like his brother. Its red coloring would also be of nice contrast to the ashen grey or deep darkness of his armor, although it is tattered and not as magnificent as it used to be in his eyes. The armor already boosts the idea of a hero, but, combined with all of the elements from above and Hop himself going down the slippery slope, this monster right here invokes the idea of a fallen hero; bright-eyed protagonists who have become jaded over the course of their journeys or have decided to outright give up on their ideals and goals- some even opting to join the opposing side of the narrative outright.

I should also mention his inability to look at Leon in the face and how he didn't want negative attention to be drawn towards him in spite of Hop's desire to face off against his brother- some eye trauma, maybe? Would the mementos of Leon in his barrier bring him pain? Or...would the warlock be unable to see past the "glory" of the champion and his dreams? How his mistakes are blinding him? Maybe what he saw was so bright, so brilliant, that it blinded him to everything else; turning his eyes into burning pools of blood resembling molten steel?

Now, we calculate his karmic potential, his emotional volatility, and how they contribute to his warlock's strength.

While I was first working on this post, I thought that maybe he would have cracked after he had lost against the gym leader of Circhester Stadium - Melony -; after all, he must have been devastated, with all these eyes watching him as his final pokemon fell, but then I remembered two key details-

His self-esteem did not get any better by the end of the game's main storyline. In fact, it was at its lowest during postgame- and he even brought a comically large shovel to dig wayyyyy deeper, courtesy of Sordward and Shielbert!

His karmic potential not only stems from him being the champion's little brother, but his role in stopping the second Darkest Day.

So, in a way, that loss would be considered to be more of a catalyst for his despair rather than the straw that broke the camel's back, not unlike Sayaka learning the truth behind the soul gems or Hitomi's confession to Kyosuke. He may have brought Dubwool back to his party, he may have appeared okay-ish after we've defeated him in the semi-finals, he may have helped us save the day, but his internal conflict didn't dissolve just like that- you cannot erase all these years of constant comparisons, long-standing dreams, horrible impostor syndrome, and such an inferiority complex just like that with the snap of one's fingers.

Truth be told, he was supposed to finally give in after said semi-finals, but, out of urgency, he held on just for a little while- for just enough time to assist us with finding Leon and stopping Rose's plans. Now that everything was said and done - now that everything was laid to rest -, the eyes just wouldn't stop staring at him, the whispers didn't cease, and Hop...he was tired- he was oh so tired. Falling on his shaky legs and the harsh thoughts in his heads still not slowing down, Hop had finally closed his eyes and gave out his final farewell...

Also, Sordward and Shielbert will die by my hands for making his self esteem go further down the toilet in postgame, I swear to Allah-

From all that, we can see that not only are legends, prophecies, and destinies HUGE themes for when it comes to the design of his barrier, but that his warlock is gonna be powerful. Now, I don't wanna be redundant by saying that he, too, would be as tough as Walpurgisnacht (we've already done that with Medic, though, after thinking about it, he'd be more comparable to Hyades Daybreak), but saving an entire region is, putting it lightly, a huge feat, and that's without us touching upon his supposed connection with the legendary pokemon, one of Galar's heroes of myth, Zacian. In between being tied to almost a hundred destinies (Madoka) and saving the entirety of France (Tart), putting an end to the apocalypse - The Darkest Day - has got to be up there.

I know this sounds like a sort of repetition on my end, but remember what Homura said back during episode 9; "from here on, for every person (one) has saved, (they) will curse another". So, while Medic got his powers thanks of a combination of his own karma and how he had fused 8 other souls into him, Hop's karma was all his. In short, by this logic, Galar is beyond fucked.

Oh, and, y'know, the whole deal with him being the champion's little brother and Gloria's childhood friend. With all that in mind, bro's warlock is not just stupidly powerful, but outright broken. Not at Ultimate!Kriemhild levels, but that's still not good news in of itself, isn't it?

In the end, whether he had completely given up after he had lost to Melony or during some time between the events of the main story and postgame is up to you and your interpretation of Hop as a character. For the sake of this segment alone, I will just go with the idea that, if he despairs before the climax of the main story, his warlock would be a formidable foe, but not yet a world-ending threat like either Walpurgisnacht or Crépuscule de La Reine.

For comparison's sake (and to paint a clearer picture), I'd say that he could be as powerful as Gisela, if not moreso. From the PSP games, we can see how resilient and tough that witch is - so much so that she is tied to both Mami's and Kyoko's backstories -, so surpassing her strength is still a commendable feat. Much like his depiction in the section above, the warlock would still be capable of cursing many stadiums at once and cause such intense panic in order to take the league challenge down with him by making the contestants to go completely berserk, and, if he so wishes, he could render an entire village into ash.

However, if you guys wouldn't mind, I'll still be running with the idea that, thanks to the player, Bede, Sordward, Shieldbert, his family, and Galar's corrupted celebrity culture, the entire region has yet another apocalyptic event to go through, and only Arceus could save them now- basically what happens during the above despair segment. Good job, everyone! Enjoy listening to Grass Skirt Chase while ya could! /j

Now that we got the basic picture of the warlock down, let's cut to the chase and dive in to his barrier. I've had a lot of fun with this one, so buckle up!

As I already mentioned in my previous Medic post, a witch's labyrinth is stated to be the "mental landscape of the magi before they turned into a witch". From analyzing the barriers of the Holy Quintet and the other existing witches from the original anime, I've already deduced that they must be tied to either core memories, coping mechanisms, or desires-

HOWEVER,

A more simplistic take on all that would be "a place that rubs salt on the magi's/witch's wounds"; makes more sense, no? Candeloro is forever alone in her little tea party, Charlotte is in a silent conversation with another doll- unable to speak about what's on her mind, and, for goodness' sake, Ophelia's barrier is underwater. It is just logical to see that a labyrinth is designed to keep the witch miserable; specifically made to remind them of their own shortcomings, mistakes, broken hopes and dreams, and all that they've lost by the act of contracting with an uncaring trickster like Kyubey.

Unsurprisingly, with this idea in mind, I think the barrier would be a twisted version of a stadium, lit up by raging fire. The audience is present; their eyes ever-staring at you as their yells echo throughout the arena. You just know that your actions and failures will be recorded for future generations to see, mock, and spit at- after all, you are now trapped in a legend that is yet to be completed! Yes, even the style of your surroundings looks like it could fit right in an old storybook or any of the murals present across the region. Not too far away from this labyrinth's center, you are able to find multiple cages housing the victims he had captured; fighters worthy enough for him to test his skills on or put on a spectacle for all the audience to see.

In the middle of the battlefield, in the shadow of a large statue behind him, lies the warlock; broken, battered, burnt, and practically melting, but his duty remains clear as daylight- bound to his punishment and his own selfish desires, it has become his goal to defeat you before the audience. It is his destiny to be bound to this stage, having to pay for the sin of his existence.

The trinkets of Leon - or a silhouette that resembles him - that surrounded him in his own house are also present; after all, they are tied to his motivation, admiration towards Lee, and his wish to become champion. Even until now, the warlock and his familiars take good care of them, though he despises the reflection cast by them.

I should also make a quiiiiiiick note Pokemon Masters EX; you see, upon activating a character's sync move, they are displayed in front of locations present in the canon of Pokemon known as their "mindscapes", and, fellas, upon finding out that said places are significant to each person's story and life one way or another, I've realized that I have stumbled upon a hail Mary for PMMM/Pokemon crossover fanatics out there, myself included. Of course, I wouldn't recommend using these mindscapes alone as a sort of easy way to make barriers, but they do act as nifty, optional blueprints or spices to make those labyrinths look more colorful or representative of these characters.

When it comes to Hop, his mindscape, unsurprisingly, depicts Postwick Town. The location doesn't change when he becomes a Neo Champion, with the only alterations made to the artwork is that it is now nighttime and the presence of small flickers of flames dancing around; burning as brightly as the stars above - one more point towards fire being a persistent theme here -. Perhaps if you've gained enough of an upper hand and luck in battle to grant you some time to look at the ground, you can see that there's specks of white paint that faded away with time; the surface still resembling that of a soccer field's to this day, not unlike the one in his backyard.

To reflect his mental state and emotions of worthlessness and futility prior to him crossing over the point of no return, well, here's where the fun and pain come in-

The halls of the labyrinth are...suffocating; as soon as you enter, you realize that the area is only wide enough for a single person to traverse through. It's so dark, too; only the oil lamps and unmaintained lanterns present provide any form of luminescence, and even then, you have to be careful; one small misstep, and it is you who will be up in flames.

You also get the sinking feeling that you are being watched through the cracks and holes of suffocating halls; a feeling exemplified by the sounds of rain and howling winds just outside. The oil lamps do nothing to alleviate the bone-biting cold around you- the warmth provided is minimal at best. Not too far away, peculiarly enough, you can hear what must sound like...a radio; the details of what is being said is unclear, but the language is actually understandable if you happen to know Arabic. Through static and compressed sounds, you can hear that the voice on the radio is...reciting a nasheed; one chanting about the light of honor, victory, and divine heroism in the face of adversity, with determination being a repeated theme peppered in. No matter which hallway you turn towards, you cannot seem to get any closer to the source of the sound.

As you make your way to the center of the barrier, in spite of the lack of windows present, you decide to be a little brave and take a peak through the torn cloth or any of the cracks on the wall; you find that not only are you not at all far away from the hallway you've already visited, but that you appear to be going down a spiral- but this can't be possible! It is like you've done nothing but repeating the same steps over and over, only for your determination and desires to bring you down...

The winds have gotten louder - clashing with the noise present in the halls -, and your legs feel so tired...

You cannot take it anymore. You finally deduce that, if you want to face off against the warlock right then and there, then you better take a nosedive; break through the halls and descend further and further until you reach the arena, and face off against a furious gladiator- angered and heartbroken by the prospect of you destroying these mementos. How could you?! Such an act is beyond heinous in his eyes! You are no honorable opponent like the rest of them- nay, he is here to strike you down, to restore and clear the champion's name...

To rub salt on his wound a little more, let's add in more references to the people who affected Hop's life- those who have sent him down a spiral, whether consciously or not.

At the end of some of these hallways, you can find shrines that are clearly meant for worship; moreso than the memorabilia that are already present. A large statue rests in the middle of it, surrounded by worn pictures depicting a silhouette of a man and damaged, worn-out books and scrolls. The scent of smoke is present, alongside ashes on the ground; the warlock or one of his familiars must have been near the shrine not too long ago.

Some parts of the halls, namely what items made of organic material like cloth, are clearly damaged- whether caused by burns, cuts, or, most strangely of all, moths. The bothersome nature of these little creatures not only represent Bede tearing apart at his self-worth, but also his reliance on Chairman Rose- such a depiction may symbolize his actions and words' effects on Hop's self-image and life, but it also acts as a subconscious, final "fuck you" to white-haired youth; at the end of the day, Bede is just an unwanted, insignificant insect who gravitates towards any source of light while causing great disaster to others, even at the detriment of his own life.

...but...isn't that what you have cursed yourself into, Hop? Having to prove yourself to someone who is so far away for all eternity? To mimic them? All for a part of their attention and approval- much less a sliver?

They have both locked themselves in a cycle of attempting to appease to someone in their lives at the detriment of their own health...

Upon his defeat, once the crowd cheers at his defeat, the walls will crumble, and the debris will crush and pierce the warlock - whether he was still alive or dead by then - as you finally get a look at the outside world... Rolling hills that span for miles greet your vision as the grey, rainy skies conceal the afternoon sunlight- but it still is brighter than the suffocating arena and its connected halls. Not too far away, you are able to spot a windmill, still going on for what seems like several vicious years, if its poor state was any sign. Ah, if not for the chaos around you, the flickering silhouettes of round sheep in the distance and the smell of grass and rain really makes it feel like you're right back home...back in Postwick...

To end all this on a high note, let's touch upon his witch's kiss/warlock's whisper/evil cutie mark. Thankfully, I got it as soon as I could; one of those old emblems that acted as tickets to a gladiator match depicting a simplified sheep's head! To add some freakiness, the sheep face is stripped to the bone on one half, and glaring right at the person looking at it on the other. A circle of hop flowers surround the disfigured head, and the emblem itself appears to be half-melting.

-Witch Card-

Sayf Al-Muharib. The Gladiator warlock, whose nature is admiration. The light of an old hero's glory - eternally out of his reach - had caused his sight to turn into searing, painful ichor; blinding him to all but his own failures and shortcomings. As penance for the sin of his existence and weakness, the warlock is in a constant state of breaking down, melting, and reforging himself whilst in preparation for his next battle in the hopes of searing away all the flaws in him - all that lead him to his incriminating mistakes - and achieve a perfect form. He is unable to recognize the being beneath his armor anymore, nor could he remember the vision he had prior to his entrancement.

The cries and cheers of his familiars herald another chance for the warlock to prove himself and absolve the legacy of his hero once and for all- but, no matter what, the crowd is never satisfied, and neither will he ever feel proud of himself for the victory. He will never be an inch closer to the light of legend he craves so badly. To emerge from the battlefield victorious, one must not lose sight of their promise in the midst of battle.

(His name is inspired by Sayf bin Omar/سيف بن عمر, a Muslim historian and compiler. It should also be of note that the reliability of Sayf's ahadeeth have been a point of controversy to this day. When translated, the warlock's full name means "The warrior's sword".)

(The fact that his first name literally means "sword" bears two meanings depending on the protagonist- if it's Gloria, then it reflects how he tags along with and respects her though he is seen as incomplete without her presence in the eyes of the rest; while if it's Victor, then it's the clash between their friendly rivalry and his growing respect towards him. Either way, it also symbolizes how the MC stole his spotlight and destiny, and how they broke him and his dream apart throughout their journey.)

(Also, Homura fits the criteria needed to defeat him, let's GOOOOOOO-)

-Familiars-

Batel (plural form: Abatil). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is preservation. A scholar at heart, the warlock analyzes the actions of the hero of legend to learn from them for future endeavors. Prioritizing the opulence and safety of these treasures, these small followers of his are on constant lookout for anything that would posses a danger to these sacred masterpieces while archiving the feats of the champion for future re-readings.

Unfortunately, their master despises the reflection cast on the memorabilia; forever reminding him of what he will never become. He will hang his head down in their presence out of both respect and shame, lest the sight of the failure he had become shatter what was left of his original heart once more.

(Symbolizing Hop's knowledge of battling in general; jokes about type advantages aside, he was always analyzing Lee's battles and was eager to use his knowledge during battles. It's also one of the key reasons as to why he chose to become a professor in the end.)

(Yes, the warlock himself also does his job at chronicling the feats of Leon - even going as far as to imitate them to this day -, but not only are the Batels there to assist him (I mean, they are his familiars), but they also sort of symbolize how...exaggerated Leon's achievements can get, especially in the eyes of others- including Hop's.)

(Its name is a play on words in Arabic; "Batal/بطل" means "Hero", but "Batil/باطل" can either mean "of no good use" or "useless". Leon was the hero, his hero, his ideal- Hop, on the other hand, was just dead weight to him.)

(Another note to add is that Hop's uniform number is 189, which, when read in Japanese, can mean "Hiyaku"; leaping. While the warlock himself would be struggling to walk with these hooves of his and his mutilated form melting and meshing with the armor, I can also see that the Abatil's only way of moving around is through leaping, since they would probably have only one leg to stand on. Ah, I love the smell of symbolism in the morning.)

-

Al-Daja (plural form: Al-Dajij). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is to uphold competition. Ever-so excited for the upcoming battle, the crowd will explode into applauds whenever a new victim enters the stadium and comes face-to-face with their master. Their never-ceasing cheers always demand for more, and, not wanting their wide, unblinking eyes to stare at all his faults and mistakes, the warlock complies.

The warlock will try and not show a sign of degradation to his opponent- he'll hold out until they sing songs of his glory and his story gets passed down from generation to generation. However, these minions will often times become so entranced with the relics and spectacle that they would forget the identity of their master altogether, and even start cheering for the new challenger once the warlock is thrown into a corner.

(Based on Hop's personal drive - to become as glorious and powerful as the unbeatable champion himself -, how the losses have been affecting him, and him not wanting what negative attention he garnered along the way to affect Leon directly. The audience can be quite the chatterboxes; all it takes is one small piece of gossip for everything to go out of control. Its name, ألضجة, means "The Noise".)

(They also symbolize how everyone else already act around him all thanks to his brother's legacy- looking down on him for every little mistake he makes, while each victory earns him another comparison to Leon. He doesn't want to disappoint them- not the crowds, not his friends, not his family, and not himself, so he carries on with his useless endeavor; constantly chasing after a dream that is so far from his reach. The fact that this familiar is prone to forgetting who they are serving exactly is indicative of Hop forgetting himself.)

-Inspirations-

In-canon:

Sacrificing aspects of himself just to come close to that aforementioned ideal; going as far as to remove his lifelong friend, Wooloo, from his team

Trophies and other memorabilia of his brother being found in their home- almost no mementos of Hop being found there

Corviknight, one of the 'mons he gigantamaxes upon the release of the DLCs (the other is his starter pokemon, which I will assume is Scorbunny)

The fact that he is evidently Arab/Muslim-coded, especially in the French translation of the games where his name is Nabil (fun fact, Raihan is also an already-Arab name)

The third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings

Dubwool being able to learn a fuck ton of self-destructive moves

The statue of the Hero of Galar in Wyndon (Motostoke in the anime)

Outside Influences:

The Sealed Vessel from Hollow Knight and their theme; actually, wanna bet that he is trapped in a similar manner as they were if we were to assume that his power is equal to Isabeau's? That he has been gathering power from the mass hysteria resulting from his influence over the stadiums?

How sheep, lambs, and goats are associated with sacrifice, slaughter, deceit, and rituals (to tie the aforementioned wooloo/dubwool and self-abandonment points mentioned earlier)

The golden calf

The fact that some gladiators were prisoners and had to fight and put on a spectacle in order to regain their freedom

nana825763's "My house walk-through"

That one segment from Valle Verde part 2 which starts at around the 3:58 mark

The Devil Within by Digital Daggers (not my dumb ass imagining an animatic in which Bede is this warlock's first victim)

Cause of my Death by Itoki Hana

Dolus Vel Pedica, Area Strigae, and Delusio Summa from the Madoka Magica PSP game

The concept of living armor, but with added body horror

-Closing Statements-

Phew! Well, thank GOD this didn't take as much time as Medic's warlock did! (unless if we count my sick days- then yeah, it took just as much) To say that this was a WILD ride would be the understatement of the century!

I wanted to nail the vibe the witches had before we, as the audience, learned the truth about their origins - that he must have been born out of competition and the impostor syndrome that comes with such high-stakes contests -, and the idea that he, Sayf, was vengeful not just towards the leagues and the people who had beaten Hop while he was down, but also towards himself. I am unsure of whether or not I've completely succeeded on that front, but, if you guys have better ideas and/or criticisms, please do let me know! I aim to improve my writing in general and my abilities to break down character motivations and symbolize their actions in more abstract manners.

Being Bede is suffering; his ass is getting haunted on one hand, and Leon is able to smell his fear from a mile away on the other. He's not fucking winning this, lads :'3

...With all that being said, there is one shred of information that I've been withholding until now- the final piece of the puzzle that, once we step back, paints a rather grim image of what would occur if we were to combine the worlds of Pokemon SWSH and PMMM...

Outside the league challenge, the story of SWSH tackles the eldritch origins of Dynamax/Gigantamax; that the very vessels that allowed the people of Galar to utilize it must come from the remains of the invading Pokemon, Eternatus. Its initial awakening from its 17,000 year slumber heralded the event known as the Darkest Day; in which it had absorbed so much of Galar's energy that it caused its form to change and a dark storm to envelope the region, causing the pokemon to dynamax/gigantamax and go berserk. With the emergence of said storm come what is now known as "Galar Particles"; other sources of energy that, after the defeat of this threat, were utilized by humans for generations to come; rebuilding Galar from the ground up to the region we know today.

Now, a theme that both medias apparently share here from this fact alone is "energy". In a sense, you could say that Eternatus itself acts very much like a living grief seed; absorbing "impurities" in order for its true form to "hatch" and release boundless amounts of concentrated energy that can be used in a useful manner later down the line.

So....what gives? Why is Eternatus such a key element to this concept if the focus of this post is Hop? What does that creature beyond out comprehension have to do with the one we currently have in our hands right now?

See, not only does Hop's karmic potential stem from his destiny to stop the second Darkest Day alongside the main character, but his brother was also tasked by Chairman Rose with capturing the beast and delivering it to him; this was planned out in order to solve Galar's energy crisis that was going to unfold in the next several years or so, and, though it was a hard decision, the Chairman believed that now was a better time than never. The future of Galar, in his eyes, relied on him...

Obviously, Rose's entire plan fell flat on its face, so it was up to us, our bestie, and a very gud boi an' gorl (Pokedex entries confirm Zacian is Zamazenta's older sister) to save an entire region's ass from a wicked, unfathomable threat once more, but what if things went a little differently in this timeline? Obviously, one of the heroes who was supposed to assist/had assisted Gloria fell into despair and became the next world-ending threat she's going to have to put down, but what if this wasn't the only deviation from the norm here?

After all, Rose wasn't the only one who had sought out the means to prevent and remedy a sort of entropy issue at any cost necessary...

[bubblycherri]

Hey, Guess what. It’s the end.

Well, of this account and my art account. I won’t be ever deleting them so if you really are that worried, you don’t have to be.

I think it’s been obvious that I don’t post here anymore and while that is sad for me, I’m sure for some this is a cause of celebration.

There will be no other accounts to follow either. My instagram and twitter are in the same state even after hardly touching it to begin with. There will be no bluesky, or whatever else is out there either.

As it goes for everyone 2019-2023ish has been the worst time for me. I have grown into a toxic and horrible person and lost my passion to do most things like I used to. When I first started here I was someone who would draw something every day in varying degrees of interest and over time I made friends and connections and had the best time here. But soon leading up to then it started to feel like a chore. It killed me inside that it was happening as it was the only thing I truly had going for me (pathetic of me ngl).

And on top of that with lockdowns I started to lose it I guess. I started second guessing everything and everyone and started to think I was just around for peoples sick amusement yet at the same time I hated myself for thinking that because what if no one was? And I was thinking such horrible things about those I cared about and in the end I ended up losing pretty much all the connections I made here some by their own desire to cut ties and some by me forcing myself out in one of these stupid episodes of mine. There are the smallest handful of people here I still managed to keep, I’m happy they are still here. But I still can’t help but miss what things used to be back in 2015.

I haven’t really changed since then, I still have these episodes where I want to just delete everything and run away and block everyone, still think everyone secretly hates and judges me. Too many days laying in bed in the dark with the windows closed as I think about all I have thrown away and lost.

I’m sorry to those that I have hurt. Those that were left confused or sad. I wish I could go back and start all over, but unfortunately this is how it is now.

Once again I won’t be deleting this account or my art account, too many memories yet too many mistakes. Don’t know if it is the same now, but people used to like my art or maybe they were just being nice idk anymore. Either way I’m leaving it all up. Enjoy as my final gift here ig

Maybe one day I’ll come back, maybe I won’t. It depends where I am in the future. Maybe my "talent" will rot away further and I will have nothing to show for myself anymore. Because hell knows I have no personality to make it anywhere without that one thing I was slightly good for.

Anyway, that’s enough of that cry session from me, I got to raw about all this and I apologise but being my final post and to those that are confused, you all deserve an explanation. I hope you are all safe and happy while knowing that people around you love you.

And lastly, thank you. For even befriending 2015 me to begin with, at a time where I had no one, I had those I met though here to take me through the last ends of high school and make me feel valued and loved.

[stoopid-noah]

Watching The Crowded Room and going in completely blind..

Haven't seen a trailer, no idea what it's even about lol

Here are my thoughts as I move along..

After watching Ep 1, I think:

Danny and his brother where SAed as children, maybe by the stepdad.

Ariana is a sex worker?

His brother either died due to abuse or offed himself because of it.

Ep 2:

Ariana was sexually abused too, I think.

Danny might have Multiple personalities and seems to be unaware about it.

Some charracters might actually be part of his system?

Is the "ghost house" actually his mindspace?

Ep 3:

Yup, multiple personalities!

Yitzhak is definitely one of them!

Jonny probably too & if he is, so must Mike.

Ariana might be aswell, maybe she's his sexual protector & SA trauma holder.

Did he ever have a twin brother, or was he also part of the system?

I love Yitzhak, best protected ever!!

I think Rya, the psychiatrist might suspect him having DiD, but isn't sure yet & the police has no idea.

But how did eye witnesses see Ariana?!

Ep 4:

I think Jack is also part of Danny's system.

Jack seems to be a protector aswell.

I can't tell if his brother was another alter or his actual brother?

All the drawings in his (burned) sketchbook might be of alters.

Oooooo shits 'bout to go down!!

Ep 5:

Gee, straight to the intro, no little scene before that? Is that a good sign or a bad one?

I really hope his mother didn't know what her children where going through.

I love Mario, he's cool!

I feel so sorry for his mom (Candy?)  too, she just wanted the best for her baby.. :(

I think Adam was his first protector & trauma holder, not his actual brother.

Ep 6:

I hate how the police officer is talking about poor Danny. :(

I hate the psychiatrists son, he's a brat and a nuisance lol

Hell yeah Jonny, get right outa those cuffs!!

God, I love this woman.. she's an amazing doctor and I NEED her to succeed!!

Why do I kinda like his lawyer?! He's such an asshole lmao

Oh, Danny.. My poor baby.. He's so scared :(

Ep 7:

Yayy, Yitzhak is back!!

Jack, Jonny, Mike, Yitzhak and Ariana confirmed alters, yay!!

Goddam Jonny... At least try to keep it together man >:(

These "psychologists" are so insufferable.. and so is the judge..

I love Yitzhak so much.. please don't let him be gone gone AAaAaa <3

Oh god.. please help him, poor puppy boy :(

Ep 8:

GET OFF MY SVREEN YOU FUCKIN PEDOPHILE PIG PIECE OF SHIT!!

I hope Marlin rots in hell, fucking piece of shit.

I love the directive so much!!

Candy, how could you? How could she cover for that piece of shit?

Oh, I feel bad for Arianas boyfriend.. and for Ariana :(

Why should they try to "get rid of the alters"?? I know that this plays in a different time, but it's so frustrating that the alters aren't really seen as whole ass human beings by the professionals.. :(

Jerome is so sweet and kind, I cant- I want them to be friends forever AAaAaa

If that boy doesn't get the help he needs, I'm going to scream...

Ep 9:

I hate him. I hate Marlin so much.. why do I have to look at him right now?!

How can candy live with herself, protecting this pig????

I hope she fucking turns around and stands up for Danny in the end :(

Stan is such a good guy, I hope he's a great lawyer too.

I hate it.. D.I.D. is real for fucks sake.

The trial just started and  I'm already crying..

I'm starting to hate candy, she's acting like a real bitch right now, ngl..

FUCK YEAH CANDY!! GO SAVE YOUR FUCKING SON!!!

Aaand she went home.. goddamn it..

Yay Jerome is back!!

Goddamn.. she's a really good psychologist.

I swear to God Candy, if you mess up again I'm going to scream.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Danny, baby.. no :(

How dare you end the episode like that?!

Ep 10:

Jesus Christ, please don't let my baby die.

God damnit Jack..

I hate his smug fucking grin.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him..

Oh, If Danny can come back, so could Yitzhak, right? I miss him. :(

"Adam is me" I'm fucking crying again wtf..

I'm on the edge of me seat, please don't jail this boy!!

OH THANK GOD!!!

I can't stop crying aaaaa

If Danny can forgive Candy, I guess I should too.. but I don't wanna >:(

He looks so cute, with all the paint on his shirt. <3

Don't try and make me feel sympathy for Candy.

Hell yeah, no forgiveness for Candy!!!!

I love the friendship of Danny and Rya, they have such great chemistry!

Last thoughts, after doing some research:

They handled this whole theme so respectfully and good!

Tom also did such an amazing job portraying his roles, it's amazing!!

Especially considering that this series and the movie "Split" where apparently based on the same case.. I fucking hated how DiD was portrayed in Split.. Like it's something to fear. Like it makes people violent. And as something fucking supernatural.. I fucking hated that.. But "The Crowded Room" is so honest and respectful.. It's beautiful!

[ca-suffit]

Gleefully clapped your hands for them butchering Lestat's character in S1 but now they might have done it to Armand, the same people suddenly care about Anne and the book? Lmfao! You lot don't deserve sympathy for whatever you might say about 2*08. People did warn you but you had so much fun calling them racists so now it sucks now that it's your turn. Cry more about it. Hope they butcher more of your faves, especially Louis in the future.

IWTV has always "butchered" Lestat and that was Anne's own writing doing it. He's always a fucking prick in it. The drop might be the thing u focus on the most when u write about this but it's not the thing that rly upset u. It was him being white and judged by black characters. That much is obvious all the time, especially when u write asks like this that are intentionally meant to be racist as hell.

Again, nobody has fun calling ppl racists. U don't even know anything about me either. ur making assumptions based on lies the fandom tells about what kind of ppl like what characters and ships, all to avoid ever talking about fandom racism in the first place. It doesn't even matter my whole account is Lestat references. Since it's focused on fandom racism, it's always about how I need to read the books (I've read them), stop hating Lestat (I don't), stop causing "drama" (calling out fandom racism).

Crazy how a tv series does things u don't like for a character and the first thing so many of u do is think "what person in the fandom can I cause personal harm to cuz I'm angry about this." Hope Anne is rotting in hell bcuz here's her fucking legacy in all its glory.

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

Sorry for everything in the past, I just needed to say as much. I don't want to be that person anymore, thank you, and goodbye.

hmm.. if your annmod..let me tell you something Annthewanderer, I will never forgive you after what you did to me in the past! I never felt so disrespectful in my life! For the past 11 years and you have the gall to show up and apoligize to me..well you know what..it's too damn late...11 years too late..you've cause the whole drama To the Entire Tumblr, You black mailed me to Make a many apolgize after you "False" accuse me of Plaugarism and then I told you that i only apoligize to you and What did you do!?, You Straight Up Posting Our Conservation and made it a huge massive break out..I was hated for so Long..the reason why my activity blog is slow..is because I have Less and less Bloggers who interact with me and Most of them turn their backs on me No thanks to you! I lost my sistery bestfriend Celestie Nitrous, I lost Crow-ler to HIM!..Geniemod was NEVER Helped at all..because she was like you! thinking of me as a "Toxic" person..Your so Quick to judge, I've spent years and years to try to improve it..and asking for help..you ruined me So much that I swore to myself to never forgive you! You Took saphira's kids and greed jr..I lost alot of my good followers...and i was the only one still standing all alone..until i met my sister @thelittlemermaidfan1989, She's the most sweetest sistery Bff in the world..i was so scared and paranoid no thanks to ya..and the only person who stayed with me this whole time..was @nightmare-the-mercenary, He Knew i wasn't the Toxic one at all! and I've had to deal with "Copycats", "Callout blogs" , and also Well one of your "fans" or someone attempt to rape saphira,, just look at this 4 years ago!

https://www.tumblr.com/saphirafoxgirlspost1/636234903266246656/rapes-saphira-with-a-thorny-cock-its-what-you?source=shar

Because Of all this that you created..one of them almost did to saphira! and also..Do you really think that I cause your friends trouble? Well Ya'll Cause Me trouble! Alot! ugh! I hated you so much annmod..always..I was Trying to be nice to you..but you're being a bitch to me and acting all high and mighty about it and it's all fun and games until you Showed up and apoligize to me after all these years Well I will NEVER Forgive you after what you did to me! NEVER! I hope you rot in hell for this..and also.. You Finally Know who's the real Toxic people are huh!? It's YOU, GENIEMOD, BUNCHOFONCE-LERSMOD, and Much more!...have a Miserable Life Bitch! And Shove that apoligize right up your ass! and good bye and good riddance!

[groupiegallagher]

Hey I’m a fan of Demri and Layne/AiC and saw your post about Phil Staley! I had no idea he traumatised Layne! Can you say more about what he did?

he abandoned him when he was 5 or 7 to do drugs. later on and through his teenage years, layne wrote him several letters in which he never answered. then once AIC became big and he was on the spot, i believe that at this point he was already into H (i could be wrong on this right here), literally out of the sudden he came back to his life, only to do drugs with him.

what pisses me off the most that while this have been part of the core of his traumas, he literally said it in songs like hate to feel. it very seems to me that what ph*l only saw on layne opportunities to take advantage like his popularity and the potential cash cow dynamics, while layne, as confused as he was, still held these fucked up agenda of getting high together as his hopes to reconnect with his father and recover the love he was missing all these years, literally i can't blame him for feeling so hopelessly heartbroken and depressed in spite of having many support systems - nothing cuts like a toxic parent after all.

how the hell is it okay to fucking dump your own child when they're very little at their most vulnerable stage, pretty much vanish and later on come back once that child is a grown ass rockstar with a growing wealth on the peak of his success and to..think is a great idea to feed through his H addiction? nothing of this sits alright with me.

i wouldn't despise him if only he, as a much older and important figure in his life, got his shit together, got clean, helped him then to get clean or a least try and just stop enabling him. or simply fucking leave him alone if he's not gonna do anything to try saving his own son. instead once he literally saw how the addiction of his own son was starting to eat him alive slowly by 1996, his bitch coward ass ran once again getting clean on his own and leaving layne to rot alone.

he had few simple tasks the bare minimun and he left him. i'll never forgive him for this right here.

"but he was also an addict!!! addicts are also flawed" no, nope, nah. addiction will never excuse abusive, neglectful and/or plain dreadful parenting. i understand the source of the problem but once you bring a child to this particular cycle of trauma infliction when you're a grown adult, best believe i will judge that a lot.

he technically abandoned him twice and he let layne to drown in his own decease. it is an injustice how he made it alive sober yet his son, who as described by anyone who met him - one or the most genuine, soft, calm and chill human beings with an introvert child-like spirit - who had to experience all kinds of hell and lose his battle, the same child he fucking left is dead. its harsh i know but idc.

to me there is nothing more tragic than a toxic parent making it alive and thriving while the kids they abandoned and neglected are rotting alone in their trauma pain and misery when their kids are burried fucking six feet under.

i can only imagine how it is to spend your last days aching and being like 'shit, i might die tomorrow thanks to my horrible choice which is this crap i'm doing and still won't bring my dad back since he really doesn't care about me' i'm not saying this happened obviously, but with what there is on the sources and seeing how this ruined his mental health for so long, its unavoidable for me to not think.

yet he's there in these tribute events, doing certain press, being there in public footage painting himself as this good form in his life when he pretty much fucked it up. he was a textbook junkie deadbeat dad who reeked of narcisism. pretty much still wanting to make fucking profit of him in any sort while keeping his image clean. basically washing his hands from any shred of responsability he had on layne's downfall.

it is also wild to me how in spite all of this, he received several donations from many fans when layne passed away.

maybe the members of AIC, nancy (layne's mom), his siblings and his close friends can speak well about him. i'm not gonna judge that but i will not hate and criticize them as its known they all did what they could to help him and let him know they loved him, yes i respect that.

however, as a survivor myself of longtime complex toxic parenting of almost all kinds, that involved addictions i personally can not have any types of empathy, sympathy or respect towards this man.

fuck ph*l staley, sure he didn't kill him but he used him several times, feed his disgusting drug use and ran like a fucking bitch. therefore, he was the main source of his unsolved sadness and traumas that lead to his demise. i will die on this hill.

[imaginethat0327]

So normally I don’t make posts like this because, truthfully, I’m afraid of getting attacked. But I’ve noticed a certain trend on tumblr lately and it’s really bugging me, so I’m assuming it’s bugging other people as well and they don’t want to say anything else for the exact same reasons. I don’t want to walk on eggshells because I’m afraid of people’s opinions (something that ties directly into this post.)

In the most earnest and respectful way I can think to ask, do you think we can all agree to not respond to things we don’t like to see with threats of violence, even if it’s fake? I’m saying this because I’ve seen a few posts now where people will say “reblog this if you agree, except if you are [insert demographic here] then STAY BACK.” And then the comments will have a plethora of people responding with things like, lid you are X then you deserve to rot in hell” or “if you believe in X then tell me your address so I can fire a missile at you.” I’m not talking about responses to posts that are BLATANTLY bad, like really truly racist, transphobic, homophobic, etc. But sometimes I see people wanting to express a genuine opinion or a thought and they get canceled IMMEDIATELY.

I haven’t been on tumblr long, and I was really hoping to find it better than what I’ve seen from twitter and Facebook, and largely it is. But more and more I’m afraid to get on here because I see really nasty comments from people regarding opinions/demographics they don’t like. It’s not fair to hate on an entire demographic no matter what - they aren’t all the same. Isn’t that something we’ve been trying to push towards? You CANNOT judge someone because of their looks, their gender, their race, and I’d go so far as to say their class, where they live, or even their political affiliation. Do you know them? NO, you don’t, you know nothing about them, stop threatening them just because you dislike what they have to say. What happened to no internet censorship? You can’t protest it when people try to censor you and then turn around and try to censor others! Anyways, this is a lot, but I felt like I needed to say it. I really want people to think before they turn around and attack someone online. I know that I don’t understand every situation and I know that I could be wrong in a million ways here, but I wanted to get this out there. I’m genuinely a bit terrified that I’m going to get a lot of hate for this, but I’d rather say it than sit and fume and worry every time I opened the site. Hopefully you all can see where I’m coming from here and think on it a bit. -Imagine

[blackjackkent]

OK, Hector needs a mental break and I don't think we can pursue that thing for Balthazar without passing the point of no return so let's head back out into the Shadowlands and progress some other quests for a bit. We'll finish scouring the Shar temple and move on into the Gauntlet when everything else is cleaned up.

(Hector, in my head, deeply objects to characterizing the REST of the Shadowlands as a mental break either, of course.)

Moving southward from the temple entrance, our first available plot point is the House of Healing, where we're hoping to find something we can use to wake Art Cullagh up and learn something about Thaniel.

Like everything else around here, the place is in a right state. Lots of big corrupted branches growing through windows and into the roof, and everything dark as hell.

Luckily we have our pixie buff so we don't have to worry about the dark so much but it's still pretty unsettling.

There's also someone talking inside, and their dialogue is not doing anything to ease the unsettling vibe.

O.O; I don't like the sound of whatever is going on here.

We enter through an upper floor window but there's not much up there other than a few locked chests, so down we go to see who's making with all the creepy.

Pivoting the camera into the side room before going in, we see this little tableau:

Almost more concerning is the name of the person doing all the talking, who from this distance looks either skeletal or like he has some kind of weird extendo-arms or both:

Thorm, you say? As in Ketheric Thorm?

[sigh] Oh boy, here we go.

Quick look around the rest of the building before going in to confront him. There are a number of documents around which, I assume, go back to the original onset of the darkness corruption (which if I recall correctly was something like a hundred years ago?). It seems that Malus Thorm was in charge of the house of healing around then as well.

And he was (and probably still is) a prick.

Based on other stuff we've learned so far I'm going to guess this was a Selunite hospital before Thorm got hold of it. >.<

And.... oh shit. Wandering into a side room we find two more of our missing tiefling friends. :(

We know Kormira, and her husband Locke who is equally dead in the next bed over. These are the parents of Arabella - the girl we rescued from Kagha's snake back in the Grove. :(

The lady standing over them is named "Sister Lidwin." She looks super undead and is about to get a major talking to, possibly in the form of a quarterstaff to the face.

She's mumbling to herself as they approach. "Don't call the doctor yet! I've got potions...sutures...I know I can do this..."

She starts at the sound of Hector's footsteps, turns abruptly and stares at him - "stares", as her eyes are covered by a thick sheathe of leather and cloth. Her skin is pale, marked with sigils, and mottled with blue necrosis. "Oh," she says vaguely. "You're a patient. This is the children's ward. Triage is back that way."

"That's Arabella's father," Shadowheart says grimly, confirming what we already realized. "Or...*was* Arabella's father..."

"Was" indeed... Hector swallows; as they've drawn closer, the stench of rotting flesh becomes apparent. His stomach churns sharply and he has to take a moment to steady himself. "Why are you treating a dead body?" he asks shakily.

The nurse tips her head as if perplexed. "Not dead," she says, her tone drifty, distracted. "Merely medicated. To ease the pain."

(A/N: Hector has several different deception options here - one monk-specific and one cleric-specific - to agree with Lidwin that the tieflings are not dead. I'm not at all clear on why he would want to do this. Who is he deceiving? Lidwin herself? Or his companions? Anyway, even if we knew why, Hector hates lying, so we won't take those.)

"The patient's definitely dead," he says bluntly. "Been dead for a while, judging by the smell."

But Lidwin just shakes her head firmly. "The patient is asleep. The sedative is quite strong, you see."

Hector blinks at her several times slowly, and then looks at the dead tieflings on the bed. There is no point in arguing this; he's not sure the "nurse" is even conscious of the situation. But damn it to all the hells...these people deserve better than this horrible, rotting grave.

He mutters a prayer to Selune, that she might shepherd their souls to somewhere better. It is all he can do for them for now.

[dats-poetry]

I'm pissed off. (Explicit)

Stupid lie, stupid life.

Who the hell said.

That men can't cry?

Who the hell decided.

That we should just.

Keep walking foward.

With thoughts of death?

I'm mad and pissed off.

Yes at myself but the world.

Cause I hate everything.

And this is not simple lies.

And I don't care.

If you'll judge me.

Don't care if you.

Say I'm a loser.

Complaining.

I don't care, literally don't.

Don't tell me what to do.

Please just don't do it.

Please don't tell someone.

That feels paralyzed.

To go and run a mile.

And yes please blame me.

I already blamed myself.

I don't even know why I.

Write all these poems I do.

It's my only way to vent.

Besides rotting in my bed.

Wooh, I'm 19 finally.

Haven't accomplished.

A fucking thing in life.

I'm surely a failure.

By people's standard.

Wait, can I go back.

To when I was 6?

Can I go back in time.

To when I was free?

Oh but yeah I'm so young.

That's the fucking problem.

That I already feel like this.

And like my life is wasted.

And I wanted to change it.

But I really can't change it.

Depsite what you might say.

I don't just have a switch.

To turn my depression off.

There were days that I had.

To cope with being alive.

With thoughts of death inside.

And no one to help at all.

I'm not having any hope.

The last time I had that.

It got ripped apart in pieces.

So don't tell me to have hope.

Cause I can't have any.

If all the hope I ever had.

I put it on something.

That went totally wrong.

And that fucking hurt.

So much that I still get.

Emotional at times.

When I wouldn't expect.

Feels like I want to cry.

Remembering the things.

That made myself laugh.

And took a sharp knife.

Stabbed me in the back.

I don't really wanna.

Be alive tonight.

[thecannibalcove]

Devil's Eyes

A short story written by: @thecannibalcove

My Wife, my dear Cassandra, she has been dead not three months as I am writing this; and yet, her presence in this house shows no sign of fading. It only started two nights after her death, the kitchen knives going missing when I was so sure they were in their proper place; only to be found blade up in my mattress. I thought nothing of it at the time, simply lapses in my brain and memory...that was what I thought for a while, at least.

Then more things were displaced, cups, chairs turned over, tables in the wrong room, couches in the wrong place, among other things. All while this was happening, I've been seeing things, a figure in the corner of my eye, a phantom raven at my windowsill. Cassandra loved those mangy sky rats, always watching them through our bedroom window, sketching them when they perched on our windowsill to eat from her hand…. their photos and feathers are displayed on every wall in the manor! I hate those wretched things, oh how I hate them. Those damned evil eyes, always seeing, judging the devil's birds, I say!

I would come home late after my last church sermon, and there it would be; that blasted raven, though only for a moment, but then, in an instant, it would vanish, as if it were nothing more than a figment of my imagination! The devil’s work! She began to appear in my dreams as well, Cassandra. Her face would flash at the foot of my bed some nights, others she would stand and observe uncomfortably close; I could smell the rotting flesh that had become her skin. I could see her eyes too…gods…her eyes. They were glazed like fine porcelain or glass—lifeless and yet burning with a malevolent gaze. They could not see, yet they could perceive. They saw through me, laying bare my sins and baring my very soul. The devil's eyes, they were. And they were red…oh so red! I haven't had a good night’s rest since then.

I've dedicated every waking moment to fervent prayer. Day in and day out, I've immersed myself in the sanctuary of my church, seeking solace with the Lord. I've even resorted to spending sleepless nights within those holy walls, desperately hoping to escape the torment of my visions. Alas, my efforts were in vain, for they only intensified upon my return home.

My beautiful wife, as precious and delicate as the holiest Rose, now turned demonic and evil because of these damned visions. I try and try to purge and expel this demon inside of me, to rid myself of this personal hell, to no avail.

The police have been visiting as well, to investigate, I assume. An accident, I assured them. She lost her footing in the darkness, a tragic fall down the stairwell. They accept my explanation, for why wouldn't they? It is the truth, after all. Yet still, they continue to search that staircase, desperately seeking clues and evidence that simply do not exist. Foolish. Foolish, I say!

Tonight, my dreams were plagued once again. Me and my wife were young again, on our first date in spring ‘24, at the lakefront. She was in her beautiful white summer dress, a woven sun hat sat next to her as she braided her beautiful blonde hair in delicate braids out of nerves.

We were sitting, a small picnic laid out in front of us as I admired her, hanging onto each word that came from those rose red lips. She was talking about her recent charity work, I remember it well. My wife was always such a calm, kind soul, especially with children…oh how my wife loved children! We tried for a child, you know...it still pains me to speak of it. My wife never recovered from her grief over not being able to conceive. She treasured children so, devoting herself to charity work with the local orphanage to fill the hole in her heart. But the sadness of their inability to start a family lingered in her eyes.

Anyhow, yes, we were having a picnic and she was speaking, it was a beautiful day, truly. The sound of the water accompanied by the squawks of the seagulls were most relaxing, and the smell of freshly bloomed flowers and my wife’s perfume surely had me trancened. It seemed I had gotten so enraptured in the scenery I had begun staring, as my wife asked in that lilting voice of hers if I am alright.

“Of course I am, Cassandra, why wouldn't I be?” I responded before looking at her, really looking at her.

“Oh, you just seemed distracted, is all…” she replies, twirling a braid in her hand.

“Please remind me of what you were talking about, dear.”

“You hurt me.”

I am caught off guard by this, surely that is not what she was speaking about originally! So I say to her, “whatever do you mean, Cassandra? I do not understand..” I risk a glance at her and…things begin to change.

The sky, once bright and sunny, now a murky gray from thick storm clouds. The sound of crashing waves stops suddenly, the water is eerily still. The distant squawking of seagulls is now the grating caws of crows and ravens, I have to cover my ears…and the smell, of the smell.... Once before fresh flowers and perfume now stink of flesh and death…it burns my eyes and I wretch.

I look back at my wife. She’s different. Her flawless skin is now married with dark bruises and her red lipstick is simply dried blood when looked at up close. Then she begins to….oh I cannot even repeat it! I woke up in a cold sweat, and there, perched on my window, is that damn raven! It caws and is gone in an instant.

Perhaps I am going mad…mad with grief, that is. Not a single day goes by where I don't think about my wife whom I loved so much. We had been married for thirty years or so, you know. Oh how I loved my Cassandra… her angelic voice when she sang, how her smile always made everyone in the room a bit happier, her poems, her blonde hair that were akin to silky sun rays…oh yes, did I love that woman with all my heart!

Yes, we would engage in the occasional disagreement, exchanging heated words and, I confess, there were moments of weakness when my hands found their way around her delicate neck, where she would cover a blooming purple bruise with a scarf or sweater... but I have repented for my sins! It was the devil's influence that drove me to such actions! Oh yes, Satan had tainted my view of my Cassandra, making me believe she could possibly be unfaithful, poisoning the blood of Christ with cheap alcohol… I would never want to hurt my beloved, never my Cassandra!

Today marks the two months since my dear was taken from me and sent to God and the angels above. There are no blasted ravens today, no caws outside my window, no eyes in the corner of my eye, no sights of her porcelain doll body broken to pieces at the bottom of the stairs. It seems she has finally let me be, she has passed on.

At least, that's what I believed. I was tidying our room, convinced that her belongings had been displaced once again, until... there! There she is! Sprawled and lounging on her bed, as perfect as the day I lost her! “My dear Cassandra,” I call her, “leave this house, I beg of you, my dear. You are not wanted here, this is not your place”.

The caw from that devil’s bird from just outside my window distracts me for a moment. I look away. When I look back, she is mere inches from my face. The putrid stench of her decaying flesh, deteriorating right before my very eyes, induces a retching reflex within me. Before I can even flinch, she seizes me, unleashing a barrage of shrieks and profanities and utter lies I dare not repeat! She chokes me, bites me, shoves me, and claws at me like a feral animal, as if she were real... no, she is real. She EXISTS. She has existed all this while! Resurrected by the devil's own necromancy!

We both stumbled out of the bedroom, I chant and pray and hail in tongues for this hellish being to disappear, but she does not. Instead, she curses me to repent, to confess my sins, to let her lay to rest. Blasphemy! ‘Tis all nonsense, I say! The police are at the bottom of the stairwell, that damned stairwell, doing their job. Oh ho ho but they cannot fool me anymore! Some of them look at me and they know. They know what I did, what heinous act I committed. But how? HOW DO THEY KNOW?! Before I can think, she pushes me and I stumble, falling down a few steps before I am caught by an officer.

“Father Cain,” he says “are you alright, sir?” bah! Am I alright?! Taunting me, he's taunting me! I grab him by the jacket, spittle flying from my mouth as I confess.”I DID IT!” I scream. “I KILLED HER, MY WIFE, MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE!” The laugh I let out is almost maniacal. “BUT IT WAS NOT MY FAULT, IT WASN’T!” I let go of the officer, pacing up and down the stairwell as I told them exactly what she did!

“SHE WAS A JEZEBEL! A HARLOT! A WHORE!” I point to our bedroom and let out another laugh. “Love letters, hotel receipts, gifts and merchandise I never purchased!” they all look at me as if I AM crazy! The damned fools!! “The Raven saw it too! My witness, that devil’s bird! It sees everything! Every unfaithful kiss and romp underneath the covers! I saw! I had to confront her, to do something to punish her for breaking our holy vows! I didn't MEAN to kill her!”

I continue to rabble off mountains upon mountains of evidence, but the officers do not seem to care! They detain me as if I'm some criminal even as I plead my innocence!

It is not fifteen minutes until I am in the back of a police car, handcuffed tightly. I take one more look at that blasted house before I leave to who knows where for who knows how long. My gaze lands on the upstairs window, our bedroom. I see red eyes looking back at me.

[cardinalforgot]

Dear God, How Are you? It's May 7th and I'm doing Swell

Dear God, How you doing, the last time we talked was at church, why I'm doing swell thanks for asking.

I know our relationship is always on, and off

A light switch of emotions, good, bad and all said in prayer.

I would actually like talk to you, Dear God, Holy God, Almighty God, Why Am Broken? Or better Question yet, am I broken?

It's a conflicting feeling knowing your teachings versus hearing your teachers, people who drag your name, your religion, everything of course but your skin, hair and eyes through dark brown mud.

your unholy followers taking thorns from your crown, stabbing away, until I'm bleeding from the ground up.

The bodies of children, the bodies of fathers, of mothers children. Meant to be your children for you make no mistakes, disgraced deserved

Oh yes she, he, it, that damned thing, that satan spawn, that 'choice' And to hell they burn and let their body rot, let their body stand as an example of their hate.

For yes our relationship is on and off as it has been for so Long, for our relationship is strained because your followers do drag everything you preach except you yourself through the mud, but they dare let blood, holy blood touch you skin and drown you.

There is no parting of this red sea, for this blood is on your hands yes you god Almighty and son Almighty your hands. For you are the scapegoat, to justive their deaths. For you are used in vain a misaligned justice figure for your mistakes!

But I am no mistake, we are no mistake, I will not to pray you Dear God, Holy God, Almighty God, There is nothing to pray you do not make mistakes as my person is not a choice, there is nothing to fix tonight there is nothing broken.

Let that red sea swallow you all whole, let you know your place if you want to speak strongly of your holy book. Forgiveness does not mean to forget,

So please do remember dear follower dear sinner, you have been forgiven but your judgement has not been forgotten.

Lest you be judged yourself, so be judged, let that red Sea clear to flames. And you Dear Follower, You dear sinner know your place.

If I shall burn them so be it, But you burn with me, let me live with spite in the present so you may burn with me in the future Dear Follower, Dear Sinner

Dear God, I do hope you've been swell. I apologize for the burnt state of this letter. It is hot in hell I assume that is no mistake?

Signed, sincerely anonymous

P.S: you didn't know my name until this letter.