#knowing that i am present on at least 25 people's dashes is both cool and terrifying

[mylifeeinfandoms]

the results of my poll indicate that my posts may reach 25 separate accounts on a given day (i was the 26th vote lolz). not sure what to do with that information except maybe say hi! and welcome! and have a lovely day/night! and also ask a follow up q.

[maadorii]

JAS’S APPRECIATION .｡.:*♡

is it just me, or did this year really just flash by like nothing? haha but i think we can all agree that 2020 was... an interesting year. a lot of shit has happened this year, and i mean a lot. both personally and just from an overall standpoint. but i don’t want to focus on the negatives right now. 

since i opened this blog, a lot of positive things have come my way. i never felt more confident in my writing and more welcomed in a community before until this blog came into existence. so i’d like to write some thank you notes to everyone who has impacted me this year! warning: it’s kinda long i guess lol

for my followers: how are you my lovelies? 🥺✨ i want to sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart for following me and for giving my works a chance! im grateful to you all for giving my blog a chance and i promise to bring more works in 2021! a special thank you to those who come into my inbox, i love interacting with every single one of you and please continue to do so! i promise i don’t bite :) and a reminder, that if you’re ever in need of something or just someone to talk to, my dm’s and inbox are always open for to hop in. okay? i know, i don’t know the lot of you, but i still care for you and your well being. happy new year to you all!

to my moots, i just to say that i fucking love each and every single one of you 😡🤚🏻 call me crazy or something by i’ll legit jump in front of gun for you. and to me, that says a lot. and there some moots i have that i haven’t spoken to yet (im sowwy...) but seeing your reblogs, works, hell even shit post on my dash really do making my day better. i get super happy when one of you guys appear in my inbox. and the fact you all are super fucking talented and beautiful, it isn’t fair!! to my moots i haven’t spoken to yet or not much, my new years resolution is to show up in your inbox and say hi! i’m shy and my anxiety honestly takes over when i try to, so i’ll try my best !! @cherryonigiri + @introloves + @oikadiors + @obithoes + @skateme2yokohama

[@0ik6lut] sal!! potentially the loml! legit my first ever moot on here. i remember how i showed in your inbox on anon asking what a smau was 🗿 i lowkey felt really dumb but you reassured me and answered me honesty and i think that’s where i got hooked LMFAO it’s always a blast interacting with you cause you’re so funny! and from the bottom of my heart, thank you! not only have you brighten my days, you’ve also sent me sweet messages during my darkest times and for cheering me up. i’m eternally greateful for you and i love you 🧡

[@omijime] NINI! 🧡✨the other loml uwu. do you know how much i love you? your so crazy and i love you for that cause talking to you is such a fun time cause sometimes i don’t know where it’ll go. how we jump from one thing to another is insane but i wouldn’t have it any other way! i’d also like to thank you for being another person i can consolidate to when i’m down. oh btw, when are we gonna have this joint wedding 🙄 ? atsumu is getting antsy over here LMFAO

[@iwas-angel] pat!! i know you’ve been taking the rest you so deserve, but whenever you do come back i just want to let you know that i miss you! and that your literally a ray of sunshine ✨ love you pat 🥰

[@kemochie] nea!! i still can not get over your waluigi theme, shit was amazing. i was tempted to send a video of waluigi saying wah! for an hour... i still am. IWJSNWSN ANYWAY— i cant wait to interact with you more cause you’re so funny and chill. i still laugh at the bob duncan ask KASksk my sense of humor is so broken at this point, it’s depressing 🧍🏼‍♀️ but love you and your crazy shenanigans 🙄🤚🏻🧡

[@chqrryvelvet] kae! kae! kae! i remember one of our first interactions was saying i was a popular blog REEEE i only had maybe 25?? or 30?? so i definitely didn’t consider myself one haha but talking to you is always... an adventure to say the least! remember that one time we went back and forth about whether or not i gave you a hug or not? still leaves me in tears (especially cause i wrote you a whole paragraph 😡🗿) but i love you 🥰🧡 so where my hug at?

[@miyagoldenhour] my maya! another moot i haven’t spoken much too but i so deeply appreciate! you complemented my theme and my heart was sold 😂 even though i think your blog is way prettier than mine i can’t wait to see more from you and talk to you more!!

[@rilacry] lola! my fellow hinata lover 🤩 can i just say, that i was super excited to see another person who loves hinata as much as i do? and the fact that your insanely talented too ?? shiiii, i must’ve hit the jackpot here 😎🤏🏼 but in all seriousness, you’re super duper cool + amazing, i want us to be able to talk to each other more soon! in fact, tomorrow, i’ll send you ask :) if i forget you can come kick my butt, sound cool?

and as my final present to you, my moots, this year i dedicate this painting to each and every single one of you! you all are the stars in my night sky, i hope you’ll shine brighter this 2021. happy new year!

[i hope you guys like it! i wish i could’ve actually drawn you guys as people but i didnt want to invade 🥺👉🏻👈🏻!]

copyright © 2020 ojomaster. all rights reserved. 

[matteredloyaltyaa]

                                                       NAV.

                GOOGLE DOC (RULES/ABOUT/VERSES).

                                         PLOTTING FORM.                                             HEADCANONS.                                                   WISHLIST. 

Tumblr mobile friendly version of my rules under the read-more.

DISCLAIMER:

I do not claim to own or have created this character, though the headcanon posts you see here are of my own interpretation of this character and events. I am private and selective, meaning that I only write with mutuals (those who I follow and who follow me in return), and tend to watch who I follow back and/or write with for my own comfort. However, my askbox is open to everybody if you wish to talk to me or the character on this blog, but I may not answer everything put in there.

PASSWORDS:

Due to my social anxiety, I don't have a password in these rules, nor do I send them in. I read everybody's rules and pages before following and usually before interacting.

ACTIVITY:

This is my main blog, which means that I am on it most of the time. However, I do suffer from some mental disorders, namely anxiety, depression, and OCD. These tend to affect how I interact ooc and can make me overly distant sometimes, and it's usually nothing anybody has done to me but my own mind running off on it's own about things. So, I do apologize for that. I may be absent from blogs during bad periods or make a couple posts here and there that I always delete after an hour or two stating that I'm in a bad way. Everything will be tagged.

HIGH HONOR: 

Please note that I base my characterization off my raw play of this game, in which Arthur is HIGH HONOR and you may see more of that toward the end of his main verse. However, I still play him as a morally grey individual, especially as he’s trying to find his own mind on things in a way, but ultimately he leans more toward honorable moral choices (or what are considered honorable for the life he leads). He will do both good and bad things. At his point in time, I’m not exactly leaning towards adding a low honor verse, as his portrayal within the fandom has turned me off completely and after playing that route myself, I don’t really see much reason to. However, that may change if I end up finding a way to put a spin to that.

BLOG & PERSONAL TRIGGERS: 

Please note that I don't have many triggers myself outside of suicide and overly anxiety inducing content (jumpscares, purposely paranoia inducing posts, etc). 

There are some themes that I would like to avoid writing about in detail or at all. Namely, I WILL NOT write out anything like incest (the John/Arthur ship tends to fall into this category for me, along with Arthur/Dutch and Arthur/Hosea, so I will say that it's a NOTP for me), abuse (outside of mentions in regards to backstory, all forms), pedophilia, and rape. Also, I should note on a personal side that pregnancy can make me a little uncomfortable due to some gender stuff with me. I don't mind mentioning it, nor do I mind parental relationships when it comes to Arthur and sometimes outright adopting children in certain verses, but threads and interactions solely based off pregnancy can make me uncomfortable. It's difficult to explain but I would like to avoid it. Really, when in doubt, just ask.

This blog does and may contain triggering material, due to the nature of this game and the character. The biggest ones that will be present here are violence, guns/shooting, crime, and illness. I should also note that, due to the fact that this game takes place in 1899, there may be some triggers related to the views of this time period. Arthur himself is rather progressive and doesn't hold those views himself, but that doesn't mean the people around him don't and may be referenced in threads. Everything will be tagged as I catch it and where needed.

SPOILERS: 

This game has been out for at least a year now. I will not be tagging for spoilers anymore, so please follow or read at your own risk if you are working through the game for the first time.

WRITING, SPEED, and NSFW:

My general writing style is paragraph/paragraphs. I don't mind one-liners but I usually only reserve those for starters that I’m writing and I tend to expand on the length of those as I go. I format my posts, mostly just some minimal spacing, small text (not sub), and all-caps words, bold, and italic usage. If this bothers anybody or makes it hard to read, please let me know and I can continue our thread in a non-formatted way. I also use icons, but I will follow my partner's lead on iconless rps. I can also be a little long-winded with my replies but you aren't obligated to match that. As long as I don't get like three sentences back to five paragraphs, we're all good.

I'm a slow rper. It may take me a day or two to get around to things, both asks, threads, and messages. I don't mind a nudge here and there but if it feels like you're pressuring me, I will warn you and block if it continues.

I'm 24, the muse is 36 in his main verse. We are both over the age in regards to nsfw. Smut is kind of rare for me and I don't do it often on Tumblr, however if we're in a ship and you want to write that over Discord, I may be open to it. That said, too, I will ONLY write nsfw with people and muses who are OVER 18. There is no exception to this. That noted, too, Arthur's in his 30's so a massive age gap may not appeal to him much either.

SHIPPING: 

I’m going to sound like a hardass but: I am a highly selective shipper on here, and the ships that do appear on this blog are ones I have had for quite some time. Everything of a romantic nature will need to be discussed with me and the chemistry has to be there for me to agree to shipping. I’m not an insta-shipper, nor am I accepting to pre-established romantic relationships outside of those in canon. They will need to be discussed with me like every other ship and may be subject to me disagreeing to do it. Otherwise, I am multi-ship, despite being highly selective, and I’m fine with discussing them but please be aware of this.

FOLLOWING, DRAMA, AND DUPLICATES: 

I will usually give someone a day or two of active posting after following before I unfollow if I don't receive one back. I don't mean anything personal by that, I'm simply making sure I don't accidentally like or send anything in if we aren't mutuals. That said, too, I am selective with who I do follow. If you're a sideblog and you don't have that blog easily accessible on your main blog or you don't message me about it, I'm likely going to miss it. I don't follow rp blogs that are run more like personals if only to keep my dash slower. Also, generally, if our writing styles don't mesh, you're rude to me, or you post nasty things, I will likely unfollow/block/or not follow back.

I don’t interact with or reblog callout posts. I don't have great patience with ooc drama and will likely unfollow if there is a lot of it being posted by you.

Following and being followed by duplicates (other Arthurs) is completely fine with me. However, with the mentality sometimes, I won't go out of my way to follow first if only to avoid making anybody uncomfortable by me doing so. I'm also non-exclusive for general interactions, so multiples of the same character I am fine with. I may take mains, however, which means these blogs get priority over plots and focus in headcanons, etc.

CROSSOVERS AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS: 

I'm crossover friendly so long as I know the character/fandom. That said, if I just can't get into it or make it fit, I won't force it.

I love original characters and you guys are cool with me, however I do need to see at least some stats or a verse we can interact in before I follow/follow back. I'm also fine with your OC knowing Arthur in their backstory but, again, romantic stuff needs to be talked over with me first.

STARTER CALLS: 

I've found that I don't enjoy doing starter calls. I may do them here and there when the urge strikes, but the best way to interact with me is to message me or continuing memes sent or sent to me. I'm also more than happy to like other starter calls, too, if you want to throw them my way.

QUESTIONS?: 

No. Go away. >:(

I’m kidding. Just drop me a message, I’ll get back to you. I also have a Discord available to mutuals, if that’s what you prefer. I promise I’m not as much as a hard ass as these rules make me seem.

ABOUT THE MUN: 

Hey! Thank you for reading these if you do. A little introduction here: my name is Rory, I'm 25, Canadian and operate mostly out of the GMT-7 time zone. Though, I tend to post at odd hours so that may not be too noticeable. I'm nonbinary and I prefer they/them. I'm a full time university student, which means that I may disappear when studies pile up or my time is divided. That said, I do enjoy talking to people when I'm able. My IMs and Discord are always available to mutuals, just drop me a message.

[bubblemoon66]

Doesn’t She Know (It’s the End of the World)

Fandom: Skulduggery Pleasant Rating: T Warnings: Major Character Death Pairing: Valkyrie Cain/Skulduggery Pleasant Genre: Angst, Suspense Wordcount: 3715 Summary: According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. Notes: Written for the Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange 2018. Based on a prompt by @edwardssallow Title inspired by the Skeeter Davis song.

You can also read this fanfiction on AO3, FF.net and Wattpad.

It was a clear, crisp spring morning. All blue skies, not a wisp of cloud in sight.  And the promise of a sunny afternoon to follow, if the meteorologists were right and the sensitives were wrong.

According to the clock on the Bentley's dashboard, it was 06:23. About 37 minutes before the world had been scheduled to end. 

Valkyrie Cain was worried, but not as worried as most people would be under the circumstances. Her life so far had been one series of apocalyptic disasters after another. She hadn't grown used to them exactly, Armageddon wasn't something you could get used to, but she had learnt to deal with them in her own way. Denial, mostly. With a dash of fatalistic humour and a superiority complex thrown in for good measure. The way Valkyrie saw it she could either accept that the world was going to an end on her watch or not. And life was much much easier to bear when she chose the second option.

The Bentley, Valkyrie and Skulduggery Pleasant were currently speeding through the Tipperary countryside. It would have made for a nice drive had they not been going twice the speed limit around a hairpin bend in a rural lane. Unfortunately, that's what they were doing. Valkyrie's stomach twisted as they whipped around another corner. Overgrown hedges scraped the car's bodywork. Tires screeched. There was a smell of burning rubber and hot metal. 

There was tension in the car, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it. Is was there though, regardless of what they wanted. It was in the set of Skulduggery's jaw and the pit of Valkyrie's stomach. It was in the space between them, displayed on the dashboard in fluorescent red light. 

06:24. 06:25. 06:26. 

"I don't suppose there's time to stop for a coffee?" Valkyrie asked lightly, once the tension had become too much, even for them.  Of course, she knew there wasn't time. They both knew, but that wasn't the point. 

"After," said Skulduggery, in a tone as light and fake as her own.  "I'll take you to that cafe by the river. And we can sit and talk under the awnings while you sip one of those overpriced frothy concoctions you've developed an obsession with."

"It's called a caffelatte and you know it. You've bought me enough of them. And it's too cold to sit outside."  

 "It'll warm up. The day's only just beginning."

 06:27. 06:28. 06:29.

The alarm clock in her parent's bedroom would be going off any second now. If she closed her eyes, she could hear its shrill shriek. She wondered if she should phone them, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. A call this early in the morning would only worry them. And they worried about her enough as it was. 

"How close are we?" Valkyrie asked.

"Eight miles,"

"Do you think they have a coffee machine there?"

"Do you think of anything besides where to get your next caffeine fix?"

"Not in the AM," was her reply. She stole another glance at the clock.  06:30. Thirty minutes to go. "It's kind of inconsiderate scheduling an apocalypse for seven in the morning." 

"Genocidal maniacs aren't exactly known for their consideration," 

"If I was planning the end of the world, I think I'd leave time for a lie in and a full Irish breakfast." 

"Not everyone has your vision, dear."

06:31. 06:32. Seven miles. Six miles.

"They must have a coffee machine. Or at least a kettle. I mean, I just can't see anyone destroying the world before their morning cuppa. Unless they're destroying it because they don't have their morning cuppa, I guess I could understand that."

 Skulduggery tilted his head, in that way of his when he was amused.  Good. That had been her intention. 

"If you're desperate for caffeine there's chocolate in the glove compartment,"

Valkyrie checked. There was chocolate in the glove compartment. A pack of four full-sized mars bars to be precise, her favourite.

"You spoil me," she said. 

"I know,"

Valkyrie closed the door to the compartment without touching the chocolate. Nerves wracked her insides and made the concept of eating anything impossible. 

"Not hungry?" Skulduggery asked gently. He must have known how she was feeling, but that wasn't the point of his question. 

"I stopped eating chocolate for breakfast. Unless it's inside of a pastry or drizzled over waffles." 

"Since when?" 

"Since I hit thirty," 

"I saw you eat an entire box of chocolate dipped strawberries in bed Valentines day morning." 

"Doesn't count. The fruit negates the chocolate. It's practically diet food."

Skulduggery laughed. "You know, I would love to live in a world governed by your logic. Just for a day, to see what it's like."

A small smile crept across Valkyrie's lips, "That would be fun."

06:34. 06:35. Five miles. Four miles. 

In the distance, she spotted the water tower on the hillside. It was tall, built from ancient grey stones eaten away by time. 

The smile fell from her face, "We're nearly there."

Figures stood guard around the base of the tower. At this distance, they looked human. But she knew from the sensitives' reports they were nothing more than empty shells reanimated with hot air and magic. Hollow Men. Unpleasant to deal with, but not the worst thing they had faced, not by a longshot. 

06:35. 06:37. The tower loomed closer. 

Her family would be sitting down to breakfast around now, still in their pyjamas. Alice would be on her phone no doubt, texting one of her friends to arrange a meetup before college. Her mother would be in the middle of buttering a round of toast. While her father fiddled with the radio antenna until someone reminded him that he had to turn it on at the wall before it would relay them the morning news.  

06:38. 06:39. The Bentley raced up the dirt tracks scored into the hillside. Mud flew through the air. The engine roared. Hollow Men turned to look at them; their movements, clumsy and slow.

"Ready?" Skulduggery asked.

"Always," she said. 

They flung the car doors open in sync. Fire and white lightning flying from their hands. The hillside lit up like a Christmas tree aflame. Heat and light consumed the leathery skins, igniting the gas inside with a pop. 

It took them a minute, or perhaps two, to clear the ground between the car and the base of the tower. 

There was a door, made from solid oak and cast iron. As ancient as the stone walls, but far steadier looking. There were sigils carved into the wood. She couldn't read them, but she could guess they were there to keep out intruders. 

"Can we deactivate these?" she asked. 

Skulduggery traced the pattern of a sigil with a gloved fingertip, then shook his head. "Not in time. We're going to have to go through the walls." 

She nodded. 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Valkyrie closed her eyes. There was a rumble. They melted through the stone together. It was cold and rough. Her skin felt raw like she had been caught in the path of a sandblaster. It was an impressive piece of earth-magic, even if it was unpleasant. 

A moment later, they stumbled out of the wall.

Valkyrie opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what the inside of a water tower was supposed to look like, but she suspected it wasn't this.

"Woah," she said. 

"Woah, indeed,"

"I know we're a bit short on time, but do you mind if I take a moment to state the obvious?"

"Go ahead,"

"It's bigger on the inside,"

"I know. I can see that,"

Valkyrie took a deep breath. Taking in the impossibility of it all. The corrugated metal beams supporting the high ceilings, the fluorescent tube lighting stretching down long corridors, the steel grates fixed to every couple of metres - all of it the wrong shape and size to fit inside the tower. She took it all in. And then exhaled.

"We're going to have split up, aren't we?" 

Skulduggery glanced at the watch on his wrist, a 440th birthday present from her. "I'm afraid so." 

"You take the corridor on the left. I'll take the right."

He nodded. "Call me the second you find anything," he said, before shooting off down the left-hand corridor, propelled by the air and magic. 

Valkyrie ran. Boots pounded against the metal floor, echoing like thunder. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, blood roaring.

She ran and ran and ran. The corridor seemed to go on forever. Beam after beam after beam. Vent after vent after the vent. 

Later, when all this was over, she would take time to marvel over it. Maybe she'd even take her family on a day trip up here. Her dad would appreciate the weird sci-fi-ness of it all. Her mum would just be glad that Valkyrie wasn't shutting them out from her life again.

Valkyrie's legs began to ache. Her lungs burned. She was slowing. How far had she run? How much longer did this corridor go on for? How much time did they have left? Why the hell hadn't she passed any doors? What was the point of a corridor if it didn't lead anywhere?  

Valkyrie stopped running. 

There wasn't a point. That was the point.   

She ran her fingers over the corrugated walls. They were cool and rough to the touch. It felt solid. It felt real. She knelt down to inspect one of the grates. It was too dark to see what underneath. She took a few steps forwards and inspected the next grate. And then next. They were identical, down to every last nut and bolt. The way she had come looked identical to the way she was going. And she now, she realised, she was going nowhere. 

Her phone rang. She answered. 

"Have you noticed anything odd about this place?" Skulduggery asked through the receiver. 

"It's not real,"  she said. 

"Yes, I noticed that too. It's a bit of a problem."

"Any idea of how we get out of the weird magic-simulation-thing?"

"None, at all. You?"

"Nope,"

They stood there in silence. Painfully aware of the seconds ticking by. 

"Maybe we could try hitting it really really hard," suggested Valkyrie. "That's worked for us in the past."

"I suppose it's worth a shot," There was a muffled metallic clang from the other end of the receiver. "I don't think it worked."

"Damn,"

"Could you use your aura-vision to see what's going on?"

Valkyrie considered, "I could try."

Doubt plagued her mind, but she ignored it; screwed her eyes shut and concentrated. When she opened her eyes the scene had changed. She saw two worlds overlapping. Another impossibility she couldn't understand. She didn't have time to understand. Later, she'd think about it later.

The reality that she had been experiencing glowed in a nauseating shade of green. Somewhere behind it were stone walls and an ancient door in pale yellow. And in a beautiful vibrant red, was the outline of a man, stood maybe four metres to her left. 

 "I can see you," she said, rather breathlessly into the receiver. 

"Can you reach me?"

"I think so. Hang on."

She put the phone back in her pocket and took a tentative step through the two realities nestling on top of one another. Her stomach somersaulted and bile rose up in her throat. When nothing worse happened, she took another step and another. Until she back where she belonged, by Skulduggery's side. And he was holding her like a drowning man. 

"I think I might be sick," she said, as the world which may or may not have existed spun. 

"Please don't be. I don't want to save the world covered in vomit. Can you see a way out of here?"

"There's a door. The one we couldn't get through earlier."

"Anything else?"

Valkyrie looked around. "There's a maintenance ladder fixed to one of the walls. The tower walls. Not the ones you can see. It's about ten steps in front of us, directly across from the door."

"Can you take me to it?"

She nodded, taking his hand. They moved through time and space together. 

Valkyrie did not know exactly what Skulduggery saw when they moved. She liked to think it was something really impressive. Like her melting through a steel wall, hair billowing behind her like it did in the movies. 

As soon as she touched the ladder, Valkyrie's normal vision snapped back into place. The world came with it. They were stood now, in a room that made sense. Next to a rusted ladder fastened to crumbling stone. 

Valkyrie knees buckled.

"Steady," said Skulduggery, catching her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just need a minute."

"I'm not sure we have another minute to spare."

Hands shaking, Valkyrie took the phone out of her pocket. 06:55. Shit. 

"We need to go up," she said. "Now."

A familiar arm snaked around her waist. "Hold on."

She held on. They hurtled upwards, as fast as a bullet. There was a hole in the ceiling where the ladder was, they shot through it. 

The upper part of the tower was wider than the base. It was just as ramshackle, but gloomier. The light from the high windows barely reaching the floor. Skulduggery set them down. He clicked his fingers and a flame appeared. 

A man lunged. He through a stream of energy at Skulduggery, who dodged, the bolt missing them by a hairbreadth. The wall behind them exploded into a cloud of mortar. The man crashed into Valkyrie. He dragged her to the floor. Legs straddling her waist. His hands started to glow again, lighting up with power. She kneed him in the groin and rolled. They landed in a shaft of light, coming from the newly made hole in the wall. She was on top now, forcing him to the floor, pinning his arms above his head with one arm, so he couldn't aim. 

"Where's the doomsday clock, Eschat?"

Eschat grinned. A feral thing. Broken yellowed teeth and rotting gums. "Not telling," he sang in a shrill voice. 

Valkyrie punched him in the face. Fist shattering cartilage. Blood trickled from his broken nose. 

"Still not telling," he said. Then he started giggling. 

 It wasn't right for a grown man to giggle like that, thought Valkyrie. Especially an old man with rotten teeth, uncut nails and long matted hair. It was just asking for trouble. 

She punched him in the face again. He spat out blood this time. 

"Eschat," she growled. "You know who we are. You know what we do. And you know what we'll do to you if you don't tell us where the clock is right now."

"Doesn't matter," he sang. "Doesn't matter. We're all going to die in a minute anyway."

Valkyrie spared a glance at Skulduggery. He was moving quickly around the room. Darting from wall to wall. Searching through the rubble of the wall.

"Have you found anything?" she called. 

"No. Not yet," he said, back towards them. 

"Keep looking. It's here. It has to be."

"You'll never find it," said Eschat. 

Skulduggery paused and turned to look at them, "Try his pocket."

The shit-eating grin faded from Eschat's face. 

Valkyrie rummaged through his clothing. It wasn't an easy thing to do, not when you were trying to pin someone's arms to the floor. She tried his jacket first and found nothing but gum wrappers in the outer pockets. She moved to the inner pockets. Nothing in the right one. But there, in the left - her hand closed around a small metal object. A pocket watch. She could feel the patterns engraved into the casing, could feel their power. 

 "Got it," she said, wriggling it free, pulling it towards her. 

That was when Eschat struck. Freeing one of his still-glowing arms, he went for her head.  She had to throw herself off him to avoid having her face melted off.  The shot went wild, blowing a hole in the ceiling. The watch went flying from her grasp. Dust and chunks of stone rained down on them. Blinding her. Covering Skulduggery. 

"Shit!" she gasped before her lungs seized up. She coughed violently, uncontrollably as mortar filled them. 

 Eschat was throwing more streams of energy. The movements were wild, erratic. If he had been aiming, it might have been easier to dodge. But he wasn't, he was throwing blindly. Tearing down the building one blast at a time. 

Valkyrie scrambled to her hands and knees, still coughing. Sifting desperately through the rubble. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Skulduggery burst through a cloud of dust, hands ignited. He crashed into Eschat and the two went flying to the other side of the room. 

More streams of energy flew through the air. The floor in front of her exploded. She clambered back, scrabbling across the stone before it crumbled away. Blood trickled from a dozen cuts where debris had hit her. She didn't have the time to care.

Keep moving.  Keep moving. Keep moving.  

Her hand brushed something cold, metallic. Relief struck Valkyrie like a train. She grabbed the watch, flicked open the case. 

15 seconds. 

She realised that she no idea how to stop it. 

10 seconds. 

The sense of relief was torn from her. It couldn't end like this. She needed-

5 seconds. 

An idea. Her only shot. 

Valkyrie dropped the watch, balled up her first, and brought it down. Hard. 

Three things happened as the clock struck seven. Firstly, the pocket watch alarm went off. Secondly, Valkyrie's fist connected with the metal casing. And finally, Eschat Imera let loose a final stream of energy that brought the tower crashing down. 

Valkyrie's world collapsed. There was a boom. Stone rained down. Blue skies rushed by. The ground quickly approaching. Her hand reached for something to grab, tightening around the only thing it could - the remains of the pocket watch - as she fell. 

Valkyrie never hit the ground. She slammed into one of the ladder rails. The rusted metal had been bent and snapped in half as the tower collapsed, leaving a sharp point at one end. That edge was what stopped her. It slammed into her back piercing the skin; piercing the tissue and the muscles. Rail emerging bloodied and sinew covered from her chest. 

"Oh," was all she could think of to say as she hung there suspended in the air. Weightless for a moment, before the metal gave way and she fell again. 

Skulduggery caught her this time. Grabbing her arm, pulling her close. Her shoulder had to be dislocated after a grab like that, but it didn't hurt. 

They floated gently to the ground, light as a feather. She buried her head in Skulduggery's shirt. They touched the earth. Her legs buckled, only Skulduggery's arm around her waist kept her upright.

"Valkyrie," he said. "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him and then down at her chest; saw the way the bloodied metal had skewered her and knew she was going to die. 

 She pressed the watch into Skulduggery's gloved hand. "Did we win?"

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He took the watch. Looked at it and dropped in the dirt. His expression unreadable. 

"Tell me this wasn't in vain," she said. 

"It wasn't in vain,"

"I saved the world?"

"A hundred times over,"

She sighed, "It's not as painful as I thought it would be."

"You're in shock,"

Skulduggery set on her on the ground. Gently. Gently. He knelt next to her, placing her head in his lap. She reached up to stroke his cheekbone. The movement was more difficult than she had anticipated. Her arm felt heavy, clumsy. Like it no longer belonged to her. 

 "Do you want to call your parents?" Skulduggery asked. 

"No," she whispered, letting her arm fall. "It'll only make them sad. I just want to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"We could start with how much you love me,"

"You already know how much I love you. You don't need me to tell you."

She smiled faintly. "Then tell me something I don't know."

"I used to breed wolfhounds,"

"Did you really?"

"Of course, it's not something I'd lie about,"

"Did you have a favourite?"

"Ol. Great big brute, but soft as butter. He liked to sit on my feet everytime I stood still for more than a second."

"You used to complain when Xena did that,"

"Only to wind you up,"

Valkyrie's vision was beginning to fade. The edges were growing darker. She closed her eyes. Breathed in as deeply as she could. 

"Can you hear that?" she asked. 

"Hear what?"

"That ticking noise,"

"I can't hear any ticking noise,"

Valkyrie opened her eyes again. She struggled to turn her head towards the sound. Her eyes fell on the small silver disk lying in the dirt. 

"It's coming from the pocket watch,"

Skulduggery tilted her chin back towards him.  "You're imaging things, dearest."

She stared up into empty eyesockets. "Are you lying to me?"

"It's not something I'd lie about," he repeated. 

Valkyrie closed her eyes again. 

"Stay with me," he said. "For just a little longer."

"Until the end?" she murmured.

Skulduggery didn't say anything. He moved, shifting her weight slightly. There was a pressure on her mouth. Teeth pressing against lips. Bone meeting flesh. Neither too hard or too soft, but over too quickly. 

"I wish you'd kissed me sooner," she breathed.

"And I wish we stopped for coffee," he said. "And sat under the awnings and talked."

"Don't be daft. It's too cold."

"It's not that cold out."

"I'm cold."

He kissed her again. She felt like they were back in the sky, drifting, weightless. She wished this moment could have lasted forever, but it couldn't.

"Will you be okay?" she asked. Only able to speak in the faintest whisper now.

"I'll be fine."

Now she knew he was lying. She opened her mouth, tried to speak. Tried to tell him as much. 

The earth trembled. With a great effort, Valkyrie willed her eyes back open. Skulduggery looked back at her. There was a flash of white light.  And then, there was nothing.   

[weaselle]

I want to share something hidden about myself.

I’m sort of a girl? so I started this tumblr as just, like, a catch-all and curation: anything I miss on other social media usually makes it’s way to my dash here, and it’s also full of cute animals and cool art - win. And I have almost no cross followers and irl friends here, like close to zero people from my facebook friends know me here, so it’s… almost like an alone place with imaginary friends. Anyway, I’ve slowly been filling with this desire to say something about myself for years, I want it out in the universe but I don’t necessarily want a bunch of people in my life to know it, so this seems the right platform, maybe. I’m going to be talking about being… some kind of non-binary. And I would like to start with a kind of disclaimer: I don’t want to move into spaces that I feel are best left for others, people who need those spaces more than I do. I’m not trying to join any communities or participate in other people’s identity situations. This disclaimer will make more sense as I go on. I’m 40 years old (still pretty tho ;) ) and I’ve always presented myself as, and mostly conceived of myself as: cis white male. But I’ve also always been … other than that. On the inside; like, both things. I feel, idk, like… I read about two-spirit shamans, and I think about how that kind of identity must have always been a reality for some people since the dawn of humans, and I feel something on that spectrum, maybe. And there’s a whole other dimension to it, which is that my mother died when I was young - I was very lucky to be adopted right away by her sister, but, since I was 6 years old, I have actively tried to let her spirit live on this earth through me. This is part of the reason for my disclaimer- I don’t necessarily think my experience is very representative of many people who are non-binary. Or maybe it mostly is, I’m more of an accepting-my-friends-as-being-who-they-present-as and less a delving-into-the-deep-personal-exploration-of-WHY-they-are-who-they-are kind of friend, but at least, I don’t think housing the ghost of a dead parent inside your own soul is a component for most people. Anyway, that’s certainly not the whole story with me, either, but I definitely started from a place of trying to live life how a woman would live it. Like, especially when I was in 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and 10th grade, I was intensely curious about what it would be like to be a woman. In 7th grade I carried around books like Are You There God It’s Me Margaret  - which fact didn’t create a lot of social capital for me (but I feel ultimately that was a far better investment in socialization than I knew at the time). Along with LOTR and everything else a person who loves books reads, I read romance novels and stuff like Clan of the Cave Bear. Books by women that dealt with sexuality and women’s points of view - like The Mists of Avalon, which I devoured over the summer before freshman year. And the whole time I was exploring my sexual awakening, this curiosity of what it would be like to be a woman was present, and sometimes the focus. Women’s underwear, for example, feels super sexy and exciting to wear, if only it didn’t look ridiculous to me on my male anatomy. The thing is, I am DEFINITELY attracted to women. Like, I find some men attractive in a non-sexual way, the way a leopard in peak condition is beautiful, if that makes sense.. and I’ve known three or four men that I’ve thought “if only I wanted to fuck you, I would totally date you” - but, I’ve sucked a couple dicks over the years, and I’m just not that into it. I remember standing naked in the mirror trying to imagine what it would be like to just BE a girl, thinking about how as a late-blooming 14 year old physical body there seemed very little difference anyway, but I wanted so much to experience the entire reality… and trying to reconcile that desire with the fact that no matter how I tried to get into that fantasy, boys just weren’t sexy to me. In 1992 in a small town, with no internet access, I was definitely unknowingly trapped in binary preconceptions of gender and sexuality, while I tried to understand the possibility that I was a lesbian inside. But I never let that thought develop much. I mean the thought has been pretty omnipresent on the back burner of my being, but I’ve always kind of overlooked it with a “not really though”. The reasons are difficult to pin down, but … I had friends who were guys, and I heard their take on things, and I sort of felt that me getting off on pretending to be a lesbian would be participating in something similar to things I found kind of gross about the ways some of these boys were about women. I still wrestle with that. And, while I was lucky enough to have friends and family that I knew were sufficiently supportive that I could tell them I felt like a girl inside, I felt like that understanding would instantly shift to skepticism if I added “and I’m sexually attracted to women”. Like, that felt, and still feels, like one solid step too far to be taken seriously by most of my friends and family, hell, I barely comprehend it myself. Like, if I want to be a girl, but the girl I want to be would be described as a tomboy and I’m attracted to girls… what even am I doing? (It was weird, when I was young and imagined myself as a girl, I wanted to be a girl doing “boy” things like skateboarding and climbing trees and playing video games and fighting and playing in the mud - but when I imagined myself as a boy, I wanted to be a boy doing “girl” things, dressing up and singing and cooking and dancing and being the hub of a spy-network gossip circle. Now, as an adult in this the year 2018, with the exception of social-progression issues, it is utterly unimportant to me what things are “man” things and what things are “woman” things so this isn’t the same; like, I know men are often super gossipy and I’m no longer stuck thinking of ballet as a “girl” thing, so that part of my situation has resolved.) So I went on with my life, as a boy. I mean, sometimes people wondered if I was gay, and my theater-kid ass didn’t get into the overt parts of male culture by any means, but I was definitely a boy. And, as much as I fantasized about being a woman, I fantasized about growing into a man, too. A tall, lithe, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, ninja-werewolf man in a killer business suit with a harem of super talented funny smart women who were all lovers and let me be their beloved bodyguard and sex parter. Or whatever, I’ve never been good at having realistic goals. And I definitely grew into a man. Like, I still have to consciously check myself to make sure I’m not interrupting women or talking over them, because I didn’t learn how inherent a quality that was in me until I was an adult, because I grew up in modern America AS a MAN, in ways that are undeniable and very real. And while I still STRONGLY wish I could experience life in a woman’s body (y’know, for three weeks out of the month) I’m very comfortable with my male body. Despite my lifelong social and mental issues (or maybe because of addressing them my whole life?) I’m pretty well-adjusted. I like myself, physically, spiritually (liking myself mentally is a 50/50 proposition, but whatever). I’ve come a long way. From a clumsy, socially inept, tantrum throwing, ugly duckling with a scalp condition and a bunch of warts on my hands, I’ve grown into a physically and socially skilled, wart-free healthy-scalped adult man, with slim hips and decently broad shoulders (still no luck on the werewolf thing) and a good handle on my anger management; fit and kind and thoughtful and only a little crazy… I’m pretty damn happy and comfortable with who I have become. I have even wound up in a couple romantic relationships with women who almost exclusively prefer dating other women, and that has been a wonderful low-key way to sort of be this other thing I feel I am. I just ALSO feel this desire to be a woman on the outside, sometimes, because I still feel like a woman on the inside, in many ways. And that leads me right back around to my starting point. I have a huge amount of privilege, and I don’t want to give it up. I feel like it’s my duty to use that privilege on behalf of those who don’t have it, but I do have it, and I take full advantage of it, so, I don’t think it’s fair of me to “come out” as any kind of trans or non-binary person. I feel like I would be taking space away from people who need it more than I do. I am, for all intents and purposes, a cis white male, and I have enjoyed every advantage that comes with that: I get to talk about being attracted to the people I’m attracted to, and it is the “cultural norm” for them to be attracted people who look like me… I don’t even really have any body dysphoria or anything. I’m just mostly comfortable with who I am while wishing I could be more, and isn’t that the human experience anyway? And part of that privilege is getting to not have this, whatever this gender sexuality non-binary thing I experience in my soul, not be society’s defining characteristic of me - I get to have it NOT be the main thing that everyone insists on bringing up with/about me. I’m grateful that it doesn’t have to be what takes all my time and energy, because I have a lot of other things I want to focus on. I have a very real socio-economic revolution I’ve spent almost 25 years putting together that I’m finally starting to get off the ground, in fact- I can’t really afford to get derailed over this. I just… I don’t want it to be THE part of my reality, but the older I get, the more I feel like I need to acknowledge that it is A part of my reality, a real part of me. Somewhere, on the inside, and to whatever extent regrettably not on the outside, I am a lesbian woman… in as much as a person can be who has grown up being treated by society as a cis man. As much as it makes me furious and sad that I cannot avoid adding such an addendum, that I cannot simply say “I feel in my soul that I am a lesbian woman” the plain fact is I have spent 40 years enjoying the privileges of a cis man, and that experience does not a lesbian make. But just here. Just this once. I want to say it anyway. To just accept this part of myself without all those qualifiers and conditions. I am a woman who loves other women. It has literally made me cry now, to have typed that simple sentence alone. So thank you, Tumblr, for being the void I can say this into.

[romantlcdemon]

I Know I’m Wrong, But I Can’t Help Believing

Aizawa Shouta/Present Mic (Yamada Hizashi) ; TRAITOR AU ; Traitor!Present Mic

Link: Read it on AO3

Word count: 3630

Summary: 

 “Yamada Hizashi.” “Huh?” “That will be your name for the entirety of this operation. You best get accustomed to it.” 

He was born a villain. He was given both a mission and a new identity. This fic follows the life of “Yamada Hizashi” leading up to his exposure as the traitor of UA.

30 years ago.

He doesn’t remember the start of it. Not that it really mattered. His parents had been villains, good ones too.

25 years ago.

He grew up knowing villains the way other kids knew heros. Indoctrination is a funny thing, always a double-edged sword. Of course, villains did tend to be more disagreeable people than heros, and internal conflicts were common-- but his parents didn’t neglect him. They protected him well. He lived a good childhood, and grew into a bubbly personality with an enthusiasm that seemed untameable.

22 years ago.

His parents died. He had no extended family, and was instead taken in by the villain organization that his parents had belonged to for years. He learned toughness. He learned what it meant to survive.

15 years ago. Mission start.

“Yamada Hizashi.” “Huh?” “That will be your name for the entirety of this operation. You best get accustomed to it.” “Ah… Yes sir…” He stood in an office, facing opposite of the voice that addressed him from behind computer screen static. There was a slight echo in the tall, cold, room, and each sentence was echoed faintly back to him, as if the building itself was some kind of comic book villain’s assistant, nodding and grinning feverishly and repeating every word out its boss’s mouth. Well. Every place has its charm. Just a week prior he’d been alerted of the new mission he would be undertaking, and in the days since he hadn’t gone ten minutes without hearing a new comment on the topic. “Damn lucky kid. You realize how easy you’re gettin’ off with this? While we’re out bustin’ our asses--” “Shut up, shithead. You wouldn’t be able to last a day on undercover work. Constantly gettin’ asked questions you don’t know the answer to, comin’ up with lies on the spot. This kid here, he’s clever. He’s savin’ our asses doin’ this.” “Why’s someone this young being sent on a mission as dangerous as this, though…? How can we trust that he won’t crack under the pressure? He’s not very experienced, you know.” “No, no, it’s because he’s this young that he’s doing this. Haven’t you heard? They’re gonna enroll him in UA. We’re growing an artificial hero from the ground up. What is it those whackjob teachers call them… Eggs? We’re hatching a hero egg. It’s genius, really.” Although the constant talk was annoying, he couldn’t deny that it was all perfectly true. He’d never had a say in the matter from the start. He was the only one under the age of sixteen in the organization, and transferring someone in as a second-year already put them in the position of an outlier, so that was key. His quirk was combat-oriented and he was talented in controlling it-- again, key, because admitting someone upon basis of recommendation would have increased the complexity of the mission tenfold. Now, he received one final comment. “Today you have been made a vital piece of a master plan. You have been entrusted with a great deal of responsibility, but I have faith that you will deliver. Do not prove me wrong.” “Yes, sir.” He bowed his head and turned to exit the room, but was stopped when the voice sounded again. “What is your name, again?” He paused and took a deep breath. “Yamada… Yamada Hizashi.”

14 years ago. First goal: Admittance to UA. Complete.

He poked the mass of dark hair that rested on the desk beside him with the eraser end of his pencil. “Psst.” Five seconds of silence. “Psst.” Five more. “Psssssttt--” “What in God’s name do you want?” A single bloodshot eye glared at him from behind thick locks. “No no, it’s not God’s name that I want, I was wondering what yours is.” He flashed a beaming smile to rival that of a toothpaste model. The glare intensified before returning its focus back to the desk, and he almost thought he wouldn’t receive an answer when a muted grumble reached his ears. “Aizawa Shouta. I’m going back to sleep now.” “Wahh, cool name!! I’m Yamada Hizashi!!"

13 years ago. Second goal: Fit in. Be amiable with members of your class. Complete.

“THE VOICE HERO! PRESENT MIC!!!” He didn’t hesitate a second before scrawling those words in all capital letters on the hand-held blackboard in front of him. He added a few stars around the borders then sat back and stared at it contentedly before stealing a glance at his (self proclaimed) friend next to him. When he saw Aizawa’s board as blank as his expression, Yamada’s jaw dropped in shock. “You still haven’t decided on a name?!!” Not bothering to look back at him, Aizawa droned, “I’m not planning on appearing in any media, so it doesn’t really matter to me.” “All right… Then, how about…” Mic pensively tapped his chin with the end of his pencil, the eraser bouncing off his skin. “ERASERHEAD!!” “Fine, fine, whatever…” Mic scooted his chair over and leaned in close as he watched Aizawa draw the letters with surprisingly neat handwriting. “Ooh… Does this make us matching? I mean. Not really matching, but, we’ll both have hero names that I thought up, so that’s matching in a way, isn’t it?” He turned his head to look at Aizawa, only to realize he was nearly nose-to-nose with his classmate, and for a moment, they stared wide-eyed at each other with equal expressions of surprise. The moment was short-lived, and Aizawa’s surprise quickly shifted to annoyance. He clenched his teeth and hissed, “Do you mind?” Mic couldn’t stop two short giggles from escaping his mouth. “No, I don’t mind, but I’ll back up for your sake anyways.” He returned to his desk, but not without a wink.

12 years ago. Third goal: Become a hero. Complete.

“ERASER!!” He puffed out his chest and pointed his index finger at Aizawa with incredible mock conviction, striking a pose in his new leather jacket and tight vinyl pants, his other hand still toying with the large speaker system now wrapped uncomfortably snug around his neck. “How do I look?! As a pro hero. Wonderful, dashing, right?!” Aizawa, his attention on the paperwork in front of him which would officialize his status as a pro hero, mumbled the reply “No different from always.” The room went silent save for the scratch of Aizawa’s pen against paper, and Mic’s hand fell to his side. Noticing the change in atmosphere, Aizawa paused and looked up to see a faint pink decorating Mic’s cheeks. “Wh-- I meant-- like an idiot. No different from always, you still look like a dunce. Not dashing in the least,” Aizawa hurriedly returned his eyes to the paper, ignoring the way Mic’s eyebrows had raised, and that dumb smile that had just begun to form on his lips, the same smile he always had when Aizawa gave him a compliment, intentional or not. That smile was making an appearance more and more often, lately. Aizawa feigned a cough and brought his arm up to his face, covering the blush that had begun to appear.

10 years ago. Fourth goal: Attain a staff position at UA. Complete.

“SHOUTA!!” He yelled as the apartment door opened, and promptly rushed in, shoving a hand-sized card in Aizawa’s face. “What…” “LOOK AT IT!!” He furiously shook the card, it’s surface tapping against Aizawa’s nose. “How the hell am I supposed to look at anything when you’re waving it like that?” He snatched the card out of his hands, and walked to the kitchen, where he sat on a stool and placed the card on the counter, inspecting it. UA STAFF TEACHER HERO DEPARTMENT PRESENT MIC Aizawa’s eyes widened, and he ran the tip of his finger over the UA insignia printed in the top corner. “When did you…” “Last month!! There was an opening! And I was one of the first applicants, and I got accepted last week, but I wanted to keep it a surprise, and today I finally got the ID…” Aizawa turned and looked at Mic. At his proud smile and eager posture, the way his gloved hands were clenched into excited fists at his side. He couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he knew the way they were crinkling at the corners, bright green irises seemingly sparkling. Mic looked at him too, and saw the way he didn’t blink when those tired eyes scanned him. It was something he’d noticed he’d do when he saw a cute cat too, or when he stared at his favorite painting in the art museum on the other side of the city. It was a beautiful way to look at things. Mic wondered if what he saw was the same thing he did when he looked in the mirror-- a fake, a rat, a villain. He hoped he never saw it. “What?” “H-..Huh?” Mic shook his head, coming back to reality. “Your face got awful serious all the sudden.” Aizawa blinked, his eyebrows lowered. The room was silent for a moment. “Got the shits again?” Mic’s mouth dropped open, then screwed up into a twisted cringe. “THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO!! AND IT WAS BECAUSE OF THAT DAMN TAKEOUT!! I TOLD YOU THAT RESTAURANT WAS SKETCHY, I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU LIKE IT SO MUCH!!”

5 years ago. Strike one: Become emotionally involved. Complete.

“Eraserhead, huh…? Congratulations.” Mic twirled the ring around in his hand, rubbing the engraving on the inside. /Always./ He took a pensive breath, slipping the ring on to his finger only to take it off again and resume fidgeting. “... Yeah. Thank you.” The ceremony had been beautiful, outdoors, with just enough breeze from the ocean to take the edge off the summer sun shining bright and golden overhead. Clean white suits, flower petals on the grass. Mic had organized the wedding in its aesthetics, on the condition that Aizawa organized the guest list. Mic had held those rough and scarred hands in his, looked into his dark brown eyes and told him, “I will love you forever.” In that moment, the words were endlessly sincere. Mic’s eyes saw nothing but him, his head thought of nothing but him. A blissful tunnel vision, now torn apart by the accomplice sitting on the worn couch in front of him. Torn, because the man, sneering crookedly and tapping his cigarette over an ashtray, was not congratulating him on his marriage. He was congratulating him on ensnaring himself inextricably deeper into his mission, into his very own lies and tricks and illusions. The way his glossy eyes squinted in the low light spelled a phrase unsaid: “Good fucking luck.”

1 year ago. Strike two: Stray from the objective. Complete.

“Mic.” “Mic.” “M--” Mic jumped, blinking rapidly. A low groan escaped his throat, which was throbbing, raw and sore. He tried to move his hand, and was met with a sharp pain shooting up his arm. Where was he? “Oh thank god…” Midnight sighed deeply, letting go a breath she’d been holding. “I told you he’d be fine. What, did you think I’d lie to you? You think I’m new to this?” Recovery girl replied in a tone of disbelief, quietly shaking her head. Oh. So that’s where he was. That’s what all the blurry white was-- the ceiling of the UA infirmary. He tried moving his hand again, only to have someone else’s cover it, and gently hold it in place. “No, Hizashi. Not yet.” A voice, deep and soft, murmured beside him. Mic turned his head, and found that a stiff, scratchy material restricted the movement of his neck. A brace. “You knocked yourself out pretty good, Mister. I don’t know what you were expecting taking on a villain twice your size all on your own. He was a monster. Not that you’d remember after that bump on your head, though.” It’s true, Mic didn’t remember fighting him. But he remembered the events before. The words that had reached his ears through the grapevine, that his organization would soon be sending an attack to breach the walls of UA. The cold, dense feeling in his gut, the anxiety shaking his fingers for days before he glanced out the window and saw a familiar face walking on the street below him. How had his legs run that fast? His mind had been left three steps behind. Perhaps his sense of pain had, too. The face he’d recognized was that of one of the most powerful grunts he knew, with a muscle manipulation quirk that gave him incredible mass and strength. Mic was no longer confused as to why a bone-deep ache was currently radiating through his entire body. The pain didn’t matter so much after he blinked again, though, when he saw Aizawa’s face mere inches away from his own, his eyebrows knit together in concern, the corners of his mouth curling upwards slowly as Mic met his eyes. “You’re a real idiot, you know.” No kidding. He’d just sent a member of his own association to the slammer. In a dark twist of irony, he’d committed a betrayal within a betrayal and deliberately shut down another mission-- and by extension, compromised his as well. This wasn’t pretty. Well, the situation wasn’t. Aizawa was.

1 month ago. Strike three (You’re out.): Reveal mission. Complete.

“Traitor…” he muttered, inaudible at first. “There’s gotta be a traitor in our midst.” Why did he say that? Why? Even now, he can’t answer that question with confidence. The knowledge of what he was doing, of who he was, was a constant storm above him, raining and pouring. Increasingly each day seemed like monsoon season, and the waters had now reached dangerous levels-- perhaps this was a cry for help. But what help? There’s no lifeguard to pull him out of this one. This guilt isn’t a swimming pool, it’s an ocean. That day the water made a crack in the dam, and before he could register the words coming out, he was defending the hypothesis that would mean the termination of his mission. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Even then, though, he’d had some silly illusion in his head that there was a possible future in which that termination wasn’t something ugly and blood-soaked. That it would just be over, and he could go back home and hang up his jacket and leave the memories outside the door. He would walk down the hall and into the living room and see his Prince Charming laying on the couch with his eyes closed, a hand absentmindedly petting the cat who lay on his belly. Just like that, they’d live happily ever after. But in truth, he knew that he was no star-crossed pure protagonist. He was a villain. And there are no happy endings waiting for him.

1 week ago.

He knew it was coming, and soon. He never returned the looks, but he felt the stares on his back, everywhere he went. He didn’t hear their voices, but he knew the words they spoke when they turned away, what all the topics of the recent meetings had been about, and why his attendance had not been requested. It was inevitable, and perhaps that knowledge was what hurt the most, despite the fact that he’d known it from the start. All things come to an end, for better or for worse. For better or for worse, he still came home that night and smiled with the same toothy grin he’d flashed when they first met eyes all those years ago. The air felt just as heavy in his home as it did everywhere else, but he ignored it, the same way one ignores the pain of a wound as they utter their last words. “I love you, Shouta…” The man in his arms did not reply, but Mic didn’t mind. He knew they both understood the state of the present, and the path of the future. But now, in this moment, all that mattered is that he could still feel his warmth, his thick hair, and scarred skin. His heart beating, strong and unfaltering. It reassured Mic. Even when he was gone, as long as that heart kept beating… That would be okay. Mic would be okay with that. “Do you know that? I love you so much.”

1 day ago.

He left everything that day. Ungraded papers, happy birthday cards. Birth certificate, forged. His UA student uniform, that he still kept in a box in the closet. The speaker system he’d spent a whole year building and installing in every room, so the music never got far away. The leather jackets he’d been collecting since he was seventeen. Two rings on the nightstand. What did he care? Why would he miss it? All those documents, cards, certificates and records were all written with that fucking fake name. But somewhere along the way, it had started to feel real. Not when his teacher had called it out and he had answered, not when he had wrote it a thousand times and repeated it a thousand more. It was when Aizawa Shouta said his name that it sounded real. Maybe it was because he’d wantedthat name to be his. Something like, ‘If that’s the name he’s calling, then that’s me.’ It was all too real. A mask that became part of his skin. And now he had to rip it off. “... Hizashi…?” Aizawa rubbed his face, and his eyes cracked open to look at the face of the man kneeling by his bedside. He smiled and gently shook his head, placing a hand on Aizawa’s cheek. With his thumb he lightly brushed the corner of Aizawa’s lips, and looked into those deep brown eyes, glazed over with sleepiness. It was 3am. When Aizawa woke up in the morning, this memory should seem like a dream. He wished so desperately that every memory could seem that way, that he could wake up tomorrow with no clear recollection, only the faint notion that /perhaps/ something had occurred in those days past, but nothing of great consequence, that all of this would fade into nothing and he would continue on his way unaffected by the rest. For Aizawa, at least this moment would be a dream. For him, the memory would be burned like a brand in his mind.

10 minutes ago. Mission end.

“Yamada Hizashi.” “Yes.” “That has been your name for… how long, was it?” “Fifteen years, sir.” “Ah… Truly a long time. And you held out quite well.” The voice was momentarily muddled by television static. The warped light of the screen manipulated the shadows of the room, and the pupils of his eyes, unprotected by sunglasses, shrunk and dilated in alternation to adjust. “Excuse me.” The static settled. “Now… You have made mistakes. You are more aware of that than even I am.” The voice paused. If it was to gauge a reaction, then there was nothing to find, because he didn’t flinch, didn’t shudder, didn’t clench his fists. Green eyes stared unblinkingly forward, waiting for him to continue. “However, I don’t think any punishment will be necessary. The work you have completed has allowed great advances in our organization. Advances that you have seen yourself…” The image of Aizawa’s scar flashed behind his eyes. “... and some you have yet to see. I understand you have not come with much, today. And readjusting will not be easy. But I assure you, living in reality has its perks as well.”

Now.

“Good afternoon, Present M--” “That’s not my name.” Kurogiri paused, and looked at him for a moment from his place behind the counter. His dark face betrayed no emotion, as usual, but it was clear what was going through his mind. He took a seat on the barstool at the end, put his elbows on the counter, and put his head in his hands. “You’re wearing your hair down today.” Kurogiri remarked as he resumed his task polishing glassware. “Mic was the one who put his hair up.” He didn’t move his eyes from the counter. Even without looking, he was aware of the gaze he was receiving. Boy, had he gotten good at feeling stares. “Perhaps it would be best to cut it.” He didn’t respond for a while, just silently ran his fingers through his hair. It was soft, that’s what Aizawa would always say. That had been his excuse for petting it and playing with it, as if he were more a cat than the one they already had. His fingers twitched and paused. “Don’t wanna use my quirk anymore either.” He felt the stare shifting. “Try as you might, that may be unavoidable. Your role now is the symbol of UA’s internal weakness. One way or another, you’ll be made to stand at the front lines. And regardless of your unique status, missions will continue to be assigned, and you will be expected to complete them, just like the rest of us.” He switched to rubbing the bridge of his nose. He felt his breath hissing against his palms. “What you did wasn’t easy, and we commend you for that. But it is over now.” A drink was set in front of him, and the glass hit the counter with a ‘clink’. “Today marks the start of something new.” His arm swung out and struck the drink, and the glass hit the floor with a shattering symphony, cascading cracks and snaps bouncing their echos off the hard brick walls. The sound of something that was, in the past, a beautiful and carefully crafted object, transforming into its present form, ugly and dangerous. Scattered across the floor, the broken glass caught the light and sparkled, as if offering a knowing wink. “Someone new.”

[thatz-not-okay]

I work in a cubicle farm. Several co-workers have candles on their desks. There is at least one open flame at all times. This practice of candle-hoarding strikes me as odd for a work environment, but no one else seems to find it strange. Scented candles in the office: Is that okay?

Thatz not okay.

There are three things that have no place in a professional workplace: airbrushed t-shirts, Downton Abbey spoilers, and scented candles.

Put simply: An office where everyone has something on fire is insane. You must get a lot of drifters drawn to your floor by the warm glow of candlelight twinkling from your coworkers' desks like the flames of a dozen gypsy campfires; over there is the copier.

Problems like this arise when people become determined that their cubicles be absolutely representative of their personalities (you coworkers' shared personality: a spa). Customization is fine within reason. Hang a themed calendar of your choosing. Proudly display a tchotchke a friend brought back from a business trip, so that people will be able to tell on sight what a valued friend you are. Have a cool pen or pencil. The lush trappings of your home would look kind of cramped and sad all cluttered around your cubicle; that's why it's a good idea to leave most of them behind when you head out to work for the day.

I imagine your office smells a bit like a bathroom with all those discordant candle scents bumping and grinding against one another in midair (not the regular bathroom; the bathroom we save for guests, which has dwarfish soaps and small beautiful hand towels that are bad at drying hands). Who decided it preferable to work in an office that smelled like lavender pine sea breeze pumpkin, as opposed to one that smelled like "regular office smell"?

No one is allowed to claim dominion over the air. Scented candles in the office preserve all the annoying aspects of a person doused in CVS Impression of White Diamonds, with an added element of DANGER. When you introduce open flames as an A-OK example office decor—and, by the way, I get nervous writing the words "open flames"; I get nervous just thinking about open flames in an office environment—where will the game end? Is incense okay? Is a smudge stick okay? Is smoking a rack of ribs over a flaming wastepaper basket okay?

Unless you are a priest or medieval chandler—something where candles are part of the gig—the only thing that should be on fire where you work is you, a star employee. If you are well and truly addicted, you can leave an unlit one at your desk, and ram it into your nose any time you need that "Birthday Cake" high.

Now, if virtually everyone has turned their desk into a mystical temple, it would be hard for you to broach the issue—particularly if you are a new hire. There's no easy way to tell a group of otherwise reasonable strangers "All you guys, stop doing this thing you enjoy" or "Oh my gosh, I just realized the office is constantly on fire." (Also, what if the candles are a bizarre memorial for a departed colleague? "Jasmine might be alive today if only the carbon monoxide leaking into her home had had a scent as strong as 'Espresso Sunset.'")

Sometimes it's enough just to derive satisfaction from the fact that "they" are crazy and "you" are normal. Know this. Know that your response is the normal response.

That being said, you should attempt to identify and befriend the person who brought in the first candle. On the one hand, they are obviously wackadoo ("You know what I am going to do today? I am going to bring this candle from my home and place it next to my pencil jar at work and set it on fire."), but, more importantly, they are skilled at manipulating office politics and influencing the actions of others. They will likely prove a valuable ally to you during your time in the fire pit.

After traveling into the city for some appointments, I found myself with some time on my hands and decided an impromptu jog in central park would fit the bill. My outfit only lacked sweatpants so I went to H&M to complete my jogging attire and came back to find my car had been ticketed. I decided to run with the tag on in order to return the item after the run to cancel out the cost of the ticket. After a five mile run, I found the sweatpants to be moderately moist with sweat in addition to seasonal dry skin sprinkles. I'm starting to waver, but feel balancing my checkbook is a must this time of year. Is that okay?

Thatz not okay.

Yes, it is true that all the money in the universe is present at all times, and all we as humans ever do is move it around. However, H&M and New York City's municipal revenue office do not share one set of books.

Your confusion seems to derive from a misunderstanding of the concept of karma and its application to the world. Karma is not an oddball, Enron-esque accounting technique, designed to make sure you never spend more money than you take in. If universal justice is at all relevant to this situation, it is so in the sense that you are the kind of person who would return used running clothes to a mid-range casual clothing store, and therefore deserve to have your day ruined by a parking ticket. (If regular justice is at all relevant to this situation, it is so in the sense that you are the kind of person who parks illegally, and therefore deserve to have your day ruined by a parking ticket. There has been no miscarriage of justice thus far, though I suspect in you we may have found a character about to induce one.)

The solution to your problem is not to steal from H&M. It is not to park illegally.

If you get fined for speeding, you can't later pull a dine and dash to make up for it. If you text "GIVE" to donate $5 to UNICEF, that doesn't entitle you to remove $5 worth of items from Bed, Bath, and Beyond without paying for them. When you are (inevitably) sentenced to jail time for theft or fraud, you won't be permitted to claim the life of an innocent person, to make up for the one prison will claim from you.

Putting aside the fact that going for a jog in Central Park is a sort of bizarre way to kill time in the middle of the day if you are visiting New York for a couple hours and hadn't already planned on doing that, what kind of "appointments" did you have that your outfit consisted of jogging attire on top, tasteful slacks, and running shoes? A fitting with a shirts-only tailor? A job interview? (If so: good call not wearing workout pants, but maybe next time ditch the moisture wicking reflective top.)

I ask because it seems like you're going to awfully great lengths to save a relatively small sum of money. If you are so poor that you can't afford to pay both a parking ticket and $25 for H&M sweats, maybe you should be relying on public transportation instead of driving into the city.

Of course, the main reason you shouldn't return sweat-soaked clothes covered in "seasonal dry skin sprinkles" (the pumpkin spice lattes of winter!) to H&M and present them as new, unused articles of clothing is that it is an extremely gross thing to do to anyone who might buy those clothes after you. You wouldn't lend a friend your dirty gym clothes. Why would you trick a stranger into paying for them?

Having said all that, I must say I'm impressed that you stopped to ask whether or not this was okay. Most people would never come up with this plan, because it is so far outside the realm of normal behavior. I would expect that the very, very few who would would not pause to question the morality and legality of the idea, because the fact that it even occurred to them suggests that some crucial switch in the part of their brain that governs social interaction is firmly locked in the "off" position. You exist somewhere between these two groups.

It's hard to find a solution that appeals to both psychopaths and the pathologically miserly, but here's one:: See if the city will accept ticket payment in the form of gently-used H&M sweatpants.

If not: give them money. (NOT MONEY YOU STOLE.)

Thatz Not Okay is a regular column in which I school inquiring readers on what is and is not okay. Please send your questions (max: 200 words) to caity@gawker.com with the subject "Thatz Not Okay." Image by Jim Cooke.