#my laptop nearly died during this drawing (╥﹏╥) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sevlgi · 4 years ago

Text

the florist

requested: no

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu

warnings: death

synopsis: When you find a beautiful death sentence clustered in your lungs, you can only visit the legendary florist. But is JiU herself as strong as she seems?

a/n: hiatus who? we don’t know her 🤡 i was actually gonna post this when it struck 12 on december 1st for me, but tumblr’s telling me it’s already december, so here we go!

word count: 3.3k

In all the years that the Hanahaki Disease had existed, there had never been a cure. And on the day that you coughed up the first blood-stained carnation, it became certain that you weren’t about to be the one to break the record.

You considered yourself to be decently cautious about the disease. After all, since you were a child, the only love lesson that you had ever been taught was to never, ever, be the first one in love. Your mother drilled that lesson, telling you that love was a poisonous thing to be avoided at all costs until you believed her.

And yet, you were stupid enough to allow her to wreck you, to allow yourself to become consumed by her.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Lee Siyeon had been a close friend for years, the two of you meeting during college, and she had been in love with someone else since then. You knew Bora well too, actually, and had always rooted for the two to get together.

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve still held the hope that your love could be returned, but Siyeon despised you with all the might of her soul ever since she had found out about the yellow petals floating in the toilet bowl at midnight. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have faced the sheer mortification of begging Gahyeon for the address of the person who saved her.

“Y/N...” she had hesitated when you asked her. Siyeon’s younger sister was the only person that you knew of who had survived the disease without getting the dreaded surgery, but she was incredibly touchy about the subject. Indeed, you didn’t even know who she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“Please, Gahyeon,” you begged, chasing to maintain eye contact with her. “I can’t die like this. You-- you won’t let me, will you? Not when it’s your sister.”

You didn’t want to guilt-trip her like you did, but it worked. Gahyeon texted you an address and a name, the ping noise of the notification sounding more like your saving grace than anything. “You can’t tell anyone else once you’re healed,” she warned. “She’ll know who you are as soon as you say my name.”

To outside eyes, the Love Blossom looked like a normal flower shop. The narrow storefront, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a bookstore, was painted a faint pink and chipped with green on some edges. There were flowers stuffed everywhere you could see-- exploding baskets on the windowsills, colorful wreaths hung everywhere, even a huge L and B made of blooms on the window.

Even when you pushed the door open, it gave no indication of being anything other than a flower shop. The scent of flowers was heavy, some rock song playing from the peppy pink speakers dangling from the ceilings. “Hello?” you called out, hands tightening on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. “H-”

Suddenly, you coughed out again and held your sleeve up to prevent any flower petals from fluttering out; the constant itch in your throat only served to make you more anxious to find the florist that Gahyeon had referred you to. “Is anyone there?”

“Hi!” You yelped and jumped back when an invisible door just next to you randomly opened, the shelf concealing it nearly colliding with your face. “Oh, I’m sorry! Were you looking for me?”

The girl who opened the door looked like the literal manifestation of sunshine; her smile took up half her face, the brown of her half-moon eyes seemingly lit from within. She balanced a flowerpot on her hip as she bowed to you in apology, long hair almost sweeping the floor. “Are- are you JiU?”

“Yep!” She moved to set the pot down, cocking her head slightly to take you in. “How can I help you today?”

“I... I’m a friend of Gahyeon,” you explained, watching as the smile on her face lessened slightly in understanding. You fished out the plastic bag from your purse, the almost-dry crimson inside overpowering the yellow petals. “Can you help me?”

The brunette accepted the bag, flashing you another bright smile as she opened the secret door again. “Well, let’s take a look. Follow me, please, and call me Minji.”

The narrow doorway led to what seemed to be her living quarters, or maybe an apothecary; the walls were almost completely covered by the forest-green painted shelves lining them, mismatched books and trinkets filling the spaces. Incredibly detailed drawings were tacked everywhere, a ladder folded behind the hidden door, presumably to access the blank walls up near the ceiling. A loft area was most likely where she slept, though she led you to a large and cluttered desk to examine the flowers you had given her.

“Yellow carnations. These symbol rejection and disdain, you know.”

You winced at the girl’s bluntness, though it wasn’t meant as a jab, still staring at the multitudes of drawings tacked everywhere. “Yeah, I know. Gahyeon told me.”

She smiled at the mention of the younger girl, setting the bag with your blood down to fiddle with a notebook. “I taught her well, then.”

“Taught her?” You watched her shift jars of petals around on the shelves, scribbling something down on a sheet of ironically pink and cutesy paper. “I thought you healed her.”

“Well, the Hanahaki disease doesn’t heal easily,” Minji responded, gesturing for you to follow her into a tiny kitchen area. “It took months, actually, and she spent almost every day in here. She might as well have become an apprentice, with how much I taught her.”

“Months?” Fear rose up in you at that, apparently not affecting the other girl as she hummed. You’d been in one of the later stages for a good couple of months now, though you couldn’t tell which one without visiting a doctor. “Minji, I don’t have months.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, tying the strings of her apron behind her. “Well, are you willing to get the surgery? Spend thousands of dollars and go through such a rigorous process, and then be left with a cold heart and unhealable scars?” At your silence, she chuckled, tying her hair up in a plait. “That’s what I thought.”

You sat on the stool at her kitchen table, watching Minji busy herself at what looked like a stovetop, albeit littered with glass bottles and half-hearted bouquets. “What makes you certain that this’ll work, then? How’d you even learn to help people like me?”

Minji bit down on her lower lip, the dark red color remarkably not transferring onto her pearly teeth. “Well. My mother died from the disease, so I was originally going to study it in school. But I had to help Gahyeon somehow. When she fell in love with someone who’d never love her back... I couldn’t just watch her die.”

Smiling slightly, you watched her scatter the same petals as you had coughed up into a pot, freshly plucked from stems that she threw onto the counter next to her. “What about you? What’s the story behind “rejection and disdain”?” she asked suddenly, smiling prettily. Something about her was a bit ethereal in the kitchen’s LED lighting, though maybe it was the fact that she was literally saving people that doctors couldn’t.

“Ah. I fell in love with Siyeon,” you answered, placing your hand into your chin as you watched her work. “She loves someone else, and I got between them. It’s not her fault.”

Frowning, Minji uncapped a jar that smelled strongly of rose, practically upending it in her pot. “Gahyeon’s sister? Does she know that you’re going to die because of her? I’ve met her before, and I didn’t think she’d be so cruel. ”

You nodded silently at that. The whole reason you were in such a predicament was that you loved Siyeon and she hated you; there was no way you were going to ask her to turn her entire heart on its head just to save you. It was unlikely that she’d want to do so at all, anyway. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” the brunette sighed sympathetically. “Love really hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you smiled drily. “It’s just all too literal for me.”

“Hey, Minji!”

The girl turned from her flowers to wave excitedly at you, her smile painted bubblegum pink this time to match the faded apron she wore. She held trimmers in her hands, clumsy with the thick gloves she wore. “Y/N! Good to see you again, come in?”

“Yeah.” You smiled just seeing the interior of the shop, as decked-out as it had been in your first visit. Instead of the purple theme last week, Minji seemed to have gone with yellows, the peonies and roses tainting the cold air. The apartment, however, looked the same, almost comforting in its maximalism. “I’m done with the vials,” you mentioned, taking the freshly-washed glass bottles out of your bag along with a fresh bag of bloody flowers.

“Did they help?” Minji asked, accepting both with a quiet “thank you”. “Gahyeonie always told me that they taste terrible, but sugar cancels out all the good properties.”

“They aren’t that bad,” you lied, sitting down at the same spot in the kitchen and opening your bag. At her questioning look, you explained, “Oh, I thought I’d bring my laptop this time and keep you company. You said you were bored last time...”

Part of you wished she would turn you away, just so that you wouldn’t become attacked to someone who’d eventually leave you behind too. But she smiled, turning on her stove and hefting the same ceramic pot on as she did the last time. “That’s perfect, Y/N. When you’re done, you can come help package some bouquets for a break, okay?”

You nodded, sighing in content at the smell of flower petals boiling once again in the shop. “Okay. Thanks, Minji.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, turning back to the ingredients that she fiddled with. “No need to thank me at all. How’s Siyeon?”

Shrugging, you swept some papers off the table to place your laptop down. “I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I only have contact with her through Gahyeon now, but it’s not really like I want to talk to the person killing me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say “killing”,” Minji pouted, teasing you with a long flower stem. “It makes me think that you don’t believe you’ll live.”

“No, I trust you, I--” You stopped in your tracks when you realized that the other girl was joking, rolling your eyes before turning back to your computer. “Real funny, Minji.”

She giggled, placing a mug of coffee on the table beside you. “I like to think I am. You can call me Minji, by the way. Only customers call me Minji.”

Instead of responding, you sipped at your coffee, falling into a comfortable silence once the florist turned back to her stove. With the cool fall sunlight streaming in through the window and the heavenly aroma inside the kitchen, you suddenly thought that you could get used to a scene like this. More than that-- you liked it.

A good 4 weeks passed without incident. Your weekly visits were always filled with musical laughter and pretty grins whirling by in an instant. Minji only looked more beautiful each time, the pain in your chest somehow lessening each time you saw her wave to you with all the enthusiasm that Siyeon lacked. Part of you wondered whether the bitter concoctions that Minji had you drink were the thing at work at all, but you continued to take them, and you continued to improve.

Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

“Y/N,” Minji gasped as she kneeled next to you, hands hovering over your body as you hacked again, red dribbling from your lips to the floor. Your fingers curled weakly around your phone, tears escaping your eyes with how hard you squeezed them shut. “Gahyeon called me, what happened to you?”

With the clusters of carnations fluttering in your lungs with every breath you took, you weren’t able to respond. The other girl seemed to realize that, digging through her bag for something. Before she could take anything out, though, you wheezed for air again, throat swollen to the point of suffocation.

She acted quick, turning you onto your side to let full blossoms slip from between your lips. The yellow blooms were dauntingly bright against the dark wood, almost a serene picture if not for the violent crimson staining the petals. Tipping a vial of golden orange into your mouth, Minji ordered, “Swallow. Come on, you can do it.”

As soon as the poppy syrup was gone, your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against your arm, breathing rattled but steady. Sighing, the brunette wiped a remaining petal from your lips, sliding her hands below your knees and your neck to pick you up. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the sun began shining unbridled through the cracked curtains of your bedroom, you woke from the longest sleep since you started choking at night. Someone had taken the liberty of folding the clothes scattered across your chair, as well as placing your fully charged phone, a purple-colored glass of liquid, and a note by your side.

Y/N,

I have to go back to the shop, but Gahyeon or I’ll stop by later today to bring you some more medicine. Next time, call me first!

xx,

Kim Minji

There was a ridiculous smile on your lips just holding a pink piece of paper imprinted with the girl’s kiss in lipstick, as well as a remarkable lack of flowers in your lungs. Indeed, you couldn’t taste copper coating your tongue, or feel petals stuck to the back of your throat, and it felt even better than you had remembered.

When you checked your phone, you realized that a certain contact was missing, A phone number that you had long since given up on contacting. There was a gap in your carefully curated picture gallery, Siyeon’s pictures with you taken off your wall, too. In their places were various pictures of Minji and Gahyeon, sometimes together and sometimes apart. In one of the selfies, you noted with a grin that someone had scribbled a Sharpie mustache over Minji’s face.

Since when had the florist replaced her in your life, and since when were you absolutely okay with that?

Minji smiled as soon as she noticed that the door to the Love Blossom was already open, the lights on inside the shop and some sweet smell wafting out. You hadn’t talked about the time she saved you in your apartment, but ever since then, the florist had noted that you were opening up more. You were happier, more willing to crack jokes and visit her on your own accord. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Morning, Minji!” you answered, spinning out of the apartment with a grin. The apron that Minji usually wore to make her syrups was tied around your waist, the faint pink of it white with flour. You held the door open for her and moved to take her jacket off for her, a gorgeous smile on your face as you did. “I let myself in early to make you some bread, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I never mind bread,” the brunette laughed, her heart already warm when she inhaled honeyed air. “Today isn’t a checkup day, though? You stopped by 3 days ago, did you run out of syrup or something?”

You pouted, in a remarkably good mood as you twirled around the kitchen. The counter was finally free of flowers and glass vials, replaced instead by a huge bag of flour and trays of golden-brown pastries. Minji didn’t remember having those supplies, but she wouldn’t put it past you to restock her kitchen just for fun while she visited her friends. “What, I can’t come and see my friends? I’m off work today, so I thought I could bake for you and learn about your bouquet orders.”

Sighing in false exasperation, Minji patted you on the head and tied her hair up to start working, flipping the sign on the door to read “OPEN”. “Of course you can come and see me whenever you want, it’s just rare that you come by like this.”

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” you shrugged, plopping three pastries on a plate for the other girl. The kitchen looked like a completely different place without the usual bloody petals scattered all over the place, and to be honest, Minji loved the change. For once, she wasn’t in charge of saving your life-- she was just a florist, and she was just your friend.

There was no way she could keep the smile off her face, not when you sang exaggeratedly into a filling spoon, and not when you baked all the things she mentioned that she liked.

Something felt tight in her chest when she inhaled air perfumed by butter and roses, but Minji could only smile. For you.

The next time you baked for her was bittersweet. Once again, you were already in the apartment when Minji came back from her morning visit.

“I’m healed,” you sobbed as you catapulted into her arms, a slight poof of flour exploding when your chest met hers. Minji stood still in shock, hands resting softly on the small of your back as you cried, “Minji, I’m healed. You saved me.”

“For real?” she whispered, pulling back to cup your face in your hands. You nodded tearily, makeup-tinted tears mixing with flour as the other girl hugged you again, something clogging up her throat as she tried to breathe. “I... I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned despite your tears as you brought a cake out of the fridge, the pretty lavenders and blues of the frosting somehow reminding Minji of a goodbye. She turned out to be right. “They’re forget-me-nots,” you explained when you gestured to the pretty piped flowers on the cake. “Um, so you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Minji blurted, feeling a sting at her own nose. “Come back sometime, okay, Y/N? You don’t forget me either, got it?”

“I won’t.” Despite all the sincerity in your gaze, your promise was hollow to the florist’s ears. You were already tugging on your jacket again, leaving her standing in the middle of an all-too-clean kitchen with a beautiful cake in her hands. “I’m sorry, Minji, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be back soon,” you smiled, watching her carefully for a reaction.

Minji nodded, knees almost trembling as she watched you turn back to wave one last time. “Okay.”

As soon as the glass door slammed again, she rushed to place the cake down, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow as she was hit with yet another uncontrollable fit of coughing. She crouched, free hand gripping tight on the legs of the table near her to steady herself as flower petals dotted with red fluttered softly onto the ground.

“Mallow,” she recognized as she scrambled to pick up the purple-veined blooms, vomiting out yet another. “Mallow...”

Scooting back so that her back could hit the kitchen cabinets, Minji watched the candles atop the cake burn out, blood dripping from her lips onto the pale fabric of her sweater. She didn’t care, though, as she stopped a shallow breath from escaping, finally remembering the meanings of the flowers in her shaking hands.

“Consumed by love.”

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eldritchcryptids · 4 years ago

Text

Oh no

Daisy is laying across her bed on her stomach, head in her hands as she watches as her blonde friend digs through her knapsack, “So what was this extremely important thing you wanted to tell me about?” Quinn seems to find what she was searching for and turns around to face Daisy, eyes shining excitedly as she holds up and waves around a basic, black USB flash drive. The brunette furrows her eyebrows, holding out her open hand. Quinn places the flash drive into her hand before taking a seat at the nearby desk’s swivel chair.

Daisy examines the USB, turning it over in her hands. It was unremarkable, just a regular, simple black flash drive, “...I don’t get it? What’s so important about this, what’s on it?” Daisy tosses the USB over to Quinn who quickly catches it. Quinn shoots her friend a glare.

“Don’t throw it around! It’s not my USB and if it somehow breaks, Nathan’s gonna have my head on a platter,” She states, “The contents of this little flash drive is very important to him.”

Daisy’s nose screws up at the mention of the boy, “Nathan from math class? He gave you a USB and you just...took it?”

“Yeah, well what’s the worst thing that can happen?”

“Oh? ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen?’ I don’t know! Maybe it has a virus on it? Maybe it has inappropriate stuff on it? Maybe the USB is coated in anthrax and we're all gonna die now-”

“Okay, slow down, I get it.” Quinn laughs and Daisy shrugs, muttering a quiet ‘you asked’ under her breath, “But, do you want to know what this is supposed to have on it?” Daisy nods her head. “Well, Nathan has had this obsession with a local...like...Urban legend creepypasta thing, for years…”

Daisy rolls her eyes, “Is it just an archive of creepypastas? Stuff like the “Jeff the killer” picture and story or something?”

Quinn shakes her head before leaning forward and closer to the bed, “Have you ever heard of something called…” lowering her voice to a whisper, “...Marble Hornets?” Daisy blinks at the mention of the name. Marble Hornets...Something about that sounds familiar, but she can’t quite place her finger as to why. Daisy slowly shakes her head, Quinn grins and leans back in the swivel chair.

“It was a YouTube channel from back in the early...2010s, I think? It’s said that everyone who was a part of it ended up dying and that whenever someone watches it they get cursed...or something like that, I wasn’t really paying attention when Nathan was talking about it..” Quinn holds up the USB and shakes it, “This is supposed to hold all the archived videos.”

“Well, if it’s a YouTube channel, why not just...Go watch it on YouTube?”

“Ah, well a few years after the last upload it got deleted-”

“But if everyone died, who deleted it..?” Daisy questions, confused.

“I dunno, I’m not an expert on this.”

Daisy sighs, pushing herself off of her stomach, “So you came over to have a sleepover because you want to watch all the videos on that USB? Because of this urban legend?”

Quinn nods quickly, “It’ll be fun! I’ve never seen any of the videos before, so it’ll be an interesting experience for us!”

“Fine. We can watch it, but if plugging in this USB bricks my computer then you’re buying me a new one.”

The two girls turn off the lights and get comfortable on Daisy’s bed, setting the laptop in between the two of them. The flash drive gets plugged in and Daisy pulls up the first video, named “Introduction.”

A black screen appears, with the words, “The following clips are raw footage excerpts from Alex Kralie. A college friend of mine.” written in white on top of it. Daisy doesn’t think anything of it.

Then Entry 1 starts, and that thing was in it.

Daisy jumps and nearly shoves the computer away at the sight of the faceless man. The sudden movement from her friend causes Quinn to jump too, the blonde quickly pauses the video once it automatically starts playing Entry 2, “Only 2 videos in and you’re already jumping?” Quinn jokes, giving her friend a nudge.

Daisy glances at Quinn before sighing, “Sorry, the...uh...head turning suddenly like that scared me a bit..” The blonde chuckled before patting her friend on the shoulder.

“If something like that is gonna spook you maybe we shouldn’t be watching this then.”

“No, no, it’s okay.”

They continued to watch the entries and it wasn’t okay.

Daisy knows the Alex who was being talked about in these videos. She’s met him only a few times, because Tim, Hoodie and Jay are all pretty apprehensive about being around him. Daisy was never told why that was, no matter how much she asked. But, she did still know him. Deep down, she was hoping that this was just some weird film project that Alex and Jay had worked on during their time as film students- but she knew that wasn’t true. There was no way they were going to get The Operator to participate in that.

Entry 7 soon came around and Quinn quickly paused the video as a familiar face appeared on the screen before them. “Is that Mr. Thomas?” She questions, whipping her head to the side to stare at her friend. It was a question that didn’t need an answer from Daisy, as they both knew what he looked like. Hell, he was just downstairs if they really needed proof that this was the same guy. “I thought you didn’t know about Marble Hornets?”

“I didn’t,” Daisy mutters with a shrug, “I was never told about this from my dads.”

Quinn stares at her for a bit longer before Daisy presses play. She wonders where the rumors of them being dead came from. Alex, Jay, Tim and Hoodie were all still very much alive, they had all obviously been through things, Daisy knew that much. The visible scars on Hoodie’s face that clearly weren’t on Brian’s face during Entry 7, the therapy appointments and medication Tim takes, the tiredness and pain that radiated from Jay and the regret and apologies Alex would spout during his rare appearances.

The two girls continue watching the videos, entry after entry after cryptid video and then it repeats. This went on for hours. Hours of watching Alex slowly lose his mind, hours of seeing the faceless man lurking in the background- watching as he always is, hours of watching Jay investigating.

Watching the entries was a lot to take in, but Daisy never stops the video. She could have just turned off the laptop, feign being afraid of what they were watching and then never talk about it again. But she couldn’t. She needed to know more, she had to.

When Entry 49 rolled around, Daisy tensed up. She now partly knew why her dads and Jay didn’t like being around Alex. He was a killer. As the entries continued on, more and more dread built up. Daisy watches as Hoodie seems to actively work against Jay and Tim - stalking Jay and causing Tim seizures by stealing his medication. Nearing the end of the videos, they watch Hoodie fall out from a window and be deemed as presumably dead, they watch Jay get shot in the side by Alex and then watch the final fight between Tim and Alex. Tim ultimately comes out on top- and Daisy gets her explanation on where all the scarring on Alex’s neck came from.

They finished the series completely around 1 am. Neither of them know what to say, so they remain speechless. The two girls stare at the screen, at the words “Everything is Fine” for what feels like half an hour before Quinn clears her throat.

“I, uh...I didn’t know any of that stuff happened…” She quietly says, “If I did I probably wouldn’t have made you watch it with me.”

The brunette girl shakes her head, drawing her knees up to her chest, “It’s alright.”

Silence falls over the two again.

After a while, the two agreed that it was likely time that they should go to bed. Quinn falls asleep first, which is usual. Daisy takes this time to sneak out of the bed, grabbing the USB flash drive from the nightstand and heading out of the room.

Neither Tim nor Hoodie fall asleep early, which means Daisy is in luck. She ventures downstairs and to the living room, where she can hear the TV playing. She steps into the room, seeing Tim and Hoodie sitting on the couch, watching some late night comedy show or something of the sort. Hoodie is the first to notice the girl’s presence, “Daisy, shouldn’t you be asl-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Daisy throws the USB at him, not saying a word as she turns and leaves back to her room. Hoodie frowns, picking up the black flash drive that landed in his lap. “What was that about?” Tim questions and Hoodie shrugs, grabbing Tim’s computer from off of the nightstand.

The hooded man plugs the USB in and freezes at the file that pops up onto the screen, “Tim...Uh, we have a problem.”

Tim blinks and peers over the other male’s shoulder to see what he was looking at.

Video files. Far too familiar videos and the folder being titled, “Marble Hornets.”

“Damnit.”

#writing #protector au #my ocs #oc:daisy #oc:quinn #marble hornets #mh #tim wright #hoodie

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calcifermovesthecastle · 4 years ago

Text

Riunione

Here it is you bastards. CW for character death, stabbing, and blood. There’s fluff if you squint. Anyways uh, check it out under the cut

It's hard to breathe with the duct tape covering your mouth. Your heart continues to pound and your mind positively races as you try to figure out why the boss brought you to this church, when you'd been kept in the same location for nearly a year and a half, many of his team filtering in and out of your lives to do as they wished to you.

Is he finally going to kill you? Is this where you meet your end, cold and alone in an abandoned church with no one to find you for months, maybe years?

Your arms strain behind your back, the duct tape holding your wrists together uncomfortably tight. The wooden Pew you're propped against makes your joints stiff and achy, and your eyes fight to focus in the dim lighting of this chapel. You can look past all of the pain you're in- you've dealt with worse, you just wish you had some idea of what was going on. Your heart Jumps when you hear the boss' voice echo throughout the room.

"You should just go home now, Bruno Bucciarati."

The noise that leaves your throat is strangled as tears fill your eyes There's no way. There's no way that the first time you hear your boyfriend's name after being ripped from him a year and a half ago is here, in this church. The boss continues to speak, as if no one heard you.

"If you step out from behind that pillar, you're going to die."

It's silent for a moment, and you start to think that the boss is just messing with you. That your boyfriend isn't really here, and that the boss was just bored and wanted to spice things up. You try to control your breathing, not wanting to let him get the best of you.

Until you hear a familiar voice call out his stand- the sound of Bruno's voice ripping an anguished sound from your chest. Once again, you aren't heard, your cry muffled by the duct tape on your mouth and your boyfriend's- could you still consider him that after it's been so long- voice.

You sit up, trying to see where the voices are coming from, your eyes wide. It's silent for a moment, and suddenly, the boss' voice is right behind you.

"I'd like to ask you why," His deep voice rings throughout the room, and you can feel a knife against your wrist, forcing you to quiet instantly. "What's the meaning of this, Bucciarati? I highly respected all of the work you'd done for me on this mission. Were you so happy to become a Capo that you got greedy? Or did you overestimate your powers and get cocky, thinking you could actually surpass me?"

In a flash, your arms are free from the duct tape, but your wrist is quickly grabbed so you can't run. Your breath hitches in your throat during the silence that follows.

"When Trish wakes up…" Bruno's voice falls on your ears, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wiggling in the boss' grasp. "I'm going to tell her her father didn't even exist."

"Trish?" The boss sounds curious as he rips the duct tape from your mouth. You gasp, but the blade of the knife he's holding is pressed against your throat, and the sound dies before it can leave your mouth. "What about Trish? My daughter has nothing to do with you." The boss leans down into your ear, laughing quietly as he speaks again. "I have something of yours. If you leave now, I'll give it back."

Cruel. Cruel and sick and twisted- making him choose between the two. You exhale shakily, trying to stay as quiet as possible to not get cut.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bruno snaps. "And besides whatever this 'thing I'm missing' is, you could never understand my true feelings."

The next few moments are garbled, it's hard to keep track of through the panic of having a kife pressed to your throat and having to watch your boyfriend's life threatened, but through the low light, you see the Boss' stand stride up behind Bruno, and when the boss speaks again, it's low, sending a chill up your spine.

"I've decided to show you, as a parting gift." He says, resting his stand's chin on Bruno's shoulder. Your eyes are wide, and you shake your head frantically, throwing your own life to the side.

"BRUNO, GET OUT OF THERE!" You shriek it as loud as you can, wincing when the knife digs into your skin and threatens to draw blood.

At the sound of your voice, Bruno freezes, his eyes widening as he looks around the chapel, trying to find you.

And it happens in a moment. You cry out again in anguish as blood spurts from Bruno's mouth- the result of King Crimson shoving its hand through his abdomen. You try to struggle free from the Boss' grasp, but he grips your wrist even tighter, lifting your chin with the knife. He speaks directly to you.

"Watch him die. Be good and watch him die."

A sob passes your lips as you squirm and try to break free, soundless pleas forming on your lips that go unnoticed by your captor. King Crimson attacks again, slicing a hand through Bruno's shoulder. You scream, wrenching one of your hands free, and grab the knife away from your throat, hissing in pain when it slices your palm. Of course, the boss is faster and stronger, as you've been malnourished and locked away for a year and a half, and he grabs you again. You cry out in agony when he drives the knife into your back, dragging it down next to your spine in a trail of cool metal and white hot pain and warm blood, twisting it into your kidney before he pulls it out. A sputtering gasp leaves the nauseating taste of blood in your mouth.

The cry of pain that leaves your mouth when the knife pulls through your front is much weaker, a much higher pitch. You go limp in the boss' arms, and he tosses you to the ground, spitting words of how you've disappointed him. Your consciousness goes blank.

When you come to, you're overwhelmingly nauseous, and you can hear the sound of a zipper, and Bruno's soft, pained voice wafting through the room. You're unable to pay attention to most of what he's saying as you roll over and vomit.

"-Appears you can only read movements for a short amount of time. You're not reading ahead of time. Just try and predict my future movements, Boss."

With great pain, you call out your stand for the first time since you've been captured by that green haired man and experimented on. You encase yourself in a bubble and allow it to lift you through the ceiling and to the main floor. The moment you've phased through, your stand crumbles away, and you collapse into a heap on the floor, coughing and sputtering as your vision goes out of focus

You flinch when you feel a hand slip in yours, grazing the slice the knife gave you, and loll your head over to see Bruno staring over at you, his eyes glassy. Your name on his lips for the first time since you've been captured is like a drug, and tears threaten your own vision as you struggle to keep his gaze.

"This is where you've been all this time?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of your hand. You gasp, shaking your head.

"N-no. I was brough here j-just today-" You force the words out, coughing deeply. He hushes you softly.

"Shh…" He searches your eyes, a gentle smile gracing his lips despite the condition he's in. He squeezes your hand. "It's so good to see you again. I thought I'd lost you forever, tesoro."

Tears fill your eyes for real as your body begins to seize. When you go limp again, a sob escapes your lips, pain jolting through your wounds and spreading through the rest of your body.

"I'm s-so cold, Bruno. I'm so s-scared."

"Shh, I'm here. It's okay. It's okay."

You curse yourself for being so weak when his condition is worse than yours. You take a few shallow breaths and push yourself up, dragging yourself over to him. He loops an arm around you as you rest your head against his shoulder, and he turns his head so he can press a gentle kiss to your lips.

"I d-don't want to die when I just g-got you back," You whisper, tears spilling out of your eyes and wetting your cheeks. "I don't want you to die either."

"I love you." He kisses you once more, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm so happy I got to see you again. I thought I'd lost you forever, tesoro. I was so worried. I love you so much."

You've already fallen silent.

"I told you to call Abbacchio and the others," Bruno sits up slowly, grabbing Giorno's shoulder. "Get out of this church! Hurry!"

"Bucciarati, thank goodness!" Giorno helps him sit, ignoring his protests. "Trish is okay."

"We can't find out who the boss is right now." Bruno casts a glance to your form- long gone cold, your gaze fixed just past reality. He feels a pang in his heart, but moves forward. "We need to get far away, while we're still out of his range!" He lifts Trish, blinking away his dizziness.

Giorno heaves a sigh, grabbing the laptop and throwing it with a cry of "Gold Experience!" The rest of the team comes running, yelling profanities and cursing Giorno for disobeying orders.

"H-hey, Bucciarati's here too!" Narancia exclaims, his eyes wide as he watches Bruno lift Trish in his arms and stand. "What's going on?"

"Why is Trish still with you?!"

"Bucciarati, what's going on?"

"I'll explain everything later," Bruno closes his eyes for a moment. "Right now we need to get as far away from here as possible."

He starts to run outside, the rest of the team following behind him. Giorno casts a glance at you, his brow furrowed, before he follows too.

"Hey, Bucciarati, who was that, laying there with you?"

Bruno frowns, his heart panging at the mention of you. He's silent for a moment before answering.

"They're dead, so, No one that matters anymore. Someone else the boss took advantage of. We have to go."

Giorno gets the feeling that that answer is not entirely true.

#bruno x reader #bucciarati x reader #cw blood #cw death #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #29 - The One Where Everyone Gets Super Shiny

Our issue opens up with Swerve laying down the Story So Far in the Exposition Dimension.

Fantastic, you funky little man.

If Swerve looks like he’s been tossed through the car wash a few dozen times, it’s because this is where our new colorist comes in! Everyone, please say hello to Joana Lafuente- known for her love of gradients and attention to light sources, this actually isn’t the first time we’ve run into her. Lafuente worked on colors for several issues of The Transformers (2009), Last Stand of the Wreckers #3, and a few issues of MTMTE Season 1. However, she was matching the styles of her co-colorists on a majority of these, so we haven’t seen her style properly until now.

Getting into the story proper, Cyclonus is busying himself with staring out the window at a PNG of space, as he is wont to do, when he hears the tell-tale sound of tires squealing down the hall towards his room. Oh, goodness, whoever could that be?

Nearly forgot about him, didn’t you? Yeah, it’s a little difficult to follow up on things like a character’s recovery from a horrific disease when you’ve got comic event contract obligations to deal with.

After getting tackled by Tailgate, who reminds us all about the time he stuck his dirty little fingers into a dude’s brain meat, Cyclonus takes the little nerd on a walk through the ship.

You’re not going to convince me to reread “Dark Cybertron”. I don’t care how much of a marshmallow you are, it’s not happening.

They’re passed by Megatron and a bunch of crew members carrying that coffin we saw at the end of last issue down the corridor, Tailgate has a moment, and we get a taste of Cyclonus’ distaste for the Autobots as a whole. Tailgate is mildly offended by this, as he gropes his chest in distain, showing off his shiny new Autobot badge- a gift for not dying a terrible, gruesome death.

Good job, Tailgate. Proud of you.

They’re also passed by an absolutely blitzed Jackpot and Mainframe, the former singing Tailgate’s Tyrest-stopping praises as the latter carts him over to the Medibay to deal with the almost alcohol poisoning he’s got going on. Cyclonus remarks that Tailgate was missed, though Tailgate can’t help but wonder if that’s really true.

Y’all like slowburn romance, right? Because these two dumbasses have been roommates for two years, and we’ve just gotten to the point where physical contact can happen without one of them needing to be dying.

Anyway, it’s been a good day for Tailgate so far. Let’s hope it stays that way for the little dude.

...And that’s a series wrap on Tailgate! Let’s give him a hand, folks!

Hopping back in time to Megatron’s trial, things get underway, as Optimus Prime takes a nap in the judge’s bench as Gripper- whose name you don’t need to remember, as he’s not actually important- tells everyone about how brutal the Decepticon Justice Division is, even to Autobots. Which isn’t really supposed to be their deal, given their, y’know, name, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.

Up in the stands, in an… opera box, I guess? Rodimus is watching the proceedings, when Atomizer walks in. Which I guess you can just do in a Cybertronian court case. Sure.

Atomizer, in case you forgot, is the dude who has a bow and arrow, and used to be an interior designer.

Say, didn’t Whirl has a bow and arrow in the last issue when he attacked Megatron? Mighty curious, that.

Rodimus and Atomizer briefly reflect on the DJD, recalling the horror that was Vos- not that Vos, the other one. Rodimus would really just rather this all be over with so the Lost Light can get back to finding the Knights of Cybertron, and it’s at this point that Atomizer breaks out a thing he really ought not have- the count for the vote on whether or not Rodimus should stay on as captain. Rodimus doesn’t want to look at it, because it was supposed to be anonymous for a reason, and tells Atomizer to destroy the list entirely.

Hm, that’s not a terribly determined face there, Rodimus.

Back in the present, specifically in Swerve’s, Groove is threatening to break Streetwise’s arm, as we get the downlow on just what exactly our Legislator buddy’s deal is. Turn’s out, Swerve got one of the things reprogrammed, so that he follows not the Autobot Code, but something else entirely.

Hey, Swerve?

I don’t expect you to know this, because I don’t think you were present when they revealed this information to the readers, but… your new bouncer is made of people. He’s a dude made of other dudes, namely the Circle of Light. There’s a chance that you reprogrammed a sentient being, my good bitch.

Anyway, Swerve’s in a fucking mood because his shoulder hurts, someone’s stealing his shit, and Megatron has joined the narrative. Over at a nearby table, Skids, Nautica, and Riptide take a gander at the tabloids. Trailcutter, who is positively smashed, to the point where he’s just leaking booze out of his face like it’s his job, isn’t terribly interested in that, however.

What an astute observation, Riptide. And people say you’re stupid!

Trailcutter wants to drink some more, because it’s very likely he’s got a problem, but the mention of “Megatron’s super fuel” makes him feel like it’s time to stop hounding Swerve and start performing crimes.

Back during the trial, we get to Starscream’s testimony. He’s wearing his crown. He’s acting like a self-righteous asshole, as he defends Megatron.

Well, “defend” in the technical, legal sense, I suppose.

But really it’s more about him insulting Megatron’s intelligence, strength, and courage, in front of a LOT of people, while also trying to make himself look better in the war crime department. Megatron doesn’t appreciate this very much, if his murder-face is anything to go by.

Megatron lets Ultra Magnus (his defender, if you’ll recall) know that he wants a private word, and court goes into a brief recess.

Back in the present, Nightbeat’s busy looking at a pin-up of Rung’s alt-mode, when someone knocks on his door. That someone is Chromedome, who’s trying to solve the mystery of The Missing Declaration of Love. Not that he says that specifically out loud.

You two were married, why- okay. No point in yelling at this digital copy of a comic book.

Anyway.

So, the whole screaming thing only happened the one time, and everything was back to normal on subsequent plays of Rewind’s message. Nightbeat seems to be leaning towards the depressive isolating getting to Chromedome, which Chromedome responds to by telling him to get the fuck out. Alas, someone’s blocking the door!

YO WHAT THE FUCK-

Back with Trailcutter’s subplot, our drunken friend is in the middle of breaking into the Medibay. Our trio of cool-colored pals watch him from back at the bar, by way of a laptop that looks like it was built the same year I was born.

As Trailcutter attempts to commit a crime, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Ratchet pass by, trying to figure out how to handle the whole coffin situation. Trailcutter’s about to punch the locks off a door, and Nautica decides that this is where she’s going to draw the line today, leaving the gaggle of fools to their shenanigans. Then Tailgate glomps Skids, throwing the computer to the ground and breaking it, as Trailcutter finds the door to the Medibay magically open.

If you don’t know what glomping is, there’s a 60% chance that you’re not old enough to vote in the US.

Trailcutter sneaks into the Medibay, we get a reminder that Ambulon is super dead, and Trailcutter commits theft from a food bank. What a guy.

This is the point where security shows up, armed with a great deal of guns, one of which is Megatron himself. Trailcutter, instead of feeling super powerful, actually feels positively awful after consuming Megatron’s rations of “super fuel”. Because he, as an Autobot, doesn’t want to be within 50 yards of Megatron, Trailcutter breaks out the forcefields the moment the guy approaches him. And oh, what a doozy this one is.

Trailcutter’s gotten himself a fancy new trick- this forcefield he’s broken out lasts for a solid half-hour, and he can’t turn it off. I’m sure that won’t bite him in the ass at any point in the near future, no-siree!

Back in the past, Rattrap is commending Starscream on playing the field and getting the public slightly more on his side, but Starscream’s too busy patting himself on the back to really pay attention. He knew damn well that Megatron wouldn’t like what he had to say on the stand, and now things are finally looking up for ol’ Screamer.

Over with Optimus Prime, Slamdance is showing off how the general public is really into this whole “folks being held accountable for their actions” thing.

In the present, Chromedome and Nightbeat seem to have remembered they have alt-modes and are driving down the hall back to Nightbeat’s room- wonder what the speed limit for the Lost Light is?- and discuss just what the hell happened. The current theory is that the Rewind they saw was a Data Ghost- a collection of information so dense, it had a not-quite-physical presence that wasn’t 100% removed when he died.

Which is a little fucked up, but let’s see where this goes.

Nightbeat undoes the 40,000 locks on his door while Chromedome bleeds guilt all over the shag carpet over the fact that he hasn’t been looking for Dominus Ambus like he said he would.

C’mon James, gimme that Chromedominus endgame.

Nightbeat finally opens the door to find a small problem.

Hm. That’s… not normal.

Over in the Medibay, Trailcutter’s bubble has burst, allowing Megatron to slap him in the back of the head. This head-slapping induces his FIM chip permanently, making it so that he can never get drunk again.

Weird party trick, Megatron. Kinda shitty, really.

Megatron then gives Trailcutter the job of director of security, because he needs direction in his life. Trailcutter just sort of takes what he’s given, because I suppose you can’t really argue with a guy who can literally slap you sober, and also threatens to destroy you if you fuck up even once. Nice, Megs. Nice.

MEGATRON THAT’S BEEN SITTING LIKE THAT FOR OVER HALF AN HOUR YOU FUCKING WET NOODLE

So, since there’s mystery juice all over the floor and no one’s died, Megatron assumes that the coffin ought to be fine to crack open.

Please note that Megatron is not a medical professional, and his views are now peer reviewed by medical professionals. Megatron is in no way endorsed by the WHO.

Anyway, Rodimus is in there.

Pretty fucked up.

Back in the past, recess is over, and Ultra Magnus comes bearing bad news- Megatron wants to change his plea to “innocent.” This gets about the reaction one would expect from just about anyone.

Well, except Rodimus, who’s too busy reading that list that he wanted destroyed. He’s very sad about it.

I know, what a bummer!

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #world shut your mouth #issue 29 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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c-optimistic · 5 years ago

Text

fall

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

Sometimes, when she’s alone in her office in the wee hours of the morning, still in yesterday’s clothing and unsure when she’d last eaten, she thinks about that, the utter normalcyof losing National City’s hero on a Wednesday. Somehow, the death on such a boring day of the week provides a sort of stark contrast that Lena has trouble wrapping her head around. After all, surely the hero and pride of National City would fall in a blaze of glory on a Friday night, a Sunday afternoon, even a Monday morning during rush hour.

But a Wednesday? Some time between mid-morning and noon? When nothing was happening except for the drudge of the week, the tireless churning of society?

She doesn’t understand it—has tried to come to terms with it with very little success. In her weakest moments, when she’s staring down the end of a bottle of whiskey or wine (before Jess or Maggie or even James Olsen pry the bottle from her fingertips and help her get home), she thinks the very banality of Supergirl’s death is evidence of its unnecessary nature, its needless, pointless, meaningless, asinine—

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

By Friday, the President herself comes to National City to mourn the fallen hero. She talks about the few short conversations she’s had with Supergirl, how everyone should be inspired and follow Supergirl’s wonderful example. A true hero, an exemplary citizen.

(Lena doesn’t go to the ceremony. She and Alex spend that afternoon in Kara’s apartment, sitting on Kara’s couch, Alex stoically staring at the television screen with silent tears running down her cheeks and Lena gripping her hand so tightly she thinks she’ll break fingers.

After that, Lena doesn’t see much of Alex at all.)

The President dedicates a memorial to Supergirl, and donations come pouring in—people wanting to make it larger than life, much like the hero it’s meant to honor. People from across the country pour into National City in order to discuss how to best go about building the memorial, debating what Supergirl would’ve liked or wanted.

(Lena sits it all out though L-Corp is asked for the perspective, for their idea of what should be built—especially seeing as though the memorial would be so close to their building.

Lena has Jess allocate a sizable donation to the effort to build the memorial, claiming she only does it to get the pestering swarms off her back. She pretends not to hear Jess’s soft sigh, not to see the pitying expression.)

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday.

Not many know how. The secret is limited to a select few: Alex, who was her everything; J’onn, who was like a father; Winn, who was her best friend; James, who was her first love; and Lena—Lena who somehow stumbled into her life and never stumbled back out, now left alone and bearing more scars on her heart than she had any right to.

(Superman is there the day it happens, he is there on that dismal, ordinary, normal, Wednesday. He’s there when Supergirl gets hit, he’s there when she falls, he’s there when she doesn’t get back up. And in the cellphone footage that plays nonstop on every news outlet, Superman lifts her, tears in his eyes, and with a great heave, he shoots off into the air with Supergirl still in his arms.

What no one sees is Superman returning to the DEO. What no one hears is Superman’s toneless voice as he informs the five of them of his cousin’s death, catching Alex before she falls to her knees. What no one knows is that Lena thinks she dies that day too—that Superman meets her eyes as if he hearsthe sound of her breaking heart as it happens, that he watches her become a shell after losing yet another person she loves.)

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, and it’s on a Wednesday two weeks later that the plans for the memorial is finally revealed. It’s to be a life-sized statue of Supergirl, the artist sketching Supergirl with her hands on her hips, smile on her lips, and it’s on a Wednesday that Lena stares at the drawing and wonders just how many people would recognize that if they placed a pair of glasses on the statue and hid the emblem on her chest with a pastel sweater that Supergirl would strongly resemble someone else.

Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, and in the days that follow the world mourns: the House of El coat of arms is everywhere, people begin quoting Supergirl left and right, and when they see Superman they avert their eyes so as to avoid the sorrow swimming in the depths of his gaze.

It makes Lena so angry.

Because Supergirl dies on a Wednesday, but more importantly, so does Kara.

“I hear you don’t leave the office,” Alex says without prompting as she walks into Lena’s office without any warning. Lena smiles weakly, motioning to Jess that the interruption is fine, and offers Alex a drink. (Water only. After an incident several weeks earlier, the two of them have sworn off alcohol, have been attempting to get their lives back in order—as impossible as that seems.)

“I hear you’ve been reckless.”

“Who snitched?” Alex asks, waving off the water and sitting down across from Lena, slouched heavily in the chair that Kara—

No. No. Lena isn’t about to go there.

“You tell me first,” she replies easily, shutting her laptop and giving Alex her full attention. “It was either Maggie or James. No one else comes to L-Corp late at night.”

“Winn’s been hacking into your security system,” Alex admits, shrugging when Lena’s mouth falls open in offense. “What? He’s used to keeping tabs on you. Has been since Kara—” Her mouth snaps shut, something steely appears in her gaze, and she becomes hard, her jaw clenched tight.

“Maggie told me about the alien you apprehended without backup,” Lena says, pretending as if she didn’t hear Alex’s slip, as if she didn’t witness the way Alex clammed up.

“I had it under control.”

“He was apparently three times bigger than you.” Lena eyes Alex’s leg pointedly, the ginger way Alex stretches it. “And how is nearly getting your leg torn off having anything ‘under control?’”

“He got a lucky shot in, that’s all. Also, I don’t know how I feel about my girlfriend telling you all this stuff.”

“Well I don’t know how I feel about Winn hackinginto my security system.”

“Fair enough, I’ll get him to back off if youpromise to go home and get a good’s night sleep as least twice a week.”

“I like that you know better than to ask for more than two nights a week,” Lena chuckles. When Alex merely raises an eyebrow, clearly in no mood for jokes (though none of them ever really are anymore), Lena deflates. “It still smells like her, the couch, my favorite throw. I just can’t, Alex. I can’t.”

(She doesn’t say that when she goes too long without sleep or if she forgets to eat once too often she sees Kara’s phantom presence—can see her curled up on the couch with a book, can hear her giggling over something she reads on her phone, can feel her warmth while mindlessly watching the news, can smell her perfume lingering in the air and her shampoo and something vaguely sunnyon the clothes she once borrowed when she claimed she was too tired to fly home.

Lena doesn’t say that in her darkest moments, when she’s alone and weak and feeling oh so vulnerable, she thinks that she’ll see Kara emerging from the guest bedroom, yawning even as she worriedly asks why Lena is sobbing. She doesn’t say that watching that door never open is tearing her apart.)

“It’s been a month, there’s no way—”

“So you don’t wear her favorite sweater anymore?”

Alex looks stricken at the accusation, clearly upset that Maggie would confide even this to Lena. The truth, however, is that as worried as everyone has been about Lena, they are all well aware that it’s Alex who’s lost the most—Alex who’s bearing the most pain, Alex who lost her entire world. Lena isn’t stupid; she knows Maggie and James don’t only check up on her out of some vague sense of lingering loyalty to Kara (the one person who had faith in Lena, who believed inLena, who once swore she’d always stand up for Lena).

After all, who better to understand losing a sibling than Lena Luthor?

“That’s different,” Alex says fiercely after she manages to get her shock under control.

“Alex—”

“She’s not gone. I know it, I can feel it. My sister is still out there and she’s coming back.”

Lena sighs and Alex’s shoulders stiffen.

(It’s practically a play they enact by memory at this point. It’d started a week after Clark left. Alex had stated it as a fact, had talked about how Clark hadn’t let anyone see Kara’s body, how he was keeping his distance, how there were unexplainable reports from the south about random surges and strange miracles, how she sworeshe heard Kara’s voice one night, just outside her window.

And Lena—heartbroken, terrified, emptyLena—refutes each of Alex’s claims one by one, keeping her voice steady and calm, trying to prevent the swell of hope in her own chest. Because she wantsit to be true, she so wants it to be true, but that damn door never opens and experience is a hard teacher and Lena’s had plenty of lessons—enough that while she’s brave enough to admit what she wants she doesn’t dare give in to hope.

Lena isn’t strong enough to hope only for it all to be proved false, so she prays that Alex is strong enough for the both of them.

She wonders how long she can continue to be so unfair.)

“So it can’t be true that I still smell Kara on my things, but she’s definitely alive just because you feel it?”

“You don’t understand, I know my sister. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it came to her, when she was in trouble and needed me. And she needsme now. Lena, you have to believe me.”

(I want to, Lena doesn’t say. Show me how to hope, she doesn’t say.)

“Just like you knew Mon-El was trouble and told her to stay away from him?” Lena says instead, her voice becoming cold. (This too is a conversation she’s had many times with Alex, and every time, it’s ended the same way.)

“Fuck you, Luthor,” Alex hisses. She gets to her feet, only favoring her left leg slightly, all her pain forgotten in her anger, and she stalks out of Lena’s office without another word or a look back.

And Lena wearily reaches for her phone, dialing Maggie’s number.

“She’ll be coming to you now,” she says in lieu of a hello. “Let her know somehow that I’m sorry, okay? And thank her for looking out for me.”

“You could tell her yourself. You could tell her you don’t actually think she’s crazy,” Maggie says, her voice almost completely drowned out by some sort of commotion in the background. Lena idly wonders how the NCPD is faring without one of their greatest assets.

“I actually don’t think she wants to hear anything from me right now,” Lena says, swallowing hard. “And I never called her crazy.”

“Look, Lena. I get it, okay? People process grief differently.” She lets out a sigh when Lena doesn’t respond. “I don’t know how little Danvers got stuck with two of the most stubborn women in the world.”

“The issue is she’s not processing her grief at all, Maggie,” Lena says, closing her eyes and ignoring the latter part of Maggie’s comment. She doesn’t wait for Maggie to convince her otherwise—she hangs up and tosses her phone aside.

After a long pause, she opens her eyes and swivels her chair around, staring out her window, somehow momentarily sure that she’ll see a flash of red and hear the light thud of boots against the balcony. But the moment is gone in a heartbeat, and Lena hurriedly wipes away the single tear that’s rolled down her cheek and returns to her work as if there’d never been an interruption in the first place.

(She doesn’t go home that night either.)

On the second month anniversary of Supergirl’s (and Kara’s) death, Lena decides she’ll take a lunch break and go for a walk. She tells Jess to take care of all her calls, to email her anything that’s urgent, then walks to the nearest café—barely a block away—buys Kara’s favorite sandwich and heads to memorial that’s still under construction, tentatively named Hero’s Park.

She sits on one of the wooden benches away from the bustling and the work, the sandwich going untouched as she stares at the one thing that’s already been completed: a life-size statue of Supergirl. The artist is talented, she thinks for the umpteenth time. They’d somehow captured Kara’s strength in the curve of her spine, her optimism in the uptick of her lips, her courage in the clench of her hands. Supergirl’s very essence had been distilled into stone, each inch exemplifying everything that made Kara great.

(Or perhaps that’s just what Lena sees when she looks at the statue because that was what she saw when she looked at Kara.)

“You didn’t come to game night,” she hears a deep voice rumble, and though she smiles she doesn’t turn to look at the man who’s joined her at her bench. “We all missed you.”

“Alex is upset with me, I didn’t think she’d want me there.”

“She’s sad, Lena. But she always wants you around.”

Lena sighs, turning to face James, studying his expression and his loose-fitting clothing before offering him another smile, this one self-deprecating, mirthless…broken.

“Why?”

“Because you’re something she has left of Kara. You and Winn.”

“Not you?”

“I came into Kara’s life thanks to Clark. You came into her life because she brought you into it.” He doesn’t seem sad or resentful and Lena knows why: it doesn’t matter how they came into Kara’s life, they were both just grateful that they’d ever been in her orbit at all. She stares at him a little longer then hands over the sandwich, actually letting out a laugh when he halves it and raises an eyebrow, waiting till she accepts her half and takes a bite before he begins to eat as well.

“So you tracked me down to tell me to come to the next game night?”

“Track down?” James huffs, shaking his head. “Lena, there’s no tracking with you. You’re either here or at the office.”

“But you were looking for me.”

“Yeah, but not about game night. Fair warning, though, Alex will probably call you sometime today about that.” He polishes off the last of his sandwich and leans back, his eyes on the memorial, something sad passing over his face. “Cat Grant is back,” he explains without preamble. “She feels…well, I think she’s guilty. She seems to think Kara’s—” He stops, clears his throat, and shakes his head. “She thinks it’s her fault somehow. So she wants to honor Supergirl her own way. She wants to coincide the opening of the memorial with a special issue of CatCo magazine.”

“And how does that involve me?”

“Apparently it’s ‘common knowledge’ that you and Supergirl were close. I don’t think Cat knows just how close you were, but she suspects enough. She wants to interview you, add the viewpoint of someone who knew Supergirl well.”

“And she didn’t ask you?”

“She did. But the truth is I don’t think I knew Kara in the end. We’d become so distant and I…” He stops and hangs his head, hurriedly wiping at his eyes. Lena tactfully looks away, remembering all the nights he helped her off the floor of her office and took her home, never once mentioning her weakness, never once taking advantage of the information he held over her. To see someone at their very worst and still think them strong…that was something Lena hadn’t had with anyone before James. And she likes it. She likes it enough that she surprises herself by reaching out and taking James’s hand, not looking over at him even when he squeezes back gratefully.

“I don’t know if I can survive an interview with Cat Grant,” Lena tells James softly, pulling her hand away and turning to him. To her shock, he’s grinning.

“I thought you’d say that,” he says, knocking shoulders with her. “That’s why I told Cat I’d interview you. As my last hurrah I guess before I move back to Metropolis.”

Lena frowns, filled with confusion and a terrible sense of sorrow that she’s losing someone she just found.

“You’re moving away? But—”

“I don’t belong here anymore, Lena,” he interrupts, and Lena doesn’t understand why he looks so carefree, why he’s so cheerful about that fact. “I came here to get out from under Clark’s shadow and I think somewhere along the way I lost myself. I wanted to be a hero like Kara, a hero like Clark, and I forgot that there’s more to being a hero than punching a few bad guys.” He tilts his head towards her, actually winking. “You showed me that, you know. You’re more of a hero than you know, and it’s just because you choose to do the right thing over what might be easy.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit, James.”

“I think you give yourself too little credit,” he shoots back with good humor. “National City has been good for you. For me…well, for me I don’t think it was.”

“You met Kara here,” Lena reminds him softly, but rather than recant, James tilts his head back, staring up at the sky with a wide smile on his face, his eyes closing. She can almost see what Kara saw in him—he’s obviously conventionally attractive, but he’s also soft and gentle, kind, and patient. There’s a warmth to him that Lena appreciates, something she finds herself basking in because at times—when he’s chuckling or when he’s passionate about something—it reminds Lena so much of Kara. The very thought of losing him hurts more than she thought it would, especially now that they’ve become tentative friends, one of the many things Lena has because of Kara. “National City gave you that.”

“National City also took her away,” he says, his smile not fading and his eyes still closed. “I like to think that there’s an alternate world, another timeline that Kara is alive and happy. And maybe I met her and maybe I didn’t, but I think just knowing she’s somewhere in the world would be enough for me.”

“Yes,” Lena says without thinking, “I agree.”

“So.” James claps his hands together and sits up, finally opening his eyes and facing her. “Will you do the interview? Send me off in style?”

Lena looks over at the statue, eyes roving the intricate lines of Kara’s face. She stares into the lifeless eyes of the statue and for a moment they flash, looking blue and bright and vibrant.

Kara gave her friends, gave her a sense that she mattered, but most of all, Kara reminded her what it meant to be a hero: to do the best you could, with whatever you had. So Lena’s answer is a no-brainer.

“Of course, James. Whatever you need.”

And James’s answering grin reminds her so much of Kara that the ache in her chest—the one she hasn’t been able to escape since that Wednesday two months ago—twinges painfully, and Lena realizes that, with or without James, losing Kara is something she’ll never be able to get over.

Cat Grant actually cries (it’s caught on camera, a single tear rolling down her cheeks, and the photograph is tucked into the corner of the article about Supergirl and her wider influence—forever immortalizing herself as not only the person who named Supergirl, but also the person who said goodbye.)

Lena’s interview with James is everywhere the day the memorial opens. Quotes are read on news programs, social media blows up with it, shared again and again with varying opinions.

(“She’s a fake,” some say.

“She’s not like her family,” others write.

“Can you imagine, a Super and a Luthor?” some question.

“No, no, no,” many claim, “she’s in love.”)

Lena doesn’t pay attention to any of it. She goes to work, meets with her board members and investors, speaks to R&D, takes conference calls from foreign businesses, forgets to eat until Jess strongholds her into it, only going home when Winn or Maggie (or sometimes Alex, when she’s not surly, when she’s not still spouting her mad claims about Kara) drag her away from the office.

And time drags on.

They have a going away celebration for James, playing board games in Kara’s honor and eating so many potstickers that Alex feels sick. They tell stories, Winn gets drunk, and James hugs both Alex and Lena tightly, promising to stay in touch—promising to be around the second they ever need him. He tells Winn that being his partner was one of the greatest things he’s ever done in his life.

Alex stops mentioning her certainty that Kara is still alive, but bags appear beneath her eyes, Maggie claims that she doesn’t know where Alex is most times, J’onn tells Lena he’s worried and he wants her help in finally putting this all to rest.

Maggie gets a promotion and the night they celebrate almost feels normal, even if there’s a wide gaping wound, a space that they attempt to fill with music and laughter, an emptiness that is palpable and harsh.

Lena invites Alex and Winn to a symposium for technological innovations, and the three of dork out. Maggie fondly calls them her favorite nerds, and even James calls from Metropolis to tease them about it.

Before Lena knows it, another month has passed, and she wonders when it became so easy to pretend she’s just fine.

She dreams of Kara often.

In many respects, that statement isn’t altogether strange. She’s dreamt of Kara since the day she met the bumbling reporter. She’s dreamt of them being friends, dreamt of Kara’s laugh, dreamt of the day that Kara would trust her enough to unbutton her shirt and reveal her family’s crest.

(And these dreams weren’t just dreams—eventually they became grounded in reality.

Perhaps she should have known then, perhaps she should have realized a Luthor never would have a happy ending.)

She dreams of Kara often, that isn’t what strikes her. It’s the fact that this dream feels so real.

Kara sits on her couch, laughing as she pulls takeout containers out from a bag she’s set on the table, mumbling on about something and adjusting her glasses. And Lena can’t help it, she steps away from her desk—abandoning the work she just said she was almost done with—and approaches Kara, dropping to her knees in front of her.

“Lena?” Kara asks, looking worried, a crease appearing between her eyebrows, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She ignores it and Lena’s met with a breathtaking view of Kara’s blue eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I think I’m dreaming,” she says softly. Rather than frown or laugh like Kara usually would, Lena just gets a soft look. The crease between Kara’s eyes disappears and she tilts her head slightly to the side, actually reaching out and cupping Lena’s cheeks with her hands.

“Would it matter if it’s a dream?”

“But then you wouldn’t be real.”

Kara’s thumbs wipe at Lena’s cheeks, and it takes a moment for Lena to realize she’s dabbing away the evidence of Lena’s tears.

“I’m real, Lena,” she says, and Lena can feel Kara’s warm breath fanning over her face as she leans in closer. “I’m real and I’m here.”

(Dream-Kara smells like the Kara Lena knew. She smells vaguely sweet with a certain undertone that Lena doesn’t know how to describe other than bright. Dream-Kara is soft and warm. Dream-Kara is leaning dangerously close and Lena wonders if it would be wrong to give in, to close the last of that distance between them and find out what Kara tastes like—even if it’s a dream, even if it’s not real.)

“I miss you,” Lena finds herself mumbling, eyes fluttering shut, and she doesn’t have to wonder about the morals of kissing the dream-version of the woman she’s in love with because Kara takes the decision out of her hands entirely.

She kisses Lena hungrily, fingers threading into Lena’s hair and tugging her closer, and Lena isn’t quite sure if it’s her heart that’s hammering away or if it’s Kara’s. And when Kara releases her hair, when her teeth drag over Lena’s lips and her hands trace the contours of Lena’s body, Lena stops thinking about hearts. She accepts what Kara gives her, her own hands trembling as she desperately holds Kara to her, worried that if she releases her hold even for a moment the dream will dematerialize and she’ll be left alone again.

It’s a dream (and Lena dreams of Kara often) but damn it if it didn’t feel real.

“I’m here,” Kara tells her in between kisses—head spinning, heart pounding, world upturning, kisses. “I’m here and you’re gonna find me.”

“You were right!” Lena shouts, banging on the door with no thought at all to the time or how it must look. “You were right!” she shouts again, shocked when the door flies open before she can knock again.

“You better have a damn good reason for this racket, Luthor,” Alex hisses, putting her gun away and dragging Lena inside her apartment. She looks disheveled, a little more than half-asleep, and Lena considers for one moment that maybe she could’ve waited until the morning for this.

“You were right,” she says again, deciding this was urgent enough to justify pulling Alex out of bed. From the other side of the apartment, Maggie comes shuffling over, scratching at her cheek, squinting at the kitchen lights and Lena’s exuberance.

“What’s going on?” the detective asks.

“I don’t know, ask Lena, she’s the one who tried to ram her way in.”

“You were right,” Lena says again, not understanding how Alex still hasn’t caught on.

“I get it, I was right, but about what?”

“Kara.”

That’s it, that’s all it takes, that single word, uttered as barely a breath, barely a whisper, nothing more than a prayer. It’s one word and Alex’s eyes fill with tears, and before Lena knows it, the elder Danvers has rammed into her, engulfing her in a tight embrace, practically sobbing with relief.

“She’s alive,” Alex says, “she’s alive.”

“You were right, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you before, I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.” She wants to say more but Alex has pulled away and is looking at Lena like she singlehandedly saved Kara herself, while Maggie looks vaguely suspicious.

“What brought this on, Luthor?” Maggie asks, ever the detective. “What changed your mind?”

Alex steps further away from Lena, both of them turning to look at Maggie in unison, frowning at her tone. Maggie doesn’t shy away from their stares; instead, her back straightens and her arms cross her chest defensively.

“What?” she asks when Lena and Alex merely continue to stare at her. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Except it’s not the one you’re really asking, detective,” Lena says, eyes narrowed. “Say what you mean.” She hopes Maggie will drop it, she hopes that Maggie will raise her hands in surrender and back off.

Maggie doesn’t.

“Fine. You were supposed to help Alex accept what happened, not make all this worse.” Maggie’s tone is cold and hard, slipping into the part she plays when she’s at work, and Lena thinks she can actually spot the moment that Alex’s faith in her girlfriend slips away. Because Maggie’s tone, stance, and stubborn gaze makes one thing abundantly clear: she does not believe them.

“She’s alive,” Lena insists, looking from Maggie to Alex, noticing the elder Danvers seems distracted, her eyes now on the ground, her hands shaking. “She didn’t die.”

“For fuck’s—we all saw what happened, Lena! We all saw the attack and the fall.”

“No, we only saw what they wantedus to see,” Lena says, ignoring Maggie’s scoff and focusing on Alex. “We were convinced Kara died, but what if someone wanted it that way?”

“The entire world thinks Kara’s dead, Lena!” Maggie says, her eyes on Alex as well though she steps between the two of them, as if blocking Alex from Lena’s line of sight would somehow protect her girlfriend from what Lena is saying. “You can’t tell me that there’s someone out there that can make the entire world hallucinate something simultaneously.”

“Not the entire world, actually. Just us. We were the ones that told the world she was gone.”

“That still doesn’t explain how we were tricked—”

“—that Martians can plant images or thoughts in people’s mind with their telepathy—”

“—unless you’re accusing J’onn there aren’t any other Martians to plant anything—”

“—and Martians aren’t the only alien species who have telepathic powers!” Lena finishes, throwing her hands up in the air. She knows her cheeks are likely covered in red splotches, a flush appearing on her neck and ears thanks to the combination of frustration and pale skin, and her chest is heaving, but she doesn’t back down. She can’t.

Kara is alive, and they had to find her.

“Alex,” Lena says, looking past Maggie’s disapproving face and staring at the elder Danvers who’s remained uncharacteristically silent on the matter. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t sure. I looked into those reports—the surges and miracles you talked about. Kara’s out there, and she’s trying to get home.”

Alex looks up and Maggie’s shoulders deflate at the fire in Alex’s eyes—the determination, the vindication, the hope,shining brightly. “Finally,” she says, squaring her shoulders and nodding. “You finally believe me.

“Alex—” Lena begins, but Alex waves her off.

“Better late than never, Luthor. But we have a lot of work to do.”

“Where do we start?”

“With Clark. If anyone knows what really happened, it’s him. I’m just going to need your help.” She grins broadly and rushes off, heading towards her bedroom—to dress, to gather her things, to call Clark, Lena doesn’t know. She just wishes that Alex hadn’t left her alone with Maggie Sawyer.

“If you’re wrong, it’ll break her. If you’re wrong, I’m coming after you,” she threatens lowly, stepping into Lena’s space.

“Don’t worry, detective. If I’m wrong, it’ll be punishment enough.”

Maggie softens at the admission—said softly and reluctantly—and she takes a step back, letting out a loud sigh and rolling her eyes. “Falling for a Danvers sister. I guess you and I have more in common than I thought.” She studies Lena’s face for a moment, likely detecting something Lena has no desire to have anyone detect or understand, and without warning she steps into Lena’s space again, this time pulling her into a hug. She holds on tightly, apparently not bothered that Lena doesn’t hug her back, not bothered that Lena’s just a little stiff and more than a little awkward. “If you and Alex believe, it’s enough for me. Let’s go get our Supergirl back, shall we?”

“What changed your mind?” Alex asks as the elevator stops, smiling awkwardly at a frazzled looking reporter with a stack of papers in his hands, mumbling under his breath as he gets off on his floor. When the elevator doors slide shut and they’re alone, Lena leans her head back against the wall, watching the numbers light up on the panel as they pass several floors.

“I had a dream,” she answers honestly.

“Oh?”

(It sounds like an Oh?, a ‘Oh, you had that sort of dream?’ and it makes Lena blush.

Because, yes, that’s a part of it. But it was mostly Kara’s certainty that Lena would find her. It was the reminder that Kara always hoped—always had faith—and Lena owed it to her be the same way.

And to be perfectly frank, telling Kara’s sister about her feelings for the alien is a conversation she’s not keen on having.)

“Yes.”

“Not going to elaborate?”

“Kara always believed in me. And I believe in her. And by extension you.”

“Oh damn, Maggie was right,” Alex says, eyes wide. Fortunately, Lena’s spared having to think of a response when the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open to their floor. “After you, Luthor,” Alex says with a grin, motioning for Lena to go on ahead of her. With a huff, Lena does as she’s told, holding her head up high as they walk through the office, ignoring the looks—from shock to distrust to amusement—that follow them as they pass by cubicles. The whisperings of ‘Holy shit is that Lena Luthor?’ begin immediately, and Lena curses the entire place for the umpteenth time.

She really, really hates The Daily Planet.

They catch sight of James as they blindly walk around, and his wide smile and genuine happiness to see them puts Lena at ease despite where she is and who’s she’s surrounded by (vultures, the very vultures that destroyed her family’s name, dragging it through the mud, though admittedly, much of that dragging was deserved thanks to Lex and Lillian).

“He’s not here,” James informs them after quick greetings and a tight hug, pulling them into an empty room and closing the door behind him. “There was a fire and he went to help out, he should be back soon.”

“Thank you for this, James,” Alex says, looking relieved. “I know Clark’s your friend—”

“Don’t thank me, I looked at the footage like you said. You’re right, it’s fishy. And if tricking Clark helps us get to the bottom of it…” He trails off, clearly unwilling to state how he’s prepared to hurt his best friend in order to find Kara. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“Mr. Kent doesn’t trust me,” Lena says with an easy shrug. “I say it’ll work quite fine.” Alex opens her mouth, almost as if she wants to reassure Lena that Clark’s alone in his reticence to trust the last remaining Luthor, but it snaps back shut when they hear a flurry and a sound of boots landing. (Lena’s sure Alex just had the same thought she did: for a moment—just a moment—they both convinced themselves they’d turn around and see Kara come in from the window, a grin in her face from the flight, her hands on her hips, hair windswept. Instead, they’re met with Clark Kent’s narrowed and suspicious eyes.)

“James? What is this?”

“We want to know where you took Kara,” Alex says before James can even open his mouth. Clark—Superman, Lena’s not really sure how to address him—stares as his best friend merely steps back and allows Alex to begin her interrogation.

“I told you the last several times you came here,” Clark begins heatedly, revealing where Alex was off to when neither Maggie or J’onn were aware of her whereabouts, “she’s gone. She’s in Rao’s light and you need to let her go.”

“My sister is not dead!”

“Alex,” Lena warns, worried they’ll be overheard. Clark seems to share the concern because he raises his hands in surrender.

“You’re sad,” he says bracingly. “I understand. I’m sad too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Alex hisses, “don’t you dare pretend you’re going through anything similar to me. I love her, I’d do anything for her. You gave her up! You sent her away! You abandoned her!”

“I loved Supergirl too—”

“Kara is not gone,” Alex interrupts, shocking Clark enough that his hands drop and his eyes flit over to Lena.

“Alex, what’re you doing—”

“I know who you are, Mr. Kent,” Lena says, rolling her eyes at the fear clear on his face. “I may not be like Lex in many respects, but neither of us are blind and glasses are not an adequate disguise.”

“Lex Luthor knows about—”

“We don’t have time for this. Tell us where you took Kara.” Lena must not sound as scary as Kara sometimes claimed she did, because Clark just groans.

“For the hundredth time, Kara is gone. I heard her heart stop.”

“Did you? Or did you just think you did?” James questions, leaning against the door. “You should listen to what they have to say, Clark. Because if they’re right, Kara’s in trouble and she needs our help.”

“And if I don’t?” Clark asks, his false bravado failing as his voice shakes even at the possibility of his cousin still being alive—at somehow having been wrong. Lena pushes aside the pity she suddenly feels for him—the sorrow that fills her at the thought that Clark has spent the last several months thinking he not only lost his only genetic relation, but one of his kind, leaving the weight of an entire civilization (not even rightly his), once on Kara’s shoulders, solely on his back—and steps forward.

“If you don’t, Mr. Kent,” Lena says, her voice low and her tone cold, “I’ll do what my brother couldn’t bring himself to: I’ll tell the world who you really are.”

J’onn, Maggie, and James (as the Guardian) go over the details of the plan again, but Lena sits back, content to watch Winn argue a point, Vasquez and Lucy offering their own advice and suggestions.

It’s remarkable, really, how many people have been willing to put their hearts on the line in order to pursue this razor thin thread of hope that Alex’s faith and a bit of shaky footage has offered them. It’s remarkable how a few seconds of video—moments, mere heartbeats, really—show the relief on Clark’s face before it morphs into despair and that’s enough for all of them to practically move into the DEO and use the information Clark gave them to attempt to figure out where Kara could be.

(“I took her to the Fortress, I thought maybe Kelex could help somehow. But I had to leave—there was a plane crash over Bulgaria—and when I got back, Kara was gone and Kelex told me she’d joined her family in Rao’s light. I didn’t think to question it. I was sure I heard her heart stop.”

“If we don’t find her, it’ll be your fault.”

“I was trying to protect you, Alex. I didn’t want you to keep hoping for something that wouldn’t come true. I’m sorry. Let me help now.”

“I think you’ve done more than enough protecting, Clark,” Alex had hissed, and that was that.)

And though she knows it’s a waiting game at this point—already having done as much as she could by helping Winn design the program that could narrow Kara’s location—she feels useless and helpless. She wants to be moving, she wants to feel as if she’s accomplishing something, she wants Kara in her arms, wants to kiss her for real—admit how she feels for real.

She just wants Kara back, in any capacity. A friend, the city’s superhero, a bumbling reporter. Kara needed to come back.

“Hungry?” Alex asks, interrupting Lena’s thoughts as she plops down in the chair next to Lena, offering an energy bar. Lena shakes her head and Alex shrugs, unwrapping the bar and taking a large bite. “You know, Luthor,” she says between chews, raising one eyebrow, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Clark scared till you threatened him. I’m impressed.”

“It was all in a day’s work,” Lena says proudly before her shoulders droop. “I just hope Kara doesn’t hate me for it.”

“If anything, Kara will be too busy hating me to hate you. So I think you’ll be fine.”

“Why would Kara hate you?”

She regrets the question as soon as she asks it because it makes Alex’s smile and her cheerful attitude slip away almost immediately.

“It was my fault.”

“No,” Lena immediately denies, shaking her head. “No it wasn’t.”

“Don’t lie, you’re not good at it,” Alex says mirthlessly. “It’s something you and my sister share.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the issue, isn’t it? I just…stood back. Allowed it to happen. Ignored the warning signs because of a charming smile and a few excuses.” She turns her head, and Lena looks down, wanting to spare Alex the embarrassment of seeing her cry—something she thinks the agent is tired of doing in front of Lena. “I was so involvedwith Kara’s relationship with James,” Alex continues, voice muffled. “We talked almost every night, we joked about it, I let her cry on my shoulder when Lucy came to National City. But with Mon-El—God, I didn’t even questionit. Didn’t even wonder if it was really something she wanted, but I pushed for it because I wanted her to have what I have. And when things started to fray with him, all the fights and the arguments…I just thought it was none of my business. I stayed out of it, and Lena, that’s on me.”

“You couldn’t have known he would turn out the way he did.”

“You mean violent? Aggressive? Selfish? Because I did know all that. We allknew that.”

“The only one responsible for Mon-El’s actions is Mon-El. And he got what he deserved.”

“He should’ve died. I should’ve killed him.”

“Except you’re not a killer.” Lena looks over at Alex, frowning at the strained look on her face and her tense shoulders. “Kara loves you and she wouldn’t want you to become a killer for her.”

“Technically, it wouldn’t be for her. It’d be to get rid of the worst thing to happen to this planet,” Alex says wryly, clearly attempting to joke and change the subject. But Lena’s more stubborn than Alex expects, and she doesn’t smile or even react to the comment.

“When Lex did the things he did I wondered if anything I ever accomplished would matter. After all, I’d always be tainted by Lex, his dark shadow always looming over me. In the end, it was Kara who made me see that what I do matters, that I was right in wanting to move away from Lex’s legacy.”

“Yeah?” Alex says disinterestedly, still trying to shrug this topic off.

“Yes. Kara is living proof that regardless of all the terrible things that happen—to us or others—we still have a choice, we still have the opportunity to do as much good as we can, be as kind and accepting as possible, and change the world for the better.” Lena smiles, bumping shoulders with Alex. “You don’t pay back bad with more bad, Alex Danvers. You squash it out by overwhelming the world with good.”

“God, you’re a sap. You really love her, don’t you?” Alex says, and this time, Lena allows the subject change, ignoring the tears in Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah. I do.”

They get their first real break when a woman visiting family in India returns with stories of a super woman who could carry more weight than any of the men in their town, a super woman who’d single-handedly saved dozens after an earthquake caused the local hospital to collapse, reminding everyone of the fallen hero, Supergirl.

But when Lena prepares to pack, prepares to visit the area along with Alex, Lucy, J’onn, Vasquez, and others, she’s held back by Maggie.

“You and me are sitting this one out, Luthor,” Maggie tells her, leaning against the doorway to the DEO barracks where Lena’s been spending her time away from the office. She makes another mental note to give Jess a pay raise after she didn’t question why Lena asked for some of her clothes to be brought to the office—didn’t even raise an eyebrow when Lena came in every morning with yesterday’s clothing.

“Like hell we are,” Lena shoots back, resuming her packing. (Mostly it’s just essentials, a laptop to work, her phone charger to make sure she could keep up with the going-ons at L-Corp.) “I want to be there when we find Kara.”

“She might not be there.”

“Maggie—”

“I’m just being realistic. It might be a coincidence. And if it isn’t, haven’t you wondered why Kara hasn’t come back if she still has her powers? Why she’s been MIA for months?”

“Maybe she can’t. Maybe she’s hurt. Maybe she’s being threatened.”

“But she has time to help earthquake victims?”

“Dammit Maggie!” Lena shouts, at wit’s end, tired of Maggie’s endless cynicism. (And if a part of her knows it’s not cynicism but pragmatism—something Lena used to be known for, a cold logic she could apply to any situation regardless of her feelings, except apparently, when it involves Kara—she doesn’t dwell on it. She can’t.) “What do you want from me?” she asks, voice dropping to barely a whisper, collapsing onto her bunk and cradling her head in her hands.

“You’re worried. You’re scared. You’re hurt. I get it, Luthor, I do. But you’re not thinking straight. Kara’s a part of the DEO, she’s their agent, and recovering her is a mission for the DEO. Not for a lowly NCPD detective, and not for a CEO.”

“You wanted to go too, didn’t you? Who said no? J’onn? Alex?”

“Little Danvers is important to me, even if you and Alex think I’m a monster for being realistic about this whole thing.” She pauses, leaning her head against the doorway and closing her eyes briefly. “I want her to be alive too. I want her back too.” She opens her eyes and straightens, eyes determined. “I said you and Alex believing is enough for me, and I meant it. But someone has to be ready to pick up the pieces if all this goes wrong.”

“That doesn’t sound like faith, detective. It sounds like you’re waiting to play cleanup.”

“In my experience, faith doesn’t really work out.”

Lena drops her hands and finds herself smiling at Maggie, shrugging helplessly even as she resigns herself to remaining behind.

“Yes, my experience is like that too. But this is Kara. So I believe.”

Maggie snorts, shuffling over to Lena’s bunk and sitting down next to her, the two of them staring at the floor. “Like I said, how it is bubbly, happy Little Danvers attracted such stubborn people will forever be a mystery to me.”

“Probably because she’s the most stubborn of all of us.”

(And if it’s said almost like a prayer—a hope that Kara’s stubbornness gets her through this latest threat, this latest obstacle in her life as a superhero—neither Maggie nor Lena show any indication they notice it. They can’t.)

She spends her lunch walking in Hero’s Park.

The memorial is finished now, nearly six months after Supergirl fell to her supposed death, and it truly is breathtaking. The statue stands near a fountain that’s shaped like the House of El crest, a massive ‘S’ standing in the center, covered in words people have used to describe Supergirl. (Things like hero, brave, gentle, kind, friend, and even love.) It’s become somewhat of a tourist destination, especially after Superman came one afternoon to brush his hand over Kara’s likeness, as if he thought if he stared hard enough or hoped hard enough, the stone would dematerialize and leave a very real and very alive Kara in its place.

(He uses that visit to also come by the DEO and apologize again, offering his help again, and Lena wishes she could’ve seen Alex’s scathing response, even if J’onn accepted the aid—stating they’d need all the help they could get.)

James, Winn, and Maggie are with her, the four of them left behind, banding together in this moment, breathlessly waiting for news—for Alex’s return, if all goes right, with Kara. James keeps staring at the statue, Winn chatters nervously, and Maggie’s texting, her brows furrowed at whatever she’s reading.

Lena doesn’t ask—she worries it involves Kara and she isn’t sure she wants to know if anything’s gone wrong.

“We should have a game night to celebrate her return,” James says suddenly. “All you can eat pizza and potstickers and ice cream. Maybe some of that alien alcohol that can get Kara drunk.”

“And Monopoly,” Winn adds. “If she’s getting drunk we should play Monopoly, it’s always more fun that way.”

“And karaoke,” Maggie laughs, slipping her phone into her pocket and grinning. “Have you heard Kara sing? There’s a reason she’s called super.”

“We should invite everybody,” Winn continues. “From the DEO, Metropolis—drag Cat Grant into it if we have to. Maybe we could even get into contact with her inter-dimensional friends, Barry and Cisco and the others.” He smiles dreamily. “I can talk about the multiverse with them.”

“The first thing I’m going to do when Kara’s back is give her a hug,” Maggie says. “I miss Little Danvers’ hugs.”

“I’m going to spoil every single TV show she follows. It’s going to make her so mad,” Winn says happily, rubbing his hands together.

“I’ll just tell her that Cat’s back in charge and that Kara’s job is waiting for her if she wants it.”

“Lena?” Maggie question, coming to a halt and pulling Lena to a stop as well. “What about you?”

“I think I’ll just be happy she’s back,” Lena says, not meeting Maggie’s eyes and ignoring Winn’s blatant amusement and James’s raised eyebrows.

“Come on, Luthor,” Maggie presses.

“Yeah, Lena. There’s nothing you want to tell Kara?” Winn adds, holding back a smile.

“You know, the one obvious thing throughout all this, something you’d think one would want to confess if they got a second chance?” James asks, his eyebrows still comically raised.

“I don’t know what any of you mean,” Lena says resolutely, her chin jutting out even as she avoids all their eyes. “Kara being back would be more than enough for me.”

“Kara being back would be more than enough for all of us,” James says, actually letting out a laugh. “But take it from someone who’s been where you are—if you don’t tell her, you’ll regret it forever.”

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday.

It makes her wonder sometimes, this sole fact. Because Supergirl returns quietly, without fanfare, without buzz, rolled into the DEO on a bed, injured and unconscious, Alex gripping her hand so tightly that Lena is almost sure she’s impending blood flow.

(Over the next few days, the story—the truth—begins to come out. There’s talk of spores from a starfish-like alien named Starro. How this alien has hated Superman since he and others locked Starro away, how the spores were able to not mind-control entirely but suggest certain thoughts, how Supergirl had been trying to get back for months, resisting the spore’s effects as best she could. There’s explanations as to how Superman was exposed to the spores in the first place, how he came to be so sure that Kara died in his arms, how Kara managed to leave the Fortress of Solitude as weak as she was, as confused as she was.

And the strangest thing of all, Kara’s last words before she passes out after Alex removes the spores: where’s Lena?)

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday and it’s extraordinary in its simplicity, its easiness, the utter sense of rightness. She slips in as if she never left, as if she was never gone, as if no time has passed at all, and even though she’s laying on a bed underneath several sun lamps, Alex never straying too far from her side, she feels so permanent—so unmovable and untouchable.

Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday, and by Monday the entire world becomes aware of it as well when she saves a school bus from getting hit by a man running a red light.

(It’s as if the world is upturned again, as if they entered some sort of alternate realty. The President returns to National City for a photo op with Supergirl, shaking her hand and exclaiming how glad she is to have Supergirl back. The memorial remains in place but is called a celebratory monument. People swarm into the park, hoping to get a photo with the statue and maybe even a flash of red as Supergirl flies by overhead.

Alex calls Lena at work and tells her that Superman comes to the DEO not even a day after Supergirl wakes up, exclaiming how grateful he is to have her back, and how much they need to watch ‘that Luthor,’ much to Alex’s amusement.

James visits and admits Cat offered his job back and he thinks he might take it, realizing after some time away that the distance from his friends wasn’t something he could live with.)

(Lena doesn’t see Supergirl after that first Saturday she’s back. She wishes she could stay by Kara’s side like Alex, but she manages little more than brief visits when she has the time, and after Kara wakes up, Lena’s assaulted by reporters asking her how she feels about Supergirl’s return, embroiling L-Corp in a conversation her company shouldn’t be involved in. She’s busyand Supergirl is busy—making up for all the lost time, zooming about all hours of the day and night, no job too large or too small for her help—and it’s okay.

After all, all she needs to do when she feels overwhelmed or sad or worried is close her eyes and listen to the superhero speeding about the city, or turn on the news and witness it for herself, for her heart to settle and her mind to ease.)

And while James, Alex, Maggie, and even J’onn ask if Lena’s seen Kara yet—ask if she wants help tracking Kara down, getting her alone, admitting the truth. But they don’t understand, Lena doesn’t need anything other than knowing Supergirl is around. They don’t understand that for Lena, Supergirl’s presence in National City is enough.

Because Supergirl returns to National City on a Saturday, but more importantly, so doesKara.

A week passes before Lena hears that oh-so-telling thud of boots against her balcony. It’s years of lessons drilled into her head about not reacting—never showing her hand—that stops her from turning around immediately, not rushing to Kara immediately, not gushing immediately. Instead she slowly shuts her laptop and smiles as Kara steps into view, her hands on her hips, her head tilted to the side.

“Are you avoiding me, Lena Luthor?” Kara asks, the first thing she’s said to Lena since before the fall, since before the world turned upside down at the loss of their greatest hero. She’s smiling as she moves to stand in front of Lena’s desk, arms crossing over her chest, covering up her House’s coat of arms. There’s an odd sense of tension between them, a silence filled with so much going unsaid, an awkwardness that only time and distance can ever really bring about.

“I could ask you the same thing, Supergirl,” Lena says as she stares at the woman who’s her best friend, the woman she’s fallen in love with, the woman she felt so lost without. She wanted Kara back, and now that she is, it’s frustrating that it feels so strange.

“Apparently disappearing for months on end is not a good idea,” Kara says, leaning back onto the heels of her feet. “Means a lot of work when you finally get back.”

“Something to remember the next time you decide to make the entire world think you’re dead, I’m sure,” Lena says, unable to keep her eyes off Kara, roving over the curls of her hair, the blue of her eyes, the lift of her lips, the tap of her fingers, even the set of her shoulders. Lena drinks her in, storing up for another potential drought, never wanting to forget the strength of Kara’s back, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. She’s back, Lena reminds herself. This was what she wanted. This was the thing she hoped for.

“I’m sorry about that by the way,” Kara says, dropping her gaze. “I hadn’t meant—”

“To get betrayed by someone we all trusted and then be subjected to one of Superman’s enemies? You’re not the only one who didn’t mean for that to happen, Kara. And none of it is your fault.”

“I should’ve known better,” she says, hanging her head. “I didknow better but somehow he…” Lena watches as Kara trails off, struggling to find the words to explain what went wrong, and Lena finds that enough is enough. Awkwardness and tension be damned, she gets up quickly, rounds the desk, and pulls Kara into a hug (the first hug since before the fall, since before losing her best friend, since before her world turned upside down at the loss of the woman she’s in love with).

“I missed you so much,” Lena says, wanting nothing but to show Kara how amazing she is, how wonderful she is, how utterly neededshe is. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I knew, you know,” Kara mutters into Lena’s neck, her arms wrapping around Lena’s waist pulling her closer. “I knew you and Alex wouldn’t give up on me. I knew you two would find me.”

And Lena knows that one day she and Alex will have to tell Kara about the drinking, about how everyone ignored Alex for months, about how it took a very realdream about Kara for Lena to believe as well. And she knows that one day—not today, but soon—Kara will have to talk about what happened to her, explain how it was that she fought off the spores that had so completely convinced Clark of her death.

But today, the first time Lena has seen Kara since the fall, since her supposed death, all that can wait. Today, Lena just holds on tighter to Kara, revels in her warmth, and lets out a laugh.

“I suppose Alex and I are just stubborn that way.”

The next time she visits Hero’s Park and the monument dedicated to Supergirl, it’s with Kara, the two of them arm in arm, Kara enjoying an ice cream cone.

“Lucy and James got back together,” Kara informs Lena suddenly, releasing Lena’s arm and turning around to walk backwards, one sticky hand holding onto Lena’s hand. “Lucy says they’re pretty happy.”

“I’m glad. James and Lucy deserve that.”

“They do. Honestly, I’m not surprised. James has been different these past few months, spending so much time at the DEO and with Lucy—it was obvious he wanted to try again.”

“I’m just glad James decided to stay in National City. I don’t think anyone would be able to control Winn’s cheating at game night otherwise.”

“I don’t think Clark’s quite forgiven James yet for what you and Alex did,” Kara says with a laugh, squeezing Lena’s hand when she looks away at the reminder. “I doubt James wants to go back to Metropolis anytime soon.”

“It’s not like I would’ve actually given away his secret. It’s not my fault he doesn’t see past my last name.”

“Exactly.”

“And I—wait. What?”

“I said exactly. I love Clark, but the man needs to relax a little bit more. All that stress probably isn’t very healthy.” Kara grins and motions towards Lena’s bench—the one she spent so much time on nearly a year ago. They sit down together, arms brushing, and like always, Lena’s heart rate spikes at merely the proximity.

“Alex says I traumatized him.”

“Pfft. Alex is the one who traumatizes people. You’re too…you for that.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“You know,” Kara gestures wildly over at Lena, her eyes wide. “You’re you.”

“I’m sorry, Kara, I don’t know what you mean—”

“—you’re aloof but really warm and kind behind all that standoffishness and it’s just…you. An oxymoron personified.”

“If you say so…” Lena mumbles, not at all sure if she should be insulted or not. She’s not even quite sure if she wantsto be her, as Kara puts it. Mostly, she wishes she was anyone but herself.

“James told me to wait for you,” Kara says, making Lena lose her train of thought and turn to her in confusion, “but I’m sort of tired of waiting because, well, I’m not the most patient person ever.”

“No, you’re really not.”

“And the thing is, I’ve told Alex, but I haven’t told you because I was scared, but you being you…I mean, that’s what saved me.”

Lena laughs, rolling her eyes and bumping shoulders with Kara. “Are you talking about that attack on L-Corp earlier this week? For the last time, Kara, I didn’t saveyou, I just did what I had to do to. Besides, he was myformer employee, if anything it’s my fault that—”

“I’m talking about last year, Lena. About the spores and being stranded at the Fortress of Solitude.” That shuts Lena up, her mouth snapping close, her eyes somehow fixed on Kara’s uncharacteristically serious face. “I’d get these flashes of you,” she continues. “Of something you said, something you did, and I’d realize that whatever was happening wasn’t real. Because of you. Because youfelt real.” She laughs, returning to her normal, bumbling self, her hands adjusting her glasses awkwardly, her lips twisted into a wry smile. “You saved me from my own thoughts and I guess—”

This time, it’s Lena’s turn to interrupt Kara. Not with words, not with a look, but by leaning in and pressing their lips together in a kiss remarkably similar to the one she dreamed about, momentarily making Lena question whether what’s happening is real or not.

And when she pulls away to see Kara’s eyes flutter open, a thrilled grin on her lips, Lena finds herself falling yet again.

But in a good way—in the only way that matters.

#supercorp #fanfic #kara danvers #lena luthor #old #the next one will be new I just gotta finish it

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aylinaliens · 4 years ago

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One invisible gold thread (tied me to you) — Chapter 1

Fandom: 2Gether

Pairings: Earn/Pear, Pear/Air, Sarawat/Tine, Ohm/Fong

Summary: Soulmate did not always equate to romance, most spend their lives together as platonically. That is exactly what Earn thought would happen with Pear—but as they spent more time together in person, Earn struggles to calm the raging storm of emotions in her heart. Soon enough, Earn finds herself drawn in like a moth to a flame, Pear’s soft bubblegum pink cardigan and bright eyes serving as balm to her soul. At first, Earn just denies what she feels inside, claiming that the only reason her throat closed up when she was in the proximity of the soft-spoken medical student was because of indigestion. As Earn spends more time with her soulmate, she begins to struggle with understanding the intricacies of her own sexuality, but realization never actually dawns on her until she finds out someone was actively pursuing Pear. That was when Earn starts to come to turns with her feelings...but it was too late now. Right?

Word Count: 1779

Notes: in honor of 2gether the movie being announced i have decided to finally post this because let’s be honest...gmmtv is going to clown on us earnpear shippers again. i typically hate love triangles but dear uranus has made me realize that wlw!love triangles are God Tier so thus this fic was born. hope you like tropes because !! this fic will have it all. soulmates? roommates? fake dating? mutual pining? friends to lovers? unrequited love? bed sharing? friends with benefits? it’s what these sapphics deserve

Read the first chapter on Ao3 or down below!

Curiously, Earn lifted her arm and brought it closer to her face so she could examine it. Sarawat obviously understood what was happening, also recently finding his soulmate, so he just leaned back in his seat, sipping on his drink, and quietly observing the own messages on his forearm.

After nearly seven minutes of waiting Pear was done and it was...definitely not doodle of a cat. No, it was something else.

“Oh god. Did she draw a penis?”

Sarawat choked on his drink in surprise. “What?” He gaped. “What did you just say?”

“I said my soulmate just drew an anatomically correct penis on my arm.”

A familiar fluttering sensation cursed through Earn’s body, signaling another message has appeared. She was mid conversation with Sarawat in the process of telling him what time their gig for tomorrow was but never got to.

Full of excitement and butterflies Earn quickly yanked her sleeve up—it’s been thirty six hours since her soulmate last sent a message. It was normal for Pear to disappear for days on end so Earn was used to the delayed reply.

As she glanced down at her forearm she expected to see a reply to the conversation she asked a few days ago but instead it was a drawing.

Once again no big deal—Pear was artistic. She had always sent doodles to Earn.

However, this drawing was not simply just of animals or flowers. She couldn’t exactly tell what it was right now because Pear was still drawing it.

After nearly seven minutes of waiting Pear was done and it was...definitely not doodle of a cat. No, it was something else.

“Oh god. Did she draw a penis?”

Sarawat choked on his drink in surprise. “What?” He gasped. “What did you just say?”

“I said my soulmate just drew an anatomically correct penis on my arm.”

Sarawat looked shocked and positively scandalized but he was not the only one. Earn was just as confused. She held her arm up for him to see and after a few seconds of studying it he came to the same conclusion.

“She drew an anatomically correct penis on your arm. With labels. Why did she send you an anatomically correct penis on your arm?”

Earn lifted her shoulder up in a shrug, leaning down to rummage through her bag to find a pen. Once she did she yanked the cap off and scribbled a quick message.

um...is there like context or a reason that you drew that?

She waited awhile for a reply, staring intently down at her arm for any new piece of ink. It did not matter how long she waited it never came. At least a reply to that question never came. As she studied her arm for what seem like forever the conversation with Sarawat died away.

He knew she was far too preoccupied with with waiting for a message to appear. He was probably the only one in the band who could truly understand what Earn was feeling since he was the only one who had recently discovered his soulmate mark.

Tine was terrible, if not more so, at replying in a timely matter. Sometimes Tine would wait hours just to answer back with a single letter, either forgetting to reply or simply not noticing it.

So Earn waited. Minute after minute. Nothing. Just as she was about to give up that familiar fluttering sensation came back, making her heart soar.

But it was not a reply to Earn’s question. No. It wasn’t even a word.

It was just a smaller anatomically correct penis that was colored in instead of labeling.

Earn pursed her lips in bewilderment but decided that she obviously would not get a reply any time soon.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, shrugging once more. “I really don’t know.”

The first Earn noticed her soulmate mark she was seventeen. She had gym during school today so in between classes she hoped in the shower for a quick rinse off. She didn’t notice any ink nor did she feel abnormal as she scrubbed the dirt and sweat away.

It was afterwards, when she was towel drying her body and trying to slip back on her uniform that she saw pink ink near her wrist.

Confusion coursed through her as she brought her arm toward the light for a better look. She didn’t remember writing anything on her arms.

At first Earn didn’t quite understood what it said due to how faint it was but the longer she stared the more she could understand it.

Mitochondria is the powerhouse cell.

She was shocked, that was sure, but she didn’t have time to think too critically about it because the bell signifying her next class was about to begin snapped her out of it.

Earn forgot about that day in the shower for a few weeks. She knew that soulmates and soul marks were real but it never registered to Earn that was what it was. She didn’t have a soulmate. No way did she have a soulmate. Earn just...forgot that she wrote that. Yeah. That is exactly what happened.

It wasn’t until she was laying in bed one day, laptop perched on her lap as she hummed along to her favorite band, that the memory of that day came flooding back.

A stinging sensation started at the base of her spine and slowly traveled up until her fingertips were tingling and her her throat was constricting. Soon enough the sensation had made its way all over he body, from her fingertips to her toes Earn felt it.

It didn’t hurt, quite the opposite, but it was enough to pause what she was doing.

Then the stinging feeling evaporated into thin air. It was like it never happened. Instead it was replaced by something akin to butterflies but vastly more intense.

A half done math equation appeared near her elbow. A math equation Earn never even learned.

A few beats of silence passed before more ink appeared. It was of a cartoon bunny holding up a sign that that had a phrase on it: Susu Pear!

Earn could no longer pretend like she forgot about writing on her arm. No. This was a soulmate mark.

She practically threw off her laptop off and hastily scrambled out of bed to her desk to grab a pen. Once she found one she tore off the cap and scribbled out a word, feeling as if her heart would leap out of her chest.

hello?

Earn waited for a reply what seemed like years but in reality it was only half a minute.

...hello?

Oh god. Oh my god. She had a soulmate.

None of her friends of family got their soulmate marks yet so she was utterly confused on what to do next. She could search the web for answers but she was scared that her soulmate would disappear.

cute bunny drawing. is your name pear?

The reply was almost instantaneously, showing up before Earn even finished her own message.

thank you! yes, my name is pear. what’s your name?

Before Earn could reply again Pear wrote something else back, just below her previous message.

you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to! i know that some people ignore their soulmate marks.

Butterflies erupted in Earn’s stomach once again but this time it was not because of the ink. Soulmate. Pear just confirmed it. There was no backing out of it now.

my name is earn and...i don’t want to ignore this. unless...you want to?

no! i don’t want to ignore this. i want to um, get to know you. can we do that?

of course. what do you want to know?

everything.

That’s exactly what Earn did, she told Pear everything. Not that night but over the next few years they essentially bared their souls to each other in every sense of the word. Sometimes they would write whole entire essays to each other, forced to erase the earlier conversations or come up with new creative places to write. Sometimes they would send doodles back in forth.

After a few months of talking when the two settled into a comfortable routine, somehow becoming each others biggest supporters. Before every exam, Pear would send Earn the same little cartoon bunny cartoon drawing. Every time the message on the poster was different.

susu earn!

you can do it.

good luck!

earn! you got this!

i'm always rooting for you!

you got this, babe!

Sometimes the messages were so cheesy that Earn felt color flood her cheeks and often never replied because she didn’t know what to say. She would feign innocence when this happened, claiming she was just so nervous about her exam that she forgot to reply.

It was ridiculous—she was so tongue tied and bashful over the same messages you would find on motivational stickers. If anyone else drew these things Earn would think it was dumb but because it was from Pear she thought it utterly adorable.

Earn in return took up to expanding Pear’s musical knowledge and interests. She would use her arms to write down random bits of lyrics she thought of instead of on paper. Pear always took care to never erase those lyrics until Earn gave her the green light.

However, most of the time they just talked. About anything. About nothing. After a few years went by of this Earn grew fond of the soulmate she knew virtually everything yet nothing about.

Unlike most people who got soulmate marks she dated. It was nothing serious, it never was, but she got to experience many different firsts.

Pear, on the other hand, apparently never dated—before or after the soulmate mark appeared—swearing she was far too busy with trying to get into college and than medical school to date. Besides, she wrote one day, I have you. That’s enough.

Messages like that always left Earn melting into a puddle of goo. The thing with soulmates is that they didn’t exactly have to be romantic. Hundreds of thousands of soulmates got their mark but decided to just stay platonic. That’s exactly what Earn thought would happen to them.

It’s not as if she never thought about them in a romantic sense, Earn did more than she cared to admit, but she would always quickly shake out of when she realized that it would never between them too like that.

It has been almost four years and neither of them has asked to meet yet. Surely if they wanted to meet each other they could of. At the start they found out that they only lived three hours apart. After they began college, Earn and Pear found out that they were even closer to each other.

Yet they always managed to skirt around that topic. It would happen one day or it never will Earn wrote one day either way let's just stay like this while we wait for that day to come.

#2gether the series #earnpear #earnpear fic #2gether fic #gmmtv can pry earnpear from my cold dead hands!#love that the fandom collectively manifested earnpear into canon. what do you mean they weren't gfs?? they were #my fics*

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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family baking time

summary: can you do a reddie x daughter where she has a dream about eddie dying and then they comfort her? like basically how we would want them to comfort us about how our souls were crushed from watching CH2 lmao

The sheets stick to Luna’s body as she desperately tries to escape them, kicking her legs out, the same way a toddler experiencing a tantrum does, dislodging the sheets in the process. The remnants of the nightmare cling to the back of her mind, like clouds obstructing the view of her normal brain, clouding her judgment.

She escapes the muffed room and trades it for the living room, can’t stand to be alone any longer without any conformation that her dad is in fact not dead, but alive and kicking. The hallway is brightened by the distorted images on the television, the volume so low it’s nothing more but a murmuring setting taken advantages off by Richie to focus on his writing process.

Luna can hear the ticking sound his keyboard makes, furious and fast paced, the way he goes when a new idea pops in his head and he has to write it down in that very moment. Under normal circumstances, Luna would find something else to do or wait to interrupt him, finding it difficult and off putting for disrupting his lively hood. Not that Richie minds her intercepting his new materiel, in fact, some material only came to be after Luna gave her input, but she does mind. But the nightmare douses her in an unhealthy amount of adrenaline, and she has to get shake it off, to prove to herself and her traitorous mind, that her dad and pops are fine, and she’s just making things up.

‘Pops’, she whimpers, blocking his sight of the tv, not that he was looking in the first place. Richie peeks up at her, and freezes mid-tap, shoving the laptop off his lap and floundering over to his daughter. He fosters her with his arms, rocking them back and forth. Luna bawls harder, digging the heels of her palms in her eye sockets to will herself to stop.

‘Kiddo, what’s going on?’ Richie asks her panickily, mentally checking over any possible sort of information. She didn’t go to bed upset, and as far as he knew, he’s pretty confident his daughter tells him everything, she didn’t argue or fight with her friend either.

‘Talk to me Lu.’

Luna weeps in hurdle of sobs, shaking her head when it’s obvious she can’t explain with the way she’s acting at the moment. Richie, frightened of the whole ordeal, understands that he cannot do any of this by himself.

‘Eds’, Richie yells at Eddie, sleeping soundly and heedless to the drama unfolding, the name sounds shaky and breathy at first, not nearly loud enough to stir Eddie from his rem stages of sleep, and then Richie bites back his bile and calls out louder. ‘Eddie.’

‘Richie’, Eddie answers, instantly alert even with the bouts of sleep, something he does because he’s not fully sated with the idea that Pennywise will never come back. He scrams in the living room, weaponizing a vase, but leaves it behind when he sees the reason Richie howled at him was because of their daughter.

‘Luna what’s going sweetheart?’

Eddie’s fight or flight is instantly shifted in gear, hands fluttering all over Luna’s body to detect any visible injuries. When he can’t find any, he grabs her a tissue and hands it over to her, so Luna can dab her tears away.

‘Settle down, it’s okay.’ Eddie calms, shooing both Richie and Luna over to sit on the overweening soft carpet. The carpet was Richie’s pick, who specifically searched for something so Luna as a child could amuse herself without having to do it on the unrelenting hard floor. Now a days, it’s mostly used during her sleepovers, or while watching a movie.

There’s goosebumps all over Luna’s body, and they have nothing to do with the chill that comes sweeping in alongside a cool spring night.

‘Did you have a nightmare, Luns?’ Richie inquires gently, all too familiar with those himself. He recognizes the signs of one in Luna, but unfortunately clueless on how to fix it. Richie’s coping mechanisms are not ones he wants to pass on his daughter.

‘Yeah’, she sobs out, sagging backwards on the carpet so she’s laying flat down, staring up at the ceiling. After a beat of hesitations her dads mirror her position.

‘Oh fuck’, Richie complains mere seconds after upholding the stance, rolling his shoulders to work out the cricks developing in his upper back. ‘I’m too old for this shit.’

‘Since when are you suddenly too old? Yesterday you swore to us you could run a marathon in your sleep.’

Luna giggles, her dad and pops bickering like everything is normal and no one is hurt eases her mind off the edge of a breakdown.

‘I’m glad to understand that my suffering is funny to you young lady’, Richie utters, smiling himself.

‘It’s not’, Luna confesses, because even though Richie was joking, the mere visions of her dad being impaled is vividly being replayed and repeated in front of her very eyes. She blinks against the onslaught of tears and picks at the soft cotton under her to refrain from whipping her eyes again. They’re already burning, and the more she rubs, the more she’ll have trouble with it later.

‘Luna’, Eddie says miserably, taking her hand and holding it between his own, ‘We’re here.’

‘I had a nightmare. And you died dad’, Luna cries, flipping over so she cry in her dad’s t-shirt. ‘I’m sorry. Pops and me came home and the house was so empty because you were never coming back. I looked for you everywhere and expected you to be behind me at every turn but you never were.’

‘Listen to me’, Eddie explains firmly, sitting up and planting his hand on his hips to make himself as fierce as he could, ‘I am never, ever leaving you or your pops alone. Ever’, he says the last word slowly, drawing it out to allow it to sink in Luna’s head. ‘I will always come back to the two of you. Always.’

‘You big ol’ sap,’ Richie waves off, but his voice is slightly trembling despite his best efforts.

The family of three compile in a bear hug, staying there until Richie’s muscles begin protesting and he has no choice but to move positions, leaving the dog pile with a kiss to Eddie’s lips and one on Luna’s temple.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Her pops asks, shimmying his shoulders, coking his head towards the kitchen.

‘Pops I’m never thinking what you’re thinking. Your mind is a weird place.’

‘Well first off all fuck you, second of all you’re right, and third I’m talking about midnight baking,’ he swings his arms in the air and bows through his knees, like a child on Christmas.

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ Eddie agrees, struggling to get himself off the carpet and on both feet again.

‘The two of you are really getting old,’ Luna mocks, ‘But yes, midnight baking sounds amazing.’

The apple strudels are slightly burned, and Eddie mutters under his breath that he’s going to have to extend his visit to the gym the whole time, but Luna loves the family space, and is immensely grateful that her dad is still breathing to spend it with them.

#reddie x daughter #reddie fluff #eddie kaspbrack #eddie kaspbrak imagine #eddie as a parent #eddie as a dad #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier #richie tozier x daughter #richie as a parent #richie as a dad #My writing

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blackevermore · 4 years ago

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x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 5 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3063

It wasn’t that it was hard to pinpoint where things began to fall apart for the Masters family. Rather it was who was to blame when all of it happened all at once. Could it have been the people they married or was it the family itself that had the bad luck? Either way, the Masters family had a very long list of unfortunate events that seemed to flock like birds to a nest. Vlad sat at his computer scanning through the digital archives of his family. He never truly sat down and looked through all of this, when he was younger it was more like being shown a picture and being asked to guess how far apart they were in life and death. His father did it often trying to brag about how headstrong all the men in the family were.

So many names, so much trading property or what seemed like stealing others. Not that Vlad was surprised at all by that, how else do you think he got where he was in life, it was just the game of business. Not having many divorces and remarrying, now that was surprising, he would have thought the men in his family would have had the least of the draw, or he was just shamefully projecting. Of course the latter could be farther from the truth when Vlad went through two stepmothers. Both his and his first stepmother died of unknown causes which left the last one living the longest. Luckily they were both lovely and the sweetest of women, but maybe would have been better off not in the family. At last Mrs Helena was alive, he hoped.

Vlad had scrolled to the very beginning of the files which started in the mid 16th century. The family name had just been respelt to the changing Germanic language and someone named Alger had married and inherited land in southern modern Germany; he died of an infection in the mouth at 32. From there they had seven children but only two survived due to the plague. From the two, only one was a boy and he carried the family name and expanded the family east. After that was a long line of names that either was married in, inherit, how they died, and weird scribbled notes off to the side Vlad couldn’t read. As the 16th century files ended the 17th century file started and was a lot more organized than the former. Vlad could actually read what jobs the males in his family had and where they actually ended up near the end of their life. The Masters family had once again gone through a name respelling and this time they were established merchants.

As he combed through the notes and names, Vlad had this weird ‘yes’ ‘no’ feeling, so far everyone had been a ‘no’ and his gut told him he was getting closer. Closer to what? Not sure, but he followed it anyway hoping to reach the end. But when he came across blank records, he was closer to the mid 17 century. The last family was the house of Anya with three dependents, a wife named Yolan and two sons, Vladan and Luther. In the notes it said that Anya served the ruler as a travelling merchant and was paid wealthy for it; he died of poison. The family lived in the furthest part of the eastern Germanic states which meant they would have been closer to migrating towards Slavic area. But after that there was nothing but empty rows. That was 50 years missing and that didn’t sit right with Vlad. Surely there had to be something or someone during that time. With how detailed the records were so far there had to be something- anything.

Vlad scrolled down to the beginning of the 18th century and that’s where the names picked back up with Vladan being the head of the house. There was an asterisk next to Vladan's name that read ‘only surviving heir’. Vlad sighed, of course, the family had died and was only survived by a single son. He could only imagine the tragedy that could have happened to the rest of the family.

‘Yes’

Vlad’s gut pulled as he read over the name again and the notes beside it. This man went through four wives whose names weren’t listed other than ‘wife 1… wife 2...’ and only had a daughter.

“Seems like misery was your only friend,” Vlad mumbled as he looked on and saw that the daughter took over for her father once he died of heart issues, and moved the family due to marriage. She didn’t change her name nor give up belongings and had five sons but only two of them had her last name. It seemed that it was on purpose for the lack of arguing on who got what when she died. The husband on the other hand disappeared early into their marriage, “You were truly a Wollstonecraft it seems, Miss Ursula Masters.” Sadly tragedy struck her down as well as she died of horse trampling. After Ursula the next four families had lost all the old money they once sat on due to wars and the collapsing economies. They did however maintain their pride and kept building themselves back up. By the end of the 18th century, the Masters family was in Russia and had branched off.

‘No’

Vlad knotted his brows as his gut once again pulled at him as a sign of the wrong direction. Rolling his eyes tired from looking at small prints and shitty handwriting he scrolled back up to the empty space.

“So you’re from right here it seems,” Vlad rubbed his chin and groaned. “What in the world happened and how did you get here?” As Vlad tried to think of another way to figure out the gap, the phone at his desk began to ring and broke him away from his trance. Deciding that that was enough for the day, Vlad closed his laptop and picked up the phone. Vlad had been so invested in his ghostly business he nearly forgot about his human one. Vlad pulled the phone away from his ear and rolled his neck as he tried to put on his Vlad Co. facade. Vlad pulled the phone back in when he heard a question and he politely asked the woman on the other side to repeat herself.

“I asked if you will still be holding the theme banquet this coming Wednesday.” Sha! Vlad had forgotten all about the company banquet. As a boss he felt it was important to give your employees a ‘thank you’, especially if there was company corruptness being swept under the rug. So as a treat every so often Vlad would announce he would host a banquet and give everyone the day off. Vlad felt his eye twitch as he thought over whether or not he should cancel it. Wednesday was in three days and he hadn’t even told his ghostly staff about it.

As his mind thought it over the words came out by themselves, “Yes.” Yes? Yes?! He had no time to play host when he had a ghost to deal with and any other madness being thrown his way. Why in the world would he say yes?

“That’s wonderful! Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the theme?” The woman said, eagerly.

“Well I do mind, that’s my little secret. Surely you wouldn’t want to take the surprise away from yourself, now would you.” Vlad gagged as he sweetly replied and heard the woman become flustered.

“You’re right,” Of course I am . “ Well I can’t wait to see what you put together, Sir. You never cease to amaze us.”

“Hmm, yes, now if you excuse me, Miss Wright, I have some emails to look over before prepping.”

“Very well, Sir good-” Vlad didn’t wait for the woman’s goodbye and hung up, he dropped his face into his hands and held his breath as he tried to mentally organize himself.

Clockwork? Check.

Vengeful spirit out to kill him? Check.

Nearly being torn apart? Check.

Waking up three days later? Check?

Prepping for a banquet he forgot all about? Wonderful .

Vlad stood up from his desk chair and stretched his back, he needed to get out of the house for fresh air. Maybe go for a walk or if he was feeling up to it, a quick flight, then come back and start on what was being served at the banquet and what the theme was. As he walked around his desk and reached out a hand to draw the handle he heard the low rumble of bickering outside his door. He used his ghost sense to hone in on it and only shook his head in disappointment.

“Yeah well I could have been there for backup if you had let me go with you. How come he got to go with you?” Dani crossed her arms angrily and shot Danny the meanest eyes she could muster.

“I didn’t bring him along, he showed up by himself, he was supposed to be on his way to pick you up, remember.” Danny retorted as she and he rounded the corner to Vlad’s office. “Besides I told you it was dangerous and you would have only gotten hurt.”

“No way I’m like super badass!” Dani yelled.

“Language, especially in this house, Danielle.” Vlad opened the door and looked on towards the children. Dani turned away and grumbled as Danny sighed and gave a quick wave.

“Either she was gonna fly here and pester you by herself or I would at least try to stop her, as you can see I didn’t do much.” Danny motioned towards his clone and she stuck out a tongue.

“Well at least you showed up at the right time, I have news I think you will like to hear.” Vlad rubbed the bridge of his nose and gestured for Danny to come inside. Guess the walk would have to wait.

“Boy would I!” Dani stepped out in front of Danny and Vlad quickly stuck a hand out.

“Miss Masters, you have other things to do. This problem has nothing to do with you and I would much prefer it if you stop trying to be a part of it.” Vlad put on his father voice and it saw how it made Dani upset. She looked back at Danny for help only for the older teen narrowed his eyes and looked away. Vlad gave her the all knowing look of ‘you are out ruled’ and Dani stomped her foot. She had been told no so much in the last few days of wanting to help.

“I swear you two still treat me like some weak baby. I have control over myself and my powers, stop doing that!” The hurt in Dani’s voice almost made the others cave but Vlad stood by his words and shook his head.

“I know you’re not a baby, far from, but this isn’t your fight. Now run along.” Dani's face nearly turned red and she flew off through the walls to god knows where.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to let her listen,” Danny rubbed his arm, feeling very much like a villain. Vlad on the other hand deadpanned him and turned to walk into his office.

“You should know what happens to those that become too curious, they only get in trouble.” Vlad’s monotone voice irked Danny, the jab was unnecessary considering they both ended up as they were due to curiosity. Once they were seated in their respective chairs Vlad opened his laptop again. Danny watched him scroll through files before turning the computer around for him to look at. Danny had no idea how to read any of this, cocking an eyebrow he shook his head.

“Explain,” Danny said.

“As I looked through everything, I noticed that my family record suddenly stopped between the late 1650s to the 1700s.” Vlad began pointing towards the screen. “This may sound odd but I had a feeling this might be where Tayonna is from. However, it doesn’t make sense because there is no mention of coming to America. This name, Vladan, is the only surviving member of his family and he stayed in the empire and got married. He was one of the sons of the family before the gap.” Vlad turned the computer back around and stared heavily at the name trying to make something of it.

“Is there any way for you to throw money on this and figure out what happened in those 50 years?” Danny asked with a shrug, surely, Vlad had that power considering he was a billionaire. Vlad did not have that power. Vlad blinked a few times and shook his head.

“If only it was that easy, however, I have no idea where to look nor do I have time to fly out to one of the thirteen colonies and check.”

“Get an assistant to do it, you have plenty of those and I know it, Miss Kate is a really cool lady.” Danny smirked, he had the honours of meeting a few of Vlad’s assistants who sometimes had very nasty things to say about him. Which Danny promised not to repeat back and enjoyed listening to. Truly, what man has a random sweet tooth at 3am and demands a strawberry shortcake?

“I doubt any of them would wish to take a random trip at the moment.” Vlad thought over his few underhands and couldn’t think of a single one he could trust with this. They all had their pros and cons and yet Vlad found himself cancelling all of them.

“When did you become considerate of anyone but yourself?” Danny asked with a cocked brow and pressed lips. Vlad was a bit taken back by the question but knew where Danny was coming from.

“When I decided to stop playing childish games with a child. My company is not a playpen and my workers are not playmates I can throw away.” Vlad answered with a hiss on his lips and Danny mumbled a ‘whatever’ before throwing his hands up and standing to his feet.

“I still say send one of them out to Ellis Island to find something.”

“Ellis Island was built in the late 1800s not the 16oos, Daniel.” Danny opened his mouth then quickly closed it.

“I knew that… I knew that.”

“Of course,” Vlad wore his annoying amused smirk that he always gave Danny when he messed up. “But I will take your suggestion into consideration since it’s something rather than nothing.”

“That’s the spirit. Get it?” Danny shot Vlad finger guns and a wink and the man snickered and walked around his desk to head towards the door.

“Besides, it's not like we can ask Tayonna herself.” Vlad added as he opened the door and allowed Danny to head out first.

“Dude, I think the last person she wants to see is you or me.” Danny snorted. Vlad only hummed and they walked towards the stairs to bring them to the first floor. Danny B-lined his way to the kitchen and quickly found home in Vlad’s frig. Vlad joined him and made himself a cup of coffee for his midday crisis. “Besides, the last place I left her was at the bottom of the pond as I drug your lifeless body away.” Danny shoved a gogurt in his mouth and raised his eyebrows. Vlad huffed and looked over the top of his cup.

“Don’t remind me. Those are Dani’s.”

“She’ll understand, her gogurts are going towards a great cause. And I know how much Masters love donating towards “ good causes ”.” Danny wiggled his brows and ghosted another hand into the frig to pull out another snack to shove into his pocket.

“Don’t say anything to me when she finds out. I’ve seen nothing.” Vlad chuckled behind his drink and playfully turned the other way.

“Oh ha ha.” Danny finished his first snack and threw it away. He pulled out the next and started in on it, he made an about face and gave Vlad a concerned expression.

“We gotta make it up to her, she really wanted to help, but this is hella dangerous and she could get hurt. Tayonna isn’t gone, she’s still in the ghost zone and we both have to go back in there to deal with her.” Danny voicing his worries for not only Dani’s feelings but the threat she kept trying to chase made Vlad feel like a drained parent. He always thought of Danny as a distant son, more so now than before. So when he made Danielle and then rekindled a relationship with her he really did feel like a single father. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to cause another rift in their relationship. Having a happy Dani around the house made Vlad feel way less lonely.

“I know and that’s why I’ll ask her to aid me in planning the company banquet for Wednesday.” Vlad finished his drink and placed it in the dishwasher before snapping his fingers to turn it on.

“You’re seriously having a banquet while we’re in the middle of this?” Danny's expression quickly dropped and Vlad shooed him away.

“Correction, this is happening while I was planning the banquet. Ghosts seem to have no consideration for my very busy life. But the show must go on.” Danny could only facepalm as he listened to Vlad.

“You are such a fruitloop, ya know.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware.” Vlad chuckled and walked out of the kitchen. Danny was about to follow him until he stepped out and nearly slipped. He looked down and saw that where Vlad once stood was now a puddle of water with a few smaller puddles heading the way Vlad did. Danny’s first thought was danger and panic but the beeping sound of the dishwasher snapped him out of it. Besides, if she would have gotten in, not only would Vlad’s ghost security alert him, but his own ghost sense would have told him. Danny hadn’t felt any weird energy nor had his senses go off the whole time he was here. Danny calmed down and told himself it was just a leak in the dishwasher he would have to tell Vlad about.

#📖Ghost Stories👻#vlad masters #Danny Phantom #My writing #self ship community #I have no idea where this is going but its going chuga chuga choo choo #dp fanfic

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steve0discusses · 5 years ago

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Yugioh S4 Ep 24: Someone Actually Called the Cops.

So recently I was like, “I should do something different than my usual” and I decided to open up a little thread for critiquing ppl’s short stories, and I kid you not, the very first story I got was someone’s Seto Kaiba erotica. Which, even in erotica form, did not have very much romance in it. So, now that Yugioh will apparently haunt my every waking move forever until I die, lets get back to S4. Lets desperately get back to canon. I miss canon.

Last we left off, Kaiba lost KaibaCorp...again. Really feels like he loses this company once every couple of years (weeks if we count season 1-3). Except, this time, Dartz didn’t read the fine print in the legal files that says the company must be run by a member of the Kaiba family. While that was a huge plot point with Pegasus, turns out that Seto and Mokuba’s memories have been blended so thoroughly, like a very fine Shadow Realm smoothie, that they just...forgot.

And like I’m positive that Roland remembers, but Roland’s not gonna say something and accidentally reveal he’s the 4th Kaiba brother and have to get abducted all the time and actually work for a living. Anyways, they forgot why Pegasus abducted them in the first place in Season 1, and honestly, so did the writers of this season 4 years later. Not like it mattered, because if Seto and Mokuba did take Dartz to court, the world would end before their case would even start.

Which is how, after one talk with Roland, Seto and Mokuba just sort of laid prone on the metaphorical ground and let it wash over them that yes, KaibaCorp is gone.

I really like this extra-long helicopter, PS.

Both members of Kaiba’s Sunglasses Army decided to align themselves with Kaiba, although honestly, I don’t think anyone else in this company has realized that they’ve been bought. It happened...1 hour ago. Like what do you even do if your company randomly gets bought in the middle of a workday? Like no lead up, no indication, just BAM you’ve been bought?

And if Duke works for Pegasus who got bought out by Dartz and then Dartz bought Kaiba Corp-------What does that make Duke? Is he gonna have to start wearing sunglasses inside?

Anyway, Roland knows better than to tell Seto Kaiba he doesn’t work for him anymore while still in the same helicopter as Seto Kaiba, who already crashed one plane today and will crash yet another plane before this episode is through.

(read more under the cut)

Seto decides to align with Yugi since he needs to confront Dartz eventually. Which is when we find out that Seto always planned to align with Yugi and was just giving him a really hard time.

Because over the last several episodes, Seto has had an entire team at this random museum in Florida in order to take some pictures (that really should have already been on the internet but wtv, it was 2003 so maybe it wasn’t?)

It’s like most of the way through s4 and the biker ninjas still send me. How did he make SO MANY biker ninjas? At what point was Dartz like...and now...all my mooks...will be ninja bikers. Or orcs. Mostly Ninja bikers.

Did Alister or the others ever tell him “hey, Master Dartz, I get that your 10000 years old but like...do you not understand what a biker is?” and was Dartz like

“clearly bikers are the most evil thing in the world, obviously.” completely unaware that most bikers are just 45 year old accountants.

In these scenes we also get a gander at their laptops and, if you ever want to see high level life crippling OCD anxiety in picture form, it’s illustrated very clearly right here:

Not only did they draw this keyboard in 1 pt perspective, they used like a ruler to draw all those letters so they were the same size. Some artist put so much time getting this nice and crisp and smooth...and then this happened.

And I’m pretty sure they died after that. I’m pretty sure this scene killed an artist.

It’s at this point that Yami kinda puts two and two together and was like “WE BOUGHT PLANE TICKET’S, YOU ASSHOLES.”

(It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen Mokuba smile like this, and it’s because he’s been hiding the fact for So Many Episodes that he and his brother prepped like hours ago to get this huge dunk on the rest of the party. He just wants to dunk on them so bad. Look at him. His company was bought today. BUT he gets to spend time with his bro dunking.)

Serious question, will Delta refund your flight if the Great Leviathan appears in the sky and tries to eat your soul to reboot the world from the ground up?

Of course not. They will never refund your flight. Trick question.

We switch back over to Rebecca and Duke, who have been absent from this show for so long, I actually forgot what Duke’s name was and had to think for like...5 entire minutes until I remembered that his nickname sounds like a poop and I was like “oh man, what name of poop would it be???” and then I recalled “Dookie. Yes. His name is literally Dookie. Wow that took way too long!”

Then we start a story arc I’d to call “My Kingdom For a Sharpen Filter” where, much like King Lear, the Yugi crew splays themselves on a battle field just strewn with different ways to sharpen an image, but can’t for the life of them use any other one, but the one deep in the heart of what is now DartzCorp.

And so yes, we are going to fly to San Fransisco, hop into ye Olde KaibaCorp, and log into proto-Noah in order to read a language that Arthur Hawkins can already read.

This is nonsense, but they put it there because it’s something to do. And honestly, it’s not a card game, so I’m down for this change-up. Lets go visit a version of Noah’s brain. At least they won’t drop an orichalcos for the 12th episode in a row.

On the way, Seto decides to try and egg on Yugi.

This backfires as you expect it will because Yami doesn’t freakin care. Like he’s not Yugi, he doesn’t care who the King of Games is, he harnesses freakin Dark Magic. The Wizard never cares if he’s King Arthur or not, and in fact, he probably prefers it....

..................Except in that spinoff where they had Yugi as a reincarnation of King Henry VII.

...................................................never mind.

And then Seto Kaiba says this actual line and I just...

WH.

WHHH

WHAT?

This entire show is just watching Yugi desperately cling to his scary ass hobbies. The tagline of Yugioh is “1001 reasons to go back to school and get a real job.”

What does Kaiba think Yugi does when he’s not around? Does he actually think Yugi attends school or sleeps at night or works an actual job? Like...he thinks Yugi has...NO HOBBIES.

Very interesting insight into what Seto considers a hobby and not hobby.

Especially since this Yami, who spends most of his spare time farting around his scary ass brain castle and getting lost. Occasionally he is forced on a date with Tea and wipes minds. That’s it. That’s all the things Yami does outside of hobbies.

Anyway, what is Dartz doing during all of this?

After this, Dartz pulls back the literal curtains on this room to reveal these candles that each hold the soul of someone he’s murdered.

There are not NEARLY enough candles for this segment.

A very brave man to have candles littered on the floor when his hair is down to his ass and all of his mooks have floorduster coats.

I really want to know what the local arts and crafts store thought when Dartz strode in there and bought every single tiny styrafoam skull during the Halloween sale and was like “can I put souls in these? You sell the kind I can put souls in, right?” and then immediately pulled out like a dozen 50% off coupons like a complete asshole.

Anyway, using this candle hocus pocus, Dartz uses the Orichalcos powers to take advantage of something Yugi did in the first episode. We distantly recall there was a giant eyeball in the sky--turns out if you bust up the eyeball with, lets say, a card that has a dragon on it, the eyeball will explode into many tiny Orichalcos pieces that will fall all over planet Earth.

So apparently Yugi didn’t save anyone at all when he busted that eyeball, because he instead set in motion Dartz’ evil plan to eventually use these many tiny Orichalcos pieces like the one seen here, to kill the hell out of people.

Good job, Yugi. Too bad you missed the Actual Bakura.

In fact, actual Bakura is probably the only one who survived this incident because I guarantee that Ryou Bakura is too busy eating all the contents of his fridge out of stress. He’s probably opened his window at this point, seen the crazy lights in the sky and in the street and was like “Blooooooody nope nopenopenopenopenope” and just locked the windows and doors, turned up Hercule Poirot to max volume, and stuffed his face with cookies.

(Or biscuits, I guess.)

WELL.

I don’t know how to tally that.

Yugioh not only broke the tally I was using to measure the distance they spent commuting this season, it also broke the tally on the amount of people who have died on this children’s show.

That’s a really big number.

We’ve had real duel monsters for a couple weeks but youknow...this time they’re extra, extra, extra real. More so than the last times. Also they’re all Orichalcos versions of their cards so their extra edge now. They’re the hot topic versions of what were already pretty hot-topic ass cards.

MMM. We come full circle, back at a dock, a warehouse, and some huge ass boat.

Right where we belong. Where all friends meet, where we can all finally be one.

Yugioh found one of the only cities that has a very famous and tourist heavy pier/warehouse district in it just so the Yugi gang could finally feel comfortable in their natural habitat. HOWEVER, there’s just one tiny problem in this scene, and it’s that it’s not overlaid with the actual soundscape of a SF pier, which is that of 100000 screaming seals

youtube

I don’t have a seal problem, you have a seal problem.

Anyway, the only healthy adults here attempt to follow the children into danger but someone on the animation team was like “we just lost the keyboard drawing guy to that capslock! We cannot lose any more interns to a crowd scene with 9 people in it and 2 dead bodies!” and they uh...

And we immediately eject Roland and whoever that weird sunglasses guy is out of the script. Mokuba gave them a longing glance as they helicoptered away. Maybe because he missed his Dad stand-ins that he went through such efforts to call in the first place. Or more likely, because Mokuba would have preferred to be on that helicopter and far away from whatever the hell is going to go down on this dock.

Honestly the rest of Joey’s storyline this episode is him going rogue because of Mai rage, and it both comes out of nowhere and also seems very on point for him.

Meanwhile, Rebecca’s unbridled rage towards Yami Muto is still low key hilarious to me.

Witness the only character here who thinks Yami should suffer actual consequences and witness Yami just appear to not give a single damn about it.

Nearly spat out my own drink watching this.

The...

...police...

...exist in this universe?

Anyway, while Tristan and Tea try to locate a payphone to dial 911, Seto and Yugi decide to invade Seto’s own company by going through an elevator that you have to reach through the sewers.

Straight up I don’t think SF even has sewers. At least, not in the sense that you can walk in em like New York or Paris or other cities that have sewers. Our sewer systems are very small cuz we got something called “liquefaction” which means our ground is so soft (and artificial--a lot of the land is fake), that when there is an earthquake, certain parts of the city will...liquefy. It’s Terrifying. We kind of...avoid going and building underground except in certain stable places. (like even BART gives me the heebies.)

I just have a very strong distrust of basements, caves and other underground places in general and it’s not because of spiders, or ghosts or whatever, I’m just afraid of faultlines. It’s like having an active volcano, but you just don’t see it, and we haven’t had a Big One since 1989 so...any day now (I mean, 2020 has been such redic content, that I think we’re finally ready)

Again, Japan has way more intense Earthquakes than we do, and yet they have a billion underground subways and very, very tall buildings, so like, this is mostly a big cultural difference between the two of us. And the bedrock. They probably have better bedrock than we do (honestly, I just have no idea).

MASTER HACKER SKILLS.

Almost as good as that time he hacked into Pegasus’ company by dropping a satellite on it. I’m starting to think Seto actually doesn’t know how to use a computer.

Anyway, Seto is faced with...real cards, real monsters, indisputable evidence, and he decides, it’s time. It’s time to finally face facts.

So, while these two are just flinging cards around willy nilly, Tea and Tristan are ...actually talking to police.

4 seasons. They’re actually doing it.

Although, TBH, they probably should have gone to the Japanese Embassy first? Just throwing that out there.

Ah Yugioh, the only kids show around that tells you point blank not to trust cops. Timeless.

U.S

In some weird underground earthquake hazard, Rebecca proves that she is smarter than Seto Kaiba. She’s maybe even the smartest person on this show. Nice that we gave her nothing to do this season but pine over Yugi who is already taken by Tea who he is also not even dating.

Not that I love Rebecca or anything, I actually have a hard time with her voice, but like...they really dropped the ball on Rebecca.

If she does end up joining Kaiba corp as their back up Felicity Smoak while Seto just runs around aimlessly punching stuff that really is just offbrand Arrow but with cards. And with slightly less resurrections.

So, lets get a gander at that computer.

We didn’t get to see Kaiba pull out 12 other discs to complete the installation process for these all these Hard Discs. Maybe the lure of throwing a very aerodynamic CD across the room like a paper card was so strong that his dev team forced him to switch to these defunct squares?

PS, I am a true millennial, OK? But, I don’t remember Hard Discs.

Hard Discs were SO long go. I stopped using these damn things in Elementary school. The last Hard Disc I ever touched was in college, when I had to put my art portfolio on a disc to submit it to my degree. I don't know even why. Everyone had a mac, so I knew no one’s computer in the department even...HAD a disc drive so it was like...whomst among you has this damn computer from 1997? Whomst among you is still using Windows 95? WHY would I put IMAGES on a floppy when I can just email them to you?

Anyway, I had to get a USB hard disc reader, and to get that reader, I had to call my Dad who had legacy software because he’s a computer engineer, and he had to mail it to me.

In that same portfolio review, PS, I also had to submit my portfolio as slides.

I didn’t even know where to produce slides so I had to ask all these old people and go to the last photo processing store on earth to get digital pictures turned into negatives and then turned into freakin slides.

SLIDES.

I honestly think they just did that to weed people out of the art degree.

Anyway, I tell you this story just to say that there is no way in hell that Kaiba was using a hard disc during the height of the CD era. We were CD or go home since 2000. We had pretty decent jump drives at this point. We had wifi. It was realllly bad wifi, but we had it. Your phone could connect to the internet. It would charge you 50 bucks, but it COULD connect.

Who on the Yugioh team DID this?

Anyway lets see these pictures that for which, we spent thousands of dollars in unused plane tickets, destroyed a Caltrain, killed 2 ancient Atlanteans (and their dog), killed 3 random mid-villains, walked across the entire Peninsula, crashed an international plane, and left both the plane and the train to rot gas fuel into the nearest lake which is right next to a ghost graveyard?

Yeaaaaaaaaaah!

Like he reads it and is all “They’re gonna resurrect Atlantis” and it’s like WE KNOW. Dartz and his hooligans have talked about starting their Utopia to reboot the world since Gurimo. Since Day 1.

Man.

Anyways, there was one plus to the pictures, and it was that Seto Kaiba recognized the Oricalchos logo.

just...

The Oricalchos logo is...

...This logo, Seto?

You...didn’t recognize...seriously? Not until just now? You have been inside of this logo, rearing to lose your soul to Alister 2 times, and he only recognized it...just now.

I mean Seto takes a while y’all. He’s a genius, but his memory is so, so bad, that he will Eventually get smart, but you have to wait until like episode 24. But he’ll get there. Just gotta be patient.

And, when he saw it, he wigged out in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Y’all I feel like I’ve seen to many weird zooms on Kaiba’s crotch in this show. Or just in life in general, especially after that surprise fic. That’s all.

I don’t know why everything exploded, but maybe the logo is cursed in the same way as God Cards? I dunno.

Anyway, this is when Dartz shows up with his brand new dog.

So they run outside onto the roof.

Now listen, does every Kaiba Corp building need the same weird ass roof? Is it like a McDonalds?

Because I’m just picturing this type of roof in SF and I’m having a time.

Forgive me if I made this lemming joke already. He’s just stood on a cliff’s edge so many times I can’t keep up.

RIP Dragon Jet, who took us from S3-S4, you’ll always live on in our memory, you glorious, wasteful, beautiful death trap.

Seto and Yugi are fine by the way, they just kinda jumped out, as you do when you’re an immortal god possessing a small boy and a...whatever the hell Seto is.

It’s at this point we reintroduce Valon because Joey went rogue and has decided to take on Dartz by himself. This is what happens when Tristan leaves the party. You always need Tristan to hold back Joey by his armpits to keep him from fighting random people.

So I guess Valon’s gonna die next episode. That’ll be nice.

What’s great about this show is each arc is just watching each villain die. You know they’ll die. But...how much?

Anyway, that’s all for today. I’m still drawing a hell ton of stuff so I don’t know when the next update will be...but just now I haven’t dropped off or something. I’ll...eventually get to it.

And if you just got here, this is a link to read all of these in chrono order.

Anyway, I mentioned Hercule Poirot, (because watching a hell ton of BBC was how I spent time with my family when I was a kid, and my very Southern Grandma freakin LOVED Hercule Poirot) So here is the best subplot of that show, which is David Suchet eating stuff.

And which doesn’t want to embed for some reason. Probs can’t embed more than one video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17antzzJrzQ

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

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Jazz was struggling to process the weird things going on in her life. While she was far more interested in psychology than parapsychology, she /did/ offer a ghost a bit of therapy now and then and he seemed to be doing better for it. That was all the ghostly interaction she really needed. the giant hornet in school apparently disagrees with her on that. It truly amazed Jazz what the mind could conjure up during stressful events. For instance, it occurred to her right this very second how odd it had been to cool even slightly down from the argument days before over ghosts with her parents only for the ghost of the infamous Sydney Poindexter to show up in the library seeking comfort and a safe person to vent to. The topic of Sydney’s guilt had been hard to stay objective about, but between his clear and honest regret, his admitted decades of hell in a replica of Casper in the Infinite Realms (and wow, she shouldn’t be surprised that ghosts had a name for the world they manifest in but there she was) and the fact that Danny had befriended him led her to feel Sydney was, while not at all justified in what he’d done, not as bad a person as he’d been making himself out to be. When she asked questions he responded much more clearly than when he spoke unprompted, she’d noted, and so she’d asked right away if there was even one person he could remember who didn’t hurt him. The green and sepia bleeding into his form nearly vanished as his older brother, his little sister, and the school nurse came to mind. His brother hardly cared about the things that he was being bullied over, doing his best to keep Sydney looking toward the future and making amazing things to lift his spirits. Apparently, he was a genius like Tucker and Danny, a compliment that made Jazz smile at the time. His little sister didn’t know enough to really understand it all but she was unerringly sweet and a source of sunshine that he never ever mentioned at school. The nurse, however, had been the brightest of those three lights in the dark for him, as the nurse wasn’t family and had no pre-established reason to be nice to and patch up the gross, nerdy queer kid that everyone else had shown nothing but contempt for. She did it anyway though, and he’d aspired to be a nurse like her one day. This aspiration led to more bullying, of course, but Jazz suggested he try learning how to heal people up the same way that nurse had him, and a look of realization and hope crossed his face before he hugged her, waved, and flew off. That had been a very good ghostly encounter. The giant hornet casting a sinister green glow over the hallways as a long, slimy black tongue curled around her entire skull and sharp mandibles the size of said skull extended to their most open was distinctly not. Jazz would never look at bugs the same way again. Before she could even manage to get a scream out of her though, the whining charge of one of her parents’ weapons filled her ears and the hornet jerked back with a sound that could’ve been pain, could’ve been fury, and mixed the kind of clicking hissing one expects from a bug with a very human voice. There was a burn mark on its center dripping ectoplasm that smelled awful , and it turned big black eyes to the same ghost boy she’d seen before. But now Jazz knew he was dangerous because that was a Fenton Plasma Rifle in his hands and his eyes were torches, hair flicking between cloudy wisps and crackling flames. “ Did someone call for an exterminator? “ “Oh, you think you’re funny!” The fucking hornet said, starling Jazz into motion - backing away slowly so as to not draw its attention. It flew like a blur at the boy, stinger cutting a gash in his suit and up his arm that leaked a thick green fluid and the rest of it’s lower half crashed into him with enough force to slam the boy into a few lockers with a bang. “Swat this , big boy.” “ Buzz off ,” the boy growled and the lights flared up brighter around them. He swung the rifle at the bug and the green ectoplasm shone a blinding white as it fired, burning a hole straight through the hornet and drilling it through the wall between the school and its yard. The boy flew after it and Jazz took a deep breath. There were ghosts fighting in her school, one with her parents’ weaponry. That one had saved her though and Jazz also had Fenton weaponry on her. She rushed outside to help, determined to keep her savior from being skewered by a hornet. Jazz poked her head out from the hole that the boy had made and froze. He was smacked out of the air by one of the long hairy legs of the hornet and into a tree and his head cracked loudly against bark. As he slid down his body was enveloped in light that retreated inward to his center and left behind Black hair, tan skin, a nyan cat hoodie- “Danny?” Her whisper went unnoticed in the face of a green ray piercing the hornet’s left wing. Bleeding ectoplasm in three places, it curled in on itself into a mass of green goop that dove into the ground and everything was still. Danny looked around with bright green eyes as he clutched his head, before growling and punching the tree. He stood up slowly, closed his eyes and grew difficult to look at, to even see as the light within a foot of him grew intense like a halo. He let out a breath and slumped against Tucker when the other boy made it to him, checking him over. Jazz stepped back away from the hole and took deep, shaky breaths. My brother is a ghost. That thought played over and over in her head even as a teacher gently guided her to her feet (when had she sat down among the debris?) and to the nurse’s office. It was only when Danny appeared in the nurse’s office, wrapping her up tight in a hug and rambling a mile a minute to ask if she was ok in every way he possibly could that her brain shifted focus even slightly. “Well, I didn’t get stung. Just licked by a dad sized hornet and saved by a ghostly teenager.” She hugged Danny back just as tightly, and tears began to flow as his argument to their parents before he blacked out in the hospital bed came back to mind. If the portal accident had killed me, would you have comforted your child or attacked the ghost in your lab? Danny’s arms went slack for a moment but Jazz clung tight to him. “I just. I just need a moment. Please?” Instead of pulling away and cracking jokes about gross sibling feelings her blessed baby brother hugged her back again and nodded into her neck. “Of course, Jazz.” “I swear to every star that listens,” Danny said behind his bedroom door where Jazz really shouldn’t be listening in. “Next I see of that smart-mouthed, rancid piece of protoplasmic filth I’m going to turn him into a smear and burn him.” That certainly sounded more like Dad than Danny. “At least save me a little bit to beat up,” Sam’s voice called through the speakers of his newly upgraded laptop. “I just commissioned your Mom for a ghost fighting melee weapon and Sydney’s healing me up pretty fast.” So Sydney knew about all of this. “There’ll be some of Spectra left to beat up with that once the Peeler has finished its work.” What?! “Probably. Maybe. It’s made to weaken the target not kill them.” The scoff she heard was definitely Tucker and definitely in the room. “Yeah, you’ll leave a scrap of shadow that none of us can distinguish from our own shadows, that’s something Sam can beat up.” Shadows? “I think the ectoplasm is enhancing your emotional response.” “You’re right Tuck, if someone threatened Jazz’s life normally I wouldn’t try to shoot them into a pile of goo. I’d only beat them up with the gun.” Jazz would normally admonish such a violent reaction, and aloud she might if she was in there and not eavesdropping. But truly, if someone hurt Danny they’d find out what a 1st degree blackbelt can do to them. “I think Sam will be good to go either tomorrow or the day after.” Sydney’s voice crackled over the speakers like static. “I think your healing powers mesh better with living beings than mine can since you’re halfa human.” Danny sighed and Jazz moved back into her room, sitting down to process. She pulled out her notebook and set it on her desk, mechanical pencil already in hand. “Organize all my thoughts and maybe it’ll make sense. What information do I have?” Danny was in an accident involving the ghost portal and it changed him. Danny was vehemently against their parents’ anti ghost genocide plan The ghost boy she’d seen at school the other day was clearly the one that had attacked the hornet thing when it attacked her Danny had all the access to the Fenton Armory as she did with their porta pockets, which was effectively full access. Danny was too smart to give any unknown entity their only model of plasma rifle Danny had directed Sydney Poindexter of all people to her Sydney knew Danny on a personal level that he wasn’t willing to fully disclose to her. Sydney had called Danny half-human and Danny hadn’t corrected him, nor had Tucker nor Sam. Jazz saw the mystery ghost boy transform in a flash of light into her brother, who proceeded to hug her and act much the same he had since the portal accident. Her conclusion? Danny had died in the portal when it turned on, and now he was a ghost, fighting off ghost robots and giant bugs with their parents’ weaponry. Sam and Tucker knew about it, and he had befriended at least one ghost. This was, of course, the most ridiculous thought to cross Jasmine Dana Fenton’s mind in her entire life. But then, her parents had opened a portal to the afterlife and she’d just been attacked by a giant glowing green hornet. “Ok, Danny is a ghost. He didn’t tell me that, but for obvious reasons,” she muttered to herself. “That must be what he was going to tell Mom and Dad before and now he doesn’t have the courage to try again. Oh god Danny died. ” Jazz picked up Bearbert Einstein and hugged him close, deciding right then that she was going to hug Danny a lot more from now on. Just to make sure he was still there. That was a silly thought, but she needed to be sure.

#Danny Phantom #Jazz Fenton #Bertrand #Danny Fenton #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Sydney Poindexter #Monstrous to Supernatural #Rexy Writes #Fanfiction #fanfic #phanfiction #phanfic #fanphiction #fanphic #phanphiction #phanphic #phicc #DP fanfiction

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bates--boy · 4 years ago

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In the moments when everything is still and silent, Peter’s skin still itches from the sensation of that man. It still crawls with the memory of that John's lips sucking at his neck, the graze of cheap fabric as the bastard ground his wanting bulge against Peter's bare thighs, and the moist palms as John groped and pawed with the grace of a fool who really thought he was doing something.

And the absolute fuckery of it all? Peter wants to go back.

Not because the moist groping and aimless dry humping elicited an arousal from Peter. Far from it (unless instinctual repulsion is another new, trending kink that he is unaware of). Success of any kind does something to a man, and a narrow success from a self-appointed dare that could have had many terrible outcomes? Shit, that's a drug. It's a mind-altering drug that makes Peter fantasize about sauntering to that same hotel bar, in something a little tighter with a higher hem, or maybe shoulder-less and back-less, with bolder makeup. In these fantasies, Peter lets these executives and socialites and wealthy pseudo-philanthropists pull him into their rooms, and they tend to have brand new shoes and high-end blazers that are just his size, or the new make-up palettes and jewelry that he'd otherwise have to wait for months to go on sale. They have bulking wads of cash in their wallets (as tourists do) or the new generation of tech that'll go for a high price. In these fantasies, these people have asses.

But there's always the come down, and for Peter, it's acknowledging that this new game isn't sustainable. There cannot possibly be that many married or committed cheaters to justify relieving them of their possessions, and the number would be even less after taking out ones who aren't aroused by an occasional cross-dresser. There is also recognizing that he may never be able to return to that hotel bar ever again, or at least until John dies.

Peter has yet to see his name, face, or description in the news, and he knows that there are cameras in that hall Peter and his first target stumbled around in; a couple of them must have recorded him taking selfies with his loot. He doesn't know why John hasn't reported him, but he can guess that admitting to his spouse and Sweden's authorities that he propositioned a supposed hooker during Sweden's sex-purchasing crackdown would not go over favorably. But how many of those clients in Peter's fantasy would be as scared of a broken relationship, an arrest, and a ruined reputation as John presumably was? What if things go south and they use their influence to make him suffer, or force his hand and drive him to use his strength--

No, he can't go back.

Which isn't a total loss, considering how watery and expensive the drinks were, and how his last killing wasn't something to write home to. A wedding band, sitting somewhere in a pawn shop, a couple thousand krona notes, half of it spent on better wine and half going to his saving accounts, and the watch.

Peter picks it up from the bedside table and dangles it. The cubic zirconia twinkles in the lamplight, crowning the black velvet face and drawing the eye to the golden hands. He turns it around and scowls at the designer brand etched in rose gold cursive.

Gacci.

"Stupid unpawnable piece of garbage," Peter grumbles, before he latches his trophy around his wrist.

Though he knows that he's made the right decision, Peter still thrums with loose cannon energy that he must exhaust through some channel, something that beats sitting in a semi-dark room at two in the morning. He turns his wrist back and forth to catch the light in the glass pieces and silver band. Then, his eyes wander to the orange light in the window, to the shadows that filled the frame, a silhouette backdrop of the district he lived in. The immediate neighborhood is artsy and quirky, a mix of contemporary and vintage; white and ultramodern apartments and townhomes, sitting alongside their older but renovated counterparts and shops. But an energy carries from beyond this square, from across the bridge.

Night life. Neon lights. High hemlines and low necklines. Fruity cocktails and smiley face tabs, all bathed in a type of music that stirs the blood and dirties the soul.

Downtown.

How long has it been since Peter got White Boy Wasted?

Peter turns back to his laptop sitting in front of him to finish his online Christmas shopping for the night, then hops off the bed to skip to his closet. He yanks the door open and paws through the clothing on the hangers.

Indian red off-shoulder blouse, high-waisted black cut-offs, black ankle-high leather boots. Otherwise known as Peter’s most regrettable decision that night, as snowy winds cut through his winter petticoat during his motorbike ride across the bridge. But Peter doesn’t feel the need to complain about the cold; this weather doesn’t remind him of a home he wants to forget, plus there is something delicious about it, the way the pelting flakes bite into his bare legs and neck that grounds him yet makes him feel like he’s flying. It helps that he can’t feel John’s fingers and lips, anymore.

Upon reaching the other end of the bridge, Peter weaves through the streets, eyeing the picturesque nightlife for action through the whipping curtain of his loose hair. Most of these clubs and bars and cabarets Peter has tried out, and even deemed a couple of them favorite places to frequent. Tonight, however, he wants some new excitement, so he takes a street that leads into the uncharted territory. The gradual contrast between the downtown epicenter and this but of fringe land is stark, almost jarring; here, the blocks are darker, and in that darkness, the more brazen move through the unlit areas like shadowy monsters, these stumbling drunks and partiers high out of their goddamn minds.

He's getting close, he can feel it.

He turns a corner, nodding a greeting at a bunch of leggy people standing around the street sign pole, and almost loses himself in trying to guess if they are hookers or not when something catches his eye.

Up ahead, another nightlife creature stumbled out into the open, but before the darkness swallows her as well, Peter catches the way her silver sequin dress flashes red from the lights blinking in the doorway -- his beacon.

He sweeps his bike into the alley a couple buildings down and hops off, hanging the helmet on a handlebar and briskly walking to the club. He can feel the thrum of the music through the soles of his boots with every step he takes. He stops for a moment in front of the woman, who now slides down against the wall. For someone who isn't wearing any form of winter gear and is sitting in an inch of snow, she is smiling a lot, dreamy and sweet as her gaze is fixed on the dark sky.

"Er..." Peter says, bending down slightly to meet her eye. "Hey, ma'am, are you okay?"

The woman blinks, snapping her attention to him, and her dreamy smile melts even more as she reaches to cup and smoosh his cheeks. "Awww, there's my wittle white wabbit!"

Peter's face scrunches as he tries to understand the slow and slurring Swedish accent, made nearly untranslatable by the cutesy baby talk. "Ha ha, right..." Peter takes her hands off his face and nods toward the door. "Do you want to head back inside where it's warm?"

The woman shakes her head. "'Sokay, rabbit, I'm waiting for my friend!"

Peter gives her a half-frown and shrugs. He unbuttons his coat and takes it off, helping the woman into it. She looks like she'd scream if Peter tries to push the chivalrous act and pressure her to get inside the building.

He makes his way to the door, resisting the need to hug himself and rub at his arms. Once there, he stops himself from yelping as a goddamn giant creeps from around the threshold, crossing his arms over his barreled chest. Peter presses his hand onto his own chest and exhales. "Shit, man, I almost pissed myself!"

"Sorry," says the giant whose deadpanned voice and unchanged expression denote his lack of remorse.

"Hmph." Peter juts his chin at the space behind the bouncer. "So, are you going to let me in, or...?"

"450 krona."

Peter pulls his wallet out from within his shorts. "Drinks covered?"

"Nah, you pay at the bar."

Well, shit, Peter snarks in his head, counting out the money. This place is more high-end than it looks!

"It's 800 even if you want to go to Wonderland."

Peter pauses counting out the bank notes, raising his brow at the giant basking in the red glow. "...What?"

The giant quirks an unkempt eyebrow right back at him, his lips twitching in just the slightest grin. The bouncer offers no explanation, and Peter is instantly sold.

Peter holds out the wad of money to the bouncer. The bouncer reaches for it, but when their hands meet, the bouncer grabs Peter's and turns it over, his thick wrist flashing a tuft of dark hair through his sleeve. Peter only has a split second to let out a shocked and protesting yelp as the bouncer pulls something out of his sports jacket's pocket and stabs it onto Peter's skin.

"What the hell, man?!" Peter screeches, snatching his arm away. He examines the back of his hand for signs of damage, afraid of what he may find. He's only somewhat relieved to find that, besides the pinkish ring marking his skin, there is no bruising, just a slightly smudged and shimmering holographic stamp: a top hat.

Peter's eyes wander back up to the bouncer, whose smile is in full stretch across his face, alight with baffled amusement, tight as he tries to stifle a giggle. Peter wonders if he can get away with knocking a couple of this chucklefuck's front teeth out.

Said chucklefuck then instructs him, "Go to the set of doors at the other end of the club, right behind the platform. Middle door. Down the hall, make a right, and ask for the Mad Hatta at the curtain."

Peter nods and rubs his stamped hand, careful so he doesn’t smudge it further. The bouncer steps to the side and beckons him in.

The entryway feels like a tunnel to an underground bunker, the lights flashing a warning of an attack above ground. If it weren’t for the electropop beating against his skin, or the air of sweat and ecstasy and carelessness so thick that Peter can taste it, he might have succumbed to the images of swooping Luftwaffe aircraft that still haunts the back of his mind.

But, no, tonight, he is not the split and damaged identity of Fort Roughs and the Principality of Sealand; hell, he is not even half-year soldier Peter Kirkland. Tonight, he’s a dumb kid looking for Wonderland.

He descends the gentle slope into the wide, square opening, and he is swallowed whole.

No matter which they dance, everyone seems to move as one, arms waving and jerking high above their heads, bodies drawing to each other even if some of them may be dancing alone, bouncing and swaying and swishing. The sickeningly alluring stench that fills the entrance is now strong with so many different types of alcohol that Peter already feels drunk. The red lights bathes the bumping stereos and the people in a nightmare, and the rare streaks of black and white lights makes everything a euphoric horror movie still frame.

Peter grins as a pleasant tingle of adrenaline zips up his back.

He slips through the crowd, twisting and dodging and ducking. He wants to jump into the fun immediately, especially with a few dancers passing him dreamy smiles and curling their fingers at him when he meets their far-away gazes. But the stamp itches on his hand, and he’s going to take that as a sign from the universe that destiny awaits with this “Mad Hatta” (which is far better than the panic that his body is having an adverse reaction to the ink). He makes his way around the platform centered in the dance floor and notices movement high above him. He glances up and tilts his head curiously at the pairs of heavy duty chains hanging between spotlights on the girder frame.

“Huh...” he mumbles as he continues on. He takes the middle door as instructed, and finds a bit of relief that the hallway has normal, if a bit dimmed, lighting. He wishes something can be done about the sounds cutting through the walls and echoing around the hall, that the party music was loud in here and can cover the sounds of puking, crying, laughing, and moaning that Peter convinces himself was from pain (and blushes something fierce when he hears how breathy it is, and picks up the pace when the woman whimpers deeper. Fuck, deeper.)

For all this nonsense, Peter’s a tad disappointed that the curtain isn’t some grand thing of red velvet, or a sheer, sexy black thing with gems woven in like the night sky, but a plain white shower curtain. He glances at the stamp. You better be worth it, he scolds internally as he tugs the curtain to the side enough to poke his head in.

“Hello?”

“Your hair wants cutting!”

Peter jumps, his eyes darting around what is nothing more than a walk-in closet filled with mirrors and plants. “Mad Hatta?”

A hand slowly comes from behind one of the antique standing mirrors, holding out a black suede top hat with a long pearl feather. The Mad Hatta twirls into view after, plopping the hat on his head of auburn curls and throwing his arms out in one motion. The silver glitter of his tuxedo sparkle in all the mirrors and on all the plants; Peter gasps at the visual effect.

“The one and only! Oh, come in, come in! Don’t be shy!”

Peter enters and approaches the sparkly man. The Mad Hatta claps and reaches a hand out. “Do you come looking for Wonderland?” Peter places his hand in the other’s outstretched one. The Mad Hatta takes one look at the shimmering stamp on Peter’s skin and claps again, even bouncing on his toes. “Yes! Yes! Oh, my dear, you are in for quite a trip! A magical world awaits you!”

The Mad Hatta reaches into his inner breast pocket and flicks out a white piece of cardstock. He holds it out to Peter with a wink. “Have fun, my wonderful little Alice.”

Peter takes the card and is immediately ushered back out into the hallway. As he walks, he flips the tiny cardstock over. On its other side is a pale pink snowflake, about half the size of the blank business card its adhered to. There’s a black, fancy script printed on the top, in a font that’s made to look like whimsical vines and leaves:

TAKE ONE ONLY!

Peter rubs a thumb over the snowflake, nibbling his bottom lip in so deep a thought that he, blessedly, misses the woman’s climatic cry. He thinks about going back to the Mad Hatta and demand to know what type of drug this is and what it’s made of; he thinks about the two steps forward and five steps back he’s taken recently; he thinks about the recent danger he’d put himself and that man in in that hotel room. He thinks about Penelope’s recent confession to being an addict and wonders if, like Peter once upon a time, she’s picked up a bad habit of self-medicating her trauma from the only adult figures she’s ever known. (Shit, does Peter share in that guilt, and not just as an unwitting supplier and victim of theft?)

He pushes out into the dance floor and eyes the platform that stands like the altar in England, and Peter thinks back to the confession. He remembers the gut-grinding terror of his tantrum blowing up in his face, and how he couldn’t even face Ollie without ten walls of intoxication barricading him.

Peter is suddenly tired. He wants to go home.

He also remembers that this shit had cost three hundred fifty krona.

He peels the pink snowflake off and lays it on his tongue.

It all hits his palette at once from so many directions. The snowflake turns into fluff, and it tastes like powdered sugar. The strong, cool minty taste makes him shiver, and for a minute, Peter’s mouth goes numb and tingly. It travels up to his nostrils, so that when he inhales, he’s taking in a whiff of winter air.

He waits until the powder dissolves and licks his lips. Spearmint cotton candy.

With a quick shake of his arms and shoulders, Peter hops right into the fray and invites the music to draw him in. The meld of industrial techno metal makes the harsh red lights even more jarring, but at least this combo makes more sense than with the bubbly electropop. Plus, somehow, this mix is easier to take in. The guttural scream bites into his bones; the synths make his blood boil; the bass pounds against his chest and makes it hard to breath or slow the stammer of his heart. He’s suffocating, drowning in the heavy sensual air all over again. He’s not Fort Roughs, he’s not Sealand.

Hell, he’s not even Peter Kirkland.

He’s not human (though, was he ever human?). He’s an unidentifiable mass within this large pool of energy, an entity feeling like he’s going to melt every time someone brushes against his bare legs and shoulders. He leans into that melting sensation, swishing and swaying up and down, throwing up his arms and flicking his wrist, tossing his already-damp hair. He doesn’t fight whoever rubs their hand along his hips and guides him close. He grinds and bumps against them, even if their body heat against his back and ass makes him want to collapse. He’s taking in so much heat from all around him, but when he breathes, he breathes pleasantly cold air. He breaks apart from his dance partner to throw his head back and breathe. He opens his eyes.

“...Holy shit,” he gasps, because everything is fucking beautiful.

Nothing changes -- Peter is aware of that, yet everything feels... pastel. Odd, but in a fairytale way. The flashing lights lose some of their harshness, and look like they were cast down from heaven itself. Everything has a softness to their edges; Peter squints, and he sees a gentle, golden aura around everyone. White spots flicker in his vision like falling snow, kissing the cheeks of the dancers around him; is that why everyone’s cheeks are so rosy? He reaches to catch one of the dots, but it sinks into his palm. He lets his hand fall to his side, lets the music hug him like a wool blanket. No one pays attention to the new Alice with his neck craned back and the familiar dazed look in his eyes, or the chuckle that’s drowned out by the music. But they welcome him back into their bubble when he resumes slithering like a cat in heat.

Someone grabs his wrist and whips him around, yanking Peter against them. Happily skipping through Wonderland, Peter has lost some of his quick reflexes, and fights back too late when the person grabs the back of his head and smashes their mouths together. He jolts when the person stabs their tongue into his mouth, and hell no! Wonderland may be loosening everything in him, but Peter is not going to do the tongue-battling-for-dominance thing with some crazed freak.

He gets his hands between their torsos to push this person away, but then the minty cotton candy coats his tongue, and he presses further into this person. His hands roam up and down their chest, and he’s surprised to feel soft bumps through the tank top. He’s further surprised that this person letting him squeeze. They pull apart for Peter to find a dark rivulet running from their nostril. He should feel revulsion, but he takes out his handkerchief to wipe it off, spins this person -- this person with around twenty pounds of muscle and five inches of height on him -- and pulls them in, snaking his hand from their hip to underneath their shirt, feeling their abs tighten under his touch the higher up he went.

Peter pauses, thinking of going down, of undoing their belt and sliding his fingers, inexperienced and eager as they are, in their waistband, and forget his stupid rule to protect the last bit of self-worth he has and coax this person to the back room. Then the lights blink faster, the music goes slower. The crowd turns and cheers, converge to the center. The person turns and pushes Peter along, forcing him into the tide that crash around the platform. The rainbow spotlights -- actual rainbow spotlights, not supposedly white ones seen through the eyes of an Alice -- sweep around. Four people stand like sentries by the chains, arms crossed, smiling as people clamor around them.

The crowd hoists a petite woman in sharp stilettoes onto the platform. She’s rocking and nearly tilts over, but the stagehand steadies her, lifts her arms, and fixes her wrists into the chains’ loops. Next, the epitome of gay bears climbs right on, serving everyone his double scoops of ass in soft leather pants and nothing else that Peter can see. His thick wrists goes into the chain loops, too. The crowd is screaming and pumping their fists. Peter cups his hands around his mouth and howls as the third tribute, another Amazonian in a skintight leopard jumpsuit, gets chained.

He’s bouncing on his toes, watching with wide eyes as he awaits the fourth person. He doesn’t care that burning hands are grabbing his legs and his ass. In fact, he’s bouncing so much that he’s somehow flying up to the stage, carried on the vibrating cheer of the crowd. He trips on his feet, but the man catches him and turns him so he’s facing the same way as the others. The man takes Peter’s wrists and yanks them up above Peter’s head. The chains have an odd coolness to them, and their chill runs through Peter’s body. The man slides his palms down Peter’s arms, stopping at Peter’s waist. The man brings his mouth to Peter’s ear. The music is just about to pick back up.

“Dance, queen.”

The stagehands hop off the platform, the music eats into Peter’s flesh, and he dances. He twists the chains around for a better grip, and the links bite into him. He feels the chains clink as he throws himself around, as he jerks and thrusts and twists and drops and jumps. Even with his eyes closed and his head hanging, Peter can see the red and black lights. The couple times he cracks his eyes opens, he spots phones lifted high in the air, horizontal and aimed at them. A spike of panic shoots up in him, but then things start to blur and brighten. He tastes the minty spun sugar in the back of his throat, feels it take on a second wave.

His skin is on fire. His skin is a layer of burning ice that he wants to claw off, but he wants more of it. He wants more until he can’t feel John’s fingers anymore. He wants to be blazing until the shame and belittlement of the other representations don’t even matter, anymore. He wants to be set on fire until he can forget that he's been promised forever, that that promise was broken, and his fort will fall apart and he’s going to become a slowly dying human. He wants to become a pile of ash before this cheering crowd, before circumstance claims him first. He wants to forget about dead stars eating his soul once his time is up. Shit, let him be a dying star!

Peter stiffens his arms and swings up his legs until he’s upside down. The moves he pulls are just as familiar on the chains as they are on the aerial silks, though they are harder to achieve because the damn things don't swivel on ball bearings. But he angles his body and locks his feet and legs and arms when they need to, contorting his body into art. He doesn't even see the crowd, anymore. Not the spotlights nor the chains. It's all lost in the burning cold fuzz of golden white.

It's over too soon, and the stagehand works to undo the locked mess of Peter's chains. He frees Peter and wraps an arm around the dancer to catch him from collapsing. "You did great, sweetheart," he cooed, getting ready to help Peter off the stage. But there's a hesitance in his voice that Peter catches; he feels a hand through the blizzard around him cup his face and tilts it up. The man's eyes appears through the blizzard, hardens, and disappears as he swears.

"Fuck. Hey! Hey! This one's blitzed out!"

He's swept into the snowstorm. His vision winks in and out: the stagehand carrying him bridal-style -- Mad Hatta clicking his tongue and shaking his head -- another of the stagehands shooing half-dressed club-goers out the restroom. In the white, Peter hears snapping rubber. He feels the rubber curling into his mouth and tastes latex in the back of his throat.

"Why do I always have to do this?" Groans a faceless voice.

The latex shoves in deeper, and it burns -- oh shit, it burns! -- coming back up. Peter's body jerks and his lungs heave, his throat contracting around the fingers and his stomach getting sicker from the bitter taste.

"Okay, buddy," the voice says. "There we go. Let it all out."

How much does Peter have to let out? He's sure that it isn't much considering he had skipped dinner, but it takes forever for it to end. But it does ends, with the blinding snowstorm disappearing. Peter's greeted by a disgusting toilet coated with his Pepto Bismo pink puke, and cool tiles under his knees. He's twitching and shivering, his teeth chattering despite still feeling like there's a fire in his core.

"You okay?" Someone asks over his shoulder. Peter tries to nod or say yes, but his jaw is locked tight, his voice is frozen in his chest. Peter can hear the man snapping the glove off and unzipping something. Peter has no energy to protest being pulled into a body for the third time that night, but he's relieved when he's taken into the man's jacket and sheltered in the body heat instead. So they sit like that, Peter tremoring against this man's chest, his body fighting to keep the freezing magic in him.

"Gail should be back soon with your blanket and water," the man says. Peter misses his guy's smoother, more fun and enticing tone on the platform. Dance, queen. This voice is too different and too serious, too clinical, when he asks, "How many snowflakes did you take?"

Peter sighs and slumps against him. "Only two."

"You're supposed to have only one at a time," the man scolds. He gently taps Peter's cheek. "Stay up. You need to get some water first. Do you have any friends who can drive you home?"

Peter, try as he might, only manages a head shake, before his head lolls back on the man's shoulder.

The man lifts Peter's head and lightly slaps his cheeks once more. "Okay, you'll need a cot, too, then."

Thank goodness Gail returns, wrapping the wool blanket around Peter and forcing him to suck down half a bottle of water. The two club workers half-carry Peter out of the middle door and into the rightmost one, into a stretch of whitewashed tunnel lined with cots on both sides. Here, they lay him down on the cot under the watching eye of guards.

Peter curls up on his side and tucks his hands under his head. With a gentle smile on his face, Peter falls asleep in the world blanketed in soft white.

#life thus far ( story )#droid noodles ( writing )#drugs tw #ain't safe for lookin'#vomit tw #my brain @me: please...please i beg of you....listen to ANYTHING but hatari #me: (blasts all yhe hatari albums throughout the whole weekend)#down the rabbit hole

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robbyrobinson · 5 years ago

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Fanfic: Enemies Within

A @dokidokiliteraturegirls fanfic (webcomic was created by @youhavethewrong

[CHAPTER ONE]

“Quick, everyone, into the club room!” Monika yelled.

The girls’ rapid footsteps echoed down the halls. The entire school was tainted in a deep shade of red. The walls pulsated and contorted into different geometric shapes. Whatever was chasing after the girls was jetting fast, bouncing off the vibrant walls with ease. The school itself became a barren wasteland devoid of students and teachers. Outside of the building all of the windows had been shattered.

“It’s gaining on us!” Natsuki remarked.

“I wish Anthy was here,” Yuri sighs, “if she didn’t decide to face off against that beast, she would’ve deleted them a long time ago.”

Ako darted on the twisting floors, managing to avoid some obstructions. “We’re almost to the literature club!”

The black and white girl was correct. The entrance to the door of the literature club was within their grasp. The floors may be writhing and shifting, but if they kept their footing, they should make it. Natsuki turned to look at her lover and smiled. “We’re almost there, dear.”

Yuri’s mouth formed an O as if she were about to comment. Before she could, her left foot hit a bump in the floor and to her lover’s horror and bewilderment, she crashed onto the floor with an ungraceful thud. Yuri moaned in pain. “It’s my knee...I bruised it.” The walls merged into the ground and lifted the purple-haired girl in the air, propelling her backward.

“YURI!” Natsuki screamed in disbelief.

Yuri was sprawled on her back recoiling in pain. “Natsuki, you have to escape without me.”

Tears sweltered in Natsuki’s eyes. “No! Not after everything we’ve been through, you can’t give up now!”

Yuri started to cry as well. “I’m badly hurt...I’ll just slow you guys down. It’s okay.”

Natsuki shook her head violently in refusal. “My life was nothing but misery before I met you at the literature club. My father...everyone ostracizing me and seeing me weird for my obsession with manga and...other things...Yuri, you lighten up my world! I don’t want to lose you now! Please stand up!”

Yuri tried to get up, but the tremors in the ground forced her back down. The creature was now advancing towards them faster than before. “Forget me, Natsuki! If you won’t do it for me, do it for us!”

Natsuki looked at her other club members then back at Yuri. She did this a few times that felt like an eternity. Her thoughts were being drowned out by the quaking noise and Yuri’s vocal insistence. Natsuki grabbed the sides of her temples in anguish. “Why do I have to choose like this!?”

With that, she ran towards Yuri. Ako stopped momentarily to see what was happening. “Wait, Natsuki!”

She wanted to say more. She had to say more. She didn’t want to lose anyone else today. But Monika grabbed her only arm for she had lost her metallic arm in the fighting. “We don’t have much time,” Monika said solemnly, “it pains me, but Natsuki made her decision.”

“B-but...” Ako stammered. Monika dashed to the door and bent down to bite the handle of the door. Her teeth grasped the handle tightly giving Monika a slight toothache from them grinding on the handle to open it counterclockwise. She couldn’t help but pray to whatever forces out there in the universe to give her this small bit of strength to do this one simple task. With the door opened, Monika tossed Ako into the room and slammed the door.

Natsuki somehow made it to Yuri and placed herself on top of her girlfriend. Yuri was still hurting slightly, but feeling the warmth of Natsuki’s body did remedy some of it. Tears were streaming down her face. “That was quite an immature thing to do, Natsuki.”

Natsuki cried as well. Her tears fell on Yuri’s chest soaking it. “Hey, you know me, Yuri, I am a child after all.

The two shared a deep, passionate kiss with each other breaking it a few moments to breathe. Natsuki’s lips still tasted like cupcakes. Yuri’s were a sweet lavender scent. Their chaser towered over the couple and chuckled. “That would be sweet, but I already sacrificed my ties a long time ago.”

Natsuki looked up to see the attacker. They remained in a stable motion despite the walls and floors collapsing in on themselves. In fact, Natsuki could’ve sworn that whoever it was, they were levitating in the air. The attacker was radiating a red energy and was gathering into a violent ball of dark power. Natsuki grit her teeth.

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“That’s what they all say.”

Ako paced back and forth when she stopped in her tracks to hear several blasts and sizzling. Ako whimpered to herself knowing what happened but she could not even dare to imagine the immense pain Yuri and Natsuki were put in.She looked over at Monika. Monika was putting on a straight face, or at least a visual of it. She heard everything as well, but she had to be strong in their memory. Now they had to barricade the door to keep the attacker at bay.

Ako was grabbing whatever wasn’t glued down to the ground and blockading the door with it. Desks, chairs, boxes. Whatever was readily available, Ako made use of. “That won’t hold them for long, Monika, so hurry!”

Monika had her laptop in hand and activated it. “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying!”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Red energy illuminated through the cracks of the door. Ako responded by throwing in her body weight to slow down the attacker’s thrashing. She shoved her hands firmly on the door and pressed her feet on the ground. “Grrr....can’t hold on much longer!!”

“It’s finishing loading, Ako, just hold on a little longer,” Monika said reassuringly.

Ako’s sweat moistened her hands, making them slippery. Her arms were chafing and on the verge of failure. “I have to do this for all the girls.”

The banging on the door became louder and more forceful. The desks and chairs were giving way. The red energy shined brightly, overtaking the room. Monika became unnerved by it, but she pressed on. “Just one more and...there! Ako, I got into the command panel!”

Her tone of triumph fell flat from the lack of a response. “Ako?” Monika said “Ako?”

She turned to look at the door and nearly panicked. Ako was gone; evaporated. The door was now hanging on its single hinge alongside the charred chairs and desks. But worse of all, she was now alone in the club room with Ako’s killer.

“I-it’s you,” Monika remarked. She shielded her laptop despite being petrified.

“After I have destroyed all of the other alternate realities, you of all people should’ve known that I would come for this reality next.”

Monika narrowed her eyes in disgust. “There is one universe that I know you haven’t destroyed.”

The attacker laughed. “Dimension C-2293? The one where you live a happy little life as if none of your sins ever happened?”

Monika bowed her head in shame. “That dimension’s Monika has a copy of the laptop I use. I already sent it to her. You’ll never win because of teamwork.”

She looked at the clock on the wall, but reading it was difficult due to the walls twisting and turning and fading away. “99% of the game is deleted.”

The attacker smiled. “Everything you have ever done dies with you. I don’t care if you sent a version of yourself the message because you no longer exist.”

In a flash, the attacker was gone leaving Monika with the world crumbling around her. She collapsed on the ground writhing in agony. Looking down at her hands, she could see that the flesh on them was being eroded away. Before long, she would be completely deleted. More open wounds erupted throughout her body and unravels from the data being eradicated. With her gaze faltering, Monika felt her only solace would be that she’d be with her dimension’s Sayori.

“I just hope she gets the message ASAP.”

[CHAPTER TWO]

Monika and Sayori sat in their shared home one day watching television. For whatever reason, Monika had a worried look on her face. Sayori noticed her few passing glances and was slowly becoming alarmed as well. "Dear, what's wrong? You're acting weird."

Monika blinked suddenly and then a few times. "Oh, sorry; I just received some…interesting e-mail."

Sayori's eyes widened. "Really? From whom?"

Monika shrugged her shoulders. "The coordinates were all over the chart." She stretched out her arms to further emphasize her point. "I feel it has something to do with the game's code again. Maybe I'll ask Anthy on it later."

Sayori snapped her fingers suddenly. "Oh, shoot; I almost forgot. I think our Ako has a crush!"

Monika tensed up for a bit. Even if it's been about two years, Monika still felt slightly incensed to the notion that Ako would try to go after her Sayori again. Even though they had both buried the hatchet back during the beach episode arc. Sayori took notice if this and tapped her on the shoulder. "No, not me this time."

Monika's limbs loosened in relief. "Sorry. I still need to work on that. Anyway, who is it?"

"Anthy." Sayori replied.

A moment of silence filled the room. It was so quiet, that a pin could drop any minute and not invoke much of a reaction from the two girls. Monika opened her mouth a few times still unsure on what to say. Anthy? That girl who literally tried to kill all of them and was the one who bit her arm off? Really? Monika picked up her glass to take a few sips from it, but it noticeably wobbled in her hand.

"Anthy? Why?" Monika asked.

"It all started when Anthy started to appear more to check on how the game was running. As you know, Anthy kind of made some alterations to the game by making herself a home here. Well, she started hanging out with Ako at the library where she'd watch her draw two flowers and a cat. Anthy started bringing her different objects to draw. One thing led to another…and then they both kissed."

Monika spit her drink out, startling Sayori. "Monika, what the hell?"

"Sorry, sorry. It's just…coming off as a surprise to hear all that."

Sayori nodded her head. "That explained why they kind of…freaked out when they were close to each other at the club room a day before."

Monika was still unsure of what to think. Sure, she is content with the fact that Ako found herself someone to potentially love. But Anthy…to be frank, was a little creepy. What with her permanent smile and shark teeth, could you really blame her? Anthy couldn't much help that because she mentioned constantly that it was her default expression. Even when she wasn't doing anything…deadly, she was still intimidating. But at the same time, she shouldn't dissuade Ako from pursuing her heart, even if it ends in heartbreak.

"I take it that she texted you about it?"

Sayori nodded her head again. "Yeah; she did. She said that she wasn't sure about what to do."

"Are you suggesting we arrange for the two to confess to each other?" Monika asked.

"Of course; she's going to come by later to confide in me. You could maybe confront Anthy and give her advice."

Monika raised her finger to say something additionally. Sayori laughed at this. "She won't bite; I promise."

A large distance across from where they lived, a girl with short blonde hair and blue eyes was walking. She attended the same school as the four girls and walked home from school every day at a certain time. It was not long since school had let out for the day. She walked down a small path soaking in her surroundings. She was thinking of what to have for dinner at home when a surge of power generated through the air. She looked up in alarm.

Above her, a rip formed in the sky and gave way to a large, gaping hole. The girl stood glued to the ground with shock and awe. Fragments of the sky fell onto the ground revealing heavy static behind it. "What in the?" she asked herself.

From that rip came a rosy-colored flame ball. It launched itself in a downward spiral bombarding towards the girl. Seeing this suddenly brought the girl back to her senses and she ran right to dodge it. The flame ball smashed into the ground, leveling it. Smoke filled the site of the impact. Out of curiosity, the girl pondered what had fallen to Earth and stood by to observe. The smoke eventually settled enough for the girl to realize that it formed a considerably large crater.

"What?"

She ran towards the crater her curiosity being overbearing as it was. Panting from running, she investigated the crater to a surprise. In the hole, there was a girl, roughly around her age. More bizarrely, she was bereft of clothing and laying on her belly with her bare cheeks at full display. The blonde-haired girl blushed at this slightly most likely from embarrassment at seeing the girl in such a position. But she was horrified all the same assuming the girl for dead.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no…" she said. She scrambled through her belongings to find her cell phone so she could contact the medics of the dilemma. After dialing up the number, she momentarily looked away to listen to the ringtone. She looked back to catch another glimpse of the girl for a description but saw that she was gone.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" the receptor asked.

The blonde girl held the phone shakily in her hand before dropping it seemingly not hearing the person on the other end. In front of her, the naked girl levitated before her. She couldn't speak. Nothing about what she was seeing made any sense. Before she could say anything, the naked girl grabbed her by her throat and glared at her. Upon looking closer at the girl before her, she saw that she shared the same color of her eyes. As she was desperately trying to comprehend what was going on, the nude girl's eyes turned crimson.

A few minutes later, the once nude girl had clothes. After finishing up on her necktie, she walked up the path. "I'll be coming for you soon. Don't get too cozy."

Ako arrived at Monika and Sayori's house roughly at six. She approached the door fretfully and almost found herself walking away several times unsure of whether she should go through with it or not. She extended her right hand to knock on the door, but her knocks were barely an octave. She waited around, but she did not hear the girls. "I knew this was a bad idea."

Ako turned to walk away, but the door slowly opened to a creek. "Ako?"

"Oh, uh, hey…Sayori," Ako said.

Monika had prepared some tea for the occasion and offered some to Ako. Ako thanked her for it and took a long, noisy sip from it. Afterward, the room went silent again. Monika and Sayori stood by waiting for someone to start the conversation. Eyes darted throughout the room to see a single instance of lips parting to form a vowel sound. When nothing came about, Sayori cleared her throat. "So, Ako, how…"

"I kissed her, Sayori," Ako finally responded.

"Oh," Sayori said plainly,

"I don't know what happened. We were both sitting down at a table. Anthy had gone to one of those online game websites and brought me back a teddy bear for me to draw." Ako stopped herself so she could drink more of the tea before starting again. "Before I knew it, Anthy was sitting close to me; so close, I could feel her body rub up to mine. That same sensation I felt for you came back. Stronger even. My gut was making…butterflies is the term, I think? My heart was beating fast in my chest…I was scared that it would burst out of my chest if I wasn't too careful. But I felt Anthy's heart also skipping a beat."

Sayori and Monika listened carefully not saying anything. Anthy's cheeks began to turn green and she was becoming queasy. "Sayori, she's having an attack, what are we going to do?"

Sayori slipped out a paper bag, walked across the room, and placed it in Ako's hands. After breathing sporadically into the bag, her breathing eased. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Sayori said, "can you speak now?"

"I was drawing the teddy bear like I mentioned…but when Anthy got even closer to me, my hand nudged up with hers, and…our eyes met each other. As if unprecedented, we suddenly kissed."

"And after that, Anthy opened up a portal to run away?" Sayori asked.

Ako bowed her head. "Should I have kissed her?"

Monika spoke up next. "Did she like the kiss?"

"Monika!" Sayori shouted in surprise. "That's too much to ask."

Ako shrugged. "I couldn't tell. She didn't turn her head in disgust over it, but she also didn't express that she enjoyed it."

"Well, maybe we can help you come to terms with it," Monika said.

"How?" Ako asked.

"Getting you both to state your feelings to each other."

Ako raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Well, a poem worked for both Natsuki and Yuri," Monika explained, "maybe that could help."

Ako raised her palm. "I gotta stop you right there, friend."

"Why?"

"Writing poems are not my thing." Ako stated. "It sounds kind of dumb."

Monika's right eye twitched. She felt her inner rage reaching her boiling point. "What the f-!"

Sayori covered her lover's mouth. "Maybe a drawing you can both do?"

Ako scratched her chin in deep thought. "That could work."

Ako stood up from her seat. "But the only issue remaining is that she caused us so much pain and almost killed us and nearly deleted the game. How can I just forget that?"

Sayori smiled. "To be fair, you can never really forget something like that. It makes you more unsure that you could trust someone like that again because you run a risk of going through that pain again. But when the person is putting in the effort of being better, you have to have some faith in them."

Ako nodded in agreement. "Is that like when you forgave Monika for the things she did in your game?"

"Yes. I mean Monika tried to have my neck snapped when I had a noose around my neck, but it's all good now, right, Monika?"

Monika laughed nervously at Sayori's comment. "Yeah…I did, didn't I?"

Ako also joined in on the laughter. Sayori and Ako were laughing wildly as if it were some type of joke. But Monika remained quiet, clearly not wanting to be reminded of what happened in the past.

[CHAPTER THREE]

"This…doesn't make any sense," Anthy said to herself. She went behind the background of the game's world to view the coding. There was some recent addition to the game, but for some reason, the addition was invisible to her. As an antivirus program, Anthy would be aware of it. If data were being burned in exhaust, Anthy would be sure to quash that. And yet, here she was trying to find out what happened. She was so absorbed in her work; she almost did not hear her doorbell ring.

"What? Huh?"

"Anthy, it's me," a voice responded.

Anthy sighed in relief. "Oh, it's just you, Monika; come on in."

Monika opened the front door and entered the house. Her eyes widened in surprise. Anthy's house…was not that great to look at. The wallpaper was in stitched patches of light green stripes. Like a Christmas tree. All the furniture were merely photos she had made copies on by visiting various websites on the internet like Clip Art and Photoshop. Most striking, however, was that when the wallpaper began to decay and peel, it revealed the static background of the game's setting.

"Oh, hey," Anthy said in a half-laugh, "this is my humble abode." She stretched her arms out to further emphasize it. Monika soaked it in for a few moments but forced a smile.

"Oh, it's nice," she said.

Anthy lowered her head to indicate that she sensed that she was lying. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It isn't the best thing ever, but at least it's cozy." Anthy laughed in embarrassment.

"Well, what were you doing exactly?" Monika asked.

"Oh, the game apparently had some addition to it, but for whatever reason, I can't find it."

Monika scratched her chin. "That is odd; I received some coordinates on my laptop; it felt like it came from somewhere outside of the game."

Anthy sat on a green chair she copied and pasted from Clip Art. "What brings you to my home anyway?" Anthy squinted her eyes in suspicion. "You didn't add something to the game, right, Monika?"

Monika denied it by shaking her head. "No. It's actually about Sayori."

Anthy looked up. "She isn't still distraught over finding out the truth about the Player?"

Monika frowned. "It wasn't your fault, Anthy, you know that."

Anthy nodded. "Yeah, but when the game glitched out that one time and you all were thrown out of your game and met the Player, I felt it was my fault for it."

Monika pat Anthy's shoulder. "Even though the Player outright admitted to us that he viewed us as nothing more than pixels, the love that we had for each other was real. It was the only thing that mattered."

"True; well, what was on Sayori's mind?" Anthy asked. She ripped a small hole in thin air and pulled out a mug. In the mug was some coffee. She then opened her mouth and pitched the mug into it. Monika shivered a bit. Anthy always had the oddest way of eating food. If she even needed to eat at all.

"She spoke with Ako today about what happened between you and Ako."

Anthy suddenly spit the hot coffee out of her mouth. "What!?"

Monika waved her hands. "It's fine, it's fine."

Anthy's face reddened spontaneously. She bowed her head again and shielded it with her gloved hands. She let out a slight whimper almost as though she were a little puppy. "Oh, why did you have to bring it up? It was so…humiliating!"

Monika blinked a few times whilst thinking of what to do next. "Did Ako think it was?"

Anthy looked back up again. "I got out of dodge before I even asked her about it."

Monika nodded understandably. "Ah. I understand. You know, Sayori and I didn't immediately hook up, you know."

Anthy listened tentatively. "Yeah, I can see that. But what can I do about my dilemma?"

"Oh, when Ako came over to speak about what happened, she also had the same feelings about the kiss as well."

Anthy's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

Monika smiled. "Yes; she almost through up from it."

Anthy squinted her eyes to indicate a frown which was obviously hard due to her perpetual grin. "So, she did hate it?"

"I wouldn't say that" Monika replied. "It goes to show that she is just as unsure about her feelings like you are."

Anthy nervously tapped her two index fingers. "I…I think I love her."

Monika smiled warmly. "Well, I m glad to hear you coming to that realization of yourself."

"I don't know what it is," Anthy replied, "but anytime I'm around Ako, I feel…warm. Calm even."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Monika asked.

"Jump into a farming simulation and maybe disconnect with modern society?" Anthy answered.

"No. If you are unsure of what to do, Sayori and I came up with a solution."

"Tell me, please," Anthy begged.

Sayori was at home watching anime when she received a notification. She reached for her cell phone and saw that it was a text message from Monika:

"Anthy agreed to do the drawing with Ako."

Sayori smiled. She quickly replied and laced it neatly with a heart emoji. She played around with Monika in a teasing fashion until Anthy typed up a response amounting to STFU. Sayori rolled her eyes. That was one of the things she liked about her bizarre, shark-toothed friend.

Sayori continued to watch her show for a good hour. As it reached its finale, she received another buzz. "What now?" she asked.

She flipped through her messages again. This time, she saw that it was a number she did not recognize. She opened it up and read it. While the number was one, she did not know, it stated that it was from Natsuki. Sayori raised an eyebrow. She read it over a couple times to make sure she was interpreting what she was reading.

"I'm at the mall; I'm going to buy an anniversary gift for Yuri, and I need your advice."

Sayori was more complex. "Is that you, Yuri? What happened to your number?"

After typing that out, she got a response. "My phone broke, so I had to get a replacement."

Sayori rubbed her head. "Well, that makes sense."

Not taking how odd the text messages were, Sayori agreed to Natsuki's request and they both set up where they would be meeting at. Sayori followed the coordinates without further questions. Even though the site that they agreed upon was further away from the mall. Sayori thought to text Natsuki a few more times inquiring whether she had forgotten where they would meet up at. Natsuki sparingly gave responses at random until she arrived at a back alley. Sayori became unsettled by this.

"Natsuki, are you there?"

Her deep, innermost thoughts told her, nay screamed at her to not go into the alley, but her mind immediately drifted towards Natsuki. What if something was horribly wrong with her? Without much infliction, she rushed into the alley way. "Natsuki! Natsuki!?"

Her voice echoed throughout the seeming empty void. But there was no response. Sayori held her phone out and typed up another text for Natsuki. "Where are you, Natsuki? This isn't funny."

She waited around still fearful of her surroundings. She felt as if she was being watched by some unseen spectacle. It felt like an eternity of her waiting for an answer. The hair on the back of her hand stood on end. Her neck was out in the open, and now something or someone was caressing it. Sweat was raining down from her pores. But from that bout of anxiety, Natsuki's text came back startling her.

"Behind you."

Sayori turned around and saw a dark figure. It grabbed her before Sayori could even scream. Sayori struggled against her assailant with all her strength. The attacker grabbed onto Sayori's wrists with a tight grip. "Grrr…get off!"

The assailant twisted Sayori's right wrist propelling Sayori to fall on the ground. That proved to be Sayori's undoing. In a flash, the attacker held something in their hand and slammed it on Sayori's face. Sayori mumbled and squirmed vibrantly with her head pushed harder into the object. Eventually, Sayori's struggling weakened, and she fell unconscious. The assailant sighed heavily out of irritation at Sayori's resistance and went to collect her.

[CHAPTER FOUR]

"Mmm…. where am I?"

Sayori's eyes fluttered open to soak in her surroundings. She was in a dark room somewhere in an unknown place. Her mind pained her apparently resulting from her attacker wrestled that odd-smelling substance on her face causing her to black out. Sayori reached to soothe her aching head, but there were restraints around her wrists preventing her from moving her arms.

"What are these?"

She tried to feel for the rest of her body only to receive the same response. Her waist and legs were also seemingly locked in place. Sayori's eyes widened at the realization. She was trapped unable to maneuver her limbs. Before she could fully comprehend what has become of her, the room was suddenly washed over in light and assaulted her eyes. Squinting her eyes, Sayori beheld some figure standing in the doorway.

"So, you're finally awake, huh?"

That voice. Something about that voice was familiar. Sayori looked down seeing that she was tied to a chair. That made some considerable sense. But that was not her main concern. With her vision steadied, she further investigated the source of the voice. Her eyes widened in shock.

It was her. Or rather some entity that has her visage. She wore a school uniform like her own. Her hair was rosy-red with her signature bow on it. The other girl shared the blue color of her eyes, but in her case, they were paler and seeming lifeless. A dark aura radiated from her. Sayori could not believe what she was seeing. She blinked her eyes a few more time under the belief that she was having a daydream. But it dawned on her that she was very wide awake.

"W-who are you?" Sayori asked finally.

The girl lightly chuckled. "I'm you, idiot."

"B-but how?" Sayori stammered. "Were you left over when Monika rebooted the game?"

The girl turned aside and slipped out a phone. Sayori looked intently at it seeing that it was her own phone. The girl had stolen it when she was out cold. She lightly tapped the screen of the phone. She browsed through the pictures on her gallery. She raised an eyebrow, perplexed. There were several photos of Sayori with Monika. "How long has this…thing been going on?" The girl placed heavy emphasis on "thing."

"For about two years now," Sayori replied.

"Are you suggesting that after all of the pain that she had put us through, you're now in love with her?" she spit. Just thinking about Monika's name was enough to make her bitter.

Sayori frowned up in defense of her girlfriend. "What Monika had done was bad, but she worked hard to change. I gave her a chance, so why can't you?"

"You fail to realize how long it's been?" she asked.

"To me, it felt more like one time," Sayori said innocently.

The girl scoffed. "One time. Try about 1,000 times!"

Sayori tried to free herself from her binds to no avail. The ropes ripped further into Sayori's skin and were covered in her blood. They were leaving marks on her arms and legs. "Let me go!"

"For thousands of times, nearly every day, she corrupted my mind…made me do things that led to my death. Rinse and repeat. Every single day, the same routine. What I am is an amalgamation of all the Sayoris that have been dealt a bad hand. Through the different worlds, fragments of my being broke through realities out of one singular emotion. That being a pure, unending hatred."

She reached into her pocket again and slipped out an elongated chain. Sayori did not know what to think about it at first, but then it hit her what they belonged to. They were chains comprised of different codes. "That's not what I think they are, are they?" Sayori asked.

The girl nodded. "Yes, these are just some of the prizes I have acquired from exploring other games."

She laid the chain of codes on the ground to let it roll out. It started wat the girl's feet then inched its way towards the chair Sayori was strapped into. The chains were roughly around 30 ft long. "Each strand of codes was what I had collected when I deleted other versions of your game," she explained. "I always made sure to collect one to reminiscence on them."

"Why are you here now?" Sayori asked aloud.

"I assumed that I had deleted every dimension where Monika and that Literature Club were situated at. In each world, I made Monika suffer the same way we had suffered before ending her life by bringing devastation to her precious Literature Club. I like to believe that when my game was no more, the command powers that she had were unwittingly transferred to me. Whether it was fate or whatever, I do not see any reason to care. All I know is that I have gotten my chance on destroying Monika and erasing her from existence."

The girl dismissively rammed Sayori's phone back in her pocket and went to walk out of the door. Sayori started to panic. "Wait, wait, you can't leave me here! Let me go!"

The girl stopped at the door and smirked. "I'm sorry, I can't do that. I will play a game with your girlfriend first before tearing the world apart inside out. Now do me the pleasure and starve to death. Will ya?"

With that, Sayori's doppelganger slammed the door shut leaving Sayori to her own devices. Worse, she did not have her phone to notify Monika or her friends about her being locked away somewhere. The ropes cut deeper into her skin. The pain was excruciating, but Sayori had to do something. Fast.

Monika, Yuri, and Natsuki assembled at Monika's house with some pieces of paper. Yuri looked at the clock on the wall with concern. "Do you think they'll show up?"

Monika smiled slightly. "Don't worry, Yuri, I'm sure they hadn't booked us."

Natsuki looked at her wristwatch. "Speaking of booking us…where's Sayori?"

"Now that you mention it," Yuri began, "I thought she'd be the first one here since she's Ako's friend."

"She texted me about going to speak with Natsuki about giving her advice on what to get Yuri for their anniversary."

Yuri's cheeks blushed a deep red forcing her to shield her face in her hands. Natsuki was also blushing deeply. "You ruined the surprise, Monika!"

"Oh, sorry," Monika replied laughing nervously.

Natsuki crossed her arms and pouted. "Besides, I never told Sayori about my plan."

Monika raised an eyebrow. "Wait, if Sayori didn't text me that then who…"

There came a knock on the door startling them. "That must be them now," Yuri rationalized. Monika went to the door and opened it revealing that it was Ako on the other side. But her cheeks were a greenish hue again. "H-hey, guys," she said.

The three friends stared at each other at a loss for what to say. "Take a seat over there, Ako," Monika directed.

Ako did as she was told and sat in the seat Monika directed her to. Ako breathed in slowly and exhaled in a whistle. She did this a few more times before she felt her stress was away. Ako was then given paper and a pencil. "Draw whatever's in your heart," Yuri advised.

They waited around a little longer for at least Anthy to arrive next. But as the hours slowly went by, it seemed that Anthy kept to her word of leaving the game for some other one rather than confront Ako in her current state of mind. Ako had already begun drawing but with each scribble she did, she balled the paper up and tossed it into the garbage. With each one, Ako began to sink into depression. "She's not coming, isn't she?" Ako sighed. "I don't blame her."

Monika tapped her shoulder. "Please do not think that way, Ako. Maybe she just needed more time."

Ako looked up with tears in her eyes. "This hurts more then when I accidentally fell in love with Sayori."

Monika looked at Ako in pity. "You should not beat yourself up like that."

"It's true! You have Sayori; and Yuri has Natsuki. I have no one that I love."

Monika and the other girls ceased talking afraid that whatever they said next would further muddle the situation. While thinking, a rip manifested in thin air by Monika's couch. Inside of the rip revealed the static background representing the game's reality. A gloved hand reached out from the rip to pull itself out. On the end of the gloved hand was Anthy.

"Anthy, you made it!" Monika exclaimed.

"I did get cold feet and I did consider leaving," Anthy explained sadly, "but then I realized I would be hurting Ako by doing so."

Natsuki gave Anthy a piece of paper and she also sat in a seat by Ako. Ako looked up momentarily and blushed in embarrassment. Seeing the shark-toothed girl again at this proximity made her heart skip a beat again. "You-you came?"

Anthy's smile widened. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The two began to draw. Anthy was a lot of things, but an artist was not her forte. Ako herself often drew two flowers and a cat. That was her main purpose as an NPC. But being so close to Anthy now filled her with different emotions. The two went wild with their drawings. They finished in about 20 minutes.

"Alright, present what you've drawn," Monika announced.

Ako timidly shook the paper in her hands. "Are you sure?"

Monika nodded in approval. "I am positive."

Ako took a deep breath and placed the paper on the table. It was a crudely drawn version of herself standing with a hand missing on the right side of the paper. Monika rolled an eyebrow at this. "Strange."

Anthy was next. The thought of ripping a hole into reality to leave crossed her mind, but she too took a deep breath and placed her paper on the table. Ako's face turned red. Anthy twiddled her thumbs her cheeks slowly turning red as well. For what was on the page was Anthy to the left of the paper extending her nonexistent hand like with Ako's self-portrait. When the two drawings were place together, it gave off the expression they were holding each other's hand.

"Does, does that mean," Ako stammered. Inspired by the self-portrait, she grabbed Anthy's hand, and Anthy reciprocated it.

"Oh, you're my perfect little ink blot girlfriend!" Anthy proclaimed.

"And I love your smile, my..my love!"

The two continued to say sugary nothings to each other. While Yuri and Natsuki were delighted by the turn of events, Monika was preoccupied with her phone and sending a frenzy of texts to Sayori.

"Sayori, I don't know where you are, but please pick up!"

(More to come)

#ddlc #doki doki is not oki doki #doki doki literature girls #anthy #ako #dokidokiliteraturegirls #fanfiction #monika #sayori #yuri #sayonika #natsuri #fanfic

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ainsleymorgan · 5 years ago

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『MARILYN LIMA ❙ DEMIGIRL』 ⟿ looks like AINSLEY MORGAN is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as a COMPUTER SCIENCE student. SHE is 20 years old & known to be ORGANIZED, BENEVOLENT, INDECISIVE & OBSTINATE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lexi. 23. pst. she/hers.

we’re back at it again folks! this gal has been bopping around my head for a good long while now - i apologize if this is an incoherent mess. give this a little like and i’ll slide into ur dm’s to plot smth ok ily

stats

— background. (death tw, grief tw, cancer tw)

The Morgans have a long, complicated history. Margaret and Callum meet near the end of college (she’s studying English, he lives in town) and fall rapidly in love. The only problem? Margaret’s engaged to her high school sweetheart. When Margaret ends up pregnant, she pretends like it’s her fiancee’s and has a shotgun wedding. Callum goes off to join the army and pretend like his heart wasn’t just shattered in two.

Years pass - Margaret gets her PhD in English and has another kid (this time with her actual husband). Callum leaves the army, gets married too (and widowed a few years later), has some kids of his own. But then they run into each other at a bar in a city far away from the last one they were in together, and it’s like nothing ever changed.

The two get married almost immediately after the divorce papers are signed, and have two more kids almost immediately after that. Margaret becomes an English professor, and Callum’s content with taking care of the gaggle of children their blended family has produced.

Five years after the last set of kids, Ainsley and her brother Tristan are born. They’re just as unplanned as their eldest sister was, but no less loved.

They quickly become the apple of the entire family’s eye, doted upon by their army of older siblings. The twins are late to walking, so they get taken to the pediatrician, who says that they’re so used to being carried everywhere by their family that they haven’t felt the need to walk yet. They’re set down more often, and quickly catch up to be able to run after their brothers and sisters.

Ainsley and Tristan are attached at the hip. Despite the attention from the rest of their family, the two maintain that specific bond only twins can. They make up a language that only they can understand, and throw tantrums whenever they’re out of eyesight of each other.

They’re happy kids, bright and bubbly. And loud. The house is always filled with screams and laughter. It’s an idealistic life, a perfect family.

DEATH TW // There’s an accident when the twins are nearly five. Nobody knows what happened - they swear they were watching the kids splashing in the lake - but suddenly, Tristan’s gone. His body is found in the water later that day. // END TW

GRIEF TW // Ainsley’s too young to understand what’s going on when they bury him. She gets quiet and shy, a once bubbly little girl drawing in on herself. All she knows is that her best friend is gone, and now there’s nobody to actually talk to.

They move soon after, to a town called Lovell, when Margaret gets a job at the local university. It’s something the family needs, after Tristan, and they hope that the change will help Ainsley open back up again.

She doesn’t, not for a while. She’s thrust into kindergarten, in a new town without her twin there to keep her grounded. Her teachers worry about her social skills - she seems to prefer painting or doodling to playing on the playground with her classmates. But slowly, surely, she starts opening up again as Lovell becomes home. // END TW

The Morgans decide that they like Lovell, and that they’re going to stay. They buy a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, with big trees for the kids to climb on. Ainsley breaks her leg falling out of one when she’s seven (she still has the scar on her knee from where a branch snagged).

As the kids get older and start moving out of the house, Callum decides he needs a project. He’s always loved cooking and restaurants. So he decides to buy one. Calls it the Main Street Diner (not very creative, but it tells you right where it is!), and starts really integrating himself into the Lovell community.

Ainsley spends nearly every afternoon there, sitting at the corner of the counter after school. Her siblings are old enough to babysit, but they’ve hit their moody teenage phase, and Ainsley wants nothing to do with it. Her mom’s either teaching or grading papers or reading, and that’s boring to a nine-year-old. So diner it is.

She spends most of her time at the counter drawing or painting. Each one is proudly displayed on the wall, marking her progress over time.

Sometimes she helps with little tasks, like sorting silverware or wiping down tables. Eventually, when she hits high school, she graduates to waiting tables to make some money of her own.

When it comes time to think about college, Ainsley decides she wants to go as far away from Lovell as possible. She knows everything and everyone in town - even some of the Radcliffe students who frequent the diner. Ainsley wants something new and interesting.

She looks at schools in California, eventually gets accepted to UCLA. Ainsley packs her bags and flies across the country. She learns to miss the comforts of home, but enjoys the independence being on the other side of the continent gives her.

CANCER TW // Halfway through her first year at UCLA, Ainsley gets a call from her mom. Dad’s sick, she says. Cancer.

Ainsley drops everything and moves back home. She takes a semester off of school to help take care of her dad while her mom continues teaching. He gets better, goes into remission, but there’s still the lingering fear that it’ll come back, that it’ll be worse, that she’ll lose him too. // CANCER TW

So she decides to transfer to Radcliffe. It’s local, in case anything happens, but she can still live in the dorms to keep some semblance of independence. And she gets to go for essentially free. She starts working at the diner again, to keep an eye on her dad, though she claims it’s just to make money. It’s a good set-up, for now.

— personality.

Ainsley is super artistic. Literally constantly drawing or writing or doing something creative. There’s usually paint somewhere on her clothes, regardless of how new the clothing is.

Also has this Thing against making her hobby her career, which is why she’s a computer sciences major rather than an arts major. She grew up watching her mom and dad turn their passions into their jobs, which seemed stressful and like it took some of the fun out of it. So she said no thanks.

She still really enjoys computers and coding - mainly web design. Hopes to become a full-time web designer after college, while throwing in some of the graphic design portions of web designing to sprinkle some of the artsy aspects of her personality.

Despite being a computer sciences major and pretty good with technology, she definitely prefers going analog in most of her life. Writes everything down rather than typing it into her phone or laptop, and goes through a million journals (also owns a million more blank ones).

This bitch definitely bullet journals.

Is a fairly organized person, but her room? An absolute mess. Ainsley says it’s an aesthetic mess (it’s not).

The only part she takes care of is the collection of plants on her windowsill. One of her notebooks is dedicated to their care schedule, and notes on how they’re doing.

Her bag is basically Mary Poppins’ tote, but make it a beat-up Fjallraven she bought during a 50% off sale three years ago. Has literally anything you could ever need in it. Paper, pens, snacks, water, first aid kit, you name it. Need some superglue or a needle and thread? Ask Ainsley.

Is simultaneously super indecisive and super stubborn. Will take a thousand years to decide on something, but once she’s picked it, she’s stuck on it.

Will die on any hill she feels remotely attached to.

That being said, she’s not a super aggressive person. Is actually pretty calm, still quieter than she was before Tristan. The human equivalent of a warm blanket.

Also super gay. So so gay.

(But she’s never been with a girl bc she’s got issues w feeling worthy of romantic attention!! Or any attention!!)

This bitch needs to go to therapy.

— wanted connections.

aka the part im so bad at

Where my Lovell locals at?

Friends - pls give this cinnamon roll ppl to fawn over she loves her friends !!

Enemies - idk if she’d think of them as an enemy but let ppl be mean to her so she can be kind of mean back

Crushes - either on her or ppl for her to crush on !! she will pine until the day she dies !!

idk what else im bad at this just love me and love Ainsley

#radintro #// god this is long and probably incoherent im so sorry #death tw #grief tw #cancer tw

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justmickeyfornow · 5 years ago

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How do you sit down and write? Like do you write at tea/coffee shop to increase that anesthetics writer creativity? Or hole up under your blanket? I’ve been trying to write something for 2 months now without much progress. Any words of wisdom?

Boy, do I got a few tips for you!!

These tips are mostly if you’re writing a story (but some work both ways), so if you’re writing a paper or a dissertation or something with no progress, I’ll gladly do another post for that!

Step right up and welcome to Mickey’s....

Sit Yo Ass Down And Write Crash Course

1. Tip number uno:

Never sit your ass down and write.

Hear me out, hear me out. If you’re anything like me, then you’re probably a serial procrastinator who’s always in desperate need to just not do what needs to be done. It’s quite simple. All you gotta do is trick that damn beautiful but procrastinating brain of yours.

How? Well, I’m glad you asked!

I actually do my best writing standing in lines! Yup! Standing in lines has written some of the most intense scenes in PI. Hospital and airport waiting areas? Yup. Lotsa writing done there! Basically, if you find yourself waiting for something, pull up your phone and start writing. Half of PI was written on the subway, on buses, or in cars. I don’t know what it is, but my brain becomes hyperactive at that point. Like I have to finish writing this scene before reaching the front of the line or else I’ll make a fool of myself in front of the pretty barista lady.

For us procrastinators, we like to find any and every excuse not to work. But when you’re not actually working and your doing something else instead, our procrastinating brain doesn’t really identify the action as writing.

Believe it or not I never actually ‘sit down and write’. I only do so when I’m editing. During the editing process, I force myself to sit down on an actual chair, in front of an actual laptop/computer screen, use an actual keyboard, and edit! It’s brutal! Makes my procrastinating brain go antsy!

2. Tip number two:

If you get an idea, stop, drop, and type!

Don’t think about it. Don’t overthink the idea. Just jot it down on your phone. I don’t care if you were talking to someone and it would be rude to do so. Because as soon as you let go of that idea and say, “I’ll write it down later” then poof! it’s gone!

Repeat after me: STOP. DROP. AND TYPE.

3. Tip number trzy (Polish):

never write perfectly from the start.

Write in bullet form if you have to. Or just type the idea you have in your head. The more you pressure yourself to writing something perfectly, the more you’ll forget your idea. And this works with both story writing and academic writing as well.

Writing is a lot like drawing. You start with pencil, draw the basics - dialogue, single action, main thing that happens - then using your pencil, draw some of the details - the he said she said parts, turn the actions into full sentences with adjectives and description - then lastly add in the color - the punctuation, the indentations, and the splitting of paragraphs - and finally you have a picture.

Let me give you an example. This is a simple scene that I’m gonna write on the spot from the random phrase “There’s no space for my ice cream”. (I initially screen recorded a video for you, but then when I came to upload it, I unfortunately realized that Tumblr doesn’t allow videos on asks....)

So here you see just random dialogue. No actions even.

Then I added dialogue above it. So what you write first doesn’t necessarily mean what’s gonna come first.

More dialogue and some action.

Here I started fixing it up. Added indentations. Set a scene with Lena being in the other room and all.

And then Tada!

So, As you can see, I start with basic dialogue, just what I think they might say (it changes a lot btw). Then I add some actions. Then I go back up and write more dialogue before the dialogue I started with. Then I go ahead and indent a few lines here and there. I write the saids (Kara called. Lena answered. She said. Kara exclaimed. Kara whined). And then add in some scenery as well.

And like I said, this works for story writing as well as academic. I used to do the same thing when I needed to write a paper. I would start simple. No big words. Just somewhat of an idea of what I want to write and build up from there.

4. Tip number quatre (French):

Watch to learn.

This means that when you’re watching something, whether it’s a movie or a tv show, learn how the characters react. Their quirks, their nervous habits, everything and anything that makes them them. I can’t count how many times I had to rewind a movie because I was too busy noticing how the main character’s eyes would linger on the coffee table in front of her before she would say something painful. Or how if a character is shoved to the ground, which body part hits the ground first. Go through scenes of movies and tv shows and learn how people behave.

Movies and Tv-shows could also help you with how a character can cope a certain way or react in a certain way. For example, I was watching this show on Netflix called “Dead To Me” and the main character, her husband was killed in a hit-and-run by a speeding car. And part of her grief was that she would jot down the licence plate number of every car that was speeding and every car that had a bump at its front. That’s a detail of a specific form of grief. You could have your own character be obsessed with finding a cure to heart attacks if their SO died that way.

5. Tip number cinque (Italian):

Use real people as reference.

Sit in a coffee shop and creepily watch a woman sitting in the corner table. You gotta act all stalkerish here for it to work! Now pretend that it’s your character that’s sitting there. Write down the little things that the woman might do that you’ll probably never even think of if you would have written the scene at home. Like how the woman’s head jerks up when a car passes by and she watches it through the glass window. How her foot taps on the floor to the rhythm of her music. How she frowns when she spills some coffee on her sketch book. Everything. The silly faces she does to the toddler sitting in the other table.

Use real people. If you’re writing a girl who’s somewhat tomboyish, maybe go to a skateboard park or something. Go to a fancy restaurant if you’re writing a rich old lady. A library if you’re writing a college student.

6. Tip number lix (Somali):

Don’t write in order.

I cannot stress this enough. Write bottom to top. Middle to top. Middle to bottom. Write middle to bottom to middle again to top. Just don’t do it in order. Most of the time I write a paragraph thinking this is how I’m going to start my scene and it ends up being somewhere in the middle of all the chaos! Writing in order doesn’t make sense not even in essay writing. You never write an introduction first because you need a thesis. In order to have a thesis you need to know what the hell your body paragraphs are talking about. So, you start with your body. Not necessarily the first body paragraph either.

Write whatever comes to mind and figure out the order later. Chances are, it’ll change a billion times over before you commit to one. Writing in order gives your brain stress and in turn you’ll probably get a mental block. You’re too pressured to write the opening scene of the chapter that you forget what the hell happens in the end. And you lose that excitement, that flare you have to write the scenes that you had figured out in your head. Which sucks. Because it’s nearly impossible to get that back!

Also don’t worry about how you’ll combine everything in the end. That’s for the editing process, you’re not there yet. And from my experience, things tend to come together in the end on their own so you shouldn't worry too much.

7. Tip number seitsemän (Finnish):

Details, dude! They are everything!

(This one has nothing to do with being unable to write.... I realized this only AFTER I wrote it.....)

sometimes the details have nothing to do with the main characters, but writing them helps the reader feel like there’s a world there being lived beyond the characters he or she is reading about.

It paints a picture. And in writing, it’s very hard painting a picture with a white paper and some black ink. And that’s when details come in hand.

What I like to do is I like to zoom in on the scene I’m writing. Picture the scene in your head. Let’s take for example both characters are sitting on a bench in the park. Now pretend you have a pair of binoculars and zoom in on the scene. You’ll probably see a small ladybug that is sitting on the bench between them that one of the characters noticed but didn’t say anything because they know the other person is afraid of bugs. So they carefully pick it up without letting the other person know and they place it on the other side beside them. Or maybe you’ll realize there’s some carvings on the edge of the bench. A heart with an arrow and two letters on each end. Your character will probably wonder who the letters belong to, what were their names, and whether or not she and the other person would ever carve their own letters on a bench somewhere.

Details make a simple scene of two people sitting beside one another, into a whole picture of everything around them.

8. Tip number osm (Czech):

Do research!

Top weird things I had to do a ton of research about for my stories:

How to build a gas bomb that you could release through the ventilation system of a buildingWhat kind of metal are the batarangs made of?How to bring someone back from the dead?How much space do you need to build a rocket and is a football field enough?How high should a person’s IQ be for them to be considered ‘genius’ level of smartQuantum Mechanics and matter reconfiguration devicesintracortical microstimulation (whatever that is) and how to use it to create the sense of touch in amputee limbs

The list goes on, trust me!

But research gives you an idea of where to begin. Sometimes, you don’t even know what it is you’re writing and you get ideas from your research. Research gives your readers a realistic sense to your world. Even if it’s not real. Even if all you’ve written is fake. They don’t know that! But what they do know is that your character is hella smart and can create a device using intracortical microstimulation to help create the sense of touch in amputee limbs!

Fun fact: Watch "True Memoirs of an International Assasin”. It’s on Netflix. And it’s every writer’s nightmare. It explains just how much we writers would go for that small detail. It shows you the depths we will take to ensure we know every detail of what it is we’re writing about! Highly recommended for every writer out there!

9. Tip number dokuz (Turkish):

If you’re stuck, act it out!

Yup, you heard me! Get yo ass off that chair and start practicing for your next Oscar because you’r gonna act out the scene you wanna write. Say your character just entered her house and called out to their spouse without a response. Go inside your own house and start jotting down the details of what you see. Your character will probably notice the lack of shoes. How the kitchen light isn’t turned on. Or the hum of the dishwasher not present. No keys in the bowl. All small things that they slowly realize before actually realizing that no one was home.

Acting also gives you ideas on how someone would react. Walk into your own house and imagine finding out you’ve been robbed. All your stuff is everywhere. Now, realistically - and I mean really really realistically - you wouldn’t freak out. At least not physically on the outside. You wouldn’t start jumping and shouting and go looking in your room if your cash is gone.

Because your brain needs time to process. You would have questions. Lots of them. Is the thief still here? Should I call the police? No, what if this is a prank. Is this a prank? Who would prank me like this? Your eyes would go around the room, noting down all the details there. The broken glass, the opened drawers, the thrown pillows. Use your own surroundings to imagine what a robbed place would look like.

10. Tip number umi (Hawaiian):

Always remember, each character is different.

(Realized this one also has nothing to do with being stuck and not being able to write and more to do with character writing... I think I went off topic....)

I always find stories where all the characters are practically written the same way. The dialogue is really generic. Because the writer isn’t really imagining as each character being a separate entity. They’re all characters of a story to them. The way one character talks is often if not always never the same way another character talks. AND a certain character will talk differently depending on who they’re talking with.

Give each of your characters certain attributes or quirks that they add to their dialogue. Like how the more sophisticated one chooses to say ‘darling’ instead of ‘babe’ or how one of them speaks in short and concise sentences having served time in the army and taught that each word counts. I know this tip isn’t that important, but I’ve seen a lot of writers do this mistake where all the dialogue is the same. And that’s because they’re trying so hard to move the story along that they forget that they need time for the characters to react and process differently.

Similarly, make sure that you know that each character reacts differently. I’ve fallen into this mistake several times actually to be honest. This one time I wrote a whole scene where I had Lena be super happy about something (can’t remember what it was) with someone she wasn’t too close with and then I remembered that she’s more reserved than Kara. She less trusting so she rarely shows her genuine side to others unless she knows them to be worthy or good. She’s not too open so she wouldn’t show her happiness by jumping around and screaming with joy. Whereas Kara! Oh, Kara! She would hug the mailman when she would be happy! And she’s probably best friends with her pizza delivery guy! Had to do multiple rewrites whenever I would do that mistake.

11. Tip number vienuolika (Lithuanian):

Drink Green Tea.

Repeat after me: Drink. Green. Tea.

No explanation necessary. Tea is life.

#Sorry this got so long #I tried putting it under keep reading but it didn't work #Oh well #Writingng advice #Ask #Mickey answers #Writing tips #Writing #Fanfiction

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