#or if you're just trapped by the emotional rock in your shoe

[fagnumopus]

I wanna start by clarifying that there are a lot of circumstances in which like... the room is not right, the vibe is not right, the people are shitty, your story isn't interesting or related to the vibes, your story is going for too long, etc etc... so like yes there ARE moments in which this won't work, and you do just kinda have to figure that out with experience... BUT, that being said, there are ways to demand attention without coming off as entitled or bitchy. I urge y'all to look at Drag Queens and the whole culture of being loud and obnoxious and taking up space while still being SO goddamn charismatic. Saying stuff like, "HOLD UP HOLD UP y'all listen, and after that...", interrupting an intereuptor with "girl if you DON'T let me talk" with a smile and a playful tone, continuing with a "wait cause I'm not done, here's the kicker...", stopping someone from segwaying with a random part of your story with "bitch hold the questions for the end of the class"

Ofc different crowds demand a different approach and language, but the idea is the same: you can bring the attention back to yourself in a playful tone, and it both calls out the people who aren't being socially mindful and also doesn't come off as entitled

[inkdrinkerworld]

Zombie apocalypse Remus 🫣

oh oh this could be good!

Remus finds you under a fallen building. He'd heard screaming and barking and thought there'd been another attack, but it was morning and they were never out in the morning, so he'd hazarded a chance to investigate.

Your leg was trapped and the moment you saw a figure walking towards you without a limp and a gait in their step you nearly cried.

"Please help me." you murmur pain lancing through your leg as you lean back a little to look at the tall man before you. The golden dog near you yips and growls and you reach a shaky hand to her head.

"How'd you get stuck there?" The man stoops to be closer to your level. "I'm Remus by the way."

You tell him your name through a hiss. "It fell while I was" you hesitate. "I'm a researcher, I needed some books and my dog was keeping watch."

Remus sighs and smiles sympathetically, "What type of research?"

"On this whole thing, I had a lab some time ago."

"A scientist?" You nod and Remus smiles. "Ca you try to wiggle your toes?" he asks it when you twist a little and hiss.

You shrug a little hiccup breaking through your words as you try, "I think I am, but I don't know."'

He shushes you quietly, moving a few of the bigger pieces off your leg. You take the time to study him, there's a few scars on his face and hands, but he's beautiful and from the looks of things so far; very kind.

Remus is gentle as he gets closer to exposing your leg, "Moment of truth." he whispers and you nod.

When he removes all of the rocks, your boots come into view and he smiles. "These might've saved you, love." He tugs your leg free and you begin crying again, this time from happiness. "Can I take it off so we can see if anything's broken?"

You nod, "Were you a doctor?" the words make him chuckle and you feel yourself become just a little embarrassed as you watch Remus make delicate work of removing your boots and socks.

"No, but I have pretty clumsy friends. I've learnt what to look for."

You nod, "Maybe when all of this is over, you can actually become a doctor." Remus hums, a soft smile on his face as he pulls off your sock.

"Twist your ankle," you do it with ease. "Wiggle your toes," Remus hides a smile at the polish on your toes; it reminds him of the normal life you've lost within the last month and a half. "Everything seems perfect dove."

You smile, "Thank you for coming to help me."

"It's no problem, do you have any place to stay?" You shake your head as you slip your foot back into your shoe.

"Circe and I go from place to place together. She warns me away from the smell of death."

Remus nibbles on his lip as he stands too, "Well, I have a little hideout with my friends, I'm sure they wouldn't mind it if I brought you and Circe along."

You look up at him, eyes wide as saucers. "I don't want to encroach, there might not be enough food."

Remus shrugs, "There'll never be enough food. Plus you and Circe might be more help than hinderance."

"If you're sure." You sling your leather bag onto your shoulder and whistle to Circe.

"I'm positive, dove." You nod once as you take a few test steps that turn into you skipping over all of the fallen concrete and passing what your mind knows are bodies but your eyes refuse to process.

The world is a sleet of grey and red all over, it's only been a month and society has devolved to it's baser emotions- violence and greed.

You shake the thoughts away. "Lead the way then, Remus. Circe and I will follow."

[aerynwrites]

Thank you for writing these, they are fantastic! Could you do one where Tav is doubting her abilities and is overwhelmed with the responsibility of fighting the netherbrain? Halsin would be there to stand with her and remind her of her strength, bravery, and growth. And kiss her too, because of course.

Not Alone

Halsin x Reader

A/N: thank you for the request friend! I hope this is what you wanted - I had fun writing this Bc wouldn’t we ALL be overwhelmed with that??

Word count: 1k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, feeling overwhelmed, emotional hurt comfort, kissing, fluff.

It seemed to come out of nowhere.

The desperate squeeze of your chest. The burning tears behind your eyes. Shaking hands, narrowed vision, the inability to breath or think straight.

The sadness and grief and anxiety and…fear.

It all comes crashing down one unsuspecting evening, as the moon hovers high in the sky, trying and failing to comfort you with her pale light as you rush from your tent.

Worry about waking your companions doesn’t even cross your mind as you stumble from camp and into the surrounding wilderness, tears blinding you.

Gods, it’s too much.

The tadpoles, your friends' personal quests, the absolute, the guardian in your dreams…they all haunt you. Drain you constantly through the day and even now - where sleep used to be a respite - even your dreams are no longer your own.

A stray rock catches the toe of your shoe and suddenly you're acutely aware of the world around you once more. The rushing of air past you as you crash to the ground and the pain in your knees as you land. The dirt and grass beneath your fingers as you dig desperately into the earth. The wetness on your cheeks, and finally the broken sob that bursts from your lips.

You want to scream, and you just about let it out when something falls against your shoulder. However, the only sound that comes out is a strangled gasp as you turn to find the intruder.

Halsin, your druid companion turned lover - crouches before you, concern drawing his brows together and thinning his lips.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice gentle amidst the roaring turmoil of your mind. “I saw you rush from camp as I was returning and you seemed…troubled.”

Shaking your head you turn away from him, shame bubbling up in your chest. That forever cracking facade of a leader, pushing forward once more.

“I’m fine.”

You try to sound firm, but the words come out broken and choked around the lump lodged in your throat.

Halsin says nothing for a moment, instead moving to sit beside you in silence, staring out into the wilderness ahead.

You try to control your emotions, try to pull yourself together, but the tears just won’t. Stop.

“Even the strongest of leaders feel the weight of what they take on.” Halsin finally says. “No one can carry it alone forever.”

“I never asked to be a leader,” you respond, voice as empty as you feel.

More tears come forward ushering out all the thoughts you’ve been holding in your mind. The things you’ve been hiding, trying to keep everyone happy.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper, finally looking over to the druid from where you sit on your knees. “I just wanted to find a cure for these things in our heads and every solution has been a dead end o-or an avenue to something worse!” The words spill from your lips in shaky breaths.

“And on top of all that I have to stand by and watch as my companions, my friends struggle too. Astarion and his past with Cazador, never feeling free - yearning for escape. Gale and Shadowheart trapped by a goddess. Karlach being told she is literally damned to hell. And then you -“ you gesture vaguely to the man next to you. “Bearing the weight of the shadow curse and Thaniels well being…”

Slowly, with each word it seems the tears start to stop. Or dry up. You’re not sure which. But as you continue to speak it’s as if a tiny miniscule weight is lifted. You finally turn to face Halsin, who just gazes at you patiently, concern evident in his eyes.

“I don’t say this to make it seem like I don’t want to bear these things. They are my friends and you-“ you reach out to take his hand in yours, appreciating the comforting squeeze he gives you. “I love you. I want to help you and everyone back at camp but it’s just-“

“Too much to bear alone.”

Halsin completes your thoughts exactly, and before you can speak he’s gathering you up in his arms. You melt into his embrace, surrounded by the warmth and safety you’ve come to crave from the man holding you.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long.” You admit, arms moving to wrap around him. “And for centuries no less. How did you bear it? The responsibility.”

Halsin holds you tighter. “Admittedly, at first I did not bear it well,” he tells you. “I felt much like you do now, overwhelmed by others burdens and the decisions that were mine to make everyday. Constantly worried if the path I was leading the grove down was the right one.”

Gently, Halsin separates from you, just enough that he can see your face.

“So…what did you do? How did you keep it all from tearing you apart?”

Halsin smiles then, a tiny pained thing - as if seeing you go through what he has, hurts him as well.

A calloused hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing away residual sticky tears.

“I learned to share my burdens with those around me. With my family, my friends. And they were happy to assist me, just as I know those surrounding you will lend you their aid as well.”

You open your mouth to speak but Halsin cuts you off with a quick press of his lips against yours, retreating to press another one to each cheek.

“These are not your burdens to hold alone, my love,” he assures you, eyes searching your own. “You are strong and brave, but let us help you. Lean on me as I have you.”

His words bring on a whole new wave of tears, but instead of sadness all you feel is overwhelming relief and comfort. Halsins arms tighten around you as you press into him, head resting against his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, not having the words to express your gratitude.

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Halsin rubs a soothing hand up your back.

“Anything for you, my heart.” Reaching up, he runs gentle fingers through your hair. “Would you like to return to camp?”

Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, relishing in the peace and quiet nature provides in this moment. The night is cool, and the gentle breeze rustles the grass and trees as the moon above gazes down on you both.

“I’d like to stay here for a little longer if that’s alright.”

“We can stay as long as you’d like,” he smiles.

And with that promise, you feel the last tendrils of dread slip from your mind.

You’re not alone. And that’s what matters most.

[hyuuukais]

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, anxiety

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 5 ~ FAMILY TIES (wc: 2.3k, 2 screenshots)

"There," Jeongin directs you to a house on your right. It's a modest house with dark blue paneling and a neat front yard. As you pull up to the curb, you catch a glimpse of a woman ushering two children back inside, abandoning a soccer ball by the door.

"Cute. You grew up here?" You ask, parking the car.

"Yeah, but like everything else I don't remember much," Jeongin leans forward in his seat to get a better look at the house. "I don't think it was always blue though, that's new. And they cut a tree down from other there," He points to one corner of the yard and you see a short stump. "Other than that, nothing."

"So why are we here then?" You take your hands off the wheel and place them in your lap. "There's gotta be some kind of emotional connection to this place, something important that happened."

"Isn't growing up there exactly that?"

"Well, yeah, but take the other memories into consideration," You say and turn your body to face Jeongin. "That park, anything could have happened there, but your brain decided the most important thing was meeting Hyunjin. Then again at the lake, the first night of having your own car and celebrating that. Even then you mentioned another event that took place there, the party, so why not that? So many things probably happened at that lake just like in this home, but we're here for a specific memory."

"Wow, you've really put thought into this." The corner of Jeongin's mouth quirks up as he faces you. "Maybe you should be a detective."

"I'll stick to the flower shop," You laugh.

For a while it's like this, the two of you chatting in the car waiting for something to happen. Morning turns to noon to late afternoon before anything happens, the sun hanging low in the sky. You point it out to Jeongin when you see it; two little boys have exited a pale yellow house and are making their way down the sidewalk in your direction. Stepping out into the sticky heat of late summer, you and Jeongin follow them all the way to the corner of the street before they stop.

They look to be about thirteen here, Hyunjin wrapping an arm around Jeongin's shoulders as they walk side by side. When they stop, his arm drops and they face each other. Hyunjin is slightly taller than Jeongin and has already started killing his hair with bleach, fiddling with the edge of the yellow tank top he's wearing. Jeongin sighs and crosses his arms with a frown on his face, Hyunjin matching the mood with a pout.

"So this is it?" Hyunjin asks, voice quiet.

"Yeah," Jeongin replies. "I guess so."

"You're leaving me."

"I have to."

"Come live with me," Hyunjin jokes. "Then you won't have to. Convince your parents by saying you don't want to switch schools or something."

"You know I can't do that," Jeongin looks away uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't make you live with me," Hyunjin's head drops. "With him."

"You could come with me-"

"No, I can't, you know that," Hyunjin crosses his arms. "It's stupid you're moving right out of our district, you should still be allowed to stay." He kicks a rock with the toe of his shoe, looking away embarrassed. "Don't make a new best friend."

"What?" Jeongin almost looks offended. "I could never! You know you'll be my best friend for life, always, even if I died! My ghost would haunt your ass."

Present-day Jeongin snorts at this.

With a pinky promise, you watch the two boys make a pact to stay close friends no matter what happens between them. They'll star in their first movie together side by side, they'll always support each other; they'll do everything together and never leave. A car pulls up and honks and Hyunjin waves goodbye to Jeongin, entering the vehicle. As it drives away, Hyunjin is looking out with fingertips barely touching the glass. Little Jeongin is gone, leaving you in silence.

"You know, I've been wondering why this neighbourhood has felt so familiar," You say quietly. "My mother was buried just down the road."

The car is silent, Jeongin placing his hand right next to yours on the compartment, just a hair away. Even with him not touching you directly, you can feel his energy coming off on you. It's different, the way you can feel him without feeling drained; it almost makes you want to take the risk and extend your pinky, closing the distance between you. When you look at him, the setting sun has created a warm glow around him, but accentuating his ghostly-ness. This is both the most alive and dead you've seen him, pale skin and eye bags, orange glow and soft eyes.

You start the car, fully intent on driving home, but your body seems to direct the vehicle the opposite way. As you pass the cemetery you slow down, making a full stop right outside the entrance. In the corner of your eye, you can see Jeongin looking at you, but you can't face him. This is big; walking into this place could change so many things for you, and you don't even know where you'd start with your mom. You've never met her, what if she doesn't recognize you? What if she's not there? What if-

"Y/n, stop thinking so much," Jeongin teases lightly, trying to bring up the mood. "We don't have to go today, or at all even."

"I want to," You finally look at him. "But there's so much I don't know about her and that she doesn't know about me. This could change everything I've ever thought about her."

"Don't you want to know who she was? Not who you think she is?" He asks.

Yes, of course you do. Without answering, you step out of the car and brace yourself for the wind; it's picked up a lot since leaving. Leaves blow off the trees that line the pathway in, some getting caught in your hair as you walk. The air is crisp and cold, goosebumps forming on your arms and the back of your neck. Whether that's actually from the coolness or from the atmosphere, you don't know for sure.

In your peripheral vision, you spot the odd spirit here and there. Most are lingering by graves, presumably their own, wandering back and forth, or sitting on the stone benches sprinkled around. One reaches out for you as you pass a bench, her frail, wrinkled fingers grazing your wrist, but Jeongin shifts over and gently pushes her away. She simply curls into herself, and you think you can hear crying as you get further away; your skin burns where she touched you.

"Up there." You point to a large structure with named boxes in straight lines. Your mother was cremated, but still laid to rest with the rest of her family. Underneath her box are two empty ones and a man's name. Before you can read the name, someone is calling out for you from behind.

Turning around, you spot a young woman not much older than you crouched down by a bush, a bright flower in her hand. She drops the flower, shock written all over her face and tears welling in her eyes. Standing up straight, she eagerly walks toward you, but Jeongin stands in her way as a warning.

"Sorry, I'm not used to the living," She laughs, leaning to the side so you can see her; Jeongin's back is obscuring most of your sight.

"That's okay," You squeak, stepping out from Jeongin. You're a lot more nervous seeing her now, especially noticing just how alike you look. "I'm-"

"Y/n," She exhales. "Don't think I'd recognize my own daughter? C'mon. But..." Her eyebrows furrow, looking around as if someone's missing. "Your brother, where is he?"

Brother?

You stare at her, mouth agape and unable to form words. Glancing back to the stone behind you, it dawns on you that there are two empty boxes underneath your mother, not one. Which means...

"I have a brother?"

"You-" Her eyebrows somehow knit together further, the flower clutched so tightly in her palm you doubt any petals could be salvaged. "You didn't know? How do you not know? Your father-"

"I'm adopted," You admit shyly, avoiding her eyes, but you can hear her scoff.

"That motherfucker."

Jeongin snorts and whispers, "Definitely related."

Your mother opens her mouth to speak again, but she's stopped short when something catches her attention to the side. When you follow her sight, you can see a man in the far distance staring her down. Suddenly, the air is tight with tension and fear, like all the spirits around you are wary of him. He doesn't come closer, but he raises something sharp and you finally recognize him as the man in the boat. The bottle isn't at his neck this time, but rather pointed at your mother. His head is tilted in a sinister way, only part of his face visible from behind his extended hand, but his features are both sharp and soft at the same time.

"We should get out of here," Jeongin says, his own voice tight with anxiety.

"But-" You try to protest.

"No, he's right honey," Your mother spares a glance toward you. "You need to leave, just promise me- promise me you'll find your brother?"

"I-I promise."

Wasting no time, Jeongin encourages you in front of him without tearing his eyes away from the man. The further you go, the blurrier he becomes, and soon enough the man is completely out of sight. Who is he, and why were all those ghosts so scared?

Back in the car, you take a chance to breathe before starting it up. With shaky hands, you turn on the ignition and prepare to drive away, but something bangs on your car window loudly, causing you to jump, almost enough to hit your head. You yelp when you see the man outside, the closest he's been to you since the first sighting. There's a distinctive mole under one of his narrowed eyes, his slender fingers pressed up against the window. Without thinking twice, you speed off and don't stop until you're outside of your home.

Jeongin is trying to speak to you, but you're dizzy and can't make out any words he's saying, the world around you spinning like crazy. A raging headache is beginning to form behind your eyes, placing your head between your legs and trying to control yourself. Anxiety threatens to sweep you under its strong waves, but with every breath you can feel yourself settling down. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three...

"I need to contact Minho," You say, voice weak.

"Let's get you inside first." Jeongin exits, rounding the front of your car and opening your door. "Can you stand?"

"I don't know," You admit. "But if you touch me, especially when I'm already feeling like shit..."

"I know," Jeongin sighs, frustrated.

Placing one hand on the open door and the other on your seat, you push up and cling to the vehicle, a wave of nausea hitting you. Once it passes, you take a step away and allow Jeongin to close the car door. You wonder what this looks like to others; can they see the actions he makes, or does it appear different to them? Stumbling to your front door, you enter quickly, feeling uneasy so exposed outside.

The warmth of your house hits you like a weighted blanket, sleepiness overtaking you making it hard to undress. Trudging upstairs, you half expect Jeongin to be gone when you enter your room, but he's still watching over you. Walking over to your closet, you throw the first comfy clothes you see onto your bed and flop down. It's too much to move- your whole body feels as though there's a ton of bricks weighing you down. With sluggish eyes, you see Jeongin looking out the window to the right of your bed, opening it just a crack to let some cool air in. The breeze prickles at your skin, but it's nice.

"Jeongin."

"Yeah?" He turns his head toward your sleepy figure.

"Can we take a risk?" You mumble, gauging his reaction. His eyebrows raise and he looks down, stretching away from the window.

"What kind of risk?" He asks, trying to keep his voice light.

"Help me get dressed," You say, almost wanting to cry from your exhaustion. "I'm so fucking tired."

Rolling onto your back with your head still in his direction, you watch him consider his options. Slowly, he makes his way toward you and picks up the sweatshirt you abandoned at the bottom of your bed. Hesitantly, the tips of his fingers meet your upper arm. Nothing happens, no sick feelings or passing out; only you and him and the surprising warmth of his touch. When he realizes you're okay, he continues to lift you up into a sitting position, teasing you for your groans. Lifting your shirt gently, he looks away red in the face and feels for the sweatshirt, finding it close by and bringing it over your head. Next, he helps you out of your jeans and slips the matching sweatpants up your legs, his hands pausing at your hips.

He's holding his breath, and you're more awake than ever as you make eye contact with him. You realize the position you're in with him overtop of you, his face oddly close to yours, enough for your breath to mingle. His eyes dart down your face, back up to your eyes, and away from you shyly. Taking his face in your hands, you thumb his cheekbones and run your fingers down his jawline. Touching someone has never felt so natural for you, so real and safe. Either your eyes are deceiving you, or he's getting closer and closer and-

Your phone buzzes. "Minho."

notes ~ this may or may not be unedited for the most part, so apologies for any mistakes i am simply too eepy

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800

@dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken

@lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung @kkamismom12

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

[herladyanarchy]

Playlist Tags

Rules: Shuffle your repeat playlist 10 times and tag 10 people. Tagged by @defira85

I don't have ten people to tag but uh. Here's ten songs!

Guillotine Dreams - KiNG MALA It's a Durge song this one. It's very Val for how she's trapped inside her own head, that urge to slice up people constantly sitting on the back of her ruined/replaced eye. KiNG MALA is also a very special artist to me as her songs tend to deal with depression, imposter syndrome, insecurity and queer themes. Unsurprisingly I strongly relate to all of those.

Praise You - Fatboy Slim It's a classic and while it's not really my normal kind of music, it's a good beat to pick myself up to. Used to be on my scrim playlist as a pre-game vibe for officials. It gets me in that headspace (true or not) of when I'm bad I'm good and when I'm good I'm untouchable. The downside is the emotional crash but shhh we don't have to deal with Jenny's Personal Total Perspective Vortex right now.

Rain - The Cult It's one of several DOZEN SoVenj songs. This is also my main kind of non-ship music. Overdriven guitars and solid rock & roll. For Mara and Petra, this is Petra in her lonely years. When even her up-vibe songs carry that essential core of her missing something. This is also an EiMIko song for opposite reasons. For Miko and Ei both it's a lot more literal. You're married to a storm goddess, rain is always a reason to celebrate. I'm not married to a storm goddess (alas) but rain and storms always make me feel good.

The Unseen Ones - Darren Korn, Masahiro Aoki, Daisuke Kirosawa (from Hades)

It's a killer track, it's exactly my style, it's useful for fight scenes, it's in a lot of playlists. Recently used for Val in the battle for Moonrise but works just as well for Ei at full power or anything from RWBY. Again this is one I just listen to even when I'm not writing. I have music (or Critical Role/a youtube video) on almost 24/7.

Big Metal Shoe - Jeff Williams, Casey Lee Williams, Lamar Hall (from RWBY) Jeff Williams is the guitarist with the single greatest influence over me as a musician. This man single-handedly shaped my soundstage as a player and a listener and his guitar tone sings to me like few others do (Slash, Brian May, John Norum, Bernie Marsden being my other greats). I just listen to this one on repeat a lot. The ending cadence layering vocals on that guitar just works for me like very very few other things go.

Pretty Mary Sunlight - Earl Cliffton I first heard this song at about 6 years old watching ancient Scooby Doo cartoons at my grandparents house and it's a very formative earworm. While nowadays my tastes in country trend a lot darker, (almost exclusively to the Dark Country subgenre) It's nice, bright, upbeat, and I always sing to it.

Ghost Myself - DIAMANTE It's a trans song that also works for Val! I love Diamante as a musician and as a style icon for me personally. The cover art for the single version of Bite Your Kiss is still my endgame transition look. For Val, this is again about fighting with the Urge. Lots of resigned self-loathing but laced with fire, this is Val on the cusp of accepting that she will almost always be a killer. She doesn't want to be herself anymore, but she's on a rapid journey and can't really afford to be catatonic while she processes her emotions, just ends up burying her blade in cultists and washing her sins away in the blood of a deathgod.

I'm Just Ken - Ryan Gosling (from the Barbie movie) I haven't actually SEEN the movie and there's not MUCH deeper meaning behind this one. It's just a really good song with plenty of the guitar tone that really speaks to me specifically. Those high strings sing. This was a song for writing Era and Aayren, as it SORT of works for Aayren, but mostly I just like it. It's good music.

Ava of Death - Eleine This list is UNFAIRLY influenced by the fact that the last fic I wrote was Dark Urge related, but aside from the fact that this OBVIOUSLY works for Val, it's also a song relating to my next novel. Shares a name with one of the main leads, and as a happy coincidence the full title also relates to part of her path throughout the book. The lyrics are definately more Val related. She's a Death Knight, of course they do. Aside from that, it's just music that I like. Almost all my ship songs are gleaned from genre playlists when I'm in a specific mood.

Going to War - Pagan Fury It's metal, it's norse themed, it's my Aasimar from my regular campaign. Tariya is from a frozen northern region and the progeny of a stormgod. She is all about war and battle and honour. It's all thunder and lightning so this song is just my vibe on every day even if we discount Tariya. It's also very Ei on an introspective battle day, she brings rain and lightning to a battlefield of mortals and strides in on a carpet of thunder like the melodramatic lesbian diety she is. It also has my favourite kind of guitar, which is just another reason to like it. It's PROBABLY in my Val playlist too, but there's no meaning there.

Ten songs is too little, I love talking about music too much. I'll do this for ten more songs if anyone wants.

The fact that Raphael's Final Act was song number twelve, right after a Carribean rap that I associate entirely with fighter pilots because of one VERY brief meme phase while I was writing a fic about lesbian Top Gun is pretty telling about my music taste. That was followed up by Sauvée as sung at the end of Faust too, which I adore as it is my favourite opera.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Like It Never Happened

This is a crime story I wrote for The House Competition. Writing it stretched my creativity and deeply challenged me, but I’m extremely proud of how it turned out! 

(Loosely inspired by the TV Show ‘Supernatural’ because Dean + Sam = Harry + Ron, and there’s no point in trying to change my mind!)

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

Theme: Crime Prompts: 1 — [Dialogue (multiline)] "Trust in your gut." / "What's your gut telling you?" 2 — [First line] She never knew that a simple run in the morning could change her life, but it did.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 | FFN

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

She never knew that a simple run in the morning could change her life, but it did.

Marianne had sensed that something awful would happen that morning. It was a rock-solid pit of dread that sagged in her stomach as her husband Bill laced up his trainers. She would have tried to keep him from going on his morning jog, but he wouldn't have listened to her anyway. Instead, he'd have shrugged her off, paying no mind to her silly premonitions, which, according to Bill, were more of a reason for caution, not trust. Gut feelings couldn't hold a candle to facts and evidence.

He used to joke about it. "Trust in your gut? That's no way to live."

"Why? What's your gut telling you?" The corners of her mouth would curl in amusement; she secretly loved their playful debates. Challenging each other had become a flirtatious past-time over the years, and it was good for him too. As the lead investigator of the local detective squad, Bill had her to thank for his polished interrogation skills.

"My gut's telling me to eat more vegetables." He'd lean back in his chair and pat his belly, now round with memories of cozy movie nights spent sipping hot cocoa from matching mugs, their intertwined fingers slippery from the extra butter on their popcorn. "Now, why would I listen to that?"

To a certain extent, he was right. Marianne often relied too heavily on emotions, waving aside inconvenient facts. Her opinions and beliefs were always fast-formed and long-lasting. Bill encouraged her to take a step back; to get to know people before forming judgments, to 'sleep on it' before buying the shoes, and to consider her bias.

And in return, Marianne never hesitated to say 'I told you so' when a roundabout investigation led back to the first suspect, the one that 'seemed a bit off' even before the evidence came through.

What a mistake it had been to keep quiet that fateful morning. She nervously watched from the window as Bill picked up his pace, trotting along the pavement until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. She should have listened to her gut.

Forty-five anxious minutes later, the front door reopened, and in walked a man. He had Bill's same sandy hair, his jolly round belly, and was even wearing his running clothes, but that's where the similarities ended. He was different. The way he bumped into the doorway looked like someone accustomed to riding a bicycle was trying to navigate a narrow alleyway in a truck.

Then she peered into his hazel eyes, and their sparkle was gone. That was when she knew — it wasn't Bill looking back at her, but an imposter.

So she did what she should have done before. She trusted her gut.

Where did that lead her? Gateway Home For The Criminally Insane.

Her diagnosis? Capgras Syndrome.

She had never heard of the condition before, not until Sullivan, her attorney, pushed a pamphlet into her cuffed hands.

"What is this?" she asked, pinching the paper between her two fingers like a dirty napkin.

"Your defense."

She eyed the pamphlet, scrunching her nose as if it smelled.

Capgras Syndrome, also known as Capgras Delusion, is the irrational belief that a familiar person or place has been replaced with an exact duplicate.

"No," she said, sliding the pamphlet across the table. "That's not what I have. It's not a delusion."

Sullivan tugged at his hair in frustration, which was becoming more and more unruly each time they met. He was beginning to look like a strung-out mad scientist.

"You have to plead insanity. It's your only shot. You killed your husband, Marianne."

"That man was not my husband," she stated.

"No one will believe that," he groaned. "Not unless you have some evidence."

Marianne frowned and tried to cross her arms in front of her chest, wincing when her handcuffs prevented it. She didn't have any evidence. She just knew.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be enough.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll plead insanity."

And that was that.

x

It was technically a stroke of luck that the judge believed her plea, but she felt far from fortunate as she sat on the lumpy twin mattress in her plain-jane hospital frock.

She opened the drawer of her nightstand to shuffle through cut-outs of newspaper articles that she'd collected for her own investigation. They'd taken away her pinboard — the thumbtacks and cotton twine connecting local catastrophic events back to William's passport picture were deemed too hazardous.

Not a problem; she had it all memorized. She couldn't understand how a plane crash, a mass hospital poisoning, or the collapse of a nearby dam could be written off as "accidents." Even Marianne, who so readily trusted her instincts, agreed that these cases had been closed too quickly. It appeared that the lead investigator for all of these crimes didn't bother with evidence at all.

Two airplanes don't just collide head-on unless it's planned, and there had been no investigation into the air traffic controller that was responsible for directing them that day. She ran her fingers over the headline — Local Detective Says Plane Crash Was An Honest Mistake.

Then there was the hospital event. Police Department Blames Mass Hospital Death On A Bad Batch Of Morphine. Marianne didn't know much about morphine, but she was pretty sure it didn't come in batches, and someone had to be responsible for contaminating it.

And the collapsed dam? Law Enforcement Responds To Dam Catastrophe: "Sometimes These Things Just Happen."

Reading further into the article made her stomach clench.

Det. William McCormick confirmed that although the dam passed a comprehensive inspection a few days prior to its collapse, there was nothing suspicious about the event. "It was a freak accident," he said. "Sometimes these things just happen." When asked what evidence he had to close the case, he responded, "A gut feeling."

She couldn't ignore the signs; Bill's imposter was incompetent and reckless, shrugging off these catastrophes as if he wanted planes to crash and dams to collapse. Someone needed to stop him, and when no one listened to her pleas, she took matters into her own hands.

Now that she was at Gateway, Sullivan told her to stop speaking of such things because her murder case was 'over' and she'd 'freak people out.'

That was the reason she was hesitant to talk to the two strange men who stopped in for an unexpected visit. When they knocked on her door and peered into her room, she motioned them in because, honestly, what choice did she have?

One of the men was tall, freckly, and had blinding red hair. Maybe it wasn't that vibrant, but against the asylum-white walls of her tiny cell of a bedroom, it made her wish she had sunglasses. But alas, she wasn't allowed any. Too pointy.

The other man had a messy black mop of hair, a ghastly scar on his forehead, and wore round, crooked spectacles. He was a bit shorter and scrawnier than the other but still had a look of confidence — a gleam in his eye that suggested he had seen some horrors. Marianne wondered what traumas he could have possibly experienced at such a spritely young age. It couldn't be worse than sharing a bed with a stranger claiming to be her husband, going to trial for his murder, or living in a mental institution.

"Mrs. McCormick?" asked the shorter man when they entered her room. "I'm Agent Potter, and this is my colleague Agent Weasley."

The men stood stiffly as if trapped inside their suits. It caused Marianne's skin to crawl and reminded her of the man she'd killed. Unlike her husband, "William" had hated wearing smart clothes. He'd waddle in a blazer like a penguin wearing a turtle shell, his tie knotted around his neck like a noose because he couldn't remember how to fasten it.

"Whatever information you want, you're not getting it from me," said Marianne. She gestured to the half-empty bottle of antipsychotics locked in the safe on her bedside table. "They say I'm not a reliable source."

"Well," said the ginger, wincing as he adjusted his necktie. "We think you are."

The sleeves of his jacket were too short, and Marianne caught a glimpse of swirly scars on his arms. She wondered what caused those.

"Agent Weasley?"

"You can call me Ron."

She narrowed her eyes at the man. Ron. The way he said his name sounded natural, slipping from his lips like an exhale. It was nothing like "William" introducing himself — pausing before saying his name as if to make sure he used the right alias, over-emphasizing each syllable.

"Ron. Is that short for something?" asked Marianne.

He shrugged, and a lopsided grin spread across his face. "Short for Ronald. But 'Ron's' more me."

Just like her husband didn't much like William. 'Call me Bill.'

The imposter, however, didn't seem to mind it. He wouldn't even answer to "Bill."

"What do you want to know, Ron?" she asked, her eyes shifting between the two, "and Agent Potter?"

"Call me Harry. We want to know why you killed the man who called himself William."

Marianne froze, her mouth agape. She was the only person to phrase it that way. No one "official" had ever believed her. "You're… you're not agents, are you?"

The two men exchanged a knowing glance, engaging in a silent conversation, the kind only two close friends could have. Then Harry let the door close behind him, and Ron took a step closer. "No, we're not really agents."

"Then who are you?"

The men briefly met each other's gaze and nodded. Ron pulled up a chair from the corner and took a seat. "We're called Aurors. We investigate crimes that might have a…" he trailed off, unable to find the correct word.

"Paranormal aspect," Harry finished for him. "We think there's something sinister going on."

"Well, I could have told you that," said Marianne. "So, Aurors, huh? Is that a fancy word for Ghost-hunters? Demon-exorcisers?"

"Something like that," grinned Harry.

Marianne waited, but the men did not provide any more information. She wasn't surprised, as she knew better than to expect it, but still, something about the men seemed trustworthy, even after admitting they were imposters too. They believed her.

So, she told them the truth.

"I killed him because he wasn't my husband. He was part of a network of imposters, and he was using my husband's position in law enforcement to cover up their crimes. They were trying to wreak havoc on our society." She slid open the drawer containing relevant headlines, fully aware of how unlikely her proposal sounded, and handed them over to the men.

Marianne then lowered her voice to a whisper, fearing that Gateway staff might overhear her and increase her medication dosage. Again. "I thought he was working with the dam inspector, the air traffic controller, and someone in charge of quality control at the hospital. Maybe the crime reporter too. But no one believed me, and now I'm stuck living in this hell hole."

There it was, all of her trauma, simplified and watered-down into a bite-sized tablet. It was an easy enough pill to swallow but an impossible one to believe, at least while still maintaining a facade of sanity. It made the judge pity Marianne enough to recommend a Clozapine prescription over a prison sentence. How lucky for her.

She wondered if the judge had truly believed that Marianne was insane or if she simply feared ending up in the empty cell next door, wearing her very own hospital gown. When Ron and Harry's eyes grew wide in shock, she momentarily wondered the same about them.

"You did the right thing," said Ron. He beamed at her, and her shoulders relaxed in relief. "And we thank you for it. We've been trying to track down that bugger for ages."

Marianne felt a rush of something warm but couldn't name it. She could only hide so many pills under her tongue during med-checks, and emotional clarity was the first thing that disappeared with each dose.

"Well, if not my husband, who was he?"

"His name was Walden McNair, and he was a murderer."

Marianne didn't even bother feigning surprise. "Huh. Never heard of him. Did you find Bill?"

Ron and Harry smiled at her. "We did. He's back at home, and you're getting out of here today."

Marianne shot up to a seat. "Bill's alive?"

The men nodded.

"And I'm going home?"

They smiled and nodded again.

Marianne narrowed her eyes. "How are you going to convince them to let me leave?

Ron fiddled with a stick in his pocket. "We have our ways. You just have to trust us."

She crossed her arms in front of her body and cocked her head to the side. "Only if you tell me what's really going on."

Ron reached into the small knapsack on his belt and pulled out a pile of folded clothes. Marianne peered at him curiously — the bag surely wasn't big enough for that. "Fair enough. Here's a change of clothes. I'll cause a diversion, and Harry will bring you home."

She looked down at the clothes. They were hers, so the men had definitely been to her house.

They weren't lying. She could tell. But something strange was happening.

"Where did you find Bill?" she asked, watching as Ron fished in his too-small bag for something else.

"In a dungeon," said Harry. "He was taken hostage with a dam inspector, an air traffic controller, a hospital lab technician, and a crime reporter."

"I was right?!"

"Don't act so surprised," said Ron. "But you do need to change into normal clothes."

"Right." The men averted their eyes while Marianne shimmied out of her hospital gown and into a pair of trousers and a jumper. It smelled like home.

"Here's what's going to happen," said Harry, once Marianne was fully dressed. "Ron is going to throw something, and the whole floor will go dark. When that happens, I will grab your hand, and you have to hold on as tightly as you can."

"Wait, what? I don't understand. We're not driv—" started Marianne.

"One, two, three, GO!" interrupted Harry, and multiple things happened at once.

Ron threw what looked to be a grenade, and as soon as it hit the floor, a cloud of black smoke engulfed the room. They were immersed in darkness less than a second later.

That was when the screams began — people were surprisingly terrified of the dark.

Then Marianne felt Harry's hand grasp hers, heard a deafening crack, and was jolted backward into a different dimension, like a fish flailing from the water on a hook.

A few seconds and a whirlwind of nausea later, Marianne tumbled onto solid ground, panting.

"What the BLOODY HELL—" she started, but she cut herself off when she realized where they were. A stately white house with blue shutters stood before her, and she could hear Bill's favorite Beatles' album reverberating from his living-room record player. The comforting smell of dinner sizzling on the stove leaked from an open kitchen window.

She was home.

Marianne scrambled to her feet and turned toward the door, but Harry's grip on her wrist tightened.

"Hold on," he said with a surprising amount of authority. "Let's talk about this first."

She shuddered when she met his gaze, unsure if she should continue to trust Harry or give in to her sudden, overwhelming fear of him. Who was this man, anyway?

A better question: What was this man?

They had just defied physics by vanishing from the hospital and appearing at her home. Either something supernatural was happening, or her Clozapine prescription was a placebo. It didn't seem possible. Imposters were one thing, but this?

She recalled Harry's introduction, "We investigate crimes that might have a paranormal aspect." She had believed him without question. Maybe everyone was right, and she was insane.

"I need to see my husband. NOW," she said through clenched teeth. "I need to know what he went through—"

Harry kept his grip on her wrist. "I know you want him to tell you everything, but I'm afraid he won't be able to. He doesn't remember."

"What? How is that possible?"

"Marianne, listen. I need you to go inside and act completely normal. Can you do that?"

"How the hell can I act normal after all that's happened to me?"

"Trust me. Please."

She stared into his pleading emerald eyes, once again conflicted. Act normal? She couldn't possibly.

"Okay," she told him. It was clearly what Harry wanted to hear.

When Harry nodded and let go of her hand, Marianne pivoted toward her doorstep. She was fully aware that he was watching her, and it made her shudder.

As soon as she reached the front door, the shudders ceased, and she was overcome with euphoria. A loud crack sounded behind her, and she whipped around to find the source, but nothing was there.

We really need to trim the hedges, she thought to herself, scanning the overgrown greenery lining her front yard. How did we let it get so wild?

With a shrug, she turned back toward the house. It would be nice to see Bill after such a long day.

"Bill?" she called as she stepped inside.

"Marianne! I'm in the kitchen!"

Marianne smiled and followed the hearty, mouth-watering scent to reunite with her husband, completely oblivious to the trauma of the last few months.

Like it never happened.