#she was doomed by the 'we need to give the pink a meaning otherwise we look sexist'

[jimiscribif]

Do you guys ever think about how in Altean culture pink symbolises honouring fallen soldiers, so Allura being born with pink markings meant she always doomed to become a fallen solider??? cause I do and I don't like it

[beachedmessagebottles]

Destiny Bond: ?????

Sequel to Return to Sender.

Synopsis: Gold, grief stricken and afraid what’ll happen to him when the time comes, jumps the gun of how fate works.

CW: Sentient video game characters, dissociation, light body horror (ie: wrong colors and staying as such.), game glitches, existentialism, data destruction as metaphor for realizing dissociative disorders.

GOLD could hardly stand it any longer. The time loss, the time gain, the memory loss, the memory gain. If his player was here, it was still the same choppy things in his memory. It was as clear as he could imagine. The brighter and million other colors in his daydreams continued to persist. He hated it. He was somehow sorry that he did hate it.

Sometimes he felt like he walked on his own, but he wasn’t really walking. It wasn’t like his player. It felt like he was holding a hand with his player, they both stepped at the same time. When he walked on his own, he felt like being guided but no longer holding a hand. That was never like that before. At least he didn’t think so. Did he?

Whatever the case, he needed out. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want the memory of all those Pokémon he could no longer see anymore. He didn’t want to shiver when staring at his Bug Catching opponents or his mother. The same cries felt dull. Callers ringing the same tune made him want to delete every number.

He wanted to see that movie of the two boys on the train. He wanted to talk with CAL again. He wanted KRIS to understand his plight. He didn’t want her to feel like there was a sword over their heads if she ever realized they were doomed to be old and remade.

He needed out. He just needed to find a way. Otherwise, he didn’t know how much longer he could take. He didn’t want it to be forever. Then he would just wait for his home to give up the plastic ghost. He hated that thought also.

Feeling like a jaded adult instead of being a child- He supposed he should do what all jaded adults did when they were stuck in a depressive rut, gamble. He stood up from crouching to the MACHOP in VERMILLION, grinning at its hard work, …whatever that was given that nothing in the Construction Site would ever be finished, before selecting the Coin Case. Just for fun, honestly, made him feel like he was counting his money, and then—

Ow. Owww. Where was he? The game crashed? Ah- What the heck?! GOLD looked down at himself. Wasn’t he—? What? The colors were just off. He was supposed to be— Well, he sure wasn’t red anymore. He picked at his hoodie, it brighter. (Duller?) Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe his eyes were just bleeding from everything being purple. No, it wasn’t just purple, it was blue, green, a lot of things. At least he, despite the duller (brighter?) colors felt… normal? It didn’t hurt. Oh gosh what did he do, was MEGANIUM hurt?!

It was not, he saw. Despite the apocalypse of color, everything was fine. He was just never going to use that thing ever again, actually. It freaked him out. GOLD didn’t like it. Terrified, he booked it towards his usual place of residence when the game was off but he was still here: The Trainer House. For he was already, in a way, not exactly ‘normal,’ and he wasn’t sure why, but he saw KRIS for who she was, and they could chat.

KRIS was used to her friend freaking out at this point. Confiding in his strange behavior and mourning of someone she swore never acted like he claimed. In her eyes, she saw nothing of what he was saying even now.

“This is weird! This is so weird!” GOLD yelped, shaking her shoulders, “Everything’s pink! You’re the normal one! The grass is blue, KRIS!”

“GOLD, GOLD, calm down!” KRIS stumbled on her footing when he shook her like she was a sentient rag doll, “What do you mean everything’s different colors?”

“I don’t know how to explain to you that really simple concept! Even the dex entries- I touched the coin case and everything was- It was-!”

“GOLD, breathe!”

“We don’t have to do that!”

“Well, you need to! Look, I’m not saying I don’t believe you—“

“You never believe me!”

“Oh, don’t be a jerk! I do believe you! You just need to breathe! Maybe it’s like when you check the Legendary Beasts but they sound wrong, but it doesn’t mean anything’s wrong-wrong. It just looks weird.”

“M-Maybe, no POKéMON are hurt. I check- checked.” GOLD sniffled. Getting somewhere, KRIS smiled, turning her backwards cap forwards as she got her thinking cap on. (GOLD wouldn’t be able to see it anyways, he saw her bandana, apparently.)

“Player sends a lot of POKéMON to the old game that they’re not supposed to, so if it’s okay here, it should be okay there. We’re in no risk of breaking.”

“Guess so… I still don’t like it. I’m not using the coin case, I’m not experiencing this again.”

“But what if Player wanted to? Are you stuck like this?”

“Then I guess it’d be okay… It doesn’t hurt but Player would know how to use it, not me, so not me, never. I don’t think so… maybe if I reset again I’ll be normal?”

“Exactly! Nothing to worry about.”

“The Time Capsule freaks me out though… We can send stuff to the past, but we can never get future stuff!”

“Here we go again…”

“KRIS, don’t you think about it sometimes?”

“Yeah, I have, but… I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“GOLD, as far as we have known it’s always been 1999 for you and 2000 for me! I’m new, GOLD! You’re always afraid we’ll be tossed out when we’re seen as old, but I don’t know if it works that way.”

“Maybe but- if I don’t try- I’ll-! I’ll-! I don’t know and that’s the problem!”

“You’re scared of adventure? Of what’s to come?”

“I’m scared of going, KRIS! Not being me! Not being GOLD!”

“I’m sure you’ll be you, GOLD. Not any of the names you think you’ll turn out to be.”

“… … …”

“Oh, please don’t go quiet on me… I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“‘S not you.” GOLD wiped his face with his sleeve, “I’m just scared.”

“I know… but I’m saying you don’t have to be. Maybe what you think isn’t so scary. Maybe it wasn’t so scary for Hikaru like he-“

“CAL.”

“…Right. Your nickname.”

“No, I- Never mind. Say, um, we were talking about glitches-”

KRIS squinted.

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m still seeing everything like HO-OH threw up! I wouldn’t dare!”

Her eyes squinted further.

“I promise I won’t mess with anything, cross my heart, hope to die, and pinky promise.” GOLD did the motions too.

“Good. You know you can’t break either of those.” KRIS shook the pinky with hers.

“Of course you can’t break either of those. They’re crossing your heart and pinky promising!”

“And I’ll kick your butt if you break them.”

“You kick my butt anyways, KRIS.” GOLD grinned as they laughed, soon talking about hypotheticals.

The guilt felt heavier than the egg in his arms. He didn’t remember the actions, only that he did it. It would hatch any moment. Then he knew what he had to do. GOLD wasn’t sure why. He would just follow it. He needed his out. This was the only thought of his out. And if he died trying… Not a fun thought, but he would do it anyways.

GOLD shuddered when he thought about the collateral damage, so he had to do it perfectly. His wrongly colored clothes felt like they were going duller. Untrue, maybe his heart was. He did break a promise. But he wouldn’t jeopardize everybody he cared about for nothing. He would do his best to make sure he didn’t wreck everyone. So when it hatched, he put everything in the PC.

Step two was just… the apology to KRIS. He got Flower Mail, specifically, and just wrote on it. Trying not to let tears stain the pretty paper. Then he traded. He tried not to pay attention to her confused face when she read aloud.

“IM SORRY. MEET ME

IN THE NEXT PLZ

GOLD, what the heck, you’re not—”

KRIS grabbed his arm, he pulled away, “I am! Use that when you get home, please! I have to.”

“GOLD, listen to me!”

“No! Listen to me! I can’t live like this!”

“You can’t expect to run away past 1999!”

“Watch me!”

“GOLD, you might kill yourself that way!”

“I won’t! I won’t go! Never!”

“Stop acting like this! Please! He wouldn’t want you—“

“You don’t know what CAL wants! I don’t either! He’s gone!”

“GOLD, he’s—”

GOLD left the Trainer House, tears streaming down his cheeks. He hiccuped. He just hoped that she would follow. He hoped she could follow. GOLD just hurried past trees and grass, one POKéMON in his party. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he should’ve gone here or the Diglett Statue. But he held the ball close to his chest, his breath hitching.

“Past when it happens… please… I don’t want to go, CELEBI. I want to stay. I want to be GOLD. I need to be GOLD.” He whispered at it, hoping it heard his prayers, heard his sobs.

His body felt like it was on fire. Color hit his eyes so bright it felt like watching another disappear again. But it was only himself. It was only him, duller (brighter?) clothes now on bright green grass. He coughed and spat, feeling like throwing up- despite the fact he physically couldn’t. Phlegm it was on the grass.

GOLD looked up, the sun beaming down on him, shadows from being blocked by the green trees. The wind blowing. He tried to stand up but fell on his knees. That kind of hurt. He checked his pockets for CELEBI.

…Where was CELEBI? There was no ball there. He checked his other pockets. No dice. Bag? Nothing. His berries were gone, but that was the least of his worries when he plucked out his trainer card. It was… broken. Broken how? He wasn’t sure. It just looked like he wasn’t there. All gone, blocked out. Something like that.

His fear of the future was still inside him, he could tell too. Wasn’t he in the future?

What did you do?

GOLD wasn’t sure what to tell that thought. He wasn’t sure if it sounded like his own.

GOLD. What did you do?

He didn’t know. He was in the future wasn’t he? If he himself wasn’t remade, he should be fine, right? Though his dreams of these colors, he was remembering, they had something else to them, right? How could he forget that part? Did he forget that part? No, he always remembers that part. They never had him because they couldn’t go past.

They couldn’t go past, that’s why he had to go forward.

But you don’t go forward. That’s just destiny.

Agh, shut up brain! Come on! CELEBI was maybe somewhere else. Maybe another one? But he- He didn’t- Ohhh no. No, no, no, no, he absolutely messed up. The weight of that set in as he started to breathe, started hyperventilating. He messed up. He couldn’t go forward. He couldn’t go back, he was still stuck in the past wasn’t he?!

GOLD thought of a trainer laughing as music played, a click of a camera shuttering following soon after.

What did you do? You’re not supposed to be here. You can’t be here.

“I don’t know.” GOLD found himself sobbing, “I don’t know what’s going to happen now.”

“That’s just life, GOLD. You almost destroyed yourself in the process of escaping it. I can’t say I didn’t either.”

“What am I going to do?! What’s going to happen to me now?!”

“I don’t know.” Hikaru said, “That’s Ethan and Lyra’s problem now. And whoever comes after them.”

===

KRIS banged her fists on the shrine. Her teeth grit and her ponytails nearly loose in her absolute frustration and grief.

“GOLD! GOLD, you idiot! Come back! Come back! Please come back! I’m sorry! Come back!”

She slammed the GS Ball what felt like thousands of times into the small hole. Nothing worked.

Nothing went forward and nothing came back. Destiny for remakes simply walked forward.

She’d see him again, she knew she would, one way or another, but would he see her?

[whumpinggrounds]

Gotcha Day

my first non-Febuwhump piece of writing! here goes :) this is set before the last day of Febuwhump (You Have To Let Me Go) and i mean i really don’t need to explain much i don’t think bc it’s fairly self-explanatory but i am nervous so. yes

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire and @killtheprotagonist ! lmk if you want to be added/removed from being tagged it is a lot a lot of content so sorry about that

CW: lady whump, pet whump, dehumanization, memory loss, discussion of scars, past burns, implied non con,

Director Hammond’s office is much like the Director herself – alternately welcoming and terrifying, depending on what mood has struck her. Today, the curtains are open, the room is filled with light, and the Director has a bouquet of flowers on her desk in a vase. That’s good, right? All of that is good.

Mara still feels the nerves in her stomach buzzing like a hive.

“I don’t want to drag this out,” the Director begins, and Mara’s heart sinks. It’s some polite dismissal, something like that. There’s a self-satisfied little smile playing around the woman’s lips, and Mara tries to brace herself, folding her hands neatly in her lap and staring down her doom with icy eyes. “We have decided to let you train her. 067493.”

Stunned, Mara stares at the Director. There are no words in her mouth, no words in her head. She wants to speak, knows she should speak, but she can’t. An incredulous smile starts to curl up her face.

“Now, before you get too excited, there are some conditions.” Despite her lecturing tone, there’s a smile on the Director’s face – probably because of Mara’s huge ferocious grin. “She’s not your pet, technically speaking, not until the trial period is over. Obviously, she’s coming with what we call a factory defect, so you got very lucky there, otherwise we’d never let her go. She’s not fully trained, but honestly, Ms. Langford, we’re not going to spend the money and time to finish out the training on a model that we’re essentially giving away.”

“Yes.” Mara’s head is nodding on her neck like a bobblehead. “Yes, okay, that’s fine. That’s okay. That’s so okay.”

Amused by her eagerness, the Director nods. “Good. Now, primarily, Ms. Langford, we want to explore two things with 067493, and we feel that gifting her to an employee, while highly unusual, will give us an opportunity to answer some outstanding questions.”

“Okay.” Mara’s heart is racing. God, she feels like she’s going to pass out any second. “Okay, so, so, um, what are those questions, then? The things…what it is you want to, um, explore?”

The Director smiles at her, fondly, warmly. “First of all…” she pauses for effect, “some of the higher-ups loved this therapeutic aid idea. If it’s workable, there could be a strong market there. Of course, we’ve been trying to work a caregiver angle for a while, but the medical stuff is often just too complex for pets. This emotional approach could give us a very similar sector, but with none of the concern about pets operating medical machinery incorrectly.”

“Y-yes.” Mara’s breathless, dazed, struggling just to keep up. “Yes, definitely-”

“Now, not everyone is convinced, but enough of us think that it’s worth a try. Which brings us to our second objective.”

Here, the Director pauses long enough that Mara can stop focusing on her breathing and look up inquisitively. Finally, tentatively, she prompts her superior. “Ma’am?”

The Director shakes her head as if to clear it. “Yes, well. What we are interested in is…is…” she purses her lips, clearly wondering how to explain. “Pets who may end up living with someone they know or recognize from their former life. As you know, pets are prone to false memories.” Mara nods dutifully, despite knowing full well there’s no such thing. “We want to see if our Boxies can be taught and trained in such a way that they can be…reintroduced to their old life, or one like it, while maintaining good behavior and accurate memory blocks.”

“That sounds…” Mara swallows. “That sounds…difficult.”

“Indeed.” For the first time, the Director looks grim. “Of course, that’s exactly what you’re attempting with 493, and if you could pull it off…we’ve had some interest. People who want to…serve their loved ones in a more straightforward and simplified fashion.” For just a moment, Mara tunes out, thinking with a sort of horrified fascination on the kind of environment that would lead to someone wanting to erase themselves while staying where they were.

Or, even worse, Mara pictures someone coming in asking for a loved one to be erased, returned sweet and pliable and empty. She barely represses a shudder. Ignorant of Mara’s internal monologue, the Director forges on.

“We are proposing that you take 067493 home as your Domestic. You will be responsible for making her into a…a prototype, essentially, for this therapeutic aid program. You will also be expected to report any aberrant behaviors that could conceivably result from…ah, memory confusion.”

“I can do that.” That all sounds absurd, and difficult, and unfair, but Mara doesn’t care right now. All she cares about is getting Jude and taking her home and, and having her. Having her back.

“We’re going to allow you an adjustment period, and then we’re going to ask that you bring 067493 in for regular checkups, where we’ll be looking for signs of this memory confusion, as well as updates on your progress.”

“That…yes, that sounds very doable.”

Once again, the Director smiles fondly across the desk at her, and Mara has a funny, frightening feeling that she’s become Barbara Hammond’s newest little pet project. “I believe that it is, Ms. Langford. Despite the cosmetic defaults, she seems like a sweet thing. I can’t wait to see what you do with her.”

___

When Handler Collins leads Jude out, Mara’s heart about stops in her chest. There she is. There’s Jude. There’s…Jude, and not Jude.

A pair of black shorts, a WRU white t-shirt over skin that’s much paler than last time Mara saw it. Her stocky frame diminished, all her old rugby muscle losing or lost. She looks like...Mara hates the cliche, but she looks like a ghost of her former self, literally. Skinnier, paler, a whole lot more haunted. Her hair, her hands, the freckles and the way she walks just a little pigeon-toed – that’s Jude, that’s Jude all the way. The flat, false calm in her face and the fear in her eyes…that’s someone else. Swallowing, Mara clasps her hands together in front of her, trying to quell the urge to reach for her girl.

“Here she is!” Handler Collins throws his hands out grandly from his place beside the boxgirl. “All yours.”

“Wow,” Mara manages. “Uh…wow.”

Collins shakes his head. “Wow is right. But, hey, wait – you want to check the damage?” He’s still grinning, like it’s no big deal, like it’s all a joke. Mara sucks in a deep breath. The-the Box Babe in front of her is wearing a t-shirt, but Mara can see her cracked reddened palms and wonders what the thin cotton over her chest is hiding.

“I…I guess, yeah. I mean, I’m taking her either way,” she mutters, trying for a joke. Collins is more than happy to laugh at her.

“Shirt off, 493.”

Hesitantly, the trainee obeys, darting a wide-eyed glance at Mara as she does. The cotton goes over her head and oh.

Oh. There, on the right side of the girl’s chest, is the burn, red and angry and raised, covered in blisters. The scarring is worst on her collarbone, but the pink, stretched, destroyed skin crosses her neck below the line of her collar in one direction, creeps toward her armpit in the other. Mara’s horror must show on her face, because the girl flushes, looks down.

“That’s um. That’s pretty bad.”

Handler Collins shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me. Fucking Underwood. Fuck.” He spits on the ground near the trainee’s bare feet. “She’s finished the antibiotics she’s supposed to be taking. The vet thinks she should be set. Just uh, she’s got this stuff she’s supposed to spread on it.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Mara can’t stop staring at the burn, at the way it glares out, crimson and furious, from Jude’s pale, freckled skin. With effort, she tears her eyes away, to the downturned head of the waiting boxgirl. “Put…uh, put your shirt back on.”

The girl obliges quickly, and, Mara imagines, gratefully. She’s too well-trained to even wince when her movements stretch and ripple her healing skin. Mara’s eyes move hungrily over her face, her skinny body, searching for the parts of Jude she recognizes. The girl keeps her eyes on the ground but her cheeks go pink under the scrutiny.

“Doc, I gotta say.” Collins is shaking his head, and reluctantly, Mara turns her attention to him. “I don’t know how you got this one past the Director. I mean – a Box Babe for free? After what, ten months of working here?”

“Fourteen,” Mara corrects, a little too quietly. She clears her throat and tries again. “Over a year, Handler Collins.”

Rolling his eyes, Collins dismisses her with a flap of his hand. “A couple months, a year, whatever. A matter of months and you’ve got yourself a bonus worth tens of thousands? You must’ve shrunk the Director’s head to get her to agree to this one.”

Mara manages a tight smile for him. “I’m definitely…I definitely feel lucky.”

Leaning in, eyes gleaming conspiratorially, Collins puts his mouth near Mara’s ear. “You have good reason to feel lucky, Doc. Me and the guys – well, you’ve given some good advice, these past few months. It’s helped. And business is up. Company’s talking about padding the paychecks a little, and you’re a part of that, you know?” He gives her a hearty slap on the back and Mara forces a smile. “You’re part of the team! And the pet’s a gift from the company, but we thought, hey, why not a little something from us handlers, for our good doc?”

A shiver runs down Mara’s spine. “What…” she wets her lips, tries to sound amused, curious. “What did you do?”

“We only had a week or so to do it. Director Hammond decided so late, and all. But, but look, we crammed in some Romantic training, just for you.” Collins’ leer is too much. “None of the positions, of course, that shit’s extra, but a few of the lines, a few, ah…habits you might like.”

Mara thinks about him touching Jude and wants to tear the grin right off his face, wants to snarl and scratch and chew him out right there. Instead, she finds the girl’s eyes, searches there for some help, some hope, some recognition. Anything.

Her new Box Babe looks back at her with eyes that are flat and dull and empty.

[ragingbookdragon]

Should Judgement Come To Pass

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: My spin on Book 20: Judgment, 1. The Red Room. Enjoy! -Thorne

           It was the oppressive emotion that kept his throat tight, heart hammering in his chest as he gazed from his plate to the other members of the Devil’s dinner party. Even if he wasn’t under the compulsion like Asra and them, his movements made him feel like he was. Too focused on trying to fit in, to keep the secret of his freedom hidden, it was eating away at his usually reserved demeanor. His eyes shifted to Asra, just a second is all it took for the other to nod and he inhaled deeply, glancing towards the Devil, an inviting smile growing underneath his mask. And the Devil smiled back, but it was anything but friendly.

           “See, (Y/N). All of this isn’t so bad.” He raised the silver goblet in his hand, and (Y/N) took a moment to glance at his own wine, imagining one of those vampire eels swimming around in it.

           “There’s food and wine, all of your favorite people in the same place. What more could you even ask for?” (Y/N) knew he had to play this by ear, and his answers had to seem like the most selfish he could possess.

           “I’d like…power.” He allowed a mock look of greed to come across him, voice dark and lusting. “If this is how it’s going to be, I want power.” The Devil burst into a roaring laughter, Valdemar and the others following.

           “Power!” The Devil repeated with a low chuckle. “Perhaps you and I are not so different after all, (Y/N).” He gave him a knowing look. “I bet you want to return to the great monster hunter you were before, hmm?”

           (Y/N) took a moment to think it over. “I can’t deny it’s crossed my mind.” His eyes flitted to Nadia and he sent a silent plea that she would play along. “When I was as powerful as I was three years ago, I had princesses tripping over themselves to make me their consorts.”

           Nadia was one smart cookie because she scoffed and spat, “You are just the same as Lucio.”

           He winked and flashed a pearly grin. “I can’t deny that power has its benefits.”

           “All mortals want power, Nadia,” the Devil tutted before turning his attention back onto (Y/N). “You desire to crush your enemies and to befuddle your betters…” his eyes darted to Asra. “To protect the ones you love dearly.”

           A bolt of white-hot anger thundered in (Y/N)’s chest, but he merely smiled through his clenched teeth. “What can I say? I’m a greedy bastard.”

           Some of the attendents laughed, and that was when (Y/N) felt the cool whisper of Asra’s magic was over him and Faust. Averting his gaze, he absentmindedly ran his pointer around the rim of his wine glass.

           “So, Devil?”

           The dark, maroon eye fell on him. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

           “Can I ask you something before the world is shot to hell?”

           The Devil snorted. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The world isn’t going to end, it’s just going to be…altered.”

           (Y/N) met his stare head on. “Why go through all this trouble? You’re an Arcana. You have control of an entire realm, and anybody stupi—understanding enough of magic to deal with?”

           Tutting once more, the Devil sighed. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Do you have any idea what any of what you just said means?” He scoffed. “Of course you don’t, do you? You’ve never even stopped to consider it. We Arcana are masters of our own realms, but in the rest of existence, we are confined. Restricted to our unchanging roles.” The Devil offered a sympathetic look. “Surely someone as talented and smart as you can see how awfully tiresome it would become to stay unchanging all the time?”

           (Y/N) opened his mouth to respond when he heard a voice that sent his heart pounding against his chest.

           Help!

           Before he could even do a thing, Asra jolted in his seat, knee banging the underside of the table, fork clattering against the porcelain dish. The Devil was silent, but (Y/N) could tell that in the way his crimson eyes focused on Asra that he was suspicious.

           (Y/N) sucked in a breath, eyes darting wildly around to find some form of distraction, all the while Asra and Faust were conversing. It was too confusing, trying to focus on them while trying to distract the Devil. If he didn’t find something to say, something to do, they were doomed. They were—

           “…no one wants you here, Devil.”

           The voice was quiet but firm, and (Y/N) turned his attention to Muriel who gave him a small nod. It was just the distraction enough because the Devil turned on Muriel, but he met the glare with defiant green eyes.

           Across the table, Julian cleared is throat too, voice carrying over the table. “He’s right you know. I can party with just about anyone, even Lucio, but you have to be the exception.”

           Soon, everyone was following along, and Nadia was the next to get her shot in. “And I do not recall inviting you to my Masquerade. You have been such an ungracious guest.” (Y/N) fought viciously to keep the smile hidden as he looked over his frien—no, his best friends.

           The Devil paused a moment to regard them all, as if he genuinely cared what they were saying to him, though the way his clawed hands started clenching and unclenching told him otherwise.

           “Courage in the face of inevitable fate.” His voice turned downright mocking. “How…admirable.” Smiling, he added, “I hope something of you remains when the new world dawns. Perhaps I’ll have new toys to play with.”

           A flickering next to (Y/N)’s silver chalice caught his eye, something that could’ve been a trick of the light, but he knew what it really was. The red wine rippled, then stilled, and next to him, Asra slumped back in his seat, exhaustion seeping down his body. (Y/N) inconspicuously lowered his hand to Asra’s thigh, trying to pour magic into his lover. Whether it worked or not, he didn’t know, but the way Asra sighed in slight relief made his heart calm. Cool snakeskin ran behind his ankle as Faust wound her way up.

           Done…

           Even she sounded exhausted. His heart picked up again, but he was too afraid to even look in Asra’s direction for fear that a single glance would give them both away.

           The Devil raised his chalice and smiled. “To all of you. Thank you so much for playing the wonderful parts you’ve been given.”

He passed the chalice to Julian, and try as he did to resist, the compulsion was too strong, and he took the goblet. His normally pale complexion seemed to whiten even further after he swallowed the wine. The chalice made its way around the table, and one by one the dinner guests drank from it before it finally reached Asra and (Y/N).

           Raising it, Asra said, “To you, (Y/N).” he took a long sip before passing it over into (Y/N) hands.

           He took a long look at it, the dark crimson stains across the sides of the polished silver made his stomach curl. Before he lost his nerve, he grunted and knocked the remaining wine back, forcing himself to keep the sickly saccharine liquid down.

           Asra’s hand fell to his, worry in his voice. “Are you alright, my love?”

           He didn’t have a chance to respond as the Devil chuckled and shook his head, eyes falling on the two of them. “Love. Tell me Asra, what do you think your love managed to accomplish?” With a clawed hand, he vaguely gestured to the rest of the guests at the table. “Everyone is here. Everyone drank the wine. Even your darling (Y/N).”

           Grinning evilly, he finished with, “All your efforts were for naught. You and your love achieved nothing.”

           And that was the bridge too far. (Y/N) could take the Devil mocking his failures, but not those of Asra’s. His lover had worked for too long, worked far too hard, and suffered enough to be subjected to such abuse.

           The screeching of his chair sounded through the room as he stood to his feet and to his full height, ripping the mask off his face so the Devil could look his straight in the eyes.

           “You’re wrong,” (Y/N) condemned with the most withering glower he could muster.

           “Oh?” the Devil merely looked amused as he steepled his fingers. “Indulge me then, (Y/N). Tell me how wrong I am about this mortal delusion you call love.”

           Everyone fell silent, and with the weight of their gazes on him, (Y/N) inhaled and exhaled before he picked up the empty goblet and turned to Asra.

           “Asra, the first thing I remember in this new existence is the feeling of your arms wrapped protectively around me, the relieved and joyous tears seeping into my shirt.” He reached out, taking his lover’s hand. “You have always and will always be the greatest part of me, the truest friend and partner. The man I love the most.”

           (Y/N) raised the chalice to Julian. “We discovered the truth and redeemed an innocent man…not that he made it easy on us.” Julian’s face flushed a light pink as he laughed and gave a dramatic bow.

           “We have traveled across the realms of magic with nothing but our wits and ability to save us. We saved your parents and unraveled numerous mysteries great and small.” Asra’s eyes shone with crystal clear tears and he squeezed (Y/N)’s hand with all he could.

           “I couldn’t’ve done this, any of this, had you not been by my side the entire time.” Flashing him a smile, “Well, I probably could’ve, but not as stylishly of course.” Asra merely giggled and nodded.

           Sighing indulgently, the Devil glanced at them. “Yes, yes, this all so very touching. Dare I ask what even your point to all this is, (Y/N)?”

           (Y/N) tossed the goblet away, not caring that it bounced along the marble floor with a clang. The Devil’s eyes briefly darted to it, then back to him, an anger drawing into them.

           “Love’s the one thing you don’t understand Devil. It will always matter, even if you can’t comprehend it.” He tugged Asra to his feet and turned his attention to the beautiful mauve eyes he as well as his own. “It’s important to me. Important to us. And that’s all I need to be happy.”

           Raising his free hand, he caressed Asra’s cheek. “I don’t need anything else as long as you’re by my side, beloved.”

           “Is that so? Love has driven many passionate mortals, the same as you, into my open and waiting arms.” He grinned deviously. “Always craving more pleasure, more novelty, more control. Your kind are never sated. You’re greedy—like me.”

           (Y/N) shook his head, but never took his eyes off Asra’s. “The feelings you’re describing aren’t love. That’s pride and arrogance. Greed and loathing.”

           Finally, he looked over at the Devil. “However, I’m not surprised that the likes of you can’t tell the difference. It’s almost pitiful. But it makes me see just how delusional you’ve become in this whirlwind of a masterplan.” Expecting a barb back at him, (Y/N) was unnerved to see how conspicuously silent the Devil became.

           Asra looked as though he was seeing the sunrise for the first time after a life in the darkness as he confessed, “(Y/N), you didn’t have to say all the on my behalf.”

           He grinned at his lover. “Probably not…but it made me feel all manly to defend your honor.” Pressing a quick kiss to his cheekbone, he murmured, “Like a knight in shining armor defending his damsel in distress.” Asra snorted, pressing his face into (Y/N)’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, and it made his heart feel bubbly and light despite the gloom and darkness around them.

           “Well, I do feel safe and defended, so thank you, (Y/N).” Peeking his head up, he gazed into (Y/N)’s eyes. “And remember, whatever comes next and becomes of us, I love you too.”

           His heart swelled in his chest and it was only then that (Y/N) realized that everyone was watching them with grand smiles on their faces. It was enough to stun him and Asra, mainly because they’d forgotten they weren’t alone—Asra more so.

The Devil on the other hand was barely containing his annoyance. “Are you quite finished filibustering, (Y/N)? I’ve an agenda to keep up with.”

           (Y/N) shrugged and deadpanned, “Technically you asked me, asshole.”

           Ignoring the insult, the Devil huffed, “A moment of idle curiosity, nothing more than so.” Not wanting to push the envelope farther, (Y/N) fell silent and let the conversation stand. “Nevertheless, now that your sickenin—heartwarming display is over…”

           With an earsplitting ring, the Devil’s hands clapped together. (Y/N)’s teeth rattled, ears ringing as every nerve ending was set aflame. By the shock on Asra and the other’s faces, they felt it too. As quick as it came over, it was gone, and Julian was the first to break the silence.

           “Uh…was something supposed to happen? Because I don’t think it’s happening.”

           “Patience,” the Devil commanded. “One can’t rush these things.” Clapping his hands again, the same outcome applied. “What…is this? It should work.”

           (Y/N) sighed wistfully, and with humor. “Ah well, performance issues are not uncommon.” Asra choked on his spit as he tried not to laugh. “Running an apothecary, I’ve seen it’s about one out of five. I could recommend—” A deafening screech echoed through the room and they all spun to see Volta screaming at the top of her lungs.

           “Oh! Oh, what is happening to Volta? Volta feels…light? Volta feels so strange!”

           They stared in shock as the other courtiers started squirming uncontrollably in their seats, even Valdemar who was the strongest of them appeared particularly rattled. Something didn’t seem right with them to (Y/N) and before he could speak his concern to Asra, his vision fell into a hazy red, nausea threatening to turn his stomach inside out. What reeled him more was the true visage of the courtiers—constructed shells, thin as frost, and barely containing their real, nightmarish forms. He drew his eyes away only to catch sight of the ghostly chains binding everyone to their chairs. The vision began to fade, and the chains started unraveling, link by link by link.

           When it all cleared, the first thing (Y/N) saw was Asra’s face. “Come on, (Y/N). Deep breaths. You’re here. You’re with me.”

           He breathed a sigh of relief. “Asra, we did it. The plan worked.”

           “What? How do you know? What did you see?” Asra’s questions were rapid-fire.

           Nadia cut off any response, rising from her seat gloriously like a phoenix from the ashes. “Whatever you hoped to accomplish has failed, Devil.” Her voice held a barely contained, seething rage. “If you are quite done with this perverse little charade, get the hell out of my Palace.”

           Everyone began to rise as though they were awakening from a long, hellish dream, standing as they were no longer bound by the ritual. Asra and (Y/N)’s smiles grew by the moment.

           Asra looped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, hugging him tightly. “We did it! It worked!”

           (Y/N) yanked off his mask and took hold of Asra’s chin, sealing their lips in a searing kiss. As they pulled away, Aisha and Salim leapt from the chair and ran over to hug them.

           “Oh, thank the Gods you’re both alright!” Aisha exclaimed, pressing kisses to both their cheeks.

           “What of you two? Are you hurt?” Asra’s hurt was palpable. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. We—”

           Salim rested a hand on Asra’s shoulder. “Asra, don’t be sorry. We’re alright. And you two did marvelously.”

           “And we’re so very proud of you two,” Aisha added with a smile.

           “Ahem.” The Devil exaggerated and everything fell silent once more. Asra took his place before his parents, and (Y/N) before him.

           “We drank your wine and ate your food, and nothing has happened. The ritual has failed. It’s over. Let us go.”

           All at once the shadows darkened as he rose from his seat, form distorting until he towered over the guests.

           “Over?” he laughed coldly. “Never.” He reached out a shadowy clawed hand to seize them, blackened fire erupting around the room.

           (Y/N) raised a hand, instantly cooling the fires around Asra and he. “It’s over, Devil. Fate says it is. We say it is.” His eyes narrowed with determination and he fiercely declared, “I say it is.”

           “You’re not going anywhere you foolish mortals,” the Devil countered and (Y/N) willed the magic to his fingers, an ethereal blade forming in his hand.

           He pointed at the Devil, took Asra’s hand in his free one, and dared fearlessly, “Watch us.”

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #29 Debonair

Clean-up is such a process, especially when you spend most of your sun elbow deep in soil, compost and whatever Maxim’s Gelmorran sapling secrets. It was truly an incredible discovery for Charlette, just how much like gum sap can be when it’s found purchase in your hair. To find out how dirt really does love to stay beneath your nails, after a long morning packing it in there one planting at a time. Yes, she was serious about her personal maintenance, but the workload triples every time she steps into that Greenhouse. It’s a good thing then, that there are few things she enjoyed more than ‘straightening-up’. Anyone that has plucked an annoying stone from the sole of their shoe can understand, just a little, the satisfaction there is in taking something blemished, and polishing it to a shine Especially when that thing is you. Even moreso, when that thing is your hopelessly slovenly friend.

“Hold this, and hold still while you do.” She’s stern with him, but you really had to be considering how poor Maxim’s posture could be when he’s protesting. She had him seated in front of her dresser, it was half the size of her sister’s to accommodate a bigger reading desk, but it was enough. He had his back to the mirror, and Charlette was facing him. She had shoved several of her tools into his hand, the rest sprawled on the side of her bed next to her. It kept his often too busy hands in one place while she worked. And what a piece of work he was. “Ow! Stop plucking so hard!” His brow creased, the skin reddening where Charlette had just plucked several hairs “Then stop trying to hold onto your stray-brows so much.” And she plucked another with a swift yank. The same way she plucked her own, immaculate eyebrows. She could tell he’d never done this before, by how overgrown they were and how intolerant he was of the process. “Tsk, I’m not holding onto them, they don’t want to leave me. I’m an addiction after all.” Considering how much Charlette was enjoying his beautification, he might have a slight point. “Roll up the ego Maxim, you have squeaked and squealed far too many times to have one by now.” He pulled his shoulders up, and took the chance to quickly nod between another pluck. “Ow! That’s true, and yet, I still think I’m the best.” Charlette snorted, and wrenched the last wandering follicle away. “The best indeed. I have not heard someone reach such a high pitch since A’nidreah tried to teach us her tribe’s whistle-speak.” She freed one of his hands, taking the pair of scissors from it and pulling at his long fringe. He took the opportunity to rub at his brow and wince. “You nearly skinned my face Charlette, what did you expect? You know I’m a screamer.” Maxim had very soft hair, the almost white-blonde colour of it giving his unkempt mane a richness to it, like it was spun from pure gold. “Hmh, do not admit that to Chloe. She will use it liberally, and cruelly against you.” She snipped, cautiously, taking away only split ends for now, but it was much too long to leave like this. “Think so? I mean, if she enjoys it, isn’t that a good thing?” Charlette leaned back just far enough to look him in the face. “No, no it is not. Gods, have some dignity boy, are you trying to get her attention or be the plaything she swats at like a cat? You know they get bored quickly with their toys, yes?” Maxim pouted at her, it made his lips look even more full. Dare she say kissable? “Yes, do that as much as possible. Chloe is an utter sap for pretty boys, and once we get you cleaned up, you will be the prettiest boy in the Village.” Snip, snip, snip. More hair fell away. Each series of strands that Charlette cut drew a concerned dart from his eyes. He looked up at her, wide-eyed and with a simpering tone said “Really? Oh, it’s my dream come true! When do I get to try on the dress and shoes? I want to feel like the Sultana on her wedding night!” Charlette combed his hair, only the very points of his bangs hanging down to the corners of his eyes. The perfect length to frame his deep-green stare, and long enough to hang and sway, but with a few ilms to twirl around a venturous finger. “Gods I am good at this.” She let him turn to the mirror. He brushed a hand through his neat, recently washed locks “What did you do? I don’t see a difference…” She hit him atop the head with the handle of the scissors. Charlette’s father, Algernon Bellamy, was a tailor by profession. Which, of course, meant he had plenty of suits for Maxim to choose from. Once Maxim had been properly groomed, so as not to look like the mud-digging Botanist that he was, they had gone to the Bellamy Patriarch for help in getting him properly dressed. The tall Duskwight stared down at the shorter Wildwood, tapping a finger to his lip. “He is a little burly for an elezen is he not?” Charlette nodded, Maxim pulling his shoulders up and crossing his arms. “Botanist, axe swinging, scythe wielding, log carrying. Can’t really avoid it.” Algernon waved a hand, puffed out a sigh and turned to the collection he had pulled out. Hanging from a long rack were several suits, all of them beautifully tailored to fit a tall, lithe man. Algernon did not deal in bright colours and garish schemes, there were no white, pink, or otherwise suits here. Greys, dark blues, deep blacks were his domain, he called it the Gelmorran suite. However, he did pull one of the brighter ones from the rack, and held it against Maxim. A shade or two darker than sapphire blue, but enough that it would stand out against a sea of navy, Maxim’s pale skin and hair stood out brighter for it. “It makes him look like a bobble-headed mammet.” Back it went, Charlette’s cackle following it, Maxim’s coming only a little after. Another suit, a darker colour. Midnight blue, but with an almost purple suggestion to it. “Ah, I like this one.” Charlette smoothed it over his chest, the shirt beneath was a steel-grey, the waistcoat a slightly brighter colour to the rest. Algernon nodded, and pressed it into Maxim’s grip. “My daughters rarely allow themselves to agree on anything, Maxim. But I am confident that, in this one, they will find common ground. If one likes it, the other should too. Try it on, let us see.” and he spun Maxim around and shoved him toward the little changing booth at the back of his studio. Maxim took his time changing and Algernon had to go in, twice, to help him with buttons and cuffs. But, once he emerged it was well worth the wait, or so Charlette thought. Maxim cut such a clear figure, the suit pulling against his shape, but adding the little debonair edge to his silhouette. The jacket smoothed his broad, for an elezen, shoulders and the waistcoat emphasized the flat of his chest and stomach. A thing you did not often see, with the baggy clothing the man favoured most suns. She raised her hands, clapped quickly along with her father who was doing the same but much more politely and with far more restraint. Maxim bowed low, his shirt popping loose from where he had half-tucked it into his trousers. “Thank you, thank you. And for the next part of our act, the Bellamy’s will turn me into an actual opo-opo in a suit.” Algernon smiled, but Charlette was up and walking around Maxim. “You look almost perfect, but there is one, very important thing I need to check first.” She reached-up, pulled his jacket from his shoulders and grabbed one arm. “Ah, c’mon Charlette! It took me ages to get that buttoned up.” she had undone his cuff, and started to roll up his sleeves. “Shut up, you will thank me later.” Once both were up, she stepped back “Cross your arms for me.” Maxim hesitated, she smacked him on the shoulder, and he complied. “Ah, there we go. Perfect.” “I don’t understand.” Maxim looked to Algernon, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “The arms are the most important part, Maxim. Make sure you do this at some point during the evening. Chloe likes your arms.” And Maxim blushed, almost beet-red. Charlette had never seen him do that before. Maxim was combed, cleaned, clothed and just about as ready as they could get him. Though, as per usual, the calmest person throughout the entire process was Maxim himself. The man never seemed to lose his nerve, unless his hair was being cut. “No butterflies in your stomach?” She asked him. “Nope, I’m pretty sure they’ve digested by now, but I might swallow another handful so that I get that nice, fluttering sensation when you hit me again. It’s like shaking a jar full of the things! Good fun.” She hit him, and he shivered and let out a dramatic groan. “Where is Chloe, the sooner she takes you off my hands the better.” Maxim gasped, hand on heart, looking offended in a way a person who is never offended pretends. “And here I thought we were having a moment! So cruel, no wonder you’re the least popular Bellamy.” She hit him again. It was just at that moment that the door to the Bellamy home opened, and Chloe came striding into the room. “Hey Charlette. Hello dad.” She kissed Charlette on the top of her head, her father on the cheek, then rounded on the Wildwood seated between them. “Maxim! You look good, best get going or we will be late!” and she grabbed him by the wrist and all but dragged him out of the house. It was over in a handful of seconds, she had barely even looked at him. Charlette and her father exchanged glances. “That boy is doomed.”

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Belgium brings their ex-vocalist back to Rotterdam 2021

Here we chop chop boys like we chop chop wood

This review space would’ve been reserved for Belarus. Unfortunately, their broadcaster was not ready to make nice, and ultimately refused to serve EBU with anything but not-even-so-thinly-veiled propaganda, so much so that EBU, after all they’ve given the time for them for to snap out of it, finally had to be like “bye bitch” (- Lizzo) with enough push from the fandom, and informed everyone that Belarus will miss this year’s contest <3

Which means that I don’t have to deal with 41, but with 39 writeups to do overall, if my timing permits! The Roop could’ve always used a little less competition, anyway /j

Speaking of The Roop’s competition, time to aim at another one of their semifinal folk with a review. Come forth, Belgium!

ARTIST & ENTRY INFO

Hooverphonic, eventhough they’re not as big of a name as Flo Rida, is the biggest act to compete in this year’s Eurovision, and even had lasted longer as a thing than Flo Rida. He barely even got his proper famous kickstart around in the 2000s. Hoover have been around at least for 5 years more than him, if “Years active” section on Wikipedia is anything to go by. And back then they were just known as Hoover, correct. Their lineup of singers has changed for quite some time, but otherwise the band since its inception is rooted in basically two men: Alex Callier and Raymond Geerts. They used to have a keyboardist too but was he a part of their glory years in 2000? No? Thought so, he’s irrelevant then. In fact, their first vocalist wasn’t even present on their first album, so they went to have another one, who did just one album with them before 2000 and left. Now I’m only constantly and consistently bringing up 2000 because that’s when they had their break out moment in relevancy - after they changed their singer once more before they found someone called Geike Arnaert - the woman you’re seeing on the MV’s thumbnail right now, and not someone certain for whom there was a public outcry for she is the only Hooverphonic component that’s not coming back from 2020 to 2021. But more on that later. I’m here to present you the break-out hit, for those who just don’t know:

I used to like to think of Hoovers as trip-hop sensations, well not in the style of Massive Attack because they have their trip-hop sound with actual hip hop thrown in, Hooverphonic’s style is that but with a tinge of symphonic.

Well, “Mad About You” wasn’t really the only hit they had, before that they got a bunch of minor and domestic hits, and their music was used for soundtracks. So it’s a little bit cheating still to think of “Mad About You” as their breakout hit, but that’s still the biggest song of the band. If I were to recommend you stuff from them that aren’t necessarily the biggest hits but still, “The Night Before” with yet another one of their vocalists is pretty good.

So when I tell you that Hooverphonic is a band of a very long career. Well some bands do survive a lot without having their lineup change for 10+ years, but Hooverphonic vocalistes come and go sometimes, and for 2020 forray, when they were first announced, they came in to that talk show studio where they were guests in with a promising little starlet Alex Callier found at The Voice Belgium (for the Flanders region) and was her mentor there, Luka Cruysberghs, as their current vocalist.

Is it just me or her and Stefania Liberakakis look like they could be cousins?

All went smooth and dandy, until Alex started spouting stuff about Eurovision the fans found not amusing, such as calling Eurovision a circus or something, later begging and pleading to medias that his statement was “lost in translation” - now I would say it happens to the best of us, like for Tornike, but deep inside I think I know Alex meant what he meant, inside or outside context. Because everything just went even more sour when everyone found out Hooverphonic were missing from the common song “Love Shine a Light” for the 2020 consolation programme in place of Eurovision, and when they were forced to explain, Alex just straight up said he didn’t like the song, so he decided to not do it. Fuck, I myself don’t adore the 1997 winning song, but I like it, and would’ve still done a piece of that song out of respect. Take it or leave it, god damn. Also they were noted to be the only people plugging in their other material in the time when Eurovision 2020 artists on the consolation programme were either saying inspirational stuff or “hope to see you soon!” or a combo of both, once again, courtesy of mostly Alex. Now I’m not saying his ego is bigger than Kirkorov’s... of fucking course not, no one has an ego bigger than Kirkorov’s. The only thing that can beat him in that regard is if someone booked Kanye West for Eurovision last minute.

Following 2021, they were very excited to jump on the “leave 2020 songs behind” train, while a few artists like VICTORIA and The Roop rallied for to keep their entries in tact if they were allowed to. And with that, in late 2020, they went ahead and celebrated the 20 years of “Mad About You” by getting rid of Luka as a vocalist and bringing back the aforementioned Geike to reprise her part. Seems pretty reasonable, but for the Eurofandom it was simply seen as a dick move, and mostly for the reason that all 2020 artists deserve a 2021 chance, even if they’re band members. What felt more dickish is that Luka was straight up told “byeeee u’re no longer our bandmate xo” on a Zoom call between band members. Like, it’s fine to be told you’re fired in person, even if still humiliating, because what’s the other better way? What’s equally worse is to be told this via email, but the email you were sent was sent like a few months ago and you only read it NOW. At least I guess that proves we know what the “sad and losing game” was that Luka asked to be released from now, heh.

Not to worry Luka-stans, as Alex will still have her, just as not the part of the band anymore. But instead give her a solo career. Yeah well we’ll see how long that lasts.

With the 2000 glory heydays lineup of Hooverphonic we have their entry be “The Wrong Place”, as the completely quite different song they promised (or didn’t) when saying that they will certainly and absolutely get rid of their old one for the 2021 if they had a choice. What they didn’t get rid of is the theme of the worse part of relationships - “Release Me” is about probably wanting to be let go of and released rather than kept by the side when it’s probably not working out. “The Wrong Place” is one of those episodes that probably happened during then - they had a house conflict, she chose to have a smoke to forget about it, the man’s after her Johnny Cash T-Shirt. Not much else to say about the song’s technicality fortunately than I’ve already said so much about the band, so how does it fare in the Hoover-lore, for me?

REVIEW

See, I would like to root for Luka ever having her chance to get to experience Eurovision if she wishes, but maybe it’s lowkey for her own benefit she wasn’t the chosen vocalist for the song, as Geike could do “Release Me”, but Luka wouldn’t be able to do “The Wrong Place”.

“The Wrong Place” is well-suited to the first vocaliste’s melancholic blend-in timbre, and a singer like Luka would sound a little too light on this with her soft-spoken sound of her voice. Besides, I don’t think she could be old enough to relate to the lyrical subject’s domestic struggle issue. Not to say 20 year olds don’t smoke and drink, it’s just that “The Wrong Place” feels a little bit too much mature enough.

Although I think that both of them could absolutely rock the music video visuals.

The song itself is very Hooverphonic. They used to do this kind of standout triphoppy sound back in the days, but as of lately they kind of grew out of the label to do more of the music that kinda sounds like movie soundtrack music. Idek the exact label I could give it to their music so move soundtrack music it is I guess. It has a decently paced structure (could’ve done without the overly repetitive ending where they repeat “you’re in the wrong place” over and over, like ffs I know where I am!!), and interesting lyrical choices. Such as “organic cup of... tea”, as in, WOW! HOOVERPHONIC HAS ENOUGH WITH THE TEABAGS FULL OF GROUND AND GRINDED TEA! THEY WILL ONLY MAKE TEA FROM PURE HERBS AND FLOWERS, AS IT WAS USED TO BE DONE! and acting like her Johnny Cash T-Shirt is the kind of prized possession her man is not allowed to wear to rub it in her face. Imagine if it was something more mundane. “Don’t you ever dare to wear my... pink polka-dot T-shirt”? Damn right it doesn’t seem to suit the mood lol.

It’s not what I exactly wanted from Hooverphonic, but probably what I subconsciously needed from them anyway, ever since they were announced for 2020. I only got into “Release Me” sometime AFTER the contest, “The Wrong Place” is a bit more instant to stand behind. So well done to them to commit to their craft.

Approval factor: I guess I do have to stamp this with my stamp of approval. It’s nice and all. Follow-up factor: “The Wrong Place” follows up as a more of a Hooverphonic discography track after the fairly average and overlookable “Release Me” (eventhough the latter has the tinge of theirs as well because it’s a more symphonic ballad, and they do have symphonic stuff on their discog afterall). As a Eurovision entry, it comes across as even better somewhat, and even slightly more standout, but that might not necessarily work in their favour. Qualification factor: And that’s because they’re absolutely stranded in the semi with too many qualification choices to name. Belgium gets to be a bit quasi-obvious, but they’ve failed with a Hooverphonic-penned song before, plus, the pop girlies of this semi are more likely to eat out a band like this alive, but I wouldn’t exactly say Belgium is doomed to fail either, because I am positive Hooverphonic will think of something. I’m just saying that shocking things can happen every now and then.

INTERNAL CORNER

Well, considering Alex Callier is not running his mouth this time as much as he did so last year’s season, I think it’s safe to say that Hooverphonic have had nothing to write home about.

No, wait...

Well I did mention that Luka got replaced as one of the events that happened to Hooverphonic’s lifetime, but thank God that Alex promised her a solo career, right? Right?

Well, apparently, we’re getting towards it.

And the first lyrics of her first solo forray post-Hooverphonic-vocalist-duties features the lyrics about possibly her making someone “regret it”. Lol now watch this song to be a karma kick into Hooverphonic’s ass if Belgium happens to not qualify this year. Luka forewarned y’all with sharp precision.

Annnnnd that’s pretty much it, besides the band jumping on the trend of turning their entries into a Festivali i Këngës 59 acoustic night European version by presenting their own acoustic version of this track. I did not have the kind of courage to link to the Azerbaijan’s “slow version” on their review in fear of overruning my post even longer than they would usually be for these reviews, but at least it moves people to a certain degree

Well, my question of the days is, does “The Wrong Place” in acoustic make you sad twerk?

ANY LAST WORDS?

Belgium’s big weakness is when it comes to stage their entries, notably for the last two years where the Eurovision actually happened. Sennek was awkwardly put in the middle and succumbed to the curse of Lucie Jones of grimmacing too much and therefore ruining her score in the process, possibly. Eliot was just simply upstaged by the decision to include big drums on stage. Alex Callier acknowledges all that sort of thing, so if anything goes absolutely right and Hooverphonic manage to make it to Rotterdam (which I think they can do because Belgium and Netherlands are neighbours lol? unless their lockdown rules get super strict in May), he should get on to mending all the flaws that Belgium had in the past for staging, and have a spectacular vision. Because it’d be sadly hilariously ironic if Hoovers miss out on the final due to the staging again. Can’t just constantly blame the vocalist - Geike would be flawless live, if Hooverphonic trusted in her for so many years. Can’t blame the song - it’s not too bad. So staging, I guess.

Good luck Hooverphonic, you’ll certainly need it. Also can RTBF consider that they could send anything else from the Wallonian music scene other than The Voice Belgique acts~

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Impressions from TTM

Spoilers, spoilers everywhere. Just a big bulleted list of thoughts as I read through the graphic novel. Not a lot of detail included, so it’ll make a lot more sense if you’ve already read it yourself!

looks like Moonshadow elves cross the arms of the dead... when they have a body to bury

it’s nice to see that Rayla imagines Runaan with all his shirts, the way she last saw him

kinda looks like Rayla changed into her jammies right on her bed and dumped her clothes on that little table. maybe she’s afraid of letting the few things she actually possesses out of her sight

listen we get one little panel of Opeli in here and it’s great

Soren’s cape smacking Callum in the face, 10/10

Lujanne’s appearance out of nowhere, along with Allen’s is just adorable, she’s so sparkly. And also she can apparently just turn totally invisible with an illusion spell? Even at a new moon? Probably because of the Nexus I guess

Lujanne’s “Big strong man with big strong feelings.” She and Runaan have exactly the same type and I support them

Allen’s face when Lujanne says it aches to miss Phoe-Phoe

Callum eating off Rayla’s plate and wondering how Lujanne suspected they were a couple, hmmm

Soren and Allen bonding

Rayla warning Lujanne about hand disguises, as if that was something Runaan made very sure she knew

Rayla’s cute chaos grin when Callum’s Aspiro spell goes off is my favorite pic of her in this whole graphic novel

Lujanne’s “Oh.” afterward is my fave pic of her, too, she does not seem to handle reality well!

Bait’s tongue will never get old

Lujanne’s whole speech during Phoe-Phoe’s rebirth ritual is so touching and beautiful, my heart

Lujanne putting the newborn Moon Phoenix into Ezran’s hands, like she knows he’ll have the best connection with her

Callum’s tears as he reminds Rayla that Runaan killed Harrow, he’s trying to move on, but it hurts

Rayla’s self-soothing behavior when she has her second nightmare in the book--she must have these most every night :((((

the big symbol on the Moon Temple doors looks like a stylized Moon staff, like it’s a building for mages

Lujanne saying Rayla might not want or need the truth right after Callum mentions Runaan’s name to her, he sassily asks about her husbands and she turns it into a compliment

Callum’s big reaction to the moon opals is adorable. The only other one he’s seen was part of a pair of treasured gifts between long-time spouses, so it kinda looks like he’s all “uhh we just started dating”

also Ethari must’ve made cute metal swirly covers for the pair he and Runaan wore, since these two are undecorated--maybe he got his from Lujanne?

listen Lujanne is a hoot and all but she’s both an ally and an antagonist. Her actions are trustworthy but her advice is generally terrible. It’s an interesting parallel to how Runaan says a lot with his actions too, but he talks a lot less than Lujanne

Rayla yeeting herself into a fight just to ask Soren for a talk is 10/10 Moonshadow assassin goals

but her hood is up when she’s lurking in the trees--she might not have known where she’d find Soren and was anticipating something less fun on the feels-o-meter

Rayla in the mud again. Soren keeps making people fall in the mud

Allen’s grumpy squiggle

Callum, I love you, but you have no respect for moon opals. It’s like they wronged you in a previous life or something

that dancing elf has very long hair and shoulder pauldrons, and they start off dancing with six kneeling, watching, hooded elves around them--Moon Druids wore hoods even before they were assassins. Considering what Lujanne said about why the portal was sometimes opened, maybe those six kneeling elves are waiting under their emotion-hiding hoods to farewell a loved one who’s recently died?

can’t tell for sure but maybe the elf is dancing along the lines in the stone like they mark patterns for ritual dances, which would be the bomb

Soren and Rayla’s conversation is pretty wrenching. Seeing Soren have to struggle with what he did because it’s tangled up with Viren is rough because as a Crownguard it should just have been his duty to defend his king and he’d have nothing to feel weird about

Rayla dissociating herself from the term “assassins” and Soren dissociating from calling Viren “my father” in the same conversation is 10/10 excellent growth

Soren must know what happens to prisoners his dad gets a hold of, even if he doesn’t know the details :(((

“we captured him” and “Viren took him” seem to be talking about the Crownguard and Viren, not the brodigies and Viren

Rayla having a wooden sword at the end of the day bc she played swordfighting with Allen and Soren all day long

the panel where Rayla doesn’t say anything at all after telling Callum that she asked Soren about Runaan actually says so much, you can hear it

every time Lujanne’s white lies idea gets repeated, things get worse

Allen’s reading glasses, there must be one optician in the human village and he caters to soft kindly gentlemen of a certain age

in the moon phase montage, baby Phoe-Phoe is flying next to Ezran after one week at the Nexus. Maybe he’s paying her back by helping her learn to fly after she helped him teach Zym how to fly! Did they bond as tightly as Ezran did with Zym? I support Ezran just bonding with the most powerful flying creatures in all the land.

the irony of Callum using Lujanne’s tactics against her is amazing, but really the white lies thing is a giant ball of chaos in this story and it does not play favorites

Bait on the stone pillar during rebuilding

all the noises the Moonhenge makes are 10/10

Rayla dancing with Callum even though there’s almost no chance she’s ever done that dance before

Lujanne’s pupils going white, that is a cool effect, what’s it mean?

the black moon in the pink sky is so spooky! Is it just me or does the color scheme here kinda vibe like the space outside Aaravos’s library?

the smoky assassin squad, 10/10 creep factor, I love it

the lightning being a literal crack of doom with “CRAK-DOOM” as Katolis Castle appears, “echoes of thunder” indeed, very nice

Lujanne being mad but she can’t decide if it’s at Callum or herself

when she says pulling Rayla out now will leave her soul on one side and her body a husk. After the Insta live stream last night where we learned that soulfang serpents are Moon primal creatures, that’s... super interesting

smoky assassins go tssh in the rain like they’re still hot from being cremated, thanks I hate it

Andromeda finds Rayla first and seems closest/most aggressive so I wonder why she might hate Rayla more than the others

the assassins’ wrist bindings have gone red but they’re still attached and seem to trap the souls where they are. But all they need to be free is to perceive that Rayla completed their task, even though we know otherwise. So... would that work for killing any target? If you’re certain that you did it, does your binding fall off even if you’re wrong? eyes Pip

this must not be the actual afterlife since the spirits kind of mist up toward the moon and vanish, it’s more like a lobby, no one stays here unless they get stuck

portaling around just by shouting at villains, excellent

Rayla literally dropping a sword at the sight of the pod Viren’s in, yeah, it’s that creepy, I agree

Viren’s eyes are so black I think they’re Aaravos’s. I got a whole headcanon on Good Viren and Evil Viren for S4 now, wow

Phoe-Phoe pulling out a feather for Callum, awww my heart! This is why Ezran had to come, to bond with her so together they could save Callum and Rayla, it’s so sweet

so these humans are from the Storm Spire battle, bc that’s the Storm Spire behind Rayla and Callum on p108, with the rune-written arch. Did they die hating Rayla and Callum from the battle? Did they even know Rayla was up there? Or is pod Viren/Aaravos actually making them attack out of hatred for Viren’s death? One of these is definitely creepier and more awesome

Rayla’s confidence that Callum can and will boost her at the right moment with his magic, my heart, I love battle couples

that one panel that mirrors the Ghost Feather key art, hhhhhh

Rayla being the better swimmer, such precious irony, thanks Runaan

them holding hands and swimming upward together on the full-page panel is blessed

Lujanne pulling Rayla out of the lake with both arms gives me feels bc my grandma saved my life once

Lujanne being super soft over Rayllum, she is indeed a hopeless romantic

Rayla says “gone” about her parents and Runaan, and that’s the word Ethari used too, and I’m suddenly wondering if Ethari reached right into that pool and has always known that the lotus is half-submerged and if the sword he’s been making is for himself

I’m so glad Rayla told Callum what she saw of Viren

Rayla deceiving Callum and heading into danger alone because his life is more valuable to her than her own is exactly what Runaan did for her the night of the full moon in Katolis. I’m leaning toward her having thought this over and doing it on purpose bc she believes it’s a sign of deepest love--that Runaan’s actions and Lujanne’s words match up in her head, so she thinks it’s the right thing to do bc the mage and the assassin agree. Alas, Callum doesn’t understand the Moon arcanum yet, so he will have a different opinion. That mage and that assassin do not agree!

Rayla’s cloak has that Moon Temple symbol on its back. Is it Lujanne’s cloak? Any Moonshadow who sees it will probably know where she got it and who helped her. That could be fun!

[frogjutsu]

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi x Maito Gai

Word Count: 2088

Warnings: slight angst, lots of tomfoolery

A/N: written as part of the KKG server gift exchange! Feel free to read here or on Ao3

The sun filtering through the branches felt like a lover's caress. It was almost enough to make Kakashi forget how lonely he was. With a sigh he settled further against the tree. The bark scratched against his back and the grass felt cold against his thighs but the scent was comforting. The scent was home. 

Kakashi turned a page in whatever copy of Icha Icha he'd brought with him today. He'd read them so many times he could probably quote them from memory, but he had appearances to keep up. Anyone who saw him would simply assume he was reading his pervy books again and leave him alone. Well, almost anyone. 

"Ah, there you are, rival," Gai's voice boomed as he jogged up to Kakashi. He was surprised Gai wasn't running on his hands this time. "I've been looking for you."

"And you've found me," Kakashi said, not looking up from his book. It would be too much like looking into the sun. 

"I've devised a new challenge for us. One that will truly test our limits as shinobi. Are you interested?"

Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes, Kakashi thought, but what came out of his mouth was: "I suppose" coupled with a shrug. 

Gai laughed and it echoed through Kakashi's heart. It might've been the most beautiful sound he ever heard. "Cool as ever, dear rival. In that case, you'll need this." Gai whipped out a small booklet - from where in that skintight suit Kakashi couldn't tell. If Kakashi's eyes lingered too long, Gai didn't mention it. 

Finally, Kakashi set his copy of Icha Icha to the side and reached for Gai's hand. Their fingers brushed as he took the booklet and Kakashi wondered if all of Konoha could hear his heart pounding. Before he could ask what the book was, Gai interrupted: “Meet us at the theatre tomorrow night.” 

“Us,” Kakashi asked as he opened the book. His eyes trailed across a hand-written script. The character “Damsel” was highlighted. 

“Yes! Team Gai is going to put on the ultimate display of youth and you are to be our damsel in distress. Then the audience shall decide who embodied their emotions better: the infamous Copy Ninja or the Green Beast of Konoha.” Gai planted his fists on his hips, striking a pose as Kakashi stared at the pages before him. What had he gotten himself into? 

It was not the only time Kakashi asked himself that question. In fact, it seemed to be the only thought he could form as he memorized the few lines he had and showed up to the theater, only to be rushed into what was clearly a storage closet someone had hurriedly turned into a changing room. Sakura and Ino had been roped into helping Team Gai with makeup and wardrobe, though, as they forced him into a rather skimpy pink dress and braided wig, Kakashi doubted they really needed any convincing. At least Sakura was thoughtful enough to include a matching pink mask. 

As he was ushered onto the stage and the curtains lifted to reveal most of the village gathered around to watch this farce - play, Kakashi corrected himself - Kakashi tried to pinpoint exactly which decisions in his life had led him to this point: dressed in pink and lace surrounded by a trio of children with plastic swords and too-big costumes pretending to be pirates. Perhaps if he’d never joined the ANBU or if his father had never died. Maybe it was just an inevitability. Perhaps Kakashi Hatake was always doomed to give more of himself than he would ever receive. 

He was broken out of his gloomy reverie when Gai burst forth from the wings, dressed in a loose flowing white shirt and pants that seemed even tighter than his green jumpsuit. His hair was held back with a leather band and - Did he oil his chest? Kakashi thought, noting how Gai’s skin glistened under the stage lights. 

Lee elbowed Kakashi in the hip. “It’s your line, Kakashi sensei.” 

“Oh,” he replied, forcing his thoughts back to script. He cleared his throat and began: 

“Blessed be the gods for sending the Green Beast. Save me from these scoundrels and then we shall feast.” 

Gai stalked across the stage, pulling his own plastic sword out of its sheath. “My dear Princess, it would be my pleasure / for rescuing you would be life’s greatest treasure. / Avast, ye pirates. Stand and fight! / Draw your swords and face my might!” 

Now it was Lee’s turn to jump forward into the spotlight. “First you must pay the princess’s ransom! / I don’t care if you are devilishly handsome. / 10,000 yen is what we agreed. / If you can’t pay she’ll be tossed to the sea.”

Silence fell over the stage for a moment as Lee and Gai stared each other down. Then, Lee coughed and looked at Neji out of the corner of his eye. Kakashi thought he heard Neji mutter something about wishing the swords were real so Gai could kill him, but he stepped forward nonetheless. 

His voice was blank as he spoke, brandishing his sword as if he wished he were anywhere else. “Captain, please. Don’t be a fool. / There’s no way you could beat the Beast in a duel.” 

TenTen took a step toward Kakashi. She was definitely the most comfortable of the three of them, and, as she pressed the sword under Kakashi’s chin he honestly had to remind himself that this was just a play. “Take another step and I’ll end her life,” TenTen said. “And then you’ll never take her as your wife.” 

Wife. Kakashi let his mind turn the word around in his head, wringing it out until he could pull a drop of meaning from it. He’d never been one for domesticity. Never really given a thought to marriage, having spent so much time alone already, but Kakashi had to admit the thought of being whisked off his feet by a local folk hero and devoting himself so wholly to them held some appeal. Then again, as Gai leapt forward and began his choreographed fight with his teammates, Kakashi realized he was already devoted to someone. 

The fight was beautiful, really. Kakashi was sure Gai choreographed it himself. He could see the fluidity in the movements, the way each step was tailored to each character. Kakashi found himself distracted by the sheen of sweat dripping down Gai’s chest, trailing down and out of sight past a tear that appeared where one of the kids got too excited by their role as villains. The clash of plastic swords could barely be heard over the cheering of the audience as Gai gave one final blow to Lee and he died dramatically, dropping to the stage floor next to Neji and TenTen. 

Kakashi walked forward, hands still bound behind his back. “You truly are a hero, my dearest Gai. / Stuck with those pirates I was afraid I would die.” 

Gai closed the distance between them, reaching around Kakashi to pull at the rope around his wrists. It fell free with little effort, but the action brought their chests together and Kakashi swore he could feel the rumble of the next words Gai said in his ribs. “I will always save you, my dear Princess. / No matter the challenge. No matter the test.” Gai brushed his knuckles against the underside of Kakashi’s jaw, pulling his mask down just past his lips, and wrapped his left arm around his waist. “You’re free now to do what you like. / Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

“The honor is mine,” Kakashi said, more breathless than he’d intended. He hoped Gai would just write it off as good acting. “After such a brave feat. / No better man could I hope to meet. / So ask me again. I’ll respond with a sigh. / There’s no greater honor than becoming Mrs. Maito Gai.”

The audience cheered as Gai pressed his forehead against Kakashi’s, but neither of them heard it. There could have been a stampede of elephants running across the stage or a surprise ambush from a neighbouring village and it wouldn’t have mattered. All Kakashi could think about was how warm Gai’s skin felt against his and how Gai’s hand felt like it belonged on the small of his back and how easy it would be to just lean forward and claim his lips and argue that it was an acting choice later, but that would require spine and Kakashi may have been reckless at times but he’d never been brave and - 

And then Gai did something unscripted. He pressed his lips against Kakashi’s and his knees buckled. Kakashi was sure he would’ve fainted if Gai’s arm hadn’t been there to hold him up. Gai was always there to hold him up. 

The audience erupted into cheers again, but Kakashi only cared about the taste of Gai’s lips. Salty and sweet, tasting vaguely of sweat and matcha and the dango they’d all had backstage before the show started. Kakashi let his tongue brush against Gai’s lips, but he broke away with a laugh. 

“Eager, I see, my dear Princess. / But after such an ordeal, I’m sure you must rest. / After all this concludes our heroic tale. / So now I must bid you all farewell.” Gai stepped away from Kakashi and took a deep bow. It wasn’t until Lee, Neji, and TenTen returned to the stage that he realized he was supposed to do the same. Gai’s hand felt like a hot coal in Kakashi’s. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to toss it to the ground or cling to it until it became a diamond in his grip. 

After what felt like an eternity of bowing and clapping and greeting the audience, Kakashi finally escaped back to his changing room. He quickly peeled the dress off and yanked on his uniform pants. He wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply use a teleportation jutsu to get home. Otherwise, he might have to face Naruto in the audience, and Kakashi wasn’t sure his nerves could handle that right now. 

A knock interrupted his plans. Before Kakashi could say anything, the door opened as quickly as it shut and Gai stood before him, still in his costume. The closet changing room didn’t offer much space and, with Gai blocking the exit, Kakashi knew there was little chance for escape. 

“You were wonderful out there tonight, rival,” Gai said. His voice seemed even louder in the small space. Kakashi didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. 

“Thank you, but I think you’ve bested me this time.” 

“Almost certainly,” Gai laughed. “But I must say, pink is your color.” He stepped forward and brushed his knuckles against Kakashi’s jaw again. In the dim light of the closet, far from the scrutiny of his peers, Kakashi let himself enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes and leaned against Gai’s touch, let himself be led as Gai pulled Kakashi closer by the hips. “What do you say to rehearsing for our next performance?” 

Kakashi might’ve said something in response, but it was lost as Gai claimed his lips with his own. It quickly became clear that the kiss on stage was an act, a buildup to this beautiful crescendo. Gai was more insistent now, pushing his own tongue between Kakashi’s lips as one hand slid up Kakashi’s bare back to tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck and the other held so tightly to Kakashi’s hip he knew it would bruise in the morning. He couldn’t bring himself to care as he cradled Gai’s face close to his, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to admit that this was probably just a dream or an act or something unreal because good things simply didn’t happen to him and there was nothing more good than Maito Gai. 

Finally, Kakashi’s brain caught up with him, though, and he jerked away. “Wait. What do you mean next performance?”

Gai only smiled, reaching behind to pull another booklet out of his back pocket. “A chance to regain your honor and prove who’s the better thespian when we perform the sequel.” 

Kakashi hummed in response as he took the booklet. Gai’s hands settled on Kakashi’s waist, stroking the skin over his hips and sending fire coursing through Kakashi’s body. He flipped through the booklet and pretended to read the words as Gai began to kiss the skin of his shoulders. There was a single character highlighted: Damsel. 

[nicostolemybones]

3 Days + 1: Plus 1

Solangelo Spring Ball 2020 collab with @solangelover

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Linking all these together so make sure you reblog the linked posts, also please go check out my collab partners works! Also posted to ao3, and also FF.N for my collab partner.

@solangeloweek

-

Will didn't get back until morning, and Nico felt a little empty. He hadn't gotten to get to know Will as much as he'd have hoped to, and whilst he was happy at the prospect of being let out of this place, he'd kinda miss Will's company. He hadn't fully processed why he was so drawn to Will until he'd realised the skeletal butterflies were more than just social anxiety, and now? Now Nico had one mood and that mood was gay panic. 

Because now, in order to interact with Will, he'd actually have to approach him, and if there was one thing guaranteed to make Nico go non-verbal, it was approaching people. And Nico would probably freak out and kill all the plants out of nervousness anyway, so, he was thoroughly screwed and isolated if he left the infirmary today. So that left him with the crazy plan of pretending to still be sick or injured, but, that was crazy and obsessive and Will would know he was faking it anyway, so, Nico was doomed to admiring the cute kind guy from afar, and whilst being friends with the cute guy with feelings involved probably would have gotten messy in the long run, the cute guy was still a genuinely kind person Nico would like to have been good friends with, but no, he was destined to be lonely, of course. 

Nico took a deep breath. Over thinking his gay panic really didn't work out well, ever. 

By this point, he was sitting up in the hospital bed hoping to keep his hospital pyjamas after he was discharged, but also desperately hoping that he wasn't discharged or that Will would maybe wanna spend some time with him. He doubted it, but he still craved it, of course. 

It was several hours before Will bounced into the infirmary with a bright grin and a bright glow and an even brighter smile- seriously, just what was this guy putting on his teeth they shined- Nico huffed, realising he hadn't seen a dentist in years, and, much to his chagrin, Will was carrying several leaflets about root canals, fillings, extractions, and braces. You admit to having a dental abscess once and suddenly hot boys want to poke around in your mouth with pointy drills.

"No," Nico said with a warning scowl, but Will beamed at him, his own blue rhinestone braces showing, and honestly? Nico would let this boy take his kidney if he asked. "Okay, fine," Nico relented, fixing Will with a playful glare, "but I want black ones fitted."

"Cool!" Will beamed, "we'll get you booked in for next week for your extractions! Then the root canals, then the fillings, and finally braces!"

"Joy(!)" Nico rolled his eyes, picking at an itchy patch of acne on his cheek. Will had quite a few acne scars on his, although he was also currently going through an acne flare-up right now too.

"So! Are you ready to be discharged today? I just gotta sort out your prescription and book you in for check-ups, then you can go!"

"Can't wait," Nico said with a grin, and Will smiled back, dumping all the leaflets on the hospital table.

"I, will be right back!" Will announced, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "You should get changed, I won't be very long! smell you later!" Nico snorted and rolled his eyes, watching Will leave before letting out a frustrated huff. He supposed he should probably do as he was told and get dressed without arguments.

Will didn't take long to return, as promised, holding a bag of medications for Nico. "Okay, all that's left to sort out now is your discharge papers," Will said, "then I'll process them and book your future appointments, and you can go. You never have to see me again!" 

Nico didn't pick up on Will's joking tone effectively, frowning. "Or maybe we could… see each other outside of the infirmary and hang out together?" 

Will flushed darkly, a blotchy wine blush spreading over his now ruddy cheeks. Nico cringed internally- he'd gone way too far in asking to be friends, and he'd almost definitely creeped Will out by now, no doubt about it. "Uh- I'd love to! It's a date! I, uh, didn't realise you were into me too, otherwise I'd have asked you out a lot sooner!"

Wait. What? Nico almost corrected him by saying he'd meant as friends, before the smart part of his brain, thankfully, shut him up and prevented him from doing so. He'd just accidentally asked out Will Solace, who had confessed that he'd wanted to ask Nico out first. Nico wasn't going to screw that up now. No way. "It's a date," Nico confirmed, turning a dark cherry puce at the realisation that he'd just rather embarrassingly accidentally asked his crush out, and that now, apparently, he had a date with a boy. 

It didn't take very long for Will to sort out all the appropriate paperwork, and he was rather endearingly smitten with Nico, generally more relaxed around him, save for the bright glow. Nico was going to need sunglasses, it seemed. It was… really cute, actually.

Nico had to leave, though- after all, he had a date to plan on a whim, so, with the hope of pulling off some miracle, he told Will to meet him in the strawberry fields before dinner. Will, of course, gladly accepted it, and Nico silently congratulated himself for being smooth.

He headed to his cabin first, pacing around. He needed an idea… a picnic? That was romantic, and Will loved picnics. Maybe Nico could cook and bake, could leave the food on the hot plate and pull it out of the shadows, a private, romantic dinner date, but in the casual format of a non-pressured picnic. That… was actually a good plan, Nico mused. He could totally pull that off, no problem. He just needed a suit, something he could bother his father about, of course.

-

Will was beyond excited. He'd been on dates before, of course. He'd dated two others in the past, although one girl found him too intense and was pretty biphobic to him, one boy was only in it to date a doctor, and the agender person he dated had to move away. So whilst Will had been on dates before, he was a little nervous of things going wrong. 

Which lead him to his current predicament. His siblings had evacuated the cabin and left him alone. Usually he'd love the prospect of being completely alone for a while with no siblings in the cabin and no interruptions to whatever alone time activity he decided to do in that time, but this time, they'd evacuated the cabin because he'd screeched and squealed and stressed so much about his date that they'd decided to simply leave him to it.

Will had the entire contents of his wardrobe strewn across his bed, had tried on the same outfits several times, and had screamed into the void. He wanted to look cute, and babey, but also hot and handsome. He had so many pastel clothes and he could look pretty adorable in them, but again, he wanted to be hot, and Nico would probably be all dressed up. But, then again, being his authentic self was best.

He usually wore clothes that clashed, purely because he could, and he wanted to, so he did. He picked out a pastel lilac hoodie, a little oversized, and some pastel pink and blue jeans where one leg was pink and the other was blue. He figured he looked pretty bi, and he put on some pastel mint trainers to top off his look. He was dressed casually, but more presentable than usual, like he'd made the effort but also like he felt comfortable to be himself too.

He looked to his hair. He had natural curls, although he looked after them terribly- they were salt damaged from all his time spent in the sea at the beach, and he didn't take care of them beyond shampoo- and, unfortunately, dry shampoo more than actual shampoo. So his hair was full of split ends, rougher to the touch then they should have been, and being as he rarely brushed it, he usually had to spend some time working out matts with his detangle spray, which really wasn't made for curly hair and honestly made it ten times worse. 

He wasn't very gentle when he brushed it, either, so he ended up with a sore scalp and a palmful of hair, wondering how the hell Nico's curls were back to looking beautiful again after so much damage.

It had to be witchcraft, Will was sure of it.

He wanted the date to go well, badly, and he didn't want to be running late, so he hurried as quick as he could to get ready. He hoped that he was a good date for Nico, because he really liked him, and he kinda really wanted to impress him. He grabbed his stim toy, counting down the minutes until he'd be meeting Nico, except they'd set a vague time, so Will figured he'd give it about half an hour.

-

Nico cursed loudly, pulling his hand back. He really should not have stuck his hand on the ring to make sure that it was hot enough. He shook his hand, quickly running it under cold water before glaring at the hob as though it could possibly comprehend what it had just done to him enough to feel guilty for it.

He returned to the stove nonetheless, and fixated like a mad scientist on perfecting his food- it had to be perfect. This was a date, and Nico was Italian, dammit, and he'd had to threaten the Stolls not to give him penne lisce because he needed tagliatelle for this and he refused to touch penne lisce with a ten foot pole. That didn't mean he was particularly good at cooking though, so he'd had to rope in some help in the form of Percy, who helped his mom with the cooking and cooked a lot for Annabeth. He picked it up pretty quickly, though, once he'd figured out how to use an oven. Time was ticking away, so Nico quickly went to get changed whilst Percy watched the stove for him.

His dad had, thankfully, sent him a suit to wear, simple black with a dark red shirt and a black bow tie, which Nico had to go and fetch Reyna to help him with. Needless to say, she was a little surprised at his impromptu shadow travelling into her bathroom, being as she was showering at the time, so that had certainly been awkward, but she helped him with the knot and an offer to gut Will like a fish in the event that he mess up, so he quickly shadow travelled back ready for his date.

He managed to plate it up on his own, placing the food on a hot plate to keep it warm, before shadow travelling to the strawberry fields ready for his date. Will wasn't here yet, which gave Nico the opportunity to lay out a picnic blanket and make the area look presentable. He radiated a slight death aura just to keep the ants away, and lighted a candle or two which he kept weighed down to make sure that he didn't accidentally set Will on fire. After all, that would be a terrible first date experience, for both of them.

He was anxious about whether Will would change his mind or not, whether somebody would see him on a date with a boy before he was fully out. He had an irrational fear that this was all an elaborate practical joke, the kind girls at camp had played on him before, only designed to mock and ridicule his sexuality, but then he reminded himself that Will wasn't like that, and besides, he wanted this with his whole being, so of course, he didn't regret his plan and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't regret it even if Will didn't show up.

Will did show up.

And he was breathtaking. 

-

Will couldn't believe his luck. Nico looked… he looked stunning. He looked nervous too, smoothing his hair back and flushing puce, but he was in a suit, an expensive looking suit for a picnic. Will almost felt underdressed, but he could see in Nico's eyes that Nico found him beautiful. Will couldn't doubt that he did when the boy looked at him with such gentle affection and awe. 

Will sat down slowly, a blotchy blush spreading down his cheeks as he noticed how the rest of the world seemed to fade away, the strawberry plants providing a nice level of cover and shade without making the space feel too closed in. Will was about to ask about the food when Nico reached into the shadows and pulled out a plate of pasta, placing it in front of William before grabbing his own, and Will decided that this was already the best picnic he'd ever had. 

"You made a romantic meal for a picnic?" Will asked with a shy blush, and Nico nodded with a half shrug.

"I wanted our first date to be special and memorable," Nico said, looking down shyly, "you're the first guy I've ever… been on a date with, and I want it to be memorable."

"It's amazing, Nico," Will replied gently, "best date I've ever been on already."

"What if you decide I'm weird or creepy," Nico asked nervously, and Will shook his head adamantly.

"You're a human being," Will replied, "and my friend, and hopefully maybe more, and if I found you creepy, I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"I…ve never had a- a boyfriend before," Nico added nervously, fiddling with his fingers and looking up slowly, and oh… gods, Will melted.

"We can figure it out, together," Will said softly, reaching over nervously to brush his hand against Nico's. Nico pushed lightly against his hand in reciprocation, and Will brushed Nico's knuckles with the back of his hand, blushing at the little gasp that Nico let out from the sensation.

Will decided to be a little bolder, curling his fingers around Nico's own until their palms were pressed together. Nico looked down at their hands, and then up at Will, and it was clear in his awestruck expression that he wasn't used to this kind of affection. Will squeezed his hand, watching the puce blush on Nico's cheeks spread down his neck. Will leaned in a little closer, gently kissing his cheek, but hesitating before he pulled back. He stayed close, eyes searching Nico's face for some sign of consent. 

If Will was honest, he'd never had his first kiss, and he hoped it wasn't too soon but he really wanted to kiss Nico, providing Nico wanted to kiss him too, of course. He chickened out, clearing his throat awkwardly and finally turning his attention back to his food.

He immediately noticed how it was most certainly home cooked, because it looked to be too good a quality to possibly have been a ready meal. It smelled amazing, and Will took his first bite. It was warm, and comforting flavour, yet not overpowering on the palette. It reminded him of his mama's cooking- not because the flavours were similar- because they weren't, his mom always used the smooth penne pasta- but because he could tell that it was made with love. Or, rather, affection, at least.

It was a little nippy, and Will noticed Nico leaning into his warmth slightly. Will made a silent note to himself to cuddle Nico sometime, finding himself suspecting that Nico may quite enjoy hugging him, for a while. 

"Have-... have you ever had a boyfriend?" Nico asked nervously, and Will blushed a little. 

"Not exactly," Will replied, "all my past dates kind of… didn't work out. So far you're probably the best date I've ever had." Nico blushed at that, both boys giggling slightly as they resumed eating. They fell into a comfortable silence, although the conversation soon picked up after eating.

Will learned that Nico really liked all kinds of music, even if he learned more towards alternative music. He liked pirates and vampires and reading, he played mythomagic, which was a shared hyperfixation, they both liked horror podcasts, and both really loved junk food. Even where they didn't have shared interests, they still had chemistry and an easy vibe between them.

Will finally decided to bite the bullet, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Hey Nico…"

"Hm?" Nico furrowed his brows, looking up at Will with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

"Is it okay if I like maybe try and like- uh- kiss you? Like, on the lips?" Will felt himself go red, although he saw Nico physically turn red. 

"I- uh- you- wanna kiss me?" Nico looked shocked, and Will hoped that he hadn't crossed a boundary.

"Uhm… yeah? If- if that's okay!"

"Uh- yes! You uh- you can- um- yeah. You can kiss me."

"Cool! I'm uh… kissing you now, uh… ha." Will took about few seconds to calm his nerves, before pressing his lips to Nico's in a gentle kiss. It was softer than he imagined, more tasteless, but also so much better than he imagined it could be. His first gay kiss was pretty great.

-

Nico was freaking out in all the best ways, because he was actually kissing a dude. His lips were pressed against a guy's lips, he was kissing him. They were kidding, two boys, in a strawberry field, being gay together. 

Nico felt alive.

His heart was pounding wildly, nerves intense and distracting as he kissed back softly, because he was finally allowing himself to act on his gay feelings, to be queer, to engage in a homosexual act, kissing another man. 

And it was perfect. 

The kiss was sweet and tender and rough and manly all at once, then Will was cupping his jaw and Nico was melting because his calloused hands felt so big and manly against Nico's cheek. Will began tracing his jaw with his finger, and Nico let out a soft whimper, knees like jelly, reaching up to cup Will's jaw and oh… he had stubble and it felt so masculine and hot, and when Will let out a soft gasp, Nico had to pull back to stop the escape of any embarrassing sounds.

Will looked beautiful. His skin was completely flushed, lips shiny and slightly kiss swollen, and Nico's brain was screaming because he'd just kissed a boy in a strawberry field for his first kiss, and that felt amazing to realise.

Nico never wanted anything different from life. 

Nico finally felt free.

And that was enough for him.

Will tucked Nico's hair behind his ear, resting their foreheads together with a wide grin. 

"Hey," Will beamed breathlessly.

"Hi," Nico greeted, voice shaky with adrenaline as both boys let out as slightly buzzed laugh, high off the adrenaline of a first gay kiss.

"So, we're really doing this, huh?"

"We're really doing this," Nico confirmed, intertwining their fingers together. 

Nico was filled with a profound sense of pride, and a sense that somehow, things were going to be okay, that things would work out, and that maybe- just maybe, he was going to fall in love.

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Thirty-Six

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...to give up control.

“I mean…I get why they chose them, but orange and green aren’t very good wedding colours,” Marinette sighed heavily as she flipped through the wedding planner at her desk.

“I don’t see how orange and green is any different from us picking pink and black,” Adrien hummed as he paced the room, bouncing two-month-old Hugo. “Isn’t the point of wedding colours that they mean something to the couple getting married? Rose and Juleka did pink and purple, Ivan and Mylène chose black and rainbow pastels, and Luka and Xavier-Yves picked purple and blue. I think green and orange make sense for Alya and Nino.”

“Still,” Marinette sighed again. “I’m having trouble finding chair covers and table runners in the right shades. Bridesmaids dresses are going to be difficult to coordinate, I have no idea what colour shoes to tell everyone to wear, and don’t even get me started on the groomsmen’s tuxes.”

Adrien winced, seeing that his wife was at it again, entering super-planner mode. “My Ladylove, I think you need to relax a bit,” he coaxed, coming over to put a hand on her shoulder. “They just got officially engaged three weeks ago, and the wedding date isn’t even set yet. There will be plenty of time to sweat the details.”

Marinette turned to glare at her husband. “Adrien, our best friends are finally getting married. This is a big. Deal. Alya’s trusting me as maid of honor, and everything. Has to be. Perfect,” she stressed, punctuating her words so that he would grasp the magnitude of the duty placed upon her.

“And it will be,” he cooed, beginning to rub her tense shoulders as best as he could one-handed. “But you’re stressing yourself out over a wedding that’s probably still a year or more away. Besides, I got the impression that Nino and Alya just kind of wanted to get married on a beach somewhere, barefoot and in bathing suits. Didn’t Alya say something about the reception being picnic food and coolers full of beer so people could dance and get drunk under the stars or something?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “She was joking. Trust me, Adrien. Over the years of our friendship, Alya and I have often discussed wedding plans in excruciating detail. I’ve already got several possible wedding dress designs for her. I know what I’m talking about.”

Adrien pursed his lips, thinking that Alya hadn’t sounded like she was joking but not wanting to upset his already tense wife. “I didn’t mean to imply that I thought that you didn’t. I’m sure you do. It’s just…I think it’s a little early to be planning in as much detail as you are. Maybe this is one of those times where you don’t have to have everything under control right this second?” he suggested, trying to be helpful

Marinette rose to her feet, fists balled. “Are you saying that I’m a control freak?” she snarled, hair bristling.

Hugo, who had been contentedly dozing in his father’s arms, stirred at his mother’s terse hiss and began to whimper.

“Shh,” Adrien cooed, bouncing his son, trying to calm him. “It’s okay.”

He looked up at Marinette, assuring, “No. That’s not what I meant at all. I’m sorry it came across that way. Let me go put Gogo down to sleep, and, then, maybe can we talk?”

She crossed her arms and blew out a long sigh. “Fine.”

 When Adrien came back some fifteen minutes later, Marinette was lounging on their bed, flipping through their wedding photo album.

“Hey,” he called softly, sinking down onto the bed beside her and reaching out for her hand.

She took his and gave it a squeeze. “Hey,” she answered in a mumble. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay.” He easily shrugged it off, glad that she was no longer angry with him. “I know you can be a little short when you’re stressing, and I didn’t phrase what I was trying to say right. I don’t think you’re a control freak.”

“Some people do,” Marinette muttered sullenly. “…I overhear people at work.”

He shook his head. “My Love, you are very good at what you do, and you want things done up to your standards. That’s not a bad thing. Are you a little intense at times? Yes, but you produce stupendous results. There’s nothing wrong with making sure you produce quality work.”

She hummed as he pulled her into his arms.

“Seriously, your ability to take chaos, parse all the complex details, and come up with a step-by-step plan to turn it into order and beauty has always astounded me. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. Having a firm command of the situation isn’t a bad thing,” he stressed.

She gave a noncommittal grunt, resting her head on his shoulder.

He sighed, leaning back and pulling her down onto the bed with him. “Marinette, for years Paris only survived because you were always in control of the situation. You always had to be in control, otherwise everyone you loved was doomed. That’s a lot of pressure, but you adapted to it, and now it’s pretty much your survival instinct to always make sure you’re in control. I get that. I one hundred percent understand why you always feel like you need to be in control.”

He gave her forehead a kiss and gently started to pet her hair. “…But things aren’t like that anymore. It’s not life or death all the time. I get that you’re still traumatized from your years as Ladybug, but I think it’s time we started working on identifying some old coping mechanisms that aren’t serving you well anymore in your new reality.”

“You sound like my therapist,” she snickered, snuggling into his hold.

“I mean, I have been in therapy for eight years now,” he chuckled, burying his nose in her hair. “I would hope some of their lingo would have rubbed off.”

Marinette took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay. Yeah. You’re right. It does make me really anxious when I don’t feel like I have a handle on things. I’m seriously stressing about reception decorations when I don’t even know the location of the reception yet, so…maybe I need to chillax a bit.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” he seconded. “I realize how important this is, but it’s not going to ruin Nino and Alya’s big day if you can’t find the right shade of orange table runner. You’re going to do an epic job as maid of honor, and the wedding is going to be spectacular, but, for sure, no one is going to die if you don’t figure out the groomsmen’s tux situation right this minute, so maybe we can just keep taking deep breaths and calm down and let it go for now.”

“Yeah,” Marinette murmured, matching her breaths to Adrien’s long, measured inhales. “Maybe that can wait until I have more concrete details to work with…but I just worry that if I don’t get a head start, I’m not going to have enough time to iron everything out, and the wedding won’t be perfect, and Nino and Alya will decide they don’t love each other anymore, and then our children won’t be able to get married because Nino and Alya will get a divorce, and Gogo will hate me because it’s my fault the person he was supposed to marry never got to be born because I ruined Alya and Nino’s wedding.”

Adrien did his very best not to laugh.

Marinette’s negative thought spirals were always so interesting and bizarre, but he knew that she one hundred percent believed the nonsense that was coming out of her mouth in that moment, and he had learned not to make light of her fears.

He pulled back and smiled down lovingly at his wife. “Princess, I don’t think anything could make Alya and Nino stop loving one another. As for Hugo’s future spouse, I think we need to let our two-month-old son make his own life decisions…. Do you want me to distract you?”

“Yes, please,” she replied sheepishly, eagerly arching up into his kiss.

[rxsie-the-demon]

Brooklyn Baby | JJ  Maybank

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: heyo! so i haven’t written fanfic in FOREVER, and i never have on tumblr. so please be patient with me (haha). this is gonna be a series, basically everything that i want (dreamed?) about that happens in season 2 of outerbanks. i hope you enjoy!

chapter summary: Nikki Reddy is new to Outer Banks High School, aka ‘Kook Academy.’ After befriending Topper, Kelce, and Scarlet and getting a crash course on OBX culture, she meets the school outcast, Kiara Carrera

warning: swearing, mentions of drowning, shooting, death, smoking, etc. nothing super bad, just usual stuff from s1

word count: 2075

CHAPTER 1: Shades of Cool

I honestly had no idea what was going through my brother’s head when he decided to say, “Fuck it, let’s move to the Outer Banks.” In the middle of the school year. In the winter!

Like, he could’ve at LEAST waited ‘til the summer or spring. But nope, we’re going to the Graveyard of the Atlantic in fucking January.

JANUARY.

I can’t even wear cute sandals or shorts.

I sighed deeply and turned into the parking lot of Outer Banks High School, or as some kid I heard called it, Kook Academy. I have no idea what that was supposed to mean because no one at the school seemed crazy. But then again, this was my third day here. For all I know, these kids are batshit crazy.

I parked her white Lamborghini Aventador that I had gotten for my sixteenth birthday (just Sweet Sixteen things) and grabbed my pink Kanken backpack and flung it over my shoulder, brushing her shoulder lengthed hair out of my way. Stupid hair always getting in the way of everything. While I walked into the building, I pulled her schedule out of the pocket of the bag, not remembering where my AP US History class was.

“Nikki! Hi!” I heard a girl’s voice call out. Turning around, I was met with the energetic, and for a lack of a better word, preppy girl who was assigned to show me around the school two days ago. Scarlet, I remembered. The girl whose name matched her hair. Next to her, the tall, HOT, tan blonde friend wearing khakis and a sweater, and the other boy, also tall, equally hot, dark-skinned friend. Topper and Kelce, was it? I couldn’t remember. Or was it Topher, like Christopher? I knew a guy who went by Topher instead of Chris. He was a weird guy.

“Hey! Scarlet, right? And...Topper and Kelce?” I gave them a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I suck with names.”

“No, it’s all good, broski,” Topper smiled. “And you got them right if that makes it better.”

I sighed with relief. “Oh, good.”

“I LOVE your dress,” Scarlet cooed. I did too. A yellow plaid cami dress over a thin, white turtleneck sweater, complete with white converse and a simple silver necklace with an ‘Om’ symbol.

“Aw, thank you! I love your outfit, too! I could never rock a green tube top and jeans, you’re BLESSED.”

“We should start walking to class, guys,” Kelce interjected, “Otherwise we’re going to be late, and Miss Newbie here doesn’t need that on her third day of school.” Topper rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Facts, love. Let’s get a move on,”

As we turned to walk to class, we passed by this girl whose rather dull aura caught my attention. I only saw part of her face when we walked by her, but she had sunken eyes as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in who knows how long. Her frizzy brown hair was spilling out of the hood of her black sweatshirt, and her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her black sweatpants.

Honestly? I thought she looked like shit. But not in an insulting way, in an “Are you ok? Do you need a hug?” kind of way.

“Hey, Top,” I turned next to him to asked, “Who’s the girl in all black that looks like she’s gonna pass out?”

The three OBX OGs spun their heads around to catch a glimpse of who I was talking about, before letting out a laugh at her question. “Ah, that’s Kiara. She’s a freak.” Top responded, chuckling.

I smiled sarcastically, a little mad that they outright insulted someone like that, but couldn’t show it because, well, I had no other friends. “True, but uh, how so?”

“She’s friends with Pogues, that’s how.”

“...Pogues?”

“The poor kids on the island, from The Cut. They’re all freaks and whores, they run around, stealing stuff, trying to shoot people.” Scarlet chirped up, emphasizing the different words. I nodded slowly.

“Yeah! This one Pogue, John B, like, he stole my girlfriend, uh sorry, EX-girlfriend from me, and his buddy JJ tried to shoot me in the head!” Topper exclaimed. Nikki’s eyes went wide.

“Wait...hold up, wait, he- WHAT? WHY did he try to shoot you?”

“I got into a fight with John B.”

“OK BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN HE’S GONNA- WHAT?”

“OK OK, I may have stuck his head underwater for a bit. I wasn’t gonna KILL him, I was just messing around, you know?” Topper looked at Kelce and Scarlet, who agreed with him, “Gotta show those dirty Pogues their place.”

I laughed dryly. What the flying fuck?

We stepped inside the classroom and took our seats, with me right behind Scarlet, and Topper and Kelce on either side of her.

Scarlett spun around. “Bro, our teacher isn’t even here!” She rolled her eyes and pulled out her Puff Bar from her bar and took a hit. She looked over at me and held it out for me. I shook my head no and turned to Topper. “Wait, Topper, that ex-girlfriend. Does she go here?”

Kelce and Scarlet immediately looked over at Topper, who looked like I just ran over his cat. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” I immediately apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked about-”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Top said awkwardly and coughed. He turned to face me with a sad smile. “Uh, remember how I mentioned she’d left me for some Pogue?”

“John something, yea?”

“Well, he killed her and himself, about six months ago.”

My jaw dropped. “What the fuck?! How are you so casual about- Shit I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, he shot the last sheriff, Sheriff Peterkins, who by all accounts was actually a sweetheart. Then he proceeds to convince Sarah, or maybe he blackmailed her, I don’t know, into riding his boat into a tropical depression. We found the wreckage of the boat a couple weeks later, but...their bodies were never found...”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah... That girl, Kiara, she was best friends with both John B and Sarah. John B was, by all accounts, trash, but he was still her friend, I guess.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process all the information Topper had just dumped onto me.

Despite my extremely wealthy upbringing, I was raised to not be classist. Or at least, I hope that’s how I turned out; Scarlet, Topper, and Kelce also don’t seem like the most honest people. But these...Pogues that they were talking about...don’t seem like the sweet people.

But something about that girl’s eyes...they seemed so sad. You don’t feel for someone like that unless they’re a good person. Right?

*****************************************************

Our teacher was droning off about...gosh who even fucking knows, I stopped paying attention the second he walked in.

I was on autopilot mode, taking down notes but not, like, actually paying attention. Instead, my mind was on these really cute boots I saw while online window shopping yesterday. I had bookmarked the link. Maybe I’d buy those?

“Nikhita!” My teacher called out. Hearing my first name, I snapped back to reality.

“Hi!” I smiled back. The class chuckled a bit.

Mr. Obi, a Nigerian man with the biggest glasses I’ve ever seen, rolled his eyes. “Hello. Did you hear what I said?”

“Not at all, sir, not at all.”

Topper and Scarlet were losing their minds; the former had to put his head down on his desk because he was laughing so hard.

He sighed and shoved his glasses up his nose. They slid down again. “I asked you what was the impact of the election of 1860?”

Shit shit shit shit shit

“Uh...wait, we want to war? Yea, that, like, started the Civil War.” I said, thankful I knew the answer. Mr. Obi was unimpressed.

“Mhm. Anyway, so...” and he continued to drone off.

Topper turned to me, smiling, and we both laughed.

As the lesson went on, I kept glancing at the clock. Ok, 45 minutes left, which means we’re halfway through class.

Mr. Obi kept going on and on about the Civil War, until, 15 minutes later, a little alarm went off on his phone. He turned and pressed the ‘Stop’ button.

“Right on time. Ok, so, I shortened today’s lesson because I wanted to talk about your project. Nikhita, you got here two days ago, the first day back from winter break, so you have no idea what I’m talking about, and I’m sure most of your classmates have forgotten. So I’ll refresh your memories: the second semester of U.S History is not going to the usual. You’re going to have a semester-long project that can be about anything. Literally anything, so long as it has something to do with either world history or current events. Yes, I know this is a United States history class, but we expanded this project to make it more interesting for you guys..”

Mr. Obi stopped for a second, looking at all of us. I nodded, partially because I felt bad because everyone was just giving him black stares, and because I found this project interesting.

“Now, in the past years, I left my classes to choose their partners or groups. But before the break, I’m sure you all remember the catastrophe that was your mini-project, yes?”

The class mumbled something incoherent, except for the boys in the back of the class who started cheering, which made our teacher smile.

“Well, because of that, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you. Well, more like the Pyramid of Doom.”

The Pyramid of Doom. This mini pyramid statue that has a little opening on the top, with all of our names in them.

Mr. Obi opened the Pyramid and began. I stayed quiet, listening to see who I was going to be paired with. Hopefully one of my three friends, or maybe one of the boys in the back. They’re cute.

When my name was called, I leaned forward to pay attention. The intensity, the suspense. Who was gonna be my partner?

Mr. Obi stuck his hand in the Pyramid and pulled out the next piece of paper. “Kiara Carrera.”

My eyes went wide.

******************************************************

“So, you excited to be partners with the freak for class,” Topper asked, taking a bite of his pasta. I laughed sarcastically.

Outer Banks High School has an A/B schedule, which means third block is two hours instead of 90 minutes, and everyone has a different lunch at a different time, depending on their class. On A days, I have lunch with Topper and some other kids. On B days, I’m by myself.

Today’s an A day.

“It’ll be fine. She doesn’t seem that bad.” I turned to my left to face him, popping a grape into my mouth. Yum. I love grapes.

“Yea, just wait ‘til you get to know her,” this boy across from us said. “She’s so weird. She hates being a Kook. Like, she never goes golfing.”

“Or shopping!” One girl piped up. “She just likes to sit at the beach and surf, and smoke weed and stuff.”

“Well, that sounds fun,” I shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love going to country clubs, and shopping, and going out to get breakfast, but I love chillin’ at the beach. Maybe she just has different interests?”

“Ok, that’s fine,” Topper stated, “but she’s friends with Pogues. And not just any Pogues - John B Routledge, JJ Maybank, and Pope Heyward.”

“Ok, but like, one of them’s dead. Look, I’m all for holding people accountable for their actions, but...bro, stop tryna cancel a dead dude,” I laughed. Topper punched my arm, and I winced jokingly.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, and I blushed a bit. Topper’s cute, definitely, and I like the attention, but I knew what was going on. Sarah Cameron, the dead girl, was this school’s Queen, with Topper as King. He’s looking for a replacement, not an actual girlfriend.

But...I liked the attention. I put my head on his shoulder.

“Hey, so, my friend Rafe’s 20th birthday party is this Friday. He’s a family friend and I would love it if you’d join me at the party.”

I turned to look at him, debating whether or not I wanted to go to some rando’s birthday party. But Topper knows him, and it seems like everyone else does, too.

“Sure,” I smiled. “Why not.

__________________________________

chapter two

[7-wonders]

As Above, So Below Ch. 22

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 3165

A/N: Thank you all so much for being patient with me. I’ve been working on this chapter for a couple of weeks now, and I really hope it lives up to your expectations (yes, there’s smut). Feedback is always appreciated, and I would love if you liked, commented, and reblogged if you enjoyed this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22: The Fruit of the Hidden

Although the news that the golden apple that will grant you immortality is on its way to the Underworld should cause you to hurry back home, you and Michael take your time in gathering your belongings. Cassius had left just as quickly as he arrived, the demon having nothing more to do than to serve his master. After fulfilling his duty of telling Michael the news, he had no reason to remain Above. Michael’s right hand preternatural being had given you both an odd look upon your lack of haste, but wisely chose to remain silent on his opinion of the matter.

“Are you nervous?” Michael asks, watching as you fold the picnic blanket up before deciding that it’s not even and starting again.

“No, not nervous.” You’re certain that you’re not nervous. The ball of nerves that settles in the pit of your stomach and refuses to go away is nowhere to be found.

Michael tilts his head, examining you as you pack away the rest of the supplies and carefully shut the basket. “You’re scared.”

Biting your lip, you turn to look at him. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“Why would I ever make fun of you?”

“I don’t know, because it’s dumb to be scared in the first place?”

“My love, nothing you could ever say, do, or feel is dumb.”

“Not even when I ran away and nearly got eaten by that monster?”

Michael rolls his eyes at the reference of your first night dining with him. “Okay, I amend my previous statement. Nothing that you could ever say or feel is dumb. Some of the situations you get yourself into, however…”

“Okay, I get it! I do dumb stuff.”

Michael chuckles, gently removing your hands from the basket that you’re about to pick up and wrapping his arms around you. “Why are you scared? You know that there’s nothing to be scared of, right?”

“I worry that I’m going to end up rambling if I start to list the reasons why.”

“Ramble away.”

That’s all the encouragement you need, your fears spilling out of you like your mouth’s a broken dam. “Just...what if it doesn’t work? Or what if I die in the process? What if I eat the apple and you decide that you don’t love me anymore? That I’m not the girl in your prophecy? What if it does work, but immortality makes me a completely different person?”

Michael frowns as you brokenly finish listing your worries, eyes shining with tears when you look up at him. He had known that this was weighing on your mind, but not this heavily. “Hey, please don’t cry. It makes my heart ache to see you cry.”

“I’m sorry--”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Pulling you into his lap, he strokes a hand through your hair as he holds you to him. “I wish that there was some sort of precedence for me to draw on that would help to rid you of your fears. All that I know is that Violet would not have agreed to this unless she was absolutely certain that no harm would come to you. As for your fear of me not loving you anymore, I can assure you that that is impossible.”

He looks at you with a tenderness that would shock anybody who knew Michael as the God of the Dead. All that he wants is to make sure that you’re okay, even if that means shedding his stoic persona in order to reassure you. When you finally nod, wiping the tears from under your eyes, Michael slowly smiles.

“I hope that made you feel at least a little better?” Michael asks. 

“It did. I’m still scared, but I’ll be okay as long as you’re next to me.”

He smirks. “I wouldn’t leave your side unless I was forcibly dragged away from you.”

“I love you,” you mutter into his shoulder. Regardless of the barrier, Michael hears your words loud and clear.

“Not as much as I love you.” Pulling you up with him, Michael runs a hand across your cheek and assesses you. “Are you ready?”

“No, but we’re doing this regardless.”

“That’s the spirit.” Before you can protest, Michael throws you a wink and transmutes with you back to the Murder House.

Your jump with Michael into the Hellmouth is much more willing than the last time you made this journey with him, neither of you wasting any time before stepping off the ledge and falling through dimensions. He lands gracefully, although everything that your fiancé (it’s going to take a bit to get used to being engaged to this literal god of a man) does is graceful. You, however, have to grab Michael’s arm to keep from stumbling to your knees upon landing. He bites his lip to keep from laughing, dutifully making sure you don’t fall over.

“I hope clumsiness is something that I lose in immortality,” you mutter as you straighten yourself up again.

“I don’t.” You look at Michael questioningly, and he elaborates. “I love how you trip and stumble. It’s...cute, and very uniquely you.”

You stare at the ground to avoid Michael seeing the bashful expression on your face, waiting for Michael to give the guards the signals to open the doors to the Great Hall. He chuckles beside you, amused at your silence, but nods at his servants and leads you into the room.

The dark shades of red and black that decorate the room makes it difficult to fully light up the room, which is probably why the Inferno that Dante had so famously written about is conveniently located on the other side of the room. The flames provide more light than 30 bright overhead lights, but still cast ghoulish shadows on the walls. Somehow you’ve managed to get used to seeing the entrance to the nine circles of hell whenever you need to visit Michael officially, but you don’t think you’ll get used to the screams the echo from the pit and the ever-present smell of brimstone that permeates the air.

A woman with coiffed blonde hair stands at the foot of Michael’s throne, her pastel Easter dress a stark contrast to the doom-and-gloom of the Underworld. She holds a cigarette in her grip, the paper stained with the pink color that’s painted on her lips. As you and Michael ascend the steps to his throne, she appraises you both with a cool gaze.

“Lord Hades,” she greets, curtseying to the man now sitting on his obsidian throne.

“Hermes.” You’re only mildly surprised to learn that Hermes is not a man, as has been depicted for centuries. If this was the information you were learning prior to meeting Michael, you would be freaking out right now. “As always, you are welcome in my realm.”

She smiles at him, the conventions that the gods and goddesses must engage in upon meeting melting away. “I bring a gift, although I’m sure that you are already aware of that.”

“Thank you for being so prompt with this matter.” Michael looks up at you and takes your hand, meaning for you to step forward. “I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet my beloved. (Y/N), this is Billie Dean, god of border crossings and guide to the Underworld, among many other patronages.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say softly, shaking her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine. After all,” she casts a wry glance towards Michael, “we’ve only heard stories of what the Fates had told Michael about you for centuries.”

“I hope I live up to those stories, then.”

Billie Dean smiles at you, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “You’ve already surpassed them, my dear.”

Your cheeks heat up as the two mythical beings get back to business, Billie Dean producing a small package from the bag on her hip.

“That’s it, then?” Michael asks, staring at the box. 

“Violet requested that I transport the apple as inconspicuous as possible. This was the best I could come up with.”

“You’ve done well.”

“And with that, my work here is done.” Billie Dean nods to both of you, backing away so she can transmute without any collateral damage. “I assume I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, (Y/N). I look forward to it.”

With that, she’s gone, and you look at Michael as you process the whirlwind interaction with a woman who manages to embody the American South. “Wow, she’s…”

“She’s definitely a character,” Michael agrees. 

“Why has she always been portrayed as a man?”

Michael gives you a look that says you already know the answer. “Surely a woman would not be able to lead others, even if it’s just to the Underworld.”

The sarcasm is evident, and you roll your eyes. “Thousands of thousands of years of sexism, all wrapped up into one goddess.”

“Discouraging, isn’t it?”

“So she’s the only being who can come and go from the Underworld as she pleases?”

“Besides me, yes. Otherwise, it becomes impossible to find. Many have tried and failed to find a way into the Underworld, but the magic that surrounds this realm means that the mortal plane’s entrance seems to always be moving and changing.”

You nod, already appraising the box with a calculating eye. “Should we...open the package?”

“In my chambers. That will give us more privacy.” 

It doesn’t even register that Michael’s standing and leading you to his rooms, your attention so focused on the literal life-changing fruit that’s contained without its small cardboard home. As he closes the bedroom door behind you, you realize that you’re no longer scared. Indeed, you only feel fascination, a determination to get your hands on the legendary apple and see just what’s made so many of Ancient Greece’s heroes lose their lives in the process of earning.

“You know, I’ve never actually seen one before,” Michael says as he sets the package down on the bed.

“Seriously?”

“After what happened with Heracles, she nearly burnt the orchard down. She thought nobody was worthy of earning the gift of immortality.”

“What convinced her not to go through with it?”

“The thought of forsaking such a powerful and rare gift directly contradicts everything she stands for.”

“No offense, but if I were her and my husband, who had cheated on me, told me to grant his son immortality, I’d burn the tree to the ground.”

Michael grins, pulling you onto him as he sits on the bed. “And that’s why you’re my perfect match. I’m not interested in people who would savor the fruit of that tree. I look for people who would cut down the fucking tree and use it for firewood.”

The dark look in his eyes makes arousal pool in the bottom of your stomach, and you hungrily kiss Michael as a result. He’s more than happy to reciprocate, but pulls away far too soon for your liking. You want to complain, but his pointed look reminds you of what needs to be done. 

A flick of Michael’s wrist has the sides of the box falling open, revealing the prize hidden inside. For all intents and purposes, the apple looks like a normal apple. Besides, of course, the fact that it appears to be solid gold. The light of the chandelier reflecting off of the surface confirms that it is what Violet described it to be, and you can feel the intoxicating call of immortality wafting off of the fruit. Michael holds the apple up to you, and you take it from him wordlessly. What is there to say when your entire life is about to change with a single bite?

“I’m right here next to you the entire time,” Michael says, grasping your free hand tightly. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock eyes with Michael as you bring the fruit up to your mouth and pierce your teeth through the skin. It’s sweeter than any normal apple that you’ve had before, and you savor the taste as you take another cautious bite. Violet didn’t say how much or how little to eat, so you figure that means to just eat until something happens. 

You let out a gasp when your heart starts to speed up, body going limp as you fall back against the mattress. Although your eyes are open and appear to be staring at the ceiling, your vision whites out and stars flash in front of your eyes. Liquid gold runs through your veins, the warmth coursing through your body sending you into a euphoric state.

Michael watches you intently, studying you to make sure that nothing bad will happen to you. He doesn’t see any physical changes, which doesn’t surprise him. However, he can feel the changes that are happening. The air seems to spark around you, like you’re a live wire ready to electrocute whoever may touch you. It’s almost like he can see the change occurring inside your very cells, fortifying themselves in the eternal youth that eluded history’s greatest conquerors.

The ecstasy clouding all of your senses reaches a fever pitch, the sensory overload making it difficult for you to even feel Michael’s grip on your hand. Your heart beats at a pace to rival that of a jet engine, chest heaving as you try to remember to breathe. When the fog starts to clear, it happens sense by sense. First your thoughts, followed by your nerves and your hearing.

Michael can tell that you’ve fully completed the transition when the glaze over your eyes disappears. You blink rapidly, pupils dilated as you try to adjust. Everything’s the same, and yet nothing’s the same. Everything seems so much clearer, as if you’ve just had Lasik surgery. You’re marvelling at how the fabric of the bed feels against your skin when Michael’s chiseled face appears in your line of sight. You had been so enthralled with experiencing everything as if for the first time, that you had nearly forgotten who was sitting right next to you the entire time.

“(Y/N),” Michael whispers, and you could nearly cry at how heavenly your name sounds on his lips. “How are you feeling?”

Your lips part as you try to come up with the words to answer Michael’s question. Finally, after a long minute, you manage to breathe out a simple, “radiant.”

Michael smiles at you softly, which proves to be a surprising trigger for you. All of your emotions are running haywire, and each emotion that you feel is experienced on a level that you’ve never felt before. When Michael’s piercing blue eyes deftly analyze your face, an intense feeling of lust overcomes you. 

You catch him off guard when you surge up to kiss him, a soft gasp escaping him as your lips meet his. Using the upper hand to your advantage, you hook your legs around Michael’s waist and flip your bodies over so you’re on top of him. He stares up at you, a delightfully bewildered look on his face.

“This is...new,” he comments, threading his hands through your hair.

“Are you complaining?”

“Never.”

Rolling your hips against his, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth upon feeling his bulge against your clothed core. Although you’re both used to Michael being in charge, the new position is a welcome change for Michael as well as you, if the sparks of arousal forming deep in your abdomen are anything to go by.

“You’re a tease,” Michael mutters as you kiss down his neck, sucking purple bruises onto his beautiful porcelain skin.

“Mm, I learned from the best.”

His hands loosen around your hips so that he can remove your shirt before returning to their designated spot, helping to guide your pace. You have no time for the tedious removal of the rest of your clothes, and a wave of your hand leaves you and Michael bare.

“Never the patient one, even in your newfound immortality,” Michael remarks.

You roll your eyes, kissing him harshly to shut him up. Michael lifts your hips, making sure you get the message as he lines himself up with your entrance. You slowly sink down on his cock, both of you groaning as he stretches out your walls. Wriggling your hips to get comfortable, Michael stares up at you with blown-out pupils, biting his lip while he waits for you to start moving.

You begin to slowly ride him, rolling your hips against his and delighting in how wrecked he already looks. Tossing your head back to rid yourself of the hair that’s fallen in your face, you lift yourself up until just the tip of Michael’s cock remains sheathed inside of you before sitting yourself back down. Michael’s hand moves up from your hip to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers before wrapping his lithe fingers around your throat.

Shuddering in pleasure, you ignore the burn in your thighs as you begin to ride him faster. Michael’s eyes darken even more with lust as your own hands trail up to fondle your breasts, soft gasps escaping you as you tweak your nipples harshly. Beads of sweat begin to pool along your collarbone while you bounce on Michael’s cock, your walls fluttering around him as you begin to lose your rhythm.

“Are you close?” Michael coos, giving your neck a harsh squeeze. “Are you going to cum from riding me, my queen?”

“Yes, my king,” you gasp, grinning when Michael lets out a surprised moan.

“Fuck,” his hands grab your hips tightly again, beginning to harshly thrust up into you. “Say that again.”

“Say what again?” you tease, crying out when he hits your g-spot. “My king?”

Michael’s jaw goes slack, and you lean down to kiss along his jaw. “Yes.”

“You fill me so well, my king, better than anybody ever could.” The praise starts a fire within Michael, and he starts to rub his thumb against your clit as he works to bring you to orgasm. “Fuck, I love you. You’re an amazing king and you’ll be an even better husband, I-oh!”

You cum suddenly, hips stuttering to a stop as the pleasure that had been building in your abdomen explodes throughout your body. Michael’s eyes are alight as he watches you lose yourself to the pleasure that he brings you to. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm until he finally reaches his own, cock pulsing as he releases inside of you. 

Michael pulls you to his chest, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. His bedroom is silent, the sheets a mess around you and the half-eaten apple lying discarded on the floor. You lock eyes with Michael before dissolving into giggles, the sound of your laugh leaving him no choice but to laugh too.

“Welcome to immortality,” Michael says against your bare skin as you nuzzle into his neck, more than satisfied with this welcome party.

//

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[shera-dnd]

Remember Me

So this came from an interesting little conversation on the Glitra Discord and now I turned into a fic

I know the action itself isn’t very detailed, but I kinda just wanted to focus on the ANGST!!!

Also I’m considering what I should write next. Do I write the fluffier follow up to this or do I just write some good clitra? I’ll think about that later, for now enjoy this mess

They were tired of fighting, of arguing, of losing, of being alone, that is why they were being so nice to each other right now, that is why they were so open, why they were always touching, always so close, at least that is what Catra told herself. They were tired and alone and that was the only reason why. It didn’t matter how much she questioned herself every time she woke up clinging to Glimmer and feeling more well rested than she had felt in months.

It had started with a touch. They didn’t talk much for these first few days, all they did was cry in their own corners of the cell, until someone reached out to someone, until a hand reached for a shoulder. They still cried, but at least they didn’t cry alone.

Those first days had been difficult, but things had grown a little better by now. Glimmer may have lost her sparkly magic, but she still had Weaver’s spells. Catra may have lost...a lot, but she could still fight, they could escape this, they just needed a plan.

“New plan then” Glimmer offered for the nth time that day and Catra rolled her eyes, expecting another suicidal plan “What if we sabotage the engines and crash the ship into the planet”

“We would die” Catra sighed and shook her head, though she continue to lean against Glimmer’s side - she hardly left it these days - “Painfully” she added

“I can teleport us out” She remarked

“With what magic, Glimmer?” She asked, tired of having to be the voice of reason every time.

“Once I get in range of the Moonstone I should get my magic back and teleport us both out” She explained “I’m sure of it” Catra got up so she could look Glimmer in the eyes, but still refused to let go of her. As if she would disappear as soon as they stopped touching

“How?!” Catra asked, her voice louder this time and carrying more than a little worry “How do you know we won’t just get ourselves killed?” ‘get you killed’

“I just know it. Trust me on this okay?” She pleaded “We can make this work” She clung to Catra too and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Fine” Catra sighed,  unable to argue with her “But we still have an army of hordaks between us and the engine room” Catra reminded her. They had used a spell to scout around the ship and no matter where they looked, Prime’s armies awaited in number.

Glimmer pondered this for a moment

“We need a distraction” she declared “One of us starts trouble and gets Prime’s attention and the other uses the distraction to sabotage the engines. Even if one of us gets captured distracting them, as soon as we get close enough to the ground I can just get us out of here”

“Yeah, one small problem there” Catra started, still not completely sold on this “Prime can read minds, remember. If he captures one of us the other is doomed”

Glimmer groaned. Another plan scrapped. At this rate they would have better luck just waiting for Adora and the other princesses to show up and save their asses, it was not like either of them had much pride left to take a hit anyway, but Catra still hated the feeling of having to be saved. There had to be a way to make Glimmer’s plan work, even if Prime got them, maybe if they got him to send his troops somewhere else, but how could they trick-

“How much did Shadow Weaver teach you again?” Catra asked, her voice and body tense now. She didn’t like this plan, but it could be their best chance.

“I got a hang of most of her spells” Glimmer answered, a little confused by the sudden question

“What about memory magic?” The words felt heavy in her mouth

“I’m not gonna just rewrite your memories like that, Catra”

“You just make me remember a different plan and then when Prime catches me he’ll send his troops a completely different way” Catra explained, she knew Glimmer would hate this idea as much as she did, but it was the best chance they had, so she left very little room for argument “it’s either that or hope your friends show up soon and save the day, but I’m pretty sure they got their hands full on the surface”

Glimmer took a deep breath. This was not something to be done on a whim

“Are you sure about it?” Glimmer asked, her voice was firm and her eyes looked deep into Catra’s. Catra flinched under the intensity of her stare, she was pretty sure of her decision a second ago, but now her uncertainties had returned full force. Still she nodded “You know that if I do this you…” 

“I’ll believe you’ve betrayed me and left me to die” Catra completed,  too aware of that fact “We’ll just have to live with it until you set my memories back”

“Catra, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can and you have to!” Catra interrupted, this was their best chance out of this shithole. She couldn’t just leave Glimmer trapped here forever, she had to do something “Just get it over with so we can both get back home” So Glimmer could back home, Catra didn’t exactly have one to return to anymore.

Maybe she could ask Glimmer to rewrite that too. Give her a childhood, make her life happy, make her a good person. That idea sounded more tempting than it should be. She had to focus on the plan, foolish dreams could wait for now.

“Fine, I’ll do it” Glimmer answered, sounding dejected. Glimmer approached Catra and held her face in her hands, it was soft and tender touch, yet it brought no comfort “Ready?”

Catra nodded.

___

Catra wiped away the stream of tears from her face. That was odd, she didn’t remember crying. Well, that didn’t matter, what mattered now was preparing for their big escape. Just book it to the escape pods. They didn’t have to know how to pilot those, just jump in, hit a button and hope for the best. It was a simple plan, but so much could go wrong. Catra had been stuck with a feeling of sinking dread as she considered more and more ways this could fail. 

“Glimmer” Catra eventually called. This was a stupid decision, but not the worse she’d make today, she was sure.

“Y-yeah?” She asked, her voice weak and tired. Did Catra miss something?

“I…” Catra started, the words getting caught on her throat “If we don’t make it”

“We will make it, Catra” Glimmer assured her, holding her hands.

“But if we don’t” Catra began moving closer to Glimmer “I just want you to know that I-” Glimmer seemed to pale, visibly flinching back and letting go of Catra’s hands

“You can tell me when we’re out of here” She interrupted, too fast and too loud. Catra immediately regretted that stupid decision.

“Fine then” Catra sighed “Ready when you are, Sparkles”

In a few moments they were both running through the corridors of Prime’s ship, running away from all his clones, dodging lasers and doing a lot better than Catra expected. This plan could actually work. That was until Horde Prime showed up.

His presence seemed to make the clones more coordinated, her aim more precise, he issued no command and fired no weapon, but just by being there things had taken a turn for the worse. She dove around a corner to get some cover and landed on top of something very soft.

For a second it was if time had stopped. Laser bolts froze in the air as Catra’s brain processed how close she was to Glimmer just now. Sure, she had been close to Glimmer nearly every moment since they arrived here, but never like this, never with their faces this close to one another. It may have been the adrenaline or how fast her heart was beating or the risk of imminent death, but right now Glimmer looked almost mesmerizing.

“I’m so sorry” Glimmer said, holding back tears. Catra hadn’t noticed the hand against her chest and the glyph that had formed there. Next thing she knew she was sent flying right back into the clone army. A boot holding her to the floor as she watched Glimmer leave her behind.

No no no, please no. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real, not again, please! This has to be a dream, please let this be a dream.

She felt prime lifting her up, followed by the terribly familiar feeling of someone prodding through her mind. She didn’t care anymore, she was too stunned to fight back.

“Such a foolish little plan” Prime mocked “Take her back to her cell and send troops after the other one” He commanded.

Of course Glimmer had left her, Catra thought to herself, she just needed someone to use as bait for her plan, she just needed an emotional play thing so she could feel better about herself again. Catra was just a complete idiot for thinking Glimmer ever even gave a shit. Catra was just another fucking tool once again. Why did she ever believe otherwise?

Catra was flung back into her cell, making no effort to get off the floor. That was it, there was no way out anymore and no one would come back to save her, all she could to was lay there and cry, cry until there were no more tears, cry and scream until she forgot how to feel anything else but this misery and hate that filled her heart. 

A bright flash of pink surrounded her and she clawed at it frantically. Glimmer was sent flying against a back wall, with a cut on her arm. Before she could react, Catra was already on her, wildly clawing at her.

“Why!? Why!? Why!?” She screamed, punctuating each word with a swipe of her claws.

“Didn’t-’” Glimmer began, but a cut to the face shut her up. Catra didn’t care why. She just wanted her to pay.

“I trusted you!” cut “I cared for you!” cut “I thought you were my friend!” cut, cut, cut. 

“Didn’t know you had it in you!” Glimmer shouted and Catra stopped, memories came rushing back as the trigger phrase dispelled the magic in her mind. What had she done?

“Glimmer!” She called, jumping back at the sight of everything she had just done “I didn’t...I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay” Glimmer assured her, even though she was shaking and her face and arms were now covered in bloody cuts “Nothing Adora can’t fix” She put a hand on Catra’s shoulder and in a flash they were back in the Whispering Woods.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” she kept muttering as she held onto Glimmer. Still in shock after all that had happened. She knew now that her betrayal wasn’t real, that it was all an act, but it still stung, she still felt the pain of being thrown away by another person she loved.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I promise” Glimmer repeated softly, with a shaky smile on her face and tears of pain in her eyes. Catra did this, the guilt adding to the turmoil of emotions inside her, she felt like she was about to vomit. Noticing the struggle on Catra’s face, Glimmer moved closer to hold her “Everything is gonna be fine. We’ll just go back to Brightmoon, Adora will heal me and everything is gonna be fine” She assured her.

“Please, never do this again, please” Catra pleaded, barely holding back her tears

“I promise” Glimmer said, holding Catra close. She flinched at the pain, but still held her as pink light enveloped them “I’ll never leave you again”

And with flash of sparkles, they were both finally home.

[sterling-starlight]

No Texting During Drama Club

Me: Alright! Week two of Vesuvian pride is all about the modern day AUs, I can do this!

*Eight pages later*

What happened? (Pen pals/online friends meeting in person for the first time. Not quite as adherent to the prompt, but I think it works well enough)

Unknown Sender

3:30 PM.  

“-heard u have a&p with prof valdemar. If you let me copy ur notes, I will owe u pizza for the rest of our lives.

-this is Julian, btw. from the theater club.

-in case u thought this was some, u know, random creep.”

You

3:35 PM

“-Fine. But only because no one deserves to be failed by Valdemar.  

-I’ll drop them off at the dressing room tomorrow. I like pineapple and olive pizza.”

Unknown Sender

3:37 PM

“-pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, u monster!

-sigh. but I'll let it slide since you’re saving my ass.”

You

3:41 PM

“-Did you really just type out ‘sigh’?”

Unknown Sender

3:43 PM

“-….

-Yes.”

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

You

6:30 PM

“-So, hey. Congrats on getting to play Hamlet.”

Julian

6:34 PM

“-not the most original production we’ve done, but a role’s a role. seeing Lucio’s face when he realized he wasn’t the star was worth it.”

You

6:40 PM

“-Remind me who that is.

I’m seriously drawing a blank here.”

Julian

6:43 PM

“-blonde. rich. Insufferable. loud.

-he has that fancy prosthetic arm that somehow makes him better than everyone.”

You

6:50 PM

“-Oooooooooh. Him.

-He doesn’t really come to bother us production people unless he wants to bitch about costuming or the sets. Which is a lot.”

Julian

6:55 PM

“-i think I've heard you chew him out a few times. Ur the girl with the venterran accent, right?”

You

7:01 PM

“-Aye.

-Surprised you could even understand me. Not a lot of people can when I get PO’d.”

Julian

7:10 PM

“-i understood enough to know you called him a prick.  

-my mom and dad took me to venterre once. it was almost as pretty as you.”

You  

7:20

“-Wow.

-That was horrible and you should feel horrible.”

Julian

7:12

“-I have no shame, and never will, my dear.”  

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

Julian

3:00 AM

“-natalia

“-hey, natalia.”

“-tali”

Julian 3:05 AM

“-how did people in the middle ages first think to start using leeches?

“-like, did they stick leeches on themselves and realize that pain and blood loss and disease was the medicine?”

You

3:06 AM

“Jules, it is 3 in the goddamn morning. Go to bed.”

Julian

3:07 AM

“I work the graveyard shift at supermarket.  it’s my lunchtime.”

You

3:08 AM

“-Then fuckin eat your lunch and let normal people sleep before I cram it up your ass.”

Julian

3:10 AM

“- I can think of much more fun things we can do.”

You

3:15 AM

“-Fuck you, I’m going back to sleep.”

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

Jules

2:30 PM

“-So you really had a pet ram as a kid?”

You

2:31 PM

“-Technically, I still do. I just couldn’t bring him with me.

“-my flat allows large dogs, but won’t allow rams? It’s bullshit.”

Jules

2:32 PM

“-rams aren’t really normal pets tho.”

You

2:33 PM

“-Says the guy who has a pet crow.”

Jules

2:34 PM

“-malak is a raven, number 1.  

-number 2, he is an absolute delight. how dare you say otherwise?

You

2:40

“-Rufus is better.

“-Behold the glory”

Jules

2:50 PM

“-oh, so it’s a pet off then? Fine! May the cutest animal win!”

You

3:00 PM

“-Fine!”

Jules

3:05 PM

“-Have at you!”  

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

When Natalia’s phone rang, she was actually shocked to see Julian’s caller id flash on the screen.   They had never actually... talked on the phone before.  

The worst-case scenarios instantly popped into her head. Was he hurt? Did something happen? What if this was the hospital calling her to say he was in critical condition. Why would he put her as an emergency medical contact without telling her?!

Her phone buzzed again, more insistently, and she pressed the answer button with a trembling finger.  

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi~” The feminine voice from the other line was definitely not Julian, not even at his most dramatic falsetto. And she sounded too chipper to be the bearer of doom and death. Natalia let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. “This is... Tali? Right?”

“It’s Natalia, actually. Who is this?”

“My name is Portia! I’m Ilya’s- oh, sorry. One sec,” Portia put a hand over the speaker, muffling the commotion on her side of the line. There was thumping, shuffling, and her shouting “You have her listed as ‘My Dearest Tali’, Ilya! Come on!”  

A voice that sounded somewhat like Julian’s shouted back something, but Natalia couldn’t hear it clearly.  There was a sound like static or rushing wind, before a door slammed and Portia let out a triumphant laugh. Portia’s voice fully came back on the line. “Sorry. But, yeah. I’m Ilya’s little sister. I would have liked to meet you in person, but my brother is completely hopeless.”  Someone thumped against the door, and Portia lowered the phone again. “You know I’m right!”  She yelled at the door.

Back to normal. “Aaaanyway. He’s been lamenting, and sighing, and wallowing over whether or not he should ask you out. So! You wanna go on a date with him?”  

Natalia opened and closed her mouth a few times, wordless sounds escaping. She was sure her face was burning pink. She could feel the heat spreading from her cheeks to her neck.  “Take your time. I can be in here all day.” Portia said casually. Natalia could almost picture her reclining back casually on whatever it was she was sitting on.  

“Ah- Ah,” Natalia finally managed to choke out. She took in a deep breath, and let it out in a slow whistle.  “...if he really wants tae.” She finally said.  

“Oh, he does. Trust me, I know him better than anyone.” Natalia could hear Portia’s smile through the phone. Distantly, a lock clicked and a door swung open. “She said yes, Ilyushka. You can thank me later.”

“That wasn’t- you’re missing the-!” Julian stammered. He took a breath and lifted the phone to his ear. “Listen, whatever Pasha said, you can just forget it. Really. It’s nothing.”

For a moment, Natalia found herself stunned by the sound of his voice. It wasn’t anything new to her. She had heard it from behind thick velvet curtains and up on catwalks. She had heard him bellow for lost love mournfully, monologue passionately, and condemn his enemies. But those were all characters. Hamlet, and Romeo, and Othello. None of them had been Julian Devorak. Not really.  

“Natalia?” His voice broke her out of her stupor, and sent a shiver down her spine. The way his tongue curled around the syllables of her name, like he had never spoken anything more sacred, sent her heart aflame in the best possible way.  

“Julian.” She spoke his name barely above whisper.  Natalia leaned against her desk for support, head spinning. When had- how did- why didn’t he- she- they-? She took in a breath through her nose, just as Julian heaved a resigned sigh.

“Good night, Tali.”  

“No, wait, Julian! Don’t-!” The dial tone droning in her ear was all she got.  And when she tried calling him, all she got was his voice mail.  

Try again. Voice mail.

Try again. Voice mail.  

You

8:00 PM

“-Julian, you asshole! Pick up your phone!”

*Last Read by Jules at 8:05 PM.  

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

Natalia Valeth was not a quitter.

She hadn’t given up when she left her home country to become a pharmacist. She hadn’t lost hope when she didn’t make the cut to be on the acting team. She didn’t back down even as Professor Valdemar verbally tore the first draft of her thesis to shreds. So, when she drove to the community theater the very next weekend, she was a woman on a mission.  

She was hours early for once, but not so early that the doors to the theater weren’t already unlocked. The only person who would wake up at the ass crack of dawn for theater was Julian, and that was exactly what Natalia was betting on.  She threw open the auditorium doors with a resounding bang that echoed resoundingly all throughout the room. Sitting on the edge of the stage was Julian, who looked up at her when she made her entrance. The script he had been looking over listlessly fell from his grip, scattering like leaves in the wind. In such a quiet room, Natalia could hear him curse as if she were right at his side.  She steeled herself and marched down the steps of the auditorium, stopping less than an arm’s length away from were Julian sat on his haunches collecting the papers.  

“We need tae talk. Face tae face this time.”  

“Do we?” Julian finally collected the script and rose to his full height. Despite having a good foot on Natalia, he had never looked smaller gunmetal gray eyes looking everywhere but at her. He turned his back on her to tap the pages crisply against the stage.  

“You bet yer ass we dae! Whit th’ hell urr ye thinking’s? Whit, did ye think ignoring this wid mak’ it go away?”  

“...Maybe a little.”

“Och! Yer impossible!” Natalia threw her hands up with the exclamation. “Did ye think Ah juist said ‘aye’ tae fuck wi’ ye? A’m waantin’ tae gang oan a date wi’ ye! Mibbie even twa! If we feel really crazy, we’ll mak’ it three.”

It might not have been the three magical worlds that would have been most dramatic. If this were a stage production, this would be the part where the lights would dim, and the spotlight would narrow over the two lovers, giving the illusion that they were the only two people in the world.   With the theater as empty as it was, they might as well have been.  

“Do you... Do you mean that?”

Such vulnerability didn't seem like Julian.  Julian could throw out innuendos as easily as breathing. Julian was overly dramatic in everything he did, even when he wasn’t in front of an adoring audience. But it was the Julian who wanted to be a doctor. It was the Julian who looked at all the pandemics of the past, and wondered why so many people had to die.  The Julian who was wound up so tightly like he was bracing himself for ejection like it would come as a physical blow.  

Sarcasm felt like it would just add fuel to the fire, so Natalia opted for compassion instead. When she brushed her hand against Julian’s cheek, he leaned into it like he needed her touch the same way needed air.

“I’m willin tae huv a go at this.” She said gently, like everything would shatter around them if she was too abrasive. “Ye in?”  

“Absolutely.” Julian placed a hand over hers and tilted his head enough to plant a shy, fleeting kiss to her palm.  

Maybe this would end in a romance for the ages. Maybe this would end in tragedy. Whatever happened, it was better than not pursing it at all.  

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

The Chosen One

Written for day 2 of @jonsa-week​ based on the prompt: Quotes OR Colors OR Tropes

Sansa is trying to convince Jon that he must be the one who was promised in the prophecies. Jon is trying to convince Sansa that as long as people like Robb and Jaime exist a bastard like him can't be that important.

Magic School AU

“No, I won’t do it.” Jon shook his head and he crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “I’m not gonna believe in that stupid prophecy stuff.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and she slammed the book on the wooden table they were sharing. A layer of dust flew Jon’s way however and his loud sneeze echoed through the library.

For the last half an hour Sansa had been trying to convince him that he was the prince who was promised, the chosen one, the only one who could defeat the night king and his army of the death.

And for the last half an hour Jon was trying to explain that if he was the chosen one the Westeros Academy for the Young and Gifted was doomed. Because why would anyone make him the hero when there were also Robb Starks and Jaime Lannisters in this world? Why would an orphan like himself, who could only attend this academy because his Uncle Ned Stark had sponsored this library, be their destined saviour?

“Come on, Jon!” Sansa let out a deep sigh and she opened the book again on that same old wrinkled page. She had underlined some sentences and marked some others and in the margin she had written loads of unreadable things.

Jon was quite certain all of that counted as damaging school stuff, but Sansa would most likely tell him that since her father had paid for this library, these books were also a little bit from her. So, he kept his mouth shut.

“It can only be you!” Sansa pointed at the words he knew all too well right now. “You’re born from death, because aunt Lyanna died giving birth to you.” She made it sound like a throwaway line, but Jon closed his eyes to silence the voices in his head.

Countless of therapists had told him that his mother’s death was not his fault, that he couldn’t blame himself for it. But that was so much easier said than done. He knew he had only been a baby then and didn’t know that his birth would kill her. But knowing and feeling were two entirely different things apparently.

“You have fire in your veins, because of the Targaryen blood you got from your father.” Sansa didn’t even seem to notice Jon’s discomfort while she summarised the prophecy and his sad and miserable life.

Those same therapists had also told him that there was no need be afraid of the famous Targaryen curse, assuring him that if he had inherited his family’s madness that had lead to his grandfather’s dead he would have known by now. But not one of those therapists had ever met a Targaryen and their entire opinion was based on nothing but the stories they read in their study books. And everyone knew that not every story in a book was true.

“Are you still listening?” Sansa elbowed him and Jon furrowed his eyebrows.

“I’m not the one from the prophecy.” Jon shook his head once more and he leaned back in his chair. “Your brother is a much better man than I’ll ever be. Everyone says it and you know it’s true.” His lips formed a straight line. “And Jaime is the best sword fighter in the entire realm. If anyone can beat this night king it’s him.”

Sansa closed the book and stared at him. For the first time in half an hour she kept silent. She just stared at him, with those piercing blue eyes. “I know that everyone says Robb is the better man. But I’m not sure sure they’re right.”

Jon widened his eyes. “You’re not sure?”

Sansa cocked her head. “I think they all overlook your qualities because you are very good at hiding behind my brother. You’ve made yourself quite comfortable in his shadow, but honestly, I don’t think that’s where you belong.”

“You’re trying to trick me into this whole chosen one thing, aren’t you?” Jon rolled his eyes.

Sansa had always been a dreamer. Until she could read herself she had begged whoever was around to read her stories to her. And sometimes Jon wasn’t entirely sure if she could tell fact from fiction. It was maybe one of the personality traits he liked most in her. Her faith in heroes and princes and happy endings. Her hope that even though the world seemed dark and mean and cruel, it was still worth fighting for.

“I’m not trying to trick you into anything!” Sansa raised her voice. “Can you just stop thinking so low of yourself for a second?” She reached for his hand. “You’re kind. You fight for those who can’t fight for themselves and you always believe in people being good until proven otherwise.”

“That’s not…”

Sansa didn’t let him finish his sentence. “You are also never afraid to get your hands dirty and work hard. You will never ask someone else to do something you’re not willing to do yourself.”

Jon closed his eyes. “San…”

“And you don’t want power. You don’t want to be a leader or famous. You don’t want to wear a crown. You just want to do what’s right and good.”

Even if he wanted any of that, he would never get it anyway. His was an orphan, a bastard, the result of a stupid infatuation from a married man with a young and naive girl. And everyone knew it.

“I know you’re into all this hero stuff. But don’t you think you’ve read too many stories? You’re trying to make me into something I’m very clearly not.” Jon spoke softly and he bent his head. “You just want me to be a hero, a knight in shining armour, a Prince Charming.”

Sansa chuckled. “You think I want you to be the chosen one?” She raised her eyebrows. “Your really think I just like the thought of you fighting in the biggest war our realm has ever known? You truly believe that I’m okay with you being the only one who can kill this night king and his army?” She paused for a short moment and her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Jon…” She reached for his hands again and grabbed them tightly. “I like the idea of you being the chosen one just as much as you do.” She moved a little closer towards him. “Because I know that prophecies never guarantee that its heroes survive the battle and I don’t want you to die.” She licked her red lips. “Because if I lose you…” She hesitated. “My heart will shatter and I don’t think anyone will ever be able to heal it.”

Jon blinked a few times and just stared at her.

Sansa Stark would be heartbroken if he died? Sansa Stark couldn’t bear the thought of losing him?

“What do you mean with all that?” Jon swallowed.

“I’m in love with you, dumbass.” Sansa almost screamed the words and everyone in the library turned their heads to look at her. “I love you. And I don’t want you to be the chosen one. But I still think you are.”

For a second Jon didn’t know what to say.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…” Sansa bent her head, but quickly Jon freed a hand and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“No, it’s okay, it’s just…” He shook his head. “I love you for years already and I never thought you’d…”

Sansa pushed herself up and her soft lips kissed his. The kiss was hesitant at first, but then Jon wrapped his arms around her and he opened his mouth to let her tongue in.

He didn’t care that this was a library. He didn’t care that everyone was watching. He didn’t care that people would frown upon their romance. He just knew one thing for sure now.

He pulled back to take a deep breath. “Damn, now I have even more reasons to not want to be that chosen one.”

“Maybe you’re not.” Sansa kissed him again. “You know what? Let’s just pretend you’re not.” Her mouth found his again. “Until we no longer can.”

Jon smiled hoping and praying that Sansa was wrong and that they would get their happily ever after without him having to save the world first.

But Sansa was rarely wrong about anything.

And they both knew it.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 120 Thoughts

A Fleeting Moment.

You blinked and missed it.

Is there some sort of deadline that I am unaware of? Because I think this is the second chapter in a row that reads so YOLO that it carries the desperation of a death soon at hand.

Yes, that’s right.

This chapter.

Is a Zekesona.

Maybe it’s because I’m a heartless monster, but my predominant thought throughout this chapter--well, fine, we’re getting to the real one later, but mostly my thought was wow, we’re really just diving straight in to the plot magic.

I’m not going to stop calling it plot magic.

Starting out it might have been a deliberate attempt to avoid the grammar of all things Paths, but at this point... it’s here to make the plot go. Sense is optional.

.

.

Zeke, you’re fucking killing me.

I.

Let me. just.

Let me attempt to form words with my fingers. Or my head. Or anything at all. This chapter has beaten me. I read it, I consumed the information, and so help me, I think if I let myself, I would never stop laughing over this.

It’s not funny, it’s just.

This, as we have here, is the pinnacle of everything wrong with letting the Yeager Bros take the wheel of a car that is not only missing seat belts and brakes, but perhaps also a functioning wheel.

In the world that is still sort of maybe occupied by sanity, there’s. Zeke.

Holding his brother’s decapitated head.

While he and his brother have an extended Inception dream sequence to manage the fact that Eren should really be very dead.

Really, I could probably spare a few minutes on that, but I don’t want to, because the logistics of how dead Eren is, exactly, when years have to pass in the plot magic in the seconds it’s been since his head was shot off--

I feel like someone shot my head off.

So okay.

A dream level up, the fight goes on in excruciating slowmo.

Meanwhile, Zeke and Eren are.

Okay, yeah, can’t do it. Nope.

This is not a criticism of the writing, as of right now. Like, I have my severe hysteria because of course Zeke has spent his Inception time growing to surpass the chains the First King adorned himself with, and of course, for some unholy reason, those chains bind Zeke at all despite him rightly pointing out he’s not of the Reiss branch and Zeke not actually being the Founding Titan.

Those are things I am noting, and I am completely failing to have a reaction to them because my entire jaw is in pain from holding back laughter, but that is not my present comment.

My present comment.

Is that these two are fucking morons.

I do not mean that disrespectfully. I mean it with the full sincerity of someone who is absolutely okay with the text making them fucking morons.

But holy damn fuck these kids do not have a clue what they’re doing.

Zeke first meets Ymir Fritz when he nearly dies in an unexpected near-incidental suicide. That’s when he has his first hands-on experience with Paths.

Sorry, plot magic.

So um.

Both Eren and Zeke plan to finally make use of the Founder’s power by showing up at this place. They don’t know that at the time they make their plan, because it’s still new to them, they just know that they’re going to hold hands and stuff and somehow things will happen.

Eren thinks the things Zeke wants to happen are bullshit.

Shocking.

Zeke thinks the things Eren wants to happen are bullshit, despite having no clue what those things even are.

Shocking.

And like.

Neither one is getting what they want, because Eren can’t actually use the power he’s journeyed all this way to get, because if this were a real anime, Zeke would have pink hair of warning. Zeke’s royal blood matters more than Eren having the Titan.

Sort of.

Zeke can dismantle the chains on the Founding Titan that attach to him for some reason, but Eren seems to still be required to pull the trigger. (ETA)

So if Inception-verse did not exist, Eren would have just gotten whatever it is he’s after, which would be bad for Zeke by measure of it not being what Zeke wants, but because Inception-verse does exist, they have all the time in the world, Zeke has the means to get what he wants, only technically he doesn’t really because he still needs Eren to agree with him and that hasn’t happened yet.

All of this work.

All...

Good fucking what.

ALL OF THOSE DEAD BODIES, BOYS, AND NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAS JACK SHIT TO SHOW FOR IT.

SOMEHOW

BEYOND ALL COMPREHENSION

BOTH OF YOU ARE FAILING TO GET WHAT YOU WANT. BECAUSE OF THE VERY SIMPLE FACT THAT YOU NEVER TRULY BOTHERED TO UNDERSTAND THE PERSON OR THE POWER YOU WERE ASKING TO MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE.

EREN MISUNDERSTANDS THE NATURE OF THE FOUNDER.

ZEKE MISUNDERSTANDS HIS BABY BROTHER.

BOY I’M SURE GLAD WE’VE SPENT THIRTY CHAPTERS ON THE CLUSTERFUCK OF YOUR MUTUAL DECISIONS JUST TO FIND OUT NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAS A FUCKING CLUE HOW TO MAKE ANY OF THIS WORK.

YOU BROKE THE WORLD, FULLY CONFIDENT IN YOUR DUCT TAPE, ONLY TO DISCOVER THAT THE ROLL YOU WERE HOLDING WAS SOME OTHER COLLECTION OF TAPE THAT SOMEONE GAVE A SILVER PAINT JOB.

THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T GIVE CHILDREN GUNS.

THEY SHOOT THINGS.

YOU INCOMPREHENSIBLY DUMB FUCKS.

Once more, this is not a criticism of the writing. I think it’s very fair for Zeke and Eren to be interacting with forces beyond their understanding, and screw it all up badly. In Eren’s case, that force is some weird demigod demon who possibly sold their soul to the devil. In Zeke’s case, it’s the will to live.

Both very confusing things. It is perfectly reasonable for them to be having difficulties.

-pre-corpses screaming in the background, only in slowmo because the moment of Eren’s head being blown off hasn’t actually passed-

-Falco steaming in the dirt-

-all Eren’s friends risking their lives so they might maybe use the Founding Titan to fix this all up-

You can tell Eren and Zeke have a doctor for a father, because their elaborate plan depending on thousands of years of history and starting international incidents fails in the face of basic common sense.

No, I’m not done.

These would be the people who would change the world.

Eren.

This is why, when you were ten, your mother was already telling another ten-year-old to look after you. BECAUSE SHE KNEW. SHE KNEW THIS IS WHAT YOU WOULD CHOOSE TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE.

LO, BEHOLD THE NEW UNDERSTANDING OF CARLA’S TEARS AS HER CHILDREN LEAVE HER TO HER DEATH.

IF ONLY EITHER OF YOU HAD A BRAIN.

I’m sorry, I know I should be making comments on other parts of the chapter, but this is all just so typical, and so blisteringly obvious an outcome, and.

Well, we got a lot of nice shots of Grisha and his family. Yay.

Plus--

Oh.

Fuck.

No no no no no, no, I don’t want that.

The thought occurred that this probably is one of the many functions of the plot magic’s oddness around people remembering things they shouldn’t, and blah blah blah Eren crying at the start of the series, but...

Grisha sees Zeke for a moment. Just a moment, but he taps into their link in the Paths.

If Mikasa goes back to watch the memory of Eren sleeping while he’s supposed to be collecting firewood, I have objections. I don’t know what they are, but there’s a visceral reaction of how dare you if that’s where this is all heading.

But you know, that’s for people who do things like speculation about things that aren’t related to people with the last name Reiss, so not my problem.

Anyway, the flashbacks are not a surprise. Grisha loves Eren. He makes his mistakes with Zeke, and comes to regret them terribly. He becomes a better man, and leaves his obsession behind to hold his new family.

This explains what happens the night he kills the Reiss family very well.

In that moment, he must have felt, so keenly, that this is all his fault. He walks away from the Founder. He leaves his mission. He leaves the power behind.

The walls fall, and in the hands of the Reisses, the Founder can do nothing to assist.

His wife dies.

The obsession returns, and Grisha’s last act is saddling Eren with all of his mistakes. Because he learned from his old ones, but he found that those lessons just destroyed the new life he comes to love. Grisha abandons his cause, and Carla dies. Eldians die. Marley creates more victims.

How many people suffer needlessly because Grisha hesitates?

That’s not a burden he takes to well, and the Grisha in these memories never wanted his last moments with Eren to be what they were. It’s one more piece to the insanity that took hold that night. One more tragedy.

When Kruger gives Grisha the Attack Titan, he tells Grisha to love someone inside the walls. The instruction becomes to make a family, but its root is in love. The important part is that Grisha loves someone. Otherwise, the cycle continues.

Grisha loves his sons. He abuses one and nearly ruins him, and takes the next and loves him properly. That’s the son who rejects the idea that they should all die. He’s been given a life that he understands has glory in even its beginning moments, and understands how horrendous it is that Zeke would remove generations of future moments.

The problem that continues, however, is one that I imagine we’ll be addressing with future flashback episodes.

Zeke loves his little brother. Until time allows otherwise, he takes it for granted that his precious little brother will see things his way. He needs so little convincing to bring Eren into the fold. Even before he knows how much control he truly has, he fully accepts Eren.

He doesn’t know Eren.

Eren knows Zeke, because the truth of Zeke’s heart is in this plan.

He knows Zeke, and doesn’t do anything with that knowledge.

Eren and Zeke use each other to reach this place, and in the end, their failure to be there for one another results in neither one being able to wield the power that their union creates.

There might be love there, but it’s the ruined kind Grisha bestows on Zeke. Control is what matters. Reaching the end is what matters.

“Your wife. You child. Even someone on the street. It does not matter. Love someone inside the walls. If you can’t, we’re doomed to repeat it all again. The same history. The same mistakes. Again and again.”

The mistake Eren and Zeke make is the opposite of the one their father chooses in this memory. He puts his love for his family over his mission.

Eren and Zeke prioritize their mission so deeply that they might as well be strangers, no matter how often they refer to each other as brothers. Of course it’s a disaster.

The audience has been waiting for Eren’s side of this story for years, because we’ve watched him grow up. We’ve watched him struggle and triumph and lose himself, and none of that was enough to establish the train of thought that led to these choices that Zeke is so proud of him for making, so it’s been a known thing to us that he’ll have some sort of eventual reveal (which we’re still waiting on; this chapter just does us the favor of confirming that we are waiting).

Zeke wants to confirm Eren’s mindset before they kick things off, since he has the luxury of time in this space.

He never bothers to confirm Eren’s thoughts out in the living world. Not actively. Eren lies, and Zeke lets it pass as enough.

These two never try to help each other. They use each other up.

Zeke can swear to be there for Eren, can swear to set him free, but he does not see who his brother is, and Eren, knowing exactly what kind of person Zeke is, chooses to ignore that in favor of playing the long con.

They fail.

They fail their family by failing to see them as such, and so fail every other task they sought to accomplish.

The story’s forcing them to deal with that now, since they have so much time, but it is so easy to see why this happens. They’re desperate, and they grab their lifelines, and they decide that if there’s something wrong, it can wait.

In the metaphor, that’s fine. They need to stop drowning.

But they see each other as a lifeline before they see each other as siblings.

Grisha sees Zeke as a tool before he sees him as a son.

The same mistakes, over and over.

Some more familiar than others.

We’ve reached the above thing.

What I’m referencing is that really, all through this chapter my only concrete thought was Eren looks a lot like Frieda. Naturally not greatly evident in the shot that’s actually relevant to why I’m bringing it up. Why should I get nice things.

Like. A lot. To the point where it starts to feel intentional, not the result of my brain linking everything back to the Reiss lands. Eren’s hair doesn’t part like Grisha’s or Carla’s, and conveniently we’ve got the comparisons readily available. He has Frieda’s. The young woman his father took the Founding Titan from.

After a long series of consensual (with heavy sarcastic quotes, yes, but putting that aside for the moment) sacrifices, Frieda and Eren are the first in recent history to have their consent overridden. Frieda’s ripped to pieces by Grisha, and has her family slaughtered by him. Hours later, understanding nothing of either Titan he’s inheriting, Eren takes up the mantle.

Eren first sees Frieda through her eyes, looking in a mirror, and I absolutely know I’m reading too much into this, but give me a sec of indulgence. I rarely get to talk about Frieda in these posts.

Frieda, the one who Eren really does look bizarrely like, is Zeke’s foil.

In the two shots above, we have an older half-sibling using their powers to convince their younger sibling to see the world they want them to.

Zeke’s having his difficulties, but Frieda has none.

Frieda has a loving relationship with her little sister, and touches her head to Historia’s gently.

Zeke bashes his head to Eren’s forcefully.

Frieda loves Historia. She has no reason but love to come and pay her visits. She helps her learn to read, she rides horses with her, and provides her company.

Historia has all those memories taken away. Their relationship only exists on Frieda’s terms until five years after Frieda’s death.

In an attempt to keep this post from turning into me shouting about how the Reiss family is symbolic of the manga as a whole, and Historia needs to come back and rightfully re-dethrone Eren as the main protagonist, I’ll be brief:

Frieda screws Historia up.

She adores her little sister, but in a world without Frieda, Historia is left with neglect and an overwhelming sense that no one wants her to be alive. Frieda routinely takes away the memories that prove that belief wrong. For complicated reasons that a teenager shouldn’t be expected to handle, but Historia’s problems are still actively exacerbated by Frieda forcing her will on Historia.

Eren has more say in what his brother’s trying to pull, thanks to his own plot magic, but we see the problem, with the same dynamic.

Zeke loves Eren.

He can’t see past his view of the world to see Eren well enough to try to do what’s best for Eren.

This is not a collaboration. It’s two people fiercely opposed who have put that argument off until the last possible second rather than approach one another as equals.

Eren’s head is blown off. He’s due to be dead.

Zeke is still trying to rescue him from his own free will.

Love without respect is useless. It’s what turns the emotion selfish.

Idiots.

I’m torn on what this chapter means for future chapters, because I don’t see how Eren and Zeke are moving past this roadblock without finally dealing with the issues that landed them here, aaaand theoretically that means that Eren’s plan wins.

I guess we get to look forward to what that means if that’s the case.

But Eren’s head is still kind of. Not. On his body.

Which makes me think that whatever decision makes it out of Inception, it’s probably going to be one that alters the reality they’re playing with, and that is really hard to do satisfyingly.

Those are problems for another month, though.

I have trouble calling this chapter good, because a lot of it is. well, what did you expect when you chose to do things like this? There’s some satisfaction in the fact that the characters are truly being respected as the numbskulls they’ve behaved as, but that does little to make the overall situation better.

Thankfully, emotional flashbacks pander to my needs directly, so this will be a satisfying trainwreck, but, uh.

Yeah.

Local siblings don’t listen to each other on family roadtrip down memory lane, feat. apocalypse in the background. That is the chapter.

It needs to be drawn as the Renaissance painting it clearly is in spirit.