#something something best tragedies are the ones where there was every opportunity to avoid it

[reneesbooks]

the final daily lacuna snippet

buckle up bitches time for chapter 11, the princess. it’s the last one and I’m not about to spoil the WHOLE thing but I’ll give yall a long one.

Keelan stumbles out of the alley and sits on the curb with his head between his knees. His breathing is too fast, something that Annie the bartender has a fancy word for, but he definitely can't be bothered to remember it now. His fingertips tingle and go numb, his head spinning.

It had to have been Birdie. It couldn't have been anyone else. She was older, a young woman and not the child she had been when he saw her last, when he tucked her into her bed with a promise to keep her safe. She survived and grew up and returned, but not to her home.

He's failing at convincing himself that there is a single good reason for her to be with the two most wanted criminals in the city. They'd clearly known her, trusted that she would protect them. She is alive. She is on friendly terms with at least one mass murderer and a serial thief.

He can still hear her tripled voice— "when thieves steal for honor" —he can still feel her hanging off one of his arms.

Levi hadn't killed her—he'd managed to hide her from Maura for years. Why? What had he told her, taught her?

She hadn't recognized him at all. Maybe Levi used memory spells to erase him. Maybe he erased more than that.

"Sir?" One of his soldiers is standing next to him, expression nervous. "Our team completed another sweep of the—"

"Get away from me," Keelan forces out through gritted teeth, "or I swear to Leyna I will gut you like a fish."

The soldier is gone in an instant.

Birdie had disappeared in an instant, in the blink of an eye the way Levi had all those years ago. What else had he taught her?

He is on his feet, walking towards the castle.

Levi had always been obsessed with Birdie's visions, and the prophecy. The one that supposedly predicts Maura's death. And now Birdie is in hiding with thieves somewhere in Morbhard, alive but not coming to tell her sister that. He is not a scholar, but he can connect those dots himself.

He's reached the castle gates. The guard is sending someone out to meet him—he drew the short straw, by Keelan's guess, since he is pale and sweaty when he reaches Keelan. "Captain O’Leyne. You are still banned from—"

"I'm not on castle grounds, so you can spare me the speech." His feet are firmly planted on the cobblestoned road. "I have to speak with the queen immediately."

"Queen Maura—"

Keelan's hand closes around the knife in his belt and the guard quickly backtracks, looking distinctly like he's going to throw up. "Her Majesty has ordered us to turn you away if you come to speak with her."

Keelan grinds his teeth. "Then bring her a message from me."

"Sir Keelan—Captain O'Leyne, I really can't—"

"This is too important for you to get in my way," Keelan hisses, taking a step towards the cowering guard. "You'll deliver a message to the queen for me. You'll tell her that I saw..." He hesitates, suddenly acutely aware of the people walking by, the nearby market, the gutter children collecting pieces of gossip for men like him and Jack. "Tell her I saw the duckling. She'll know what it means."

"Captain O'Leyne." The guard's gaze is fixed somewhere over Keelan's shoulder. "If I disobey orders—"

"If you do not deliver this message, I will be the least of you worries," Keelan says, getting up in the guard's face now. "This is of immediate and utmost importance. It concerns the queen's safety. If you fail to deliver this message, or even if you fail to tell the queen that you saw me, she will find out. I suspect she'll be very angry." He reaches up to scratch the skin under his dead eye. "Do you know what she does when she's angry?"

He sees a small wet spot appear on the guard's trousers. If he was still in charge of the royal guard, he would kill the man for a coward. The guard tells him to wait and he watches him sprint up the front path through the bars of the gate.

Keelan's gaze lifts to the castle towers. He wonders where Maura is, what she's doing. Will the guard interrupt a session of the court? Likely not, there aren't enough liveried servants loitering outside the gates. Perhaps she'll be in the library, studying her spells and curses. She never liked to be interrupted when she was in the library. He wonders if the same guard will even come back.

One of his soldiers finds him after a while and gives him an update on the search for the thieves. Unsurprisingly, they've vanished without a trace. Keelan considers telling him about Birdie, but he doesn't want to do it before telling Maura.

Would she read his memories to see if it was really her?

He sends away the guard with instructions to continue the search and double their efforts and men in the lakeside district.

The coward is returning. The wet spot on his trousers is just a bit larger. Keelan doesn't dare walk forward onto castle grounds until he knows what the man is going to say. He reaches Keelan and clears his throat. "The queen has lifted your banishment." Weight lifts from Keelan's chest that he can't believe he has been living with. "She awaits you in the throne room. I am to escort you—"

"I know the way."

He brushes past the guard and goes home.

The hedges are overgrown, long branches reaching out onto the path at random intervals. There is no one to open the doors for him, and the hinges groan when he pushes through. A few maids scurry through the corridors, but there are no others to stop and gawk as the Knight of Lacuna Lake returns home. His footsteps echo up into the vaulted ceilings, where dusty chandeliers hang half-lit as if someone had pulled them up before they were ready.

The throne room doors swing open easily at his touch.

Maura is sitting alone, her head resting on one hand as she watches him approach. Her favorite green dress hangs off her ribs a bit, as if she'd done the lacing herself. There are deep, dark circles under her eyes and lines around her mouth hardened by years of sorrow and rage. Half the chandeliers are lit and she hasn't raised most of the curtains, bathing the room in shadow.

Her eyes dart to the door behind him. He stops at the base of the steps up to her throne. Her gaze returns to him and she clears her throat. "The guard was meant to escort you."

Keelan takes a deep breath. "He's a coward. I would have him killed for it."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "You've risked much to return here, Sir Keelan."

He kneels. "My queen. I had to tell you immediately. I saw...I saw something in the market."

"Yes." He looks up to see her knuckles whiten on the arms of the throne. "The guard said something about a duckling."

"It's her." He can't stay on his knees, can't hold himself back. He is on his feet and halfway up the stairs, his hands itching to reach for her. "I—I don't know how, but it's Birdie. Those eyes..." He's caught in Maura's silver gaze, tears welling up in those same eyes. "I could never mistake those eyes."

He doesn't think he knows how to read her anymore, but he does recognize the way her fingers touch the empty space on her left hand. "Do you...what kind...what was she doing? Who was she with?"

He blinks. "I...I don't know where to start." He hesitates a step from the top. "Do you..." He puts one finger to his temple. "Aren't you going to...?"

Her face falls a bit, different emotions flashing across. "No. Not—I swore I would never..." She grips her left finger. "Not without..." A shaky inhale, her eyes unreadable. "Not unless you want me to."

He thinks of the servants and others that he's watched her curse over the years. The golden light that pours out of their faces. "Does it...does it hurt?"

Maura looks away. "I don't actually know."

He thinks of how her healing spells taste of sweet pea. He remembers the warmth of the golden light that comforted him in the Black Cell. He takes the final step up to her throne. "You can read my mind, if you...you can do it."

"Only if you want." Her eyes burn through him. "Never again unless you want me to."

He inhales sharply, the scars on his chest burning. "I...I want you to."

She rises to her feet and his nose is filled with her perfume. She is so close and his hands are begging to hold her, but instead he stands stock still as she lifts trembling hands to his face. "If it...if it hurts, I'll stop."

He nods and she presses her fingers to his temples.

Golden light fills his vision.

He is eight years old, standing at the front of the chapel in Leyne, evening light shining through the stained-glass windows.

He feels it more than he hears it—Maura's voice, somewhere in the back of his head.

Too far back.

He is fourteen, sword in his hand as he walks away from his burning house, bloody feet leaving footprints in the dust.

It's almost like a nudge, Maura's presence in his head. She sifts through his memories like the pages of a book, searching for the right moment.

She finds him in the market, hearing the squire announce the opening in the city guard. He looks up from his groceries and sees her in her green dress, standing across the crowded square.

He sees her as he leaves the burning flat on Amber Road, sees her as he walks into the city guard headquarters, he sees her standing behind Jack in the lakeside market.

There.

He watches it happen again, sees Birdie appear and disappear in slow motion. The edges are faded, but Birdie is clear as day. Her eyes burn through him, even just as a memory.

Maura steps away from him, her eyes wide. "You think she's here to kill me."

"I don't." He looks away. "I don't know."

"You were right." She presses her fingers to her forehead, sitting heavily in her throne again. "You're right, Levi was always obsessed with the prophecy. He'll have raised her for that very purpose."

"Maybe it's something else."

Her mouth quirks. "Maybe Lacuna Lake isn't bottomless."

The quirk fades and she sinks into thought, her nose scrunching as she stares at the royal seal in the stonework. Keelan puts a shaking finger to his temple, trying to see if there is any warmth left over.

“When you read someone's mind...” he says slowly, and Maura's eyes flick to him with more than a little anxiety.

“It's less like reading and more like watching,” she says cautiously.

He thinks of her standing in the background of his memories, her silver eyes piercing through him. “You could see what I was thinking after I saw Birdie...is that normal? To see what they thought?”

She hums, tracing patterns idly on the arm of her throne. “I get more of a sense of what the person was feeling in the moment. Sometimes thoughts pass through, if they were particularly important in the moment.”

He stares down at her, her words registering slowly. “So you can feel what they felt?”

Her eyes are guarded. “Yes, wh—”

He grabs her hands and presses them to his temples, meeting her eyes fiercely. “Read my memories. Every one that you can find.”

“What are—”

“I never lied to you,” he says, and her eyes fill with tears. “I would never lie to you. I want you to know that. I need you to know that. Read my memories, every single one that you are in, and know that I never lied. I loved you the day I saw you and I have loved you every day since. Send me away again, cut out my other eye, I will crawl back blind and begging. I will always love you, Maura. No matter what.”

She tries to pull her hands away but he holds them firmly, her fingers pressed to his temples. “Keys, please.”

“I will ask nothing more of you,” he says quietly. “You said you wouldn't do it unless I wanted you to. I am begging you to. If you only feel an ounce of the love I have for you, it would be enough. I need you to know that I never lied.”

She inhales shakily, and he lets go of her hands. She doesn't lower them from his temples, but her thumb touches the corner of his dead eye. “I don't...I don't know if I can...”

“Please, Maura,” he whispers. “Please.”

The golden light fills his vision again. He is standing in the throne room for the first time, his eyes caught on the golden princess in her throne. He is sitting in the gardens, his sword forgotten in the grass as her laughter chases away the ghosts. He is seventeen, spinning around her in the ballroom as she laughs and he falls harder and harder. He is in the Black Cell, grasping her golden light as his only salvation. He is next to her in the theater, holding her hand in the safety of the royal box as she rests her head on his shoulder. He is holding her against him in the throne room, feeling her fluttering heartbeat through his shirt. He is standing before her with his knife in his hands and his blood on his face but he is only thinking if this is enough, if this will make her believe him, if he has finally broken the last remaining piece of light in his life. He is exhausted at his desk, marking up a city map in the hopes that he'll find the thief and go home soon. He is standing before her again, his heart breaking as he sees the pain she is in. He is in love.

She yanks away from him like he burned her, her eyes welling up with tears. She won't meet his gaze, hers fixed firmly on her hands instead. She sinks back into her throne.

“I never lied,” he murmurs, reaching to catch her hand. She doesn't shake him off, just slips her fingers into his, and it gives him the courage to keep going. “I...I don't know what I did wrong, Maura, but I never stopped loving you.”

She inhales shakily, her gaze darting up to his missing eye. “You didn't...I need to tell you some things.”

dw abt what those things are. lacuna taglist: @serenanymph @lyssa-ink @oh-no-another-idea @lena-rambles @ashen-crest @tragicbackstoryenjoyer @serpentarii @allianaavelinjackson

[busines-as-unusual]

˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 3 - Creatures We Desire⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

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C/W for a suggestive scene. It’s nothing too explicit.

Your backyard was the most peaceful place in all of Hell. You sat under the marble gazebo, the soft wind carrying the scent of flowers and tea. Gunfire was barely audible over your pool; it gurgled like a babbling brook in spring.

The grand pavilion was in the middle of your yard. Five paths stretched out from the center dividing the area into five equal parts. Along the paths were statues, fountains, and rose bushes, maintained by your gardening staff of imps and sinners.

Four of the plots of land were graced with bird’s-foot trefoil grass. You planned on making arrangements so the fifth and final plot would soon be dotted with the little yellow flowers.

But at the moment you stared at your journal, nails drumming along the blank pages as you wracked your brain for ideas to help the hotel. There were so many opportunities, so many possibilities to choose from, you didn’t know where to start.

Your taste in music was old-fashioned, you knew. Outsourcing it was your best option. You owned too many original musicals to name, and even more stage plays. What tone should you aim for, and what genre? The goal was to inspire, but art wasn’t always straightforward. One could be moved to tears by comedy, uplifted with tragedy.

Personally, you’d always been a fan of dark comedies, the darker the better. Your train of thought chugged along, crossing paths with thoughts of Alastor. Would he share your interest in black comedies? You wouldn't be surprised.

You bristled as he entered your mind with no resistance. How was he distracting you when he wasn’t even around? You sipped your tea and drew circles in your notebook in a futile attempt to refocus yourself, but thoughts of the Radio Demon persisted, creeping into your chest; a terrible, century-long infection.

In life and death, you had many lovers, and with the exception of a few repeat players, once you both had your fun, that was that. They didn’t think of you and you rarely thought of them. You liked it that way. It was simple. Easy. As long as everyone had a good time things were peaches and gravy. You never yearned for anything more.

But Alastor was a different beast.

Simple carnal pleasure would’ve been easy to ignore if that were all you wanted. You were never a slave to your base urges, and they were as fleeting as they were shallow. But you wanted something more from Alastor.

At first, you mistook it for a desire for friendship. He was fascinating as he was mysterious, who wouldn’t want to get closer to a demon like him?. After your stint under Roman, you were too busy to form new connections, your relationship with Rosie the main exception. As the years passed and your position in Hell stabilized, you realized friendship with Alastor wasn’t what that yearning in your chest was.

Rosie insisted you shouldn’t be afraid to get to know him. You wanted to, you did. Every time you ran into him at a meeting or a party, every time you heard his dulcet voice amidst the screams of his broadcast left you wanting more from him. More of his attention, more of his time. You wanted more of his company. To talk to him about more than weather, politics, and idle gossip.

You wanted him.

But prolonged exposure to Alastor would make you feel worse in the long run. You knew it would.

So you stayed away. Never pursuing anything deeper than casual acquaintanceship. Which was for the best. If you asked for more than what he was willing to give you… well, it was best to avoid the scenario altogether.

Of course, you didn’t begrudge Alastor for who he was or how he felt. You weren’t one to think people needed to change, especially things they couldn’t control, and were quick to accept people as they were. You'd be a hypocrite not to.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

You snapped your journal shut and groaned, nearly pulling your hair out as you raked your fingers through it. When you got like this over Alastor, you chose one of two paths:

You could indulge in these feelings. Allow yourself to fantasize about soft loving moments you’ve only ever experienced in books and on stage.

But the second option, the well-worn path, was to remind yourself this was Alastor. And if Alastor knew you harbored a silly little crush…

Ice-cold dread gripped your chest. You couldn't take the look on his face if he found out, the nauseating mix of disgust and amusement, his harsh laughter at your expense, his ruthless and punishing words of rejection. You’d seen Alastor be truly cruel, and you had no intention of being on the receiving end of his severity.

You'd sooner gouge out your beating heart.

You needed gin. Lots of it. You needed to dance til your feet were sore and a warm body to help ease these pent-up feelings.

Luckily today was your day off. You hit up Mimzy who was always down for a good time, even in the middle of the goddamn day.

The two of you met when you were alive, although Mimzy didn’t recall. You’d gotten closer after death and were regular barflies together. You loved Mimzy. She was a greedy, selfish, narcissist who’d sell a friend down the river to make a quick buck and act like it wasn’t a big deal. But you were still her friend and you loved her. The gal was fun and good company, and that’s all you ever asked of her.

(Admittedly you sometimes used her in hopes of even catching a glimpse of Alastor but considering your friend’s worst traits, you didn’t feel guilty.)

You and Mimzy sat at a bar on the seedier side of town pounding shots like it was nineteen twenty-nine. The harsh flashing lights from above did little to obscure the men openly undressing you both with their eyes. Not that you minded, a little eye-wandering was all in good fun.

Mimzy took another shot and sighed in bliss, refreshed. Elbow on the bar, she rested her cheek in a gloved palm, cheeks flushed under the harsh lights. “So missy!” She shouted over the big band playing off somewhere you couldn’t see. “What made you decide to call me up? Not that I’m complaining about free drinks.”

“You got the hook-up for free drinks?” you asked. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, you already know the babe. They're an adorable purple trash panda who puts down hooch like she's going to war.”

“Yeah, and why's she spending all his dough on you? Is she a schmuck or something?”

Mimzy laughed. She inhaled another shot and grabbed you by the hands, dragging you to the dance floor. “C’mon, I love this song! Let’s cut a rug til we flop!”

Mimzy was a great dance partner. You could do the Charleston with her for hours and never tire or get bored. Often she’d let you take the lead when you were hand in hand, which you were more than happy to do.

You two spun until you were dizzy and giggling like mad. At some point during the night between drinking and dancing, Mimzy mumbled something about a fancy man with a fancy ride and ditched you. As expected. Mimzy always got sidetracked, you just hoped she didn’t get into too much trouble.

As soon as you sat back at the bar, the bartender slid a cocktail to you. He jabbed a thumb behind him when you raised a brow in silent interest. “From the guy over there.”

You caught the gaze of a handsome doglike demon at the other end of the bar. He winked and shot you a confident smirk which you returned with a wave and a smile of your own.

As always when someone bought you a drink, you were careful to nonchalantly inspect it, looking for the familiar pink tint of The Vees’ “Love Potion.” Many had the gall to try and slip the repugnant liquid into your drink.

They kept Rosie and her people very well-fed.

Thankfully, this guy only had the purest intentions to try and screw you. Taking a long sip of your drink, you kept eye contact with him, taking your sweet time enjoying your drink before licking your lips and strolling over to him.

He reminded you of the hellborn hellhounds of the Gluttony ring. Lord, you wished sinners could travel to the other rings. You’d heard they made Pride ring parties look like a grade school sock hop.

Your fingers glided along the bar top as you reached your suitor, playful fingers walking up a buff arm “So… who do I have to thank for the free drink?”

“The name’s Alaric.” He placed a big hand on the back of your waist and fixed you with a sweet but suggestive grin.

Your pleasant conversation led you to invite him back to your place in the dead of night. Now you were no dummy. You choose your partners with care, and with a century’s worth of experience, you could read a man like a book. Luckily for you most of the men you encountered wanted one thing.

And the men who tried to overstep? They, too, ended up on Rosie’s chopping block.

The moment you brought him home, the both of you wasted no time in tearing off each other's clothes between sloppy kisses and hickeys on your necks.

He hovered over you, those canine teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. He took experimental nibbles and when you didn’t object, he bit the space where your neck and shoulder met.

You squealed in pleasure. Oh, he was perfect.

You always had a preference for rougher partners. Some, more gentlemanly than you'd expect from a hellion, were annoyingly gentle with you as if they were afraid to break you. You had no problem assuring them you couldn't be broken, and after that, well… you’re surprised you can manage to get to work the next day.

Sometime after your third or fourth roll around, you passed out beside your sleeping lover and were met with dreamless sleep.

At first they were dreamless, anyway.

Fire. Blazing, burning fire.

Barely a woman, you watched your family’s manor go up in flames. Orange angry tendrils licked the walls. Windows exploded. Your parents' screams of terror turn into shrieks of pain. Then they stopped, their cries enveloped by the crackling fire.

The roar of the inferno was heard in heaven, and your laughter from Hell.

Your dream shifted to later in your life. When you were free. The images morphed and the faces blurred together in messy images, half-formed.

Except for the gorgeous smiling face of the man who accepted your offer— demand, rather— to dance. Him you could see clear as day.

Even now with the distance of time and through the haze of your dream, you felt his hand in yours, hot like fresh blood. His devilish smile stole your breath away more than the hours you spent dancing.

But you weren’t fooled. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and you knew it from the moment you laid eyes on him. His smile was sweet, but he had the aura of a predator hunting down his next meal.

It made his attention on you all the more exhilarating.

You were pulled from the memory by light filtering into your room and kisses over your shoulder blades. You yawned and sat, tired eyes landing on the man still in your bed.

“Morning, spitfire.” He twirled a pair of fuzzy handcuffs around his finger.

You frog-blinked sleep from your eyes. “Oh, hey, you're still here?”

He pouted. “Don’t sound disappointed.”

You turned his face to plant a smooch on his cheek. “‘m surprised, is all.” Rolling out of bed, you grabbed a silk robe and pulled it on with a loose knot. “You want breakfast or somethin’?”

Your gentleman friend (whose name was escaping you at the moment) got redressed and followed you downstairs. You rubbed at your waking eyes, not noticing the figure sitting at your table. “So whatcha want?” You asked the man behind you. “I got coffee and cereal and— fuck!”

“We had that last night.”

You couldn't even roll your eyes at his attempt at a joke. They were fixed on Alastor at your table drinking a mug of coffee. Your mug and your coffee. He sat prim and proper, legs crossed, his cane between his arms.

What in the fresh Hell—

“Morning, Tem dear!” Alastor’s grin was jubilant and self-satisfied. “Am I interrupting?”

Your ears twitched in irritation, tail flicking in the same manner. Your face heated, was it from anger or embarrassment? The twinkle in Alastor’s eye told you he was enjoying your discomfort all too much. Yup, it was definitely anger.

This was obviously some ploy to get a rise out of you. This should’ve been expected. Alastor often ruffled feathers for his own entertainment. You two were never in a situation where he could do so before.

Fine. If that’s the game he wanted to play, you’d gladly play along.

You regained your posture, rolling your shoulders back, robe falling to reveal more of your bare skin. “No, not at all, Alastor.” Sarcasm crept into your words. “In fact, let’s go back upstairs and you can watch.”

His expression hardly dipped, his creeping shadow along your wall harboring a vexed expression the sole indicator your comment got under his skin.

You smirked. ”Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The guy, Alaric you recalled, placed a hand on your naked shoulder, reminding you he was still there. “Hey, I’m not really into that.”

Alastor looked past you to glare the demon down, ominous glow radiating from him. “I think it's time you go.”

The air grew thick with palpable static and the poor guy never stood a chance. Overtaken with fear, he hightailed it out of your mansion, never looking back.

You grimaced at his retreating form. He was one of the few men you’d consider going back to for seconds, and Alastor chucked that possibility out the window.

Because of course he did.

You rubbed your temples and tried not to scream. “Why are you in my house, Alastor? You couldn’t have called? Or knocked?”

“My dear, I simply wanted to check on your progress,” he said with an innocent affect in his voice, “maybe throw in a couple of my suggestions.”

“And popping into my house unannounced to give me a heart attack was the best way to do so in your mind?”

“Yes! However, I wasn't expecting to catch you and that fellow in such a… compromising position.”

You laughed. He said it as though he caught you two in the act. “Well, I hope this taught you a lesson about boundaries. They’re there to prevent... this.”

You strode to the kitchen, not noticing when Alastor's ears flattened against his head in agitation, narrowed eyes fixed on you. He placed the mug on the table, thud louder than he’d have liked. His voice was thick with static. “Noted.”

“Well since you’re already here, would you like more coffee? I’d offer you something to eat, but something tells me you wouldn't like Vox brand microwave meals or Vox brand marshmallow cereal.”

He made a noise of disgust, radio waves flaring jointly. “Dear, don't tell me you're living, so to speak, off Vox’s low-grade reheated sludge?”

“‘fraid so.” You pulled out frozen microwavable something from the freezer. Vox’s image greeted you, charismatic grin on his flat face. You could see why he insisted on putting it on so many of his products.

You weren’t taught to cook when you were alive. Your mother insisted you’d marry someone of your class and would never need to. By the time your parents were dead and you’d moved to America, you had chefs prepare most of your meals. You didn’t see a reason to learn to cook now. These easy meals weren’t ideal but they were efficient enough.

Alastor— when had he stood?— snatched your breakfast from your hands and set it ablaze with his green flames. He tutted and shook his head, not noticing— or caring— when you glared at him. “This simply won’t do. Allow me.”

He snapped his fingers and fresh produce straight from Wrath appeared on your counter.

Your face scrunched, confused. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t allow the hotel’s new benefactor to eat such garbage. Even if she’s an adorable little trash panda.”

He ruffled the top of your bedhead, right between your ears. You shuddered, electricity running down your spine. You pulled back with an audible scoff and turned away from him, face flushed.

Alastor managed to excite you with his simple touch and insult you with his taunting words. You hated your raccoon traits. You spent years digging yourself out of the trash, only for fate to determine you should take the form of a filthy scavenger anyway.

You weren’t about to waver under that shit-eating grin and let him know how affected you were by his teasing or his touch.

“Whatever.” You faced him again, expression neutral. “You’re not gonna sneak human flesh in there, are you?”

“Haha! Of course not, dear.”

Yeah, you didn't believe him. “Yuh huh. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

“There’s quite a lot you don’t know.” You suppose that was meant to sound condescending, but if anything he sounded menacing. Before you had time to ruminate, he shooed you out of the kitchen. “Run along and get decent while I make you a proper meal.”

“Alastor, I am never decent.” But you listened, bounding up the stairs to your boudoir.

You saw yourself in the mirror and cringed. Love bites and bruises littered your chest, neck, and shoulders. It was embarrassing enough to have Alastor catch you in the aftermath, but you forgot the evidence of last night's horizontal refreshment was clear as day on your body.

Grabbing your concealer, you went to town covering every little blemish and bruise, a practice your mother was all too eager to teach you as a girl.

Jazz drifted from downstairs, reminding you of the demon who infiltrated your home and your thoughts. Right when you’d done everything you could to forget him, he found a way to take center stage notjust in your mind but in your morning.

And the worst part was you were glad he did.

This game Alastor was playing with it was off to an interesting start.

The demon hummed to himself as he prepared your breakfast. With a snap of his fingers, the little radio you had tucked away in the corner flared to life as he toned it to his frequency. Jazz filled the kitchen while Alastor busied himself with chopping fresh fruit and shadowed hands prepped grits, scrambled eggs, and grilled venison. Soon, delicious smells danced in the air, mixing with the music to create a lovely ambience.

While you would no doubt be appreciative of this fabulous meal, this was a chess move to break you down. Endearing himself to you would make playing with you a lot easier down the road.

Your reaction when you spotted him at your table was quite hilarious, it took quite a bit to not laugh in your face. Your confusion, frustration, and discomfort all displayed to him unfiltered was an amusing prelude to what was to come. He couldn't wait to pull more raw emotions out of you.

Once finished with the fruit, he popped two slices of bread into your annoyingly modern toaster and moved on to making your tea. He admired the beautiful tea caddy of porcelain and gold and tastefully matching tea set. You always had exquisite taste.

Unfortunately, that didn’t extend to your taste in partners.

A noise of disgust escaped his throat as he made the water boil preternaturally fast. He didn't see you two lay together (which he was greatly thankful for) but it was clear what you two had gotten up to, even before Alastor saw the aftermath of your little bedroom activities across your body.

Now that intrigued him, he had to admit. He had no idea you had a penchant for masochism. The sadist in him was eager to exploit later on.

Not that you were making this easy for him. Your sarcastic offer to watch you and that sorry excuse of a demon fornicate would’ve made him vanish right then and there if that wouldn’t be an admission of defeat. And while you were clearly embarrassed, you still made little quips, smirking at him as if you had any leverage with him. It made him want to torment you more, to make you truly speechless.

Alastor set the table as your footsteps padded down the stairs and you reentered the kitchen. Eyebrow shooting up for a brief moment when he saw you, Alastor was stunned to see you dressed so… out of character.

When not dressed to the nines for a party or dolled up in the Progressive Era fashion of Cannibal Town, you tended to wear garments more reminiscent of the era you shared with him: simple mid-length dresses and shawls of bright but muted colors. It’s not as though he kept track of how you dressed, it was quite easy to note when you knew someone as long as he knew you.

But today you were wearing a waistcoat over a stark white shirt with pants tucked into blood-red boots. The look was still plenty “vintage”, but also decidedly modern.

“Do you always get dressed up for breakfast?” he asked, tone light.

You frowned, assessing your clothes. “Oh, no I have, uh, errands I need to run later today.”

Alastor hummed at your response, pulling out your chair before you had a chance to and pushing you in. Notably, none of your bruises were visible anymore at least not at first glance.

His ego swelled as you gaped at the delicious meal in front of you. “Oh Alastor, you didn't have to go this hard.”

“Think nothing of it dear! Please enjoy.”

He sat opposite of you. He hadn't made himself a plate, content to watch you with his second cup of black coffee. You spread jam on a slice of toast, your eyes flicking to him in question before returning to your food. Your eyes widened in delight as you tried your first bites. He continued to watch you enjoy the meal he made you, taking pleasure in noticing every little change in your expression or how you hummed in appreciation. He found he quite liked your soft and delighted reactions along with your more sour ones.

“Alastor,” you said, halfway through your meal. “This is really good!”

“And no human flesh, I might add.”

“Even if you did, I—” A sharp shake of your head “Nope. No, no, no. Not entertaining that thought again.”

Alastor chuckled. “You know, my dear, if you stayed at the hotel you’d get a home-cooked meal every day.”

You poured milk into your tea. “I appreciate the offer but I already told Charlie I’m not interested in redemption.”

“You wouldn’t have to work on redeeming yourself. Since you’d be working with the hotel you’d be more than welcome to stay during your partnership. Although, fair warning, Charlie might rope you into a trust exercise or two.”

You pretended to mull it over. He didn’t expect you to say yes, at least not right away. Planting the idea in your head now could lead to him exploiting your physical proximity to each other later on.

He caught the smallest tweak of your brow when the silence lingered for too long. Before you could recover and speak, Alastor said “Take your time doll. It’s an open invitation.”

You nodded, taking a sip of too warm tea, judging by the steam.

“Anywho! Back to why I am here. How are your plans going, dear?”

“I wrote down some ideas for Charlie in my notebook.” You snapped your fingers and a notebook appeared in front of him. He took it with a raised brow and flipped through the pages, expression souring when he saw—

“It’s blank.”

“I ran into a setback yesterday,” you said flippantly, feeding yourself another bite.

“Distracted by company?”

You choked on your eggs and it took Alastor everything in him not to laugh at your flustered state.

You cleared your throat, forcing down more hot tea to clear your passage. “No no, he was more of a… muse of sorts.”

Alastor’s smile stretches in distaste. “You do remember what kind of hotel I’m trying to help run?”

A roll of your eyes. “Funny! I couldn’t think straight yesterday, I need a dick– a distraction!”

You laughed. He did not.

“Aaaanyway,” you sing-songed, eyes everywhere except meeting his, “don’t worry, Alastor. I know exactly what to do. Unfortunately, it involves eating a little crow.”

“Oh? And what might that involve, dear?”

Your demeanor turned guarded and defensive as your posture stiffened. Curious. What exactly did you have planned that would cause you to be reluctant to share?

You busied yourself with your napkin, wiping at your mouth and placing it over your empty plate. “I have a connection I might be able to persuade to help the hotel but our relationship is… strenuous. I’ll have more luck convincing him in person than on the phone.”

Alastor could tell there was more to the story but didn’t push. “I see. In that case, my dear, allow me to accompany you!”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Of course I do! What kind of facility manager would I be if I didn't see to it that your endeavors go smoothly?”

It was a reasonable excuse. Arguing with him would be more trouble than it was worth and only serve to make you look suspicious.

You shrugged, conceding like he knew you would. “I suppose that's alright.” You stood and fixed him with a look like you already regretted this. “I apologize for the headache in advance.”

A/N: This was a long chapter. Should I start putting the word count before each chapter? Let me know, and let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

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@forbidding-souda

[maikissed]

being a girl in love III

Kylian Mbappé x reader, au

I like these two, I've decided to give our girly a name in this one, planning to make more chapters because why not 🤭 I used some french, so forgive me for any wrong spelling haha Anyway enjoy!

warning: soft smut

As she stood at the end of the room with her eyes glued in one direction she felt like a main character of an exhausting satire in which love as it is all around seems to avoid her at all costs, making her yearn for it to come and embrace her, yet instead flee away every time she tries to reach for it, laughing at her face as it does. Is it a curse of a young soul? To feel the love that instead of filling you it’s leaving you hollow? Or is it a tragedy of all human being? To feel at all?

Breathing steady she watched him being surrounded by a group of girls, each of them so hungry for his attention. He’s always been this person, confident and so charismatic, full of magnetism, making everyone drawn into him. But lately he’s been turning into something even bigger, a star, and he was shining already, she could see that clearly. Those wonderful opportunities that kept coming to him made her proud and joyful, of course! But it kept digging at her heart at it’s best, taking him away from her. She wondered how much time has she left, to see him the way she has had all this time.

She brought the tall glass up to her lips feeling slightly ridiculous standing there stiffly, dressed in a carefully selected little outfit. It wasn’t something provocative yet the short tennis skirt that revealed her long legs started bugging her, bringing in thoughts as if she tried too hard to drawn eyes to her. And there she was, hiding in a corner in a pretty, neat skirt and her lips glossy.

“Do you need a refill?” she heard somebody’s voice on her right.

Still holding the glass near her lips she brought her eyes to the side to meet with a very bright blue ones of a boy at least two heads taller than her. Quite pleasant height difference, she thought. But without a word she simply handed him her glass still half full of the drink and passed him, heading straight to the stairs that lead to the second floor of the house. At least she was at her place, so she choose to hide for the rest of the night somewhere where she can stop pretending. And she didn’t realise that somebody’s dark curious eyes followed her up. 

She didn’t mind the loud noises echoing through the walls, though it was slightly quieter as she curled up on her bed with a book in her hands. Unfortunately she could not focus on the words displayed in front of her, as she kept re-reading sentences and turning back pages to understand the strand of the plot. What was it again? But what can be done, the one who loves must share the fate of the one he loves*.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door of the room. It startled her.

“Zoe? Are you in there?”

She froze when she realised it was Kylian’s voice, still she got up and reached for the knob. The first thing she felt was his fresh, citrus scent, then she felt her heart at the bottom of her stomach. God, so that’s what they meant when they said love makes one stupid.

“Why did you sneak out so quickly?” he asked effortlessly.

“I was bored”

He simply nodded at her answer, briefly looking behind her as if to check if she was alone.

“Can I come in?” his voice low and calm.

After letting him inside she headed back straight to the bed and he followed. It didn’t surprise her at all. It has happened before.

She snorted noticing him making himself comfortable with his head rested on the biggest fluffy pillow in her collection.

“Were you not enjoying the party?” she asked curiously, grabbing back the book that laid on the nightstand.

“I got a bit tired”

“What is it? You don’t like it?” her index finger rested at the edge of the book page.

“What?” he curiously turned his head in her direction.

“The attention” she looked back at him.

His eyes were so dark, it might have the power to hypnotize against your will. But she looked nonetheless.

A smug smirk appeared on his face, the one that always made him look like a cocky bastard. She loved it. She bit the inside of her cheek trying to surpass the foolish grin.

“It’s nice but I don’t really care for it”

She gasped sarcastically.

“A teenage boy, does not care for a women attention” imitating a shocked face she laughed afterwards.

He rose up on his elbow to face her. A gentle smile still visible on his face.

“So we’re talking about women attention?”

She rolled her eyes focusing back on the open pages on her lap.

“You’re getting a lot of it” she shrugged.

“Is that wrong?” his voice turned lower.

She stiffened. The paper under her palm started turning tacky.

“No..” she replied drawlingly.

Her features frowned in concentration as she pretended to read her book in utter fascination.

“What are you reading?” changing the subject he did not move the slightest.

She could feel his heavy gaze on her. The ghost of their previous conversation still lingering above them.

“Master and Margarita”

“What is that?”

“It’s a novel of Russian literature”

“Sounds tough”

She smiled at his answer.

“Would you read to me?”

His question struck her dumb. She brought her eyes up to look his way. His expression softer than before.

“Out loud?”

His eyes glinted in amusement as he noticed her confusion. It was really sweet, her eyes turned round and sparkly.

“You can whisper if you prefer. But you have to move closer or I won’t hear very well” he joked laying his head back on the pillow.

She considered. Looking back at the top of the chapter she cleared her throat with intention to read the first sentence. But surprisingly something different left her mouth. And she almost bit off her own tongue at the sound of it:

“Did you fuck Lea?”

She could feel a little stir on the side, but did not dare to look.

“Is that in the book?” he asked.

“No, it was a question” she commented almost bringing herself in dismay of this straightforwardness.

But it was done.

“Who’s Lea?”

She shot him a scolding look. She chose to act insolent and he decided to play dumb. What a fantastic combination.

“That friend of yours? I don’t really know her. What kind of question is that?” his voice turned stern and it made her uncomfortable.

She regretted the question deeply.

“Forget about it” she shrugged trying to stand up but he caught her arm in time, making her sit back down.

“Zoe” he murmured searching for her eyes.

Oh, she was in trouble. She looked up into his big eyes and felt so, so stupid. Why she has to be so stupid? A little wrinkle appeared between his brows.

“I made a mistake, sorry” she tried to play it off, because something was seriously wrong here.

She could read in his expression that he would not let it pass forgotten so she sighed in surrender.

“She said that you were together at Theo’s party few weeks ago”

“Doing what?”

“Kylian” she protested begging him in her thoughts to not make her say it.

He moved, sitting back and leaning his back against the pillows.

“You started it” he snapped back.

It angered her that he was so agitated with this subject. Maybe she had no right to ask, but she did not like this attitude he was showing.

“I don’t know what she said to you but I didn’t touch her, ever. That’s fucked up”

“So she lied, it’s settled”

She stood up feeling the urge to create some space between them since the atmosphere switched from warm and friendly into an awkward quarrel. Looking at the clock on the dresser she realised the time was very late and she would love to change from her indecently short skirt to some comfortable sleep shorts. The weight of the silence that formed in her room squeezed at her throat. She wondered what he was thinking about now, glad that he actually denied if something ever happened between him and her friend. Or maybe he was the one who lied, but why would he feel the need to?

She heard the movement on the bed behind her and tensed wondering if he’s going to leave her because of this pathetic act of impudence directed his way. And she will regret it to the point where it starts eating at her heart.

“Come here” he called to her, gently but his low and deep voice caused shivers to run down her spine.

The word choice almost knocked her out. A demand that made her legs go weak. And how dare he make her feel like this? Small and so full of desire that she couldn’t even think straight? Was it his intention to fuck her up all the way?

As a stubborn and proud girl she was she turned around keeping a vexed face on. He was sitting at the edge of the bed with his elbows propped on the knees.

“Are you trying to boss me around in my own room?” a shaky breath out.

He did something and she noticed. He eyed her down, eyes high on her legs. God.

“I’m sorry” he snickered “Zoe, would you please come and sit next to me?”

She hesitated biting on her lip. Slowly she approached him and he straightened up.

“I’ve never been with a girl” he confessed looking at her confidently.

For a moment she stopped breathing, surprised by his words, confused since she was sure he must have already reached for something that’s been presented to him on a plate. These girls has been dying to have a moment with him, to talk about nothing with him, to spend time in his presence, to touch his arm, to lend him notes if he asked or a goddamn pen during class. He had so much confidence and charm around him, there was no way… But he spoke the truth and he wasn’t ashamed of it. She saw it in his eyes.

She spoke nothing back yet.

“You? Have you been with someone?” he asked looking away and she went stiff.

“No” her voice weaker that she thought it would be.

“I saw you with Jules couple of times” he fiddled with his fingers and she frowned in curiosity.

He broke the character, it was a sign of nervousness.

“He’s not exactly someone I want” she whispered observing his reaction.

Finally he looked back at her and her heart stopped once again. Wherever this was going she surely is going to loose her mind in the meantime.

“So” he continued “There is someone”

She nodded slowly.

“Do I know him?” he frowned blinking fast as if unsure if he should even ask.

“Mhm” she murmured fighting the need to kiss him now in this moment, her body full of doubt if it won’t be another tremendous mistake of hers.

But he saw something in her eyes. She wasn’t sure what but his own iris shone so vividly and shortly after he reached with his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. A breath caught in her throat. He heard that.

Her loving heart almost burst through her chest, pumping the hot blood in every vain as if it was bringing back life into her limbs.

Unexpectedly he wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled her closer to him, one of her legs bent at the knee met with his hip so he put the other over his thigh to minimalize the distance. Her skirt hiked up ridiculously high and it hit her again, the need. She was so unexperienced but she wanted to strip herself bare in front of this boy, to show him it belonged to him. Since the first moment she started changing into a woman.

They both weren’t sure what to do then, so the next moments were full of deep stares, their breathing mixing and their hearts beating to each other. So sweet and so blissful it felt like a dream.

Bringing up her hands she put them on his nape thinking about nothing else but his lips so close. She couldn’t tell who leaned in first but when they finally kissed something instantly switched inside of her as she came to the realisation that he wanted her the same way she wanted him. And she had him here, under her palms. Both of them a bit nervous about the gentle contact yet determined to have a proper taste of each other. She opened her mouth feeling his tongue grazing her lower lip and an uncontrolled moan left her throat when it connected with hers. He wasn’t her first kiss but it felt so new, she’s never been kissed this way. He broke the contact at the little sound and the look on his face was so full of desire it made her head spin. Two horny teenagers at the verge of resilience.

All of a sudden in the midst of it all there was a knock on the door. The noise from downstairs came back more prominent and the reality struck her hard. Someone pulled at the doorknob shortly after and she froze in distress. Luckily the door was locked.

“Zoe?” she could tell it was her brother “Have you seen Kylian?”

She locked eyes with Kylian, watching a mischievous smirk appearing on his face.

“Je dors, Anto (I’m sleeping)” she answered, her voice suspiciously shaky.

Her brother was definitely too drunk to notice anything misplaced. Kylian squeezed her thigh and she jumped nervously sending him a scolding look.

They waited a few seconds but there came no response, only some voices disappearing down the corridor.

“They’re going to kill me” Kylian muttered placing a hand on her cheek, thumb tracing her lips delicately.

“My brothers?” she placed her hands on the boy’s chest, making him rest against the pillows.

Carefully she straddled him, positioning herself in the most perfect way it made his eye widen. She could feel him already and all the muscles in her tummy twitched making her loose her breath for a second. She had a lot of trouble breathing tonight.

“You’re a big boy Mbappé, you can handle them”

His hands reached for her hips as if to stop her from any movement or to try and guide her against him. Yet he stayed still, his touch soft but firm. That magical feeling she tasted back then in the river came back thousand times stronger.

“Are you planning to stay and hide in my room till the morning?”

“All alone with you in this bed? It’s risky” he murmured admiring her seated on top of him.

It struck her with a huge dose of confidence. She lowered her upped body, placing her hands on each side of his head. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, pupils blown wide with his mouth slightly ajar. She was mesmerized at the sight of him, her dream boy, she intended to keep him hers. She felt she had all the power right now to make it that way.

She leaned in and kissed him gently before moving away to grab the edges of her sweater to pull it off her body. His eyes glinted as if he was a little boy gifted the fanciest present he could ever dream of. She watched him intake a big breath.

“I’m a dead man” he shook his head as his eyes roamed her chest covered by a silky material of the bra.

She liked this one, so she was glad she wore it tonight. Small victories. 

She smirked watching him get up to pull her closer to his chest. Tingles spread quickly all over her body after he placed his hot lips on her collarbone, tracing the delicate skin of her neck to finally reach her mouth. He hummed into the kiss making her press herself firmly against him. It stunned both of them as they could feel their bodies respond to this intimate touch.

“Merde” he breathed “Can this pretty skirt go?”

She smiled shyly at his question, moving away from him to stand up, confidently reaching for the zipper of the clothing, making sure she’ll make a little show of taking it off. She slid the material off her hips and down her thighs slowly, his eyes following the movement in utter fascination. Zoe blushed furiously as he focused his attention on her clothed sex.

“It’s not fair” she said “You’re fully clothed”

He smirked amused.

“I’ll undress if you do a spin”

The requirement made her chuckle.

Oh, boy.

“Am I a model at an exhibition?” she bantered.

“Tu es la plus belle fille sur laquelle j'ai jamais posé les yeux (You are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes on). Please, can I see you?”

The look on her face turned serious. Her heart squished with affection, she’s never heard such words filled with admiration of her beauty. Easy way to make a girl fall for a boy, but she trusted him.  

A bit unsure she took a step taking her time to turn around, letting him observe her body as he wished. Gentle move, she felt as if wasn’t sexy enough to impress him. He was already on his feet when she faced him, taking his shirt off swiftly. She blinked quickly feeling her cheeks heat up at the sight which wasn’t new to her, it’s the situation so knew and so exciting. Stepping closer he reached for her, pulling her closer, his nose nuzzling her ear.

“Your heart is beating so fast” he whispered and she giggled remembering their little moment in the river.

Guiding her fingers lower down his chest, taking pleasure in the feeling of his silky skin under her palms, she reached for the button of the pants he was wearing. She was desperate to feel him again against her. Looking into his eyes she searched for permission.

“Go on” he murmured, his hands low on her back.

He brought his lips back to her throat, the sensation made her close her eyes, head thrown back, fingers shaky at the top of the zipper of his pants. She whimpered when he bit down at the skin near her ear. His pants already on the floor. Taking her hand in his he guided them back to bed.

I really just cut it in the most interesting moment.........

*Michaił Bułhakow, Master and Margarita, 1967

[saltyr3mix]

I haven't watched outsiders smp however maze au intrigues me SO!

Either take this opportunity to freely ramble or tell me about Carly if you need a more specific topic.

As much as I would absolutely love to ramble about the maze au, it's very unfinished. I've been rejecting working on it because I know that if i do i may actually never recover. So I don't have a lot to say on it.....carly on the other hand.....

To learn from the tragedies: she's doing her best. She's been through a lot but won't let that drag her down at all. She becomes a little more relevant in book two where there's a a whole massive B plot about her and Ridley. The plot of tlfft was written before season two, so she and Ridley have a very different dynamic, that is to say she absolutely despises him. Hates everything to do with him. So she starts to try and understand and like hear him out and befriend him at some point. And is also like a good like pillar of hope? Doesn't let anyone else get stressed or panicked about the past. She and Alyssa make a plan of like all the things that trigger people and how to avoid them and how to help if if to occurs anyway.

Shattered dreams: typical standard Carly. I don't think there's anything really important to say here. I really like her dynamic with the triplets here. I think that was my favorite part with her in it.

One shots/you'll live until I die: I feel like Carly is such a strong character you can really put her anywhere and she'd act the same. In most of these fics she's either not around a lot or plays a sort of role model, guiding role. Some how always coming off as a sister to like almost everyone she interacts with.

I'd like to take a moment to call out Roller Gays Carly for a minute. She's awesome. Best I've ever written her think. Idk something about whatever Danger put in to Vivian Dawn just- their dynamic is amazing and it helps me write Carly better I can't explain it but yeah. Viv is like.....cannon to most of my fics unless stated otherwise. She's not always mentioned and sometimes never even is important to plot or Cary but she exists in nearly every universe.

I will make them create my world: girl has blood lust<3 cursed with violence and rage<3 killed so many people<3 anyway she's a girlboss and deserves your respect. She died to some unknown cause by the forest that he had mistreated as a child. If there's one thing I wish I would have down for that fic, it would be to include more magical or like absurd and wacky elements. I was a little too focused on the war aspect to describe the wonderland bit.

Buried masks: finally! A fighter! Despite being like theeeeeee second to last person to be brought down (they arrive in the order they died in cannon if that helps you), she makes the biggest impact. Both because at this point Sara is so tired of the waiting period and knows that Carly is very very stubborn and more importantly, rebellious. She takes matters into her own hands and jumpstarts some things to do with cheer a little early.

This isn't an entirely bad decision, as Carly would have reacted the same either way, and now Sara's made it to where she can't be a physical problem for at least a few weeks. The real issue lies in the rest of the group, but mainly Eric going like what the fuck Sara! You can't judo that to a person!

"oh but it was a gift!"

And then they realize all their 'gifts' they've collected over the years are actually terrible and weird. Which like they knew but it got blocked out over time with familiarty.

Even after Carly recovers and with Eric's help finishes Sara's whole introduction thing, she's not going down easy. This girl is a menace she gets on Sara's nerves more than anyone else and will not be sitting around and playing doll. Nope not her.

It takes some pretty intense lash back from Sara for Carly to get more in line with everybody else. I think one of the darkest moments in the fic that I keep referencing, is Carly doing something to her mask and that being Sara's sort of final straw with her.

But you'll have to keep reading to figure out what that leads into.

skating in silence/swap au: I really liked the idea of giving Carly a broken soul that represents the opposite of her in the sense that it's insecure and quiet and a little bit more compassionate over Combative. I wish more people played around with swap aus in this fandom lol, I have like 3 but broken Carly is so fun. I've been calling the "cheer" aspect of her either Cherry or Cassy and she is very sweet. Yeah the Cheer animatronic has a tendency to whatch a kid fall and skate over and slowly help them up gently with positive reinforcement only to blink and then throw them on the rink and see if they sink or swim, with no in-between.

Superhero au: She goes fast!!!! Super speed!!! She's the Vigilante Derby! She was left on the hero towers door step as a baby and Eric not knowing the correct protocol at the time took her in and just adopted her. Any way she grew up around heros and promptly hated every single one of them. She joined the training program but dropped out because of the stress it gave her. She wanted to help people but she didn't want re-ward for it. And she didn't want to deal all of the vague rules and policies that the organization had. So she talked to her father about it and he allowed her to partake in vigilantism! (She would have done it with or with out his approval but this just makes things easier) of course he has his own set of rules for her but there a lot easier to understand. Plus he helps sneak her old hero technology to use.

Ridley enters the picture at some point as a younger brother who is the exact opposite of her and absolutely adored everything hero related and went on to be one. Carly and Ridley become pretty good friends with Ben while he's there in the program.

That's all of her backstory. She appears every now and then for fighting reasons or to cause Eric stress but she's mostly ok! She teams up with Damien, Oliver and Ben later for their mission because she's in pretty good standings with all the other vigilante s in the area and after everything the organization did to Eric and Ridley she's more than happy to take it down.

Steven universe au: she's a Corrupted carnelian. I like to think her corrupted traits have like green and yellow coloring. How does she go from monster to semi-normal gem with out a bunch of diamond magic????? I- just uhhhhhh.... Idk? It happened. Well figure it out.

Anyway she hates Ridley and is super jealous of him because Eric is her guy! Eric's all excited to see her again and Ridley had no clue who she is. And it just sucks for all parties. But they get over it. Likely through celio and Wiatt stepping in.

Because Carly is corrupted she's prone to lashing out and getting agitated easily. Meaning the rest of the gems have trouble connecting with her. She is also very very anti-homeworld and completely pro-crystal gems. This causes problems with people like the triplets and Ben and sometimes even Damien tho he'd never dare admit it.

She also doesn't know lewis was a diamond. So. That's not great.

All of that will sort itself out over time. Right now where I'm currently writing and working on the plot she is in a bit of an interesting situation. After flying to home world to Save lewis and minimum wage trio because the Sara can't go five minutes with out doing unethical sciences. The crystal gems land on homeworld and begin to be chased. Unfortunately, Carly and Mask get taken by their pursuers and are Rejuvenated (memory wiped)

Now everyone is freaking out! And I don't know how I'm going to fix it yet so for the time being she's just like that!

Maze au: HALF DEMON CARLY MY BELOVED!!! She's so silly. Got sentenced to death maze for speeding/hj. I don't know why yet but that's what I've been telling myself cause it's funny. Anyway she's definitely a runner. Best one they have if I'm honest. She thrives in the maze and running helps her blow if steam so she doesnt loose it at her clearing mates. Eric wasn't her father before the maze, in fact they come from different districts but in the maze she looks up to him and respects him more than anyone else and he feels a large sense of pride in her and they are just very sweet.

Oc au: so Carly is Alive!!! And is with Winnie in his old arcade! A lot of her character has been explained through other posts already when it comes to that subject so I'm going to on a quick ramble about earlier Carly in this au.

I think one of the first scenes we ever did was Twins vrs Roller gays race? Right after everything with lewis. Anyway imagine this, your doing your average routine if spreading ghost stories about the caves beneath the facility. (I full heartily believe all of the rummers in that video tape were the twins fault.) Anyway your doing your thing and these two decked out lesbians appear behind you and ruin your story with logic! How dare they!

And then! They have the audacity to challenge you to race, in your own turf. On the rink you may have been beat but their taking you on in your grounds, they want to race you through the maze. You laugh and say easy you could beat them blind folded.

And so they hand you a set of blind folds. And yeah this race just becomes more absurd until both sets are bind folded and have their hands tied together.

Ready set go!

Twins take off! Roller gays immediately toss off the blind folds and put on skates. Their plan? Follow the twins but faster and then just lie at the end and put the blindfolds back on.

As you can see, every party involved is very mature and responsible and nothing bad happens during this race at all what do ever. No one gets injured :3

(ok so maybe the twins also cheated a little and decided to use the employee short cuts, which aren't as safety regulated as the rest of the maze, and maybe one of the mad house employees forgot to shut the plot convenient electrical hazards box And maybe they ran right into it on accident and roller gays had to take them To Oliver to help first aid with the electrical burns.)

I love the oc au so much it's so silly.

Anyway hope you enjoyed the Carly Head cannons!!! I would recommend outsiders but I'm not entirely sure if it for everyone, its 21 hours long! But if your thinking about getting into it but not wanting to make that commitment, I forced Theater to whatch it with me over the sumer with a very speedran version of the series the cut out everything that wasn't a major plot point. If your interested you can ask them for the link to that playlist!

[yantao-enthusiast]

drv3 spoilers!!!!

personally i think having a religious character like angie in danganronpa was SUCH a wasted opportunity. because especially with v3's themes of truth and lies, how hope itself can sometimes be a lie. many of the characters' throughout the series have this belief in hope that draws a parallel to religions (i'm mostly using christianity for reference so if this isn't how other faiths operate, excuse me). this belief almost seems desperate or near delusional in many tough times but the moment something good finally turns their way, they say "this is hope, this is why i believe in it, even when it puts me through trials and tribulations, in the end, things will always turn out if i have faith."

angie, in my opinion, could've been a brilliant antagonist, similar to byukuya in the way that the killing game could've shaken her steadfast beliefs. the beliefs similar to the characters that the entire franchise had put on a pedestal. the beliefs that v3 acknowledged as overshadowed by the ultimate truth.

and i have nothing against kokichi or himiko as characters! but i think their roles in the story were.... overemphasized, really. yes kokichi's character and values can be important to the overall message but really, the same can be said about angie. they both embody beautiful lies, pretty things people tell themselves to avoid reality. but angie also carries on a message that the past games have revered, on top of the fact she also has clear emotional stakes in her faith towards her god and anyone who believes in him, unlike kokichi where his favor is hidden behind fortified walls.

what if we watched angie struggle with her faith. struggle having hope that everything will get better, that there is truly a rhyme and reason for all this senseless violence. what if we watched her get angry, actually visually angry that her friends kept killing each other when all they had to do was have hope that it all would be okay? even when it becomes undeniable that nothing ever will be after all the things they had to go through? she creates even more destruction to make sure there's no hope of escape, everything in her power to control everyone and keep them from killing again, going crazy herself and questioning her own faith at times, but she keeps going. why? because she has to have faith. have hope.

if angie ended up being a survivor instead of himiko, in the final trial, the twist that kiibo's inner voice isn't god/atua but instead the very audience spurring on this violence would be devastating. especially since she encouraged kiibo to listen to this voice, thinking kiibo to be almost a prophet of sorts, when really he was being fed the opinions of those who created the entire game. she could realize that she herself, her entire personality and character and unwavering faith, was made to abed a killing game. her god was made up to make her encourage kiibo's inner voice, her god was nothing more than a story created by people in a boardroom, just like she was. the god that kept her going. the god that made her do each and every one of those horrible things. just because she believed. because she wanted everything to be alright.

shuichi, when convincing everyone not to give up, helps angie discover something. she never needed her faith or a god to believe in. because she and everyone around her now were alive, living proof that there's something real to believe in and that is each other. that she didn't need a god to justify what happened, she can acknowledge everything that the survivors went through was just a tragedy, not a trial of her faith or to become stronger. what happened was horrible but we can't change what's been done. all we can do is have each other now and live the truth the best we can.

tldr; angie was done so dirty, she could've been an incredible asset to the story but danganronpa hates women :/

[whimsica]

some tropes i like

in no particular order

Normal person is isekai'd into fantasy world or whatever where we the audience discover that actually they're a total freak who has absolutely never been normal. The character in question still insists that they are normal but its not like an obsession or anything they just don't catch that actually they're fucked in the head

person who gets dragged into bloody conflict just sort of by coincidence and who helps people out and befriends them just out of their own sense of kindness and morals but doesn't really have a personal reason to be involved and is unwilling to kill or do anything more morally grey despite having the power to seriously affect the conflict/save more people if they did is continuously broken and beaten down and shown that their kindness will be exploited and abused until eventually their mercy and kindness and unwillingness to kill comes back to bite them by killing people they've come to genuinely care about, making them snap and turn ruthless. bonus points if they laugh maniacally and berate themselves for being an idiot before going absolutely terrifyingly apeshit

character stuck in a time loop/unable to die/stuck in an inescapable situation for decades is cheerful and joke-y and kind but has a burgeoning madness just under the skin which they are doing a bad job at/aren't really hiding which results from the true core of them being despair from their unavoidable fate

character is so worn away by countless experiences that they become completely unmoved by everything good or bad, left as an empty shell only fueled by a mad obsession

when a tragedy unfolds and in retrospect, it seems like it was all random chance and bad luck which could have been so easily avoided, but even if it was run back a thousand times no one would make a different choice due to who they are, making the tragedy inevitable (especially when no one is "guilty", when the antagonist is also right and justified in their actions and the tragedy only originates in the conflict of interest between two noble goals)

let me clarify #2 a little more because its my favourite.

When a normal person, not a hero or a saint, who is doing their best to live with kindness in the face of a cruel world, has that kindness trampled and broken until they give up on kindness and decide to become the monster they're treated as

lets be clear: this is not "demons run when a good man goes to war" this is about just a normal guy who is dragged into it all by coincidence, trying to live via the morals of society that they've been instilled with but without any true conviction or reason to take more extreme action until they are broken beyond repair.

Characters who are willing to endure, to be patient, to be calm, to not seek out glory or play the hero at every opportunity, who wait and silently gather strength in the shadows. perhaps with a grand goal in mind or perhaps simply for self-preservation. until something forces them to act, during which they are utterly ruthless and make no foolish mistakes.

[affordablebackgroundchecks]

Why Should Employers Go For Background Screening of Their Blue-Collar Employees

Nowadays, there is a huge demand for blue-collar jobs across the world with employers looking for workers on an urgent basis to meet the requirements of their clients. Besides that, when we are discussing the blue-collar industry it is one of the largest sectors that employs a huge number of people across different job roles.

However, with the increasing demand for blue-collar employees, the need for background verification of those workers also increases tremendously. As this sector is a huge employment generator & people from various walks of life are finding employment opportunities here, the employees need to ensure that anti-social elements don’t gain entry into their organizations.

If you are a blue-collar employer and there are a huge number of people working for your company or you are looking forward to hiring workers, then here are the reasons for which you should conduct a background screening of your blue-collar employees.

Safety of Co-Workers

One of the primary reasons behind conducting background screening of blue-collar employees is related to providing a safe working environment to other employees. Moreover, as the blue-collar industry is a vast sector & also involves working in dangerous conditions, the safety of the workers should prompt you to go for background verification of your employees.

Now, whenever you are going for background verification of potential employees, then it is going to bring to the fore information that might be a red flag for many potential workers. The information might be related to criminal activities or dubious educational qualifications.

Employing such people is going to be a huge risk for other workers working in your firm. Proper background checks would ensure the right person is employed for the job at hand and this would reduce the risks to other employees significantly.

Reducing Accidents

There are many jobs in the blue-collar industry that are prone to accidents because of employee negligence or when incompetent people get an opportunity to work in these sectors. This is why it is often opined by experts that employers of blue-collar employees must go for educational background checks.

Conducting a background screening of the educational records of your potential employees will rule out the entry of any person with fraudulent educational qualifications who is incapable of doing the job. Moreover, you should also look into the references made by employees because there are instances of people using false references to gain jobs.

Along with the above checks, you must also go for conducting a criminal background check of your blue-collar employees because there are many instances of people with criminal backgrounds gaining entry into blue-collar jobs by forging their identity.

In addition to that, there are several examples where blue-collar employers have got themselves embroiled in legal and financial lawsuits because of their employee’s actions. Now, this is something that every company would like to avoid and conducting a background check is a sure-shot way to prevent this tragedy.

Drug-Free Environment

Another prominent reason that should prompt you to go for a background check of your blue-collared workforce is related to ensuring a drug-free environment in your workplace. The productivity of your organization is directly related to employees’ physical and psychological well-being.

When you are going for a background check of your employees, then the background check report will contain all the details of people having a history of usage and who could potentially supply it to other workers in your workplace.

This will also enhance the reputation of your organization for its good ethical practices and would instill a sense of trust in your clients regarding your work practices.

Gain Trust & Increase Credibility

The blue-collar industry faces cut-throat competition and one of the best ways to stay ahead of your competitors is by demonstrating good work ethics and ensuring that your clients don’t face any problems due to your employees & one of the best ways to ensure this is by going for a background check of your employees.

Your employees are the face of your organization and when they carry out their work diligently, then you are going to gain the trust of your clients & this would increase your credibility.

Finally

The above-discussed factors are the leading reasons that should prompt blue-collared employers to go for background screening of their employees. If you are a blue-collared employer, then get in touch with a reputed background check company to conduct a screening of your employees.

[schmdts]

kate bites her nails when she’s nervous or irritated, and her mother used to slap her hand when she did it in front of her, as well as file them down so she wouldn’t have anything to bite. so now it’s not a habit she takes up in public anymore. if she’s entirely vulnerable or scared (the night of the camp massacre or when sam was being chased) it’s very likely she won’t monitor it like she usually would.

kate actually hates kids, she’s literally babysitting and being a camp counselor just for the money.

even though she deals them, kate doesn’t do drugs. she hates letting go and feeling out of control.

kate and simon used to be next door neighbors, but kate’s father got a better job and they moved away. simon and kate promised the night before the move that it wouldn’t matter where they were, they would still be best friends. he climbs in her window the first night she spends in the new house with the goofiest grin she’s ever seen, and she never asks how he found her.

kate will do anything to avoid being home, she hates how detached she feels from her parents, like they’re just roommates instead of the people that raised her and made her.

kate’s room is painted pink on her tenth birthday, a month from when they move away. her mother doesn’t know that her favorite color is purple, and kate doesn’t care to correct her. the room is full of girlish bows and pristine furniture, like it’s not meant to match shadyside at all. but the town still bleeds in. cracks in the walls, the ceiling. one of the lightbulbs in her ceiling light has never worked, and the other one flickers every hour or so (kate keeps data on it) her academic achievements and clothes are there, but otherwise it doesn’t look like she lives there at all.

kate often picks up babysitting jobs that involve her staying the night, or at least work late so she can be home after her parents go to sleep.

kate is president of the chess, scrapbooking, book, photography, cooking, history, and mathletes club. she literally has never had a free day once in her life.

she plays softball in addition to cheerleading, as well as track in the spring, where she does high jump and sprints.

she very frequently touches up and fixes her hair, like anytime she passes a mirror.

kate’s mom finds out that she dies through the news, and she doesn’t have a funeral because she worries that it would drag their name further through the mud since kate and simon were said to have been the reason for all of the death that night.

kate’s the epitome of the ‘surprisingly has a lot of connections’ trope

she sucks up to sunnyvale adults like nobody’s watching, but will terrorize every single sunnyvale kid she can find. she blames sunnyvale heavily for shadyside’s various tragedies, and hates that even when they pretend to help they can’t even be sincere about it.

no matter her cold exterior, kate keeps track of her friends. she makes sure they’re on the track to success and if they’re not she will get them on it, no matter what.

before all of the stuff in the movie, kate never believe in anything supernatural or magic. she had always preferred science.

kate knows everyone in shadyside, has made it a point to weave herself into everyone’s lives in case of potential business/job opportunities. when it comes to shadysiders, she’s also doing it because she somewhat cares, where as when she’s ‘helping’ sunnyvalers it’s literally just for her own benefit.

she angers easily, and has punched sunnyvalers for talking shit before. like, she’s not excessively violent but she can punch. when confronted for these instances, she bullshits her way out and very rarely gets in trouble for it.

she is also, mostly, against accepting help and hates feeling like a pity project. if it’s something she’s planned or guilt tripped someone into giving her, then she’ll do it. but when it’s something she’s not expecting or it’s unwarranted, she’s doesn’t trust it and gets stubborn.

lying to adults is a game and kate schmidt wins everytime xoxo

[razorblade180]

Interdimensional Moms: part 1

Intro <-

Yang:So how we doin this? Drawing straws or... well we actually don’t have straws here so-

Weiss:It’s obvious that you wanna go first.

Blake:Extremely obvious.

Ruby:All over your face.

Yang:Hey now, don’t call me out like that! We all have so much to sort out here. I don’t even know where to begin. Differences could start and stop anywhere for all we really know.

Blake:From what it seems, Beacon itself would have one or two minor changes, but the real changes start after the fall. At least, for you three that is.

Weiss:You saying you’re different?

Blake:Unless you three started going on dates with Jaune at Beacon, then yes, I’m different.

RWY:(They’ve been together that long!?)

Yang:Okay, starting from Beacon...nothing really stands out too much. Jaune and I were just friends. *cringes* Back then, a certain faunus caught my eye.

Blake:Ah...right. I guess that tracks in practically every universe.

RW:Oh yeah it does. You two are joined at the hip.

Yang:Haha, really? Glad to hear it. My Blake and I are best buds! Remnant has never seen such a dynamic duo! Can’t say it didn’t take a lot of time effort after a rough patch. We actually dated in my world.

Blake:Same.

Yang:What!? How long?

Blake:I don’t know, it was pretty on again off again.

Yang:Well for me it was after Haven. Both of us had gotten pretty serious. All the growing we’ve done together and apart had brought us closer. However, Adam unintentionally put a wedge between us. His attempt to change and the problems that came with it were-

Yang stopped midway and saw the confused faces of her otherworldly teammates. They were shocked, confused even. Especially Blake, who looked the most shocked of all.

Yang:Umm did I say something odd?

Blake:Adam, he...isn’t dead?

Yang:Oh, well I guess that’s the start of the major changes then. Blake and I fought Adam at Argus. Stabbed him through the chest and watched him fall down rocks into a river.

Ruby:That lines you with my world. Dude died that day. Like any normal person should.

Yang:Well Adam is anything but fucking normal. Man has the craziest luck. A young women, the winter maiden in fact, she saved his life. She’s not exactly normal either. The maiden, Jacquelyn, ended up sticking by him to see if she could change his ways. This naturally meant we’d run into them again. And that’s how things fell apart.

Blake:What do you mean?

Yang:You were fully committed to seeing if Adam could actually change. I wasn’t, so we constantly butted heads in any situation involving him. Then we would fight about things that had nothing to do with at all. Eventually, we broke it off. We remained on decent terms but I was pretty heartbroken about the disconnect. Enter our lovable blonde idiot. Jaune did everything in his power to cheer me up.

Weiss:Sounds like him. Always such a bleeding heart. That boy just can’t help himself. Let me guess, his kindness and concern made you feel all warm and fuzzy?

Yang:Hehe, guilty. It was more of his willingness to laugh at my puns. Jaune’s always been interesting to talk to. He tries to act cool and calm even though he’s terrible at it, then comes clean right after. Before I knew it I was telling him things I hadn’t talked about with people before. I could tell he looked at me like most guys do, but also genuinely wanted to listen to me. Talk about playing unfair; he got defenseless. Suddenly I was smiling again. Anytime with him was time well spent. Then one day, I kissed him.

Ruby:Happily ever after?

Yang:Not even close! Hahaha!

Weiss:Why do you sound proud?

Yang:It’s funny looking back at it to a certain degree. Gods, I was such a brat. More than a few fights are on me. Between Blake, Raven, and other experiences, my insecurities flared up in ugly ways over nothing. It even got us to break up too. I was officially done with dating. My Ruby was out in an uncomfortable position.

Ruby:I bet! I’d never want you two fighting. Especially in my world. Picking between the person I love and my sister!? I don’t know what will happen.

Yang:I kinda do. *sets up* You’d start dating Jaune because you’ve looked at him since Beacon. The two of you would confide in each other and share a special kind of love, but it would be bittersweet. All because your sister still pines for him and never met to make him leave, and Jaune never says it, but he hates how things fell apart. He’s faithful to you and would never do you wrong, a guy to truly cherish. So... you let him go. Watch him walk back to your sister like you asked, because my happiness was worth that much to you.

Ruby:....

Yang: In my world at least. Honestly it’s still the most amazing thing I’ve seen you do. We must’ve cried over that conversation for hours. I felt so guilty and you only smiled, hugging me tight. Jaune and I had a few more stumbles. Nothing serious though. Eventually we moved in together when the world was saved. You and Oscar got together officially which made me happy. Even made our weddings a competition of who’d make dad bawl his eyes out the most. You won by the way; Raven came back into our family and into dad’s arms. Last but not least I had a baby. Yujin Xiao Long, my fucking pride and joy from above.

Weiss:Wow, that’s a lot.

Blake:What am I doing? Did I marry Sun?

Yang:Yep. You and blondes Blake, I tell ya.

Weiss:Hold the phone! Who am I with!?

Yang:Pretty sure you’re technically single. Buuuut, Neo and your have gotten pretty friendly from what I managed to interrogate out of you.

Weiss:That’s, highly unexpected. For a number of reasons.

Yang:Better believe it. Besides Cinder, a few crazies, and Salem, a few people made something of themselves. Dying sucks after all.

Ruby:You have a dead Cinder?

WBY: You don’t?

Ruby:*crosses arms* Hmph, I’ll wait my turn. Yang, you said you’re the only mother from our team. If Blake and I have been married for quite some time then what, we don’t want kids?

The joyful sunshine from Yang slipped into grayer skies. Her smile faded and it increasingly got harder to look at this Ruby without thinking of her own.

Yang:Are you sure that’s something you wanna know? I’ll tell you, but I didn’t want to bring down the mood with the problems where I from.

Blake:Problems? How big of a problem.

Yang:The biggest we’ve faced. It’s...a lot.

Ruby:Well we’ve listened this far. *takes hand* Lay it on us.

Yang:Pfft, oh boy. So...umm...another secret war came up. One that caused us to leave our friends and family for over a decade.

Weiss:A decade!?

Blake:What gets worse after Salem!? Who tries anything after a grimm queen!?

Yang:So a majority of Remnant was still unaware of her, but a fight like that can only be kept under wraps so tightly. Plenty of people still learned fractions of the truth. A few of those people weren’t exactly nice guys. They idolized her efforts and became her followers that wanted to keep her will alive, starting with taking revenge on the people who defeated her. We were so unaware. So caught up in normalcy. They ambushed us, and I mean everyone. We...we didn’t come out unscathed. Ren was crippled badly. Weiss, you almost your brother. Jaune’s family got hit but thankfully lived. The real casualties were aimed to hurt Ruby.

Ruby:Oh, of course. S-So, either you’re about to say I had no time to start a family, or...

Yang:...

Yang:When I tell you the look you made when you learned what happened to Oscar, to Qrow... that’s the moment it felt like my little sister left forever. Till this day you don’t smile like you used to. Very recently, now that it’s finally over, you’ve started looking better, but those ten years were hell. We choose to go out and fight again, avoiding contact with family. I haven’t had a real opportunity to be in my daughters life.

Ruby:How old is she?

Yang:Sixteen soon. Left her when she was four so you know. *tearing up* I missed everything. Just about anyways. Ironically it was Raven and Adam that helped her through the years with Jaune and Dad. Eventually we came back and ooohh boy was Yujin not thrilled in the slightest. Hehehe. Her right hook is really strong. I only had about a week with her before things got complicated again. *wipes eyes* But it’s okay. We left on good term. Something I definitely don’t feel like I deserve.

Blake:I can’t believe a thing like that would be possible.

Yang:Cults are a huge problem in Remnant now. You’re definitely aware of that. You actually oversee a little group from the shadows to deal with them in secret. An idea you got from experience. Adam works for you and everything. Hate to admit, but he’s become the guy you wanted him to be. Even has a family. I’m grateful to him. He personally kept my girl safe.

Blake:To think I’d hear you say that. Now I know this isn’t my world.

Yang:Don’t get me wrong, I still will hit him if given the chance. My life hasn’t been charmed and sacrifices too great were happening way too many times but it finally has gotten to a point where everyone feels like we’re taking steps towards a better future.

Weiss:Moving forward?

Yang:Yes, I was trying to avoid the phrase but yes Weiss, we’re moving forward. Still... *looks at Ruby*....

Ruby:W-What?

Yang:It’s unreal seeing you like this. My Ruby has become so strong and endured but hasn’t really picked herself up completely. All her tragedy stemmed from the loss of Oscar and Qrow; her last talk with Oscar was fight about kids too. That’s the entire reason she went off alone in the first place. Looking at you I can’t help but question my own choices. If...I just let her stay with Jaune, then maybe-

Ruby:Nope.

Yang:Huh?

Ruby:Look, if I know anything about your world, then it’s gonna be me and I can tell you without a doubt your Ruby doesn’t blame or would consider her own happiness without you. She loved you enough to take the chance to find love again. You really think there’s anything you could’ve done differently at that point. That girl is as stubborn as they come! *smiles* So buck up cowgirl. You deserve it.

A sense of warmth came over Yang as she heard those words. This other Ruby smiled at her with the same love as her own; completely caring about Yang’s feeling before her own. Yang felt so...unburdened. She couldn’t help but cry a little, laughing softly as she did. Who would’ve thought love could transcend worlds? It was so vindicating, therapeutic even.

Yang:Ruby, you’re something else entirely, you know that?

Ruby:It’s my curse. All I ever wanted was normal knees but the world said “no, special eyes!”

Yang:Well I guess I should thank the world then?

Weiss:You said your Ruby is getting better? That’s good. Still, it must be pretty weird looking at Jaune. Can’t imagine how lonely it must feel losing a love twice.

Blake:It never numbs.

Yang:Geez you two, lighten up. We can’t all be depressed. Ruby also didn’t lose Jaune. Actually....there may or may not have been an interesting...arrangement for a brief period of time.

Ruby:Ehhh what?

Yang:Hehehe well, hahaha, ummmm a decade is a very long time without feeling any kind of pleasure in a bleak situation. And you know me, I have to share things with you all my life.

Ruby:OH MY GOD!!!

Blake:*grinning* Yooooo! You loaned out Jaune!?

Weiss:That’s....accurate; in a lot of ways.

Ruby:That’s so scandalous! How could you!?

Yang:I didn’t force it! I gave the option, you said no, then you changed your mind because things got real stressful. Like come on, a decade of death and loneliness.

Ruby:Sigh...yeah. I can see it. Still, it’s so filthy. He’s a married man. What, so I’d just look at you and say “Yang I’m gonna sleep with Jaune, don’t come in the room.”

Yang:....

Ruby:What?

Yang:....Nothing.

Ruby:Bullshit! What is it!?

Yang:*scratches head* Well, I was lonely too, and a week is only so long-

Weiss:Oh so it was a group thing!!?

Ruby:WHAT!?

Yang:Only sometimes!

Ruby:SOMETIMES!?

Blake:HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! THAT IS AMAZING!

Ruby:Why are you laughing!?

Blake:Because that’s just so extreme, and not, all at the same time. I could totally see that happening.

Weiss:Same. Dang, Jaune slept with sisters. That’s dangerously close to being like your dad.

Ruby:That’s different!

Blake:Is it though?

Yang:Eh, I don’t see the problem. We’re all grown and make choices. Plus I’m the one who guided you through awkward teenage changes. It not like we didn’t share a room for years.

Ruby:That doesn’t make it okay.

Yang:Eh debatable.

Ruby:*red* It isn’t though! How could I do something so bold!? So taboo!?

Weiss:It isn’t like you’re the one who did it. Just a version of you.

Ruby:Not better!

Yang:Awwww it’s okay Ruby. Let’s hug it out. Hehehe *opens arms*

Ruby:Don’t touch me!

Weiss and Blake laugh until their sides hurt as Ruby tries escaping the bear hug that terrorized her. Yang’s world found interesting for sure. Weiss finally decides to help Ruby out.

Weiss:Got a picture of Yujin?

Yang’s eyes lit up and pulled out her scroll. Her team huddled around her and collectively cooed like that parents they are at the sight of a blonde young girl with gorgeous blue eyes with a black combat school graduation cap and gown and a certificate proudly raised up high. If it wasn’t for those eyes and shoulders length hair, they might’ve mistaken her for Yang.

Yang:She’s going to Beacon early because she’s fucking awesome like her mom.

Ruby:I think you mean her aunt?

Yang:I know what I said.

Weiss:I bet she’s just as hardheaded.

Blake:What do you think your kid is up to right now?

Yang: Well...*smiles*

xxxx

The girl in question sat at a work bench with oil on her face and her hands busy tinkering with gauntlets. She looked over at blueprints in a journal. If they were right, then she was definitely doing something wrong. How her mother made something so complex was crazy!

Yujin:Come on Yujin. You can fix a car, making gauntlets into a sword that don’t break should be easy!

Footsteps came up from behind her and a plate stacked with sandwiches. She looked up and smiled at her dad that gave her a wink, then kissed her forehead.

Jaune:Haveing fun, you grease monkey.

Yujin:Jokes on you, I like monkeys. Just a few more attempts and I’ll have the coolest weapon in Remnant. That entrance exam is as good as aced.

Jaune:Not if you don’t have a landing strategy. Tomorrow we’re going on a trip.

Yujin:Does it happen to be near a cliff?

Jaune:Who can say? Rule one of being a huntsman, be prepared for everything.

He ruffled her hair and left, laughing evilly. Yujin could tell he’s been waiting for this day. She pulled out her scroll and searched through a collection of videos labeled “mom” and found a super early one. She hit play and watched her mother give a peace sign to the camera as trees increasingly got closer from below.

Yang:Beacon rules!!!! Wooohooo!

The camera flipped and focused on a familiar blonde flailing through the air like a doll in the distance.

Yang:Oof, hate to be that guy! Wait, that’s vomit boy! Hahah, hope he survives. He owes me shoes. Poor dude. I guess he needs more training in flirting and landing. Wait, eugh I think he barfed again! Hahaha!

Jaune:Stop watching that one!!!!

Yujin:Hahaha but it’s the best one. The ending is priceless.

Jaune: *walks back down*

Yang:Well if he survives this I guess I can off him at least I can offer him mints and company. Fake it to ya make Jaune. Between me and Ruby, at least you’ll look like a player. Heh, nah, I don’t think I can support a bunny onesie.

Yujin and Jaune:*grinning* And then she did! *high-fives* Arc charm, baby!

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Choices We Make (the words that matter)

He sighed into the darkening emptiness, knowing every mistake he'd made in his thirty-nine years had simply been practice for this one, for the one that would haunt him with every breath he took until he took no more. She was gone, and it was entirely his fault.

Rating: G

AO3 - FF

An angsty, Silver Hook birthday present for @the-darkdragonfly​ 

Chapter 1/1

The soft, morning light glanced into the room, capturing each mote of dust and illuminating them with an otherworldly glow as they spun through the air, clinging tenuously to the march of cracked spines that lined the bookshelves from ceiling to floor.

Killian swallowed heavily, his pulse thumping in his ears like the panicked breaths of a freed beast begging for the security of its cage once more.

She took another confident step forward, long swathes of hair golden and shimmering. The pale expanse of her hand rose to splay against his chest, a soothing comfort where his heart was beating wildly. Her fingertips just brushed the curls of gray hair peeking from the neck of his shirt – silver, she'd told him once, her lips caught between her teeth as she brushed a stray lock from his face, silver like the moon.

“Swan,” he breathed, his own hand moving to cover her own, each scar and callous, each mark of his age a glaring reminder of why this couldn't happen, “we can't, love.”

“Why not,” she sighed, tension lining both of the small words as her green eyes met his, each freckle scattered across her cheeks calling out to be studied, mapped and memorized, “because you think you're too old for me, that you don't bring anything to this?”

His frustration echoed her own, but it was tempered by years of familiarity. He stepped down carefully from the rolling ladder, his back protesting only slightly as he bridged the gap between them, her palm still pressed warm and insistent against his chest. Their bodies were that much closer as she stubbornly refused to step back, a single eyebrow arched defiantly.

“My failings are reason enough, though the least important among them. You're young, and brilliant, Emma. You've so much to offer the world. Don't tether yourself to me instead of seeing it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and he knew he would hear the same words she'd said to him so many times before, sometimes borne of frustration, and other times carrying the heavy promise of steel – I don't care that you're older than me. I want this, and if seeing the world means that I can't have this, that I can't have you, then forget the damn world – but he silenced her with a look, reaching for the book he'd left balanced on the rung of the ladder above him.

It was a book he hadn't seen in decades, but today, knowing how their paths would diverge, he wanted her to have it.

His fingers closed around the binding and pulled the nondescript book into the space between them. He did his best not to linger over the difference in how it felt all these years later. With his damaged hand, he could no longer feel the rough scratch of the cover, or the indented, gilded lettering, the small tufts of fabric that sprung from the endband – just one more failing that spanned the distance between them.

“Stop it,” she whispered, her smooth, lithe fingers folding solidly over his own, stiff and scarred, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“I read this very book quite often when I was a lad,” he mused, the words leaving his throat far more roughly than he intended as he studied the soft silk of her skin against his. “Captain Blood – a tale of a man who was once a slave, but he dared to make his own fate, Swan.”

They'd spoken late one evening of his past – of his mother who'd left too soon, his father who'd traded his sons as labor for his debts, and his youth spent under the thumb of people it took him near his entire life to finally be free of. She knew of his losses and heartaches, of every wretched decision that had led him to the small, haunted peace he'd finally found.

“It's a classic adventure, take it.” he added unnecessarily – because she knew him, knew the escape and hope it had given him over the years in the same way she'd lost herself among the pages of her own stories.

“Killian...”

“It was a comfort to me on many difficult nights, Emma. I'd like you to have it – use it as a coaster for your hot cocoa if you must, but keep it all the same, as something to remember me by.”

“I'm not taking the job offer, Killian.”

“Nonsense, Swan,” he parried, pressing the book into her grasp and swallowing back the solid lump in his throat. He replaced it with a wan smile, knowing she'd see right through it. “It's an opportunity you'd be foolish to pass up – a job like that, it will open any door you could ever hope for in life. You'll go far from this old bookshop and the old man who runs it.”

The bell at the front of the shop tinkled, the sounds of a bustling, midday main street encroaching upon the silence between them as it swung closed and a voice called out for assistance. Knowing that another moment spent at her side would be the end of his fortitude, his smile already fading to something that hungered with desperation, he ducked his head and stepped around her, missing the warmth of her presence as soon as he walked away and left her standing alone in his office.

“Don't go missing that train to Boston now, Swan,” he called back, his voice traced with a bravado he was no longer familiar with, years and disappointment having beaten it out of him.

He listened politely to the woman who'd entered his shop, nodding at intervals as she explained what she was looking for, but his eyes and heart were trained on Emma as she crossed the shop from the back room, her head bowed and flaxen curls swaying around her as she left, casting one last, confused glance in his direction.

It landed in his gut like a knife, her lips tight as she shook her head and disappeared, closing the door soundly behind her.

/

Killian busied himself in the main area of his shop for the rest of the day, filling his moments with menial tasks that did as much to assuage his loss as the last, frantic swipes of a drowning man for light. The air no longer stirred with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and though there were times he had been tempted to return to his office if only to breath in the ghost of her once more, he knew he didn't have the strength. In there, the memories were too many, each of them a shadow of the woman he'd just let walk out of his life – for her own good, he reminded himself.

He'd lived his years changed by many things – tragedy, love, loss, hope – he'd served other's needs and then his own, traveling the world and leaving misery behind as soon as he was able. He'd lived stories that had left their marks on both his body and his spirit, and yet...he'd been entirely unprepared for the way his world had shifted on its axis when she'd walked into his shop all those months ago.

The bell had chimed on the door no differently than it always did, and he'd pulled himself from the repair he was working on, glasses that he'd started needing a few years prior slipping down his nose as he leaned around a stack of books to see who'd entered – and there she stood, all gold curls and high cheekbones, determined eyes alighting on him with a strange pull that snapped every facet of his world into perfect clarity.

The floor had swayed beneath him like the sea and he'd never felt his age more keenly, the soft lines etched around his eyes and the grey that had steadily stolen away the inky darkness of his hair. The silence stretched between them like the world drawing a breath, and then she'd laughed, his eyebrows jumping skyward in response, a glimmer of something he hadn't felt since his youth rising in his chest.

It was a search for obscure references for her work – a thesis that would bridge her joint areas of study in psychology and criminal justice – that had brought her to his door, and once she'd entered, she slipped so easily into his life, arriving on an inhale and falling seamlessly into the rhythm that kept air in his lungs.

He avoided examining the reasons why he'd offered to let her work in his office, perhaps telling himself a little too firmly that it was simply because she had three flatmates and no quiet area of her own – and with the library undergoing renovations, even that option was gone – but it didn't take many sleepless nights for him to acknowledge that there was more to it than that.

There had always been more. From those first confident steps she took through his door and into his life, they'd both known there was something more.

Killian was used to silence in his life – loss and solitude had gifted him with a familiarity for its echoing vastness – but the quiet that stretched between he and Emma as they worked on their own projects was never awkward or heavy, it didn't ring with hollowness or chew at his heart. Instead, it was punctuated by the whisper of pages as she flipped back and forth between books, taking notes with a furrowed brow and her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

Her presence was a soft wind that stirred life back into the stale air of his shop, and he found himself far more attuned to her every movement than someone nearly twice her age should be. He spent every night reminding reminding himself of that fact as he readied himself for bed, washing the day from the gray stubble on his cheeks and folding his glasses neatly on the bedside table. She made every effort possible to get to know him, and he'd had enough experience in his life to see the obvious interest she held for him, but he did what he could to discourage it, pushing down that same calling that he himself felt.

He answered her questions as easily as she shared her past with him, trying to show her through the stories of his past that he was far from the person she imagined him to be – that he was a man broken and beaten down by a life filled with poor choices and pain, barely deserving of the small, lonely life he'd scraped out for himself, let alone the grand things he knew she was meant for.  

Perhaps he should have pushed her away more resolutely back then, suggested she return to the library rather than continue to join him at the shop, but he was weak and hungry for the companionship she so readily gave – the small notes she'd leave, the pastries that began appearing on his desk from the bakery down the street. At first they'd been shared quietly between them as they started their work for the day, but as time passed, cups of tea and hot cocoa became their new routine.

He'd taken to keeping a box of the sugary packets in his desk for her, and as he finished helping customers out front, he'd often hear the soft whistle of the electric kettle singing. Just knowing that she would have left a fresh cup of tea for him at his desk was more than enough to warm him.

Killian shook himself from his thoughts, pulling himself back to the present that no longer included that warmth or the woman who'd managed to return it to his life. It wasn't until the last customer of the evening left, the light on Main Street slowly dimming, that he finally gathered the courage to go back into the space that he'd come to think of as their own – never for anything more than a brush of fingertips against heated skin, a lingering embrace, and that one, life-altering kiss that had made him certain she was the one he'd been waiting for his entire life – but he'd never allowed it to progress any further, had felt the guilt of even desiring it every moment that they spent together.

The shop rang once more with that echoing silence, his footsteps swallowed by it as he crossed the floor and eased the door to his office open, everything just as he knew it would be – empty of the one thing that had made his life full. He moved to the desk, plucking up his worn jacket from the chair and fishing for the keys in its pocket, wanting nothing more than to lock up and find a place that wasn't swimming in memories, a place where he could truly drown his misery, at least for the evening.  

“Bloody hell,” he growled, tossing the jacket back to the chair when he found nothing but lint in its pockets, his hand rifling through his hair in frustration.

This wasn't what he needed right now. What he needed was to find the nearest bar and find some relief in the bottom of a bottle, to forget that for a few measly months in his life, he'd been content – he'd been truly happy.

What he needed was his bloody keys so he could lock up and get away from everything surrounding him – the memory of how she ran her fingers along the worn edge of the shelves, the pale slice of her hip as she stretched on the ladder, reaching for something just beyond her fingertips in a way he knew was anything but innocent, the way she sipped her hot cocoa and then ran her tongue over her lips, catching the sweetness left behind...the way he'd always held himself back from doing the same.

What he wouldn't give to feel them pressed against his own just once more, and in the cloying silence of the shop, his heart was screaming that he was the most foolish man who'd ever lived.

He loved her – gods, if he didn't love her more than he'd ever though possible – and he'd chased her out, practically thrown her through the door and told her to move on.

“You're a bloody fool,” he groaned, his head falling into his hands as he leaned across the surface of his desk.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of something unusual left among the clutter and invoices, something metallic reflecting the low glimmer of lamplight from the shelf – no, that that – a delicate, silver chain lay in a serpentine pile against the dark wood, an all too familiar ring nestled in its center.

“Take it, Emma, something to keep you safe when you move on from our small town to the big city.”

“I'm not taking your brother's ring, Killian,” she'd whispered. “It's all you have left of him.”

“Aye, and it's kept me safe all these years, but I think I'd rather the comfort of knowing you had at least this small part of me when you leave...”

He sighed into the darkening emptiness, knowing every mistake he'd made in his thirty-nine years had simply been practice for this one, for the one that would haunt him with every breath he took until he took no more – a glance at the clock and the weight of the cold, silver ring in his palm telling him that he was too late.

She was gone, and it was entirely his fault.

“You're a fool, Killian Jones,” he muttered, “an old fool.”

“You're not a fool, just a little stubborn.”

“Emma,” he gasped, papers flying from the desk as he spun around, his chest tight with confusion and disbelief and hope that pressed so hard against the back of his throat he thought he would choke on it. He took a hesitant step toward where she was leaning in the doorway, but the ring she'd left behind was solid in his palm, and he clenched his fist tightly around it, wondering if hoping at all was just one more thing a fool would do. “What are you – you came back, why?”

“I didn't go to the station to get on the train, Killian,” she said, smiling softly. “I told you I wasn't taking the job. Turns out the only door I'm interested in opening was yours.”

“I don't understand,” he started, needing to desperately, because she couldn't possibly be standing here choosing him after how callously he'd pushed her away.

“I gave my ticket to August a week ago. He's got plans to do the whole starving writer thing in a place with more than one starving writer, so I went to say goodbye – and then I just, I needed some time, so I sat for a while down at the docks.”  

“You were never going,” he echoed, aching to close the gap between them, but still uncertain of the small weight in his palm and what it meant, his fingers worrying the slip of its chain. “Then why leave the ring I gave you?”

“Because, when you give it to me for a second time,” she spoke quietly, closing the distance between them and brushing her fingers along his graying stubble, “I want it to be with a promise – no more running, not for either of us. I'm here, choosing my own fate, choosing to be a part of something. This is it for me, you're it for me – and if you feel the same, then you can go ahead and give me that ring back, and one day we'll make good on it.”

“What have I done,” he breathed, his fingers trembling as he wove them through the loose strands of her hair, “to deserve you, Swan?”

“Well, life can be infernally complex – ”

“It sounds like you acquainted yourself with Captain Blood while you sat at the docks,” he chuckled, tilting her head back and sinking into the depths of her gaze as she finished her thought.

“ – but it can also be really, really simple,” she whispered, pushing onto the toes of her boots, her words ghosting against his lips, “and right now, it's as simple as I love you, Killian Jones, I love you – ”

The ring nearly slipped through the fingers of his damaged hand as he pulled her against him, his lips claiming the promise of her words, her warmth washing over him. She pulled him closer, hands knotted in his shirt as their breaths became one, hungry and desperate before settling into something so like a heartbeat he could feel it in his bones.

“I love you, Emma,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers as he whispered the words into the space between them, knowing that out of all the words surrounding them, the ones they'd shared were the only ones that mattered.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4  @the-darkdragonfly  @teamhook  @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx   @jrob64  @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree  @pirateprincessofpizza  @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever  @alifeofdreams  @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook  @hollyethecurious  @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells  @itsfabianadocarmo  @stahlop  @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan  @rkrbirdgirl  @batana54  

[solacefruit]

enemies to lovers (or similar) for the fanfiction tropes. it's always been one i personally enjoy, lots of stuff to explore with the characters (and setting, usually)

Hello there! Thank you for asking in.

Enemies-to-lovers: absolutely A tier, god level trope, I love it. I genuinely do not think I could ever be bored of this one, and honestly there are so many potential iterations of it too and they’re all good. 

I love that petty rivals thing where two people basically despise each other out of attraction and envy and it’s especially good when they feel threatened because they’re each almost the best at whatever it is they do, except for this one other person, who they hate for that. I love when people bitterly obsess over each other for reasons that they can only partly articulate, and also it’s so good when that loathing is just a way of coping with and reframing genuine respect and interest that’s so evident to the reader but only fleetingly understood by the character. Very much that “if I didn’t hate you, I would have to adore you and that frightens me more, so I grip closer to hate and find increasingly destructive excuses for interacting with you and justifying the fact I’m not getting over you, I can’t ignore you and somehow that’s your fault” thing. Mint concept in all ways.

But I also love that genuine, heartfelt enemies situation where two people mean each other so much ill and would rip chunks from the other if they got the chance, or worse, but can’t quite get the chance because they’re each other’s foil and match, so it’s a constant, brutal escalation with very real, dangerous stakes. Or perhaps they finally get their chance, and experience a strange twinge of mercy--but maybe not enough. 

I devour this kind of thing, not least of all because the potential resolutions are so delicious. Like, sometimes it’s fun when they kill each other--or one kills the other, or they betray after that tentative moment of kinship and trust, because I’m a little awful and I love a good tragedy and I love strife and tasteful agony. But it’s just as good when they slowly learn to be honest and trust each other, becoming genuine friends; or learn to trust each other enough to fuck occasionally without a fatality risk, but ultimately remain somewhat opposed and at odds; or lean in and stay enemies (in name), be nemeses outwardly, and keep their affection as a secret between them; or never get resolution and smoulder for eternity, going slowly insane from unidentified longing; or be deeply toxic and codependent and destructive, because they’re not a good partnership, they just match each other in intensity--that old thing of getting on like a house on fire (no survivors); or--you get the idea. 

Just about the only thing I can’t forgive is if writers rush from enemies to lovers, as if enemies is just set dressing and not a very challenging thing to become lovers from. It has to ultimately feel earned, whatever is happening. As a writer and as a reader, I really enjoy when characters have conflicting worldviews and ideology in equally persuasive, understandable ways, so that it’s hard to cleanly decide who is “right” (if anyone), and enemies-to-lovers is often that when it’s done in a way that’s satisfying. 

There’s actually this wonderful line in Pratchett’s Masquerade that really gets to the heart of what I enjoy so much about this trope: 

Granny Weatherwax was firmly against fiction. Life was hard enough without lies floating around and changing the way people thought. And because the theater was fiction made flesh, she hated the theater most of all. But that was it—hate was exactly the right word. Hate is a force of attraction. Hate is just love with its back turned.

She didn’t loathe the theater, because, had she done so, she would have avoided it completely. Granny now took every opportunity to visit the traveling theater that came to Lancre, and sat bolt upright in the front row of every performance, staring fiercely.

There’s something about hate that’s fun and compelling. It’s a form of passion, and if you block off the usual path for passion to follow--love, for instance--the river will rise elsewhere and find another way to run whether you like it or not. That’s what good hate is, in my humble opinion.  

Send me a fanfiction trope and I’ll rate it!

[wlntrsldler]

unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

-

PART 6

You walked past Myrtle’s lavatory, expecting her to be alone. You slowed down once you heard her sweet voice in the midst of a conversation with someone else. You heard Draco’s voice, panicked and erratic, ranting to Myrtle about the letter he received from his father a few days ago. You didn’t know Draco knew of Myrtle, much less be friends with the ghost. 

“Myrtle,” You heard Draco say. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, eyes struck with terror. He dropped his head in his hands, voice muffled by his palms, but not to the point where you could no longer hear him. “They want me to become one of them and I-” He took in a sharp breath, looking up at the ghost who was working to console him. “I don’t think I can do it.” 

“So don’t do it, Draco.” She offered, not truly understanding the extent of his task. 

“It’s not that simple.” Draco didn’t tell her the full truth, in fear that he might lose the only friend he’s made in Hogwarts. It was odd, their friendship, but somehow it worked out for the best. “I can’t disappoint my family.”

Draco stumbled upon Myrtle in his first year, ashamed that Harry rejected his offer of friendship. It shouldn’t have mattered to him as much as it did but it was his first encounter with the people he was going to spend years of his life with and he already managed to mess it up. His mother had placed a kiss on his temple before he left for Hogwarts, reminding him that he’ll be alright. He missed her terribly, his mother. She was the only one who showed him love all his life. 

His mother and father would argue downstairs, loud and booming voices shaking the portraits mounted on their walls. The house was large, abnormally large for their small family. Draco would try to distract himself in his bedroom with Dobby the House Elf. He played games with the elf, trying to preserve as much of a childhood as he could while his parents screamed bloody murder below him. Dobby would offer a sincere smile, placing a hand over young Draco’s shoulder in comfort. Draco would feel bad whenever Dobby showed him kindness, always vividly remembering how he would mistreat Dobby in front of his father. The elf didn’t seem to mind. 

When he got to Hogwarts, he got tired of the Slytherin boys quickly. All of them kissed the ground he walked on, trying to get on his good side so they’ll have the honor to say that they’re associated with the Malfoys in one way. Draco hated it. He just wanted a friend, not followers. But he realized it would have to do for now. He’s bound to make friends somehow, right?

The adventurous child he was, he explored Hogwarts on his own. That’s when he found the abandoned lavatory, closed off from students. He walked in, hoping to get some peace and quiet, humming the tune his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. He walked around, playing with the knobs and switches he found inside before being startled by Myrtle emerging from one of the toilets. 

At first Draco was defensive, refusing to be friends with a ghost, but when Myrtle offered him friendship, his lonely heart couldn’t help but accept. Draco taught her the song he was humming after Myrtle expressed her enjoyment of it. He spent the rest of the day there, talking to Myrtle about how he missed his mother and how all he wanted was one friend. 

During the second week of his first year, he saw you. That’s the first time you caught his eye. You were sitting beside a boy- whom Draco later learns is Cedric Diggory- smiling and laughing at a joke the boy told. He thought you were beautiful. Yellow was your color. 

He tried to look for you in his classes and was disheartened when he realized you were in none of his. So every night, without fail, he would search for your shining smile throughout the Great Hall. Even just a glimpse of you would make Draco’s day. He would never admit it but even at a young age, he knew he wanted to be with you. 

But of course, you were in love with Cedric Diggory. Everyone could see that and Draco knew he had no chance of being with you, not that he would ever put himself out there like that. Him with a half-blood Hufflepuff? His father would throw a fit. So Draco knew what he needed to do- admire you from afar. 

Over the years, Draco started to visit Myrtle less and less; not because he found friends of his own but because people started noticing the absence of the Slytherin prince more often. He did try to visit Myrtle at least twice a month, especially when he was growing tired of putting up the Malfoy facade he had to wear. He would tell Myrtle about the girl he was smitten with, never letting your name slip out of his lips once. She would giggle, not taking the young boy’s declarations too seriously. Draco was happy for that, oddly enough. He was afraid that if Myrtle ever encouraged him to go after you, he’d do exactly that and end up with a broken heart. He wasn’t ready for that, knowing his heart wasn’t near being whole yet. 

He didn’t speak to you for the first few years, never having the right excuse to do so. However, in your fourth year you started to befriend the Trio. It gave him the opportunity to talk to you. He knew he would seem suspicious if he was rude to the Trio but spared you from the insults so he decided to pick on you too. He always did try to keep it fairly mild, opting to call you a “pathetic Hufflepuff,” which is significantly nicer than what he called your friends. 

But when you all weren’t looking, Draco stared at you longingly. He looked at the Trio, jealous of their bond and loyalty towards each other. Sometimes he wonders if things would’ve been different if he just didn’t let his father’s smug voice do the talking for him the first time he met Harry. He looks at them, seeing the life that he wishes he had- maybe the life he could’ve had if he wasn’t a Malfoy. He would turn his head and see you and Cedric, love practically shooting out of your eyes. Draco would drop his head in envy, wishing that he was worthy enough to feel such love. Maybe not today, he would reassure himself to stop the tears, but maybe one day. 

Soon, he would repeat that to himself. 

When he found out Diggory died, a part of him was relieved. He liked to think that was the side he got from his father. He wasn’t that heartless. He wasn’t heartless at all. But he can’t lie and say he mourned for the Hufflepuff boy because he didn’t. He barely knew Cedric, the Golden Boy. He never even spoke to him directly. Draco didn’t feel the need to mourn. 

But when he saw you the following day, hobbling out of Hogwarts, his heart broke into pieces. You left the year early, unable to stay on the grounds without bursting into tears. He began to think of you and the pain it must’ve caused you. No, Draco wasn’t heartless. 

He saw you the next year, standing in the garden in a robe too big. It was the first time he saw you since that day. His heart gave out on him. The girl he knew barely there. You were just a shell of her, walking around aimlessly through life. The look of love in your eyes was replaced with emptiness. It was almost as if they changed colors, sucking the life out of you. You were wearing Cedric’s robe, he was sure of it. He let you go that night, knowing Umbridge was the last thing you needed to deal with. 

“Draco?” Myrtle called again, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you there?”

He regained his train of thought, “Sorry?”

“I said just play it by ear, then.” She repeated. “See what happens when you get back home this summer.” 

You decided to walk in, having done enough creeping for the day. “Draco? Myrtle?”

Draco snapped up, grabbing his wand to point it at you. He lowered his hand when he realized it was you, “Merlin, Y/N. Don’t scare people like that.” 

“Sorry,” You replied sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He tried his best to avoid you since Potions, not knowing what to do now that he’s faced with a realization. Draco didn’t know if he loved you. How could he when he had no model of comparison? He’s never known what love was. All he knew was that he felt something in his chest every time he saw you, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. The day in Potions when he smelled you in his Amortentia was an awakening for him. Maybe he did love you… but it wasn’t like he knew how to deal with that, much less act on it. 

He looked at you, the blush on his cheeks spreading down to his neck, as Myrtle’s wondering eyes flickered between the two of you. “It’s alright. What are you doing here?”

You smiled shyly, pointing up at Myrtle. “Wanted to talk to my friend but I see she’s a bit preoccupied.” 

“Nonsense, I was just on my way out.” Draco shook his head, making his way out the door. “I’ll talk to you soon Myrtle.” 

As he was half-way out of the door, Myrtle called out for him. He turned around to respond. She gave him a look as if to ask, “Is this her?” He merely nodded, ducking his head to prevent you from seeing the blush on his cheeks. He waved a small goodbye and walked out of the lavatory. 

You let your eyes linger at the spot where Draco last stood. Once you peeled your eyes away, you grinned at Myrtle, who returned the favor. 

“What’s going on, Y/N?” She asked. You could tell her focus has been split between you and whatever her and Draco were talking about before your interruption. You couldn’t blame her, you seemed to have forgotten your reason for searching for her. 

You shrugged, “Just wanted to say hello.” 

“Well, hello, Y/N.” She replied, still only half there. She began to float around the lavatory, staring out the windows. 

You sat on the floor, watching her. Cedric’s journal was placed on your lap, waiting to be opened. You looked down at it and flipped to the page where you last left off. You’ve been reading it quite a bit since the first day you did. It was comforting, having a piece of him still with you. A piece that was authentically him, not just something you fabricated in his death. It was actually a part of him. You didn’t need to search too far. 

You’ve gotten to the part before your first year at Hogwarts. He spent the day comforting you as you cried to him, worried that you’d be placed in a house different from him. Or worse, a house that reflected your family history. You didn’t want that. Cedric held you in his arms and told you that you’re a Hufflepuff, no matter what anyone says or what history wrote. You were a Hufflepuff. 

You scanned the page, noting some lines that caught your attention:

“Y/N got sorted as a Hufflepuff. I knew she would.” 

“My best friend is at Hogwarts with me. Life just got so much better.” 

“I’m taking her to the secret passageway tonight. I hope she likes it.” 

You thought about the first time Cedric took you there. You were a goody-two-shoes, to say the least. You were worried someone was going to catch you out there late at night but he assured you that you’d both be alright. You sat beside him, admiring him as he picked wildflowers from the area beside you. He gave them to you, tucking one behind your right ear, then doing the same to himself. You giggled at his action and rolled the lone flower between the pads of your fingers. 

He sighed, wrapping an arm around your body as you laid your head on his shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Me too, Ced.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Myrtle situated herself beside you. She hummed a familiar tune as she made her rounds in the room. A switch flipped in your brain, suddenly remembering where you heard Draco’s song before. Myrtle was humming it the day you met her.

“Myrtle?” You asked.

“Mhm?”

“Was Draco the friend that taught you that song?”

“Indeed.” 

“I didn’t know you two were friends.” You admitted, a little shocked at what you found out today. 

“Like I told you before Y/N,” She said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “A lot of lonely souls find their way to me.”

-

TAGLIST IS OPEN! SEND AN ASK!

@melancholiaflowers @jjjmaybank @marshxx @truly-insatiable @poisoned-pineapple @i-mmunity @p0gue420 @dark-night-sky-99 @hvrcruxes

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Meeting Damien in a Dream

Many people in this fandom refer to Damien as a ‘man of their dreams’. A lucid dream that turns into a very strange encounter with Damien is probably not the reason for that. 

In early June, I had a dream that I had documented in detail (1.4k words). I've spent time working on it and fleshing it out into a proper narrative that can be shared. In it, the reader (as in you and not the DA or a Heist!sona) is pulled into Damien’s waking world, where he has been placed into a life that isn’t his. But will your arrival cause upset? Or will you be able to give a bit of hope?

Word Count: 5,319 (yes, you read that right, hence the immediate read-more)

Alternatively, I’ve just uploaded this to AO3 if that’s easier to read.

-

There had been a lot on your mind when you collapsed into bed. Too many problems bounced around your mind as you tried to settle in bed. You lay there, counting your breaths and listening to the outside world while trying to lure sleep to you. It seemed elusive, until you closed your eyes and your grip on the waking world finally slipped.

Nights like these were ones that were endless. A dreamless sleep, followed by waking at a time that shouldn't exist, and finishing with utter exhaustion when morning eventually arrived was the normal running order. But not this time.

You gained awareness standing on the side of a road. It was still night, which made you panic for an instant. Had your restless mind prompted your body to get up and move? A quick glance to realise you were in your day clothes instead of your pyjamas helped ease that fear. You had successfully fallen asleep! But now you were mentally awake in a pitch-dark dreamscape. You tugged your shirt down as you gathered your bearings.

As your eyes adjusted to the darker surroundings, you learned you were on a quiet, suburban road that didn't match anywhere in your locality. Streetlights dotted the path on both sides of the road. You could see the entrance to a housing estate opposite you, and the entrance to a sporting field to your right. Where there were no streetlights, it was absolute darkness with no way to tell where the sky started. With no knowledge of what this dream location could be hiding, you decided to stick to the path and keep in the light where possible. 

The decision to be cautious worked in your favour. A path of lights stretched out as far as the eye could see. Even if the gaps between them were growing wider, they were still spots of safety in the midst of the unknown. The next light revealed the road connected to a roundabout, but it was the furthest distance away. You took a slow breath, tapped the balls of your feet against the ground, and broke into a sprint. Something growled in the darkness. You could feel something cold close to the back of your neck. There was a strong presence of someone approaching, reaching out…

You skidded to a halt under the welcoming amber glow and threw an accusatory glare at whatever was behind you. Nothing was there. For now, you took the moment to catch your breath and decide where to go from here. If you wanted to know why you were here, you would need to cross one of the abandoned roads. Two options lay before you: go down the road on the left, or keep going straight. 

“Hello?” 

You jumped in fright and spun around. There was still nothing behind you. However, there was a man standing to your right, on the other side of the road. Glancing around, you realised no one else was in view, so you waved in reply. He seemed relieved and hurried over. As he steps into the radius of your streetlight, your eyes widen as a name slips out of your lips:

Damien.

The man froze, one hand lifting to his chest as though it would protect him. You could see him clearly. Though the hair was not combed back to perfection, nor was it long and unkempt like a man lost in the woods, there was no denying that you recognised him.

“How… How do you know me? Who are you?” He was wary, as though bracing himself for the worst. You gave him your name and explained that you knew he was a mayor that had been involved in a tragedy at a poker night. Though brief, it was enough of an answer to get a reaction. Damien’s hand trembled as he tried to decide how to take this. But just as you were about to question whether you made a mistake and said something that hadn’t happened, Damien smiled.

“You… You know.” The hand was lifted to brush through his hair as he let out a shaky laugh. “I thought I was going crazy. But y-you know those memories. I haven’t met anyone who knows what happened since -” You weren’t sure what cut him off, but he quickly reached out and grabbed your wrist. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to lose this opportunity just yet.” A wave of dizziness hit you, and everything went black.

-

The world around you slowly returned to focus like you had a sudden lightheaded spell. Damien was in front of you with worry on his face.

“I-I’m so sorry, I acted without thinking about what might happen to you… Are you alright?” You nodded, and he sighed in relief. “W-well… Don’t be alarmed, but you appear to be incorporeal right now. I think I’m the only one who can see you.” Ignoring the request to keep calm, you felt your heart rate spike when you raised your hands and discovered you could see the path below you. When you locked eyes with Damien, it was clear how guilty he was and you forced yourself to calm down. He pulled out his phone and placed it to his ear, gesturing for you to follow him.

“My sleep schedule has been strained,” you noticed Damien was using the phone as an excuse to talk out loud and avoid glances from people passing by, “which means that if I get stressed, my ‘sleep’ turns into a waking nightmare. I find myself in a place darker than night, wandering aimlessly through snow, or ruined buildings, all while watching the movements of every shadow. I’ve never met someone there before. I’m sorry again for pulling you back without thinking. I had no idea this would happen, but I needed to know. I needed to hear what you had to say. How much do you know about - about what happened to me?”

You noted it was in the past tense. The events that you had watched already happened. You nodded, took a deep breath, and began giving some points.

Damien was a mayor. He had been invited to a poker night hosted by an old friend of his. The party host was murdered, which set off a chain of events. Ultimately, Damien’s body was stolen during a seance.

All the while, Damien was silent. The phone was still pressed against his ear, though his grip tightened once he realised there was a possibility he might be dead. You trailed off when his pace slowed to a halt, flashing a look to see if he was okay.

“Y-yes, I… I’m alright. It’s a lot to take in, but I did ask for it. But it matches what I recall.” He collected himself enough to flash you a smile you could never have imagined seeing off a screen (which was absolutely perfect, for the record). “Here we are. This is where I’m living. It might be the best place to talk without anyone hearing us. It’s starting to lighten up” Beside the entrance to a store was a locked door painted pale green. He unlocked and opened the door, gesturing for you to go inside. You climbed up the entranceway stairs and, after prompting from Damien, opened the door opposite the stairway.

A spacious living area was spread out before you. It was a contemporary design, consisting of an open floor-plan and a lot of white. There was a small sitting area to your right, with armchairs and couches facing a TV and an electric fireplace. To your left, there was a white couch in front of a coffee table, with a kitchen chair pulled up beside it. The room continued around a corner to reveal a small kitchen tucked away with a dining table at the far wall. You guessed the apartment was spread over two stores with how expansive everything seemed. Even so, you couldn't help but feel it lacked 'life', like it was a home plucked out of a magazine rather than one someone spent time perfecting. It was in opposition to Damien himself and how lively he was in the short amount of time you spent with him.

As you reflected on the unusual contrast, he moved to the large windows showcasing the view of the streets below. You followed him, gasping when you saw a portion of the city sprawled out before you.

“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?” Damien tilted his head to the side to acknowledge your arrival. "It's not the city I called home. I've gotten lost at least a dozen times since I was allowed to explore on my own. Yet, apparently I've lived in the city for five years."

Five years? You thought that fact an unusual statement to make, and Damien agreed. He turned from the view and knelt down beside a coffee table.

"I'm not from this place. Yet, one day, I woke up in a hospital." He lifted out a notebook and placed it on the table. It was a generic hardback notebook with "Journal" printed on the front in cursive. "Everyone kept telling me that this was where I belonged, this is what I was supposed to do… but I knew it wasn’t right. I couldn’t believe them when I have memories of living somewhere else entirely and none of a life I’ve apparently lived here. I don't have anywhere else to go, so I've begun writing to 'gather' my 'lost' memories." The moment you realised you weren't see-through, you reached out for it, only lifting it when he gave permission. It reminded you of the Detective's cork boards, with pages dotted with Polaroid photos and notes in a meat handwriting. In order to fit in, Damien was putting in a lot of work.

A click caught your attention, and you lifted your gaze from the book in time to see Damien lift the false bottom of the drawer to reveal a second, identical notebook. This one he opened on the table for you both to see. 

"One morning, I woke up and I thought I was part of this place. It was only as I saw my reflection I remembered. Words can't explain how frightening that moment was. I thought it best to write my true memories down as well… I don't want to forget any more than I already have." His hand slowly brushed over a page as he gave a forlorn sigh. As much as you wanted to spring forward and offer to fill in the blanks, the two pages were dedicated to the "Dear Friend from University" - the only character without a set identity. "I've tried going to the library to find books on the matter or use their computers, but nothing comes up. I can't help but wonder if there is a deeper mystery to all of this. If what you say is true, then it further confirms my suspicions that something isn’t quite right. Could you pass me the pen attached to that book?" When you did so, he continued talking while writing, "Why only me? I cannot find any trace of what happened to anyone I knew. I checked an online article detailing the terms of mayors in my beloved city… My name wasn't there. Instead, it was as though one mayoral term was a 'blank', for lack of a better word." Your expression was grim as Damien wrote the question 'am I dead?' on the page. Though you decided against it at first, you asked if he knew the name 'Dark'. He shook his head, so you decided to try and describe him: a man around Damien's height, with black hair and grey skin. He wore a suit - either black or white depending on the source - and was surrounded by red and blue 'lights'. 

"Actually… that does sound familiar." Damien's eyes widened in realisation. "I remember reading several articles in the paper about incidents around the country with a mysterious figure. The targets were always rescued before anything happened but all of them mentioned something about it… glitching in red and blue." You nod, advising Damien to keep away from that figure. Wherever it went, another man went too, you explained, one that dressed in red that called himself ‘Mark’. You were sure trouble would haunt Damien if he were to get tangled up in that web. Though Damien never spent time chopping wood in an abandoned forest, it was better to warn him about the Actor, just in case he too was hunting Damien. You didn't know the full story now that a character was displaced.

The next half an hour was dedicated to going through the 'past life' notes (that you noted was simply labelled 'brainstorms' on the inside cover). Where you could, you helped Damien fill in some of the blanks, but a lot of it was spent listening. He was elated to be able to talk to someone about his true memories without worrying how others would react to these 'concerning ideas'. When he caught himself rambling and apologised, you refused to accept it and urged him to continue talking. He would only do so on the condition that you had something to drink - something about ‘making sure you didn’t vanish’.

With his back to you, an idea struck as you snatched the 'past life' notebook. There were a series of frustrated scribbles and notes spread across the top of the page, but there was a gap perfect for a doodle. You sprung to work to draw a cat, until -

"You better not be doodling in there."

- Damien's voice overhead made you jump in fright and drop the pen. He laughed as he handed you a glass of water, admitting it was good to know you weren't going to fade again.

“Before anything else happens… Thank you. I’ve bottled all of these memories in my heart for so long that I thought I was starting to go mad and I was creating a fictional story. But meeting you, hearing you confirm everything… It has lifted a heavy weight off my shoulders. Mayhaps I am in a position where I won’t be able to do anything further to resolve ‘why’ I am here, but at the very least I can take comfort in knowing the ‘what’ and ‘how’ are true.” The ‘past life’ notebook was closed and put aside so Damien could open the ‘journal’ again. “And if I know who I am is true, then I can work on perfecting the act of pretending I lived here. It is as though I am cast in a play that I never received the script from. If you are able to stay long enough, you might be able to see the absurdities for yourself.”

This explanation made you start in alarm, and you frantically asked if Damien knew anyone that dressed in a maroon suit and carried a black cane, or a grey suit with a white shirt and red tie.

“No… Neither of those outfits sound familiar,” Damien admitted as he shook his head. “Then again, there are a lot of people I don’t know. If there is a man fitting that description, I may not have met him yet. Nevertheless, I appreciate the warning and will try to avoid him.”  There was a short pause as he flipped through the notes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve made a friend of my own. Everyone here already knew me, or I met them through others. It’s been pleasant having the company without the expectations on me to fit in.” Your confusion was noticed, but Damien continued, “As wonderful as this new life is, and as nice as it is to not be working, I cannot shake the loneliness. Everyone knows too much about me, but I know nothing about them. Don’t get me wrong, they seem like pleasant people who have been so patient with me. Having a diagnosis of ‘amnesia’ is a good excuse to not remember things, but it’s been stressful. If I could leave, I would… But where else can I go if I cannot find anyone I once knew? I have no friends, no family here… It’s like I don’t exist at all beyond a small group of people.”

“Damien?”

The door to the stairs opened, and you both stared at the new entrant like deer caught in headlights. A woman in her early thirties entered the room, eyes wide at the unusual scene before her. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun that was starting to come loose. She wore off-white scrubs with an ID badge clipped on that helped you realise she was a nurse. Several seconds passed before she blinked and pulled on a smile.

“I didn’t realise we had company. I’ll be back in a moment.” She swiftly disappeared out the door. You looked at Damien in alarm, though all he offered in return at first was a light shrug as he got to his feet and helped you up. He waited until you both were making breakfast before providing context.

“Her name is Marianne, and she - supposedly - is my wife in this place.” He lifted his left hand to show a silver wedding band before resuming his slow stirring of batter. “When I woke up in the hospital, she was by my bedside, worried sick about me. Of course, this turned to sheer panic when she realised I didn’t recognise her. She ran out to find a doctor, and it was only then that I noticed a ring on my hand. It is… Troubling to find yourself in a position like this, much less with someone who clearly adores you. I am very fond of her, but I’m still undecided as to whether whatever sort of love I feel is genuine or simply platonic. I do not miss her when she is gone, for instance, but I enjoy her company when she is here. It’s another confusing layer to this mess I’m in.” His head tilted to the right at the faint sound of a click. “Though I will die on the hill that this little kitchen needs a little more colour to it.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the sudden topic switch, thinking that maybe your strange situation had finally started to turn into a normal dream.

“Damien, we’ve been over this. We had agreed on keeping the cupboards black because it is a contrast to the white of the sofas. Stop trying to persuade everyone otherwise.” Marianne had appeared behind you, a hand on her hip with an amused smile. She had changed into a summery pale blue shirt with dark skinny jeans and white sneakers. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, though a section each side was clipped back. “I only wish you told me we would be having a visitor before I left for work yesterday.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Damien countered, loosely waving his wooden spoon in self-defense. “I wasn’t going to leave my university friend without shelter for the night.”

“University friend? But I was at your reunion with your friends in your course last year.” You felt intimidated under Marianne’s suspicion, but you somehow steeled your nerves and shook your head. Improvising on the spot, you said that you were friends from university, but you met through one of the societies - the book club, you blurted when quizzed about it - and kept loosely in touch that way. You even had to fabricate a story that shared your woes of missing the one bus of the day home after travelling up specially to meet relatives. Only that you happened to meet Damien, you would have been stranded.

“Now, now. Let’s have breakfast so you can tell us how work went, Marianne.”

-

You had to keep your guard up during breakfast. You couldn’t taste a thing (a dream couldn’t be that perfect), which meant you were fully focused on Marianne’s questions once she finished talking about problems at work. What course you studied, why she never saw you and Damien meet before, what you were doing now. As you gave good answers, you could see her relax, which made your stomach knot in guilt. It must have been a terrifying thought to come home and see your husband talking amicably to a stranger first thing in the morning.

As you stood up, the room seemed to shudder a little. The kitchen table was cleared up, and Damien was being pushed out of the room by Marianne, who insisted that he needed to rest. With him out of the room, you were frightened you would find yourself in the middle of trouble. Instead, Marianne gestured for you to sit on the sofa while she sat on the armchair.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour earlier. I should never have asked such personal questions. I’ve been so worried about Damien, the last thing I’d want is someone taking advantage of his amnesia to hurt him. Instead, I should be thankful he met a friend on one of his late-night walks. I’ve been encouraging him to reach out to friends and family.” Ignoring the fact Damien admitted he didn’t have friends or family of his own here, you were quick to accept the apology, adding that Damien had mentioned something about ‘amnesia’ and a hospital. “Yes… Damien was involved in an accident a few months earlier that impacted his head more than anywhere else. Everyone said it was a miracle that he only had issues with recollection of long-term memories before the day he woke up, but there were so few resources available for us. We’ve had to resort to him writing everything down in the hopes something returns to him. I’m sure he showed it to you too?” You nodded and asked about the accident. Strangely, she didn’t answer, but instead rose to her feet and made her way to the photos on the wall.

“Damien is still the man I married three years ago. I still love him. Yet some days, it breaks my heart to remember he has forgotten me completely. Everything we have done together was brushed away effortlessly and we have to start over again. He never gave up on me when I changed careers to nursing, so I won’t give up on him - even if we have to restart our entire relationship.” You were tempted to repeat your question, only to decide against it. You got back up onto your feet to examine the photos as well. She was able to point out their honeymoon in Paris, a cute selfie of the couple on their first anniversary, and them in the middle of a group dressed in Victorian era clothing.

“Oh, this was the first production Damien and I were involved in - A Picture of Dorian Gray. We actually met through this theatre company.” You hummed in amusement at the sight of Damien dressed in plain, all-black clothes beside a lady in an elegant ball gown, before the words she spoke belatedly slapped you on the face.

They met through a theatre company.

You opened your mouth to ask the name of the theatre company when a loud series of knocks caught you both off-guard.

“Oh no, I completely forgot -” She cut herself off as she hurried to the door. You peered out behind her in time to see Damien trudging down the stairs.

“Is there another rehearsal happening here, Marianne?” he groaned.

“Yes… I’m so sorry. It slipped my mind!”

Damien opened the door, and you had to rub your eyes with your fists to make sure you weren’t seeing things. People dressed in what looked like dance costumes inspired by exotic birds began filing up the stairs to the living room. You scrambled out of the way, noticing Damien’s two notebooks were still on the table. Leaving them there could cause a lot of trouble for Damien, so you took it upon yourself to tidy them up. You hesitated as an idea crossed your mind. Grabbing Damien’s ‘past life’ notebook, you opened to the next blank page and wrote a quick message. In it, you made sure to mention you were proud of him for never doubting himself in these confusing times and that he was doing great. You signed your name, accompanied it with a doodled self-portrait and several affirming messages. The pen was returned to its proper place and you placed the notebooks in the same way Damien had them hidden in the drawer, just as he approached with relief on his face.

“Thank you. I don’t want anyone seeing those.” He knelt beside you and locked the drawer. The key was put into his shirt pocket. “These -” he gestured to the brightly coloured fiasco on the other side of the room, “- are my daytimes. There is always something happening, and it’s far too busy for my liking. On one hand, I'm encouraged to rest during the day, but I'm not able to when there's always something happening that I'm forced to help out with.” 

He led you toward the kitchen while the costumed visitors began rearranging the room to make space. Some of them were eager to see a new face and hurried over to chat. All you could see was the blurring of vivid colours until suddenly, they were waving goodbye and hurried off, leaving you standing beside Damien on the street as the sun was beginning to set. Your eyes darted around as you tried to gather your bearings. Marianne and another man were several paces ahead of you, absorbed in conversation.

“Are you alright?” Damien placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it gently. “You vanished. I thought you had woken up. We’re currently going to bring you to the bus that you told Marianne you missed. Interestingly, she had insisted this was what we were doing, despite the fact you weren’t there at all. No one had noticed you were absent except for me.” The mention of getting a bus was on your mind and you asked how you could get a bus that didn’t actually exist, and no one knew where you came from. Damien hummed in agreement, throwing a glance ahead to make sure neither of you would be heard by Marianne and her friend. “My thoughts exactly. It only proves that something isn’t quite right here. We need to wake you up, in case something like that happens again. I don’t want you trapped here because of my impulsive actions, especially if you think danger might be afoot.” You wondered how you could be woken up. Damien couldn't think of a practical solution.

You felt a hand drape over your shoulder and yank you back a step.

“And here I thought you were going to run onto the bus without saying hello first!” Looking up in fright, you found yourself staring at a man. No matter how hard you tried, his face was a blur. All you knew for sure was that he was average height and wore a dark red zip-up hoodie over a white t-shirt and black jeans. “I didn’t even know you were in town. Why didn’t you call me sooner? It would’ve been a much nicer surprise than arriving at Damien and Marianne’s place and seeing you there!”

“You two know each other?” Damien asked. You shook your head just as you lost your balance and tumbled into the man when he gave you a tight sideways hug.

“Oh, we go waaaay back. My grandparents lived next-door to their family home. I’d spend most school holidays in the area. The amount of adventures we got up to back in the day! I know Marianne remembers my tales about how I got some of my childhood scars, but this rascal here was my partner in crime on those splendid summer schemes! Oh! I was just thinking about sending you an email the other day -” You were guided down the street where a bus was parked while the man prattled on. There was a small queue as they waited to board.

“That really is such a small world! Who would have thought Damien’s university friend was your childhood friend?” Marianne gasped. Damien, however, looked unconvinced, but stayed silent. “Wait wait, was this the house that had Flopsy?”

“The one and the same!” the man laughed. “I’m sure Damien knows all about Flopsy, the orange tabby cat with the longest ears I’d ever seen. Why, that darned cat was fond of climbing onto my shoulder to try and eat my hair every time I sat on the couch!”

You knew your family home and the occupants of it. Yet, all of a sudden, you had a clear memory of a boy with a long-eared cat trying to perch on his shoulder. You also knew what your neighbours looked like, but something was trying to override that with visions of an elderly couple in a cute cottage with a picket fence. You needed to get the bus home so you could visit family, and make sure everything was okay, right? You had a job to get back to in another town, that sounded right.

“- And you know, you really must come visit me next time you’re in town. We have so much to catch up on. Send me an email when you get back. We’ll arrange -”

You felt a warm hand taking yours before you were yanked back toward Damien. “They’re going to miss the bus again,” he blurted as he put a hand on your shoulder and guided you to the bus, "so get going and get home safe!” He pushed you and you staggered onto the steps of the bus.

In an instant, the fog that had settled in your mind dispersed as the fake memories vanished. You turned back to Damien, Marianne and the man in red. But as the door closed, you could finally see his face to realise it was Mark.

The door slammed shut, and you woke up with a start.

You untangled yourself from your sheets as you frantically made sure this was your room. Slow breaths helped ground you, and you focused on your hands as proof that this moment was a waking one. That was when you realised one hand was clenched tight. You opened it, and a piece of paper tumbled out. It had been neatly folded before it had been bunched into your hand, and you treated it with care as you spread it out and straightened it out on your lap.

The writing wasn’t yours, but you recognised it.

“Thank you for the unexpected meeting. You’ve given me the confidence to hold firm and figure out the mess I’m in. I hope our paths cross again. Keep safe until that day comes. Damien.”

[aiyexayen]

I haven’t known true peace since I realised that Wei Wuxian actually believes this. He’s not just saying dumb shit here, or oversimplifying things to be dramatic--he truly thought of it this way, even back then. Even though nobody else did.

This line has always confused me and maybe I just haven’t given it enough thought. Maybe it’s obvious. But everyone has such a different perspective at that section of the story, including the audience. And that’s part of the tragedy of it all, really, is how much the situation was twisted up--both on purpose, by the Jins, and by simple circumstance--to the point that nobody was on the same page. But the extent of Wei Wuxian’s didn’t really hit me until recently, when puzzling back over this particular scene.

(In my defense, it was easy for me to miss until now, because it’s mixed in with Wei Ying admiring Lan Zhan admiring the moon and followed by Lan Zhan calling Wei Ying out on his “I’m fine” bullshit before carrying him down the stairs.)

At first pass, all I could think was, “Wei Wuxian, are we even watching the same show?” He and Jiang Cheng were rivals as much as they were best friends as much as they were brothers, and frequently at odds.

They never really had a “them two against the world” vibe outside of their Twin Heroes of Yunmeng promise. Wei Wuxian loved the world, and making friends, and did so freely and gladly. He and Jiang Cheng really only ever stood together against really blatant enemies like the Wen before and during the Sunshot campaign, and by the time the Jins and the rest of the prominent sect/clan leaders were at their throats, things were definitely falling apart.

They not only had a fraught childhood together in that household to begin with, but they also haven’t been truly on the same side since the fall of Lotus Pier when it all came to a head; the slow dissolution of their close bond is a huge underlying theme of the story as we suffer through the emotional torture of watching their desperate love create a wider and wider chasm between them, littered with broken promises and unspoken words as they slowly forget how to know each other.

And they really never stood together against Lan Wangji?? Ever?

While Jiang Cheng was regarding him (and every other human being and activity) as a rival for his shige’s attention and proof of his own social ineptitude (a potential cause for worry in his earnest role as sect heir and representative of his clan), Wei Wuxian was utterly enamoured. By the time Wei Wuxian had his rounds of falling-out with Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng regarded him as an ally who stood by his side for months and kept his hope alive while helping him scour the land for all traces of his missing brother and was really confused why Wei Wuxian was being a jackass.

In-between all this, they travel and fight together--all three of them--on more than one occasion, and even go to war together.

We’re frequently shown glimpses, scenes, framing, setups, that show us Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji standing together without or apart from Jiang Cheng as well. Because reasons.

From Lan Wangji’s point of view, he was never not on Wei Wuxian’s side when it counted. He just had trouble communicating this effectively at times, especially while Wei Wuxian was in a constant push-pull with himself and everyone else about what he should be allowed to want and have.

From Jiang Cheng’s point of view, Wei Wuxian was failing to be on his side again and again, and it was never really about his own loyalty, because he was the only one still keeping their promise.

And certainly by Jin Ling’s one-month celebration, they both seemed to be on the same page that they were coming together as Wei Wuxian’s important people, if not actively friends by then, and that they were of one mind in getting Wei Wuxian back around his family and back into society. One of the most shattering things anyone has ever had the nerve to tell me straight into the void that once was my heart is that they (along with Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan) were probably so excited to see Wei Wuxian and proudly show him how well they were all getting along.

So I, humble viewer of episodes, watch all of this happening, and then narrow my eyes at Wei Wuxian in disbelief. Who does he think he is? Jiang Cheng, always at his side? With Lan Wangji, always opposite?

Why does this moment of self-reflection even exist? When he could have taken this opportunity to have some kind of flashback about Lan Wangji and the moon, as the rest of us are? Is it just to torment me, in particular?

But then I thought of three things. One, his point of view at the time. Two, his point of view in this episode. And three, the phrasing of what he’s saying here.

The phrasing feels important. Wei Wuxian simply says he thought Jiang Cheng would be at his side/on his side/by his side, and he thought Lan Wangji would be opposite. Opposite doesn’t necessarily mean a direct rival or enemy. It can mean standing for the opposing viewpoint, or having an opposing position.

Given that he’s directly comparing it to how he feels right now, it makes sense. As of this episode, he’s just had his real first encounter with Jiang Cheng, and it was pretty horrible. He had to deal with Jin Ling and his curse, between now and then, but that isn’t really going to be what’s on his mind.

I might be like, “Ah, yes, running away from Jiang Cheng to go fuck off with Lan Wangji, typical Wei Wuxian scenario, even if I support it especially in this particular instance.” Jiang Cheng might feel that way, too, right down to “Thank fuck he ran away like he always does and didn’t call my bluff about killing him a thousand times over because that would have been embarrassing.”

But to Wei Wuxian, the circumstances are completely different. He’s not running off on an adventure after which he absolutely intends to return home. He’s leaving with what he sees as confirmation (which he was trying to avoid) that Jiang Cheng truly hates him, and the knowledge/reminder that he may never see him again because he will absolutely try his hardest not to. And he’s returning to Lan Wangji, who is his adventure, but also, increasingly, his home.

He can’t really think of it in those terms, yet, though. So he thinks about it as sides.

Even though they and Jiang Cheng are never truly pitted against each other in the present any more than Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were ever pitted against Lan Wangji in the past (that is to say, one or two tense scenes and mostly a lot of wibbly gray areas indicating that there’s a lot more going on in everyone’s heads), Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji on the “Wei Wuxian Should Not Be Dead” team and Jiang Cheng sulking on the opposite shore.

Or, at the very least, the teams are “Leave Wei Wuxian Alone” and “Wei Wuxian Needs To Fucking Stop.”

Which reminds him how different it all used to be.

And even if we’re like, “Was it, though?” that’s not his perspective on it. He didn’t see all the pieces that the rest of us saw. He never knew the lengths Lan Wangji was going to in order to try and help him, the rules he broke. He never saw the punishment Lan Wangji endured for simply visiting him. Even Jiang Cheng saw Lan Wangji stand up for him publicly after the heart-wrenching scene in the rain. Wei Wuxian never did.

He only saw Lan Wangji trying his damnedest to get him to give up demonic cultivation. He only heard Lan Wangji’s attempts to convince him to get better that he never really understood. He only ever perceived resistance and disapproval.

Wei Wuxian was expecting Lan Wangji to come and personally try to stop him at Nightless City. Wei Wuxian woke up alive and took one look at Lan Wangji (and softly gayly smiled and took a second look for good measure) and took off. Wei Wuxian woke up again with all his memories and the knowledge he was loved and missed after sixteen years and asked if Lan Wangji had ever really believed him. Wei Wuxian has been slowly coming to terms with the fact that Lan Wangji wholeheartedly and unreservedly does, now. So, to him, it’s the idea that Lan Wangji has “switched sides” as it were.

And Jiang Cheng?

Wei Wuxian thinks he and Jiang Cheng were unquestionably on the same side right up until Jiang Yanli died.

Jiang Cheng was angry, was upset, was in pain. They fought. Promises were broken. But that didn’t mean they were on opposing sides, not really, surely.

They were on the same side about questionable cultivation methods not being questioned as long as it made Yunmeng Jiang strong where it was currently weak. They were on the same side about it not being anyone else’s business. Their fight was faked, even if the separation had to be real.

Wei Wuxian was still standing by Jiang Cheng’s side in prioritising Yunmeng Jiang’s political standing. Jiang Cheng was still standing by his side in caring about their home and their sister. He brought shijie, who brought soup. And something about their public break and Jiang Cheng’s account kept the other sects from piling on Wei Wuxian right at the start.

At Nightless City, while he expected Lan Wangji to be there countering him, he did not expect any of Yunmeng Jiang to be there to actually fight him. Of course Jiang Cheng was there--how could Jiang Cheng not show up? One of the great clans? And they’re not really supposed to have anything to do with one another anymore, right? Wei Wuxian was a traitor to Yunmeng Jiang, right? Of course Jiang Cheng had to show up.

But as long as Wei Wuxian was in control of the resentful energy and puppets, not a single Yunmeng Jiang disciple, let alone Jiang Cheng himself, was so much as looked at sideways.

Jin Zixuan had been killed. Jiang Yanli would never forgive him. His found family full of innocents had been slaughtered by power-hungry hypocrites. The entire cultivation world was after his soul. He was a dead man walking. He’d been hallucinating for hours. His mind was mostly gone.

And he thought, “Lan Wangji is here to put an end to me at last. It is time to fight.”

And he thought, “Jiang Cheng is not truly part of this. I must not touch Yunmeng Jiang.”

Both of these things wound me deeply. The first, because it’s demonstrably untrue. The second, because it might not have been nearly as true as everyone (including Jiang Cheng) wishes, though at least we’ll never really have to know, will we.

And then Jiang Yanli died.

We can see the story happening in stages, the various breakdowns and buildups and breakdowns again. And we always knew this ending was coming. But to him, that’s the moment everything truly, truly broke.

Though, I feel the need to point out, hysterically, he still wasn’t opposite Jiang Cheng even then. Because Jiang Cheng, he believes, wanted him dead (even if he couldn’t do it by his own hand) just as much as Wei Wuxian wanted himself dead. And Lan Wangji did not want him dead. So he stood in solidarity with Jiang Cheng one last time, did right by Jiang Cheng and Yunmeng Jiang and their family one last time, as he yanked his hand away from Lan Wangji.

Only now, in the present, are Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng truly in opposition. And only now are Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji on the same page. Supposedly.

One of Wei Wuxian’s particular character journeys post-timeskip is finally having the concept of interpersonal nuance smashed into his head in a way that still allows him to be himself and follow his own moral codes and build relationships in his own way. His assorted encounters with Jiang Cheng leading up to their reconciliation (as well as the juniors and the sect leaders and other characters) all demonstrate that nicely.

But in this scene, it really is that straightforward to him. Hell, it’s even presented such to us for a hot minute.

If for no other reason than the direct parallel of Lan Wangji finding out about Wei Wuxian’s fear of dogs and protecting him both physically and emotionally without question, and Jiang Cheng already knowing about it but using Fairy against Wei Wuxian until it triggered him into a panic-induced ptsd flashback seriously what a fucking dick move though.

So, perhaps it’s understandable, between Wei Wuxian’s misconceptions of the past and his current experiences in the present and the fact that these are the only two people left to him in all the world.

He believes the bitter irony of fate has dictated that he can never have them both. He was only ever going to have one of them and he never considered it would truly be this one.

And for just one moment, before he can be glad of his gain, he has to mourn the inevitable loss that comes with it. For that one moment, even seeing Lan Wangji so beautiful in the moonlight, so openly and invitingly waiting for him, that’s all he can think about.

It haunts me.

[misterparadigm]

A Critique of Albert Camus’s “The Myth of Sisyphus”

The following is a brief critical breakdown of Albert Camus's highly influential essay. In it, I explore Camus's implicit meanings as I find them, and question the validity of his conclusions about the nature of suffering and man's capacity for contending with it by will alone.

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In philosophy, absurdity is defined as the conflict between the tendency to seek meaning in life and the inability to find such meaning with any logical certainty. The question of meaning has been at the heart of many philosophical explorations and treatises. The second half of the 20th century and beyond saw a spread in the acceptance of the notion of life’s meaninglessness, though no definitive and satisfactory cure for the ennui and nihilism that often follows has been laid out.

Perhaps most famous and cherished is Albert Camus’s essay exploring the Myth of Sisyphus and his ultimate declaration therein that, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” In this essay, Camus thinks over the myth in brief and lays out an interpretation of it which centers Sisyphus’s acknowledgment of his predicament, acceptance, and most importantly his personal resolve and will to view his burden as something which gives his life meaning. We must imagine Sisyphus finding contentment in his futile labor—an act of will which scorns the gods and denies their effort to break the spirit of Sisyphus with the assertion that a life of eternally futile labor is something torturous. Camus efforts—a bit belabored, in my opinion—to make a modern hero of the one who belittles the gods and their cruel, arrogant, resentful judgments. In Camus’s view, these gods have earned no respect in their dealings with mortals. For Camus, a humanist who would sooner dive headlong into oblivion than seek out a god whom he despises, it is a noble and purposeful pursuit to deny any such god the pleasure of punishing the creature which he created to despise him to begin with—a creature forced to live out a scenario of absurdity concocted by that very god. Camus refuses to respond with devastation, but resolves to make such existence its own purpose. He asks us to grasp our free will, own it, and wield it against any force which seeks to turn the man against himself.

But is this assessment and subsequent assertion valid? A number of factors are at play here which Camus seems not to acknowledge. First, we have to acknowledge context. Sisyphus is dealing with a particular set of gods, so his situation is unique to that scenario. Camus seems to imply that this situation can be applied to the modern man and his relationship to whichever god he believes in. This isn’t apparent, and if one is to assert that it is, one must first take as a given that life is absurd, or else the resentment toward the god who created it isn’t validated. On the other hand, if life is not absurd and is in fact meaningful and purposeful, one must contend with the notion that the god who created it is of some authority on the matter of how best to embody such meaning and purpose. To Camus’s credit, we are given no empirical evidence or common enough experience to adequately, categorically state the purposefulness of existence. What we are offered, rather, is a quiet firmament and a divine hand so subtle that one can barely propose to experience its activity—rarely with any convincing force, despite fervent conviction, and perhaps even considered malevolent rather than benevolent. The suffering of life, after all, makes it easy to resent our very being. Life is discomfort, pain, confusion, and death in greater measure than pleasure and joy. Pleasure and joy, even, seem starkly restricted as vices of desire in the eyes of “modern” gods, so much that to see the beauty of life is to do so in spite of life itself rather than to acknowledge that beauty’s apparentness as we would life’s suffering. Even so, the challenge of life may not then be to grasp one’s own will and deny God, but rather, as Hamlet mused, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. To take accountability for one’s will and wield it, much as Camus suggests, as a weapon—not against God, but rather against the apparent evils of existence, of which we would know nothing were it not for eating from the proverbial Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Often, we get caught up in the idea that God created the circumstances in which we exist, and created us to exist within those circumstances. By this musing along we may justify a resentment toward such a god and claim absurdity and cruelty. It’s quite easy to do so. However, we rarely seem to consider that, according to the myth, we were created in a more desirable scenario. Even so, we were created with free will and given direction on what to do and what not to do in order to avoid less desirable circumstances. Our free will standing, we acted in what would seem to be an inevitable manner. We were tempted to know what God knows about existence, and so we consumed the apple and opened our minds to the knowledge of good and evil. In doing so, we betrayed the trust of God and refused his advice, thus we became fully conscious and, consequently, fully accountable for our actions. With the knowledge of good and evil, a being with free will bears a responsibility to act according to the good rather than the evil. This early awakening left us naive—scarcely prepared to contend with the greater evils of the universe—and we’ve been mired in it ever since, rarely even able to see clearly what constitutes good and what constitutes evil. The complexity of such a task of judgment is said to be the court of God, and we are not to engage in such things, but we are yet left with no one but ourselves to hold each other accountable—and so how can we not judge? There is much that goes into this, but it’s a digression of the topic at hand, which is the validity of Camus’s assessment of the transferable lesson of Sisyphus’s fate.

The second factor is the presumption that Sisyphus could have the stamina to will joy out of his futile labor for eternity. It is difficult to imagine how his psychology might evolve over an endless span of time. Is it even reasonable to imagine that he might settle on a particular view of his predicament? How could it be that his view would last forever? It seems more likely that his mind might unravel after so long a labor at a single task, and that he would dissolve into his routine—that he would devolve into a machine. Such a task, it seems to me, is tailored to disintegrate the spirit of a man so that there is nothing left but the laboring organic robot, dead of his animus and dull of mind. His programming, which once explored myriad tasks and evolved in spirit accordingly, is now relegated to the track of a single interminable function, and so his mechanism devolves into only what is necessary for the eternal task. The animating spirit of a free consciousness is defined by that freedom. It is defined by the mind’s ability to explore and learn and adapt and grow. It fills the space in which it inhabits. If that space shrinks, the mind’s environment for operation shrinks. If that space takes a limited form, so does the mind. Sisyphus’s mind, I’d wager, would eventually mold to the well-worn form of his task and atrophy at all other ports of knowledge and behavior. The spirit dies without freedom. It dissolves into oblivion, a gaseous ghost seeping out in small whispers over time, until nothing remains but the solitary circuit. This is, after all, the argument so often levied against the dreadful monotony of a labor economy. One pictures the old cog-in-the-machine imagery—the grey man marching alongside his grey coworkers, seemingly oblivious to his living death. It seems to me that Camus puts an unreasonable and inexecutable responsibility on the creature of Sisyphus: to be the sole perpetuator of his own universe of knowledge, both known and unknown, so that he may propagate the only environment in which he might stave off his spiritual dissipation. This was the environment of free consciousness, which has been robbed of him. This is the plight of the prisoner; the longer a prisoner remains imprisoned, the less likely they are to thrive under freer circumstances. Their mind has adapted to a particular system, environment, and routine. And so it seems naive of Camus to imagine Sisyphus happy.

Camus focuses on the time in which Sisyphus is “going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end.” This is the time in which Sisyphus is left truly alone with his thoughts, which can only ever turn to his task, that task being the only thing left of his life and the thing which will occupy his eternity. It is here that the measure of his character—his will and resolve—is on perfect display. “That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate.” Camus suggests that, “if this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him?” The tragedy is that Sisyphus has no opportunity for delusion. He cannot pretend that there is hope of breaking this cycle. He knows that this fate is eternal, and that for every moment to follow, across all space and time, he will only ever be among the moments confined to this task—isolated in his rut. His only hope, I would say, is that over time he might lose this consciousness. In a situation like this, eternal life is an intolerable cruelty, though Camus would claim he has the will to defy the cruelty by reframing it. This Camusian grace seems an illusion to me right on the face of it, and his solution boils down to ignoring the inexorable fact of the situation: there is nothing but the task, and no perfectly repeated task can be infinitely engaging or contenting to the actively conscious mind. The implied grace finds its source in acceptance of the fate, and through acceptance one can neutralize the misery—or so Camus suggests. But again, it does little to truly contend with the eternal element. Camus’s assertion that it is possible to willfully accept such a fate and maintain that flat acceptance for not just an inconceivably long time, but for the most inconceivable length of time, seems itself absurd. Perhaps it is even the very definition of absurd. Camus asks that an actively conscious being spend his infinite life mitigating his misery by perpetually accepting it as the mere fact and state of his existence. He is asking a man who has experienced and loved life (multiple times) so much that he incapacitated Death to simply step back and view his perfectly measured misery as a neutral state of being, and to do this forever, infinitely, perpetually. How absurd is such a demand? He is asking that Sisyphus seek contentment where there is no logical contentment to be sought.

If absurdity is seeking meaning where there appears to be none, then certainly seeking contentment where there appears to be none is itself absurd. The assertion, then, is that we can somehow manifest our own contentment through will, which is, in a way, no different than trying to manifest meaning through will. It’s the act of mitigating circumstances through the illusory impetus of pure will. One may be able to bear the illusion for a measured time, but over the course of an eternity the will gives way to circumstance because the circumstance, in the case, is the immutable factor. A free consciousness, however, is defined by its dynamic existence. But if that existence no longer inhabits a dynamic environment, whatever meaning or purpose it may have had is, as a matter of logic, eradicated by the static and immutable nature of the circumstance.

It is merely a matter of logic, which the free consciousness will have determined in short order, and so the emotions cycle in whatever manner they may until the consciousness is dulled by its monotonous task. Sisyphus’s fate, I assert, is the dissipation of his free consciousness over time, until this man who loved his living freedom so much has his mind reduced to a dim, singular function. His punishment is the indignity of the gradual decline in free will until there is no being left, and he is but a moving sculpture signifying the fate of one who refuses Death. His punishment is the denial of rebirth, for he has refused the necessary mechanism which gives rise to it.

[petekaos]

chanon & pom, now in character

hi. in the aftermath of episode ten of the gifted graduation, i have sobbed, drank tea, forced myself to rewatch some of the most painful scenes in existence, and provide you now with the inner workings of my cursed, cursed mind. this is me debunking every single thing that happened with chanon and pom in tgg episode 10.

so. here’s how chanonpom can still win.

1. the chanonpom reunion 

i feel like it was obvious to fairly everyone that this reunion was out of character. first of all, chanon keeps manifesting out of nowhere with absolutely no explanation other than the fact that he has a car. how did he know that pom ‘colluded’ with the director? how did he know he’s there? if we assume that he was working with the director in order to take his revenge on pom as we learn later in the episode (which is also out of character but we’ll get to that later), it’s still completely dumbfounding that the director has pulled so many strings in the background to orchestrate meetings such as this.

next we come to the problem of there being absolutely no expression on pom’s face when he sees chanon. does he already know that chanon is alive? how does he know that? last we saw, pom had no clue that chanon was alive and mourned him deeply. now, we see him see chanon and tell him to “go back,” to go away as this is none of his business. from what we know about chanon and pom, we know that they haven’t seen each other since they were in high school. chanon knew pom was a teacher, but pom almost certainly didn’t know chanon was alive - so this reaction is such an... understatement? here is the person who he wiped the memories of, literally coming back from the dead, and that’s his only reaction...? even chanon’s reaction as chanon (disregarding his apparent revenge he wants to take) is more realistic than pom’s reaction here. all in all, the reunion felt very flat and unrealistic considering that we, the audience, know that pom and chanon haven’t seen each other in so long. again, maybe this will be talked about later in the show, but so far - no sense made.

2. pom at the beginning of this episode

this is actually fairly true to pom. as someone who is almost thirty and has been manipulated by the director since he was in high school, he must be feeling absolutely hopeless and defeated, trying to fool himself into believing that he is free when he’s being controlled by the director. but pom, as has been established in the gifted, has never been one to teach his students this. here, he’s trying to protect pom, but he would have never told him to throw in the towel and stop fighting for what is right. much like chanon, he is tired, but the fact that he’s saying this to pang seems... very out of character. 

consider this. this is from episode 12 (part 4) of the gifted, and this is when he’s just been told about pang and wave’s plan to stop the director. here, it becomes clear that he would never collude with the director voluntarily, nor would he ever tell his students to stop fighting. before this, he wishes them good luck and gives them advice. his number one priority are his students, and he wants to teach them and make sure they don’t get expelled or hurt in any way or form, but he had perfect opportunity to stop them here - and didn’t. 

exactly why this is also completely out of character. he would never agree to willingly erase his student’s memories. it has been established time and time again that his priority are his students, and he would never collude with the director in order to harm them in any way. this becomes apparent later in the episode too, when pang gets put into direct life-threatening danger, that he would not stand for it and is prepared to sacrifice himself for them.

3. chanon’s side of the chanonpom argument 

and this is the part of the episode where i call BULLSHIT. while it is... natural for chanon to be bitter that pom did that to him, let’s remember who this man really is. he’s not a casual acquaintance, neither is he someone who got caught in the crossfire. chanon was ready to sacrifice everything for pom, he was ready to let his own name be dragged through the mud to protect pom and to expose the director’s abusive and dangerous actions. 

look at him. he says that this is the director’s fault. teenage chanon says that what happened is not something pom has to take responsibility for alone. and then teenage pom was manipulated by the director into doing this to his best friend - and you think adult chanon wouldn’t realise it was the same thing? that it was the director’s manipulation that caused pom to wipe his memories? yes, pom needs to atone for his actions, but it is not his fault alone. and the fact that adult chanon doesn’t recognise that is very out of character to me, especially considering the following.

he was ready. he was ready to sacrifice everything for pom. shipping lenses aside, he was ready to sacrifice his own name so that his best friend wouldn’t have to atone for what he did. teenage chanon made this choice - a child who still had so many years left, so much to look forward to, was so devoted that he pledged his entire life to darkness just so his best friend didn’t have to deal with it. and you’re telling me that adult chanon would be so bitter about losing ten years of his life that he would stage an entire revenge plot that included the director, the very person he was working to overthrow, and stab his best friend in the neck with a deadly virus? when his teenage self was already about to throw it all away for said best friend already? it doesn’t make any canonical sense at all.

and... he did. teenage chanon was ready. and adult chanon would have been too.

4. pom’s side of the chanonpom argument 

this was the bit that was incredibly out of character for pom. first of all, how does he know so much about chanon’s life now? also... while i understand that he could be feeling this, seeing as he was under supot’s control for so long, he would have never said this to chanon. especially after he remembered what he did to him and he felt so bad about what he was manipulated into doing to him that he made himself forget. 

remember this? remember when he recalled everything that chanon had done for him and how terrible he felt that he broke down in tears in front of two of his students, on his knees, and apologised to him? you’re telling me that this same pom would hurl such insults and accusations into chanon’s face? this man has been through so much trauma, so much pain, and the fact that he was manipulated into doing this to his own best friend has eaten away at him for so long. in the following scenes he is extremely resigned and hurt. he has never forgiven himself for any of it - which is why it’s natural to expect that he would never stop apologising to chanon... instead of talking about whose life is worse.

this is what tipped me off that either the tgg writers really went wrong with this episode or this is all a ruse. because although pom must be feeling absolutely terrible and trapped because of supot manipulating him for all these years - he would never say this. why would he never say this? as has been established before, pom loves his students. they are his first priority. he cares about them to death and even if he had the choice, i doubt he would switch schools to teach because he genuinely loves teaching the gifted and helping them work on their potentials. remember - this is the same pom who offered pang and wave advice on how they should avoid the director. remember - this is the same pom who stood up for korn to darin and asked her if she really cared about the students. remember - this is the same pom who literally sacrifices himself for pang later in this episode. 

in the end... what is pom’s core desire?

and what is chanon’s?

and so pom would never throw chanon or his students to the wayside. and chanon would never throw betray pom and take revenge on him by colluding with the director. neither of them would commit half the actions or say half the things they said in this episode. we have to remember that these two went through thick and thin together, were the first two to try and overthrow the gifted program. one of them was ready to sacrifice everything for the other. honestly i refuse to accept that things will stay like this for them.

so how can chanonpom still win? well... the virus that chanon stabbed into pom’s neck has different equations on it to see which one is fake and which one is real. reminder: chanon’s potential is being able to solve equations and do complicated maths questions at a fairly fast rate... and that’s all i’m going to say.

their story is inherently one of tragedy. but that doesn’t mean it has to be forever.