#the latest thing I’ve been losing my mind over is the fact that shadow fucking DIES in order to save MAYOR DORITO from exploding

[mobbothetrue]

Me, watching my mutuals slowly start reblogging sonic content: it’s spreading

[austarus]

Timeless!Harrison Wells x Reader - White King, Black Queen

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes​ for being my beta reader.

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 2267

You narrowed your eyes as the city continued to bustle, noise from people and cars emitted in the air. Clouds hung sparsely over Central City as the waning moon took the place of the sun high in the sky. The wind blew a light breeze through your hair. You kicked a leg back and forth gently as you sat on the edge of the STAR Labs tower wings. Your other leg was bent close to your body, an arm resting over your knee. The height didn’t scare you so much as it used to. In fact, you didn’t mind being so close to the edge anymore. If you fell, then you fell. Truth be told, your powers would save you whether you willed it to or not. Some would say it’s a curse, others not so much. Your umbrakinesis acted like a defense mechanism at those times. A sigh left your lips as you straightened up your back, cracking it. Relief echoed through your body, but your heart felt heavy. Time is ticking... You knew what was happening downstairs, Gideon had alerted you when someone entered the Time Vault. It wouldn’t be completely wrong to say that you didn’t want to face him – couldn’t get attached since he’d been here. Not again. Staying up here was your way of avoiding that problem until… Until what, though?

The hair at the back of your neck stood up, a chill ran down your spine as your shadows alerted you of a presence a distance behind you. Turning your head slightly, you sent an icy look to the one person you dreaded to see. The face of the man you had seen pass one too many times. Their looks from their final moments imprinted in your mind for this one to come back. He was the last thing you had of them.

Harrison Wells.

A small smile was on his face, his hair tousled with his clear-framed glasses perched on his nose. He knew you’d be up here. The others told him you’d been up here since his reincarnation into the world. Since he’d made contact with Team Flash to help them and explain his predicament of currently living. But really, Harrison would have known if no one had told him. He had sensed it. Seen it – the images flickered past in his brain. The other versions of himself with you up here – the foreign familiarness that he personally did not experience.

But nothing more than a dreadful reminder of what’s past.

“I’ve come to say good-bye,” the genius started in a soft voice, wanting to approach you carefully. Your glare bothered him, yet he knows it shouldn’t, for once Harrison leaves, he will be united with Tess, the love of his life. Over and over and over again.

You snorted, turning your gaze to the stars that twinkled away from the clouds. You could see the constellations of Cassiopeia, winking brightly light-years away. “Such a shame, you could have helped them with Godspeed.” A bitter laugh left your lips as you recalled Nash showing you how to recognize the constellations and where to navigate from there. Sherloque would drink his tea up here with you and converse about his cases. HR would read to you his latest ideas and novels while you gave your input. You would drag Harry out of his lab to get some fresh air. And Eobard… he was the one who showed you this view, before Barry had woken up, before the Particle Accelerator had gone online.

“Team Flash is more than capable of handling threats on their own.”

“I take it you think that having a Wells must be a handicap, hm?”

“I never said that.”

“Hmph.”

“I couldn’t leave without telling you good-bye.” You pressed your lips thinly and Harrison continued, pocketing his hands in his dark coat. “It didn’t feel right to go without saying that.”  The night was getting colder, yet you remained out here in a thin jacket. Dare he say, he worried a bit?  You turned to fully look at him from your seated position. “I… won’t deny the sentiment I feel towards you. The memories of the past Wells. Their thoughts – well, previous thoughts – and feelings are still here.” Harrison had gestured to his head then placed a hand on his heart. Bile rose at the back of your throat as the smiling images of the boys hit your mind. You bit your lip hard as he spoke, “Each one of them felt strongly for you, but I’m not them. They’d want you to move on. To live-”

“No!” Your patience snapped, standing up rapidly with expert footing. Shadows went rampant in the night, wind howling in his ears. “You don’t get to say that!” Darkness immediately consumed the atmosphere and air around you both. Unbridled anger licked up in your heart and soul as you took heavy steps towards him. Harrison couldn’t see, but he could feel the moving darkness as he stood his ground. “You have no right to act all high and mighty towards me.” A hiss left his lips as a dark particle lashed at his arm, burning through his coat and marring his skin just as he heard your anger burn in your next words. “You don’t understand the strings that fate has chained me with! Nor will you ever understand my burden.”

***Flashback***

“What is it that you want?” You glared at the entity. The Monitor had appeared in your kitchen as you were pouring yourself some alcohol to enjoy your quiet night. You had taken some time away from all the heroes and villains running around.

“I came because I require your assistance for the Crisis.”

“Pass, I’m not in the mood to play the hero.”

“The point is not to be a hero or the villain, but to honor fate’s will.”

“Well fate can go hump a stump for all I care,” you sipped on your choice of alcohol, you turned away from the eternal entity only to find him in front of you right as you had exited your kitchen. A deep frown crossed your features. This is such a drag.

“Fate has bound your life to Harrison Wells the moment you first met him years ago.”

“False, that was Eobard masquerading as Wells. So, technically no.”

“That technicality may be so, but fate saw the speedster as your gateway to the rest of them. Without Thawne you would not have been so tied to Harrison Wells’ existence.” Rolling your eyes, you took another sip, already knowing you’d need a couple of glasses to forget about this interaction. “Your life is bound to his. To them.” The Monitor had you right where he wanted you, pushing images into your mind to allow you to see reason. “You were a lover.” You flinched as the image of Eobard appeared in your mind. “A partner.” Harry. “A friend.” HR. “And a confidante.” Sherloque. “Now this one needs you as well, he is in danger of himself with the Anti-monitor. My opposite entity.” You knew he was referring to Nash, the multiverse explorer with the haughty attitude and snarky comments.

“…”

“You are the anomaly that exists in the multiverse, there is no other in your position.” The entity saw the hesitation flicker in your being. “The time has come for you to be his protector.”

***Time Skip***

Nash panted, on the ground of this desolate land on his hands and knees. His mouth felt dry, tasting iron in his mouth from the blood on his split lip. How much longer can he endure this? The Anti-monitor continued to laugh at him, to mock him, for his weakness. Pariah gripped hard at the dirty snow, blood and mud defiled the pure whiteness. He couldn’t get back up. His body ached. No matter how hard Nash tried to push back, the Anti-monitor was too strong for him even with these temporary powers.

“Humans are such fickle beings,” the anti-entity spoke in a grand manner, “Soon the multiverse will be mine and there shall be no flaws. No humans to corrupt my domain.” The eternal being gathered his divine power into the palm of his hand and fired anti-matter at his appointed Pariah. The one to bear witness of the end of the multiverse. His curse.

Nash shut his eyes; this was the end. This was his end. A breath left him, what he expected to be his final breath. But the final blow never came. Ringing greeted Nash’s ears as he opened his eyes. Standing in front of him, shielding his body was you and your dark powers. For whatever reason it withstood the anti-matter as particles clashed against one another. You stood defiantly and gracefully in your fighting positions, conjuring your dark spectacles from every shaded corner.

“Don’t you dare touch him, you fucking monster.” You growled, your hands working magnificently to bind the Anti-monitor down. Once bound your umbra became spears and swords that pierced through the entity. While it could not kill the Anti-monitor, it slowed him down – meaning it would slow down his assault on Nash. You needed to get him to safety, needed him to have enough strength to teleport you two away from this dimension. And that’s exactly what you convinced him to do when you grabbed him, hugging his injured body to yourself as he fought to stay conscious.

***End Flashback***

“You don’t understand what loss truly is! You don’t get how hard it is to move on from this.” Just as you had moved, so had Harrison. A dagger of darkness at his throat, clenching the front of his cloak as he held a dagger of light to your own throat. Harrison  gritted his teeth as he used his powers to light up the area in his green light. “This pain, the misery of losing over and over and over again. To bear the burden of fate’s strings only to watch them all fall.” He flinched at how the veins around your eyes had darkened to a charcoal color. His throat dried as fear hit him. Harry’s memory flashed into his mind – the memory of you in this state, accidentally killing a meta in self-defense. “You’re just a selfish man, running away from what’s in front of him.” Harrison’s light battled against your darkness to keep the physical manifestations of umbra away from harming his body. “I despise people like that.”

“I’m only doing what’s best for me.”

“By what, Harrison? Running to the past? What’s in the past is best left in the past, those who hold on to the past don’t appreciate the present.”

“Such hypocritical words coming from someone who sulks around up here for what once was.”

“You don’t fucking know anything about me. All you have are some second-hand memories, but you don’t truly know me and what I’ve been through. You’re just like Barry.”

“And you’re any different?”

“At least I know the difference between reality and a desperate dream.”

“…” He knew Tess is doomed to die for time to flow, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cherish every second with her until it was time. Maybe he was a desperate man chasing after a desperate dream, but he would until the bitter end. For Tess.

“A Time Loop is just a miserable notion for you to see Tess when her destiny is already a fixed time point. Just like Barry’s mother. Their deaths are absolute. Even with your Timeless powers you can’t interfere with what’s set in place.”

“That may be so, but I’ve fulfilled my part here – at least I have someone to return home to, even if they are doomed to die. I could be by her side over and over again.”

Harrison’s words pierced your heart, you pushed the tears back. The ache in your heart throbbed at a greater rate. At least… he had the power to return to his someone… The genius saw the haunting dejection in your eyes, the way your shoulders quivered as you tried to keep yourself together. He regretted the words that left his mouth…

“Do as you please,” you whispered, loosening your grip on his jacket to let him go. The darkness dissipated as you walked back to your perch with pocketed hands. “I’m done begging…” You mumbled to yourself so quietly that he didn’t catch your last statement. A tear left your eyes as you stood tall where you once sat.

“Good-bye,” Harrison murmured to the wind drifting in your direction before turning and leaving. A part of him felt torn by the things he had spat at you. What’s done is done. I doubt I’ll be back here any time soon. Clenching and unclenching his hand, Harrison shut his eyes and summoned his powers to pass through time. Tess, I’m coming home.

“Good-bye, Harrison.” Another tear fell, this time you wiped it as the night continued. He was gone. They were gone. You were alone, once again spectacularly alone and cold.

The pieces are all in place. The time has come…

Time still ticked as seconds went bye. A voice whispered at the back of your mind; the presence residing there since his exorcism. The one that kept you company through all this.

“It’s time, my queen.”

Checkmate

[when-they-write-stuff]

So I actually wrote this! I’ve never written dark!Sterek before, but I saw the gifset and couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy <3

THREE DAYS, FOUR HOURS, AND twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles realized what happened nine minutes after his pack was taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead at the countdown of three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes.

To Stiles, though, time blurred. It was a stain of colors, a snarl at the back of his throat, and the faintest ringing in his ears that made him feel like he was losing his mind all over again.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. It was the longest Stiles had ever been alone.

He was greeted by gunshots first.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. A boy who grew up surrounded by wolves, an emissary to a bunch of wild animals. There were rumors about what rested behind the amber of his eyes, but few people chose to believe them. Because he was scrawny, he was human, and it seemed like easy pickings when a group of hunters chose to go after the crumbling pack.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. And that that always been the easiest way to lure in unsuspecting prey.

He was greeted by gunshots first. The screams that followed were a welcome sound he hadn’t heard for far too long.

There was something about the smell of gunpowder in the air, the feeling of blood on his fingertips, and the taste of ash in his mouth that made Stiles feel alive. He could be wrapped in the darkest shadows or walking through the heat of a blazing fire and the smile on his face would never waver. At a first glance, he was nothing but a boy. A weakling. But to the hunter watching him tear through their ranks without even blinking, it was like hell had become a place on Earth.

The hunter’s name was Col Henderson. And he hadn’t wanted to take the job in the first place.

Beacon Hills was a shell of what it used to be. At first, Col hadn’t even believed the rumors were true. The rumors saying there was still a werewolf pack patrolling its borders, that is. He’d been hunting since he was old enough to carry a gun and at this point in his life, he wanted a challenge. Something to make him smile when the beast went down; something to make him feel proud when the light faded from the monster’s eyes.

The Hale pack had been fairly easy to round up. Most of them were feral to the point of being wild animals anyway.

It was the emissary that remained elusive.

“A bunch of mutts,” he told the man at his side, listening to the distant sound of snarling wolves from another part of the compound. “Good for nothing but a bullet between the eyes.”

The hunter only grunted, looking tired. And honestly, Col couldn’t blame him. They were all tired. The emissary had yet to come for his pack and they’d been sitting around all day, waiting for something that didn’t seem to exist.

Until the sun touched the tips of the trees, that is. 

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Col first saw him when the compound doors slammed open. He was on his feet in a second, loaded rifle held tightly in his hands. The already dying lights above his head flickered and briefly went out— and when they came back on, a lone figure stood in the compound’s entrance. His head was head tilted slightly and his eyes practically glowed against the faint darkness.

There was a dull spark in them that held nothing but the last remnants of humanity. Humanity that had been clinging to the boy for years now, though that hadn’t mattered for a long time now.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. One that sent a chill down Col’s spine.

“Emissary,” someone breathed. And Col didn’t even realize the word had come from his mouth until amber eyes fixed on where he stood. The boy raised an eyebrow.

“My pack,” he said. “I want them back.”

There was a loud click as the man next to Col loaded his gun. The emissary’s attention immediately snapped to him and Col almost sagged to the floor, suddenly aware of each breath that he had been holding.

“You're going to give my pack back,” the emissary said again, the smile slipping from his lips. He took a step forward and immediately, every gun was trained on him. The boy paused, eyes flashing, but it didn’t seem to be out of fear. 

No, there was a new look on his face, replacing the amused one that had been there previously.

It was cold and dangerous. The bags under his eyes seemed to darken, holding the exhaustion of each day that he’d been without his pack. Around him, the shadows grew as the softness of his face hardened.

“No?”

In the distance, one of the wolves yelped. Loudly.

And just like that, the spark of humanity in the emissary’s eyes flicked out.

Col had faced a lot of beasts in the past. He’d gone after born wolves and those newly turned. He’d taken down a dozen packs and faced an alpha that nearly ripped him to shreds. Col told his blissfully ignorant friends that he hunted deer and then went home to a list full of names— one of every monster he’d ever killed.

He’d seen a lot over the years. But nothing added up to the boy that stood in front of him, eyes turning to stone as he caught the sound of his feral pack in the distance.

Once more, the lights overhead blinked out. But this time, they didn't turn back on. In a moment, the silence had turned to gunshots, gunshots turned to screams. And dammit, Col hadn’t even wanted to take this job in the first place.

He stumbled back, pulling his walkie from its clip on his belt.

“Backup! We need backup!”

Static was his answer. Col stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to get as far away from the screams of his fellow hunters as fast as he could. There were things he’d heard about the Hale pack’s emissary, but he’d never imagined any of them were true. In fact, he'd laughed at 'exaggeration of it all.

The job of an emissary was to keep the pack connected to themselves, to their humanity. Col hadn’t thought much of the feral pack they’d put in chains but this boy seemed to be even less human than all of them combined. Less than the alpha who had nearly bitten Col’s head off, less than the betas who had snapped and snarled the entire way to captivity.

In his panic, Col stumbled over his own feet and fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding somewhere across the floor. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and when he looked over his shoulder, all that was left were bodies.

The one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski stood among them. His eyes raked over the entire room, not a single emotion on his face. Then, they snapped to where Col had fallen and that smile from earlier tugged at the corners of his mouth once again.

Col shoved himself up and turned, running faster than he ever had into the depths of the compound.

They had come to Beacon Hills with an even number of eighteen hunters. When Col turned the corner, stumbling to a stop as a dozen guns aimed in his direction, there was some part of him that wondered if even double that would be enough.

“Henderson?”

“Don’t shoot, dammit!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed off the cement floor. Col’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned around.

“You took my pack,” the emissary said, turning the corner. “Now I’m gonna take them back.”

Col retreated back behind the line of guns. The emissary’s gaze traveled over them all and his eyes darkened. He took a step forward, ignoring the tightening of every finger around the trigger.

“It’s doesn’t matter how many of there you are,” he said, words almost a snarl. He moved closer— Col started to tremble. “I’m going to kill every single one of you until I find them. Do you understand me?”

“Stand down, boy!”

“Do you understand me? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if I have to!”

Someone fired. Sparks flew.

Somewhere in the distance, one of the wolves howled.

It happened too quickly. Col scrambled for his spare pistol and a crackle of electricity filled the air. Something was burning, the smell like a sour acid began to fill his nose. Col's eyes burned, his hands were shaking too hard to get a proper hold on his gun as he scrambled back away from the fighting. It was like a nightmare brought to life and when he managed to make himself look back, the sight that awaited him was even worse.

The emissary’s eyes were brighter than fire. The air around him swam with the shadows and his face was so pale, it was like the blood drained right out. Distant howls collided with the chaos in the air and Col momentarily flashed back to his latest kill— a young omega, newly bitten. She’d looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper and it had made him feel powerful. Being the predator always did.

For the first time in his life, Col Henderson knew what it was like to be the prey.

The emissary flicked his wrist and Col slammed up against the nearest wall, losing all ability to breathe as the boy approached. There was something about him. Something darker than night, colder than death. 

“Big bad hunter. Where is my pack?”

Struggling for breath, Col managed to point down the hallway. The boy followed his gaze and then hummed.

“Thank you.”

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles had realized what happened to his pack nine minutes after they were taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes ago.

The clock continued to count— three seconds on the timer. Col looked at the emissary like he was the Grim Reaper.

And at second one, the boy smiled.

-

An emissary’s main job had always been to keep a pack connected to their humanity. However, as a group of bold hunters learned the hard way after capturing a bunch of feral werewolves known as the Hale pack, the one known as Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, barely had any humanity in himself to begin with.

There was a hum under his breath as he released his pack one by one. The betas first and his alpha right after them, whose eyes glowed red as he barely contained a series of whines. The second the chains were off, clawed fingers latched onto Stiles's arms and sharp fangs skated up the side of his neck. Stiles smiled, tracing bloodstained fingers through Derek’s hair.

“It's okay. I'm here now.”

Warm breaths snuffled against his skin. “That was stupid.”

“I know.”

“And dangerous.”

“But so fun.”

Derek drew back, his attention zeroing in on a darkening red patch right underneath Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

"Only a little."

"Does it hurt?"

“They took my pack,” Stiles said, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “Isn’t a little agony worth it?”

The red of the alpha’s eyes burned even brighter. Derek growled and pulled him into a hungry kiss— one that promised a much more thorough examination later. The man's lips were a little cracked and Stiles could taste blood. Humming at the back of his throat, he kissed Derek harder.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack. The longest he'd ever been alone.

But he wasn't anymore.

They left the bodies as a warning to anyone who dared cross the Hale pack again. 

[behindtherobinsmask]

tagged by @runnfromtheak

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten stories. See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. I write the most random things so if you can actually find a pattern then... let me know. Help a fool out. 

P.S. - I know it says opening line and not paragraph but come on, that doesn’t do any story justice.

Gonna do my tags before because this turned out to be longer than expected - @elwon @stevieraebarnes @epistemologys 

1. All The Times Damian Wayne Felt Loved 

This was a birthday fic I wrote for a darling friend of mine. The whole time I was writing this my biggest fear was that the characters were going to... just not be right. Still have that fear.

“Gripping onto a pillow, Damian walked down the dark halls of his grandfather’s house, uncertainty clouding every step that he made. At this hour of the night, no one seemed to be around yet he could feel eyes watching his every move. The eyes of the stars in the sky, the moon and the many trained soldiers that had years of practice when it came to blending into the shadows. It was their presence that forced him to walk with his head held high, to bat away the tears in his eyes and pretend that everything was alright. Pretend that he wasn’t afraid.”

2. To all the stars that are listening

Another birthday fic (maybe that was the pattern all along jk). I actually really enjoyed writing this fic because I felt like I was back in my zone (my zone being angst). Can’t wait to get started on the second part.

“Dick’s life had been anything but ordinary since he was a child. As someone who grew up in the circus, his morning was spent studying with the other kids that travelled with his troupe while in the afternoon, he practiced with his heart and soul to fly as beautifully as his parents. In the nights, he’d stand on the sidelines and watch them perform, absolutely awed by the way their bodies moved, each twist, each turn so seamless, every difficult stunt seemed easy in their skin. Clinging onto the edge of the tent, he wished with all his heart that someday, he could be just like them. A bird freed. With every wish, his voice grew louder and louder until somewhere, up above, a star heard his cry. It heard his desire to be free. The chains that grounded him slowly slipped away and he flew with practiced grace. And just as Dick spread his wings, his parents fell. Birds flightless.

Freedom he had asked for and freedom he had received.”

3. Come here, won’t you hold my hand?

Listen, I spend hours of my life playing genshin impact. Did you really think I wouldn’t write a fic for it? 

“After chasing the traveler away, Xiao sighed, wondering if now was the time to head back to Wangshu Inn. There he could stay away from the harbour and its people, away from the wishes made on stars that could never hear them, away from their fragile happiness that he could shatter with a single touch. Someone like Xiao, so burdened with sins, could never mingle among the mortals without bringing harm. Wherever he went, only misery ever followed. But even though he knew that it would be best for him to leave, a part of him, as silly as it was, worried that the journey back would make him miss out on the opportunity to see an old friend. While he never attended the Lantern Rite in Liyue, he always made sure to catch a glimpse of the Mingxiao lantern that always honored the adepti. It was only at that moment that he could lose himself to the past momentarily and remember a time when he wasn’t so alone, when his battle wasn’t only his to fight.”

4. Jon Kent Must Die

A jaydick flashfic challenge gave birth to this crack series and I will happily go down with this ship. I’ve written too many of these and maybe, in the future I’ll write more. Who will stop me? God? I don’t think so. 

“Damian was sick and tired of his siblings.

Never had he met two people who were so dependent on their partners that they needed them around 24/7. It didn’t matter whether it was day or not, whether they were at the manor or in their respective homes, wherever his brothers went, their fool boyfriends seemed to follow. The obligatory family dinner had been turned into a circus with Todd’s usual clownery that had Damian rolling his eyes so hard that sometimes he was afraid they’d just pop out of his skull. Kent was no better. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had encouraged Todd’s rambling as though he was God’s chosen prophet, sharing his truth with the world. Damian really wished, just for a day, the two of them would simply go away. It wasn’t that he missed his siblings or anything. He just wished to have a conversation with Richard that didn’t end with him wanting to stab someone. Hopefully a 5’11 man with black hair with a streak of white and deep green eyes that could find a conspiracy in Titus’s preferred pose for napping.”

5. I wanna be in your arms by the sea (studying your freckles so curiously)

Yes. It’s another genshin impact fic. Sue me. (Please don’t I’m broke).

“Every night, Zhongli saw the same dream.

Caressed by the gentle winds of the Guili plains, he watched over his people, Guizhong’s people as they lived in prosperity, enjoying the calm and gentle wind that wrapped around them. Serenity was a blessing and they had an abundance of it. In the beginning, when Guizhong had described such a scene, something knit carefully in her imagination, he had not believed her. But now that he was seeing with his own two eyes, he was glad that he had agreed to her terms. Glad that he had formed a contract that had been beneficial for all.”

6. I stay up late and talk to the moon (And I can’t stop telling her all about you)

A christmas exchange fic that I loved writing because it really got me back into the writing for jaydick. It had been a while since I touched anything fandom related. Then this story happened. 

“According to Jason, there weren’t many things that Bruce really got right. Not with his rules that could never be bent for anyone or his sickeningly righteous sense of justice. But if there was one thing Bruce excelled in, it was throwing the world’s most boring party ever. Every event that ever took place in the Wayne manor was the same. Classical music. Champagne flutes. Appetizers that could never replicate Alfred’s cooking and finally, the same old rich folks of Gotham who needed to be filled in on the latest gossip lest they melt into a puddle.”  

7. Now I’m going down on you (proving what I want is true) Who told me I could write smut? Please take away my license. “Click. Click. Click. With a heavy sigh, Dick switched off the TV and tossed the remote aside after an hour of clicking through the channels, unable to find anything that would keep his mind occupied. Two weeks ago, during a drug bust with the rest of the bats, Dick had suffered an injury to his shoulder which he considered rather minor. But Alfred and Barbara said otherwise as he was benched until he healed, his own city taken over by other vigilantes while he was forced to sit at home and entertain himself with murder mysteries with plot twists he saw coming from a mile away. Unfortunately, even when he hit the gym to let go of some restless energy, he could only do the most basic of workouts, the kind that simply weren’t enough for someone who was so used to being active all day long.”

8. Wayne Boys Unsolved

Another crack fic that I really enjoyed writing. Poor Yvonne though. She was really suffering. 

“Yvonne’s body was thrumming with excitement as she peeked out the window of her room, her eyes falling on the black car that just pulled up in front of her house. Four boys stepped out, ones that she was so very familiar with. After all, she had spent many nights watching every single video they uploaded on their blog. They were paranormal investigators of sorts, the kind that didn’t believe in the supernatural and lived to debunk the stories that revolved around each haunted location. Because people loved to watch them so, both alive and dead, the boys had become famous in every circle possible.”

9. You make me wanna die (I’m burning up in the light)

Another birthday fic and the first dark story I ever wrote. Writing this was fun but also nerve-wracking. 

“I think we need a break.

Two years, three months, four days and seven hours. That was how long it had been since Jason had said those words to Dick, sitting in the middle of the bed they shared, silk sheets pooled around his scarred waist, the white of his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, droplets of it swimming down his throat and across his bare chest that was bruised red with bite marks, across the autopsy scar that he had been reborn with. He looked like a picture, each feature painted so delicately with colours that pulled, that hypnotised and drowned. The fingers of his right hand flexed, parted and then brushed across the back of his neck, tracing the bond mark that tied him down to Dick, shuddering slightly under the imprint, his heady scent spreading across the room like a drug. Strong, so fucking strong that Dick could still taste it on his tongue. Looking like that, after everything they had done, when he opened his mouth, when he said the words that had been sitting on the tipping of his tongue, it was only to end everything that they were.”

10. Come fire up the night (make me feel alive)

Who told me I could write smut (2)

“Staring at the ceiling of his apartment, Dick lay in his bed, tired but unable to fall asleep, the ticking of the clock haunting him. Tick. He took in a deep breath. Tock. He closed his eyes. Tick. He tried to sleep. Tock. Every memory of Jason came rushing back to him. The dark hair with a streak of white that framed his chiselled face. The plump lower lip that he often dreamt about kissing, pulled between his teeth until Jason was groaning. The freckles that were scattered across his nose and cheeks. Those deep green orbs that gleamed with mischief, teasing and taunting, burning with unbridled fury, one look enough to make Dick’s knees tremble. And as goosebumps spread across his arms, he found himself waking up, lest he did something that he knew he would regret. Like calling up Jason and confessing feelings that were better left unspoken, buried in a special graveyard from which there would be no sudden resurrections.”

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hurts to be Human: Chapter 1

Here’s the link to the: Prologue 

Shout out to @songforhema for helping me out XD 

Summary: Bucky and you had struggled for a while, maintaining a less than healthy relationship before finally deciding that maybe simply wanting someone isn’t enough anymore. So what happens when time passes, people change, but feelings never leave? (Bucky and Reader eventually get back together!)

Warnings: Cussing, references to a negative past, fluff

Also! I’m going to be doing my best to post gifs that have something to do with a particular moment in the chapter. So yeah, have fun!

Chapter One — Time Heals All Wounds? I Call Bullshit.

“Hey, Y/N, when you’re done with that table, you can go home.”

She looked up, a relieved smile appearing. It made the corners of her eyes crinkle sweetly. Normally Y/N was the last person to leave, locking up and putting everything away because he trusted her to not break anything. However, there was one day once a month where he let her leave early so she could get a goodnight’s rest for her morning session. It was a relief, in all honesty, having someone like a boss who understood that mental health was just as important as her job. And Michael? He was like that dorky dad kids would normally get embarrassed by, trying to keep up with the times and tell “relevant” jokes. Still, she found herself staring at his appearance, struggling to get used to his shaved head and glasses. It was a recent change and after knowing him as the guy with the silver ponytail and goatee, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “Thanks, Mikey!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Y/N laughed before turning her attention back to her customers, she offered that warm smile and Southern charm that she’d learned and developed over her years in this town. It provided better tips for her and usually, the customers were friendly, so it came almost naturally to her. Any assholes normally got the boot from the big guy. “So what can I get for you guys?”

Click!

The sound of her key turning in the lock signaled her arrival back to the apartment. Four years and even after all this time she still couldn’t bring herself to call the place home. It didn’t feel right. Kicking the door shut behind her, she didn’t bother turning on the lights, instead simply relying on the moonlight streaming through the window. “H.D.,” you called, dropping your bag on the kitchen counter. “Here, kitty, time for dinner.” The little runt of a kitten was something she’d found in the apartment when she’d first moved there. Its two faces, one half pitch black and the other a vibrant orange, reminded her of her favorite comic villain — Harvey Dent. Why she named the cat after a villain, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it stuck. H.D. stuck with her, never warming up to any guests that came by. She was a ferocious little beast. Setting her bowl on the counter, Y/N filled it with wet food and set it on the counter, confused as to why the cat hadn’t made an appearance yet.

“Don’t you think this middle-of-nowhere town is a bit of a step down from New York?”

Immediately Y/N reached into the drawer next to her, grabbing her gun and aiming at where the voice had come from. Across the bar, hiding in the living room’s shadows on a recliner was none other than Nick Fury. In his hands was a content H.D. purring as if there was no tomorrow. A knowing smirk was on Fury’s features as H.D. looked up. A small meow escaped the feline as if she was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch, Agent Y/L/N.”

Y/N knew Fury wasn’t a threat. She knew he wouldn’t be here unless there was a reason. However, even knowing that, she didn’t lower the gun. She had walked away from his neck of the woods years ago and had no intention of going back. “You always hide out in women’s apartments?” Raising an eyebrow, she watched as H.D. hopped out of Fury’s arms and crossed the room, her target being the food that Y/N had laid out for her.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not really. How are you, Y/L/N?”

“I was doing just fine until about two minutes ago.” They studied one another, calculating each possible move that could be made in the next few moments. When she didn’t see him reach for a weapon, didn’t see him make a call for help, she lowered the gun. “What are you even doing here, Fury?”

“I’ve had Maria keep tabs on you.”

“Of course you have.” There was no surprise there. Fury liked having an eye on the whole deck of cards. Whether she had quit or not, she had the training and know-how to be a potential threat. Still, it unnerved her to know that he had gone so far as to pay a personal visit.

“How’s therapy?”

Through gritted teeth, “Fine.”

“Nightmares?”

Fist clenched, “I have coping mechanisms.”

“Healthy ones?” He took her silence as a yes. “Your anxiety attacks?”

Shoulders tensed. “Maintained.”

“Suicidal thoughts?”

The air grew tense. Why was he skirting around his reasons for being here? Why was he talking to her as if they’d been friends all this time? “What is this about?”

Fury studied her. “You seem healthier.” He had to make sure it was true, that Maria wasn’t feeding him false information by accident.

“Guess the country does wonders for the brain.”

He laughed. “I call bullshit on that. You’re a city girl, Y/N. Always have been.”

“People change.”

“No. They don’t.” Oh, she wanted to punch him. But maybe it was right. Maybe this was why she couldn't convince herself even after all this time that this wasn't home. “They get better, sure. Healthier, stronger, or the opposite, but that sort of thing? Not so much.”

“Is this some fucked up doctor’s visit?”

“Not at all. I have a mission for you.” He made it sound so simple, so matter of fact. That was Fury though. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Her mind drifted to the team, the Avengers. They had been her family for almost three years. Then… She shook her head, not wanting to think about that one particular guy. Every time, her heart sped up in a way that made her wish she never left. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“Maybe not, but you still got it.” He was hiding something. She could tell. “They need you.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Y/N,” he muttered, rolling his eye. Fury took a seat and leaned back, crossing his right leg over his left knee. She knew that move, that lean. This wasn’t just a boss coming to give orders, but a friend asking for help. “They have faced Loki, Ultron, Hydra, each other, and Thanos twice…Each time they barely made it and that’s a little unsettling for a man like me. Over those years people have come and gone and you are one of them. However, the reason you left wasn’t that you weren’t cut out for the superhero gig.”

“I wasn’t —“

He kept talking as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It was because you needed to take care of yourself. And that’s fine, I understand and can certainly respect it. I don’t know many people that would have taken the steps you did. Hell, Stark didn’t.”

“He tried.”

“He couldn’t,” Fury corrected. “But all that being said, the Avengers have been a fractured bunch for a while. Wanda and Vision are doing their own thing. Banner is enjoying retirement on a beach somewhere.” She chuckled, appreciating that Bruce took that chance. “Thor and Danvers are off-world and don’t need to be around for everything.” His voice trailed off, showing he was running out of options.”

“T’Challa?”

“Is there if we call, but he’s a bit busy running a kingdom. I’d rather not call him in if I can help it. As for his sister, she visits frequently to help with new tech.”

“Strange?”

“I dealt with Stark’s attitude for years. I’d rather not do the same with him.”

“Okay,” she muttered, setting the gun on the counter and shoving her hands in her back pockets. “There’s still more, Fury. Peter? Scott?”

“Both are Avengers, but Parker’s a minor. He’s not around as much as he could be in the future. Scott works with what he can, helps often, but the man does have a daughter.”

“Same with Clint,” which meant he wasn’t an option either. “Sharon?”

“Recruited already.”

“Then why do you need me?”

Fury watched her curiously, knowing she was running out of people to list off. He’d never force Y/N to come back to the Avengers. She’d fought her skeletons for years just to get to this point. She was happy, whole without having to use anyone as a crutch. He wouldn’t allow himself to take that away from her when he’d known her almost as long as he’d known agents like Hill, Barton, and Romanov. He’d already lost one of those agents, but Fury wouldn’t let himself lose any more. Not if he could help it. But watching her, he could tell she was itching to come back. Her instincts weren’t all that rusty. All she needed was a chance to get back in. So now was time for the pitch. “Your guys are struggling.” She flicked as he referred to them as hers, looking away and running her fingers through H.D.’s fur. “It seems the government is making another attempt to rid the world of Wilson’s role”

“He isn’t Captain America. Hell, he’s insisted he isn’t.”

“Dons the shield, gets the name. That’s how everyone’s looking at it at least.”

“Get Sharon and Peggy to take care of it.”

“I would, but” he trailed off, earning more of her attention. That could only mean one thing.

“What did Bucky do?”

Disbelief rang clear in his voice as he asked, “Do you not watch tv?”

“Nope. It isn’t recommended to me. You know, all things considered.”

He could understand that. It seemed every channel was talking about the next awful thing or the latest bombing or some form of violence. She didn’t need to have something that filled her brain with 24/7 negativity that she would feel responsible for. “Barnes hasn’t done anything yet. He’s been doing a lot better.” Fury noticed how she smiled but chose not to say anything. For now. “That being said, we have people like that Quentin Beck guy coming out and tarnishing the Avengers name.”

“And since Bucky has his history, all eyes are on him?”

“You know how he handles the pressure.”

“Still don’t see how does this include me.”

“You’re the face everyone associates with Bucky’s first glimpse of growth. Every press junket, every interview, you were there. It became this whole thing where one of you was always associated with the other. You keep, not only Barnes but also Wilson in check. That is something we desperately need right now.” He sighed softly. Here goes nothing. “We think there’s another guy like Quentin lurking around, biding his time till one of these guys makes a mess we can’t cover-up. Then —“

“The hero ‘Captain America’ gets forced into retirement and out comes a new ‘hero.’”

Fury nodded, glad that he was talking to someone who fully understood his concerns. “Exactly.” Sharon had argued with him when Fury had mentioned bringing Y/N into this, thinking it might be worse for her and the soldier back in New York. Watching Y/N now, he could feel in his gut that he was making the right call. “There have been calls, videos, photos — you name it and the press has had it. Their reputations are getting tarnished, but this isn’t exactly something that requires all the heroes on my contact list.”

Wry smile in place, she shook her head as she asked, “Just a stubborn former Avenger and agent?”

Fury grinned. There she was. “How’s it sound? Got a deal?”

——

The Avengers Compound felt emptier now that heroes seemed to come and go as if the exit was a revolving door. It was irritating, but something these two men could understand. They continued on their morning run, Bucky easily passing up Sam over and over again. It was getting to the point where Bucky would say, “On your right.”

After hearing it for the fifth time, Sam shouted, “Cut it out, old man!”

“Old man?” Bucky laughed, the belly laugh bursting through him as he grinned from ear to ear. “If that’s the case, why can’t you keep up, Birdbrain?”

Sam growled, fighting every fiber in his being to send Redwing after him. That’d give the soldier a workout, he was certain. “I swear to god, Sharon is going to have to keep me from kickin’ your ass.”

“Gotta catch it first!”

Bucky took off, feeling the burning hole in the back of his head that came from Sam’s intense glare. Yeah, Sam would find some sort of way to get payback, but for now? It was just entertaining as Hell.  “Hey,” Sam shouted after him, slowing down when he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. Answering it, he was confused as to why Sharon was calling him. She knew he’d be on his run. “What’s up, Carter?” He looked at Bucky’s back as the man continued running, a frown appearing as he heard what the woman had to say. “And no one thought that was information we needed to know?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

Hanging up, he saw the jet slowly approaching and tried shouting after the idiot in front of him with a loud, “Hey, Buck!”

Bucky looked up when he heard Sam, brow furrowing when he saw the jet ahead. He slowed down as it landed nearby, both men shielding their faces as the autumn leaves were sent flying through the air. He was confused, knowing that Sharon normally let them know about these sorts of things. What Avenger was paying a visit? As the jet-powered down, he looked at Sam and asked, “You know anything about this?”

“Only about ten seconds ago,” Sam grumbled, irritated not at Bucky, but rather at being left in the dark. He looked over his shoulder as Sharon came outside. It was clear she was trying to keep her face void of emotion, but he knew her. She was just as concerned for the man standing next to him as he was. “Maybe you should head inside, Buck. Sharon and I got this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, turning away from the jet to focus instead on his friend. He knew Sam was concerned and there was cause for it. It had taken a while for Bucky to make progress in therapy and took an even longer time to get him to this level of ease. Assuring him, Bucky explained, “Sam, I’m not nearly as much of an ass as I used to be. I can handle greeting an Avenger.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Sam winced as Bucky looked back, the sound of Fury’s voice catching him off guard. However, that feeling was nothing compared to when he saw who was standing just behind the spy. He felt his stomach churn as if a bunch of butterflies took off simultaneously. His heart twisted, beating so loudly that he could hear it in his ears. Fingers fidgeting, he clenched them into fists as he took a shaky breath and tried to keep himself from running. Towards where his gaze was fixated on or in the opposite direction, he wasn’t sure. But either way, there she was, walking straight towards him.

Y/N.

On top of her head was a pair of sunglasses, her hair cut in a style he had never seen her try before. Where she had developed an eating disorder during their last months together, she looked healthy now. She was practically glowing, that sparkle in her eyes back where it belonged. Time worked in her favor and suddenly he found himself feeling extremely self-conscious.

“Hey there, Y/N/N,” Sam teased, unable to keep himself from smiling when he saw her. While he didn’t appreciate this being thrown at them out of the left-field, he would be one of the first to admit that he missed having Y/N fighting alongside them.

“Hey, Sammy.” She grinned and Bucky felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. That smile made the whole world seem brighter, better. A part of him, a big part of him, wished she’d smile at him like that. Her gaze shifted to him, bright smile dimming, but still just as sweet.

Fidgeting from one foot to the other.

Biting the corner of her lip.

Fiddling with the strap of the duffel hanging off her shoulder.

He knew her tells. She was nervous.

“Hey, Y/N.” He smiled and noticed how her shoulders almost immediately relaxed.

“Hey, Buck.” There was a moment of silence before she pointed to his head. “You cut your hair.”

He felt his cheeks burning, clearing his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah, I did.”

“It looks good.”

Sam looked from one to the other. If he could raise his eyebrow any more, it would be on top of his head. These two… Looking at Y/N, he gestured to the cage in her left hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” She looked down at the cage and that smile of hers came back. “This is H.D.”

“A cat?” The boys asked the question at the same time, equally confused. When Y/N was part of their team, she didn’t want an animal. She thought they were too dependent on people, too needy. Now, not only did she have an animal, but she was carrying it with her like it was family.

Bucky was curious. He had to ask, “What made you get a cat?”

“It’s — Um, it’s kinda a long story.”

She readjusted her bag and Fury said, “You two can catch up with her later. Sharon?” The boys looked behind them, not realizing that Sharon had made her way to stand only a couple feet behind them. “Can you take Y/L/N to her room?”

“Yeah, of course. Come on, Y/N.”

“See you later, boys.” She walked between them, her shoulder bumping Bucky’s. It seemed the touch was registered not only by him but also by Y/N. He noticed how she quickened her steps, determined to create as much distance between them as possible.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she walked was similar to the girl he’d first met. Each step was filled with that same confidence, but there seemed to be something else, something more. He just didn’t understand it. Scratching the back of his neck, he couldn’t help but grumble to himself, “I thought the time was supposed to heal all wounds.”

Sam watched him, that all-knowing smirk resting almost lazily on his lips as he glanced from Bucky to Y/N and back again. Shaking his head, he knew this was going to be a lot of trouble. Part of him was hopeful, wanting the two to find a way to grow and work things out. The other? The other was more realistic, knowing the odds weren’t exactly in anyone’s favor. Watching Bucky out of his peripheral vision, he told him, “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that.”

Chapter Two - Can We Pretend

[makeste]

1)Makeste, been reading over your latest all for one/one for all theory post, and while I think it’s intriguing, I was a bit confused over how you seemed to think that (SPOILERS POTENTIALLY) if One for All really is a more benevolent take on All For One’s Quirk- literally the same power, but used in a different way more befitting of a hero, then that meant Deku couldn’t still be All For one’s potential offspring anymore. For me, your theory actually seemed to inform this perspective, and now I

(note: once again I’ve taken all of the asks and merged them all together for greater readability, so here’s the rest.)

...and now I think it’s even more likely that deku could be a secret son and heir to All For One.

(...actually, I’m putting the rest of the ask and my response under the cut -- this got way longer than I intended lol.)

One thing that’s common amongst those ‘gifted’ with multiple quirks is that to even be capable of holding more than 1 power set, you need to have your body modified to be able to withstand the strain of more than one quirk- and thus differing bio-energies and mutations needed to properly utilise them clashing with each other within your body- if your body’s not capable of handling the pressure, it’s hinted that the damage could potentially result in a similar situation to someone eating more than 1 devil fruit in One Piece I.e you’re geography(in that you are now literally part of the landscape in the immediate area, floors and walls included, which must be hell for Ujiko to mop up afterwards) however, there are three exceptions to this- Giganto, All For One and Midoria, all of whom can wield multiple quirks, apparently in harmony with each other without suffering the negative side effects that the rest of the populace must go through to be even capable of doubling their own powers, never mind that it’s mostly involuntary and unwilling on most of the participants.

All For One goes without saying, since his body is hinted to be naturally capable of housing a ridiculous amount of Quirks, perhaps as a side effect of lacking his own ‘true’ power, but Giganto is another story- he’s the only other one we’ve seen to be capable of holding multiple powers naturally, but it’s hinted this is only because his quirk or his body structure lets him absorb/endure whatever damages normally result for wielding multiple quirks at once, and he’s still somewhat affected by the strain of it anyway. His mind is capable of rational thought, making his own decisions depending on the situation, and holding memories of his past life, all things none of the Nomu can preform- however, in exchange, it’s clear that what mind he does have isn’t very bright, as he’s easily manipulated by ujiko using just a recording of All For One’s voice, acts in a animalistic fashion, ignores social conventions like wearing clothes, and seems to have lost his humanity in exchange for overwhelming strength, ensuring he can never be a part of normal society, even though he doesn’t actually look that weird compared to some other mutations we’ve seen walking about in broad daylight.

In contrast, Midoria, despite only being capable of wielding 20% of One for All, is already starting to utilise and adapt the various powers within the quirk without any mental or physical drawbacks, beyond the teething problems of suddenly developing a new power that has different requirements to his current move set, and his fear at going though changes no-one else has, whereas All Might, even after mastering the physical aspect to its ultimate limit, never even had a hint that he could do more than just punch creatively. Part of this may be the whole spiritual thing, part of it may be that the quirk’s ‘physical’ development wasn’t exactly ready for use in that manner, but frankly, I think it means Izuku’s body is somehow, despite being naturally quirkless, suited for using multiple quirks, allowing him to wield different interlocking powers without losing any of his sanity or humanity, unlike Giganto, but exactly like somebody else.

I think I once wrote up a little mini- statement about how Izuku was more fitting as a Good Counterpart of All For one than All Might, who was simply too opposite of the symbol of evil to have any point in common beyond the role as an opposing symbol of peace. Having the exact same power as his father, and in fact being able to wield that power to the fullest extent beyond what even his mentor or the previous generations of heroes could, precisely because of his inherited genes being from someone naturally predisposed to absorb and utilise multiple quirks at once without suffering any side effects only deepens that connection between the two.

In fact, if Izuku is his son, then it means that he technically inherited his uncle’s- the ‘first’ wielder- recessive genes, being skipped over entirely by the genetic lottery just like his long-dead, yet still resurrected uncle was compared to their shared family member’s power, which wouldn’t be the only thing Izuku has in common with the siblings. Izuku’s analytical mind allows him to understand a lot about the conditions and limitations behind any quirks he witnesses in action, allowing him to formulate counter strategies like we saw in Miro’s spar, or even utilise those very same quirks to his advantage later. All For One Demonstrates a similar analytical appreciation towards quirks, though his come with the intent of understanding the power and the reasoning behind whether or not it would be beneficial for him to steal it for himself, his subordinates or turn his person of interest into a nomu. They both seem to have a mind and body capable of wielding greater strength than those around them through multiple abilities, and it seems that as Midoria gains greater control over his varied abilities, he somehow gets mentally closer to All For One, though only AFO seems to be aware of this, perhaps due to his greater expertise with their ‘shared’ quirk. Actually, if Izuku is indeed his son, and your theory is correct, then that means Izuku went through the world’s most convoluted method of inheriting his parent’s quirk, going through 10 generations and a childhood of alienation to get to the same starting point as his peers.

But yeah, to sum up, the fact that Izuku is so ‘normal’ now, despite gaining a power that we’ve seems physically and mentally ruin anybody else who had it, save one other, makes me think that Izuku may still be connected to All For One on a far deeper level than anybody else realises. Which of course means that Izuku gets the angst of being the son of his greatest nemeses, harbouring the soul, mind and powers of his greatest nemeses, and potentially being alienated from every hero in the world of the extent of this connection gets out, and everybody starts seeing him as All For One 2.0, or a means of the Symbol of Evil resurrecting himself inside a fresh, healthy young body to build his empire again. Angst for days, Boy!

okay, so let me start by saying that I’m not quite sure where this idea (which I’ve seen before) comes from that it takes a specific type of body to handle multiple quirks? from what I recall, the only evidence we’ve seen of that that is All Might’s explanation in chapter 59 about some people being unable to “bear the load” of receiving quirks from All for One. but I thought that was more about them having quirks forced on them than anything else. I got the impression that it was a very invasive and violent thing to do to a person -- basically an assault on their minds -- and that that was what messed them up for the most part. though I could be wrong about that.

one thing I want to note is that you mentioned Gigantomachia as an example of someone who can withstand multiple quirks, but I believe that was a mistranslation on JBox’s and Mangastream’s parts. Viz’s translation, which makes more sense to me, is that Gigantomachia is so strong that he was able to serve as All for One’s bodyguard even without having multiple quirks.

so yeah. I think the clashing translations caused a lot of confusion in this regard, but my current understanding is that Machia is so feared because he has ridiculously OP strength, speed, stamina, durability, etc. even without being modified like the Noumu. he’s just that fucking strong on his own, which is what makes him so impressive.

that being said, how to explain this... my interpretation is that the All for One quirk basically is the ability to withstand multiple quirks (in addition to the whole “granting” and “stealing” thing). like, that’s part of the power. it grants you the ability to handle unlimited quirks. I don’t think DNA or genetics or anything are a requirement for it. while Horikoshi does put a surprising amount of thought into having “realistic” limitations and provisos for his quirks, they’re all still basically magic to some degree. Hawks has feathers that he can telepathically control with his mind. Tokoyami has a sentient shadow that he can partially control and he can use it to fly and it can rip shit apart. Todoroki can produce ice out of literally nothing. Kuroiro can physically interact with the color black. quirks are fucking bonkers and I think we have to bear that in mind to some extent. so while All for One does no doubt have its own specific rules and caveats, I would think it’s still something that still falls under the somewhat phoned-in logical reasoning of “you have this quirk, so your body is now magically capable of handling all other types of quirks regardless of the physical nature of said quirks” with all other logic basically being handwaved accordingly.

I mean, Monoma is also capable of handling multiple quirks, holding at least four at once with no side effects whatsoever, and there doesn’t seem to be anything particular special about his own body. kid’s a goddamn twink. and yet he can “withstand” the strain perfectly fine and even has near-perfect control of his newly acquired quirks pretty much immediately upon borrowing them. he can jump from Kirishima’s hardening to Bakugou’s explosion hands in a split second and turn them off and on at will with no physical repercussions. there’s no scientific explanation for it other than it just being How His Quirk Works. I’d imagine it’s much the same for Deku. the fact that he has multiple quirks now isn’t necessarily an indicator that he must be genetically related to AFO, but what is does indicate is that he most definitely has the same quirk as him, or something very near to it.

none of this means that he can’t still be AFO’s son, mind! but the reason I don’t think it’s likely is because in my view it would come off as a bit clunky. like, from a writing perspective, it’s kind of overkill to have not one, but two overly convoluted explanations for something when just one would suffice. “Deku is AFO’s secret son” and “Deku has the same power as AFO” are both major plot twists each requiring a certain suspension of disbelief in the sense of “so you’re telling me that this kid just happens to be...” like, that’s a lot of coincidence to swallow. and past a certain point, it kind of shifts this from being a story about an ordinary kid who had a turn of fortune one day that turned out to be the start of something epic, into a story about The Son Of The Most Powerful Man In The World, Who Was Always Destined To Defeat Him And Just Never Knew It. which is also a perfectly fine story to tell! but the two ideas do kind of clash with each other, so if your goal is to tell the latter one, it doesn’t really make sense to try and insert elements from the former as well.

lol I don’t know if any of this is making sense. but basically what I’m trying to say is that I think it’s better writing to just pick one or the other. either he has this power because he’s AFO’s son, or he has it because it was passed down to him through OFA. there’s no need for both, and it makes an already complicated story even more complicated. that’s where Game of Thrones started shooting itself in the foot in its later seasons. destiny and twists of fate and such are awesome, but you have to be careful not to go overboard with it or it starts to feel forced. Deku can either be Harry Potter or he can be Luke Skywalker, but both is kind of pushing it. to borrow your phrasing, it would indeed be “the world’s most convoluted method of inheriting his parent’s quirk.” and this is just my own personal preference, perhaps, but I think the story flows better and feels cleaner if it’s just one or the other.

anyway so those are my thoughts thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. sorry for shooting down your very thought-provoking ask!! or at least it feels like I did, sob. but I do enjoy this kind of plot discussion a lot, and it’s also a particularly good way of passing the time while we wait TWO! WHOLE! WEEKS!!! for the next chapter sob so there’s that too, lol.

[mysticpenguincreation]

So I’ve watched (partially) leaked episodes of American Gods and there is no way I’m not gonna post about it.

Clear and explicit spoilers are under the cut, so read away at your own risk.

YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.

This is going to be mainly about the one and only, my love #1 Mad Sweeney.

Before I get down to business, I have to make some points clear.

1. In my opinion, AG is one of the BEST shows to grace our screens in many many long years, because:

It’s based on Neil Gaiman novel.

Storytelling is compelling.

Have you seen the editing? The lights and colors? The camera work?! This shit is AMAZING. There are few things I like more about the shows than good editing and visual aesthetics. And this right here? It’s pure pleasure.

The casting and acting is mind-blowing.

2. I know better than fixate on only one character, because the whole plot, the story in general is so much more than fate of one character (even if they’re the lead).

With that being stated in advance, I would like to clarify that AG is a complex story created through crossing paths of many different characters. It’s not about Mr. Wednesday, it’s not even about Shadow Moon and it’s sure as hell is not about Mad Sweeney.

But the latest was the reason why I was renewing AG and his tags this whole fucking week. So when THREE episodes (INCLUDED the one dedicated to Sweeney) were leaked in my country at three in the morning, I, tired from work and lack of sleep, naturally decided to give middle finger to my master’s thesis and watch them.

Unfortunately, I am no god and have basic human needs, so I’ve only watched parts regarding Sweeney, but I’m sure as hell watching whole episodes later.

And finally to the points:

Episode 2x05.

Sweeney thinking at first that Laura was an angel made me laugh so hard.

She was so fucking jealous of him, when he was flirting with this blonde girl! And then he looked right at Laura!!! He knew what he was doing and it was working!

He was so fucking jealous when this voodoo couple started to get sexy with Laura! Oh how he didn’t like it!

Let me tell you, this scene made me hot all over. He’s savage, huge and built like a brick wall. I’d climb this fine piece of fairy-godlike king any day any time.

At first I was disappointed because ‘THE HELL! So it was JUST the Horde and Sweeney’s deepest desires?! They’re gonna go and fuck different people’. I’d ideally prefer them to fuck each other, at the lack of better option this happening in an orgy, but to become swingers without actually having sex even once? C’mon guys! But my fears were in vain, eventually everything happened the way it should have happened.

Laura is so smol and Sweeney is HUGE. They’re outing my (enormous) size kink / height/built difference kink.

This scene was what I was anticipating since midseason 1 and I FINALLY GOT IT GODDAMIT!

First few seconds of ‘the morning after’ were just too damn hilarious.

Sweeney is not good at dealing with his shit, but Laura confirmed that she is way way worse. She didn’t know how to deal with him, this situation and her (or his for this matter) feelings anymore. So she fled and hurt my ginger giant bb in the process.

Episode 2x06.

There is no Laura or Sweeney in this one, so I skipped through it in like 5 min and understood next to nothing.

HOWEVER! This ep. featured my beautiful love #2 Tech Boy (a sight for sore eyes). In one of his recent interviews Bruce said that Tech Boy is a God of Technology, but technology can be many things. Like for our ancestors a sharp stone fixated on the end of the stick was already a technology. So maybe Tech Boy’s purpose is to renovate and update himself in accordance with the change of times. Maybe ithat’s what let him pass as the “New God”, when in reality he might be one of the oldest of the “Old Gods”. It’s an interesting theory and a glimpse of it is shown in ep. 6 through Tech Boy and Wednesday’s (!!!) common history, but in order to understand it I had to watch it, and now I have to prioritize and simply don’t have time for that. Though, my beautiful Tech Boy, I’m glad that you can show up at the most of unexpected of times and give me feels, when there’s not even one Sweeney within a mile.

Episode 2x07.

WHERE TO BEGIN!

In order to write this AND get some sleep I had to skip some parts of Sweeney’s story too, so please forgive me for any misunderstandings.

Of course I read all the theories based on what was in the book and how it correlated with the story in the show now. I was impatiently waiting and dreading this episode at the same time.

This ep. Sweeney was all about destruction and madness. More so than usual. He was unhinged and I loved him about it.

So much self-loathing. It was so brilliant I couldn’t watch it.

The fact that Sweeney couldn’t remember his own story was just plainly terrifying. When people loose faith in you and forget you it’s one thing. But when you loose faith in yourself so much that you can’t remember who you are anymore is depressing and legitimately scary.

He must have been freaking out of his fucking mind cause of constantly seeing Banshees. He might have told Shadow not to interfere, but he instantly knew that this time these women were crying for him.

I was happy to see that once, long long time ago he was loved. He knew what true happiness was. Even if we had to watch him fall so far (NOT HIS FAULT BY THE WAY).

I loved every single verbal drop about Sweeney caring for (possibility being nuts deep in love with) Laura:

How he couldn’t get it up for hot redheaded voodoo queen until she called him out on it.

How he was broken and laughing madly under this bridge about Laura leaving him AGAIN.

I hate Wednesday guts, but he saw right through Sweeney with this one eye of his. ‘She fucked you, broke your heart and left you’. Cruel, but hit too close to home.

Conversation with Salim. Sweeney: ‘It’s his fight, not yours. You don’t have to die. Just go and leave it all behind’. Salim: ‘No, I’m staying with him’. ‘Why?’ ‘I guess it’s what love is’. ‘Would he have done the same for you if the roles were reversed? What if someone ordered him to kill you? Would he have done that [while loving you]?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Ugh, nothing. Forget it’. Like come on!!! This conversation takes place RIGHT AFTER Wednesday orders Sweeney to “finish his job” and kill Laura for good. Sweeney and Salim are talking about love and loved ones and what they would/wouldn’t have done for them! Sweeney’s implying Laura and love in one sentence! It’s the most explicit articulate closest to confession thing that we got from Sweeney aside from multiple defensive Fuck you’s said to different people and longing glances when she isn’t looking.

Little side note: Salim might be the sweetest person in the world but I wanted to punch him in the face so hard, when he said that it’s pointless to explain the concept of love to someone who’s never felt it. I know that Sweeney was never nice to him, but it’s rich coming from human to go and assume something about a creature that’s walked this Earth for centuries. You don’t know him well enough. So, please, kindly shut up.

(8) The bloodbath scene from times when Sweeney was a god once was just poetic cinema. I was SO looking forward to it when the trailer came out. Barbaric, savage, courageous, spear-throwing, ripping-out-throats-with-bare-teeth, crushing-skulls-with-bare-hands. Just the way I like them👌

(9) Sweeney with ass long red mane dressed in next to nothing but blue paint is the image that burnt into my mind and the reason I was living for.

(10) They fucking did it. They killed him. THEY BROKE ME.

Regarding Sweeney’s death I have QUITE A LOT OF THINGS TO SAY:

I knew it was coming but still hoped they wouldn’t go through with it. As much as it hurts, I respect this decision. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do and cut the cord. Sweeney’s death was in the book. It’s what was necessary for the story to move forward (see point 2 at the beginning of the post). It’s better this way than for his character to be dragged around the story just for fan service (as much as it pains me to admit it, BECAUSE I WANT THIS FAN SERVICE GODDAMIT!).

As far as I know in the book Shadow was indirectly involved in Sweeney’s death. It was honestly the redhead’s fault only. The way he went out was pathetic, so I’m glad that they changed it according with the development of tv character.

Shadow. You fucking gave your word. Not. To. Interfere. Fine, I get it, you’re Wednesday’s man, you have to protect him (even after Sweeney reveled the whole truth, seriously, Shadow?!), BUT DON’T GO POKE AT PEOPLE WITH A GIGANTIC POINTY STICK IF YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO ISE IT!!! I know it was an accident, he didn’t truly MEAN it, but maybe it even makes it worse.

This ‘I’m sorry’, I can’t even discuss it. Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Shadow!!!

I know that people say that Shadow’s speech at Sweeney’s wake is a beautiful part of the book, but with the way things turned out in the show, I don’t think that Shadow deserves to make this speech.

Sweeney, my bb went out like a fucking champ. Ruining old fart’s plans and taking the spear somewhere he can never reach it anymore. My hero ❤️ I hope Wednesday didn’t foresee it and it wasn’t another grand part of his plans. I want Sweeney to fuck him up good. He died because he didn’t want to be Wednesday’s bitch and I wouldn’t want him to be that especially in his death.

I wish Laura could see it with her own eyes. The last big FUCK YOU from Mad Sweeney.

In conclusion:

Mad Sweeney was barely on Old Gods’ side, I bet he would have gone minding his own business if it wasn’t for Wednesday’s debt.

With Sweeney gone now, fuck the Old Gods, I’m going to the New Gods’ side.

But at the same time Tech Boy is “deleted” or “fired��� or whatever.

So basically now, I don’t really give a shit who wins now and who loses. They can kill each other until no one’s left, for all I care.

AG is still great and moving forward.

I’m still interested in the story, but I can’t bring myself to be invested anymore.

SIDE NOTES:

I know better than to hope, but I need a reaction out of Laura regarding Sweeney’s death.

It’ll probably never happen, but I hope Laura will crush Shadow’s nuts.

And spears Mr. Wednesday.

I wonder how Laura’s undead state will be affected now with Sweeney and his horde and his magic gone. Will his lucky coin work the same?

Laura is capable of surviving and protecting herself. She needs no one to do that for her. But Sweeney was ready to run to her, do anything for her as soon as she snapped her fingers. How much will it affect her? Will she appreciate him now?

I might have had some other notes, but I’ve tried for 2,5 hours to carefully and logically arrange this post without insulting any character TOO MUCH and now my brain’s exploding.

Please, feel free to talk to me about the FEELS, because I’m heartbroken and don’t know how to deal with it.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Villainous Heroics - Chapter 5

Ha, well, this chapter got away from me! I had a lot of fun with it, though, so hopefully you all will, too! The first scene is directly inspired by one of the comics that @corndog-patrol did for this AU! For those who are curious immediately, the song is I Can't Decide by the Scissor Sisters. It's a very Villain!Mic song.

Edit - The previous chapters have been edited to where Shota refers to Kayama Nemuri as Nemuri instead of Kayama. This change was due to the fact that I thought Kayama was her first name. Wiki did me wrong, y'all.

Enjoy!

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Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

             <<First/Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

                                              Chapter Five

There were times where every pro hero made mistakes in their career, whether the ensuing results were small or not. Shota remembered the lessons his teachers had given his class when he had attended U.A., and some of them had been grim. There was no saving everyone, there would be battles where one would never be able to learn from the mistakes made, and there would be some mistakes that would be made that could have been preventable.

Shota had become too comfortable and secure in his routine. He knew he had that drawback - as did many other heroes - but he hadn’t expected it to end with him tied to a chair. A little wiggling showed that he wouldn’t be escaping the ropes unless he managed to break the chair or dislocate a shoulder and, considering he didn’t see his capture weapon anywhere, he was hesitant to put himself in a position where he would only be fighting with one hand.

“Well, well… Looks like the infamous Eraserhead can be caught after all.” Glaring up at the man in front of him, Shota narrowed his eyes when he was only met with laughter. “Come on, Eraser, let me have my fun! I’ve been at this for so long now.”

“You know kidnapping a pro hero is an actual act of villainy, don’t you?” Shota glared at where Present Mic was staring at him with a wide grin and crossed arms. For as much annoyance as he felt, he couldn’t really bring himself to feel worried.

“Of course I do! How many times do we have to go over the fact that I, Present Mic, being of sound mind-” Present Mic stumbled over the words when Shota gave a quiet laugh. “Oi! Don’t be mean!”

“Alright. You’ve captured me. Now what?” There was a stretched silence, Shota not surprised when Mic finally broke his gaze. If there was one thing he had learned after all these months, it was that Present Mic couldn’t harm a soul to save his life. He really was such a terrible villain. “What? No plan?”

“Well,” Mic said, drawing the word out before a sharp grin was back. “I could always sing to you, if you want.”

“I don’t.” Shota glanced around the room they were in, wrinkling his nose at seeing it was a drafty, old room that looked to be a part of a closed or condemned building. That just meant he could be anywhere along his usual patrol route, though.  

“Too bad.” That was all it took for Mic, a man born without any sense of shame, to begin singing a song in English that had Shota rolling his eyes. Present Mic, it seemed, was fond of anything in English, but he seemed to speak the language well enough. As he sang, Shota noticed he even had a tinge of an American accent and he wondered if that was a side effect of his quirk or if he had spent time in America. Could he mimic sounds and other voices? That seemed like it would be useful for underground work.

“I’m not a gangster tonight.” The touch of a hand on his shoulder slightly startled Shota, but not enough for him to show it as Mic pranced around him like he was having the time of his life. Shota really shouldn’t be surprised. Present Mic’s ‘debut’ involved forcing people to sing karaoke. “Don’t wanna be a bad guy!

Maybe if Shota avoided eye contact and did his best to pretend, he wasn’t there it would end sooner. He knew enough English to get along, but not enough that he couldn’t tune it out to a background murmur if he wanted – or needed, in this case.

“I’m just a loner, baby.” The hand was on his other shoulder this time and Shota felt how close Mic was. He made sure to not give him the attention he apparently needed to survive. “And now you’ve gotten in my way!”

An arm was around his shoulder, a hand on his chest, and Shota kept his head turned and his gaze as far to the right as possible. He was starting to regret putting up with this man’s behavior when it seemed to have only encouraged him.

“I can’t decide whether you should live or die!” The man was ‘dancing’ around the room and Shota took the chance to at least roll his eyes. One of them was having fun, it seemed. With the distance, though, it did give Shota the chance to notice that Mic wasn’t wearing his typical leather jacket or the speaker system around his neck and was instead in just a plain white shirt. Shota wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. “Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven, please don’t hang your head and cry.”

Huh. Listening to the lyrics, this seemed like a very dark song for someone like Present Mic. Shota wasn’t worried until a heavy leather boot landed between his legs and pressed against the chair he was in, Mic’s arm thrown over his eyes dramatically, “No wonder my heart feels dead inside!”

A sudden push and Shota felt himself fall towards the ground back first. “It’s cold and hard and petrified!” Grunting at the jarring fall, Shota looked up to see that Mic’s boot was still on the same part of the chair and pinning him down, Mic’s smile wide and wicked as he leaned over and pushed up his glasses to give a wink of green eyes that were so bright they almost glowed, “Lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re goin’ for a ride!”

For a single moment, Shota could only feel shock as he stared up at Mic before the man was pushing off and dramatically dancing around the room as he sang the rest of the song. Shota stayed on the ground and his shock quickly turned to embarrassed anger because why the fuck had Present Mic looked, to borrow Nemuri’s words, fuckable.

Right. Shota could have a crisis over this, later. The one thing Mic had neglected to do, it seemed, was check his pockets, and, luckily for him, Shota’s knife was now right near his fingertips.

It took a little under seven minutes for Shota to break his bonds, get Mic to stop his ridiculous singing, and pin the man enough that he could start to handcuff him. He may have put a bit too much force behind a few of his punches, but that’s what the man deserved for frustrating him so badly. Shoat hated that he could already imagine Nemuri’s comments when she found out about this little debacle.

“I wasn’t really going to kill you!” Mic whined, staying still as Shota fit the handcuffs around his wrists. Shota was only a touch amused that the man always gave in and complacently let himself be cuffed once he was pinned and beaten.

“Tell that to the cops, you melodramatic Disney villain.” That amusement was overwhelmingly drowned out by annoyance and anger because Shota was still having an inner crisis. For as much as he insisted the other man wasn’t a villain, he was a criminal at the very least. Shota decided that he wasn’t even going to let his thoughts continue in that direction. It was too embarrassing.

“Boo.” Mic puffed his cheeks out and looked like the social mess he was again. Maybe Shota had been having Stockholm Syndrome symptoms because there was no other way that he had suddenly found Present Mic attractive when Shota had been tied up and unable to move with the man smugly standing over him.

Fuck. Nemuri was going to tease him for years if she ever found out about this. Right. He could never drink around her again.

“Oh, Eraser, your scarf is over in the other room.” Pausing, Shota blinked down at Mic, who gave him a little smile. “I didn’t want to lose it. Steel wire alloy woven with carbon nanofibers, right? Sounds expensive.”

“How did you know that?” This was what always threw Shota for a loop. The man had just pranced around the room and sang a song after capturing him like this was all a game, and now here he was with a look in his eyes that was far too clever for someone who acted like an idiot.

“It wasn’t that hard to guess,” Mic grumbled, rolling his eyes as he shuffled towards the other room, not even trying to make a break for it. “It was pretty easy to be sure, though, when your scarf didn’t work quite right around that one gang member with the fire quirk we fought. Those are the only kinds of materials that would be affected by heat like that - not to mention carbon nanofibers would be the only thing that would be able to handle the steel alloy without the scarf itself being ripped to shreds – especially considering what you put it through.”

Shota stared at Mic for a long moment, finally sighing as he rubbed at his eyes. His voice was soft, though, when he finally spoke, “Why are you doing all of this? You’re obviously not an idiot.”

“No, I’m not.” Startled at that, he looked to where Mic was nudging his leather jacket aside with his foot, Shota’s capture weapon wrapped up neatly in the corner of the room. A swift kick and it was sliding over to stop in front of Shota’s feet. “Hey, can you pick up my jacket for me?”

“You can’t do it yourself.” Grinning at the glare he was given, Shota made sure the familiar weight of his weapon was around his neck and shoulders before picking up the jacket, noticing the speaker nearby. “That’s a directional speaker for your quirk, right? Where did you get it?”

“Hm? Oh, I designed most of it myself, but I know this guy who was able to do the actual building of it.” Mic looked up from his jacket and paused at seeing Shota’s expression before giving a grin that was almost teasing. “Hey, hey, enough with the pity looks, hero. I don’t need them.”

“Mm.” This man was smart enough that he could have done so many things, but here he was in a horrible area playing at being villain for a reason Shota couldn’t figure out. It seemed the more they talked, though, the less Mic hid behind that bright, goofy behavior - although he was still far too loud and cheerful.

“Right, then! I need something out of the right pocket. You can either get it yourself or you can make me get it. Depends on if you think it’s a trap or a weapon, I suppose, but then again, would I really hurt you, hero?” It was ridiculous that the English nickname was what made Shota’s mind up for him.

Shota held the jacket out, Mic pouting as he turned around and tried reaching into one of the pockets while his hands were still cuffed. It was more amusing than it probably should have been considering Mic’s leather gloves weren’t helping him in getting into the pockets. “I can hear your laughter, Eraser.”

“You’re mistaken. I don’t laugh.” Shota hid his smile as Mic struggled for a minute or two before finally pulling out a plastic bag that had a white business card inside. “Handing out business cards?”

“I’m not,” Mic muttered, tone dark. It was a tone that made Shota straighten up at once before narrowing his eyes. “It was given to me a little over a week ago when I was at this club. The guy seemed like bad news and was talking about how people were interested in my quirk. I don’t think they know much about it because they offered to make it stronger instead of just kidnapping me.”

The way the words were said, simple and matter-of-fact, made Shota frown as he thought about Mic’s quirk. It was a voice amplifying quirk which sounded simple enough, but remembering back to the bar… How dangerous did Present Mic think his quirk was if he fought most of the time without it? How powerful was it if villains were already wanting to use it? Shota sighed, looking back to the card, “And? How’d they offer to make it stronger.”

“The guy called it Trigger-” The rest of the words cut off with a yelp as Shota slammed Mic against the wall, gripping his chin and forcing the man’s mouth to open as his heart near beat its way out of his chest. When he saw the tongue - pink, not black - Shota almost slumped in relief. “Oi, oi, if you wanted a kiss, then all you had to do was ask!”

“Shut up, you idiot. Trigger turns the tongue black.” It was also one of the more dangerous drugs still out on the street even though Shota had spent the last few years trying to get rid of it.

Shota forced the thoughts out of his head and glared at him, knowing it was a weak glare when Mic’s face softened, his voice quiet when he spoke again, “Like I said, the guy felt dangerous. I didn’t touch the card and I didn’t take whatever drug he attached. I don’t know if it’s laced or anything, but you might find a fingerprint on there if you check.”

“You’re a terrible villain,” Shota finally said, letting go of Mic and tucking the covered card away in one of his pouches before he was bending down to grab the leather jacket and speaker system. “Come on. The police are going to want to know there’s Trigger in this area.”

“Not like they’ll care,” Mic snorted, tone bitter as he followed him. “You’re the only hero that ever seems to come this far into the area, you know. The rest of them don’t give a damn what happens to people here, and if you call yourself a hero we all know what a joke it is.”

“Is that why you call yourself a villain and end up helping?” Shota knew pushing wasn’t going to give him any answers, but he couldn’t help but want to know as much as he could about this man.

“Spoilers, baby,” Mic grinned, sunglasses slipping down as he gave a little wink. “I just figured a hero that’s actually going to do something should get that.”

“Was the kidnapping even necessary, then?” Because Shota hadn’t been a fan of being tied to a chair. Waiting for Mic’s laugh and flirtatious joking, Shota frowned when it didn’t come. “Mic?”

“They knew my quirk and they knew where to find me to give me that card,” Mic finally said, voice quiet as he glanced around the street when they stepped outside. “That means on some level they’re watching me, and, well… Only a villain would kidnap a hero, right?”

As they walked to the closest precinct, Shota knew he had been given a lot to think about. Setting aside his… feelings for the man, Shota could see in a purely objective sense that this man wasn’t a villain.

If Present Mic were to ever become a true villain, he would be unstoppable.

                                                           ::

“Maybe I should have ripped his tongue out,” Shota said quietly, a warbling meow his own answer to his musings. “Then I wouldn’t be hearing his voice everywhere, at least.” He also wouldn’t be daydreaming about that last week when Present Mic had kidnapped him and sang to him. It seemed no matter how he tried to drown it out - whether with radio or television - he just kept hearing the man’s voice and seeing that stupid, sunshine smile. It was a good thing Shota never fought Present Mic in the day. The sun was already bright enough, and he didn’t need to put up with that and Mic’s smile.

It was getting bad. Nemuri had already caught on that Shota was hiding something from her and seemed to be narrowing the cause down each day. It wouldn’t take long until she guessed right, and Shota would be forced to move to another country. Maybe he could have Nemuri deal with Present Mic from now on. No, that was a bad idea, Mic would just come to his apartment since he apparently knew where he lived.

Maybe he should move? Hm. That seemed like a lot of effort when he was already settled in a nice little apartment that was close to his agency and close to U.A. He’d move if Mic broke in. Maybe.

Hearing Mic’s voice filter through his thoughts again, Shota groaned and laid down on his couch, Jelly not bothering to move from where she was on his lap. It took a long few moments to realize that the voice wasn’t in his head.

“-who just released a killer album last month! I’d definitely recommend checking them out!” That was Mic’s voice. No one else could put that much enthusiasm in words. Scrambling to sit up, Shota stared at his radio that he had turned on to fill up the silence. It was on a radio station that he honestly couldn’t remember, but he knew he had listened to it before around his time of night and had yet to hear that voice. “Next up… Oh, man, next up these idiots had some truly horrendous music they were about to play you. Not to worry though, listeners, because Present Mic is here to set the record straight!”

Shota was off the couch and halfway to the door when another song started to play, his capture weapon settling around his shoulders. While it was his night off, he was sure the police wouldn’t mind working with the hero who had become Present Mic’s babysitter.

It took a while to find someone who was willing to talk to him about just what was going on, of course, but Shota eventually found out that this wasn’t the first time Mic had taken over a radio station. It wasn’t even his second or third, according to the police officer he was talking to.

“And no one’s reported this?” Shota had his arms crossed, the officer shaking her head with a heavy sigh.

“No, they haven’t, and you know how it works. If we don’t get reports, then we can’t really call for a pro hero in to help.”

“That’s because the music he plays is actually decent!” An officer from behind the desk was shouting, the woman - Shelly? - glaring back at him. “Come on, admit it, you agree with me.”

“Shouldn’t you be working, Takamara! I know for a fact you have at least three case files still open!”

“Oi, you’re Eraserhead, aren’t you?” Hearing his hero name, Shota looked over to a set of chairs, two scantily dressed women handcuffed to them. The one who had spoken looked to be a bit older, but her grin was sharp as Nemuri’s. “Present Mic’s Eraserhead?”

Giving it a moment of thought, Shota finally responded, “No.” This only made the woman laugh, the younger girl behind her looking between them curiously. “What of it?”

“You’re looking for him, right? The radio station he’s at tonight should be the one down by the bar on Block 10 in this area.”

“And why would you be helping me if you know who Present Mic is? He sounds like a friend of yours.”

“Oh, baby, that’s why I’m helping.” Definitely like Nemuri. “Want me to pull up the website on your phone? They do live broadcasts.”

“No.” Shota took his phone out, holding it out to the girl slightly behind her. “She can do it. I don’t trust you.”

“I can’t believe he loves someone so nasty.” While the woman complained, the younger girl carefully took his phone, looking hesitant. “It’s okay, Lucy, he’s nasty, but he’s a good one. He’s a friend of Present Mic’s.”

“I wouldn’t say friend,” Shota muttered, noticing that Lucy nodded and relaxed before tapping on his phone. The girl looked too young to be handcuffed to a chair in a police station. While her blonde hair looked dyed, the bright white fur on her rabbit mutation quirk at least looked natural. There was still baby fat on her cheeks, Shota noticed.

“You know how it is around here, pro hero,” the woman said quietly, gaze going back to Lucy. “We do what we have to.” A second later and they heard Mic’s voice filtering out from Shota’s phone.

“-I mean, it wasn’t like it was my fault he fell out the window! Sure, okay, I punched him, but to be fair, he was playing such terrible music, listeners!” It was definitely Mic.

Lucy offered his phone back and Shota took it carefully before thanking her quietly and pocketing the phone, leaving it on before he was setting off. He was starting to wonder just how far Mic was taking this little pretend game of having feelings for him if even people in the police station knew about it.

Taking to the rooftops, Shota listened as Mic continued the show, opening a question and answer segment to inflate his already oversized ego. The first ‘question’ was someone swearing at him, Mic hanging up with an awkward laugh and quickly taking the next call.

“What was the name of that one song you played after the last time you talked? The one with the line ‘the sun never sets.’”

“Oh! That was Unbreakable! It’s number sixteen on the charts now and I have no doubt it’ll break into the top ten, at the very least!” Huh. Mic seemed to honestly like music, so at least his own persona wasn’t a gimmick. “I have a CD of Utada’s latest album at my own apartment, and let me tell you listeners, it’s great! Now, let’s keep it going with the next question!”

“Hi, so, uh, my partner for this class project is working at the station you’re at tonight and he still hasn’t done his half of the report yet… Did you kill him? I really need a good grade in this class.” Shota felt like turning right around and going home and retiring because was there any point in helping people like this?

“Not to worry, dear listener!” Mic sounded like he was having a hard time controlling his laughter and Shota hated how much he liked the sound. “The two usual controllers are safely wrapped up in the other room with no harm done. He’ll be able to help no problem!”

“Oh, cool. If you want to punch him, though, that’s fine, too. He probably deserves it. Great songs tonight, by the way. Better than the usual trash.”

It went like that the entire time it took Shota to get to the radio station where all of this was going on, Shota keeping a portion of his attention on the show, so he could listen for any information that might have helped him.

He didn’t think there was any helpful information in knowing Mic’s favorite food, color, and animal - okonomiyaki, yellow, and a tie between cockatoos and cats – but he ended up paying more attention than he should have.

When he dropped down in front of the station door - cracked open - Shota heard a viewer ask the very question he had been asking since he had first met Present Mic.

“Present Mic, I was just wondering, why are you a villain when you seem so nice?” There was nothing except dead air as Shota turned his phone off and pushed his way into the building, but a second later he heard Mic’s voice over speakers that seemed to be set up throughout the halls so the station always had its own music playing.

“Ah, well… That’s a bit of a tough question, listener.” Strained didn’t even begin to cover how Mic’s voice sounded. “Becoming a villain… was a bit of a wakeup call to all the pro heroes out there, I suppose.”

A wakeup call? Shota frowned and quietly made his way through the building, sticking to the shadows as he tried to figure out what that could mean. The listener seemed to have the same question, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, dear listener, that it’s a wakeup call to the heroes out there that the game they play isn’t the same game to others. It’s a reminder that all those ‘villains’ they take down aren’t always out to kill anyone or even hurt anyone. They’re as much victims as the civilians that get caught up in it all.”

Mic’s voice was getting more and more serious and Shota couldn’t help but feel a touch satisfied that he was at least right in the fact that Mic had a reason to be the villain he claimed. “The system of pro heroes has done a lot of good for our country, but it’s done just as much bad in the recent years. Sometimes the system fails, and I wanted to make people see what a failure it was.”

Vindication, but done in the name of proving just how bad their system was. Jeez… he was a villain in his actions, but a hero in his beliefs.

“When… When you tell a child that they have a dangerous quirk, what happens to them? When you force that child to never use that quirk that is called dangerous and a villain’s quirk, what happens to that child?”

Shota stumbled in his steps as he felt a chill run through him. He knew that the system was bad - especially in places like this and in places where he himself grew up, but the way Mic had said those words left an uncomfortable feeling crawling down his spine. Maybe there was more reason than one as to why Mic never used his quirk.

Just like that, though, Present Mic was laughing and sounding like the persona he had crafted, fun and upbeat and not at all bothered by anything. “Well, thank you listeners for sending such good requests my way and tuning in to all my ramblings! This is going to be my last song of the night, though, because it looks like my time with you all is up tonight.”

Wait, what? Why would his time be up? Looking around quickly, Shota frowned at seeing a door at the end of the hall that had the typical red ‘On Air’ sign above it. Before he could move towards it, there was quiet laughter that came from the speakers, and it was laughter that sounded excited.

“Well? Are you coming in, Eraser?”  

[caasiturner]

Hurricanes and Jon.

Jon Bellion is an extremely talented artist. My favorite album of his is The Human Condition. Every single song is a straight banger, his beats stir up all kinds of emotion, and his lyrics speak to the depths of my soul. My favorite track is, however, Hand of God.  Throughout the song he speaks of his stresses, ex-girlfriends, and the struggle of life. The line that really resonates with me is,

“ I might break

Angry at all the things, angry at all the things I can't change

When you're lost in the universe, lost in the universe

Don't lose faith

My mother says, "Your whole life's in the hand of God"

Nothing has changed, he is the same

"Your whole life's in the hand of God"

That’s hard for me to accept. I can’t see that hand. We sung about it a lot growing up, “He’s got the whole world in his hands, etc, etc. etc.” We talked in Sunday School about how there’s a God who’s got His eye “on the sparrow”. We are told there’s someone who knows our every need. But as an adult it’s really hard to believe.

As I’ve reiterated countless times before I tend to be a doubting Thomas in search of constant reassuarance. A person who needs tangibles, reasons, hard data and evidence. I need to figure everything out, most likely due to never knowing during my childhood. I need to be able to hang onto things, to fully understand. I don’t take things at face value, I research, I make hypothesis and test them, I deduce and find the answer.

But life has a sense of humor.

Every time I start to figure out things the slightest bit, I am humbled, reset, back handed if you will. This year I finally saved my first thousand dollars. Now maybe to you that’s insignificant. For me it was huge. I grew up under the poverty line, and through a lot of sweat and blood, I’ve been paying my own way since I was 17. To finally see four digits in my savings was an amazing feeling.

I struggle hanging onto relationships. I’ve been transparent about this multiple times. It’s been hard getting over my latest relationship mostly because she was nearly everything I thought I wanted. Some days it’s hard to believe there’s something better out there. Or that I am even meant to be with someone. But, after not speaking since summer I finally felt in a good place mentally and emotionally.

Then this week happened.

My clutch in my car is now shot. It’s gonna cost over five-hundred dollars to fix. Everything I worked for is gone in a single day. Just like that.

The girl I felt I had finally moved on from texted me, asking for help. My heart literally dropped and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Anger in the fact you hit me up because you need something. Confusion in why would you turn to me. Eagerness to assist and concern in because I still care for you as a person no matter the past.

I yelled at the sky. I’m frustrated. Angry even. Tired of fighting. Aching for this horrid year of 2018 to be over.

I feel like a ship trying to weather a storm. Every time I conquer one wave, yet another crashes down. I feel like I’ll never get my head above the water, as if God Himself finds a sadistic joy in personally holding me under. I strive and fight so hard, yet all ends the same. Empty. Meaningless. Hopeless even.

I just want to figure this all out. Know what I’m suppose to be doing. Know what I’m doing wrong. Know why everything is a constant struggle. Know why am I even here or what my purpose is.

People say I bless their life all the time. I’m so genuine or so kind or so this and blah blah blah. You don’t know me. You can’t even imagine half of what I’ve felt or gone through. Walk a mile in my shoes and you’d probably trip over the size of my feet. You don’t see my inside world, what I battle every day, or the stuff I see. You don’t see the tortured mind of an artist, the confusion of a twenty-two year old, the anxiety and worry of someone who’s living far above his years, the broadness of my back as I carry countless bags of baggage and multiple burdens (some self-inflicted and some who are by rights others to carry).

You don’t see the homesickness for someone I haven’t yet met. The tiredness of being called “baby” by people who don’t mean it (Shout out my guy Ed Sheeran). You don’t see how lost I am or how badly I want to be found. You don’t see how “I don't want to kill myself because others will get the job of cleaning up my blood from a gun shot, cutting the rope above my head or telling my parents I'm dead. I just want to disappear.”

How’s that lyric go Mansionz?

“...Nobody knows, nobody knows, no one (no one)

You'll never know, you'll never know me,

I wanna believe in religion

But nobody reminds me of God

I wanna believe in what I hear and what I read

But it mostly reminds me I'm lost

I wanna believe that when I fuck it's romantic

But no lovers remind me of love

And I need to believe in moderation

'Cause believers believe in too much

I learned to lie

I learned to lie when I was younger

Tell me somethin' true...”

Yeah. I feel that on a spiritual level.

But.

To live by feelings is to live falsely. Feelings lie. Feelings change. Feelings come and go. What holds us together?

Faith.

A “ Complete trust or confidence in someone or something.”

or

A “ Belief; the assent of the mind to the truth of what is declared by another, resting on his authority and veracity, without other evidence (Webster).

Faith in there being a greater plan. Faith in a better tomorrow. Resting my life and hopes and dreams, without other evidence, into “The Hands of God.” A higher being. Something larger than myself. without seeing the end result. That’s completely counter intuitive my nature.

Maybe Puddleglum from The Chronicles of Narnia states it best in C.S Lewis’s classic The Silver Chair. Our hero is hard pressed, and a witch is doing all she can to convince him to lose his faith in the great lion Aslan and his memories of life above ground. Just as he is about to give over to her power he states,

“  All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one more thing to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.”

Do I have that faith? Faith to believe no matter what lies I tell myself it’s all for a reason? That there is something out?  That this world I currently see is but a shadow, a vapor, a breath, a blip in an endless line of eternity? That there are no accidents, or meaninglessness?

Can I believe that? 

I want to. I am tired of keeping my hands on the Wheel of this ship. I’m tired of trying to keep my ship afloat. I’m tired of trying to do everything from my own power. I’m tired of failing at attempting to run out this storm, keep my sails aloft, or row my own way.

So this is me.

I’m giving over for I have no one else to turn to.

Friends and family can’t help me. Money won’t save me. Running away is a temporary solution. So here is a public declaration. I surrender. I give up. Take this wheel. Beach this ship if you have to.

Just take my life and place it into your hands.

[lechevaliermalfet]

Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild - first thoughts

So on Sunday, @squeemcsquee and I traded our tax refund for a Nintendo Switch and some games.  Among them was a copy of Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, which is a game I’ve been wanting badly since before it came out.

So a lot of what I’m going to say here is probably not original.  In the year or so since its release, I feel it’s likely that most of the Thoughtful Writing on the latest Zelda game has already been done.  Oh well.

So…  Some thoughts, after about six or so hours, after the cut.

Holy shit, this game is a Ghibli movie.  The natural environments are so lush and so beautifully animated, it’s the only thing that comes to mind.  This game wants a Joe Hisaishi soundtrack desperately.  There have been at least a dozen occasions where I fully expected The Journey to the West to start playing while I wandered through the hills and rocks trying to find a shrine, or just looking around to see what’s there.

There’s a sort of... earthiness? to it.  The overall feel of the world is pre-medieval, very down-to-earth, very much in touch with nature. 

The music itself is minimalist and understated in a way that I’m not used to for a Zelda game.  Most of the overworld music I’ve heard so far is basically brief musical phrases picked out on piano.  This is actually perfectly fine, because: 

It beats the usual “soundtrack” of “Hup!”-flop-flop-flop, “Hup!”-flop-flop-flop, repeated ad nauseam, which was the sound of Link rolling everywhere.  Which is what I did, what you did, and what everyone did once we all realized that endlessly somersaulting across Hyrule was marginally faster than just running, and fuck it, it was something to do. 

You finally get to hear the sounds of nature around you.  More than most other games in the series before it, Breath of the Wild seems to emphasize the fact that you’re out in the wilderness fending for yourself, and really wants to sell that impression.  Birdcalls, rainfall, rivers and creeks flowing, grass rustling, insects chirping – this is most of the soundtrack.

And good God, but it works.  On a totally unrelated note, I kind of want to go camping.

At this point, I’m about six hours in – maybe seven – and I haven’t scratched the surface.  I haven’t even seen or heard about a real dungeon anywhere yet.  

I’m not sure there are real dungeons anywhere.

I… may be completely okay with this?

Look, I don’t know anything about Zelda games any more.  I used to consider myself kind of an authority on the subject, and yet here we are, and Nintendo’s changed just about everyfuckingthing about the series for this game, and yet – and yet! – somehow, it still feels very much like a Zelda game.  So I guess I just don’t know a goddamned thing any more.

The idea of breakable weapons is still something I’m working to get over.  So far, I’ve never found myself weaponless.  But I’ve got a few decent swords in my inventory, and it’s always tempting to use them, but...  I’m saving them for the right occasion.

In the meantime, I’m perfectly content to beat some bokoblin’s ass with a stick.  Or a garden hoe.  I’m not being picky.

I’m really pleasantly reminded of the first game in the series – which I’ve read here and there was exactly what Nintendo was going for – in the aggressively directionless way the game demands you approach it.  Oh, you want to be told what you have to do next?  Fuck you, man.  You want to be led by the hand, great, go play any of the literally* 95 percent of video games currently commercially available. I love this, by the way.  Like the creators just said “Look, we just made the fucking thing, all right?  Our job’s done now.  You figure it out.”

*Probably not, like, literally literally, but, y’know…  Literally.

Breath of the Wild is huge.  It’s vast and empty, and I love it.  There is tons upon tons of space to run around, to explore, to just lose your mind and soak up the feeling of wilderness.  This game makes me want to go camping.  This is huge, intimidating wilderness, and I can’t do anything but fall head over fucking heels for it.

Hyrule Field in Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time was huge and empty because, I’m convinced, Nintendo had no idea what to do with it in their first 3D Zelda game, and they felt like they had to make their world big, and the best way to do that which they could come up with then was to have you cross a lot of distance.  There is literally no other purpose to Hyrule Field.  It exists to be a transitional space between a lot of geographically distinct areas, and to give you a feeling of distance.  But there’s nothing to actually fucking do in Hyrule Field.  It literally exists to be crossed, to make you feel like you really trekked somewhere.  Crossing Hyrule Field is roughly as exciting as driving through Nebraska via the Interstate.

If you live in Nebraska and you’re reading this, I’m sorry.  But you know I’m not wrong.

This game has, incredibly, impossibly, over a decade after the fact, taken its cues from Shadow of the Colossus – a game that saw Ocarina of Time’s vastness and emptiness as a kind of challenge, and decided to double down on it.  Except where Ocarina of Time did it because it seemed like a thing you had to do, Shadow of the Colossus did it with the full knowledge of the artistic and thematic purpose behind what they were doing.  And now, here we are, and Breath of the Wild is doing the same thing.  Which is hysterical, because Shadow of the Colossus modeled itself to a certain extent on the original Legend of Zelda and oh God, I could go on and on and on and on and on...

I have no idea where in the Zelda timeline – or even in which of the three – Breath of the Wild takes place.  Thankfully, I’m only enough of a fan to wonder about this sort of thing; I’m not sure I actually really care.

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 9 ~A Storm of Wishes~

Claire scanned the room, gaze landing on all her boxed belongings in one swoop. On the other side of the living space were Geillis' suitcases. Although it was cold, sunlight streamed through the high Georgian windows, casting a shadow from the eight-panel grid onto the herringbone wooden floor. A flutter of excitement swept through her at the thought of sharing the rented house with Geillis. It was a hasty decision inspired by its proximity to her workplace, The Fraser Manor Inn, and the fact that she and Jamie were together. For her, it would have been weird on so many levels to continue living in Lallybroch, especially when everyone in the village knew she was the Frasers' foster daughter.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jamie walked in with the last box containing her possessions. Her initial excitement was slightly dampened when the reality of his impending departure hits her in the guts. The last few days had been focused on re-discovering each other, emotionally and physically, resisting to dwell on Annalise's plight. Insensitive as it may have seemed to a neutral observer, Claire eased her guilt by reminding herself, that it was her idea to send Jamie away and that alone was already a selfless act.

She noticed a slight frown marred Jamie's face. Obviously, he was still not convinced with her choice of living away from their family home, mainly because he would be leaving for France the next day. Though she loved the Fraser family, she didn't want to be defined as their fostered orphan. Not that there was anything wrong with being an orphan, but there had been far too many stigmas attached to the word growing up. So it only made sense to have a place of her own, and more so, determined.

It was by chance, the morning after they first made love by the fireplace, Jamie and Claire had stopped by the village coffee shop for breakfast, owned for years by a Mrs Graham. While serving them coffee, she had announced she was looking for new tenants for her three-bedroom Georgian house on the outskirts of the hamlet. Knowing Geillis was looking for a place within walking distance to work and a pub, she made a snap decision, surprising herself and Jamie, by offering herself for the tenancy. After a few phone calls with Geillis and a couple of rounds of coffees, the arrangements were made, despite Jamie kicking up a fuss.

"Weel, this is the last of it, Sassenach," he said, putting down his load on the table. "I dinna ken why ye couldna wait 'til I come back to move. Ye're safer in Lallybroch while I'm away." It was his last attempt to convince her to stay in Lallybroch, but they both knew he was fighting a losing battle. He walked towards her, hitting her with his no-nonsense soap, sweat and mint gum scent, and eyed her suspiciously. "I'm no' sure if ye and Geillis living under the same roof is such a braw idea. She's bound to teach ye something I won't approve of." Pulling her by the waist, he drew her against him and pressed their foreheads together. Everything narrowed down to him, and up close, he studied her, with his soul searching blue.

"So this is what entails having a boyfriend...listening to you grumble and you trying to change my mind by looking at me like that," she whispered, in an amused tone, as she looped her arms around his neck. Four days on and she was still under Jamie's six-pack hypnosis. "Maybe you can enlighten me further what it's going to mean for me having a boyfriend as I have no idea what else to expect."

The last few days of them being together, have flown by in a hazy blur, their days and nights spent making love, having conversations until early hours in the morning and hiding from the world in Jamie's house. It was as if they're making up for the six years they were apart and making memories for the eventual indefinite separation. Claire wanted to hold on to these moments. Life moves fast, and people and opportunities can be snatched away in the space of a heartbeat, just like her parents and uncle Lamb. When happiness presented itself, she didn't want to take it for granted, and she intended to embrace it fully. 

His breath gusting into her neck, he lifted her up in a sudden swift move and carried her to the kitchen. Pushing aside papers and books, he gently set her on the island worktop and edged himself between her legs. "Mmmm...as yer boyfriend, ye can bank on me being overprotective. I want to make sure that ye're safe, so while I'm away I'll be checking up on you...a lot. I would want to know every detail of how ye spent yer day. And when ye're not with me, I will miss ye like hell, and when ye are with me, I will not be able to keep my hands of ye. There will be a lot of kissing and whispering in yer ears...like all sorts of naughty stuff."

"Naughty stuff, huh?" she leaned back to take a better look at him, one eyebrow arched. "What kind of naughty stuff, please do tell. I'm intrigued."

"Do ye really want to know? Ye blush so easily, and Willie and Geillis will be coming through that door any minute now." He pointed a chin toward the doorway. "They will take one look at ye, and they will know, I've been up to no good," he warned, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Go on, humour me," Claire cajoled playfully, tugging his hair at the nape of his neck.

Grabbing her buttocks with his large hands, he pressed her closer to him before taking a bite of her earlobe. "I want to fuck you into next Christmas, right now and right here," he said in a low voice against her ears.

Sure enough, red fluttered across Claire's face, choking on the breath she held. "Jamie!" she gasped. "You filth-spewing horny man!"

"I did warn ye, Sassenach. And speaking of filth, ye should hear yersel' while in the throes of passion...you can cuss like a..." he chuckled as he tried to avoid the onslaught of Claire's slaps.

Claire suddenly leaned forward for a kiss, stifling whatever next words he was about to say, making him laugh all the more against her lips. The way Jamie talked was turning her on like The Blackpool Illumination, and there was still much to be done in their rented house. "Alright, that's enough filth for one day," she stated vehemently, fanning her red cheeks with both hands, before pushing him away.

"Hang on a minute, we're not done here yet!" Jamie grabbed both her wrists before she could jump off the island worktop. "Ye haven't said anything yet... what is it going to mean to mean for me?" he asked between soft bites of her neck. "Having a girlfriend."

Damn those lips.  "Mmmm, it's quite simple really, Jamie me' lad," she whispered, mimicking his accent, unable to subdue a smile as Jamie caught her lower lip between his teeth. "It means this lass wishes ye to love her forever."

"It's a given, Sassenach," he muttered hoarsely against her neck, as his one hand reached for his back pocket.

Before Claire knew what was happening, Jamie raised his phone and snapped a photo of them, Claire looking dead straight into the camera while Jamie's lips were planted on her cheeks.

...........

Jamie and Willie drove in silence to the airport, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Usually, the two brothers would have had plenty to discuss like having a friendly argument about the latest game of Rugby Union or the football results on the Scottish Premiership. Or maybe the menu plans for the upcoming re-opening of  The Fraser Manor Inn . However, this morning was different. There was a strain in the air even if nothing was spoken between them. And Jamie was fairly sure, he might have an idea the reason behind Willie's silent treatment.

Earlier, after saying goodbye to Claire and urging her to go back to sleep, he hastily sent a message to Annalise to let her know he was on his way.  Be there soon,  Jamie wrote. Re-reading it on their way to the airport, it looked impersonal compared to her reply, letting him know how relieved she was that he was coming, and how much she had missed him. He felt like a cad. This was his ex-girlfriend who was terminally ill for Christ sake.

It had been him who broke up their relationship when he found out Claire was coming back to Lallybroch to stay for good. Though he felt guilty, he knew it was the right thing as his heart was never into Annalise. It had always been Claire. His Claire.

When they eventually reached the airport, Jamie remained in his seat, trying to string sentences he wished to say to his brother. He didn't want to leave knowing there was an unspoken tension between them, and he wasn't even sure if the strain had anything to do with Claire. Maybe he was misreading him, he thought. "Keep an eye on Claire for me will ye," Jamie finally said.

Willie cleared his throat, his tight smile clearly meant to reassure. "That goes without saying, lad."

Jamie knew there was this mammoth elephant in the room, and he wanted it off his chest. They haven't really spoken like they used to since Claire's revelation of their relationship in front of the family. "I heard yer conversation with Claire that night on the steps." Jamie looked at Willie, who acknowledged him with a nod that he knew what was meant. "I have nothing to be worried about have I, while I'm away?"

His brother's head snapped in his direction, the meaning of Jamie's question not lost on him. "What do ye take me for?"

"Just laying out the cards on the table, so we're both clear..."

Willie let out a big sigh, and Jamie wasn't sure if it was a sign of resignation or annoyance. "I'll watch over Claire, Jamie. Ye can rest assured I have her best interest at heart but mind ye, if she's hurt, I'll be there for her. And I don't need yer permission for that."

"Since when did ye care about what she feels?"

"I've always cared about her..."

"For fuck sake, Willie, ye ken fine what I meant..." Jamie interrupted impatiently, sucking in deep breaths to curb his exasperation.

Shaking his head, Willie gave him a pained laugh. "Ever since her first year away from home. I visited her in Switzerland while she was in school," he revealed.

Jamie was dumbfounded.  That long?  Of course, he knew Willie visited Claire when he was working in Italy. He wasn't that far from her school. In fact, they were literally across the border from one another, about an hour and a half train ride away. Jamie hadn't given it much thought as he had put down his brother's visitation as an excuse to ski and Claire lived in a village of a ski resort. "I never knew..."

"What was there to know...there was nothing. Claire missed ye, ye know. Why didn't ye visit her?" Willie's eyebrows lifted when Jamie didn't answer immediately.

"Ah...I thought she had this thing for Frank. Ye must have known I have always been in love with her and ye cannae judge me for staying away. But we talked a lot over the years, and if I had an inkling back then what she truly felt for me, my days off would have been spent in Switzerland...and there would have been no Annalise in my life," Jamie answered, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name. He couldn't even remember how he came to be with Annalise as he made a mental futile attempt to search his memories for answers.

"She has a drinking problem, Jamie. Did ye know that?" Willie confessed out of the blue, taking Jamie by surprise.

"Drinking problem? What do ye mean she has a drinking problem?"  Christ...more revelations.   Why is he telling me this now when I'm about to leave for France in an hour? Was there something I missed over the last six years?

"I'm not sure, but I intend to find out. Call it a hunch or whatever. I've caught Claire twice downing a shot of two from the drinks' cabinet quite early in the day. She might be a master in pretending she is fine, but she doesn't fool me. She's a terrible liar." Willie paused, swallowing hard before resuming. "I might be wrong, but I think she drinks to cope."

"Cope??" Jamie looked at his watch, and he knew he was running late. "Christ Willie...it's probably nothing. We're young, and it's normal. Almost every one our age drink excessively. It will soon peter out," Jamie explained, trying to sound unfazed, but why does he have a feeling there was more to what Willie was saying. And why does the image of Claire sneaking a drink, on the night before they went for Italian dinner on their "threesome dates," suddenly seem so vivid?

Sensing the conflict in Jamie, Willie softened his tone. "Go now, Jamie. Ye have a plane to catch. I promise to look out for Claire, and I promise I only have honourable intentions towards her. Ye're my brother, first and foremost and I have no plans jeopardising our relationship...unless ye start supporting the Rangers Football Team," he joked, to lighten the mood before continuing in a more serious note. "Sort out what ye need to sort out in France as quickly as possible and come back. I need ye in the kitchen for the re-opening. I'll keep ye posted on Claire, OK?"

After a minute of contemplation, Jamie turned to Willie and nodded. "Aye, I will be back as soon as I can." 

Before Jamie could get out of the car, Willie pulled him into a hug before their arms descended into a macho back slapping. "Take care, wee brother," he whispered gruffly. "Come back soon."

..........

Jamie was surprised to find out that he still had the keys to Annalise's apartment. She reminded him when he called to inform her of his flight details over the phone. Their split had been so amicable, that she had probably forgotten to ask for her keys back. In a way, it was a relief for Jamie that he could let himself into her home, being uncertain if Annalise was too ill to open the door when he arrived. Apprehensive of what to expect when he finally sees his ex, he had been racking his brains on the way from the airport, what awaited him and what it would mean if the baby she was carrying was his. Jamie was sure he had always been careful when it came to his past relationships, and it troubled him that Claire had to find out the predicament he was in, so early in their relationship.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before he slipped the key to Annalise's door and pushed it open. He hadn't bothered knocking as he knew he was expected.

"Annalise...it's me..." he said softly, in case she had fallen asleep. Although it was only late afternoon, he knew from stories he heard of cancer patients, they tend to tire quickly. So he was surprised when the voice that answered him back sounded lucid and clear.

"Jamie, in here," she replied. The sound came from the living room. Knowing his way in, he left his travelling bag by the doorway and made his way through, a sense of familiarity engulfing him. It wasn't too long ago when he would spend nights here after working late instead of going to his own apartment.

He found her sat on an armchair next to the French balcony window, and her seat was facing the sun. She stood up as soon as he walked in and he was shocked to see her mane of blonde hair gone, and its place was a faint fuzz visible only in the sunlight. It seemed she lost a bit of weight, but otherwise, Annalise looked strong and healthy. Without hesitation, she went to him, her arms encircling his waist as she laid her head on his chest. " Dieu merci!   I'm so grateful you could come," she whispered against him.

Finding the embrace too intimate, Jamie pulled away too abruptly but held her by the shoulders. "Christ Annalise, yer beautiful hair..."

"I know," she replied casually before turning away from him to sit. "It's the side effects of chemotherapy."

"Chemotherapy??" Jamie's eyes wandered down to her belly, and he could see there was a small bump. "Isn't chemo harmful to the baby?"

"It is harmful to the fetus, Jamie, especially during the first trimester. That is why the doctors waited until I was in my second trimester before administering the chemo drug, which should be safe enough at this stage. God willing, and hopefully, the baby will make it to 38th week, when it is deemed safe for it to be born," she explained calmly, revealing a flicker of fear in her eyes and then it was gone before he could blink.

Jamie ran one hand up and down his face, trying to absorb what Annalise was telling him. He pulled out a seat from the dining area and sat. "And how about the..." He wanted to say her one-night stand but thought it was highly inappropriate. "...the other guy, where is he?"

"Oh, yes...the other guy..." she started, looking embarrassed. "Some random guy I met in the bar and...oh God, oh God, I don't even know his name. It just happened...and we had plenty to drink." She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply before continuing. "I'm so sorry, Jamie, for all this. You're the only person I have now, and I have no one..." When Jamie remained silent, she continued. "And I'm grateful to your sister for setting up a crowdfunding page for me. She tagged you on Facebook so that I could see it."

"My sister? Jenny?"

"No. It was Claire. I've added her as a friend, so I could thank her. You talked about her a lot when we were together, and you were right...she is special," she recalled, a soft smile forming her lips.

"But she's not my..."

"Wait, let me finish," she interrupted. "I truly appreciate Claire's efforts, but they don't matter anymore. I am dying, Jamie and I'm hoping to hold on until the baby is born. I reached out to you because there is a possibility...a possibility the baby could be yours, even if that possibility is minuscule. I only have two wishes before I go."

Jamie straightened up from his chair, bracing himself for whatever was coming next. He tried to relax, but there was an uncomfortable tug in his chest, so he nodded instead, signalling her to resume.

"You don't have to fulfil those wishes, Jamie," she said quietly, sensing his discomfort. "I might not be the love of your life, but you are a good man. I sensed that when we were together. And you have great family support...I recognised that from all the stories you've told me. My first wish is...I don't want this baby to go to an orphanage. Whether the baby is yours or not, if you wish to raise it or not, can you please make sure the baby goes to a loving family. I don't want my baby to go through what I went through as an orphan. I wish a loving family for my baby. Call it my parting gift for my unborn child...it's the least I could do."

Jamie understood what Annalise was saying. Like Claire, Annalise was orphaned at a very young age. She had spoken very little of her adoptive parents, and the only explanation she offered was that they were abusive to her while living with them. As soon as she was old enough to fend for herself, she left her childhood home, never to return nor make contact again.

"I will see what I could do," he responded, trying to decipher her expressions. It had always been hard to read Annalise. It seemed she wore that same mask of calmness no matter what fate threw at her. Unlike Claire, who was an open book; pain, love, joy, dread - whatever she was feeling, it was there for him to see. Jamie wished he could tear away that mask, even for a flitting moment, so he could see what Annalise was thinking. "And what's yer other wish?"

She gazed out the window before turning to face him, blue eyes on blue. "Jamie, I don't have a year to live, and I will never know what it's like to have a family. I mean... a proper, loving family. I will never have that," she explained, and for the first time, her eyes started to fill with tears. "For the short period that I have left, I want to be a wife and know what it's like to be married. So, Jamie Fraser, for my second wish...I want to ask you...will you be my husband, until death takes hold of me? I don't want to die alone."

[laurawritesandgames]

The Rescue

Though his paw had healed, the Enforcer used it as an excuse to laze about while any hunting partner except the Ruler did most of the work. Fewer hunters meant less prey, but when did logic matter to one of the greys? The Ruler and the Enforcer always ate.

As Mistwalk hunted in the copse of pine trees, snarls split the cold night from where the Enforcer had been lying down, watching her.

Mistwalk whirled around to see a brown spotted tabby on the Enforcer’s back, trying to keep a grip as the Enforcer thrashed and twisted beneath him. The strange tom was thrown clear in a heartbeat. The Enforcer pounced on him; the tom scrambled back quickly enough to avoid being pinned, but yelped as the Enforcer’s claws caught his tail.

Glancing at Mistwalk, the stranger said, “I’m here to rescue—” before the Enforcer’s attack forced him to devote all his attention to ducking blows.

Mistwalk stepped toward the fighting toms, claws out. StarClan must have provided this chance.

Though they could have provided a better fighter. This tom was no warrior; he was constantly on the defensive. If the Enforcer’s paw had been whole, the stranger wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Rabbitkit was in camp with the Ruler. He could only move steadily now and then; she couldn’t rely on him being able to run if attacked. Even if she and this tom could make the Enforcer turn tail, what would the Ruler do to Rabbitkit if he sensed anything amiss? Would It side with her or his brother? Would Featherfall be present enough to fight or would she just stare?

There were too many unknowns.

Arching her back, she hissed, “Get out of here! I don’t need rescuing.”

“What?” The tabby tom took a blow from the Enforcer’s massive paw and staggered. “Ooof!” He just avoided the bite the Enforcer tried to land. “But I—”

At a snarl from the Enforcer, he fled, though he glanced back at Mistwalk. He ran for the Twolegplace. Mistwalk would have assumed he came from there if she didn’t catch a hint of the barn in his scent trail.

“Shit,” the Enforcer grumbled after sniffing after her would-be rescuer. “That’s hay. Shit.” He rested his weight on his three uninjured paws, panting heavily.

She’d always wondered why the Ruler ignored the barn cats. In the moon after the Ruler bit the Enforcer’s paw, when he’d lain feverish and babbling in the medicine den, she’d gotten a possible answer: their mother had come from the barn. As the eldest kit, the Enforcer probably had good memories of that place. He’d likely kept the Ruler from attacking the barn in countless subtle ways.

“We don’t have to tell him where the rogue came from, do we?” Mistwalk asked.

The giant gray tom grunted, unconvinced.

Was this time to intervene? If it wasn’t…. Her muscles tightened in anticipation of a blow. She forced herself to inhale deeply. What’s a blow or two? I shouldn’t have to, but I can bear it. He’s always been healthy and strong, but this past moon he hasn’t. Sickness can change a lot.

She started the conversation she’d been planning for moons. “Enforcer, why are you so loyal to him? If there ever was a time he deserved it, that ended when he hurt you.”

Suddenly, her cheek ached with the remembered pain of Featherfall clawing her. The rest of her words faded. Her situation was entirely different than the Enforcer’s. Featherfall was good, deep down. She was just hurting so much right now. Anyone would lash out.

He snorted. “Stop pretending you give a shit.”

“I don’t want anyone to be hurt. That includes you and that includes the barn cats.” She hesitated, then said, “Caring for all cats is my calling, given to me by the colony I came from.”

Something she’d said made him blink in surprise then mrrow. “You’re stuck taking care of everyone because of some promise you made to some dead cats?” She’d mentioned to It that her Clan had died of sickness—obviously, he’d told the tale to his brothers.

Mistwalk took a moment to think over the word ‘stuck.’ The Enforcer had told her during his fever that he’d promised his mother he’d protect his middle brother no matter what happened. Perhaps he’d deluded himself into thinking the same things about the Ruler that she thought about Featherfall.

“You think I’m stupid,” the Enforcer said, placid and matter-of-fact as ever. “If I left, you’d have your fangs in his throat before my scent faded.”

“No! Of course not!” She thought of killing the Ruler more than she’d like, but it was nothing she planned on or hoped for. Those thoughts were pure revenge and rage.

He turned away from her. “Cats do shit they never thought they’d do all the time.”

She was losing him. Moons of forcing herself to be pleasant to the fox-hearted brute, nursing him back to health, never complaining when he stole food from Rabbitkit’s mouth…. Wasted. Gone. Closing her eyes, she inhaled cold, snowflake-heavy air. This is my one chance. See through his eyes. Find a way.

“There is so much more to the world than he’ll ever let you see, Enforcer. You could have a life without him. Without pain. Without being ruled by his whims. No cat deserves that.”

Now, he outright laughed. “Just when I think you can’t really be that dog-brained…. The first day we met, I would’ve killed you if he told me to.” His ears flicked back in annoyance. “But, yeah, keep telling me about the happy life I ‘deserve.’”

“That’s his path, but you can forge a new one!” She stepped toward him. “It’s terrifying, I know. The shadows feel deeper on your own, the wind colder. But isn’t anything better than wondering when the next blow will fall?

“I know you. You’re not a bad cat. You’ve kept your promise to your mother to protect your family as well as anyone could.”

The Enforcer blinked in surprise. “I told you—?” He bared his teeth. “That fucking fever. Whatever. You’ve been here three seasons, but I’ve been here three winters. Don’t think you know shit.”

“I know being a mother, and I know no mother would expect her kit to bear what you have. Enforcer, if you leave, we’ll bear his latest kits and disappear once they’re old enough to travel. No one needs to be hurt.” Suddenly, she recalled one of the points she’d meant to raise earlier. “You could have kits of your own. He was taunting you, saying he’d give you the kittypet. He’ll never let you have that.”

A flame kindled in his blue eyes. He stepped toward her. She caught her breath. Had she gotten through to him?

He joked, “Will you let me have you?”

The thought shocked a mrrow out of her. When he stepped back, eyes narrowing, she realized he’d been more serious than she’d assumed.

“Me?” she repeated. She should be flirting, purring and cooing and rubbing herself against him. But she was still sore from when the Ruler had entered her a day ago. Her legs and tail were stone, her voice a shocked squeak when she stammered “Ah….”

He turned from her with a snort. “Go spray our borders by the barn.” His tone brooked no argument. She stumbled away, trying to coax her mind into accepting this surprise. If I just said I’d come find him once we escaped, he might even help us. I don’t have to keep the promise, I just have to say the words….

She sprayed the fence posts, suntrees and clumps of grass along the border. When she returned to the copse of pine trees, the scent of the Enforcer’s urine covered any hint of the tabby tom’s scent.

From his glare as she approached, he was in no mood to listen to her. “Don’t say a word about the barn.”

“Of course. Enforcer—”

He walked away as if he hadn’t heard.

One stupid, surprised mrrow and I lost everything. Head bowed, Mistwalk trudged after him.

[andonewillbringhisfall]

Nemesis Mine

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10. Baz.

It’s him. Simon is Snow. Simon Snow.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have trusted him? Fuck. (How could he have made me fall for him?)

It makes so much sense, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. His mother died when he was born. Lucy Salisbury. Of course. He’s always coming back to the room with scratches and bruises that he explains away with the most inane stories. Which might not have been such a huge clue in itself if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve been doing the exact same thing. Fuck, that should have clued me in. How could I have missed that?

His family is responsible for my mother’s death. And I’ve been snogging him and sleeping in his arms for the last week.

I hate him. I hate him so much. Why does he have to ruin everything? I should have known Simon was too good to be true. Why couldn’t I have this one thing in my normal life, that should have been completely irrelevant to my alter ego, that should have had nothing to do with Snow, and of course it turns out to be him all along. That’s just the way my life goes, isn’t it? All I do is lose.

*

I pace around the university campus until night falls, not knowing what else to do. I can’t go back there and face him. This could have just been an elaborate plan to get to me, but intuitively I know that Snow had no idea who I am. That it was just as real for him as it was for me. (How could I have liked him I hate it I hate this I hate myself.) Surely he knows now, because who else would react the way I did to finding out that Davy is his father? What will he do now, knowing that I had… feelings for him?

No. I can’t go back. I can’t look at him ever again. I’m so ashamed, and so angry, because I thought I had something incredible that was just mine, I thought I had someone who could love me, and Snow has to ruin it all, as if it isn’t enough that his father killed my mother and that I’ve lived my entire life trying and failing to come to terms with that. (In some back corner of my mind I know that this is twisted logic, because Snow couldn’t ruin everything just by existing if he was the one I fell for all along, but I know that’s the worst thing about it. I liked him so much.)

How can I fight him now, knowing that he’s Simon? Simon, with his bronze curls, and his plain blue eyes, and his simple earnestness that made it impossible for me not to want to mean something to him – no. Simon doesn’t exist, not like that. Not the Simon who would kiss me and stroke my hair until I fell asleep. Not the Simon who I felt, for once in my life, like I belonged with him.

There’s only Snow, of the Mage’s Men, who have it out for my family. There’s only the superhero I have to fight in order to avenge my mother and protect my family. There’s only the infuriating self-righteous git I’ve beat up too many times to count, who has left me scarred, battered and bruised. And that stupid fucking tail (and oh – it was dark, who could have seen Snow carrying me back to Watford, and even if they had, why would Simon have known about it?) (Stupid).

I don’t go back to room 61. Instead, I choose the only person from my tutorials whose room number I can remember, Niall, and knock on his door.

‘You and Simon have a fight?’ he asks sympathetically as soon as he sees my face.

‘Something like that,’ I growl, because it’s so much more than a fucking fight, but close enough. It just so happens that his roommate is out, so I sleep in a stranger’s bed, alone for the first time in days.

*

I am called early the next morning to save someone from a kidnapping.

Good. It’ll keep my mind busy. It’ll remind me what my life is actually like (not tumbling around snogging boyfriends with moles who eat too many cherry scones and stare at my jeans).

I chase after their car. I break down their door. There’s a group of them, and they split off in different directions, and I hunt down every single one of them.

It’s too easy, and it’s over too soon, and eventually I’m going to have to go back to our room. University is still important, after all. I’ll have to look at him – at Simon – at Snow – and know that I can’t have him, and worse still, know that I wanted him. (How could I have wanted Snow, I’m a fucking disgrace.)

I’m making my way back through the city, taking my time, when a shadow flies overhead, and I know before I look up that it’s him. He doesn’t see me, too busy flying whoever his latest rescue is back to their home. I transform back into superhero form so I can follow him stealthily, and wait for him to drop off his charge.

I wait for him around the corner of an apartment building, knowing he’ll have to come this way to go back to Watford. The instant he steps into my line of sight I run at him, shoving him so he goes flying back into the wall with a surprised yelp.

‘I fucking hate you,’ I growl, pulling my arm back, ready to punch him.

‘It’s mutual,’ he says, ducking out of my grip, tail flicking behind him, ‘but can we not do this now?’

I reach for him again, ready to pummel him into the wall. He holds me off, kneeing me in the chest and wrapping his tail around my leg, trying to trip me. I manage to punch him in the jaw and wince at his grunt of pain. Because he sounds like Simon, and how could I not have heard it before?

‘Seriously, not now,’ he says, though he yanks his tail as he does and I go sprawling to the ground. He looks like he’s thinking of kicking me, but he refrains. ‘I have to get home. I’ll fight you tomorrow, Basilton, if you really want.’

He has no idea that it’s me, does he? He hasn’t put two and two together, even after the way I reacted.

‘Fucking clueless moron,’ I snarl, scrambling to my feet and punching him again. And again. He tries to duck out of the way, but I’m too quick for him. Everything I’ve been feeling (you ripped my fucking heart out I hate you so much) suddenly takes over and I stop thinking, losing myself to the fight, needing to know that if nothing else (even if he’s brighter and better than me even if he made me fall helplessly for him) I’m still stronger than him, and faster than him, and I can still beat him. I won’t lose to him. I won’t.

There’s a crunch, and I think he might have broken a wing, smashed between his body and the wall. I ignore the sound of pain he makes, shoving him up against the wall with my arm across his chest (so different to the other times I’ve pinned him to walls and kissed him until we were both breathless) (stop).

‘I win this round,’ I say, my voice low, a menace.

He grunts.

‘Say it. Tell me I beat you.’

‘Only because I’m distracted,’ he mumbles.

I shove him harder. ‘Say it.’

He growls. ‘You win, Basilton, sure. You win. Let me go.’

It doesn’t make me feel any better.

I let him go anyway, because no matter what I do, I’m going to lose.

[msbigredmachine]

Come What May - The Finale

Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. So why did she feel like she was making the biggest mistake of her life? Roman Reigns/OC/Tama Tonga

P.S. This chapter contains dark, disturbing themes.

If Living Is Without You

Three months later…

Making his way down the hallway of their latest hotel, Tama dropped the many pieces of luggage he was juggling with a big huff and checked the key card, smiling with relief when he realized he was standing right in front of the corresponding door. He then opened the door and turned around. “After you, cutie,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Ashley returned his smile, and stepped through the door into the foyer. Tama followed her, dragging the first set of luggage – hers – in with him. He set the suitcases down and went back out to fetch the rest. Ashley kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. Tama was saying something to her as he unpacked, but she was not hearing a single word. She wrapped her bony arms around her knees, her eyes glazing over as she withdrew into herself once again.

The G.O.D. member eyed the woman with pain in his eyes. Over the course of the last few months, Ashley had become a shell of her once cheerful, effervescent self. She barely spoke to anyone anymore and smiled even less. She wasn’t eating. She had even gone as far as creating this self-imposed distance between herself and everybody else, literally detaching from the rest of the world. Only Tama was allowed to have anything to do with her, which itself was merely sparingly. Watching his friend go through so much pain and anguish made Tama's heart ache. He and Ashley had been rooming for some time now, and he had gotten used to this routine of hers. However, he would have been lying if he said he had ever been comfortable with it. Nonetheless he was determined to take care of her; to help her, if only to keep her mind off Roman for a little while…

Tama quickly shook his head, forcing down the tears forming in his throat. God, he couldn’t even think about his friend, his family, without wanting to cry. He could never ever forget what he saw when he arrived at the scene of the accident; the totaled truck; the grotesquely mangled rental car; the blood all the driver’s seat. The truck driver had survived, but Roman had died on impact. The funeral was the most painful thing Tama had ever had to endure, and life was excruciatingly different without him around.

So he could only imagine what Ashley was going through. He had known firsthand of the strength of the love that Roman and Ashley had shared for so long. Even Tama himself hadn’t been able to come between them. Even when their relationship fell apart she had fought to keep them together, risked everything to be with him. So to lose him like that, for him to have been snatched so cruelly, so suddenly from her must have been gut-wrenching. All he could do was to give her as much support as he could, something he vowed to keep doing, probably until she got sick of him.

“I gotta head out for a while with Nick and Matt for a short meeting,” Tama said to her, heading towards the door. “I’ll pick up some food on the way back. Want anything?”

Wordlessly, without even looking up to acknowledge him, Ashley shook her head. Tama pursed his lips, wanting to say something, but thought better of it. She wasn’t going to change her mind. Not for the first time, he nodded with insincerity. “Okay. I’ll be back in a minute. Hang tight.”

As soon as the door was shut behind the Bullet Club member, Ashley broke down in bitter tears. Her frail body slid pathetically from the edge of the bed onto the floor. Her knees came up to her chest, curling into a fetal position as she wept for the umpteenth time in as many days. She was so cold. The world was so fucking cold…

Ashley never fully understood the true meaning of having a broken heart until three months ago, when Roman died in that car accident. Since then, her world had plunged into this suffocating, blinding darkness, forcing her to enduring this farce of an existence that for a long time now had been begging to be extinguished. She felt like she’d been hit by the same truck that took him. The abyss only grew deeper and deeper with each passing second, meticulously withering her sanity until there was nothing but empty numbness.

So many emotions ate at her like a powerful corrosive, guilt being the most prevalent. Roman was on that road that day because he was coming for her, because she had begged him to come. Contrary to what she’d thought, he hadn’t ignored her phone call. But she would have without a shadow of a doubt taken that call back if only it guaranteed that he would still be alive today. To know that he had perished, that he was no longer alive because of her was more than she could bear.

Sobbing, she shut her eyes tightly, letting the tears falling freely. She missed him so much. Her rapidly deteriorating mind envisioned nothing else but being reunited with the love of her life. He followed her everywhere she went. He invaded her dreams and haunted her nightmares. Sometimes she would actually see him standing there, but she would wake up and discover that she was only imagining it all. He was never going to be there again, and living with that fact each day brought only more agony and misery and indescribable loneliness. The pain hurt so much, ached so physically, that she often found it hard to breathe. And now, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She knew she could not keep living like this. She was not going to survive without him. A lifetime was just too long. The anguish and the guilt were a tag team that she could not defeat alone, and she refused to go through the emotional torment for a second longer, let alone the rest of her natural life.

Her body moving on its own volition, Ashley rummaged messily into her bag and retrieved an orange plastic bottle of anti-depression pills. She stared at it intently, as if it were giving her advice. The bottle was halffull to the brim, enticing, mouth-watering even. She sat upright, observing it with a morbid fascination. It was sign, telling her that this was the time, that this was the solution. This would bring an end to all her suffering. When Roman died, Ashley’s spirit died with him.

Maybe…maybe it was time to make it official.

With trembling hands, Ashley unscrewed the cap off the bottle, throwing it aside. Then leaning back, she tilted her head and emptied the entire contents into her mouth. The little container slipped out of her hands, clattering to the floor and rolling away from her. Then slowly, she spread her thin body across the floor in front of the bed and shut her eyes. Within minutes Ashley felt her body shutting down like a power failure, and a weak smile crossed her face as she began to slip away. If there was any pain or discomfort, she never felt them. All that mattered to her was that she was going to see Ro again. They had made a promise to each other, and Ashley was going to do anything to keep her end of the bargain. Come what may, they had said, they were going to be together, and if it meant that she had to join him in the afterlife, then so be it.

Tama returned to the hotel room several minutes later, having forgotten something. She never heard him rush towards her in a panic; never heard his strangled moan as he picked up the orange bottle and realized what she had done. She never heard him frantically calling her name or screaming down the phone for an ambulance; never heard his usually strong voice break as he tried to revive her, as he begged her to wake up. But the light from beyond was growing brighter, more attractive, and she couldn’t look away if she tried.

Then she saw him standing there; tall, muscular; immaculately flawless. It was like he’d never even been scratched. Even in all the years she had known him she never recalled him being this beautiful.

Roman was gaping at her, surprise etched upon his sharp features. “Ash.” Tears streamed down his face, the thin lines dissolving the second they fell down his cheeks. “Baby girl...what are you doing here?”

“Ro,” she whispered, the elation in her heart so overwhelming that she thought she would collapse from it. She reached out to him, nearly crying as she touched his face. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

“Yes.” Roman clasped the dainty little hands with his, his face crumpling with sorrow. “Baby,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I put you through this.”

Seeing the questioning look in her eyes, he continued. “Since I left, I’ve been watching you,” he said, staring as if trying to memorize every inch of her, afraid that if he didn’t, she would disappear from his very eyes. “I watched you cry yourself to sleep, cry in your sleep...Watched you mope around and punish yourself for months. I felt every bit of pain you were feeling, and it tore me apart that I couldn’t do anything to erase it.”

Ashley stroked his face affectionately, stopping short when he took a step back. She watched him with initial surprise before her expression softened. Up here, wherever here was, everything he was feeling inside of him could be seen in black and white. The grey veils of uncertainty back in the mortal world were long gone, giving way to lucid clarity. And right now, as if she were watching a video, she could see the conflicting myriad of emotions swimming within him.

“‘Ash, baby,” he started, staring down at the floor as his voice cracked. “You didn’t have to do this. Not for me.”

“I don’t care,” Ashley insisted fiercely, her dark eyes radiating, even in death, with the love she had for him. “You had no idea what went through my head when they told me that you were dead, that I lost you again for good. How the hell did you expect me to live without you? I couldn’t. I tried, Roman, I swear, but I just could not. I was so lost, so empty. And standing here right now I already feel such a difference in me, like everything’s complete. We’re meant to be Roman, no matter where we end up. I know it, and I know you know it.”

His lip quivered, then his whole body shook. Suddenly, swiftly, he moved, closing the little distance between them. He lowered his head, his lips touching hers in the softest and sweetest way. It was nothing deep or passionate; just a soft simple kiss. Ashley cupped his face as they wrapped their lips around each other’s in a stream of slow, sensual kisses. If this was a dream, neither of them wanted to wake up. This felt so, so right. Standing here, back in the arms of her true love was enough to tell Ashley that her ultimate act of sacrifice was worth it. Time and time again she had walked away from everything seemingly stable in her life just to be with him. And like she told him, she would do it all over again if only she could call him hers again.

“I love you so much, Ashley,” Roman whispered softly when they pulled apart, pressing his forehead against hers as he caressed her face. “I’ve always loved you.”

Ashley shut her eyes, her insides clogging with emotion. How many times had she dreamed about hearing him say those words to her again?

They embraced once more, with Ashley only pulling back a little to take one last look at the world she was leaving behind. The scene before her broke her heart; Tama slumped on the hotel room floor, his face buried in Ashley’s neck, rocking her lifeless body back and forth as he wept inconsolably; Matt, Nick and Kenny surrounding him, trying and failing to calm him down. Ashley looked at Roman with tears in her eyes.

"He blames himself," the Samoan said quietly. "He blames himself for what happened to both of us, which is not right." He ducked his head slightly, reining in his emotions before meeting Ashley's eyes once more. "We'll watch over him." His tone was poignant but assured. "We'll protect all of them, help them move on."

Ashley nodded. She would gladly spend all of eternity protecting Tama. He was still her best friend, always would be.

“Come with me,” Roman requested, gazing at her. “There’s so much I want you to see.”

She knew exactly what he was asking of her with one look into his luminescent eyes, and she was never going to say no. She didn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else. Her future, whatever that was anymore, lay prostrate at the feet of the translucent figure standing in front of her.

“Of course,” she replied, her eyes not leaving his as she intertwined her fingers with his. The moment they touched, she felt the thin fragments of her mortality fall away for good. Hand in hand, side by side, they walked together into the horizon, its warm lights engulfing them in a welcoming embrace. Neither looked back.

It didn’t matter where they were going. None of them even knew exactly where they were. All that mattered was that whatever came ahead of them, they would go through it together. This time, nothing was ever going to tear them apart.

Nothing.

THE END.

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

Chapter title from the song “Without You” by Mariah Carey.

Off to update my Masterlist. But how was it, guys?

Tagging:

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[nephyartis]

“Out of Memory”

The Bird

"Listen closely now, r—ready? Tell her. Rebecca was. She was, uh. She's gone. I need her back. The idol of my worship. My soup kitchen sacrifice. And my sister in arms. And—and I was her sunshine! She told me so. She—I—I—the idiot that could make her laugh and kept her grounded. The dumb math, all the time. Calculating. Why wouldn’t she do it herself? I guess obviously because when you live with an accountant, all math is your, uh. Your job. My second job. Or theirs. Mine. I’m really fucking this up, oh god. Okay, three months ago. We found out she was pregnant—pregnant. Nearly in tears. Happy tears, mind you. Like, sadistic times when I enjoyed seeing her frazzled. Reminded me she was, erm. She wasn’t a god, but actually human. Gods don't just go away. Do they? Hah, maybe that’s just part and parcel. Oh lord I’m fucking this up. Well she fucked it up. Create life then disappear forever. Kah! Stupid. Utterly ridiculous. It's also not the point. Irrelevant. This isn't about me. Not me. I keep trying to, uh. To remind myself. Hasn't stopped the guilt yet. An—and I think I'm just making it worse, honestly. So—so! The purpose of this is to explain. Rebecca didn't run away. Something bad has happened. I’m not sure what. Meili, I need your h-heck-help!" The bird squawked the ends of its message.

It was like watching some grade school science project blow up in your face, or that’s what Mei thought. The parakeet started violently thrusting its head back and forth, heaving spats of blood. Then it appeared to lose any sense of balance, all while still hemorrhaging. This was enough to convince her that it was a good time to slide the door shut. Still, Mei continued to watch from behind the glass pane. Watch as the bird’s frantic motions painted her studio balcony. It was morbidly—dumbfoundedly—fascinating. But the spell soon worn off as the creature finally started to sputter out. Likely due to blood loss, no doubt, as some seconds later it collapsed. Its emerald feathers posed a stark contrast, speckled and glistening against the red, as it lay there unmoving.

It was a contrast that only served to make its message seem all the more shocking. Or perhaps panicked? Should she feel panic? No. Focus. All concerns gradually boiled down to two root sentiments: Apathy and Disgust. A talking bird that pukes itself to death? This was a sick joke. She had to be at work in an hour. That thing just ruined her balcony. To top off, she had no idea who this ‘Rebecca’ person was. Mei deflated with a sigh, studying the sad mass of bird. Then it struck her. While she didn't know who Rebecca was, she did know a sappy accountant that could fit the bill as sender.

Turning quickly, she slid back into to the rolling chair she had left behind, riding it all the way back to her desk. Everything in the meager apartment was where it ought to be, from bed sheets to car keys. Save for that bloody blemish upon the balcony, of course. She forces it out of mind though, focusing on the task at hand. The desktop. It was a plain and unremarkable piece of furniture, even sporting a few scuff marks. As she approached, however, the latent machine was beckoned to life. A task window, resting documents, input controls, some textual reminders, and various animated characters, all became physically illuminated over its surface.

“Glen Peckard.” It took little more than the name and a flick of her wrist for the machine to read her query.

“Right away, ma’am!” The little characters all became animated, appearing to dive through networks and data dumps, before returning with their prize. Glen Peckard, and his public handles. In the times he and Mei had spoken, there was never mention of significant others. Not for a lack of trying, of course, but he was one awkward dolt. Sappy to a fault.

“Any hits for a Rebecca?”

A notification chimes. Zero cross-references between Rebecca and Glen. Next up was private media networks. Being the breed of hopeless shut-in he was, Glen probably wasn't active on any shared networks, but it was worth checking at this rate.

Or it would be, except the search wouldn’t execute. No voice or virtual command seemed to register. Even after using the keyboard for manual entry, the machine simply refused to cooperate. So she leaned far to the right, chair squeaking as she examined the cord that trailed up from the back of the desk and to the ceiling. Up there was where the projection node hung. Everything about it seemed intact, though, and so to spite its failings, Meili started to snap her fingers up at it impatiently. As if the machine were under any obligation to respond. All the animated characters watched on, indifferent.

“Hey... Search!” It didn’t help, of course, but by the time the command did execute, she was standing in her chair, snapping up at the node. Glen’s latest logins were over six months ago, on a local networking server. This was going nowhere. Voice, text, and video attempts were all equally futile. Mei leveled a deadpan glare at the display field, once again trying to pressure the machine into spitting out the answers. Glen would reply sooner or later. Not that glaring should have him reply any quicker of course, but in her mind, the contest had only just begun. Before long, she would find herself reclined in the chair, then standing behind the chair, then eventually perched on her bed in the distance, watching from across the room. As if giving the machine more space was going to ease it into delivering Glen's reply any faster. Instead, the silence that followed gave way to the outside world. An incessant buzz of insects and the distant wail of a siren. No familiar chime of a new notification, though. So she deflates with a sigh once more, falling flat on the bed. It was about time for her to get going.

Keys, wallet, bag, umbrella, and socially appropriate attire. Check. She ran through the list with a nod. Next combing her fingers through the bangs of her hair, so as to tie it all back. Glen's place wasn't far and even if he wasn't behind this, she could still probably get him to clean up the bird.

Oh. The bird. Her eyes closed with a wince as the dead critter creeped back to mind. No. There was enough to worry about with the upcoming Servo Rally. The bird could wait.

Open Doors

"Move your fucking freckle!" Someone a few cars back blared their horn. Both the manual and autodriver lanes were at a crawl, trying to enter New Albany. The city even had their electric dummies up, which were basically just repurposed street lamps. Tall cylindrical chambers that depicted holographic persons inside, all dressed in safety vests and waving newcomers towards the rally. Fortunately, however, this would be the worst of it for Mei.

After finding her exit, she let go of the wheel and just laid her head against the window, looking up at the sky. A metamorphosis was about to take place. Soon the midday sun would be swallowed up by towering structures and the web of advertisements that hung between them. The murky Brisbane that snaked through the city's center would be no exception. Its waters full of ferries and freighters. These were sights less common for those who lived inland, where it was nothing but scorched wastelands. And everything was all the more bustling thanks to the political festivities.

"You have arrived." The car slowed to a stop, just outside of a large shadowed complex. It was a quiet street, vacant of any other vehicles or signs of life. As if all the city's blood had been pulled inwards, leaving the outskirts in a state of dreamless sleep. In fact, that’s probably what Glen was doing right about then. Sleeping. Mei stepped out and approached the building, glancing up towards the third floor where his room ought to be. Hanging there, just behind a bit of window curtain, was a fluorescent bird cage. It was like a neon sign showing exactly who to blame. The prior sense of disgust began to churn in the pit of her being once more, but not in the company of apathy. This time she laughed. She laughed equal parts vengeful sadist, and dissociative disbelief. And it would be that laughter that formed the basis of the smile that she wore, all the way up to room 306.

Knock, knock. "You home? Helloooo." She drew out the words in a mix of honey and venom. But no reply. Next came the door-bell. She rang it over and over again, in obnoxious repetition. After a few seconds more, there was still no reply. So with a huff and puff, Meili started to dig through her shoulder-bag until she found her jackknife. Of course, this wasn’t an ordinary jackknife. It was proprietary technology of CyberDags LLC. Her place of work. Instead of a blade, a mechanised key folded out from its handle. Once activated, it would attempt to match itself to whatever lock it was inside. Normally she was paid to do this sort of thing, but this was a special exception.

"I've respected your privacy by knockin' but am asserting my concern for your well-being by comin' in anyways!" The moment was a rush, as her tool made short work of the lock, and the sarcastic line simply emboldened her grin. She was ready to charge in with fangs bared. However even with her manic bitterness for what Glen had done, she was ill-prepared for the sights within.

There were no lamps on, leaving the room sparsely lit by what light could seep in between the curtains. Even still it was enough to tell something was wrong. The apartment looked to have been rearranged, either by some demented artistry or an internal explosion. To the left, kitchen shelves were thrown open. Their contents mostly shattered across the floor. In the distance, a closet had evidently erupted, spewing out its clothes. And to the right, each drawer of the nearby desk had been pulled opened, some completely pulled free. The room was littered in loose paper. Yet despite all the apparent chaos, everything created visual cues, leading one's eye to the center of the room where a horribly warped ceiling fan slowly spun in place. It was barely hanging from the roof by its wires, further serving to illuminate the place with electric sparks of light. Glen lay on the ground just below it, motionless. Without thinking she stepped closer but almost immediately slowed her pace. There were no signs of blood and it looked like he was still breathing. The bastard. Meilie’s posture stiffened, hands held tightly down at her sides, forcing a quiet laugh. Her smile returned.

"Had a wild night, did ya? Wake up, asshole." She got closer, crouching to the floor with knees tucked to chest, fully intent on slapping him awake. But at that moment she became suddenly aware there was someone, or something else, encroaching the periphery of her vision. She immediately looked up to see… nothing. That’s all she could think to call it. Nothing.

She was face-to-face with Nothingness. A patch of space from which the very air seemed to flee. It formed some nimbus shadow of absolute void. Through it translucent mass, everything appeared sharper. Mei was utterly baffled, losing balance and stumbling back onto her rear. As if in response, the epicenter of the shadowy nimbus blinked. The entire room trembled. Its invisible mass pressed into two opposite ends. Each one swelled then spilled to the floor, like a stream of tears. But there was no splash. Not a sound. Nothing.

"Glen!?" Mei shrieked in condemnation. Another sick joke? She began frantically kicking him in the side but Glen still wouldn’t stir. Instead, those stagnant streams of nothingness both begin reaching for his right foot, and as they did, the rubber of his shoe began to peel off in weightless flakes. Shortly after, so did his flesh. Droplets of blood, dusty shards of bone and strands of muscle fiber, all being torn free as they gravitated upstream. Gradually forming an entirely new entity as they melded together in the shadow's core. Creating that of a worm like tube, pale and ridged with membranous layers of mucus. Four triangular flaps of naked muscle eventually defining its mouth, as the tube contracted, then breathed out some form of archaic language.

"Vaj-took-kal."

[theseventhhex]

Operators Interview

Operators

Photo by Brit Kubat

Operators is a Montreal based project created by Daniel Boeckner, (Wolf Parade, Handsome Furs, Divine Fits), Devojka, and Sam Brown (Divine Fits, New Bomb Turks) in 2014. The band released an EP in 2014, and released their first LP in 2016. Operators supported these releases with a series of international tours across North America, and Europe. Their latest release, ‘Radiant Dawn’ consists of nine tracks that meld raw analog hardware with Boeckner's distinct voice to create an immersive cinematic sound. Interspersed between the tracks are instrumental intertitles that amplify the album’s 1970s sci-fi dystopian feel. ‘Radiant Dawn’ maintains a completely fresh energy for a band very much in top form… We talk to Dan Boeckner about working in an isolated setting, the VHS era and HBO’s Chernobyl …

TSH: How would you sum up your creative partnership with Devojka in the lead-up to ‘Radiant Dawn’?

Dan: Once the ‘Blue Wave’ touring cycle ended and I had time off from Wolf Parade, I started putting together some basic ideas for what I thought would turn into ‘Radiant Dawn’ tracks. We had this sort of unspoken understanding that we weren’t going to limit ourselves to the same gear that we used to write ‘Blue Wave’, so I’d set up a few limited combinations of synths and drum machines and just started carving out patterns and chord progressions I liked. I had a lot of false starts. It wasn’t really until Dev and I began working on things together in our studio that the aesthetic of ‘Radiant Dawn’ revealed itself. We did a few days of free form jamming direct to 2 track cassette with Andrew Woods (who ended up mixing the album) processing the entire mix through a table of guitar pedals. When we were listening to the playback, it pretty much set the tone for the sonic aesthetic of the album. Dev and I got to work on building a kind of psycho-geography for the songs to live in. I got obsessed with the idea of a kind of Irradiated Pastoralism. These banal landscapes made completely unrecognisable by an “event”. Maybe a visitation, nuclear fallout, the effects of extreme climate change. Not post-apocalyptic but post-post-apocalyptic. Everything has grown back, the sun is shining, but the landscape and objects have been changed. The foliage has changed. Everything is unrecognisable. Dev and I worked really quickly after that. I felt like once we built the world, it was easy to fit the songs into it.

TSH: As you guys fleshed out new material, what was the level of focus in the studio like?

Dan: We’re pretty intensely focussed when we’re writing. One of the great things about having Dev as a writing partner is that we’re both completely comfortable and happy to play 4 bar bass sequence for hours and just reach a kind of trance state, adding and subtracting melodies and trying out different vocal lines. It’s really my favourite part of the process because it feels pure and totally removed from the world of the “intellectual”. Usually we’d record voice memos and then go over them, pick out the exciting moments and work those moments into a structure.

TSH: You’ve touched on this album pushing you forward into a new chapter of writing. Can you tell us more about auditioning your lyrics…

Dan: I’ve never really done it before, so it was a bit nerve wracking. I wanted the lyrics on this album to function like a bridge between the different narrators and protagonists in the different songs. To reinforce the narrative and show that they all lived in the same world that we’d built. Once I got over my initial uncomfortableness about sitting in a room and reading/singing lyrics to Dev, it was a blast. We got to dig into the songs and try a bunch of different things out. I filled an entire notebook with lyrics for this album and used probably 10% of them.

TSH: Also, what were the benefits in working in a really isolated setting?

Dan: Our studio is down the street from our house, on a semi bustling street…but the studio itself feels like a space station. Walking in the door for me is like walking through an airlock. There’s the outside world where linear time exists, people are getting drunk at the bar below, cars driving by, occasionally I look out the window and see someone I know…inside the studio, time stops, everything is calm, it’s a blank space where you just work and build something. I like being able to access both of those things. To spend a whole day isolated and working and then shut the door and go back to normal city life.

TSH: Was ‘Days’ identified early on as the album opener?

Dan: When I finished the first, extremely rough pass of ‘Days’ and played it for Dev, we both knew that it should be the first song on the album. The protagonist wakes up in the woods mumbling the lines of the chorus and the whole song rushes forward to a collapse where the drum machine and pads just start falling apart. The album ends in the woods with the protagonist of ‘Low Life’ watching his small town become unstuck in space/time and there’s a similar disintegration of the track. There’s a kind of loop there. I also really liked the idea of the first melodic thing you hear on the album being just Buchla bass and smeared out vocals.

TSH: Moreover, what sort of motivations do you draw on to pen a track like ‘Faithless’?

Dan: ‘Faithless’ is about the hallucinatory nature of reality (online and offline) under late period capitalism. The same grotesquely funny reality bending force field that happened in the USSR during the last years of its existence. When I wrote it, I was thinking about the absurd effects of 80s GOSPLAN (a factory that makes 10s of thousands of platform shoes that no one wants, based on calculations made by state bureaucrats) and the existential horror of watching verified fast food chain twitter accounts “interact” with each other about depression and how they’re pretty much the same thing. The failure of an ideology, political system and ecumenic ideal creating this gradual psychedelic effect on our daily lives. Accepting that. Not really knowing or caring if anything is true because…our last individual agency in this collapsing system is being able to believe something ridiculous like the earth is flat or that vaccines are a government conspiracy. Losing faith in pretty much everything. I wanted to write a song about that ending up being a liberating force for change.

TSH: How key is it for Operators to continuously have a strong visual element?

Dan: It’s become really important to the way we want to present the band. When we started, it was more of a stark, Fugazi style minimalism where we wouldn’t think about lighting onstage or a constant aesthetic, but with this record Dev and I are so invested in the world we built for ‘Radiant Dawn’, we felt like it was important to invite people into it with short films, projections onstage… to give people an immersive experience.

TSH: Speaking of visual elements, when you think of the VHS era, what sort of nostalgia and memories come to mind for you?

Dan: When I think of the VHS era I think of one thing: McQuinns Video. I grew up in a very remote rural community in Canada. We had one video rental store and it was in the basement of this guy Dick McQuinns house. You’d go in his front door, walk down a hallway and open another door. You’d walk down a flight of stairs and be greeted by a massive poster for the movie Maniac, which is an oil painting of the titular Maniac holding the severed head of a woman and a giant bowie knife. His stock was probably 50% “regular” films and 50% insane horror movies. I loved going there and wandering through the stacks of VHS tapes, looking at the covers. My brother and I would rent a bunch of horror movies and spend summer afternoons with the blinds closed mainlining Lucio Fulci and John Carpenter. I think it broke my brain in the best possible way.

TSH: Is the notion of being adaptable one that you’ve had to master being an artist over the years?

Dan: I’m not sure if I’ve mastered it, but it’s a really important skill to cultivate. One thing I do know is that in 2019, no one who works on the business side of music has any fucking idea what’s happening. All the models that “worked” 5-10 years ago are obsolete and irrelevant. That coupled with the fact there seems to be this weird, Lovecraftian shadow of the “good old days” still guiding a lot of the decisions that get made about how to direct an artist’s career means that WE as artists need to trust our instincts and experiences on the road/in the business more and more. If you’re a working musician and you’re paying attention, you’re going to know what works and what doesn’t more than any of the management class people around you. Being fluid and adaptable to this new paradigm is the way to stay happy and working.

TSH: You’ve touched on how ‘shooting stuff around on the internet can be really damaging’. Do you feel that today’s technology is information overload and that real communication is crumbling?

Dan: I don’t feel like communication and engagements are suffering but I do feel like the networked nature of these systems and the way they’re a perfect vector for political brain poisoning has been incredibly damaging to social and political life, even here in Canada.

TSH: Having some German in you, do you have any strong attachments to German ways of life?

Dan: Haha! Not at all. I do love krautrock though! And, now that I think about it��� currywurst.

TSH: What do you and Devojka bond and laugh over most whilst on tour?

Dan: Late night forced karaoke in the van, whatever weird regional American gas station items we come across, terrible hours long comedy riffs (usually based on a single word) that are just the product of the collective insanity of being in a van for 6-10 hours day.

TSH: Does your dog Archie still sleep on your suitcase when you need to access it?

Dan: Yes. Every single time we leave on tour. Always my suitcase. Probably because it’s bigger and more comfortable than Devs. We used to bring him out on the road with us and it was great… he’s an incredible equaliser. Say you’ve got a surly promoter or stage tech…it’s incredibly hard to be a complete asshole when there’s a little, friendly dog wandering around and charming everyone.

TSH: What impressed you most about HBO’s Chernobyl? And what else have you been watching lately?

Dan: I loved Chernobyl. I’m a huge fan of Jarred Harris. It’s jarring to watch something produced in the West in 2019 that’s not just ultra-reactionary and critical of Russia in general, even though the story itself is an indictment of late period Soviet bureaucracy. I liked how the director acknowledged how much of the series was lifted from Svetlana Alexeivichs incredible book, as well. I’d recommend that anyone who enjoyed Chernobyl go out and buy her latest work Secondhand Time - one of the best things I’ve ever read. Some other things I’ve watched lately: Neon Genesis Evangelion (still great), The Wailing (amazing Korean horror film), The Dark (the German Lost but good), Stranger in a Strange Land (1987 Nick Cave in Berlin doc), Marketa Lazarova (Czech new wave and the most black metal film ever made) and Ian Nairn - Nairn Across Britain. The whole series is up on YouTube and I think I learned more about UK social geography from it than anything I’ve ever read. A lot of the locations seem bleak (it’s always raining and grey) or run down (it was filmed between 71-78) but the way he imbues these places with magic and history makes you feel like you’re listening to Alan Moore talk about sacred geometry. It’s a deeply odd and very British documentary series. There’s an entire episode about Wolverhampton that’s completely gripping, if that’s any indication of how charming this guy is.

TSH: Devojka has previously made drinks for her neighbourhood – do you get treated to some cocktail specials on tour?

Dan: Without a mobile full bar, it’s hard to get the same quality of drinks out BUT, we did a pretty big booze buy on the last tour and had a box full of some top shelf liquor that just came with us into every backstage.

TSH: Finally, what’s pleased you most about the band’s progression to date?

Dan: The fact that we got to the point where we could make a record like ‘Radiant Dawn’. I’m not discounting our other stuff but to me ‘Radiant Dawn’ was one of those “signpost albums” you get to make once every 5 years or so. A record where you push through into another phase of your creative life and discover some new tools, new approaches, new language for making music and everything becomes challenging and exciting. For me, that’s really only happened twice before in the last 15 years and I’m glad we kept pushing at our song writing process. Evolving as a live band has been really rewarding too. To be so linked and tuned into each other on stage you can be in the middle of a set and just throwing new things, flourishes, new parts back and forth at each other and playing off them. Those moments are the closest I get to pure, mindless joy.

Operators - “I Feel Emotion”

Radiant Dawn