#the true tragedy is that they really were good friends

[emwallas176]

Cannot get over the duality of Smallville. In my mind, Clark and Lex are the leads of two very different shows. I’m only on season one right now but it’s so fascinating how everything that comes later is already baked in from the beginning. You can see the tragedy of their friendship even before the first crack forms because at the heart of it all, there’s always going to be a lack of understanding between Clark and Lex. It’s just who they are, how the both of them were raised.

Because on one side you have Clark. He’s an alien. He feels alone in the world, like he has to hide himself. This feeling becomes an instinct where even though he is an open and honest person there’s a part of himself that never really gets to see the light of day.

And then you have Lex who barely even knows the meaning of the word trust. He was raised in business and politics (most of it not even above board). And that’s not even mentioning the influence his father specifically had on him. He’s been taught to lie and keep secrets and ultimately restrain from divulging any part of himself without some serious teeth pulling. In fact, Lex usually won’t give up a lie until he’s been caught outright. He’s always dealing in half-truths and lying by omission so that he can stay ten steps ahead of everyone else because he was taught by his dad and has learned over and over again through experience until it was practically hardwired into his brain that sharing information with other people is a losing move and usually just puts another bullet in the gun someone’s already got aimed at your chest.

So what do you get out of that? Well, you get two people from two complete different spheres (two houses both alike in dignity and all that) who make the choice to be friends, not knowing that the choice is an impossible one. Because neither can ever be fully honest with the other (they don’t know how to be fully honest with anyone) and eventually the lies pile up between them. The misunderstandings become more than just circumstantial. They become delusion and obsession and mistrust and bad faith. They can talk and try to fight it all they want but at the end of the day their constant miscommunication leads to what was always their ultimate destiny—the end of their friendship and the start of something worse.

[katiascraft]

hiii so i thought maybe like a tough argument with lando that leads into an argument and reader is his fiancee so she gives him the engagement ring back. Really dramatic and a lot of angst. Oh and the Franco fic was perfect thx💗

Hiii 💌 i'm so happy you liked the franco fic! Thank you for your request and appreciate my work 🥹 (get ready to cry - i sobbed). Hope you like it beautiful! -------------------------------------------------------------------

"You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof" | LN4

part 2 here

Pairings: Lando Norris x Fiancee!reader.

Summary: Lando doesn’t love you anymore.

Now playing: "So long, London" by Taylor Swift.

Word count: +2k.

Warnings: ANGST. This made my heart ache. Not a native enligh speaker so there could be errors (I do what I can). Not proofread.

Author's note: I highly recomend reading this one while listening to So long, London. This made me really sad :( thank you anon again for your requests you’re the best mwak 😙. Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

The tension in that little bathroom you were in could be cut by a knife. The sunset could be seen through the window. Monaco´s view has always been your favorite since you moved here with Lando. But today…lately, everything has faded to gray. There was no even black and white just plain grays in the most colorful place in the world. You knew it was because of him. that sparkle you used to have was completely gone. And it's been gone for a few months.

The knot in your throat isn't letting you breathe properly. an evening that could be magical chatting by the pool, was again consumed by your hurting and mourning.

You thought Lando hated you.

Things got really bad.

You did not trust him anymore. You were always on high alert. You knew in some way he didn't love you anymore. That he was probably cheating on you behind your back with models. and you have convinced yourself of that. you barely could look at each other now. you stopped going to his races. He stopped kissing you goodbye or smiling when he looked at you. He didn't buy your favorite ice-cream anymore nor did he offer to go hiking knowing how much you loved nature. you stopped having sex. You didn't cuddle anymore nor kiss good morning.

You felt empty. Lost. You weren't you anymore. All of you who used to be so happy and bright and fun to be around - he took it away the minute he stopped loving you. And you had had enough of it. You didn't want to believe it. But it was true.

He didn't love you anymore.

All you had now were arguments for stupid things. Doubts he was cheating with every girl that followed him on instagram.

You looked at your engagement ring on your finger. You were in the bathroom freshly showered. all of the pain you always tried to hide came out like a storm on you. You started sobbing, holding yourself against the counter of the bathroom.

You loved him. and you were so scared that you would love him forever. you wanted to hate him. You really wanted to do so but you couldn't. And you were so mad because you loved this place. You used to love your life here with him. But there's no you and him anymore. And the promise of forever just didn't exist anymore.

The life you dreamt was gone.

You really thought this was it. Your happy ending. Your best life. Your own romantic comedy by the sea. The man you wanted to have a family with. He was the love of your life.

All of these months you tried so hard. Tried to revive the love you wanted to be there still. You cooked his favorite meals for him to just say thanks and not even look at you. You tried to support him at Singapore GP going by surprise - he wasn't so excited anymore to see you there. You cried in the bathroom that evening. When did love hurt so much? When love became such a nightmare you couldn't wake up from? How much tragedy did you have to suffer in order to make him love you again?

Did you even matter? Did he ever love you for real?

The pain you felt was one you haven't felt in your whole life. You didn't know how life was without him in it. Without his kisses and hugs. Without making him laugh and travel the world together. Without his family and their Christmas celebrations. Without his hand on your waist everywhere you went. Without his eyes admiring you. Without his advice. Without him with you. next to you. Together. Was forever even real?

You couldn't stop crying your eyes out. You had to sit on the floor. Your hair soaking wet staining your pajamas. You were shaking. You didn't know how to pretend anymore. How to keep going like this. Leaving terrified you. But how could you live like this? Did you even deserve it? Was it fair for you to be treated this way?

It seemed he didn't even care about you anymore. About you two.

Your heart was completely broken.

Were all of these girls better than you? Have you ever even been enough for him?

Every thought broke you down even more. You were gasping. You couldn't hide it anymore. You wanted to scream and run away. Hide yourself from the world. From him. You felt so humiliated. You believed he would love you forever. You felt like such a fool. How would your friends even look at you now? Would they like to be friends anyway? Or would they hate you just like he does?

A knock on the door took you out of your thoughts. That scared you. You didn't want to open the door. You knew it was him. You knew he would get mad.

“y/n open the door please. I wanna check on you. I could hear you sobbing from the living room” he said with a worried tone. You tried to wipe your face in vain. It wouldn't work.

You stood up and finally opened the door. You didn't look at him. If you did you didn't know what could happen. You really wanted to die right there. Showing him how down you were for him. How bad he could destroy you. “y/n… what's wrong?” he said softly trying to hold you close to him but you stopped him taking his hands off you and pushing him aside heading to the living room. He frowned looking at you from behind.

He followed you. “y/n” he insisted. You sighed heavily. You didnt turn to look at him, you just showed him your back. “y/n what the fuck is wrong with you? Look at me” he pronounced again now with anger in his tone. You started crying again because he raised his voice.

“You! You are the fucking problem lando! Don't act like you don't get it! You know damn well it's you!” you snapped at him done with all of this. You were done.

Your reaction took him by surprise. He knew. Of course he knew you two were miserable. He felt buried alive. Seeing you like that just took it all. He was already gone. He now realized where you both were. You were just dust. So old and abandoned. He looked at you not knowing what to say and that exasperated you.

“fucking say something please! I'm driving myself insane and you don't even care! Have I ever mattered to you?! Just say fucking something! I'm done lando. I'm done pretending we are happy. I'm miserable. You don't even look at me anymore we don even kiss! What has this ring even meant to you? You are a fucking liar! You don't love anymore, don't you? You haven't even loved me ever!” you pushed him a little. You were so frustrated. Hatred and pain controlled you. He broke you. He buried you alive. He left you down alone. He didn't come to rescue you. You didn't exist anymore.

He tried to take your hands to calm you down. “y/n please. Calm yourself down. Please” his breath was heavy and his voice shaky. His heart was shattering in a million pieces. He was a coward. He made you stay with him when he wanted to go away from here. He didn't even know what he was feeling or what he wanted. He felt like a monster. He was so confused. You looked him in the eyes. Begging him to tell you something. To say I love you. That he wanted to stay with you. “y/n im so sorry i made you feel like this” he said now his voice cracked and his eyes full of tears he was trying to hold so he could be the strong one in this situation.but he really wasn't. He was the weakest.

You couldn't believe he just said that. You went nuts. The pain drove you crazy. “sorry!? That's all you have to say lando!? You are not fucking sorry dont fucking lie to me to my fucking face! Am I a joke to you?!” you shouted getting away from him. You didn't want to be touched by him ever again.

“I'm not lying y/N!” he screamed at you bursting into tears without being able to hold his own hurt. “I don't love you anymore! There you go! I fucking said it, are you happy now? I dont fucking love you anymore!” he surprised himself for what he said and the way it got out of him.

You froze. You didn't want to listen anymore. You already knew he didn't. But hearing him saying it like that onto your face ended you right there. You couldn't move. You couldn't look at him. All the flashbacks of your happy moments were passing through your head at high speed. All that once was your life, it wasn't anymore. He was once yours, and now he doesn't anymore. Was this even real?

He was sobbing. He fell into the sofa crying and hiding his face between his hands. He was broken. “I'm really sorry I didn't have the balls to say it to you before. To put you into all of this pain. Mistreating you so much. I'm so sorry. I don't even know what i'm feeling i just think i don't love you anymore” he tried to explain himself as best he could through all of his crying and breathless exasperation.

“You're not sorry. You never loved me. You can't do this to me lando! We had a fucking wedding plan! I was already looking for dresses! Im so fucking stupid to have ever believed in you! Don't trust the player they said. How could I not believe it! Fuck you lando!” you were so hurt.so angry. You felt disgusted. Disgusted with his lips even touching you. His hands make you see stars. You wouldn't believe what you were living right now. You took off the engagement ring from your finger and threw it at him. It landed on the floor in front of him. “I really hope you stay miserable your whole life lando. And I hope you find someone who can make you happy and be enough for you and then destroy you. Break you in a million pieces. Did you find someone better? A model? A driver?” you looked at him with contempt. He was staring at the ring laying on the floor over the rug you bought in Mexico last year. When you were happy and were planning a future together. “Im heading the fuck out” you announced and run to your shared room. Got a bag and put some of your clothes in it. You couldn't stop crying. You were leaving. You were leaving your soul trapped in this house. You were leaving yourself behind. The one that would not exist ever again.

“y/n wait don't go please we can still try and figure this out together.please don't leave me. Im sorry baby please” he rushed into the bedroom trying to stop you from taking your things. You didn't let him and continued.

“No we can't lando. I'm done. You said it. You don't love me anymore then why would I stay in a place where I'm not welcome anymore? Would you stay? You don't even want to be here neither” you said frantically zipping up your bag and heading out the room. You took your keys from the kitchen table. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't stop you.

He was a monster.

“Don’t fucking ever look for me again. Hope you find someone who can make you not fall out of love before the wedding and that you actually have the family of your dreams” you said. Those words burnt your soul into ashes. Everything he wanted was without you in it.

You could have had it all.

You opened the door getting out of the house to your car. He followed you watching you getting in your car. He couldn't stop you. You didn't even say goodbye to him. He didn't say a word either.

He was holding the ring you threw in his hand. The little object burnt his skin. You were gone. The life you have built together is gone. And he was alone.

Shaking he got into his house again. He looked at the ring in his hand once more.

What has he done?

——————————————————————————————

What is it with men that they realized they love you when they already broke you? 🙃

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[burningcheese-merchant]

A Thought About Burning Spice Cookie

I was kind of just going about my business today when I had a sort of... revelation, I guess? About Burning Spice. Looking back, I'm not really sure why it took me so long to think of this, but I like to live by the ideal "the best time was then, the second best time is now", so here we go.

Burning Spice was once the Herald of Change (or History, in the original Korean text). He was said to have fought for and defended fledgling civilizations in the distant past, protecting people and helping them in dark times. His throne decor even says he used to let people into his palace and allow them to engage in honest discussion with him about their problems, after which he'd get up and go out and do something about those problems. He sounded like a pretty swell guy... until he got bored with everything and went insane, of course. But here's the thing.

I think I understand why he ended up this way.

To put it as vaguely as possible, I do stuff in real life that may or may not have something to do with history as a subject. And I will gladly tell you all point-blank: history is fucking horrible. History is bleak. History is dark and cruel. The more you dive into it, the more it appears to you as a joke without a punchline. History is a drama, a tragedy, and a big fucking farce all at the same time.

Of course Burning Spice got tired of it. I get tired of it sometimes. Because sometimes, all history ever seems to be is a bunch of delinquents writing "I'm a bad kid" on the chalkboard repeatedly forever and ever. Just a bunch of bad people hurting each other for reasons that'll only come across as stupid long after they've all died at each other's hands. I'm sure Burning Spice started to think "what's even the point of building anything if someone is just going to come tear it down?" And it's hard to not think that when that's what ALWAYS happens. That's what history is a lot of the time. Brutal competition. A war of all against all.

The cure to the cynicism and melancholy history can and will inflict on you, at least in my opinion, is... to stop dwelling on it, honestly. At the end of the day, you have to remember that the past is gone. What's done is done. Things happen and sometimes, you can't do anything about it. You can't go back and save Lincoln from being assassinated. You can't go back and stop the Holocaust. You can't go back and save the world from all those wars and famines and disease epidemics. History both changes constantly and is unchanging at the same time. You have to make peace with what you cannot change - the past - and move forward, because time won't wait for you. We have to remember these things, these dark times; we all have a duty to do so, for the sake of those that came before us and those that will come after. But we also have to remember to live for the sake of those around us here and now. It is the present that shapes the world the most. It is in the present that we find true happiness. Not in the yellowed pages of old textbooks about the past and not in the pie-in-the-sky fever dreams we have about the future.

I think that's what fucked Burning Spice over. He forgot to live in the present. He was so focused on bringing about change, so absorbed in giving everything he had to everyone else, so invested in preserving the past and paving the way for the future, that he started losing sight of what was already there in front of him. His friends. His people. Too much time spent on the bigger picture and not enough spent on the tiny details that don't seem important at first glance, but when you look closer, you realize are what made the whole, entire picture as big as it is in the first place. He, like many do, like I do, began to see how cyclical and futile history can really be. He just saw people looking for reasons to hurt one another and destroy anything good they'd built together. Civilizations that were once grand and prosperous falling to anarchy. Clans with close ties turning against one another. Friend groups fracturing. All this hard work, undone, over and over again. And for what? What did they do any of this for? What did HE do any of this for?

I think his descent into villainy was slow, but sure. A little piece of his soul crumbling to dust with every person he felt like he failed because whatever great change he enacted was undone and everyone else suffered for it. And no one was ever really there to help steer him back onto the right path. Not his friends, not his family, not his people at large. Whether this was because they didn't know he was hurting like this (he seems like the type to keep things close to the chest anyway), they didn't know how to help or comfort him, or they didn't care, ultimately does not matter; regardless, it boils down to Burning Spice never being reminded to find solace in those around him right now, instead of constantly fretting over those before or after.

Maybe if he did remember, if he paid more attention to what IS and not what WAS or what WILL BE, he could've been saved. If he'd let Shadow Milk tell him more about his books and the little puppets he liked to craft. If he listened to Eternal Sugar play her harp more. If he sat and played a few more rounds of Go with Mystic Flour. If he had a friendly sparring match or two extra with Silent Salt. If he ate and drank and danced with his fellow spices like he probably used to like doing. If he stopped thinking he always had to be this larger-than-life figure who lorded over and protected society, and just let himself breathe and be a normal, happy person. It wouldn't make the ultimate folly of history sting any less, but he could have at least made peace with it and continued onward in spite of it.

But he didn't. He succumbed to history's poison, like so many have and so many will. And in an ironic twist of fate, which you will also often find throughout history, the tide of change swallowed him whole and drowned him. He let the failures of yesterday color his perception of today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. More and more people came across to him as bad actors until the whole world was just a devil's stage play, and it was being performed at his expense. Hard work and self-sacrifice lost their flavor. He tried to keep going, tried to keep pushing. Maybe he knew what was happening to him on some level and fought desperately to save himself. Put duct tape over the cracks in a dam, because that's probably all it amounted to, because the wisdom he needed didn't exist within him at that time and he didn't/couldn't find it anywhere else. Pushed forward even when he couldn't see where he was going anymore. Until every muscle in his body hurt. Until he'd lived long enough to see everything he ever lived and worked for be taken apart for scrap, for a vendetta, for shits and giggles.

Until he started looking at those bandits and warlords and terrorists he used to help put away and thinking... "hey. Maybe they're seeing something I'm not. If nothing else at all, they sure look like they're having fun. Way more than I am right now." Until he gave in to despair and grew bitter, and thought "well, if nothing I do really matters, if destroying it all is what makes people happy, then maybe I should give it a shot."

And then he became a bandit, a warlord, a terrorist. He turned into all those people he hated and continues to hate today. He cut out the middle-man and just ended lives before they could begin. Razed civilizations to the ground because that was what was going to happen anyway, whether it be by his hand or someone else's. What does it even matter? What does anything matter? This is all history is. Pain and suffering. He's only doing what's natural. He's solving problems before they can even occur, really. He's doing everyone a REAL favor. Destruction truly is the only way.

The best way to make the world a better place is to make the lives of those around you better first. Even just helping the one person makes a difference in its own way. Think less about making history by winning a war or toppling a regime and more about making history in an old person's life by helping them up when they fall down. Or making history in a dog's life by volunteering at an animal shelter. Or making history in your friends' lives by having a fun day with them that they'll remember and cherish even on their deathbeds. Change doesn't have to be grand. It doesn't need to be an all-consuming tide that rises above the tallest buildings. It can just be gentle waves and seafoam, washing over the sand and kissing one's feet. That's enough, more often than not. More than one might realize.

Maybe if somebody made sure Burning Spice kept this in mind, he wouldn't have turned into a Beast in the end.

TL;DR: History is shit. Him losing it makes perfect sense. It probably would've happened to me, too. Somebody should've been there to keep him grounded. Everyone failed him and he failed himself. Remember to live in the present. YO SOCRATES, IT'S A FUCKING COOKIE

[deathbxnny]

hear me out, the angst potential for an arlecchino x jinx!reader.......

probably when they were kids and something tragic really happened between them (reader's parents getting killed and reader getting blamed for it), and years later they meet again, but arlecchino doesn't remember her crush being a "monster" that she is now.

Yes, ans it's so good.

Arlecchino always knew you as the odd girl who often hung around the house whilst your parents talked business with Curcabena. You were clumsy and not particularly strong bacl then, which therefore made you an outcast in the Orphanage since most children also felt unnerved by your dark aura and concerning interest in explosives. She, however, stuck around, perhaps because she, too, wasn't very welcomed by the others.

That fear drove you together and made you the best of friends, in your words, at least.

You were a people pleaser deep down, always bending backward for everyone to just like you. And yet nothing you did ever went the way you wanted to. Making mistakes was common on your end and landed you the nickname "Jinx" to begin with. A name Arlecchino never used to refer to you, as she didn't think it was true. You were very intelligent and often made her sit next to you whilst you explained your newest projects to her in detail. She'd listen intently, even if she didn't care for it.

But then tragedy struck. One you were cruelly blamed for after your home blew up and was set in flames by an unknown force. And who else was eerily interested in explosives as you were? There was no doubt about who the suspect was, yet you never brought to trial. You had run away out of fear, and that was the last Arlecchino had heard and seen from you. It left an absence in her life that she simply moved on from and tried to forget. She just hoped that whatever new life you led out there would be alot more eventful than your past one. It made her finally push away the feelings she had developed for you too.

Until she saw you again years later that is.

You had changed a lot, from appearance to behavior, it was all different and concerningly so. And yet you remained beautiful in her eyes. A part of her doesn't want you anywhere near her children whilst the other craves the nostalgic feeling you brought back with you.

In a way, nothing had truly changed though anyway right? The both of you had blood on your hands. You were both monsters in your own little words, so perhaps she wouldn't be all too hesitant to reach a familiar hand out to you as a welcome back.

One she knew you'd take with a bright, evil smile.

[sootsz]

in light of recent ominous events with the eggs (namely, theories that they’re hatching, and their even more recent disappearance this morning), i think it’s worth looking at what an insane social experiment of a situation that all the members and admins find themselves in, with us as the overly invested lab coat scientists, so hi welcome to Quackity (Accidentally) Makes Social Experiments 100000% Funnier

when talking about the egg event the focus tends to be on the cc’s and how attached they are, because they’re the ones we can fully see and gauge their emotional responses. it’s already been well established how genuinely invested they all are. but the eggs’ admins have just as much skin in the game as their in-game parents do

The tragedy of the eggs being taken away isn’t necessarily the eggs (characters) dying/leaving. it’s more than that. it’s that, in a way, the admin dies with the character. And the further that the egg event has continued past the point it was meant to end, and past the point of no return, the more true this has become.

richas plays more than the “actual” members. phil admits to seeing chayanne and tallulah as part of the server and genuinely likes who they are as people. dapper, ramon, leo, pomme—they’re all so ingrained in the island that it is impossible to imagine it without them, and to do so would be like removing half of the cc’s themselves. only Worse!

Because it’s so final when the eggs die. so definite. because even if a steamer left, you’ll see them continue in their own capacity as a streamer, but the eggs are just gone. they’re mostly anonymous (richas is again a good example). they’d vanish like they were never there, with no real way to reconnect with them

and it’s all even More high-stakes from the admin’s perspective. from watching early gegg streams, you can see how, even with charlie’s mic off, it doesn’t really feel any different from watching a normal stream?? he’s still there, interacting with his friends, joking around, playing minecraft with them, and that’s what the egg’s admins do almost Every. Single. Day. what!! an indirect comparison would be an internet friend you’ve only messaged and never vc’d with. a more direct comparison (for those who were in the trenches) would be that friend you made when you were 12 and roleplaying on a minecraft creative plots server.

juanaflippa’s admin and tilin’s admin have, on twitter, mentioned how much they miss hanging out with their ‘parents’. bobby’s admin having to say goodbye to jaiden and roier and actually crying. tallulah and chayanne giving music recommendations to phil. leo interacting with foolish in a pretty Normal Friends way (yknow, if you disregard the bedtime stories) with leo teaching him spanish and him teaching her english. they’re ALL more than just characters. they’re people!! what the hell!!!

this is not to say that the admins for the eggs are traumatized, not even a little, or that the egg experiment is in any way morally wrong (on the contrary, I love it! fun roleplay dynamics! acting! emotions repercussions that make me want to study their brains!) though i do hope for the admins sake and all of ours that they can stay as long as possible or else their therapy bills will be crazy

because when it comes down to it, friendship is friendship, whether you met roleplaying their child on a minecraft server or not

enjoy the island :)

[34to42]

Okay. So.

It’s no secret that I’ve been eagerly anticipating season 2 of The Night Agent so I made the very adult decision to take a vacation day from work and binge watch the whole thing in one day. And I have some thoughts.

Obviously spoilers lay ahead so please be aware of that before you continue reading if that’s something you care about. There might also be some swearing.

It’s not often we see a Netflix show get to season 2 and more importantly, have a season 2 that either lives up to or exceeds season 1 but I think The Night Agent is one of them. Season 2 is SUCH an experience, one that I was desperately worried about before it aired, and one that I am so happy I got to participate in now that it’s done. I was worried that the show would forget the events of season 1, that Rose would play a less integral role, that the show’s bigger and better storylines would be overdone, that they would play America as the hero when dealing with plot lines regarding international relations - none of those fears came true.

Though the showrunners were in uncharted territory having no other Matthew Quirk novels to adapt, they did a fantastic job in creating a new situation that felt similarly dire and equally as convoluted as the events of season 1. And the events of the previous season are directly referenced, and Rose continued to be integral, and the bigger and better storylines were handled well, in my opinion at least.

The overarching result of the events of season 2 however, has to be… tragedy. So many different characters have their lives upended, affected, or changed and it’s all just tragic. The character of Noor, an outstanding addition to the show, risking everything to get her family into a better situation only to lose her brother, traumatize her mother, and receive a cheque from a smiling bureaucrat for her efforts. Warren’s son Ethan, having to go through the betrayal of a friend (David), meeting his estranged father, getting so much conflicting information about his dad, only to lose him and be traumatized forever. Rose, desperately wanting a normal life but unable to fully process her grief and trauma because the only person she fully trusts left her and isn’t coming back. Even Alice’s family and the way they had to deal with their broken hearts when she took the Night Action job and stopped keeping in contact with them.

And finally… Peter.

Peter, who is a good man and wants to do the right thing but keeps getting into situations where the right choice has consequences. Who desperately wanted to clear his father’s name only to learn that it was all true and then have to make the same choices to save the one person he loves. The soul crushing tragedy of the scene with Peter and the broker in the rail car as he taunts Peter with the knowledge that by making the choices he did, he will become his father and follow in his footsteps. The absolute fucking agony on Peter’s face.

And then the tragedy of Peter telling Rose to forget him, because he knows that he cannot keep her safe and she will be used against him even though she means “everything” to him. 😭😭😭😭

My poor shipper heart.

Although I, and I suspect a lot of people, would have loved to see a happier ending for Peter and Rose, I will say that this one felt true to the story they were trying to tell. I can think of other ways this could have gone to get them that ending which I will definitely be exploring in fanfic but I can see why this choice was made. That scene in the hotel broke my fucking heart. Again, the absolute agony on Peter’s face.

So… yeah. Just, tragedy all around with this season.

I do want to mention a few things that I really appreciated about the new episodes. First, that Rose continued to not be a damsel in distress but rather continuously came to Peter’s aid and helped him out, much as she did in the first season. Second, the character of Javad was INCREDIBLY acted by Keon Alexander and made for an excellent villain, even if not the ultimate one. Holy shit, watching the shifts from romantic interest to quiet, seething menace on his face and in his demeanour throughout the show were so compelling. Third, all the scenes between characters at the Iranian mission. I was really worried this storyline would feel rushed but instead we got so many sweet moments between characters such as Haleh and Noor and an insight into their relationships.

Some specific moments I loved:

- Noor wearing her friend’s headscarf to the event at the mission

- Haleh warning Noor that Javad knew she was at the UN even though it could have cost her her job

- The ambassador’s handling of how to get Javad out of the mission, such a stroke of brilliance

- Rose’s conversation with Catherine where she told her off for talking about her aunt and uncle because she didn’t know them

- Peter holding doors open for Rose even when they were trying to get away from gunmen

- Peter immediately crawling into bed with Rose when she was having a nightmare

- Basically ever scene with Peter and Rose

- the fight scenes, they felt incredibly realistic and used a lot of elements from around the scene

- Peter and Rose’s silent communication regarding shooting Markus, it was so awesome to see them in sync like that

- Rose’s speech to Tomăs regarding the chemical weapons, she was able to get through to him even without any type of training because she is awesome

- Peter’s immediate confidence in Rose when Catherine asked “who knew she could do that?” Fuck, that was an awesome moment

- Peter and Noor’s conversation on the steps of the UN where she understood why he did what he did and accepted his apology by holding out her hand. The number of times Peter did and tried to apologize to Noor for her brother because he wants to do the right thing

Despite how much I loved the new season, I do have a few lingering questions and complaints that I also wanted to write out in case anyone else is struggling with them:

- How did the broker know to contact Rose at the beginning of the season if Peter’s name and involvement in Camp David were scrubbed?

- that President Travers wasn’t in more episodes. I really, really appreciated the way she stood up for Peter in front of Catherine at the beginning and wish there could have been some follow through later on in the season

- it feels like Rose and the doctor could have maybe thought of knockout gas a little earlier? I understand why the show did what they did for the plot but it didn’t ring quite true that they would both make so many cannisters of KX without trying something to get out of there

- Soloman’s speech to Peter as he was taking him to meet the broker regarding the one agent of theirs Peter killed in Bangkok. How they all attended his funeral and he had 40-some people who loved him. Dude, YOU killed Peter’s partner!! That whole speech just felt off.

- the character of Catherine. Things improved towards the end of the season but I really didn’t like the character at the beginning and especially didn’t like the way she spoke about Peter. It isn’t his fault that they sent him in without a lot of training and it was her job to make sure he was ready

- Peter’s tattoos being gone. I understand why it makes sense that a spy cannot have very identifiable tattoos but come on. I think we can all agree that Gabe’s tattoos are incredibly hot and we should be able to see them

So, those are my thoughts. I’m sure I’ll have more once the dust settles from watching all the episodes in one day but for now, I hope you enjoy the new season as much as I did.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 12)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie📍 Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 12 Eddie

Brady tried to cut some corners to bring you and Alastor down but ends up just hurting himself.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, po-po, 5-0, down at the gun club, not an accurate portrayal of 1930s New Orleans Leadership, mystery kisses, brief thoughts of violence, illiteracy, @minkdelovely」

MDNI 👮 🚓

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

BRADY - Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged. DOE, JANE - Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently. BRADY - And who was that? DOE, JANE - S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening. BRADY - And then he knocked you around? DOE, JANE - Yeah. Got me good. BRADY - And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that. DOE, JANE - Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection. But as soon as he got his money he left.

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[bucca2]

okay not to wax poetic about a minor side character in Skyrim that annoys the fuck out of most people, but it really does sadden me that most people are like “he’s annoying, kill him!” and then do no self reflection on the fact that they only killed him because of a petty personal gripe and because they were sent to do so by a power tripping traitor who LATER ALSO TRIES TO KILL THE LISTENER THEMSELVES.

For a long time I’ve had Thoughts™ on the phenomenon of Gamers (derogatory) who treat any NPC who is even slightly an inconvenience with disproportionate and often violent vitriol, but this post is already getting long. General musings on the tragedy of Cicero’s character and how it’s objectively the wrong choice to kill him below.

Thanks to my partner @wrenanigans I’ve had reason to re-examine Cicero’s character, and his past just makes me so deeply sad. Of course, his journals only cover DB-related events, so maybe he had a personal life he just didn’t write about, but it kind of struck both of us that he feels the loss of his fellow DB members so keenly and yet never really mentions any personal relationships outside of obligation to his fellow assassins. (i.e no family or lovers pre-insanity when he was a normal, extremely capable man) Like of course he went insane. The organization that was his entire life’s purpose not only promoted him to a position where he could no longer do what he joined them to do, but then he watched the organization dissolve around him and all his friends be slaughtered.

Then he was alone with the Night Mother waiting for her to talk to someone and give him direction for eight fucking years!!! Of course he went completely off the deep end! If I was isolated, paranoid (but is it paranoia if they’re actually out to get you?) and constantly on survival mode for that long, I’d be relieved if being a little quirky and doing little dances was the extent of my deviant behavior! (The murder comes with being in the Dark Brotherhood, so I don’t wanna hear any whining about him being stabby. Murder isn’t OK if the Dragonborn does it, but suddenly immoral if people you don’t like do it. In video games.)

I think for most people who don’t put much thought into Cicero and his actions, they just vaguely think “oh, Cicero betrayed the family and tried to kill Astrid, so killing him is justified irrespective of her later betraying us”, which is simply not true. There’s a very interesting post I saw floating around lately about how you can’t treat religion in fantasy worlds like TES the same way you would with religious groups IRL, because in TES there is tangible proof that gods exist, and they can and will fuck with the mortal world for their own whims. The point of the DB quest line is that the Tenets matter, and straying from them and the Night Mother almost snuffed the DB out for good. The narrative of the game explicitly justifies Cicero’s actions and QUITE LITERALLY tells you that killing Cicero is not the right call.

TES has a lot of creative interactivity with picking your own outcomes and going with your own solutions, but quests don’t usually end with “go kill this guy. but you can also spare him… ;)” They usually don’t give you an old wise dude whose spirit you can summon who tells you not to kill that clown. And then if you spare Cicero, he comes back and is a potential companion. Like…I don’t know how much more obvious it can get that you’re not supposed to kill Cicero. I get for most people it’s not that deep, but this is TES. We talk about lore here.

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

What Are You Too Hard On Yourself About?

So my camera that I usually take pictures with is not accessible rn so I'm going to be using a different approach to doing pick-a-pile readings. I'm taking inspiration from other tarot readers on tumblr and use aesthetic photos that I find on pinterest and tumblr. let me know if yall like this more than the photo approach!

PILE ONE

Astrology: Virgo, Capricorn, Leo

Cards: The Wheel of Fortune, The Tower, King of Pentacles, En Caul

Song: Queen Of This Shit by Quay Dash

Vibes: ❤️🎂🚗🫖🥊☕️🍎🎲🎸🎹🍒🚑🍅⏰🍉✉️🍓🤍🌶.⚾️🥩🍰

Hello, pile 1! You seem to be hard on yourself for things that aren't even your fault, my friend. I think when you were young a lot of things were blamed on you so now you take responsibility when anything tragic happens. The thing about you is you are the one person that holds together the best in tragedy. It's only after it's all happened that you start feeling like you are to blame. You are not the cause of the wheel turning. Life is a series of up's and down's on the wheel of fortune. I hear you saying things to yourself like "I'm better off not being around" but my friend the wheel would still turn if you weren't. You being in the general vicinity does not make you at fault. You keep the ride on that wheel semi-stable, my dear. Please be kinder to yourself. You are so intelligent and you have the abilities of a seer. You know what to expect from the rollercoaster that life is and you are fantastic at preparing for it. Do not beat yourself up for existing. Do not beat yourself up for making simple mistakes. Accept yourself at every part of life. Love yourself at your best AND your worst.

PILE TWO

Astrology: Pisces, Gemini, Libra

Cards: The Hanged-Man, Page of Swords, Two of Cups, Lady of the Lake

Song: I Wish I Never Met You by Oh Wonder

Vibes: 💙❤️🦋🌹❄️💥🫐🍒💎🧲🧿🪓🌀🧯♿️🧰💦🍄🐳🎒🧢👠🧵🧣🌎

Hi, pile 2! You are hard on yourself for 2 things that work in tandem with each other. You either really struggle to find partners or you struggle to build romantic connections with the sexual partners you find. You have a very pixie-like energy which makes me think this is rooted in ADHD. You get extremely distracted by your interests and your experiences. This makes it difficult for you to find romance with anyone. The people you find connections with don't understand that you need patience and understanding. They don't understand that your ADHD isn't just a disability. Your ADHD is a PART of you and if they can't accept and love your ADHD along with you, they don't even deserve your attention and love anyway. I see that there is trauma connected to you feeling useful. Because you have been rejected for the way your mind works you think all you are good at is sex. You have fallen victim to people-pleasing behaviors all because you are allowing people to shit on an entire facet of your personality. Please stand up for yourself instead of being hard on yourself for how others view you. Their opinions do not matter if they constantly put you into a state of distress and self-hatred. Do not beat yourself up because of other people's ableism. You deserve a lover that understands you and accepts every part of you. When you finally stand up for yourself you will have completed a really tough cycle and your new energy will reward you greatly with a true romantic partner that will most likely be sticking around longer than the others.

PILE THREE

Astrology: Taurus, Sagittarius, Aries

Cards: The Empress, Strength, 8 of Wands, The Rainbow

Song: No Drug Like Me by Carly Rae Jepsen

Vibes: 💛🎺🏅🐝🐱👑👙🍯🥧🥞🧀🌸🍋🍌☀️💫⚡️✨🌻🌼💐🕯💰🛍

Hey there pile 3. Your energy is so light but somehow very rich as well. You have such a lovely energy that people love to be in. This can be a blessing and a curse for you. This is because you aren't too attached to anything or anyone. You are the type of person who people get addicted to but you often leave as quickly as you arrived. You are too hard on yourself about how this makes people feel. You feel as if you have left a string of broken hearts behind you. I see you feeling very guilty because of this. Don't be harsh with yourself about your true nature. You need room to travel from person to person. You aren't the kind of individual to get attached to concepts you experience as temporary. Human connection isn't meant to be permanent for you anyway. You shouldn't try to save feelings by moving away from your authenticity. You are meant to be independent and follow your heart where the wind takes it. Let the broken hearts leave your mind. Let the guilt slide off of you like water off a duck's back. Those people will find new beginnings with people who are meant to settle down. You will forever be a free spirit. If you tried to tie yourself down out of a sense of guilt it wouldn't end well for anyone. Your authenticity should be your main priority, not saving the emotions of people who have paths to walk you can't follow. What they think about you doesn't matter if it's your time to dip again.

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Scorpio, Cancer, Aquarius

Cards: The Hanged Man, 2 of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Cosmic Ocean

Song: Greener by Kid Quill

Vibes: 💚🤎🐸🦇🪲🦂🍀🍂🥝🥥🍈🍹🧩🛖✅⚰️♻️🧺🇵🇸🚪🤑🪑💸🕯📗

Hey there, pile 4! You need to be easier on yourself for your indecisiveness, my friend. You are a very interesting combination of compassionate and intelligent. This is what makes it so hard for you to make decisions fast. It's not that you are bad at making decisions. You are smart enough to consider the different paths that could happen when making a decision. You understand that your actions have consequences and you can predict them very accurately. You are also kind enough to consider how those consequences affect the people around you. You are actually REALLY good at making decisions but it takes time to consider all of the possibilities. People have given you a hard time about indecisiveness for a long time but that's because they can't see the gears turning in your head. They don't see that you see every possibility. They can't even fathom the experience because most of the people giving you a hard time are only thinking logically or are only thinking compassionately but you see both perspectives which gives you more intel to contemplate. Be a bit nicer to yourself when you make decisions slowly. The people critiquing you don't even know the half of it.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Is it death who comes knocking? (is it a curse to always know?)

Day 1 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 7.5k

genre: horror, fluff kinda, hurt/comfort

warnings: mothman damian, crime scenes, lots of vague / symbolic mentions of death, this is kinda a monsterfucker fic but it's sfw as always, reader gets a little stressy a little hysterical

a/n: daaaaaay one I hope we all like it <3 kiss kiss enjoy

"What are you staring at? Come on, move along -"

"What, am I not allowed to gawk?" you snap, making the young police officer in front of you freeze and blink owlishly. "God knows everyone else is." He glances around at your words, letting his eyes flick frantically over the growing crowds that surround the crime scene as the police lights bathe their stricken faces in red, then blue, and then red again.

The officer keeps speaking, trying his best to bark orders and demand that everyone move along and find something else to do other than stand and stare and poke around a crime scene. But you're not particularly listening anymore. Your head, instead, tips back so that you can look up at the night sky and the towering buildings of Gotham.

A shadow flickers somewhere overhead, as black as the darkened sky. You wonder, for just a moment, if it's him.

The Mothman.

"Go on, really," the officer's defeated sigh makes you snap your head back down to look at him. He arches a brow wearily and, after glancing around to confirm that most of the crowd is still gathered, you narrow your eyes at him. "Get lost."

"I'm just standing here," you press. "Just like everybody else."

"No," he crossed his arms. "I've seen you before. Anytime, anywhere some freak accident happens, anytime somebody dies, you're always here, nosing around." You take a step back at his words, pressing your lips together in annoyance. "Maybe," he says pointedly. "Maybe we should bring you in for questioning."

"For a freak accident?" you quip back. "Incredible use of police resources." You hope that he doesn't notice the way that you sweat at his comment, hope that he can't see the way that your heart hammers and lurches as you spin on your heel and march away, knocking shoulders with people in the crowd.

You hope that he can't see the flickering shadow overhead, and hear the faint sound of wings beating over the breeze.

The Mothman. 

If you ask anyone, he's a myth, a scary story that you tell when you're out in the dark with your friends and you want to give them a good fright.

He's the omen of death, it's believed, and if you see him, you're sure to die. When tragedy is about to strike, when death is about to reign down, the Mothman will appear on the scene, dark and wild and ready to see it through.

As you begin the long walk back to your apartment, you shove your hands into your pockets to ward off the oncoming chill of night, watching as your breath fogs out in front of your face. Flashes of the crime scene that you'd just left play over and over in your mind, the accident and the death and the Mothman, large and looming and deadly as he stares. 

You were so sure… you were so sure that this time, you'd get there quick enough, that this time you'd stop him from killing again. 

You go to step out onto a crosswalk, but an oncoming car honks and the sound makes you jerk back as you blink, stepping back onto the safety of the sidewalk as you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut.

As if it will help.

As if anything will make you stop seeing the things that you see.

They're visions, you suppose - nightmares of the creature and his killings, vivid, painful flashes and glimpses of the myth and the havoc that he wreaks. 

But the nightmares keep coming true and there's nothing that you can do to stop them. There is never anything that you can do to stop them. You're always just a bit too late, just a minute too slow.

It's crazy, you tell yourself. It's a coincidence. But you keep your lips pressed firmly together, even now as you cautiously peer both ways before hastening across the busy Gotham streets, your feet surer and quicker than the rest of you has ever been. You keep your mouth shut, because the threat of being thrown somewhere like Arkham is too real and terrifying for you to do anything other than spend your days scrambling, running and running and running and falling just short of anything.

You keep your mouth shut, even at night when the visions creep up and you find yourself plagued with images of things that haven't happened yet - deaths that are soon to occur.

And in every one of these visions, it's the Mothman who appears to carry out the killing. You're sure of it. It's always him.

As you step back into your apartment, flicking on the dull, yellow-hued light and standing in the silent entryway with windswept hair and frozen fingers, you think that surely… surely next time you'll get there fast enough. Next time you'll save a life.

But when you wake the next morning, there have been no visions. No twisting and turning agony, no spiralling panic and gasping, sweating fear. There's just… nothing. 

And when you wake the next day, there's nothing. 

And the day after that, and after that, and after that. Just… nothing. You think, sort of hesitantly, like a prey animal spotting food in a trap, that perhaps you've found some sort of freedom. Perhaps you've found a way out.

But then you wake, one day, when the sun is just barely cresting over the horizon and beginning to spill golden light onto the twisted, frantic city below, and your heart hammers in your chest as your lungs burn. Images of the dreams that you'd had, of the twisted visions that haunted you come to the surface, flashing through your mind over and over and -

And you grip your blanket with one hand while the other flies over your mouth so that you can muffle your own panicked breathing, so that you can smother any sound that you make. 

Because this vision was different. This time… this time you saw him, with clawed hands and feathered wings, climbing through your open window and stepping onto your faded, wooden floors. This time, the Mothman is in your home, and he is going to come to kill you, you're sure.

It's a panicked sort of thing, the way that you rip the blankets off of your frame so that you can launch out of bed and stumble into your living room to reach for the open window. You think frantically back to the visions and remember only the window, wide open like a maw, and spilled water on the hardwood floor, as if something was knocked over on his way in.

This has to be the window, you think to yourself as you slam it shut, locking the latch roughly. This has to be it, you think as you glance at the vase of flowers on the window ledge, the water reflecting the early morning light and shining through the glass.

And then surely, you think as you step back, twisting your hands nervously in front of you, surely he can't get in. Surely death cannot come for me today.

But perhaps you should've learned, by now, that not even you can stop death.

The way that you creep back to your bedroom is careful, and you stop in every other room to close and latch the windows shut - just as a precaution, just as a final safeguard.

The tension that sits in your shoulders and keeps your body taut has begun to ease a bit, and you've begun to feel like you can breathe again for the first time all morning, when you step back into the doorway of your bedroom.

That's when you see it. Your bedroom window has been opened, and the glass of water on your nightstand, right next to the window, has been knocked over, spilling onto the hardwood floor.

So it's then that you realize… you'd gotten the window wrong. He slinks through the shadows, you know, only appearing right before the death. If you'd just stayed in your room… he never would've just climbed into your home right in front of you.

Your hands begin to tremble and your breath freezes in your lungs as you realize that you only thought that you were closing him out, while you were really just letting him in.

And then it really hits you. 

There's something in your home, and it's here to kill you. 

You stand, frozen, your breath stuttering in and out as you stare at the open window and the cool morning breeze that wafts in, blowing your curtains out into billowing waves. You stand and you wait and you consider all of the places he could be hiding, all of the ways that he could climb out of the shadows and drain the life from you.

But time ticks by… seconds into minutes and nothing… happens. There's no sight of him, no noise of him. It's like he's not even really there. You begin to think, in a rather hysterical sort of way, that perhaps you really have just gone crazy, perhaps there's never been anything here at all. 

When your doorbell rings and the sound echoes shrilly through your home, it's enough to make you jump, your heart clenching painfully as you spin around to peer down your hallway and eye your front door. It's not real, you think. He's not real. You go to step out of your bedroom, chanting the mantra over and over in your head, but it's not quite loud enough to distract from the noise that can be heard from somewhere behind you - a rustling, soft sort of thing. 

By the time you've spun around to face the window again, it's been… shut. The window's shut and your glass is placed carefully back in its rightful place on your nightstand. And you swear… you swear that you see a blur of bluish-black feathers zipping away out of the corner of your eye.

The days begin to crawl on after that, the city curling in on itself and crushing you in a way that it never has before. You start sleeping with your windows locked, of course, circling the interior of your home day after day to make sure that every latch is secure and every curtain is drawn. But try as you might, there is nowhere for you to run from the visions, and they morph into spiralling images of his large, clawed hands tapping and scraping at the glass of your windows, begging to be let in. 

"Look, you really can't be here," the officer's voice is dull in your mind, somewhere far off and vacant.

"Hm?" you acknowledge as you crane your neck to look past him, staring at the yellow tape circling the newest crime scene in a tangled maze-like pattern. 

"Just… go home. You shouldn't see this. No one should." That makes you pause, makes you look at the officer and blink and stare until he sighs and wanders off.

No one should have to see this, you think, his words ringing through your mind. But you do see it, nonetheless. 

Go home, he says, the weight of it all echoing through you. How could you? When the Mothman haunts your dreams and threatens to claw his way into your home at night? You see it still, every time that you close your eyes  - countless swirling images of him in your apartment. They confuse you, and it makes you groan and rub your temples with your fingers as the officer glances back at you where you stand on the sidewalk, ever the onlooker, ever the bystander.

This accident… you'd seen this one too, of course. And you'd seen him, the Mothman. It's the same every time. He appears in your visions, looming like a towering symbol, and then someone dies. Every time. Every time except…

You clear your throat, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you stare out through the city, the moon beginning to arch high in the night sky as stars blink in and out overhead. 

These visions of the two of you are different. He never kills you, he never hurts you. He comes into your home, time and time again, but it's… gentle. A vicious, clawed hand smoothing delicately over your cheek. Lips pressed against your forehead. His wings wrapping around you as he pulls you close. The two of you in your bed and he -

A car honks somewhere near you, another one of Gotham's near-constant scuffles as tires swerve down the darkened, busy street. It's enough to make you jump, though, ripping you from the daydream that you'd found yourself in.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" you snap, flinching as you find the young officer standing next to you again.

"You look flushed," he points out. "It's like - are you blushing?"

"No!" you all but shout. "I'm going home." He might have responded to you, then. He may have shouted after you, some comment about how that's what he's been trying to get you to do the whole time. But you're not listening, too busy stomping away as images of the hulking, feathered creature plague your mind.

It's that night, of course, that you get a new vision. It's just as confusing as they always are, a tangled mess of images and objects jumbling together in your mind. You catch glimpses of your window - and you're sure that it really is the living room now. You see his clawed, feathered hand slamming against the glass of a window pane. You see the broken shards and the opening that's left behind. You see… a trail of blood on some of the sharp edges and you know that it must be yours.

Fortunately, it's Gotham, so it's not really out of the ordinary to want to install metal bars on your window. When you stumble out of bed just as the sun is beginning to climb up beyond the impossible wall of fog, it's with the intent of sealing your apartment off, closing your home off from the outside world. 

The city outside has begun to crush you, and you realize it, in a far-off, unfazed kind of way, when you begin installing bars onto the windows in your home. It's a cursed, entangled sort of place, and you can feel it start to ensnare you, getting tighter and tighter and tighter. 

First, it's your bedroom that's sealed off, then your kitchen, then your bathroom. One by one, every opening that you have to something beyond yourself is closed off, shut out, put away, until it's nothing but you and the nightfall and the large, looming presence of your living room window.

Easy to buy, yes, but difficult to install, you realize, as you struggle to wield the hefty metal. It shouldn't be a surprise, really, that one of the bars slips from your grasp and topples into the window. You should've seen it coming, you think ruefully, as you lunge to catch it just a moment too late, watching as it shatters through the glass, instead. 

But there's a panic in you now, as the cold night air comes swirling into your home, the window now a gaping maw letting in the city outside and below. You scramble a bit, the alarm of it all making you hazy as you reach for the metal bar, missing it to instead cut your palm on the broken glass of the window. 

You find yourself reeling, then, as you stare at the jagged edge that's now glistening with your blood, as you look down to your palm, oozing red and dripping down your arm and onto your floor, and you realize that this is what you'd seen in your vision.

But it's then that you hear it - that eerie, familiar tapping and scratching at the glass. The air freezes a bit more, it feels, as your breath catches in your lungs and your heart stutters. There's a part of you that thinks that perhaps, if you don't look up, it won't be real.

So it's against your better judgement, then, that you lift your head in a slow, shaky movement, letting your eyes trail up and up and up until -

Until you're faced with a huge, feathered hand, blackened claws curling around the broken glass and reaching into your home from the opening that you'd created. Night has truly fallen outside, rendering the world invisible as it's shrouded in darkness. You can't see him, can't make out anything other than the hand stretching out from the impossibly endless night. 

But the lamp on your living room end table flickers out a dull, yellow light, illuminating your figure for him. You may not be able to see him, but he can see you, and he reaches with a sharp, curling movement toward you. 

It hits you again, in that moment, terrified as you are. In all of your efforts to keep him away, you've let the Mothman right into your home. The further you pushed, the clearer the way in became.

There's some sort of commotion on the road below, then, it seems - some kind of accident, most likely, as there are shouts and honking horns and screeching tires. The noise of it all jerks you into action, makes you jerk back and stumble away as blood drips down your arm and your vision swims with panic. 

But it makes the Mothman startle, too, it would appear, as he pulls his arm back to slam his hand against the glass, just like he had in your vision. By the time you've scrambled forward to stare out the window, he's just… gone. 

You peer down towards the street from your window and see some sort of situation on the road below, people already gathered around what you're sure has to be a body lying on the sidewalk as police sirens wail in the distance.

It hits you, then, like a cold, dead hand clamping down on your heart. You brought the Mothman here. You gave him a reason to be here, and surely he's killed again right here because of you. The thought makes your knees buckle, and you slide down toward your floor until you're sitting on the cold hardwood as the epiphany of it all slams into you. 

No matter what you do, no matter where you go, he finds you. All of the effort that you're putting into keeping him away, all of the walls you're building up and the defences that you're crafting - you seem to actually just be bringing him closer. Somehow, in this twisted, tangled city, you've found a way to spiral around each other endlessly, your hands around each other's throats and doom carved into each other's hearts.

Instead of you haunting him, he's haunting you, now. You can't fight it. You can't stop it. You can't change fate. So you decide, as you sit on your floor with your palm oozing blood and the sounds of Gotham's chaos rolling in through your broken window - you decide, then, that you'll just run away. Surely, you think. Surely, there's only so far that he can chase you. 

"Look, really, are you alright?" the officer speaking to you squints at you a bit, eyeing you through the haze of dusk as the sun sets on another accident, another crime scene, another death. "Are you… ok?" 

You're trying to listen to him, really, you're trying to nod and smile and tell him that everything's fine. You want everything to be fine. But the problem is the vision that you'd woken up with, the one that had left you gasping and gripping your chest and tearing at your hair. 

It was a vision of him, of the young, green officer in front of you who'd spent these past months watching you spiral into nothing. You'd seen him, in vague, spinning flashes, getting into his car and driving home late into the night.

You'd seen the collision somewhere downtown, on one of the large main roads. You'd seen his car, crumpled and smoking as sirens wailed in the distance.

You'd seen him die, you're sure of it. 

"There's been an accident," you blurt out, and he raises his brows and glances around.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I know. That's… why we're here. You don't need to be, though."

"No, I -" you pause, searching frantically for something to say, some kind of lifeline to grab onto in this endless, gnawing place. "I mean - a different one. I hear that, uh, a couple of the main roads have been blocked off. Horrible traffic, it would take forever to get through."

"Oh," he says slowly, his hands a bit outstretched towards you, as if he's afraid that you'll suddenly keel over from whatever's afflicting you, whatever is giving you those shifting, panicked eyes and making you shuffle on your feet. "What, in this area?"

"Hm?"

"The accident," he reminds patiently.

"Yes!" you say, snapping your fingers. "Yea, uh, right… right up in, uh, that direction." He turns to follow your pointed finger, glancing down the street as you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

"Huh," he says, a bit of understanding dawning on him. "Another Tim Drake problem, then."

"What?" 

"Drake. You know, he's that guy everyone around here talks about. More money than morals, works near here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say bluntly before you bite your tongue, cursing yourself as the shadows spiral overhead and the city leers at you, the buildings closing in around you. 

"That… must have been what the accident was about, right?" the officer continues, suspicion creeping back into his voice. "You know… you know they say he's trying to find a way to bring back the dead."

"Beg your pardon?" you ask weakly.

"Yea," he responds easily, and you can tell from the sigh in his voice that he doesn't actually believe it. They never do. "He's a real mad scientist."

"You can't," you falter. "That's impossible. What's dead… stays dead."

"Apparently not," he quips back, but at your ashen face and swaying posture, he places a gentle hand onto your shoulder. "Hey, I'm - I'm only joking. He just causes a lot of problems for us, is all."

"Right," you respond shortly, forcing out a laugh that has his concern growing. "It's just, uh, it's just a normal accident up there tonight. Car crash, I heard. You know."

"Hm," he shrugs, pulling his hand away from you to cross his arms over his chest. "Yea, there's a few too many of those these days."

"I just think that, uh," you continue on, your eyes darting around the street, glancing at the towering buildings that loom high up above you. You rub a hand over your forehead roughly when you catch, or you think you catch the flickering shadow of a wing out of the corner of your eye. "I just think that the bridge is a better route to take tonight. If, you know, you - I mean… it's - it's the way that I'll be going… because of, uh, the accident, remember?"

"No," he says gently, his voice slow and a bit halting as he watches you with concern. "I… I don't remember that, because I don't even know… well… uh, thank you. You, um, you be careful out there, alright? Get home safely."

"Hey," you laugh, a hysterical sort of thing as a shadow flashes overhead and you duck a bit. "You be careful, you know?"

"What?" he asks, the bewilderment creeping up on him a bit too much, the unease of it all crawling up his arms and beginning to wrap around his throat as the city curls inward and casts darkness onto the two of you and the sun dips far enough below the horizon that its precious light is lost once more. "No, I - do you need a ride home?"

"No!" you all but shout. "No, sorry, uh, no, my car is just parked around the corner… and I'm leaving now." You spin around at that, walking swiftly down the winding, cracked sidewalk until you find your car, all but ripping open the door to climb in as the officer watches, bewilderment and concern carved onto his face. 

You're not sure how long you sit in your car after that, your hands gripping the steering wheel as you place your forehead against your knuckles and force deep breaths in and out of your lungs. Time drips on and you see, out of the corner of your eye, the city continues to darken as night wears on and the crime scene is wrapped up, police leaving in flashes of blue and red and blue again. 

But you've done it this time, you're sure. You've been quicker, you've been smarter. You've cheated death of another victim - held back the Mothman, if only for a single night. 

It makes sense to you, of course, for you to take the bridge home, yourself. The threat of the Mothman is an ever-present weight bearing down on your shoulders and you can feel yourself scrambling, like a prey animal finally caught in a trap, to try to get away from him. With the memories of your visions still rolling through your mind endlessly, it feels only right to finally settle yourself in the driver's seat and begin to turn away, away from the main roads and the locations of your nightmares and the looming, hulking, shadow of the Mothman.

Surely, you think. Surely, this time, I'll rewrite fate just enough to make it matter. Surely, this time, something will change.

There's a sort of anguish in you, then, when you arrive at the bridge and have to slam on your brakes and bring your car to a screeching halt. It's a misery that burns you, that crawls up your throat and strangles you as the tangled web of the city closes in further. 

The police are already there, illuminating the depths of the night with their lights as they circle a car crash. It's a cop car, in fact, that's part of the collision, crumpled and smoking and warped under the endless darkness of night. 

And it's his car, that lovely young officer that you'd spoken to so many times. It's his licence plate, as clear as it had been in your visions. 

Sirens wail through the foggy air and water rushes under the bridge and your heart hammers so loudly that you swear to god it could beat out of your chest in a minute. 

Beyond the accident, beyond the cars and the police that swarm the scene, beyond the death that permeates the air and rots the ground beneath you… beyond all of that stands the Mothman, huge and terrifying and staring straight at you. 

No one else can see him, you assume - the idea that you'd toyed with for so long finally coming to life. No one can see him but you. He stands still, unmoving, unbreathing, unflinching, his feet solid on the dark asphalt as his wings spread so wide that they brush against the sides of the bridge.

He stands, like an omen of death, like a symbol of your neverending failures, and he stares at you with glowing, yellow, unblinking eyes. 

An officer knocks on your car window and you scream, a short, shrieking noise until you snap your head around to look at him and sigh. He says something as he shines his flashlight into your car, but you just shake your head and roll down the window.

"Pardon?" you ask, your voice cracking. You're not looking at him, though. Your eyes are still trained, instead, on the presence of the Mothman, the mass of black feathers and razor-sharp claws and bright, yellow eyes boring into you. 

"You've got to move along," the officer repeats. "We're trying to get the ambulances through here, those drivers need medical attention."

"Medical attention?" you all but shout, ripping your eyes away from the Mothman to stare at the cop who's leaning down to talk through your window. "They're alive?"

"Yes…" he says slowly. "It wasn't a terrible accident. But - please, we really need you to move along. If you need to cross the bridge, that's fine. Just go now and go quickly, will you?" When you look ahead of you again, the Mothman is still there, standing like a statue guarding the tightrope between life and death.

It doesn't make sense, you think as you roll up your window without another word, driving ever so slowly past the officer and across the bridge. It doesn't make sense. If he's not here to kill someone else, then who…

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly enough that the leather creeks as you pass the scene of the accident, staring at the creature right ahead of you the entire time. You're going slowly, practically crawling over the bridge as the Mothman stares down at you, still unmoving. 

It's not until you're close enough to almost hit him that he finally shifts ever so slowly, stepping to the side so that he can watch as you drive past him. You don't look, of course, your breath stuttering as you keep your head facing forward, knowing that his yellow eyes are fixed on you as you drive past. When his wings, still outstretched and menacing, scrape their feathers across the side of your car, you suck in a shaky breath and wonder what it's like to die.

But nothing… happens. You drive on, over the bridge and away from the scene, and the Mothman simply stares, fixed in his spot, as you disappear down the winding, twisting road. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the large manor houses loom over you as the city retreats behind you and disappears in the thick, foggy night and the rolling tides of the water. It's greener here, trees sprouting up into forests in tangled, maze-like patterns, and there's something in you that makes you take a sharp turn, heading toward the woods. 

He's been following you, you know, trailing after you this entire time. You catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye as you drive, seeing the flicker of his shadow overhead, hearing the flutter of his feathered wings. It makes a sort of desperation begin to swirl in you, a panic begin to fester in your mind as you begin to drive into the shadowed forest.

When the trees are too densely packed for your car, you merely park and throw open your door, stumbling as you continue on foot. Any other time, any other person would say that this is crazy, that you're some poor, lost soul stumbling to their death, likely to freeze or starve somewhere in the woods after straying too far from home. 

But you've been far too lost for far too long to stop now, and running away, you're beginning to realize, might be all that you really know how to do. 

Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised, really, that you run directly into the creature, somewhere deep in the depths of this impossible forest. Perhaps coming face-to-face with him really was always going to happen, and none of the erratic twists and turns you took could have ever prevented it.

Perhaps, you think as he stands in front of you, huge and terrifying and dark as the night, his eyes shining in the haze, perhaps there is really nothing that you can do against fate.

You think that maybe you should run, maybe you should try endlessly to scramble away from this… to defy the inevitable. You're shifting on your feet, bracing yourself to bolt away from him, when he speaks, and the sound makes you freeze. 

"You cannot run from this any more than I can," he says clearly, and his voice is a low, smooth rumble. You stare at him, eyes wide as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp, and he continues. "That is the curse. You cannot run, you cannot hide… you cannot break it."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly.

"You know what I am," is his only response.

"Who are you?" you repeat, your voice louder this time as you step forward. He blinks, his yellow eyes glowing through the night, as you squint at him. "Or is your only name Death?"

"I… am not death," he says slowly, a frown tugging on his lips as you continue to walk toward him. When you get close enough and crane your head back to look up at him, you can even see his face under all of the feathers and shadows, and he looks… he looks almost human underneath it all. "My name is Damian… and I am nothing more than an omen."

You're not sure what possesses you to reach up, leaning onto your toes so that you can reach for his face, brushing feathers away until you can see him clearly. Smooth skin and downturned lips, furrowed brows and his eyes, his bright yellow eyes staring at you through the darkness. 

"An omen?" you repeat questioningly. He hums in affirmation, his knees slightly bent and his shoulders and back hunched so that you can let one of your hands smooth across his face. 

"I see them, these deaths," he continues in his low, rumbling voice. "I watch, but I cannot change. You… you understand this, do you not?" You huff out a surprised breath at his words, jerking back like you've just remembered yourself and stumbling to create distance between the two of you. He straightens at your actions, watching you carefully as you twist your hands together and feel, as if for the first time, the biting cold of the night. 

"You're killing those people," you say harshly, but he merely stares.

"I am not… any more than you are."

"What?" you say, and you feel the air freeze in your lungs. "I'm not - I didn't kill anyone. I just - I keep seeing it and I'm… I'm trying to stop it, I'm trying to save people but I don't -"

"You are not responsible," he speaks over you, and you swear that you hear an exasperated sigh from somewhere deep within him. "That is our curse… you must watch, but you cannot change. It does not ever change."

"Then why…" you falter, searching frantically for some sort of answer, some sort of way out of this tangled snare. "Why were you there? Why are you here?"

"I am an omen," he repeats. "Where death trails through, I am to appear."

"That's it?" you say weakly. "You just… you stand and you watch? Over and over again?"

"You…" he says slowly, "would understand that, I think." You laugh at that, a high-pitched, hysterical sort of noise that makes a bird somewhere nearby squawk.

"Yea, uh, I guess - I guess I would," you say as you rub a hand over your forehead in a harsh way, squeezing your eyes shut. You try to breathe deeply for a moment, try desperately to move the freezing air through your lungs, but there's something in you that's strangling you, that's tugging at your heart and making it beat strangely in your chest.

You're just starting to consider that maybe you really should just be thrown into Arkham when a hand, huge and clawed and ever so gentle, wraps around your wrist and brings your palm away from your face. When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's staring down at you, hunched over so that he can be close to your face.

"Why are you hunting me like this?" you ask quietly, your voice a tired whisper. His brows furrow together and he frowns again.

"I'm… courting you."

"…Pardon?"

"We understand each other, I think," he explains, straightening to look down at you while he keeps his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His wings arc out behind him, blocking out the moon and the small sliver of brightness that it had blessed you with. 

"I don't… think we do," you respond hesitantly, but he just shakes his head.

"It is a curse, this life… to see but not speak, watch but not move. It is… lonely, this life. It is lonely to be us."

"So what, we…" you let your eyes dart around as his words wrap around you and make your head spin. "We just… I don't know, what, we're not alone when we're together, I suppose?"

"It is true," he says simply. "We are not alone in this place… you are not alone with me by your side."

"I thought you were trying to kill me!" you shout, pulling your arm away from his grip. He lets you, much to your shock, making a low, panicked sort of sound when he can't loosen his grip fast enough and his claws scrape against his skin. Your hand's already bandaged from the incident with your broken window, and now long, angry, red lines curl across your skin from him. 

"I have never killed anyone," he says quickly - firmly. "I have not."

"I thought -," but you cut yourself off, burying your face into your hands to let out choppy, shuttering breaths. The creature makes another pained, whining sort of sound and when you peek between your fingers, he's kneeling in front of you so that you're face-to-face, and his eyes… his eyes look so human as he stares at you with agony.

"I would never hurt you," he says firmly, but then his eyes glance down at the scrapes on your hand and he shrinks back. "Not - not on purpose. I would never lay a hand on you like that." You take a deep, shaky breath and look at him, your breath coming out in foggy gasps from the cold.

"What were you doing on the bridge tonight, then?" you ask firmly. "Why didn't that cop die?"

"I was not there for him," he says simply, frowning at you. "I was there for you."

"Then why did I see it? I saw him die -"

"Did you?" the creature cuts you off gently. "Or did you just… see him crash?"

"Well, I -," you falter, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as if to try to see the visions again before looking at Damian once more. "I… the visions are always of death. Always except for that one and -"

"And?" he prompts. You just press your lips together, flashes of your visions with Damian running through your mind. 

"How can you think that something like this could ever work?" you ask tiredly, a weak distraction as you let your forehead thump against his feathered shoulder and revel in the warmth that radiates from him. He rumbles somewhere deep in his chest and he spreads his wings further to wrap around the two of you, cocooning you in heat and darkness as his eyes bathe you in a yellow glow. 

"Is there a reason why it should not?" he asks in return, letting one of his hands find your waist while the other lifts to your cheek so that he can stroke a knuckle across your skin. You huff a bit at his easy demeanour, but with your eyes closed all that you can think of are those visions.

"I - I've seen you," you admit.

"You have?" he asks mildly.

"Yes. I've seen you - us. I've seen…" but you trail off, thankful that the darkness can hide the heat raging in your cheeks.

"You're blushing, beloved," he points out, though, and you curse yourself for not thinking that of course he can see through the impossible darkness of the night. 

"Shut up," you respond quickly.

"Not… death visions, then, I suppose?" he asks, and your eyes narrow at the playful, near-smug way that he speaks. 

"Not quite," you grit out. 

"Well, that is delightful, is it not?" he says smoothly, his voice keeping that deep, low, rumble as he leans back to look at you more clearly. "That you've accepted me?"

"I have not," you say stubbornly, but you bury your face into his feathers again, hiding your face from view while he laughs. 

"Well, that is alright," he says soothingly, brushing a hand over the back of your head. "Is this a rejection? If it is not, I'll keep trying." You grumble something under your breath, turning his words over and over and over in your mind. Would it be so bad, you think, to not be alone?

"It's… it's not. It's not a rejection," you say weakly, and when you lift your head to look at him once more, you learn that monsters can still smile. 

It's several months later, past the time of year when the cold fully sets in, and then even further past when it begins to thaw - it's then, when the ground shifts as warmth rolls in and fog begins to get muggy and sticks to your skin, that you find yourself curled up on a little fold out chair on your fire escape. You're sitting with your legs propped up on the chair with the rest of you so that you can lean your chin on your knee and stare up at the stars, at the endless pricks of light that sit just beyond the reach of this terrible, cursed city. 

It's been one of those nights, where the visions just won't leave and they wrap around you and squeeze until you're tossing and turning and gasping for breath. It's one of those nights where you wonder why it's you who's cursed, why it's you who feels so caught in the tangled thread of life and death that runs through this city. 

It's one of those nights where you think, rather desperately, that there must be some way to change what you are and what's laid out ahead of you. 

But it is a bit different already, you suppose, as a fluttering shadow stretches overhead and you glance up to see the outstretched wings of the Mothman as he swoops and dives through the darkened night sky.

It is different, because there's a new routine that you and Damian have now, where you catch each other when one of you stumbles and falls. 

It is different, if for nothing other than the fact that neither of you face death alone. 

"What's wrong, my love?" Damian's voice rings down from somewhere above you, deep and smooth as you feel the warm night air swirling while his wings beat. He's rather graceful as he lands, perched on the railing of your fire escape, the weight of him making the metal groan and creak underneath him.

"What are you doing here?" you quip, but there's no real bite in your voice as you stand and lean into him, letting him wrap an arm around your waist while you press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

"Can't you sleep?" he asks in lieu of answering. When you sigh heavily and shake your head, a frown tugs at his lips and his yellow eyes blink down at you.

"Not tonight," you answer quietly, and you shrink in on yourself just a bit. The action is enough to make an empathetic whine sound from his chest before he wraps you fully in his arms and lifts you off of your feet.

"I'll stay with you," he says simply, but you huff a bit in his arms as he settles where you'd been sitting before, letting you curl into his lap while he wraps his wings around the two of you, sealing you into a little hold of safety against the looming horror of the city beyond the two of you. 

"Damian, you don't have to…" you trail off, and he looks at you pointedly when you sink into the warmth of his embrace, relaxing in his hold. 

"But why wouldn't I?" he asks simply. You do nothing but squirm and shrug a bit, toying with some of the feathers that cover his chest. 

"Isn't there somewhere else to be?" you ask quietly. A laugh rumbles from him as you press your face into his neck and bury your hands into the soft, bluish-black feathers. 

"Like where?" he asks, a hint of mirth in his voice. "Out there? Staring death in the face? What a thing to do when I have you right here." He says it so simply, always. And you suppose that, really, he's right.

Sometimes life, you suppose, just… is what it is. Sometimes there is no fighting what you are. But why do it alone? Why not do it right here, in the arms of a monster who's learned how to love?

[dykedvonte]

So I've been turning over this detail of the game over and over and I think I've found a good reason and wanted to share. During the guilt sequence, when Jimmy enters the ID hallway his ID covers up both Anya's and Curly's.

And for a long time I've always wondered why those two in particular. And I think the reason why is because even at this point of the game he's still dehumanizing them and ignoring who they really are as people.

During the entire guilt sequence he never acknowledges Anya and the pain he caused her by the rape and forceful impregnation to her, instead only focusing on the fetus and how it would ruin HIM. And even his subconscious that's calling him out for Anya has to take on the form of Polle, and he still refuses to even reference her.

And even though he apologizes to Curly, it's really only for taking away his role as captain. He's not sorry for causing the crash that made Curly in perpetual horrific pain, for abusing him before the crash, or for even the cannibalism. And as you pointed out, throughout the entire guilt sequences he's had of Curly it's only in his post-crash state. Also throughout each guilt sequence with Curly he still imagines Curly as his perfect victim friend who would gladly take on the role of a villain for Jimmy to be a hero.

The ID hallway shows the players that even when he feels guilty he still refuses to see who they really are. Throughout the game he steals from both Anya and Curly their bodies and their voices, and this scene is symbolic of that. Even when he's feeling guilty, Jimmy is still doing just that to them.

ITS LITERALLY ALL THIS.

My biggest gripe with any interpretation of Jimmy and his abuse of Anya and Curly is that he actually respected Curly more. He didn’t even care enough to see the person he was before the crash in his moment of penitence. He couldn’t even give him a name in the end. Curly was always a space for him to take, to project his worst qualities onto. Anya became that space due to the position of power Curly specifically had, he’s his boss and he can’t just do whatever, hence why his actions were always behind Curly’s back. The tragedy of this is that he realized how much power he had over Anya, his subordinate, practically the same in the societal pecking order outside of this one instance. An opportunistic chance for him, similar to how he exerts physical power over a post-crash Curly.

He sees Anya as a nuisance, a thing he can’t get out of the recesses of his mind but he still sees her, in a fucked up way, she’s his dead pixel. Something that slowly destroys the perception of his screen the longer he ignores it until it goes black. But Curly? He’s an escape, he’s not anything real because the Curly in Jimmy’s head is also not a person but a place holder for him specifically. He wants to be that man and his only true regret is the destroying the thing he wanted to be and thus making that role inaccessible to him.

[thelunarfairy]

I SAW THE NENE DISCOURSE REGARDING LATEST CHAPTER ON TWITTER AND HAD TO RUSH HERE-

I'm so bloody disappointed with people omg can my home girl get some fucking rest???? SHE WAS TRAUMATIZED SEEING HER FRIENDS GETTING KILLED OKAY- And people aren't even being nice about her.

She really deserves the appreciation okay a girl protag doesn't have to be a "girl fighter girl boss kick your ass" in order to be note worthy. She has done so much in her own way and has grown so much it's actually noticeable! And I hate how people attack her. She was a girl living a normal life until she met hanako. How tf do you expect her to immediately change her way of thinking and actions? THIS IS ALL NEW FOR HER AND WE SEE HER ADAPTING!

Plus, I believe she NEEDED that interaction with tsuchigomori in order to move forward! My girl was way too broken and traumatized to even think straight. She needed that comfort. I get where the arguments of "she should have gone straight to turn back time and not stay with tsuchigomori because her friends are probably dying" were coming from but come on she will, at the end, turn back time, and everything WILL go back yk. I personally found that interaction very cute and very much needed for nene's OWN sanity. Hate how people are expecting so much action from every chapter.

I imagined that there would be a portion of people who would be dissatisfied with this chapter, well, they are curious to know what will happen with the story and the characters who stayed in the red house.

But well, it is not difficult to imagine that the only person who could help Nene in this situation would be Tsuchigomori. Initially I imagined that he would help her with the clock, but he was there to give her strength to continue.

Despite everything, imagining being in her place, seeing that she is alone in a new reality where no one knows what is happening, without knowing how to use Akane's clock item, without any explanation of what to do and afraid of being caught, is something very heavy.

Nene is carrying the burden of responsibility for the lives of the people she loves and admires, and someone like her, as you said, who was normal girl and the only responsibility she had was to study and get good grades, now has the blood of several people on her hands.

How her decisions can hover between miracle and tragedy, how just one mistake she makes can cause the permanent death of so many people.

It was Hanako who took responsibility, it was Teru, it was Akane, but for the first time, the burden is only hers.

And of course, this causes fear.

Each person has a different reaction to different situations, Nene is the one who first despairs, cries, is lost without knowing what to do, but after she manages to calm down, she does what is right.

She also cried when Hanako provoked Severance, she also had to hear some comforting words from Akane and Teru, she had to go through this to gain strength.

And now it is no different.

She needed support after going through so much, seeing Kou die, seeing the love of her life become a murderous monster, to the point where she tried not to believe it was true, seeing her best friend stay behind along with Akane and Teru, and all of this in less than an hour?

She needed Tsuchigomori.

And he's always there when they need him.

So, I understand some people's rush to know what's going to happen, but this moment between Tsuchi and Nene was very important for her to think better and make decisions more calmly.

Because regardless of whether they died or not inside the red house, only Nene can change that, but for that to happen, she needs to make the right decisions.

And knowing that Tsuchigomori is with her is what gives her hope that she can do it, and that she's not alone.

[burr-ell]

If it's alright, can I ask why you like the Golden Deer house more than the Blue Lions or Black Eagle houses? Like, what caught your eye about them over everyone else?

So I actually got into FE3H through a friend of mine, @dar-draws, who I already knew through mutual good taste (Dickkory), and fanarts like this one, this one, and this one plus the way she talked about Claude and Claudeleth caught my attention. I watched a couple playthroughs of the Golden Deer route on YouTube and absolutely fell in love (before finally getting a switch just to play it myself, for which I was violently bullied here). So like, I was already going into the game biased, which is part of why when I got it I went ahead and played through Golden Deer before doing all the other routes in turn; it was genuinely important to me to personally see all sides of the story. But even as I've played the other routes and replayed SS and AM and gained even more of an appreciation for them, I'm still always sort of drawn back to VW and the Deer.

I think it's ultimately vibes-based, but I'll try to articulate it. I'm not really a big fan of "cozy" sorts of games—I've played and enjoyed ACNH, but the things I most enjoyed about that game were finding things to do and goals to complete, like completing the main quest line or filling up the museum. So it's not so much that I find the Golden Deer to be cozy so much as adventurous. They're not inherently personally invested in the conflicts of White Clouds (they don't know Lord Lonato or Miklan, and their house leader isn't [gestures generally]), but they're also not just ping-ponging through the story. They go through the same events as the other two houses, but they're coming at it from more of an outsider's perspective, and their choice to get involved and react and respond feels more active.

The Deer also don't have any real reason to follow Claude, either, and in the early game they make sure he knows it; none of them are really all that concerned that they're speaking to the future Grand Duke of their country. Lysithea snaps at him, Leonie shoots the breeze with him, Raphael is jovial with him, Lorenz undercuts him, Hilda is blase with him, Marianne tries not to talk to him, and Ignatz gets into theological debates with him. Over the course of the game, they develop the same loyalty to Claude that the other house members already have for their leaders almost by default, and it feels a lot more earned because we see it happen. And that in turn makes scenes like the one at Myrddin, where Claude reveals his true goal of opening the border with Almyra and embracing foreign cultures and the other Deer are surprised but trust Claude and follow his lead, that much more satisfying.

I was a little surprised, when I played through the other three routes, that aside from the designated talking-with-the-cast scenes every route gets, the characters who aren't house leaders or retainers don't really have all that much to do in the story. On Verdant Wind, you pretty consistently have members of the Golden Deer appearing in other cutscenes and giving their two cents; there's even a unique scene where Lysithea realizes there's something up with the Empire's mages because of her backstory and approaches Claude and Byleth about it. It's nothing too obtrusive—they do still have to accommodate the potential for character death—but it's those small details that make a difference to me. Every house has a particular dynamic with odd silly quirks, but the Deer being just that little bit more integrated into the story really helps sell the idea that they belong here and they're making this story their own.

There's also the matter of where specifically their adventure takes them. I respect the choice to focus on Dimitri in Azure Moon, because it does handle his character and arc very well and I think also does the other Lions justice (with the exception of Dedue), but it's also focused largely on Dimitri's personal arc and the Tragedy of Duscur and doesn't really follow through on a lot of the events of White Clouds. (Which some Blue Lions stans have been okay with because they think the Agarthans are bad villains, which...that's valid, but stories still have to like, address plot elements they set up.) Verdant Wind, by contrast, does actually pull back and try to figure out the real impetus behind the whole conflict, and it ends with them beginning to properly lay Fodlan's true problems to rest.

So while the route isn't flawless and I do think there are issues with how characters are written that are part of larger trends within the game and the series as a whole, there's a very specific kind of fantasy adventure energy with the Golden Deer that I enjoy. I think the stories I'm most drawn to are the ones that keep their eyes on a specific goal but still make you feel like the characters would bring that same energy to goofing around with each other, and I think that's something Verdant Wind does very well.

[nqmonarch]

Aeon Brainrot Fic Part 1

Goal: Make a yandere Aeon harem. This is part 1, introducing Aeon 1, guess who it is (it's in the tags).

Aeons can transform into human forms to like blend in and shit, they're still Aeons but they're not the size of a planet. It's like true form human form shit, not sure if that's canon (it is for Aha apparently) but it is in this story.

CW: None, but this series will probably become a yandere one later (but that's not in this part) so get attached at your own risk.

Your search history was downright concerning.

Hot Aeons near me

Would you die if you fucked an Aeon

Fuli video IPC

How to talk to an Aeon

Can you bring dead Aeons back to life

Who is Idrila

Can you date Aeons

That was okay so long as none of your coworkers knew about it. People on Herta's Space Station tended to have some weird interests but yours... they'd gone a bit far. On the bright side thanks to your knowledge of Aeons (even if it was due to unsavory desires like holding an Aeon's hand) you'd been recruited to help with the Simulated Universe.

You just weren't allowed to experience it yourself. Huge L for you. Instead you had to watch as this random space racoon ran through it all AND HOLY SHIT DID THEY JUST GET KISSED BY YAOSHI? NO FUCKING WAY!!!

"Trailblazer," You were near tears when they exited the simulation causing them to rush over to you, "How-- how could you? I thought we were friends..."

The Trailblazer looked at you nervously like a lost child as Herta let out a 'tch', "Control yourself," She turned to the trailblazer and began to brief them about Yaoshi all while you stared at the floor in despair.

"...It should've been me..." You whispered punching the floor softly and then apologizing to it, the floor didn't deserve that.

Sure you may be a minor fan of the Aeons, they were really cool, and maybe you made fanart and fanfiction of them and consumed a lot of it (the very little there was, to be honest the majority of the merch was by you) and bought all the merch even the overpriced Qlipoth merch from the IPC and maybe-- Okay you were a fan. You weren't a fanatic though it wasn't like you were stalking the Aeons or giving them gifts but... No. Your morals went against that, you were a good person who just happened to like atrocious people.

But Aeons couldn't be judged by human standards, so you couldn't say they were atrocious. But it'd be so cool-- so so cool to meet one. You at least had to try, but how?

You gave up. It was impossible to meet an Aeon of your own will, and once more you were confined to your bed of tears. You weren't able to stay in your room and cry for long though because this new researcher had taken up a hobby of annoying you. You didn't even know their name they were just always there.

You were making some work appropriate art of Tayzzyronth, a beautiful creature despite the destruction it left in its wake. You heard it'd been born out of loneliness being the last of its species-- ISN'T THAT TRAGIC?! You really wanted to hug the poor bug. But if it wasn't for that loneliness it would never be able to become the beautiful Aeon it could be, what a tragedy...

"So, whatcha doing?" An androgynous voice came from behind you, as you shot into the air, and slapped your hand over the person's eyes.

Oh it was them, you should really figure out their name, "Shit-- I thought I told you to stop sneaking up behind me?!" The panic was barely concealed in your voice as they slipped their hand up to remove your hand from their eyes.

"Damn, you suck!" They said, the audacity of this no name researcher!

You glared at them, holding your hand to your chest, "Excuse me?!"

Unfortunately for you, they took the opportunity to look at your laptop behind you, "Ooo where'd you get this photo?"

You were going to cry. Actually, maybe if you knocked them out you could convince them it was a hallucination. Well, a good punch to the head should do it! You raised your fist and punched them straight in the jaw. They stumbled back, still clearly conscious, and a light blush on their cheeks.

Maybe you should've aimed for the eyes? Eh, whatever you could just keep going until they were knocked out. You raised your hand again, maybe a good slap across the cheek would be better. It connected with a snap, leaving a red imprint on their cheek.

Fuck, they were still conscious. How were you going to explain this, actually, you should've tried this to start with.

You stared dead into the new researcher's eyes, "You were hallucinating."

Both of their cheeks were red as they blinked at you with amber eyes, once and then twice before beginning to laugh, "Ahahahahaha!" They began to clutch their stomach and you began to look around for a weapon.

You had no other choice now, "Man I really didn't think you'd do that!" They spoke elatedly, as you grabbed the monitor from your desk, they paused. "Wait what are you doing?" You raised the monitor above your head and they began to laugh hysterically again.

You paused letting out an aggrieved sigh, "Stop laughing!" What was wrong with this person?! Sure the researcher's at Herta's Space Station were weird but this one was extra weird-- actually you'd met weirder. You lowered the monitor and stared at them calculatingly.

"Aw, why'd you stop?" They teased you, leaning closer to you.

You don't think you'd be able to get away with murder. "I wasn't going to do anything." You stared blankly into their eyes and put the monitor away.

"Oh c'mon, is it because I was laughing?" They scuttled after you like a rodent, "Do it, do it!" They egged you on, "Why're you putting it away?"

You looked back at them blankly, "It was never out in the first place. You're hallucinating."

They blinked back, once, twice, "So... was I also hallucinating about the Tayzzyronth fanart you made?" This bastard. No, no if you killed someone you'd get found out. Maybe you could lure them to one of those airlocks and they could mysteriously fall out into space? Yeah, yeah, that'd be good.

But right now, you heard the steps of several researchers shit-- break must be over. You ran over to your computer closing out of your drawing program, and fifteen different tabs all relating to Aeons, then cleared your search history. You were safe another day.

Except... you stared over at the unknown researcher, "Not a fucking word."

They nodded, and you heard your coworkers enter, "Y/N, you stayed behind for lunch? Make sure to take care of yourself too," Generic coworker number one said and you nodded absentmindedly in response as the unknown researcher turned to them.

"Hey do you guys want to see this really cool art Y/--" That fucker. You ran over, slapping your hand over their mouth, and letting out a nervous laugh.

You stared at your coworkers, "Uh my... my..." fuck if only you knew this person's name, "lover,"

YOU COULD'VE SAID RESEARCHER WHY DID YOU SAY LOVER WHY WAS THAT WHAT YOUR MIND WENT TO-- NO DEAL WITH IT LATER YOU HAD TO FOCUS GET IN THE ZONE! GET IN THE FUCKING ZONE!

"Yes, my lover seems a bit tired I will uh put them to rest, please give me some time," You said letting out a small forced laugh and you heard the unnamed researcher begin to laugh from behind your hand you turned to them with a glare and whispered, "I will choke you."

With that you dragged them out of the room, keeping your hand over their mouth. Once you left the room you decided to let them breathe but instantly regretted it, "Choke me like you hate me but you love me--"

"Why are you like this?" You stared at the researcher pitifully and they only smiled at you.

"So about that fanart--" They began.

"Can you keep your mouth shut?!" Sure it was known that you studied Aeons but, your personal feelings weren't as well known. Maybe you could just write it off as research?

Somehow this lead to you and this random ass researcher whose name you still didn't know in your room late at night. In exchange for their silence you had to show them your collection, which they were now leisurely thumbing through.

"Ooo, I always felt like IX would be super cuddly if they weren't like doomed to kill whoever they were near, just the vibes," They commented offhandedly looking at some of your fanfiction.

"Right?! You get it!" You said excitedly and at their stare changing to focus on you, you immediately receded into yourself, "Why did you want to look at this anyway?"

They blinked at you, once and then twice before a smile stretched their cheeks wide, "It's funny. I've met followers of Yaoshi who worshipped the ground they stepped on like little dogs! The Annihilation Gang would've done anything for their "savior" Nanook. But..." They stared at you, cheeks rosy and excited, "to love them all with such fanaticism, even I could barely stand Tayzzyronth! They were amusing but became tiring quickly. It's just fun." They grinned at you ecstatically.

"I'm not a fanatic," You said in defense, "I can just admire the beauty of the things around me."

"Ahaha yes, yes!" They nodded at your words and then with eyes still in the shape of crescents asked, "Do you have any works of Aha by chance?"

You perked up at their sudden interested and cleared your throat, "I mean obviously, each Aeon has their own strong suit and beauty. Even one that only chases laughter with no regard of their effect on their world. There's still something so charming about it," You said seriously staring into the researcher's eyes.

They read through fanfiction, admired fanart, and then broke your piece of merch. That fucker--

"Are you asking to get hit?" Your smile was strained as they laughed before pausing.

"It's starting to get boring again," They muttered and looked at you, thinking for a moment before shrugging, "I'll be back! Don't forget me, okay?"

You stared at them blankly, "Yeah, by the way, who are you?"

"Ahahaha!" They let out a laugh as you remained emotionless, "I was..." they placed their finger to their chin and then pointed it at you, "your lover right?"

With that you watched their body disappear into a stack of cards which fluttered throughout the room. What the-- Had you been hallucinating all along?! You stared at the space where they had once been.

If it wasn't a hallucination it was someone strong, who derived joy from making people embarrassed, and wanted entertainment-- maybe a slight masochist as well based on their reaction from you hitting them? Your heart began to speed up, if they were an Aeon it would be Aha but... Aha would probably bring more chaos with them, more destroyed things.

A card landed on your cheek and you moved to brush it off, but it stuck. And then the rest of the cards began to turn to your body and glide toward it.

"What the fuck..." You stared at them for a split moment before beginning to run. Fuck-- it didn't matter who they were! No way was that an Aeon! Probably was just another asshole from your department playing a prank on you!

Why were the cards still chasing you?! Surely if you ran enough they'd stop! You raced through the space ship until you eventually reached the room that was the entrance to the simulated universe. Oh there was the trailblazer and Herta how convenient!

"Can I get some help?!" You called out and they both turned to you, unfortunately talking made you slow down a bit and--

"Mfmph..." You were a card mummy now great, at least you found someone that can help-- WERE THEY IGNORING YOU? AFTER ALL YOU DID? TRAILBLAZER NO-- YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE FRIENDS

Yandere parts won't be showing yet, they'll show later when some more Aeons are introduced (on this note I really do have to catch up with sim universe for the few crumbs of Aeons we're allowed because like 75% of this is just my delusions, but hey that's fun).

Pretty sure Aha is canonically a masochist because of the Aha doll thing. Anyway I feel like Aha would eat up someone being like romantically into not just one Aeon (like the one they worship) but literally wanting to fuck all the Aeons including Tayzyyronth which let's be honest, people aren't super big on because of the murder.

Also I feel like Aha would be into fanfiction and fanart and all that stuff? Dude would be one of those fans that leaves trolling hate comments on their favorite work but if the author stops updating they will hunt them down.

Anyway don't let that distract you from the fact you were about to murder a new researcher over seeing your Tayzzyronth fanart.

I wrote this in 2 hours on the spur of a whim

[thoughtfulchaos773]

3x09 Apologies Part 2

The Faks seem to play the naive Greek chorus of this season and annoyingly so. typically in Greek tragedies, the Greek chorus should help us move along in the story and explain the main character's inner motivations but The Faks and Neil being Carmy's best friend were as unreliable as Carmy himself.

Anyway, the Faks decide that Claire haunts Carmy and Carmy said that can't be true- in fact Claire is peace?

Sidebar: Carmy do you, Mr baby- replicant, non-self- actualization-can't-explore-feelings really think and believe that?

I present Exhibits A B C D

Why Carmy can't apologize to Claire already - why is there such a delay in that interaction? I know he deals with avoidance but he apologizes to Sydney at the beginning of the season- said it to Richie when Sydney told him and he can say it to Claire as the facts say but Carmy says no I can't/

It's easy! The Faks declare.

...that is if you're really sorry Carmy.

Because facing Claire would mean having to face all his feelings both good and bad with courage.

To apologize would be Carmy having to face whether or not he's in love with Claire.

[a-couple-of-notes]

went back to see wicked again and i feel almost as insane about it as the first time.

so, the movie centers (as it should) on elphaba's arc--she's discovering her true power, shedding her need for validation, defying gravity. but this go-around, i kept thinking, what's glinda's arc? like, yes, obviously, her arc across the whole story is a fall and a redemption; she gets everything she wants, hates the fuck out of it, loses what's important, and finally finds the courage to rebuild something truly good. but i'm talking specifically this movie, this part. i mean hey, jon chu, you said you were making part one its own satisfying narrative! (he did, we'll get to it)

and yes, okay, you can say glinda starts part one as a selfish, privileged antagonist to elphaba and over the course of the movie becomes her friend. but i don't buy it. that friendship is solidified by the ozdust ballroom, so there has to be something else.

and i realized: glinda's arc in part one is about realizing she's not as powerful as she thinks she is.

glinda starts the movie thinking she can always get her way through making everybody like her. she thinks she can become a great sorceress if she studies under madam morrible. she thinks she can get the perfect boy if she just tosses her hair.

but then elphaba shows up. and over the course of part one, glinda gets humbled again and again. glinda can't do magic, while it comes naturally for elphaba (notice how glinda is always the one pointing out elphaba's magic/power in this tremendously sad combination of awe, adoration, and jealousy). elphaba earns madam morrible's faith, while madam morrible constantly makes digs toward glinda. elphaba proves herself the better person when she asks for glinda to join the sorcerer seminar, while glinda's offering was initially completely insincere. and elphaba turns fiyero's head (absolutely no one can convince me glinda doesn't clock what's going on, she's far too smart and obsessed with elphaba not to). and over the course of part one, we see glinda move from outrage and disdain at being outclassed to accepting and supporting and loving these things about her best friend, even as they make her jealous.

and like, yeah, glinda needs to be humbled a little. she's selfish! she's a bit of a brat! she says really insensitive things and no one has called her out on it until elphaba! but i think this arc for glinda adds an extra tragic layer on top of the tragedy cake. just as elphaba's mounting belief in herself was always leading to her leaving, glinda's growing humility was always leading to her staying. by the time defying gravity hits, glinda knows in her heart elphaba is more powerful than she is, in every meaning of the word. she knows the seriousness of the animals' plight (look how she shakes her head at elphaba when nikidik says the Lion cub is happy to be in the cage!) and she knows that, unlike elphaba the great sorcerer, she can't do anything. she can only survive.

i'm not saying that the glinda at the beginning of the movie would have gotten on elphaba's broom, but she would have certainly believed she could fly. this glinda doesn't. elphaba, quite fittingly, brought glinda down to earth, for better or for worse.