#they aren’t real! just thirst and go my friends life is much better!

[loveoaths]

we as a society will only progress when tumblrinas recognize they can find a horrible character hot as fuck without paving over their Evils

[harque]

" debt "

💭 . . . 0.6k "whenever you're ready." aventurine pov, gn!reader, angst, mild spoilers (aventurine's real name + backstory), pre-relationship, starvation

Aventurine was charming in every sense of the word.

He was handsome, a poker shark, always the life of the party, and a better friend than some might guess. He was well-learned about finer things: liquor, gems, and numerous other small, but interesting tidbits that could start a conversation. But he doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend. Or, really, how to be anyone who isn’t on the verge of falling apart.

So, Aventurine’s initial reaction to your confession was not at all soft or romantic. His knee-jerk response is to withdraw. If there was any truth left in him, you were uncomfortably close to unearthing it and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the carnage built up underneath his delicately cultivated persona yet. He does, however, understand love. He is not heartless. He had been loved, when he was younger. He could not love you now. What more did he have to offer?

His sister loved him, his people loved him—the harsh sun, coarse sand, and fleeting rain all once adored him as if he were their own. Kakavasha was very loved, but there is no sense in loving dead things. Aventurine was needed. He likes that.

Aventurine likes and wants to be needed, because being craved, sought after, desired or even admired by someone, no matter the person—makes it easier to twist the game in his favor. He can control others by being relied upon, can make them want him. As long as he could trick other people into thinking he was indispensable, he was safe.

(He carved away pieces of himself to sell as commodities, a fine cloth for the wealthy to wear until there was nothing left, no remnants of his former self, just a hollow shell to be discarded.)

You didn’t need him. He doesn’t feel safe. You know he isn’t who he parades himself as, and he’s scared.

You were too patient. Too gentle—he sees you, the wolf in the clothing of a lamb, prowling the edge of his enclosure. (My friend, we are one in the same, why do you insist on living among them? You cannot hide. You are not like them. You can layer all the pleasantries you like on top of your appetite, try to bury it, but it is always there. I know how to get it out. Kakavasha, aren’t you starving? Do you eat in secret because you can’t bear the thought of becoming an outcast?)

He sees a lover with lips that drip sweet rot when open. You lean closer, pressing a chaste, warm kiss to the birthmark on his wrist right above his watch and oh—like the pathetic, wretched sheep he was, Aventurine wants so desperately—but he was too wary of taking more than he was allowed.

“I understand," You said as you pulled away, replacing your mouth with the pad of your thumb. His pulse raced as you traced his veins. “It’s about time for me to go, anyways. Whenever you’re ready, come find me, alright? We’ll talk.”

(Come closer, come closer. The table is made, the world is your plate, I will give you everything so you will not have a need for anything. Indulge freely in my bounty, savor the flavors and feast to your heart’s content. No, even then, you are not filled, you still hunger. Do you ever stop wanting more? Do you ever feel satiated? When your belly is bursting, when your teeth are stained with the juices of the hunt, is your thirst ever quenched? Never. Never.)

With an even and calculated tone, he simply responds, “Of course. I always keep my promises.”

The smile on his face was nonchalant. It is only his hands that betray him, trembling behind his back when you leave.

© harque — all rights reserved — notes & reblogs are much appreciated ¡¡¡( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! thank you for reading!

[f0point5]

People oversharing on the internet has become such a HUGE issue imo. They feel the need to share everything to an audience full of strangers. I miss the days when social media and private life were actually separated because nowadays it seems like it’s all blended together. Might as well take the word ”privacy“ out of the dictionary because it doesn’t exist anymore. And for them to go and post something like that ?!? The tweet just casually trauma dumping to strangers and the worst part is they’re all eating it up ? The comments be like: ”I’m so sorry for you, I totally get your disappointment in him“ or ”I’m with you you’re not alone, we got each other during this disappointing time” like wow. Are you guys mental ?!? What’s going on 😭 I think a lot of fans (and idc if this upsets anyone) are way too caught up in the drivers personal life and the whole WAG thing which also leads to women who are fans of the actual racing to not be taken seriously. There I said it. I see tiktoks or tweets saying: me in the garage of McLaren watching Lando race as his wag- Girl you won’t ever be a ”WAG” 😭 this obsession with the drivers love life and ”WAGs” needs to end because it’s concerning. Are you watching F1 because you like the sport or are you just constantly imagining yourself in the paddock as a drivers girlfriend and just stick around for the racing because you got nothing better to do ? No wonder people claim that women only watch to thirst over the men when that’s 70% of F1 content online posted by women.

Alsoooo the ones that go around saying things like ”women aren’t respected in motorsports” and ”there’s so much sexism coming from these rich men” are the same ones that go ahead and say shit like: ”I want his babies“ and even worse stuff under a drivers post ?!? How is that not bad as well? That’s just as disrespectful.

Yeah, my god. When we said “be open about your mental health” we meant with friends and family not the world at large. The notion that sharing your daily experiences with the world is helpful to anyone really needs to die.

I have no words for those unhinged individuals sharing their trauma as a reason why Lando Norris (complete stranger) owes them something. Literally no words I’m the vocabulary to adequately articulate my revulsion.

People can like the sport or the drivers for whatever reason they want but the parasocial has gone too far for some of these people. I really can see why people are in so many unhappy relationships, because if you can delude yourself into thinking a person you’ve never even met will conform to your fantasy (which let me tell you is problematic in itself because these fantasies are always just someone who mirrors their every thought.), I guess you can project reasoning into real people who treat you like crap. Rip to all the real mean out there competing with delusion the way women compete with p*rn stars 😂

Yeah the “rich men” trope to explain behaviour makes me laugh. As if middle class or working class men have different opinions. I know y’all would like to put these drivers in some otherworldly category where you don’t have to confront the fact that they’re just ordinary people getting on with their lives the same way your boyfriend, friend, brother, and dad likely would in their position, but that’s still delusional thinking. You think only rich men ignore issues that don’t affect them? The entirety of the middle class is rioting in the streets, baying for whatever cause has got your knickers in a twist today, and it’s only the rich men getting on with their lives? Give me a break 🙄

[angelayag]

3 a.m. Doomscrolling

It was 3 a.m. in the morning, and she was in a dark, cold place with only her phone lighting the room. She was lying comfortably in her bed, snuggling with her body pillow, and feeling the warmth of her soft blanket wrapped around her. Before this, she made a promise to herself that she would fix her sleeping schedule as her online class starts at 7 a.m. and she didn’t want to feel droopy for the entirety of her class, but here we are again repeating the same cycle that she always does, scrolling through social media without noticing or even caring how much time has passed. It seems like the internet has consumed her life, from sunrise to sunset. She couldn’t even eat without some sort of entertainment video to watch; now, it even devours her time of rest.

Despite her being on her phone the entire day, you would think that she would eventually get bored and tired of web surfing, but no, it seems like her scrolling through the internet never stops. She had fallen into the rabbit hole of doomscrolling, and that "she" was me. 

Yeah, I know that I have a serious problem, as is evident from how I relate to the meme that I am looking at right now, which is a clown looking at the mirror and telling themselves that they are "definitely" going to fix their sleeping schedule. I just had to share this post with the caption "literally me rn" because the timing of this meme is just impeccable. Now, on to scrolling through Facebook once again. 

Facebook is a platform with multigenerational users, as people from all walks of life have gathered in this app. We have boomer folks who post inspirational quotes about not judging a book by its cover, along with a sketchy article of a supposed rumor about a celeb. We have younger pals who questionably may have violated Facebook’s terms of service due to the age limit, but here they are posting about their love life struggles at a very young age but also gullible enough to believe that Slender Man actually exists. We sure have wildcard characters that we can encounter on this app. 

As I scroll through Facebook, I see memes, photos of my FB friends, with whom I haven't even shared a word or two in real life, and fake news articles about politicians. I’m not even going to look at the comments, as it will surpass my low expectations about their comprehension. Through these seas of posts, something caught my eye, and that was Donalyn Bartolme’s birthday party with a "kalye" theme.

A rich person cosplaying as poor as a theme for a birthday party is definitely a controversial move and a guarantee of cancellation, at least to some. She claimed that she only did that to commemorate her past struggles before fame. Scrolling through comments, it seems like I share the same sentiment as people outside of Donalyn’s fanbase. Her action was incredibly tone deaf, as the hardships of poor people aren’t just decorations that only stay on certain occasions; they have to live with that struggle every single day. I presume, one of the side effects of being an influencer is losing a grasp of reality. 

This made me lose hope for humanity. Nevermind, I just saw a post about the COVID-19 case numbers going up. I mean, this isn’t necessarily new, as everyday COVID patients keep multiplying, but this made my frustration about the birthday thing insignificant. Weirdly enough, this realization did stop me from scrolling through Facebook. However, determined to make myself feel better, a quick scroll through Tiktok might do the trick. 

Tiktok is a haven for short-form video content. But even if the videos there take seconds to watch, it sure takes hours of your time as it easily spews out personal feeds for you to keep entertained. You can encounter various creators there from every genre or hobby imaginable as it tries to appeal to audiences with certain niches.

As I’m scrolling through Tiktok, I come across videos of comedy skits, fun facts, thirst traps, fan edits of my favorite fictional characters, interesting talents such as puppeteers and magicians, and tarot card reading, which I’m not a believer in yet still find intriguing. It seems like all is well; I am here having a good time until I came across this video of a guy, mad that the upcoming game Grand Theft Auto VI is becoming "woke" by adding a female character as a protagonist of their game.

Imagine boycotting a game just because it didn’t align with your wrapped-up view of society. The comments only ignite the fire even more as they make sexist comments, changing the way they look at the game franchise when the game is literally just about recklessly committing crimes.

But it only got worse from there, as my feed recommended a clip from one of those "alpha" male podcasts and introduced me to Andrew Tate. The clip in question is him talking about how men are allowed to cheat but women aren’t. I went to his profile, perplexed by his comment, only to find video after video of his misogyny, such as saying that the value of women decreases the more men she sleeps with or that women's only purpose is to serve men. His words were regarded as scripture in his fanbase, which is alarming considering that most of his fans are just teenage boys. Even with this, I was still invested in him, even as far as knowing information that wasn’t necessary to know, like how he used to be a professional kickboxer or that he was arrested for human trafficking.

Baffled by the negativity I’ve inflicted upon myself, why not add more fuel to the fire by visiting twitter next. 

Twitter is essentially microblogging, where you're free to post what’s on your mind, opinions you want to share, or just what is currently happening in your life with a 280-character limit. Your text, known as a "tweet," is broadcast across the platform and can be found by the masses, who can add their own comment about the thing you just tweeted in the form of quote tweeting or by simply replying under the post.

Twitter is a platform for free speech. As I scroll through it, various tweets pop up, some of which are from my friends but primarily from online strangers. What do we have here? Funny jokes, rants, social happenings, and of course horrible takes. 

I have yet again found myself spiraling over a post. It started with one user's post on how they have finally gotten better in terms of their mental health. This was quote tweeted by another user, who stated that their post was offensive due to the “poor” timing of the tweet since the war between Russia and Ukraine was happening simultaneously. This created a public discourse whether the initial tweet was distasteful or not.  

Reading the comments on these posts has exposed me to one dubious take after another. Some replies might have been satirical, but since when did having stable mental health make you lose empathy? Stable mental health simply means that you can handle your well-being better, but it doesn't prevent you from showing concern for others. Thankfully, most people share the same sentiment as me. I'm not sure why this argument was brought up in the first place. And why do I still keep engaging with it despite its obviously dumb take?

At this moment, you may begin to notice a pattern of deliberately consuming negative posts and aimlessly migrating from one social media platform to another. It all starts when the mind goes into autopilot mode, making you scroll out of habit, triggered by negativity bias, making you notice a baffling post more than a positive one, diving deeper into the said post, facing the possibility of disregarding or ignoring relevant information that does not back up how you feel, feeling frustrated afterwards, going through another social media app in the hopes of lifting your mood up, thus starting the vicious cycle once again.

This phenomenon, referred to as "doomsurfing," but more commonly known as "doomscrolling," has arisen during the pandemic as more and more people have been experiencing the compulsive urge to endlessly scroll through their social media feeds and heavily focus on the upsetting or generally negative information. This can be caused by FOMO (fear of missing out), negativity bias, uncertainty, and a lack of self-control.

“Doomscrolling occurs when you realize you’ve landed on a story and have no idea how you got there. You can’t remember why you even got on your phone in the first place, but now you’re reading hundreds of comments or retweets of someone you don’t even follow,” is how Tess Brigman, a psychotherapist and coach, describe this phenomenon, which perfectly encapsulates the authentic experience and meaning of doomscrolling.

Due to the discrepancy that doomscrolling brings, it can definitely have its effects, such as apprehension, fear, and distress, which lead to burnout and damage the general mood and well-being of a person. Taking it to the extreme takes a toll on mental health, which triggers anxiety and depression, which in turn affects sleep, appetite, and motivation and disrupts work, time with family and friends, and lastly, passion.

Holding social media companies responsible is a way of calling out action to doomscrolling, one article suggests, as their business model is an algorithm designed to catch the attention of users, thus increasing engagement. This means that the more you click on dumb or concerning posts, the more likely it is that you’ll receive the same kind of content the next time you visit the app. Legal monitoring and regulation of social media businesses may improve platform accountability, boost the transparency of their algorithmic processes, and enable users to reject personalization and profiling.

With all this, the most effective way to cut back on doomscrolling is to improve oneself. You can start by setting a time limit for yourself to monitor and minimize the hours of your screen time. You can do this by setting it up yourself, or for those with a lack of self-control, download apps that do similar functions. Unfollowing accounts that cause stress will help you declutter your feed from negativity. Setting the phone to send fewer notifications might also lessen the constant need to check our phones. If online, actively seek positive stories to balance out the negative ones. Ultimately, the most effective way to stray away from doomscrolling is to have leisure activities outside of social media, such as exercising, hanging out with friends and family, and doing what you're passionate about. Feeling overwhelmed by everything on the internet? Remember to refocus on the present moment.

Speaking of the present moment, my alarm just went off for 6 a.m. in the morning, one hour before my class. I didn’t sleep a wink last night; I have fallen down the rabbit hole of doomscrolling once again. Give it up to the author who can’t apply what she writes! She was blinded by the ray of sunlight as she opened the curtains, but she couldn't be blinded by the phone screen brightness that was on her face the entire time. This is the reality we both share, you and I. We’ve scrolled the internet up to the brink of oblivion; are you going to let it doom us all?

[readwithmiaa]

Author Interview - Theresa Van Spankeren

Exclusive Q/A session with the Author of my favorite fantasy series, Theresa Van Spankeren

Hello and Welcome everyone! 

Today, we have the honor of hosting my favorite author interview with Theresa Van Spankeren. Thank you for joining us, and let's dive into this enriching author interview together!

1) Tell me about yourself. 

My name is Theresa Van Spankeren and I live in the suburbs of Chicago with my husband. My day job is at an IT helpdesk for fast food restaurants. I have had an unusual career path which includes working for a tool store and grading standardized tests. I enjoy getting out in nature, but am a bit of a homebody.

2) When did you start writing books? Who inspired you?

I have been writing since I was little, but I completed my first actual book when I was a senior in high school. It’s hard to say who exactly inspired me - I can attribute a love of reading to my parents and grandparents on both sides. However, when it comes to writing - maybe my mom’s short stories were some inspiration? I just remember starting to write a few years after learning to read. Maybe it was the authors themselves that were the inspiration.

3) How many books did you published so far?

I have 5 books published so far in the series: Lost Soul, Pursuit into Darkness, Between Darkness & Light, Fallen Soul, and Soul Redeemed.

4) Do you have a favourite character in your stories? 

I can’t say I have a single favorite. There’s a few who have become favorites in the years I have been writing them. Julia and Samuel are favorites for sure - and I can’t count out Matthew. Lane is a unique and fun character to write about - a new favorite, for sure!

5) What makes you write about a book filled with vampires? 

I have been fascinated by vampire lore since I read Christopher Pike’s “The Last Vampire/Thirst” series, and my dad introduced me to Fred Saberhagen’s Dracula series. Since then I have read a large variety of vampire stories, each with their own unique worldbuilding and types of vampires. I find vampires to be an interesting metaphor or parallel for the troubles and transformations that occur in real life. It’s a way to explore good and evil - and sometimes that big murky gray area in a different way.

6) As a reader and as a research student I always chose to indulge myself in books that worth my time. I completed five of your books in a short span of time as I can envision the story in my mind as a movie. How did you create such a story? How do you handle writer’s block?

Parts of the first book were based off of X-Files fanfiction I started in high school and a dream. Ideas and plot points come to me, but I don’t put fingers to keyboard (or still at times, a pen to paper) until I can envision certain parts in my head - much like a movie. I allow my characters to lead the way and I try to capture their thoughts and emotions as realistically as possible - even if they are not the narrator of the story.

As for writers block . . . I have a few techniques for this. One is to listen to music - often instrumental - to capture the mood of the scene. Sometimes this can jumpstart ideas or development. I also turn to fellow writers and/or friends familiar with the story to bounce ideas off of. I use them as a sounding board. Occasionally, I just have to relax and let my mind wander. I have solved writer’s block by swimming or just taking a hike.

7) What do you like to do when you aren’t writing?

I enjoy swimming and hiking. I also love playing The Legend of Zelda and have probably dedicated more hours than I should to playing! Reading is something I’ve always enjoyed. My husband enjoys hiking as well, and we also like to investigate reported local haunted spots.

8) What's the hardest thing about writing for you?

There’s times where I am unsure where exactly the plot is going and I find myself stuck at times. One of my weaknesses that I’ve gotten better at is describing the surroundings better. Otherwise, the hardest part about writing isn’t the writing. It is the marketing - getting the word out to readers.

9) Are you working on anything new? What would you like to tell your readers?

Yes, I am about to release a side story of the War of Destiny series called “An Ember of Hope” that is from Matthew’s POV. It takes place between books 2 & 3 of the main series and chronicles much of his adventures with the Medici family. It brings insight into the later books as well. It is on pre-order now for 99 cents and is set to release on Aug 9th. The normal price will be $1.99 after the release.

I have also started writing Book 6 of the main series. We are headed towards the final books of the series. The main story will be wrapping up at book 7 or 8 depending on length. There’s a few more side book ideas that I plan to explore, but I don’t have full details yet.

10) What themes or messages do you hope readers take away from your work?

I know my books are darker in nature, but I hope that readers take away the theme that there’s always hope, even in the darkest of situations when there seems to be no way out. I hope they see a little of themselves in the various characters they can identify with - characters that are courageous, that don’t see their own worth, ones that are proud of who they are (most of the time), who are witty. None of my characters are perfect, and they struggle and make mistakes despite their immortal status, and yet they still strive for what they believe is right. I believe people can relate to that.

[dadbodgintoki]

gintama fic recs (hijigin+ edition)

this post is primarily for a friend of mine, when they eventually finish the series, but i thought it might be nice to compile some recs here for those who haven’t spent as much time wandering through ao3 as i have. i was gonna have all my recs in one place originally but then the post became like. incredibly fucking long so! instead i’m gonna split them by pairing/genre-ish and have multiple posts, starting with hijigin (+ some bonus). if you see your fic on here, let me know and i’ll link it back to your tumblr if you want! (and also, thank you for writing such a wonderful fic) 

Recs under the cut!

Series: No One Looks At Series Titles So Call Them Whatever you Like, starting with When Life Gives You Lemons Make Sure To Save Them To Your Hard Drive, by Apathy and @saltedpin​. Original is rated T, but sequel ratings vary. 

He has no problem with the attention. It’s just that right now he’s receiving so damn much of it that it’s almost starting to get a little unnerving. It’s nothing he can’t deal with, of course, but the lingering stares, the whispering behind gently waving fans, and the barely audible giggling would, were he a weaker man, give him the screaming heebie-jeebies. Gintoki learns the hard way that there is a difference between good attention and bad attention. 

Kids Who Don’t Play With Trains When They’re Young Will Never Grow Up to Become Skilled City Planners by Game_Changer. Rated T. 

Two idiots engage in the longest, most utterly pointless con of the century for no particularly good reason. [General Gintama spoilers up to and including the Baragaki Arc.]

And the Gintoki-side companion piece to City Planners: If You Get a Big Enough Bookshelf, Gravestones Could Be Your Bookends.  Rated T. 

He doesn’t believe in ghosts, really. He might be the tiniest bit afraid of them though. Gintoki’s side of Kids Who Don’t Play With Trains.

Thirst Aid Kit by evils. Rated E. 

Don't be intimidated, Gin-san...try to imagine him in his underwear!...Oh no, he's hot!

RSVP Even if You Aren't Sure You'll Make It, Just In Case; It's Better to Have More Chairs Than Less by @sharkiegorath. Rated E.

Hijikata has a problem and needs Gintoki's help

swallowing is overrated, just bring a handkerchief (a handkerchief you don't like) by @sharkiegorath. Rated E.​ (thx sharkie for the fic!) 

Gintoki and Hijikata finally hook up and it's thoroughly disgusting.

Warmth by chrendon. Rated G. 

Hijikata and Kagura bond. Gintoki is useless.

Don't Assume KOF Stands for King of Fighters. The F Might Stand for Something Else. by writing_in_the_dark. Rated E.  

Gintoki and Hijikata became addicted to a smartphone game where they had GinHiji and HijiGin sex as their characters in the game. They were then told the only way to level up any farther was to have sex with each other in the real world. They didn’t really want to, but they were hopelessly addicted to the game and desperate to continue grinding their fighters. So, they fucked each other’s brains out, leveling up their fighters and finding out they liked each other a little more than they realized.

If You're Scared That No One Will Want You When You're Old And Ugly, Remember That You're Currently Young And Beautiful And No One Wants You Anyway by @cr-bat. Rated T. 

The Yorozuya's latest job involves old gods, marriage issues, a sun that decides to stop setting, and way too much collateral damage. Sometimes Toushirou wondered what the point of surviving a homicidal immortal human-turned-demigod was if he was just going to end up slaughtering every Edo citizen himself out of pure frustration.

And also, for those of us who have a lot of hijigintsu/gintsu/hijitsu feelings:

the sun also rises series by @saltedpin​ starting with The kiss I would have spent on you. Both fics rated T. 

There was no reason why the Demon Vice Commander and the Courtesan of Death should have crossed paths; and besides which, why would they have needed to, when Gintoki could so easily pass between both of their worlds, a gulf that had, at least until recently, seemed too vast to cross? Noble idiots attempt to out-noble idiot each other

shameless self promotion: if you give a mouse a cookie, you should probably ask if he's got any nut allergies beforehand by yours truly :). Very much rated E, lmao.  

God, Gintoki thinks, please bring me the comfort of death. And, he adds, tell Kagura and Shinpachi I died from food poisoning or something. Gintoki makes a request of his partners. They oblige, in the most frustrating way possible.

[ciaran-archive]

Sorry to pry but can you elaborate on the authenticity post and what you don’t like about Ender’s Game? I don’t mean this in an accusatory way btw I genuinely wanna hear you complain about it.

WHY YES I WOULD LOVE TO BITCH ABOUT ENDER'S GAME

my fatal flaw as a person is that i cannot stop thinking about ender's game . like this book lives in my head in a way that far better books i've read just don't and i think that's partly because it did so much to me.

i read it when i was, 13, i think? like. i was just kind of figuring out that i was queer, i was weirdly uncomfortably obsessed with m/m relationships, even the vaguest implication of lesbianism made me feel sick and awful, i was pretty depressed, i had very few friends, and i wasn't....in a good place at all.

and i read ender's game and it kind of maybe saved my life? it showed me that being alone and being lonely weren't inherently a death sentence. it allowed me something i still don't have a name for. ender and valentine and peter felt like facets of a reality i nearly had, and in their reflection i could be something more like myself. who knows where i would have been but for ender's game!

it also fucked me up so bad.

one of the core messages of ender's game - and of a lot of OSC's other work - is that you cannot be truly Original, and you can't Create Anything Worth Creating, if you derive from the work of others. to make something Really Great you must isolate all your creativity and not allow anything else to influence it or it will be tainted and suspect forever. like not in those words but in that essence, that was clearly one of the subtexts of the book.

the other core message is "it is necessary for adults to hurt children; it is irresponsibly stupid as a child, especially a clever child, to trust that adults will ever not hurt you" and combined with the valorized loneliness of the first message it kind of.......still messes me up? and one of the reasons it fucked me up was because i was so bad at adhering to its lessons.

and that's my problem with ender's game at the end of the day: it's like drinking nuclear waste water when you're dying of thirst. like yeah it'll save your life but it'll also teach you how to justify doing the worst things possible (to yourself and others) and i was damned lucky that fiction was my first outlet for those urges and justifications because good god i don't like thinking about what it would've been like directed at myself without any barriers! and it was pretty bad even so!

OSC is also wildly unreasonably and rabidly homophobic so there's, uh, that. To Deal With.

the thing about authenticity is that it doesn't really exist. there's no true self, only selves less articulated or entirely unacknowledged for whatever reasons. sometimes those selves aren't given form because they have nothing to do with us. but we exist in a constant state of becoming; we are built in relation to our surroundings, and we can never strive to be free of influence. isolation is its own form of torture.

there are no authentic cultures either, only arbitrary markers we place in our pasts to delineate the "real" from the "influences" like every culture isn't a snapshot of its moment in time. things are always changing and turning into something new. they rarely become more "themselves" because the idea that you can strip away everything an outsider gave you and still end up with something either real or worth having is....kind of sad, really? do you want to know the person you are without everyone you've ever loved?

it's one thing to talk about capitalism and the commodification of the self and cults of personality and another to act like the very act of articulating your identity in a series of labels/aesthetics/shiny online things inherently corrupts your "soul". this process exists offline also; we are always building ourself to be approved of or disapproved of or reacted to or ignored by the people around us.

but people get really bogged down in the idea of authenticity and the specter of a real self that can be accessed by jumping through various hoops (go offline! go on instagram! make a succulent garden! get a tiktok! buy this thing!). and then they start acting superior because they don't need the internet to feel like their "real self" - as a friend said, sounds like they have a surprising amount of ability to be their real self with parents and bosses and cops - like i'm sorry! some of us are queer and trans and autistic and can't access an offline social group! and even if i did i would prefer to be online a lot of the time: the internet is full of spaces where i'm safe and in control, and that's just harder irl. and my experiences aren't any less valuable than those of someone with different ones.

...anyway, that's on authenticity.

[starshipsofstarlord]

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

[therealvinelle]

Hey,

What do you think the impact of being brought up as vegan would be on a vampire? I mean if you’re non vegetarian then it stands to reason that killing for food is normal (and humans are food for vampires) but if you’re raised to believe killing animals for sustenance to be a sin would that affect you when you turn? It doesn’t seem very likely with the way vampires act in Twilight where it seems empathy, for humans specifically, was just lost during transition (Carlisle seems to be an exception), but maybe it would?

I’m the person who asked the vegan thing.

I just realized that being raised vegan means that food was food to you so it really wouldn’t affect your diet much as a vampire. Humans were not acceptable to for both vegans and non-vegans but they both would probably end up eating them anyways as a vampire.

But what about people who changed from eating meat to abstaining because they grew up eating it and somewhere along the way realized that they were killing for it and decided to stop. In this case, the family and friends of this person were okay with meat but they decided to stop for the animals’ sake instead of a social norm. Would this kind of person be more likely to go for the vegetarian vampire diet because of their card for humans as well? How much of their personality would remain that they could still care about humans?

This here touches upon why Twilight vampires eat people in the first place.

Before I get into that, though, I feel I should point out that what people eat a is not so easily divided morally as vegans = recognize life has worth, vs. omnivores = don’t. Factors such as culture, income, class, social environment, education, health, politics, and priorities all play a part. There’s a reason why your average young and urban female college student is much more likely to be vegan than a rural male seventy-year-old factory worker, and it has nothing to do with an inherent sense of morality. Even then, someone could become a vegan for reasons that have nothing to do with animal welfare, such as protecting the planet, a special diet, or sustaining a superiority complex (this last category will of course never admit that that’s the real reason and you should unfriend them on facebook if you don’t want your timeline to be filled with guilt-tripping photos of smoking factory pipes and sad-looking cows).

But you weren’t asking about that, you were asking about vampires.

So, when a vampire wakes up, they are faced with this unbearable thirst. It’s different for everyone, or at least they describe it differently, but the whole point of this thirst is that it’s strong enough that you have to actively hold yourself back, at great pains, to keep from killing people over it. Some vampires, when especially hungry (newborn Carlisle when a herd of deer ran by) or confronted with a particularly delicious scent (Emmet when he met his singers) or just when caught off guard (Jasper at Bella’s birthday party), appear to lose their senses altogether.

Choice doesn’t really factor in it, not when you’re a newborn, and not really later on either.

Even if it did, we know that creating a vampire requires tremendous effort. There are two vampires I know of that were accidents, Carlisle and Garret. The vast majority of vampires were created as a conscious decision, and even if they weren’t, the Volturi have a law that Thou shalt not abandon thy newborn. And so this paragraph finally gets to its point: most newborns wake up with their creators nearby. And their creator will take them hunting, at a time when they’re not yet able to resist.

And so you have these people who wake up in completely new and foreign circumstances, their bodies not their own any longer, with this unbearable, constant pain in their throats they can’t escape. They can’t sleep, they can’t eat something else, they can’t tune it out with drugs. There is no reprieve. And yes, it does get better - but in those first few fateful months, they’re pretty much forced to kill people.

Carlisle was the exception, and while I don’t wish to lessen the incredible willpower and humanity he displayed when he resisted his thirst, he was in a unique situation that allowed it. His creator wasn’t there to force him to feed, he already knew what vampires were and as such was repulsed by his own nature, and he was sequestered away in a potato cellar, and therefore not in immediate proximity to humans. What he did was still incredible, but the circumstances allowed him to do it in the first place. Every other man-eating vampire in canon was not so lucky.

My point being, for newborn vampires eating people can’t really be called a choice.

Even as vampires learn control, I imagine the choice to continue eating people is a mix of several factors. In bullet points:

Sunk cost fallacy They’ve already eaten so many humans, why stop now? If there’s a heaven or a hell, they know which one they’re going to. Might as well get a good ride.

Humans aren’t people Vampires in Twilight are dismissive of humans more often than they’re not, often expressing surprise, incomprehension, or disgust at Edward falling for one. And I see why they would: it��s a coping mechanism, for starters, to stop seeing the people you’re tearing apart on a weekly basis as someone with thoughts and feelings. It’d be hard not to, when every interaction with a human is spent having to actively fight the urge to eat them. Men struggle enough with seeing women as people because we have boobs, vampires are the extreme version of that. More, a vampire’s human memories are fading, and what they do remember was so blurry and dull. With the sharpened and enhanced nature of the vampire, being endowed with vampirism will seem like more. Which makes humans less. (Relevant meta)

Blood is hard to resist The thirst is a huge problem. Even as vampires get better at controlling themselves, few of them seem to be particularly good at it. Keep in mind that the Cullens are all training to get to Carlisle’s level, they’re not representative of your average vampire. Most will fail when trying to create a new vampire, and they all balk at Carlisle being unbothered by blood.

Blood tastes amazing Siobhan’s reaction when she learns Carlisle has created a vampire of his own is, verbatim, “how tragic - to be deprived of the greatest joy in life.” (Midnight Sun, page I’m-not-sure) And I can’t blame her for it - blood puts out the fire in her throat, and is the single greatest pleasure in the world. Jasper, Emmet, and Rosalie all agree that it’s the thing a vampire craves more than anything. And living a meandering life where there are no milestones, no community, no home, no deeper meaning to anything, the intense pleasure of drinking human blood becomes the only constant and the only thing they have to truly live for and enjoy.

Then you have the fact that most of them have no idea that animals are an option. By the time they find out there’s a door number two, they’ve successfully dehumanized humans, have nothing else in life and the sunk cost fallacy is sky high. More, Carlisle is a crazy monk asking them to forgo their reason for living to go eat dishwater and be malnourished instead, all so that the mayfly humans can go die of consumption instead. I can see why they said “...no?”.

So, yes, Twilight vampires are terrifying demons who turn into psychopaths. But I can’t in good consciousness hate them for it, because they don’t really get a choice in the matter. Their very nature is designed specifically to turn them into this. Carlisle is a freak who makes everyone else look bad.

In other words, vegans are just as susceptible as others to becoming serial killers. If anything, vegans would eat those filthy meat-eaters to save the planet.

[nerdzzone]

The Aftermath

Summary: Dealing with the fall out of their first night together isn’t easy for Whitney Taylor or Chris Evans, but given the complicated results of their frivolous activities, it isn’t something they can avoid forever.

Chris Evans x OFC

Part One: Luckless Romance

Note: I was originally going to leave Luckless Romance as a one shot, but I had some requests for a part two. I had it all planned out in my head anyway so I figured I’d write it up to explain more of where our two lovely character’s heads were at!

Please let me know your thoughts! Or if there’s any other parts of their story that you’d like to hear about!

_____

When Chris woke up, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing in his head.

The second thing he noticed was the warm body curled into his side.

His initial reaction to that sensation was confusion, but as the events of the night before quickly came back to him, he was filled with an unignorable sense of dread.

He'd fucked up.

He'd spent a year burying his feelings for her to protect their friendship and all it took was a few drinks and flirtatious remarks for him to risk it all. He cared for her, there was no doubt about that, but he knew she didn't feel the same way. Clearly, she was at least attracted to him, but he'd hazard a guess that her loneliness was the driving factor in why she'd chosen to indulge in the activities they'd partaken in a few hours earlier. She’d had no luck in the dating scene, so she'd settled for him and now, when she woke up, she'd break his heart.

She didn't want him.

She didn't want the life that he could offer.

She'd made it clear that she found the world of Hollywood exhausting when she'd talked about her discontent with living in L.A. and that was a world he couldn't escape from. Plus, his fans had given her a hard enough time when she was just a close friend. If she was to become something more, they would tear her apart. He didn't want that for her and he knew that she didn't want that kind of hassle in her life either.

But he couldn't stand to hear her say it. He never did well with rejection and rejection from this woman - who he knew was absolutely perfect for him - was more than he could handle.

So, after carefully extracting himself from her grasp without waking her, he left.

He felt sleezy and awful not even saying goodbye, but he needed to quiet the noise in his brain before he could face her and he figured she would probably appreciate his absence. He knew firsthand how awkward it was to let down a one night stand the morning after so, really, he was sparing her just as much as he was protecting himself.

The heat outside was stifling already and made Chris realize just how desperate he was for something to quench his thirst. They'd drunk more than he normally did and he was feeling the effects. Perhaps that was why his mind was so fuzzy and unable to process what had happened, but he figured it was a safe bet that he could pin that on his anxiety.

And there were only two people who had much luck soothing him when his mind started racing: his mother and his brother.

He knew his mother would be disappointed in him if he told her what happened. He'd poured his heart out to her several times about the confliction he felt with his feelings for Whitney, he dreaded to think what she would say about him finally doing something about those feelings in such a reckless way and he was definitely too hungover to deal with her reaction to how he'd handled things that morning.

So, that left Scott.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the time and cringed. It wasn't even six thirty yet and with it being a Sunday there was a good chance that Scott was in a worse post-inebriated state than he was, but he took a chance and hit 'call'.

It took a few rings, but eventually Scott answered, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Scott," Chris greeted him as he crossed the street. He needed to flag down a cab to get home, but figured the quiet park across from Whitney's apartment was a better place for this conversation. No extra ears listening in. "I fucked up."

"Chris, it's not even seven o'clock in the morning. How badly could you have fucked anything up this early?"

He sounded tired and Chris felt bad, but he needed someone to talk to.

"I slept with Whitney."

There was a moment of silence before Scott let out a cheer.

"Finally!" He practically squealed, but then he paused as he took in what Chris had said. "Wait, how did you fuck up? Did you not use your best moves?"

"What? No, nothing like that," Chris' brow furrowed in annoyance. "I fucked up by sleeping with her at all. She's one of my best friends, Scott, and now that's ruined. It’ll never be the same, if she even wants anything to do with me now."

"Did she not seem happy about it? What did she say when you left?"

"Nothing," Chris admitted. "I left this morning before she woke up."

There was a moment of silence as Scott processed his brother's words.

"Okay, I'm starting to see where you fucked up. You shouldn't have done that."

"No, I fucked up by sleeping with her!"

Chris' tone was snappy and uncalled for, but his headache was getting worse by the minute and he was feeling exasperated enough without Scott's judgment.

"Alright, alright, calm down," Scott sighed. "If you want my honest opinion, I think you're overreacting. You two have always had a 'will they won't they' vibe about you. She's clearly just as interested in you as you are in her."

"Why 'clearly'?" Chris questioned. "She's never acted like she sees me as more than a friend."

"Uh, yes, she has. She blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl every time you compliment her, she practically drools at the sight of you and listens with hearts in her eyes whenever you talk. She's got it just as bad as you do."

"Don't do that," Chris groaned. "Don't put ideas in my head that aren't true."

"It is true. I wouldn't lie to you about that," Scott insisted. "I think this is just your anxiety talking. Go back to her place before she wakes up, hear what she has to say and go from there. She might surprise you."

"I'll think about it," Chris lied, knowing already that he couldn't face going back. "Thanks for answering. I'll let you get back to bed."

"Don't mention it," Scott assured him. "I know you're stressed now, but I'm happy for you. It's about time the two of you came to your senses."

Chris smiled despite his disbelief in what Scott had said. He laughed it off and said his goodbyes before walking towards the nearest road to catch a cab.

He saw Whitney's message a few hours later, but he ignored it. He needed to get his head straight and steel himself for however she chose to let him down before he would be ready to talk to her.

It took days for him to get to the point of acceptance, but she never messaged him again. So, working on the assumption that she was relieved by his silence or didn't care enough to demand any explanations, he got on a plane and headed back to Massachusetts with plans to spend the next few months drowning his sorrows and pushing her from his mind.

-

Three Weeks Later

My period was late.

For the last ten years of my life, my period had arrived with impressive reliability and now, a few weeks after having unprotected sex, my period was late.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. There was no doubt in my mind that I was pregnant.

"It's not that easy to get pregnant," Hannah insisted as we sat in my living room, counting down the minutes until the pregnancy test would be ready. "A lot of people who actually want to get pregnant have to try for months before it happens. It seems super unlikely that you'd get pregnant from a random one night stand."

"Yeah, but it does happen to plenty of women," I pointed out. "And knowing my luck, I would get knocked up by a man who then flees the state without another word."

Hannah winced as I paced in front of her.

"Still haven't heard anything, then?"

"Nope, nothing," I sighed. "I haven't reached out again, but he made himself pretty clear by leaving before I woke up and then ignoring my text."

"I just don't get it. He was so obviously into you. I would have bet money that you two would live happily ever after."

"You did bet money," I reminded her. "I'm still waiting for that thousand dollars you promised me."

"You didn't accept!" She smiled. "I owe you nothing!"

While I didn't really expect her to pay me, I was going to argue the point, but the timer we'd set for the test went off and snapped our focus back to the task at hand.

"Oh god," I groaned. "You read it. I can't deal with this."

Hannah nodded and carefully picked up the little stick before looking up at me with a grin.

"It's negative!"

I felt a wave of relief, but it was quickly replaced with doubt. I felt like I was pregnant. My period was late for the first time in years, I'd had sex without a condom and I was nauseous and my boobs hurt. It seemed too good to be true that it was all some kind of coincidence.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yeah!" Hannah smiled. "There's two lines!"

Her words hit me like a truck as my stomach dropped.

"Hannah, two lines means positive."

"No, it doesn't," she insisted, reaching for the box. The fall of the smile on her face told me all I needed to know before she even spoke again. "Shit. Sorry, babe. You're pregnant."

I let out a groan as I flopped onto the couch next to her.

"This is a nightmare."

"Shall I get my shotgun?"

I raised an eyebrow at my friend.

"What?"

"For a shotgun wedding?"

I laughed at that suggestion, but shook my head.

"No, I don't want him to be forced into anything."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "It doesn't really seem real yet."

"Are you going to tell him?"

I looked down at my still flat stomach and nodded my head.

"Yeah, I'll have to. I know it's still new, but I want to keep it so he'll have to know," I sighed. "If he even answers my calls."

"He will," she assured me. "Or we'll fly out to Boston and you can tell him after I kick his ass."

The image that statement conjured in my mind pulled another laugh from my lips as I felt an overwhelming wave of appreciation for my friend. I knew that no matter what, she was in my corner and that was a comforting thought even in the midst of all the uncertainty that was swirling around me.

"Thanks, Hannah," I smiled. "I really appreciate all your support."

"Of course," she reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "Are you going to call him now?"

"No, I think I'll do it later," I informed her. "I want to wrap my head around it a little bit first."

"That's probably sensible," she agreed as a grin slid onto her face. "Wow, you're gonna have a baby, Whit. I know it's scary, but that's really cool."

"Cool isn't the word that I'd use. Try absolutely terrifying."

My earlier smile was still on my face despite my bleak words as I thought about what she'd said. It was somewhat good news. Definitely worrying, especially given my situation with Chris, but I'd always wanted to have kids so it would have been a lie for me to say that I wasn't at least a little bit intrigued by the idea.

-

When Hannah left my house, about an hour after we read the test, I planned on taking some time to fully comprehend the news before I shared it with Chris. However, almost as soon as I closed the door behind my friend, I remembered the time difference. Chris was three hours ahead of me which meant that even though it was only five o'clock for me, it was already eight o'clock where he was.

I felt the anxiety bubbling in my stomach as soon as I came to that realization because I knew that if I wanted to call him that day, I had to do it right away and if I didn’t call him soon, I was worried I’d lose the nerve.

I took a deep breath and went straight for my phone, dialing his number before I could change my mind, but I was crushed when he didn't answer. I waited a few minutes and then tried again, but still, there was no answer and I let out a growl of frustration as I frantically typed out a text.

Hey. Call me as soon as you can. It's important.

I paced around my apartment, the reality of the situation starting to creep in now that he, once again, seemed to be rejecting me. 

I didn't want to tell him news like this over the phone, but I'd seen the paparazzi pictures of him arriving at the airport in Boston so I knew that I had no other choice. However, if he wasn't even going to answer my calls, I'd have to get the news to him another way. My mind immediately started racing with all the possible ways I might have to break the news to him as the panic of potentially having to do this alone started to rise.

But luckily, all those concerns were irrelevant when my phone lit up with Chris' name on the screen.

"Hey," I answered quickly before he had the chance to change his mind and hang up. "Thanks for calling."

There was a moment of silence before he replied.

"Sure," he kept his tone cool and steady, but there was an underlying tension. "What's up?"

The sound of his voice brought tears to my eyes. This was it. This was the make or break moment and I felt my palms start to sweat as it hit me just how devastated I'd be if it didn't go well.

"I, uh, I don’t really want to tell you this over the phone, but I guess I don’t really have much choice," I started. "I got some news today that you have a right to know."

It seemed obvious to me what I would be hinting at considering our current situation and the silence that followed my words led me to believe that he had a pretty good idea what I was going to say. When he stayed quiet, wordlessly waiting for me to continue, I took a deep breath and dove in.

“I’m pregnant.”

I hadn't thought much about how I was going to tell him, but I figured there was probably a better way than blurting it out that bluntly. I cringed slightly at my harsh delivery as his silence was almost immediately broken and he started spluttering and stuttering, stumbling over his words until he managed to blurt out one clear sentence.

"Is it mine?"

A burst of anger flashed through me at such a suggestion.

"Yes! Oh my God, Chris, of course it's yours!" I insisted. "How many people do you think I've slept with in the last month?"

Maybe he thinks you're a slut, the voice in my head taunted me. Maybe that's why he left without a word.

That thought was enough to get the tears flowing and, when Chris didn’t answer my question, I let out a sob. I covered my mouth to hopefully stifle the sound, but I knew he heard it loud and clear.

"Shit, Whitney," he sighed. "That was a dumb thing to say. You just caught me off guard."

"Well, how do you think I feel?" I hissed. "I'm scared, Chris. What are we going to do?"

This time there was no hesitation before he answered.

"I'll get the first flight out tomorrow morning," he informed me. "We can talk about it then."

"Okay," I sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry," he assured me. "It's just as much my fault as it is yours."

My emotions were overwhelming me by that point and I stayed quiet, knowing I'd fall apart if I opened my mouth to speak, but Chris didn't let the silence last too long this time.

"Are you, uh, are you gonna keep it?" He asked, sounding heartbreakingly similar to a small child asking his parents if he could keep the stray dog he'd brought home. "It's your call, but I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"I am going to keep it," I told him quietly. "But you only have to be as involved as you want to be."

"I want to be very involved," Chris answered quickly before letting out a sharp laugh. "Fuck, I'm gonna be a dad."

The sound of more laughter floated through the phone after that realization, but I couldn't tell if it was giddy or hysterical.

"You are," I agreed, feeling some relief from his reaction despite how complicated I knew things would be. "But we can talk about it all when you're here. If you really don't mind coming back."

"Not at all, this is important." He assured me. "I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll text you with the details as soon as I know."

"Okay, thank you."

He insisted that I didn't need to thank him before we quickly wrapped up the conversation.

There was a lot to say and a lot to discuss, but it wasn’t something to be talked about it over the phone. We needed to discuss it in person once we'd both had time to understand exactly what it meant.

And we needed to figure out what the hell we were going to do about us.

-

I thought having almost twenty-four hours to compose my thoughts would make things easier, but as I waited for Chris to get to my apartment I still had a lot of questions and concerns

But I had decided one thing for certain: we were better off as friends.

When we were friends, he didn't ignore my calls. When we were friends, he didn't run out of my apartment without saying goodbye. When we were friends, he hadn't broken my heart because I never gave him the chance. I was frustrated by his behaviour since the night we spent together and it made me angry. When I thought about it too hard, it made my blood boil and I wanted to tear a strip off of him for making me feel so used. When we were friends, I'd never felt more than a hint of annoyance towards him.

So, the only solution as far as I could see, was for us to stay just friends.

That would prevent any more heightened emotions and if we didn't do it that way, I would end up resentful and bitter. I didn't have much experience with children, but even I knew that those feelings would create a very toxic relationship for raising a child.

Which is why, as soon as he stepped into my apartment, I was on the defensive.

"I think we both know that we're better off as friends," I blurted out before the door was even shut behind him. "What happened was a mistake and now we just have to find a way to work together as friends."

Chris looked surprised, which I found surprising, but he recovered quickly and nodded his head. I'd be lying if I said that wasn't bittersweet. I didn't have the energy to argue with him, but part of me was definitely hoping that he'd put up a bit more of a fight.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he agreed after a moment of thought before changing the subject. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I shrugged. "A bit nauseous and very emotional, but nothing I can't handle so far."

"Good, that's good," Chris smiled. "Have you been to a doctor yet?"

"No, not yet. I have an appointment tomorrow."

"Can I-" Chris paused to clear his throat, looking nervous. "Can I come?"

I felt my heart flutter at the thought of him caring enough to want to come to a doctor's appointment, but I shut those feelings down as fast as they popped up. He cared for the baby, not for me.

"Sure," I nodded. "But it won't be very interesting. I think it's mostly just checking all my basic information so they can keep track and probably some blood tests and vitamin recommendations."

"Doesn't matter," Chris insisted. "I want to be there for it all. We're in this together."

Those words brought more tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back and looked away. In a move that I wasn’t expecting, Chris noticed immediately and took the few steps needed to put him right in front of me.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

His hands settled on my arms and the way he rubbed them would have been soothing if it didn't break my heart. How could this supportive, comforting man in front of me right now be the same man who slept with me and then never called me?

"I'm just overwhelmed," I choked out. "We really fucked up, Chris. How could we be so stupid?"

"I don't know," Chris sighed. "It was a dumb mistake, but we can make the most of it. We can do this."

"I know, I know," I took a deep, shaky breath to try and pull myself together. "It's just a lot to take in and I don't think it's really hit me yet."

"It is a lot," he agreed. "Here, let's go sit down."

I let him lead me over to the couch and then flopped down on it. He sat next to me, but we stayed quiet, neither of us really knowing what to say. After a few moments of tense silence, Chris finally spoke.

"I know this might be asking a lot," he started, the hesitation in his voice making me nervous. "But would you consider moving to Massachusetts?"

It wasn't an unexpected request. I knew Chris was happier there and considered it his home and I had told him how tired I was getting of living in Los Angeles. It was probably the better place for raising a child as well. I'd heard plenty of stories about Chris' childhood and it was pretty idyllic - full of experiences that children growing up in a big city like L.A. didn't often get.

However, it meant that I would have to leave my entire support system behind. All my friends and my family would be here and I would be completely alone except for Chris - who I wasn't even in a relationship with - and a child - who was hardly going to be able to provide much emotional support.

It seemed like the best option for everyone involved except for me and I wasn't sure that was a sacrifice that I was selfless enough to make.

I realized how long his words had been hanging in the air between us as I got lost in my thoughts and my head fell into my hands with a groan.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this," I whined, tears filling my eyes again as I felt a strange mix of emotions There was plenty of regret and with that came guilt because this poor child deserved a mother that didn't dread it's existence. "I'm not mom material, Chris. I don't have the instincts."

"It's all still fresh," he reminded me. "The instinct isn't instant. But I didn't mean to upset you, if you don't want to move to Massachusetts then we'll figure it out."

"No, no, it makes the most sense," I sniffled, lifting my head to look back up at Chris. "It's just scary. I don't want to leave my family and friends and I'll have to move soon if I'm going to so I can find a doctor, it's a lot to think about right now."

"It is, but I can ask Carly about a doctor. My family will support you one hundred percent."

I forced a weak smile, but I felt more nerves bubbling in my stomach.

"Have you told them?" I asked. "Does your mom hate me? I hope she doesn't think I'm trying to take advantage of you."

"No way!" Chris insisted with a chuckle. "She gave me a very stern lecture about being responsible, but I've talked about you enough for her to know you're not some crazed fan looking for a payout."

"That's good." I breathed out a sigh of relief. I knew he was incredibly close with his mother and I didn't want her to think badly of me. "I haven't told anyone yet, except Hannah."

"Downey's gonna kill me, isn't he?"

He shot me a sheepish look as he spoke, but I shook my head.

"Nah, I think he'll be thrilled. He loves babies and he's been teasing me about us getting together since the night we met," I informed him, watching his face for a reaction to that statement. There wasn't any. "He'll probably have a bet to cash in on as soon as I tell him the news."

"Well, that's reassuring," Chris smiled. "I think we'll have enough people who'll be mad at us..."

He was clearly referring to his fans and I cringed.

"What are you going to do about that?"

He shrugged.

"What do you want me to do?"

I took a moment to think before I answered him.

"I don't want you to publicly deny that the baby is yours," I warned him, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to bear hearing that even if I knew that he really had no doubts. "But I don't care if you don't make a big announcement. We can just let people draw their own conclusions."

"Making a statement might be better. It would stop the rumours from getting out of hand. There'd be an uproar, but it would eventually die down," he pointed out. "I'll talk to my team and let you know, but you should probably make all your social media private whatever we decide."

I didn't use social media much and I definitely never posted pictures of Chris, but even so I'd felt the wrath of his fans more than once after we were spotted out together so I knew how they could be.

I nodded in response to his instructions and another silence settled between us.

My mind was racing with questions that I wanted to ask. I wanted to know why he'd left, why he hadn't called, why he'd even slept with me if he really didn't see me that way. Part of me even wanted to cry and plead with him to give me a chance, to let me show him that I was good enough to be more than a friend, but I knew I couldn't handle the rejection. Whatever his explanation would be, it wouldn't change the situation and with everything else we had to deal with, I didn't have the strength for more heartbreak too.

-

When Chris left almost an hour later, we had a firm plan in place.

I would try to get out of my lease - or Chris would pay whatever fee I was charged for breaking my contract - and I would move to Massachusetts by the end of the summer to stay with him. I'd argued that point at first, but his reasoning made sense. He would be in and out once they started filming the last two Avengers movies so I would have the place to myself a lot, but when he was home he'd be able to help with the baby. After the first year, when the newborn phase was done, I would get my own place and we'd work out an official custody agreement.

He promised to come to as many doctor's appointments as he could and offered to pay for absolutely everything that I needed. I assured him that wouldn't be necessary, but I appreciated that he was already committed. Many men probably would have run for the hills in our situation or, at the very least, demanded a paternity test before they made any promises, but Chris was enthusiastic and supportive and I couldn't ask for anything more.

Well, I wanted to ask for something more. I wanted us to be together - I wanted us to be making plans to be a family, not to be co-parents - but I knew that wasn't what he wanted and I was determined to accept that. I needed to focus on counting my blessings and being grateful for what I did get out of our relationship instead of focusing on what was missing and unobtainable.

Even if it broke my heart and hurt me more than the loss of any other romantic relationship I'd ever had, I was going to make the most of it for the sake of our child. It didn't ask to be born into such a messy situation and it's safety and security were quickly becoming the most important things in my life despite the fact that it was hardly more than a bundle of cells at that point.

And as that thought hit me, I realized that maybe I wasn't as lacking when it came to maternal instincts as I had thought.

-

@maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker

[bubblegumbeech]

Haunted Towers and Hidden Truths

Phic Phight prompt by @lexiepiper

Write a more traditional ghost story. How would things change if ghost powers weren’t super powers, but closer to old horror movie tropes?

“We shouldn’t do this Danny,” Sam said, ever the voice of reason. “This place isn’t like our usual haunts.“

But Danny shook his head, “No Sam, I have to do this. I have to know what that dream meant, if it was really a dream or something else.”

He moved to take a step forward when his other friend, Tucker, grabbed his arm, “I don’t know man, I think she’s right. There isn’t a possessed item to destroy, or an overactive ghost to try and calm down, heck even Vlad has a weakness we can exploit, we don’t know anything about this place. What if we don’t make it out of this one?”

“Come on Tucker,” Danny argued, his own confidence nothing but a mask, “It can’t be as bad as the haunted video game right? You die in the game you die in real life!”

Tucker didn’t laugh, “this is serious Danny, I know that dream had you messed up, but what if it was just that? A dream?”

“Or,” Sam cut in, “What if it’s a trap? Remember how Desiree tried to get us with that monkey’s paw when she realized we were getting involved with every scary story and urban legend in town and she didn’t want us to find out about her?”

There was also the time a ghost discovered Danny’s secret and decided to haunt him personally and make his life a living hell until he and Tucker were able to exorcise it. It had involved a gorilla, a lot of research into dead safari hunters, and one of his parent’s inventions that they rigged to do what they needed before destroying it so it couldn’t be used against Danny himself. 

“We made it through all of those things together, remember when we first saw Cujo? And we thought he was to blame for Valerie’s mother?” Danny said.

Sam deflated, “and then we did research and discovered that Cu Sith only foretell death, not cause it… But Danny, we tried to research this place, remember? We found nothing. It’s like it doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah man,” Tucker scratched the back of his neck uncertain, “I couldn’t find so much as a blueprint. No building plans, nothing. The only thing we have to go on are stories from reckless kids trying and failing to spend the night.”

“You don’t have to follow me, the last thing I want is to put you both at risk. Especially after last time.” 

Tucker groaned, “Danny you know we aren’t going to let you do this alone right? Especially not after Walker’s prison. Who knows what would have happened if we didn’t come in and save you?”

Danny smiled, “I probably would have starved to death to be fair, but yeah, I’ll try to avoid getting locked in any metal cages, deal?”

“To be fair,” Sam said, returning his smile with one of her own, strained though it was, “you probably would have died of thirst first.”

Chuckling at his friends' attempts to lighten the mood once they realized his mind wouldn’t be changed, Danny finally let himself look up at the place in question. It was a tall, crooked looking clocktower with old, brittle wood and peeling paint. In the low light of the evening it looked almost purple and with the dust and cobwebs covering it, it was clear no one had been inside for quite some time. 

The Clocktower was a recurrent presence in his dreams, the ones he’d started having since the accident that made him the way he was: different from any person, but not quite anything else. It was always there in the background, but he’d never gone inside. 

Once, during a particularly dull recurring dream where he relived the life and consequent death of a warehouse worker, he’d walked away from the endless piles of boxes and tried to go inside the clocktower instead. But no matter how far he traveled, it was always the same distance away. He just couldn’t get to it. 

Danny couldn’t shake the feeling though, that something inside might have the answers he’s been searching for. So he stepped forward, and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, of course, and  Danny almost felt foolish doing it, but also, ghosts and spiritual beings all had their own rules and perceptions of what is or isn’t polite, most of which Danny had stumbled into learning the hard way, and it really didn’t hurt to check.

“No answer,” Sam said and Danny nodded, turning the handle. It was old and brass and when it turned it made a loud grinding noise that vibrated along his arm. But it did open, and without Danny needing to persuade it, so that had to be a good sign right?

Unless it really was a trap. 

“Maybe we should leave someone outside, in case it really is like Walker’s prison.” He offered, but both of his friends shook their heads and stepped past him. It was dark, musty and smelled in a weird way, like a library. If a library had locked its doors and not let anyone enter for a good century or so. 

Sam took the lead, her flashlight catching on unfamiliar shapes and shadows. “Do you know what we’re looking for?” she asked, her voice uncertain. 

Danny shook his head, “Not really, just… answers.”

They looked around the ground floor at first, but if it held anything particularly supernatural or important, it wasn’t going to be found. “This just looks like my grandma's living room.” Tucker complained, taking the sheet off of one of the couches, “we need to go further in if we want to actually find something.”

He wasn’t wrong, Danny looked over to the spiralling staircase in the back of the room, and then to the other doors that surrounded it on the first floor. “It’s probably better to do this systemically right? Go through every room on each floor and move our way up?”

“You mean like in a video game?” Sam asked, “sure, we can do that.”

They started on the left, but that room wasn’t much better when it came to finding any kind of clues. It held a kitchen, a very old kitchen, with a stove and oven that Danny had only ever seen in period movies. But…

“Why does it smell like cookies?” Danny asked, turning to his friends who both looked at him like he was crazy.

“Cookies? Yo, Danny this place smells like straight up death. Not cookies.” Tucker said, backing away from the oven and starting to open up cabinets. 

Sam rolled her eyes and did the same on the other side of the kitchen, “it doesn’t smell like death you dolt, it smells… like a graveyard.”

Danny walked to the middle of the room, towards the oven- he always made sure to be the one seeking out the more dangerous or suspicious things in the haunts they went to- while the two of them bickered. They tended to start these smaller, petty arguments when they were scared, it took the edge off. 

“Duh?” Tucker said, and Danny heard him slam one of the cabinets shut, “graveyards are death? What does it smell like to you? Your Mom’s perfume?”

“No, it smells like someone dying, you know all hospital chemicals and gross stuff.”

There wasn’t anything in the oven, but oddly, Danny had felt a wave of warmth when he opened it. Almost like it had just been used. But, ghosts didn’t need to eat, right? And there couldn’t have been a person living here, they’d notice that. At least, Danny hopes they would notice that. After being in dozens of life or death scenarios hinging on whether they noticed important but minute details, they’d become pretty good at that kind of thing.

“Ugh! Don’t talk about hospitals, I’m still not over North Mercy, that was horrible,” Tucker turned to Danny, leaning on one of the counters and ignoring the cabinet he opened right behind his head. “What do you think death smells like Danny?”

Danny walked over and closed the cabinet, he didn’t want something to suddenly appear inside of it all twisted limbs and empty eyes or for something to crawl out and scare them, or even have it slam shut on Tuckers head, like some ghosts were known to do. He didn’t have to put much thought into his answer, “It smells like burnt flesh, electricity, and polished wood.”

Tucker paled, “oh… right. Sorry.” 

He shrugged, “anything yet?”

“Not unless you count cobwebs, dust, and deteriorating cooking books,” Sam answered, walking over to both him and Tucker. 

Danny looked around at the kitchen, it looked normal, even some dying light shone in from the one window along the outer wall. The only thing weird was the shape and that was because it was at the bottom of a spiralling clocktower. There was nothing particularly scary about the place, and frankly Danny didn’t know what to do with that.

“Let’s move on, this place is giving me the creeps,” Sam said, crossing the room and going to the next door. 

Danny and Tucker followed, unwilling to be left behind, or to let her go on her own. The next room was the same size as the other two, but it had an extra window and was crammed absolutely full of books. Just books. Stacks and stacks of them where they didn’t fit on the shelves, which were completely packed themselves, and Danny had the thought that this was probably what he was smelling when they first walked in. 

It was a library. A personal one, but without any room to sit or anything to sit on despite the genuinely impressive display of books and Danny found himself gently stroking his hand against the cover of a book on the top of the nearest stack, When Ghosts Speak: Understanding Earthbound Spirits.

“Please tell me we aren’t reading all of this,” Tucker whined. Danny frowned, why wouldn’t he want to read these? It was a treasure trove of information, these books could have countless, researched, answers to questions they’ve been asking since the start of everything! 

What if one of these books could tell them why Amity Park seemed to attract the supernatural, why they seemed to gain power within the city’s boundaries, why Danny wasn’t dead. He wanted nothing more than to grab any one of these books, walk into the next room, with the couches and comfortable chairs, sit down and read and read until he found something, anything he could use. 

These books might even be able to help him deal with the supernatural threats that plagued their town. Mostly they’ve been surviving through luck and half baked internet searches with the occasional trip to the town library. And while it had been enough so far, Danny was practically salivating at the thought of being properly, genuinely prepared for something for once. 

“Of course we aren’t,” Sam said, dragging Danny out of his fantasies of maybe knowing what he was doing, “they’re completely deteriorated. If we even tried to open one it would probably fall apart.”

Danny frowned, and then looked down at the book he’d subconsciously grabbed. It didn’t seem as bad as Sam was describing, but he also didn’t want to risk it either. He’d realized early on there was a difference between what he was seeing and what was actually real. He set it down gently and looked around the rest of the room with his friends. 

“Are we so sure this place is haunted?” Danny asked. By then, the sun had set entirely and the only light left was their flashlights. High powered and with fresh batteries they were still little use against the encroaching dark and Danny wanted to move on to the next floor already if he wasn’t going to be able to open a book. 

Tucker stood up from behind a precariously leaning shelf and dusted himself off, “Dude you’re the one that said there was something here and we needed to investigate. Remember, like an hour ago when the two of us were trying to stop you from going inside?”

Danny scoffed, “that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” Sam asked, stepping closer so she could meet his eyes. There was something in her expression, curiosity or suspicion, Danny couldn’t quite parse. 

“I…” Danny stopped to think, what did he mean? Was it just that the place didn’t feel haunted? There wasn’t anything here trying to scare him away, no ominous winds or loud knocking, but they’ve gone into haunts before that took a long time to start actually reacting to them. “There’s no, I don’t know how to explain it. Usually when we go somewhere haunted, that a ghost has a claim to or whatever… there’s this feeling that I’m trespassing? I don’t feel like I’m trespassing here.”

That probably didn’t make any sense, and despite everything they didn’t usually act on Danny’s gut instincts as a group without evidence. The issue with the circus and it’s terrifying owner was a lesson too well learned after all. 

True to expectations neither Sam nor Tucker looked convinced. They shared a quick ‘what now’ look between each other and Danny resisted taking a step back and sinking into the wall. Not that he could do that, as far as he knew he couldn’t do that. Only actual ghosts could do something like that and despite everything Danny was still human- well, still had a physical form. 

Permanently. 

“Let’s move on upstairs,” Sam reasoned, “if Danny’s right there won’t be any harm in it, and if he’s not we’ll find out once whatever’s here starts actually reacting to us, right?”

Perfectly reasonable and logicked as always. Danny nodded and walked to the next door, if he was right it would lead into the room they had first entered with the staircase that twisted and climbed higher and higher into the heart of the tower. That was the next place to go. He knew that.

Tucker gently patted his shoulder as they walked towards the base of the stairs, “yeah, maybe the ghost doesn’t consider this bottom part his haunt? Maybe he just likes the clock on top?”

Danny smiled, “like the hunchback of Notre Dame?”

Smiling back, Tucker nodded, “exactly! Oh man, we gotta find out if that guy is real one of these days.”

“We have our hands a bit tied with Amity Park without going after disney characters,” Sam said, pushing the two of them from behind so they’d actually go up the stairs. “Now let's get a move on, I want to be back home before breakfast so my parents don’t realize I snuck out again.”

There was something Danny could say but he bit back the comment about how at least her parents would notice and quickly walked up the stairs instead. As soon as his feet touched the first step a bubbly feeling lifted in his chest, and it made him want to go higher as fast as he could there was someone up there waiting for him-

“Danny!” Sam called out, grabbing him by the arm, “calm down!”

Her grip on his arm was tight and Danny looked down to see what had her panicked only to find his feet had left the stairs entirely and he’d started floating upwards instead of walking. Like a human. Like his friends. Like what he was supposed to be. 

He swallowed and let himself sink back down, forcing the feeling in his chest back as much as he could. It was like trying to kill the fizz in a shaken soda by screwing a cap back on it and he struggled with it for a moment. He’d never felt like this before- sure, most ghosts and other supernatural entities tended to broadcast emotions to a higher degree than humans, and with them also being natural empaths and Danny’s unfortunate situation it often led to him being overtaken by emotions that weren’t necessarily his own. 

It’s just, they’ve never been this overwhelmingly positive before.

Even with Vlad, as human as he was, his emotions were always tinted with obsession and desperation. His need to have Danny and his mother for his own colored every interaction he’d had with the man and it often left a bitter, strained feeling in his chest. Right now, Danny felt almost giddy. And he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t just his own emotions, reacting to the environment around him. It was a nice environment after all. 

But Danny was good at ignoring things like that. 

“My bad. I’ll try and keep my feet on the ground from now on.”

Sam looked conflicted, “Danny you know we don’t mind you using your powers,” Danny nodded, they’d told him so many times over and over again, “But we don’t want to lose you to them. You promised to stay with us, remember?”

Danny smiled, “I remember. I won’t end up like that, I promised. That’s why we’re here right? To stop it?”

Sam nodded and let him go. 

The second floor was similar to the first, in that it had three rooms leading into each other with the spiral staircase in the center. Danny started with the door on the right. It was a study. There was a desk, paperwork, and a bottle of ink with a quill and Danny found himself wondering just how old this clocktower really was. And how long it had been since its occupant was truly here, alive, if ever. 

They split up and started looking around, eagerness exposed in their movements. This was the most likely place to have something useful, especially if whoever spent their time here was as studious as the lower floor suggested.  Danny went for the desk. 

There was a note on it, in perfect, looped handwriting and the ink was still glistening, fresh from the bottle if the smell had anything to say about it. Danny ran his hand across the words hoping to smudge it, but it had dried already, if barely. 

It’s nice to meet you, little anomaly.

Danny grit his teeth. 

“Guys,” he called out, holding the paper, “It knows we’re here.”

Sam and Tucker rushed over, and Sam grabbed the paper from his hand to read for herself. “Little anomaly? Isn't that kind of insensitive?”

“Yeah,” Tucker agreed, “you just have weird ghost powers right? Vlad’s the same way it’s not like you’re the only person on the planet like you.”

Hesitant to correct him, Danny bit his tongue. It was true that Vlad was a person who had unfortunately gained the abilities of a ghost, things like floating, making objects move with his mind or using his spirit to control people while he slept safe and sound at home. And he’d gained them in a similar way to Danny as well, trusting the wrong people and delving into things he never fully understood and still didn’t. 

It was just … less true for Danny was all. 

But he wasn’t going to tell them that, he wasn’t going to tell anyone that. So how did whoever, or whatever this was, know? Or was it just saying things to get under his skin, that was pretty par for the course when it came to ghosts. So why wasn’t it doing anything else? Trying to get them to leave? Was Sam right? Was it really a trap this entire time? What would happen if they went back downstairs and tried the door, would it open?

He grabbed the paper and shoved it into one of his jackets pockets, there was plenty of time to freak out over it later after all. “Let’s keep looking around, there has to be something here that it’s trying to distract us from.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything more useful than there had been downstairs. Just what one would expect from a normal office. What papers he did find had detailed extensive notes, yes. But they were in a language Danny couldn’t read and neither Sam nor Tucker even recognized. It was infuriating!

Almost like whoever was haunting this place, was telling them it had all the answers they wanted but wouldn’t give them any. He just wanted to know how - Danny shook his head. There had to be something. He wouldn’t have been led all the way here, had all those dreams, if there was nothing he could do at all. 

He threw one more frustrated look around the office before he threw the stack of papers he’d been digging through on the floor and marched over to the next door. It was unlocked, again, just like all of the others and it only served to increase Danny’s frustration. 

“Wait, Danny,” Sam noticed him leaving and quickly followed, the door slammed shut behind them, locking Tucker inside the office.

“No,” he whispered, this was all his fault, he shouldn’t have let this ghost get in his head like this! He never should have let his emotions take him over, he knew better. It led to bad things. Horrible, terrible, things. 

There was a loud bang on the door, someone was pounding against it and Danny flinched. Was the actual haunting finally starting? Was everything really just a way to lure them deeper into the tower and away from each other? 

“Guys?” he heard Tucker call out from the other side of the door, “did you seriously just leave me behind? Don’t we have like, a rule against that?!” 

Danny sighed in relief, it was just Tucker. “Are you okay Tuck? Did anything happen over there when the door shut? Any oozing walls or flying papers-”

There was another thump, probably Tucker banging his head against the door, “I know what to look for Danny I’ve been doing this the exact same amount of time as you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny acquessed. “Just get to the stairs and we’ll meet you there.”

He exchanged a glance with Sam, she was glaring a hole into the side of his head and he felt guilty for being the cause of everything going wrong, again. So he apologized and ignored her exaggerated eye roll when she said he should have known better, because well, he did. But what was he going to do, apologize twice?

The room they were in was a simple one, likely some kind of storage space that he and Sam could dig through for hours on end, but it was more important to get to Tucker than to try and make sure they didn’t miss anything. 

Which, in hindsight, was probably exactly why they’d been separated. 

A cold breeze tickled at Danny’s hair and he felt himself relax despite it all. It felt nice, the cold, and Danny liked when the haunts they went to leaned towards the chillier side like this. Sometimes, especially if Vlad was involved, it felt like he was walking into an overwarm swamp when he entered a haunt and it made him itchy and uncomfortable the entire time. Vlad never seemed to notice, and his friends complain equally about both, so Danny had mostly kept it to himself. 

The entire tower felt nice, cold dry air, the smell of books, ink, and cookies, even the playful, excited feeling that seemed to permeate throughout the tower. Like someone had designed it to appeal in every way to both sides of Danny’s instincts. 

It was unnerving. 

He followed Sam out of the room and back into the middle where the stairs were, but Tucker wasn’t there. 

Sam pulled out her phone, and Danny held his breath as it rang, once, twice, and then a click and Tucker’s familiar, annoyed voice came through the speaker and Danny sighed in relief. “Uh guys? I couldn’t get out the door so I tried to climb out a window, and there was uh, a ladder. So I’m outside right now. Come get me?”

Danny met eyes with Sam and nodded, they headed back down, “we’re coming Tuck,” he said.

“Cool, cool, actually rather than coming to get me, can we just go home? Come back later, like in the day time? How come we never do these things in the daytime?”

“You know that’s not how ghosts work Tucker.” Sam said, bored, as they walked to the front door. Danny felt a tug, something like a hand on his shoulder and turned to see what was behind him. There wasn’t anything there. 

He turned back around to see that Sam had already walked outside, and was holding the door open for him, one of her eyebrows raised. Awkwardly, Danny jogged a little, so as to not hold them up too long. But before he could actually walk outside the door slammed shut.

Sam screamed.

“Danny! Are you okay!” Tucker asked, his voice panicked and muffled from the other side of the door.

“I’m fine,” Danny said, gritting his teeth and turning around. The room didn’t look or feel any different. There was nothing screaming at him to get out or anything else malicious. If anything it seemed even cosier than before, and Danny didn’t really know how to react to that. 

He looked back at the door. There was a way, no. He couldn’t do that. Danny pinched at the bridge of his nose, the only thing to do, really, was to see who had invited him in. That’s what it was right? Some kind of weird ghostly invite?

“I’m going to go check upstairs,” he called out to his friends before walking back towards the staircase. 

They pounded on the door, “Danny don’t you dare go up there without us! Just wait, we’ll find a way in! It’s dangerous alone!” 

Ignoring their protests Danny took the stairs two steps at a time, fighting the rising excitement in his chest and firmly planting his feet against the polished wood. There were answers waiting for him, he knew there were. He just had to find them. 

The third floor had a bedroom, it was nice, cozy and the bed even looked inviting. Danny didn’t bother to stay long. Whoever it was that called him here wasn’t in this room, nor were they in the next or the one after that. Just two bedrooms and a bathroom on that floor and Danny quickly made his way to the next. 

This room was different from the rest. For one there were windows, everywhere, that seemed to play different scenes of different people from all over the world. If Danny strained his ears, he could even hear them speaking different languages. On the other side from the windows was an entire wall of clockwork that chimed and churned as the gears moved, keeping the face of the clock on the outside ticking along in sync with the rest of the world. 

When Danny stepped into the room properly the carpet sunk easily underneath his feet and he felt a nice, cold breeze that came from a purple flamed fire housed properly in a fireplace in the middle of the room. He hadn’t even noticed a chimney from outside. 

There was a man in front of the fire. He was tall and hooded and he carried an equally tall and gnarled staff in one of his gloved hands. Danny felt himself freeze, he had never seen a ghost this solid before. There was always a little bit of transparency, no matter how powerful, they didn’t have physical forms afterall. Not like Danny.

“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was dry and soft and Danny was thankful when it didn’t crack on his question. How embarrassing would that have been? 

The man turned around, his face changing as he did from old and aged to a younger one, closer to his parent’s age, a large jagged scar marking it’s way through one of his eyes and down his cheek. He smiled, “I am Clockwork, Master of time. All that was, All that is, and All that will be. I understand you have many questions for me. I hope to answer them.” 

A thousand questions ran rapidly through his mind, why did you call me here? Did you call me here? Why get rid of my friends? What are you and why haven’t I seen anything like you before?

“How do I prevent myself from becoming that.” Danny asked the most pressing question first, desperate. The man-ghost-Clockwork, sighed and gestured for him to sit. There was a comfortable looking couch with an equally comfortable chair across from it and a plate of cookies set on an elegantly carved coffee table between the two.

“That’s easily answered, sit, have a cookie.” Clockwork floated over, crossing his legs and settling into the chair before grabbing a cookie for himself. 

Danny glanced at them, uncertain, before taking a seat. The couch was even more comfortable than it looked and he found himself sinking back into it, confused. The room was a nice, cold, temperature as well, despite the fire clearly burning in the fireplace. 

He grabbed one of the cookies, “can I eat these?” he asked, looking over at his host.

“Of course,” Clockwork smiled, taking a bite of his own before leaning back, “I made them for you. Though your friends would have to be more careful, I’m not sure what food like this would do to a human.”

“I am human,” Danny argued, placing the cookie back on its plate. He had to, denial was all he had left at this point. 

Clockwork frowned, “yes, well, I suppose we’ll get there next. You wanted to know about your dreams.”

Finally, Danny nodded, “they’re different ever since- uh well… ever since the incident.”

“It’s natural to not want to talk about one’s death,” Clockwork said, he leaned forward and tilted his head, “or one’s birth.”

“My dreams,” Danny asked, avoiding that conversation with all the grace of a blind hippo, “why are they different. You know right?”

Sighing, Clockwork nodded and leaned back, “yes, I know everything. They’re different, frankly, because they’re dreams. It’s unsettling to you because it’s new, you’ve never dreamed before.���

Danny scowled, “that doesn’t make any sense, I had plenty of dreams when-”

Clockwork interrupted him, disappointment plain under his hood, “You can lie to your friends Daniel, but I already know the truth. Just as you do.”

“I was astral projecting. Like what Vlad does… but then why-?” Danny bit his tongue. He couldn’t say it, not outloud. It was too difficult, he’d spent too long hiding it, pushing it away and doing everything he could to keep anyone from noticing. 

“Why can’t you do it anymore?” Clockwork answered for him, Danny nodded. “The simple answer is that you aren’t like Vladimir, despite what he believes and would like you to believe as well. But that’s something else you already know. Ask me a question you don’t have the answers for.”

Danny grabbed another cookie, biting into it fiercely just to have an excuse not to speak. It tasted really good, better than anything he’d had in a while and Danny wondered if maybe there was something in it meant to sate his less human cravings. The thought didn’t help his inner turmoil. 

Clockwork smiled softly at him though and sighed, “Fine, in order to answer your question, first I have one of my own.”

“Didn’t you just say you know everything?” Danny mumbled before shoving more cookie in his mouth. 

“What good is a teacher that only lectures?” Clockwork said in retort, “do you remember how you died?”

He did, of course he did. “Kinda hard to forget that. Lab accident, electrocution, nothing fancy.” he said, curling in on himself. Clockwork had been right before, it was painful to talk about. But he wanted, no, needed the answers to his questions. He’d survive this. 

“Well, that’s where your first mistake lies. Yes, that is what stopped your heart, and likely the most memorable part, but you didn’t die from that Daniel. What killed you came after.”

Danny frowned, “that doesn’t make any sense? What happened after?”

“Your spirit was never particularly bound to your body in the first place, likely due to your parents dabbling where they shouldn’t for as long as they did before you were ever born. There was a summoning, I think you remember, that your parents were holding when your accident happened on the floor below them.”

It was frustrating, that he was right. That he knew it. “I remember them recognizing me, my spirit. I remember them finding my body and shoving me back in. I remember the pain, and waking up and seeing-” Danny choked on the realization. It couldn’t be...

“Seeing the world in your dreams?” Clockwork asked, “the way you saw it when you were a spirit, free from the confines of your body, correct?” He floated over the table, sat next to Danny, and placed a hand on his back. Danny realized he had been shaking. 

He grabbed the fabric of his jeans in a tight grip and tried to stop, “It’s all real, right? It isn’t… I’m not still dreaming? Please, I need to know.”

The hand on his back pulled him close, tucked into Clockwork’s side and Danny felt comforted despite himself, he fought to blink away tears that had been building behind his eyes as he tucked himself into Clockwork’s side. He was so solid, unlike any other ghost Danny had ever met and he seemed to radiate comfort where most just gave off fear and hurt. 

“You’re not dreaming Daniel, you never were. The world is different when you see it  through our eyes, that is all. When you woke up, you weren’t human anymore. Of course you wouldn’t be limited by a human’s sight.”

Danny curled into himself tighter, despair clouding around him and likely leeching unpleasantly into the air. It would be a wonder if Clockwork didn’t feel it. “So I’m a ghost.”

“Hardly,” Clockwork said and Danny stopped breathing, “Do you think the world is so simple it is split between what is ghostly and what is not?”

“I…” Danny had actually assumed that. So far everything they’d dealt with so far, short of Vlad, had either been a ghost or spirit of some kind, or a human that used magic or ghostly artifacts. Even Vlad had simply been a person who had learned how to control his own spirit the way a ghost would. If Danny wasn’t a human, and he wasn’t a ghost, then what was he?

Clockwork ruffled his hair, “I suppose you’re young. It is easier, afterall, to think of it that way. But Daniel, ghosts don’t have physical forms. They can possess one, or control one, and sometimes even mimic one, but they are spirits.”

He sighed, “you are something entirely different. You’re something remarkable.”

Danny leaned back, using the sleeves of his hoodie to quickly dry his tears so he could look Clockwork in the eye, “What am I?”

“You’re new.”

Danny shoved him, “Agghh, I knew that you jerk!” It was probably a bad idea to attack or antagonize someone as clearly powerful and knowledgeable as Clockwork, but really he’d been asking for it. And Danny’s patience was only so strong. 

Clockwork didn’t fight him back though, nor did he get offended. Instead he just smiled that soft smile that Danny was starting to realize was affection, and said, “did you? Weren’t you trying to read my books to find out if there was anyone else like you?”

“Well yeah-” Danny stopped, “Oh. There wouldn’t be anything would there? If I’m the first?”

He groaned, that really was just his luck. He’d never figure out anything at this rate. Clockwork, the bastard, just hummed and grabbed another cookie, offering it to him. “No there wouldn’t. But you’re not the only one who was the first or only of their kind. Who had to figure out on their own, who and what they are.”

“You mean Vlad?” Danny asked, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth, wow he really hoped he didn’t mean Vlad.

Clockwork’s smile turned brittle, “I don’t mean Vlad.”

Danny chuckled, his thoughts turning mischievous, “I don’t know, he seems pretty unique, what with all those different abilities he has and the way he can choose to be human or ghost-”

“Oh please,” Clockwork interrupted, “there’s plenty of humans like Vladimir Masters, you were fully capable of astral projecting like that from birth, no black magic necessary. Just because he found a way to twist-”

He stopped, then looked down at Danny who was trying and failing to hold back a shit eating grin. All at once the air seemed to leave him and he deflated, the irritated look on his face replaced with open and honest affection and Danny felt it sing in the air around them.

“You were messing with me.”

“To be fair I didn’t think it would work, all knowing and everything.” Danny said, unable to fight the bubbling feeling in his chest as it rose to meet the affection around them. Usually it sucked having the empathy of a ghost and being near one or at least, something with the same traits. The negative emotions tended to bounce between him and them and amplify and it always made Danny struggle to parse his own emotions from theirs. But right now, in the top of a clock tower with the most powerful entity Danny had ever met, he felt happiness and joy to a degree he’d long forgotten. It was dizzying. He was almost giddy with it.

Clockwork patted him on the head, purposefully messing his hair, “yes well. I think in time, it will be more obvious just how different you truly are, how crucial every small coincidence was that came together that night to create you. But until then, you had another question? I can answer it now.”

Danny frowned as he realized what Clockwork meant, “You! I asked that question first! How did you only answer the one you wanted to!!”

“It was important,” Clockwork said, relaxing into the couch next to Danny, “to answer that question I had to be sure you knew what you were.”

He sputtered, “But I don’t?! I’m just something new! Something different!”

“Something physical that exists with the laws of the spiritual.”

“Yeah!” Danny said, “Wait, what?”

Clockwork nodded his head, “a physical entity that exists within the realms of spiritual possibility. It must be such a struggle, to deal with both sets of instincts like that.”

Danny’s head hurt, it was too much to try and understand the details of all of this. Maybe Tucker was right and he should just have let it be, learn to live with the new normal his life was now. Wasn’t that kind of what Clockwork was suggesting anyways? Then again, unlike Tucker, he did seem to thrive off of all of Danny’s questions, whether he actually answered them or not. 

“Yeah, I have to fight my more ghostly instincts all the time. It’s exhausting.” he said, leaning into Clockwork. It should have been embarrassing, seeking comfort like that, but he’d already cried into his shoulder and there wasn’t really any way to come back from that so Danny did as he pleased. 

He felt Clockwork’s hand return to his back, a solid comforting presence, “Now why would you do that?”

Danny tilted his head in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“Why would you fight against one half of yourself so thoroughly? But embrace the other side entirely?” Clockwork elaborated. “Did you think there wouldn’t be any consequences in fighting against your nature?”

“But,” Danny struggled to speak, pieces of the puzzle he’d thought hopeless putting themselves together in ways he had never expected and didn’t quite understand, “my nature is bad.”

Clockwork frowned and turned to look at Danny properly, “Daniel, it’s your nature. There is nothing good or bad about it. It is only as it is. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

This was too much, Danny sat up fully and turned entirely towards Clockwork, “are you saying, the way I become that thing from my nightmare, is by… doing what I’ve been doing to avoid becoming that thing?!”

“Yes,” Clockwork answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

He blinked, the answer really couldn’t be that easy. “But in my dream, I, my instincts-”

Clockwork grabbed a cookie and placed it in his hands, “even humans react poorly, when they starve themselves. As you exist now, you simply need a different kind of sustenance. One you’ve been denying.”

Danny felt dread crawl down the length of his spine, “what kind of sustenance?”

“Spirits exist for reasons, and they exist differently from humans. In order to keep existing they need emotions, experiences, something to keep them held together. A spirit that has no reason to exist will simply disappear, you’ve seen such before it is relatively common after all. But you can’t do that, since you are physical in a way that they are not. You can starve yourself endlessly, into madness even if you’re desperate enough.”

“I do it to myself?” Danny asked, flustered and frustrated. It was true then? He really was his own worst enemy? 

Clockwork shook his head, “it is not inevitable Daniel. As you were, it was the most likely path forward. Yes. You would have noticed the symptoms, seen yourself losing control and then, in reaction, suppressed yourself further. Starved yourself further.”

Danny cringed, yeah, that sounded like him. “How do I stop it then? I just embrace what makes me ghostly? What about my parents? If they think they failed the resurrection, that I’m not human anymore, they’ll kill me for real! Or worse!”

“That is indeed troublesome, and the paths of the future where they know your truth are twisted and sharp, every small decision every tiny change causing a greater effect on their reactions as a whole. But you do not need to reveal yourself to your parents to live your truth.”

Relieved, Danny fell back into the couch. He hadn’t even noticed he’d floated off of it, was that good? Bad? He shook his head, this was all too confusing. “How then?” He asked, maybe this time he’d actually get a straight answer. 

Clockwork ruffled his hair and stood up, er, well, floated up and over towards the fire. “You continue doing what you’re doing with your friends, protecting your town and interacting with the truth of the world around you. And…” He turned around, “you can come visit me. It’s quite lonely in the clock tower they trapped me in, and there is much I can teach you about becoming. I had to learn such things about myself once after all.”

“You’ll let me come back? To visit you?” Danny didn’t know what to say. He could come visit, ask more questions, get more answers. It seemed too good to be true, and Danny found himself eager and excited at the prospect. 

For some reason, the entire conversation, he’d thought this would be a one time thing. That the clocktower would disappear behind him and leave any question he didn’t ask unanswered. To find out that wasn’t the case, that he had somehow, against all odds, made some kind of ghostly ally, was beyond expectations. “You’ll help me?”

The answering smile had Danny floating out of his seat, “Of course Daniel. I’ll even bake cookies.” 

[squiggledrop]

I’m Sorry - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reid gets shot on a case and is in the hospital. But him and Reader have so much left they want to do. So, living on borrowed time, Reader does all they can do.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Allusions to death, hospitals, references to major injuries, mentions of a god

Note: Could be read as a part 2 to Your Other Half, but doesn’t have to be. But you should go read that if you haven’t👀👀. Also, the italics are “Spencer”, but are kind of up for interpretation. Also, I’m like ✨struggling✨ so I just kind of wrote this and figured I’d share, but I promise I’ll have some actual fics soon. Also, just saying this so it’s said, but, this is literally just me ranting and believe whatever you want to believe because it is 100% valid and should always be respected. Last thing, title should be read in John Mulaney’s voice because every time I read it that’s all I can hear in my head, so I think you should too. “I’m SoOOoRy”

“Hey Spence.” Your hushed voice broke through the unbearable silence in the room, only mediated by the monotonous beeping of the countless machines hooked up to Spencer.

“We’re in the hospital right now. You had surgery and they were able to fix the bullet wound. But, the doctor said that your injury caused swelling in your brain, and if it doesn’t stop soon, there won’t be much they can do.” Your breathing stuttered as you blinked back tears. “So, I’m going to need you to try and stop it okay?”

You gripped his hand in yours, resting it against your forehead as tears poured down your cheek. 

“We always knew you had a big, genius brain. I guess we just never thought about what would happen when it got a little too big.” You let out a slight laugh through your nose, blinking away the tears in your eyes. “I always knew you were too amazing to be bound by something so nominal as a human body. Normally, every room you occupy is consumed by your warmth and filled with your laughter.” You forced a weak smile as his comforting laugh replayed in your mind. With a sigh, you looked around the sterile room. The fluorescent lights were too bright. They would give Spencer a headache.

“But not this one,” you choked out, turning back towards his unconscious form. “I miss your beautiful smile and gentle eyes because, right now, you feel so small. Your hand is in mine, but it just doesn’t feel right.” You cautiously stroked the back of his hand, examining the foreign feeling. “It’s too bony and fragile. Your hands are normally soft and warm, but right now they’re just so cold.” You placed a kiss on the middle of his palm before resting your cheek in it. The chilling of his hand burned your inflamed cheeks.

“I asked the nurse to get you another blanket because I know how much you hate the cold. She gave me that look we give victims' families when we have to tell them their loved one is dead,” you scoffed. “Sometimes it really sucks to always know what people are thinking.” You tried to calm yourself down, rolling your lips between your teeth, but it was no use.

“I really need you to hang on okay, baby? I hope you aren't in any pain, but I need you to hang on.” Despite your best efforts, desperation bled through every word you spoke. “I-I know it’s selfish, but I can't do this without you Spence.” With every second that past your throat constricted even more. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you. God, Spence, please come back to me,” you cried.

I always found that to be such an interesting term: “praying to a god you don’t believe in”. You closed your eyes, relishing in the sound of his voice. You knew it wasn’t real, but for now, it was good enough. It is used in literature and in modern music so often, and rightly so, but is never given the weight it truly possesses. Despite everything you know, all of the scientific explanations you have that can explain the world around you, when you are that desperate, you throw it all out the window in a split second. You don’t believe in a god. Yet, when faced with a difficult situation, and you have nothing else to hold onto, you immediately pray to something that you know holds no validity.

“Because it’s all I can do.” 

You are so desperate and helpless to the extent that you are praying to something that you know logically is not real, yet with every fiber of your being you are praying for its help. 

“Isn’t it just human nature?”

Well, some may say it’s humanizing. I would disagree. I think it is the least human thing you can do. It’s human nature to be curious and want explanations for the phenomena around you. That’s why, out of all species on earth, humans are the most advanced. They are the only species to change their environment to fit their needs. They have no natural predators, despite having absolutely no defense mechanisms. They have survived and evolved based on their thirst for knowledge and answers. But, when faced with some of the toughest situations in life, yet some of the most natural, they disregard everything they know to be true, and blindly beg for the help of some mythological deity. 

Death is a natural progression of life. We know how and why it happens, and we have formulas and data to predict when it will come. 

“But when it’s someone you know, someone you love, despite knowing everyone’s time will one day come, you can’t help but to beg for it not to be the case,” you pointed out. 

You ask something you don’t believe in, something you know to not be true, to change the inevitable. You ask something you don’t believe in to change precedent. You ask for some miracle, that you already know the minuscule probability of. 

“Is it avoidance?”, you genuinely asked out loud, missing the way Spencer was always there with an answer for everything.

Well, you know the science and statistics behind it. You know the odds are not in your favor. So, rather than acknowledge that and live with the truth, you abandon everything you hold to be true, and instead conjure some faith in a god you know isn’t there. I mean, is it better to have blind hope or just accept the facts? 

“Isn’t there something to be said for being optimistic?” you countered.

Of course. One of the amazing laws of our natural world is that nothing is impossible. Sure, if you keep shoving your hand at the wall enough times, statistically speaking, eventually your hand will have the exact orientation to go between all the atoms perfectly, and your hand will go through the wall. But, if I were to ask you to believe that I could do it, would you? 

“No,” you replied.

Of course not. Because it’s illogical. So then, why is your immediate reaction to devastating information to refuse it and do something illogical? 

“Is it to feel useful?”

You know the statistics. Realistically, you know there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. But, it is human nature to try and come up with solutions to our problems. After having exhausted all other possibilities and coming up empty, you persist. You don’t give up. Even if you know it’s nonsensical, you still need to feel as though you are trying. But that’s the operative part: feel as though. Is it human inclination to want to try and solve the problem and contribute positively to the situation? Or is it a selfish need to not feel powerless? 

“There is nothing worse than feeling as though you have no control. When everything you love has been taken from you, and you are desperate for any solution to your problem, it makes sense that one would try all their options, no matter how unlikely, because you still have to at least try.”

But, it’s important to remember that no matter how many times you shove your hand at the wall, you will always end up hurt before it goes through. You let out a small smile, pondering his words.

“Is it a reminder, that despite how much we claim to know and understand about the universe, that we know practically nothing?”

Ah, therein lies the beauty of science. Every time a question is answered, it introduces a plethora of others to be figured out. Despite knowing the facts, you are reminded about how much you do not know. There is so much uncertainty in everyday life, and no matter how much you may try, life does not take place in a laboratory. You cannot control for all the confounding variables life has to offer. You don’t get to test your hypothesis over and over, tweaking your experiment as you go. You are granted one life. You must use it to its fullest extent. 

“Did you?” you abruptly asked.

I wouldn’t have changed anything, because it brought me to you. And you are my greatest accomplishment. You nodded your head, wiping away the tears that pooled in your eyes.

“Look, I may not believe in this supposed god I’m praying to. But, if she actually is out there, what’s the harm in praying she lets my hand make it through the wall? The worst that could happen is she doesn’t listen and I end up with a few bruises and a broken bone. Because, in the grand scheme, what’s a broken bone compared to your life?” There was silence, and you didn’t feel like waiting for a response.

“You are the kindest, gentlest, most generous person I know. Everyone has been through so much. I-it’s too soon. That's how I know there isn’t a god, because she wouldn’t be this cruel. She wouldn’t take you from us too.” In your mind, all of the losses you two had suffered over the years replayed. All of the lost lives, lost friends. “I always tried so hard to be strong for you. I tried to be there, and for the most part I was. I held you in my arms. I kissed the top of your head. I let you know you are so loved, that I was there and I would never let go, because that’s what you do for the ones you love- 

I know

“-but for every ounce of strength I gave, I lost a part of me. I still remember the day it happened. I remember the day we said goodbye, and I remember the endless months of hurt. But, what are you supposed to do when someone loses someone like that?”

Well, you hold them in your arms and let them know they are loved. 

“But I can’t do it again,” you practically shouted. “I can’t,” you gasped.

I know

“I can’t go through that again-”

I know

“-my arms are too tired and weak-”

I know

“-my eyes have lost enough tears-”

I know

“I-I can’t be strong for anyone anymore.” 

I know baby, I’m sorry

You let your head collapse in front of you, hugging Spencer’s limp arm into your chest.

“It’s not fair,” you murmur between broken sobs. “I need someone to hold me-”

I know

“-and I need someone to tell me it’s okay, because I know it’s not. Nothing about this is okay.”

I know

“God, would you just shut up? Just for once Spencer!” Your breathing heaved as you lifted your head, looking down at the lifeless body in front of you. “I know you know, okay? I know you know everything.” Your own voice bounced around the room, ringing in your ears. “You can claim that you have a formula for any problem, and sure, you can rattle off any statistic. But, for the love of god Spencer, don’t forget, mathematics was invented,” you spat. “It is a made up world that people use to quantify the incomprehensible. It’s a tool that was made to try and make sense of the chaotic world that surrounds us.” The volume of your voice shattered, and you broke down again, cursing yourself for screaming at your unconscious husband.

But, you heard his soft, knowing voice that you missed so much, try as we might, the law of entropy prevails, and with every negative delta g we descended further and further into disorder. One variable that does not have a differential equation to solve is emotions. That’s what makes us different. We care for one another. That is human nature. We try to help those in need and even if we can never fully understand the working of the universe, at least we can make a slightly more positive place. Yes, you can calculate the probability of every known outcome, but you are not a robot. We have survived because of our inclination to help others. We work together for a common goal. We love. We hate. We get scared. We get excited. We are shy and outgoing. We are happy and we are sad. But, no matter what we are, we do it with passion. We love so intensely that it physically hurts. We can feel such joy that it feels as though it is bursting out of us. We are empathetic. We can feel others’ emotions as if they were our own. 

“But, we can also hurt,” you chided. “We can hurt so bad that it feels debilitating. We can hurt so bad that it's easier to just shut off and not think.” You looked over his stoic face, desperately trying to picture his golden eyes through his ashen eyelids. “Yes, that means losing your humanity, but when it’s at the cost of feeling your world crumble before you, suffocating you with it, being a robot begins to have its appeals.”

I guess. You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. It depends on your point of view. You can have a reductionist mind set, and see the world for what it is: a bunch of chemicals interacting. Or, you can take a more philosophical approach and contemplate the meaning of life. But one cannot exist without the other. There is a nuanced duality that must be maintained, or there is no point to either.

You cupped his jaw in your hand, running your thumb over cheek. 

“Every time I see your face I smile. When you tell me you love me my heart feels so full.” You swallowed thickly, picturing all of the morning you woke up next to Spencer, never really knowing which one would be your last. “When I hug you, I feel safe. Yeah, we may just be a sack of chemicals, but I was lucky enough that our atoms came together in this specific combination at the same point in time.” Your voice squeezed as you tried to continue speaking, “And I know the probability of that happening is minuscule, so why can’t  this be too?” you pleaded. “I know it’s unlikely, but if I was so lucky to have you in my life, why can’t I be just as lucky and get my hand through the wall on the first try?”

Because you are human, whatever that means. He spoke as if it was the simplest thing in the world. No matter how hard we may try, we are controlled by our emotions. I love you, and you love me, and it’s as simple and complicated as that. 

“I know that every moment you are alive is a second of gifted time, but it’s still never enough. I don’t want to say goodbye. We have so much more to do. We have plans, and promises that still need to be fulfilled”

I don’t want to say goodbye either 

“This isn’t fair, we are supposed to have more time.”

I know, but I need you to be strong, for me.

“But I don’t know what to do.”

I need you to try.

“No, Spence, I-I’m letting you know now that I won’t be able to do it. I can't be strong again. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” You cried into his chest, savoring the sound of his faint heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.”

You waited for a response, desperate to hear his voice for as long as you could. But, it never came. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” You gasped, lifting your head and looking around the room. Your eyes fell on Derek in the doorway. “I thought I heard you talking, are you okay?” Concern laced his brow as he looked at you.

“Y-yeah, I’m as fine as I can be,” you reassured, wiping your eyes. He nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. You watched as he turned to leave, going back to the others in the waiting room. You let out a helpless breath, your eyes falling back onto the man that lay beside you. 

Yes, you are human. And as tears roll down your face, and helplessness courses through your veins, you will continue to pray to a god you don’t believe in, because what else are you supposed to do?

[everlarkficexchange]

Hanging in the Balance

Written by: @ameliaodair

Prompt #29:  I want to request a fic where Katniss and Peeta almost lose their first child and it makes their love and relationship even stronger.  [submitted by anonymous]

The prompt pretty much says it all.  On their way to visit Katniss’s mother, Katniss, Peeta, and their daughter fight for their lives.  When Peeta wakes from the devastating crash, his life— and Katniss’s are forever changed as their sweet, baby girl has the fight of her life, with her life hanging in the balance.

Thanks to the amazing @taylerwrites for her magical beta skills!

Rated T for difficult situations

Warnings: (almost) losing a child

Hanging in the Balance

“How long has it been since the last time we saw your mother?” Keeping his eyes focused on the road and his hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, Peeta glanced over to Katniss, his beautiful wife of six years.

“I don’t know, maybe …  Actually, I think the last time we saw her was just after Prim was born; oh my god, I can’t believe it’s been that long.  Oh, Peeta, did you rem—” Katniss tensed up, thinking they had forgotten an important item on their checklist.

“Calm down, Katniss. Trust me,” Peeta gave his wife a charming, yet reassuring smile and reached for her hand. “I went over the list three times before we even left the house, and then once more after loading the car up.  We didn’t forget a single thing.  And if, by chance, there is something we forgot, I’m sure it can be duplicated at the nearest department store.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Katniss murmured, catching a glimpse of the back of their daughter’s head before slowly relaxing into the passenger seat next to her husband.

“In fact, I’m almost certain we brought enough stuff with us to stay for a year,” Peeta gently joked with his wife, in hopes of easing her nerves.  He knew the real reason for Katniss’s high-strung demeanor, and her incessant need to be in complete control.  She had lost her younger sister when she was just a little girl and it nearly broke her.  Peeta still wasn’t convinced she had recovered from that loss. 

Katniss and Peeta were childhood sweethearts.  While Peeta knew from the moment he entered his kindergarten classroom that he was destined to be with the beautiful girl with the stunning grey eyes,  raven-colored braids down either side of her face, and a voice that could bring a stuttering, toothpaste-stained shirt little boy to his knees, it took Katniss a little longer.  It required some convincing, but Peeta was persistent and finally, at seven-years-old, Katniss accepted his friendship-invitation.  And the lovesick fool that Peeta was decided he would take what he could get.  So, for years, they were friends— best friends. 

Peeta was there the day Katniss’s sister, Prim, died.  He had sat next to Katniss, gripping her hand like a lifeline while they stood vigil by Prim’s bedside, and watched as she took her final breaths.  And it broke him too, but not like Katniss.  She was devastated beyond belief— for so long.  And for so many years after that devastating tragedy, Katniss vowed to never have children … she could not bear to love another person with so much of her heart, only to have them ripped from her life.  They dated for five years before she finally agreed to marry him.  And then it was another four years before she agreed, and quite apprehensively, to try for a family.

“I think I’m going to get off at the next stop for some gas and we can stretch our legs.  It’ll be nighttime soon and I’d rather you guys not wander around in the dark in some backwoods city I don’t know.”

“You worry too much, Peeta,” Katniss chided, taking Peeta’s hand and entwining their fingers.  She brought their conjoined hands up to her lips and placed a kiss against the crest of his knuckles.  That’s why they were perfect together— because they balanced each other out.  When one was overcome with fear and anxiety, the other was always there to level the other one out.

Peeta got off at the next exit and followed the signs to the nearest gas station, which was less than a mile away.

“Don’t go to the Shell, go to SHEETZ,” Katniss pleaded with her husband when she saw the direction he was headed.

“Why?  Shell has better gas.”

“SHEETZ has cleaner bathrooms.  Please baby,” Katniss whined, knowing the use of the pet name, in addition to giving him the wide, puppy-dog-eyes would be enough to melt his hesitation.

“Okay,” he conceded, “Anything for my girls,” he gave Katniss’s hand another squeeze as he stopped at the four-way intersection and then gently accelerated on the gas when he saw the coast was clear.  Ever since their daughter, Prim was born, Peeta drove like an old man instead of a man in his late twenties— precious cargo and all.

“PEETA!!!!!” Katniss screamed when a set of headlights came barreling straight for them.

    “Mr. Mellark?  Mr. Mellark, can you hear me?” Peeta opened his eyes and tried to sit up.  “Mr. Mellark, how many fingers am I holding up?” The uniformed man asked him as he waved his fingers in front of his face and shined a flashlight into his eyes.

“Three.  Where’s my wife?  Where is Prim?” Peeta responded, shoving the medic’s hand out of his face as he attempted to sit up again.  “Where am I?” Peeta demanded, turning his head from side to side, surveying the small space he was in and called for his wife, “Katniss?” But she wasn’t anywhere in sight; as far as he could see, he was alone in the ambulance with these three strangers— medics.

“Sir, please calm down.  You were in an accident.  My name is Pollux and I am a paramedic.  You have sustained some rather severe injuries.  We are rushing you and your family to the nearest hospital.”

Adrenaline flooded Peeta’s veins, his heart accelerated until he was fuming, “WHERE is my wife and my daughter?  Where are they?  Are they okay? Please, you have to tell me,” he demanded, oblivious to the steadily increasing beeping in the background and needing some answers before his anxiety consumed him.

“They were air-lifted from the scene of the accident; we should be arriving at the hospital any moment now.  We’ll know more upon arrival,” Pollux offered sympathetically and craned his neck to his shoulder to speak into the microphone attached to his uniform, “Hey Castor, what’s our ETA?”

Peeta didn’t realize there was already an IV connected into his arm, or that the paramedic injected something into it, which was the reason everything went black.

2 days later:

“Well!  There are those marvelous blue eyes I have been hearing about!  Good morning Mr. Mellark, my name is Dr. Trinket.”

When Peeta opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy at first.  He blinked a few times until his vision slowly adjusted, and this Dr. Trinket came into view.  She was a beautiful doctor, there was no denying that.  Probably in her mid to late thirties with short, curly, blonde hair— so blonde it almost looked pink … and she was in the traditional hospital scrubs you normally see doctors wearing.  

  ‘Seriously, bright pink scrubs?’ Peeta thought, wondering if he could go blind just by looking at her for too long.

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” Dr. Trinket asked him, shining a light into his eyes.  “Good, good.  Pupils are equal and reactive.”

Peeta recited his name and birthday for Dr. Trinket, and she nodded, satisfied with his response.  “Do you know where you are?”  Dr. Trinket asked, checking his reflexes.

“Um … a hospital?” Peeta thought that seemed obvious.

“And do you recall the circumstances that brought you here?”

Peeta closed his eyes and tried to pull the memory from his mind, only to come up empty.

“Mr. Mellark, you were in an accident,” Dr. Trinket began filling in the blanks for him, “You suffered a slight concussion in addition to a hairline fracture to your femur.  After assessment upon your arrival to Tribute Center Regional Medical Facilities, you were rushed into surgery to repair your injuries.  You have a splint on your leg and should heal just fine.  I foresee a speedy recovery as long as you stay off your legs.  Do you have any questions for me?”

Flashes came sputtering back, hitting the back of  his eyelids like one of those slow, stop-motion picture films from Dr. Trinket’s words. “M-my w-wife and daughter—” Peeta croaked, his voice still dry and hoarse from days of not using it.

“Nurse, nurse, can we please get Mr. Mellark some form of oral hydration to quench his thirst?” Dr. Trinket pressed the call button on the remote by his bed and spoke into the intercom, “I bet you are just parched, aren’t you Mr. Mellark?” As upbeat and gregarious as the lovely Dr. Trinket appeared to be, he was not fooled by her deflection.

Before he had the opportunity to ask about his family again, a woman with kind eyes entered the room, carrying a styrofoam pitcher of water, a small tower of cups, and a handful of straws.  She poured Peeta a cup of water and offered it to him.

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled at the woman, who returned his smile, and then disappeared from the room just as quickly as she entered.

Peeta took a long sip of water through the straw and wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted so good in his life.  But then he met Dr. Trinket’s eyes and asked the question that was looming over them once again, “My wife?  My daughter?  K-Katniss and Primrose Mellark?”

Dr. Trinket’s face fell, and then she looked at him with so much pity, which only compelled Peeta to immediately jump to conclusions.

“No, no, they can’t be!” He cried, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, no!  No, no, my apologies Mr. Mellark.  Your wife currently rests in a medically induced coma.  She had some minor swelling on her brain, so the doctors felt it was necessary to allow her body adequate time to heal.  She should be waking at any moment and her prognosis is optimistic!”

Peeta took another sip of water and braced himself for what came next, “And P-Primrose, m-my daughter?” Peeta faltered, afraid of her response.  She was barely two years old; if he and Katniss were injured this badly, what happened to her?  She was so tiny, she was—

“Your daughter’s—”

“Prim,” Peeta insisted.  If his daughter’s condition was as critical as he feared, he would not allow the staff in this hospital to treat her as another ‘number’.  He’d heard of horror stories and patients being neglected because of arrogant doctors.  No, they would call her by her name.

“My apologies; Prim is in the pediatric intensive care unit.  I do not know much about her case, but your daughter’s doctor will stop by shortly with an update on her status.  I shall page him now to inform him that you are finally conscious.  His name is Dr. Abernathy.”

“Okay,” Peeta nodded.

“I must warn you Mr. Mellark, Dr. Abernathy may come off a bit abrasive, his bedside manner needs much work, but—"

“Is he good?  Will he save my baby?” Peeta implored; he could care less about the doctor’s bedside manner, all he cared about was if the man was good at his job.  All he cared about was if he could save his baby girl.

“I may be a bit bias … but yes.  He is the best.  It is a fact that he is a world-renowned critical care pediatric surgeon.  You will not find a more qualified physician in all of Panem.”

“O-okay, that’s good,” Peeta stuttered, feeling more optimistic as Dr. Trinket walked toward the door.

  “Um … Dr. Trinket, if you don’t mind me asking, but why are you biased towards this doctor?”

“He is my husband,” Dr. Trinket answered proudly. “Oh, and please call me Effie, ‘Doctor Trinket’ is my mother … and besides, it makes me sound so old!”

  “Mr. Mellark, I’m Haymitch,” a man with scruffy blonde hair covering his eyes strutted into the room.  He had a white coat just like the other doctors Peeta had seen cruising the hallways, but this man looked far from any doctor he had ever met.  Sure, he had the arrogance the other doctors seemed to have in spades, but he did not share the chiseled and clean-shaven faces he had witnessed on some of the other medical staff.  He looked up, and above the breast pocket of this man’s jacket, the name, Dr. H. Abernathy, was inscribed in elegant script onto his coat.

So, this was Dr. Abernathy, Peeta thought.  “It’s— it’s Peeta.  Y-you have news about my daughter?”

“Yes, Primrose Ellis Mellark, twenty-six-month female,” Haymitch began, flipping through his notes.  Then he dragged a chair across the room, its legs scraping against the floor, finally planting it next to Peeta’s bed before he took a seat in it— backwards.  Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch put his notes away and crossed his arms over the back of the chair to look Peeta in the eye.

Yes, this was unlike any doctor I’ve ever come across before, Peeta thought to himself, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Mr. Mellark, Peeta, I ain’t gonna lie to ya, yer little girl is in pretty bad shape.  Thankfully, she was properly strapped in the car seat, and rear-facing at that— which is what will probably save her life.  Most parents don’t follow the PAP guidelines—”

  “I’m sorry, what is PAP?”

  “Oh, my bad— I mean … sorry.  It’s the Panem Academy of Pediatrics— you know, the guidelines— uh, the riff-raff of all the do’s and don'ts pertaining to childcare and whatnot.  Anyhow, most parents turn their kids around before it’s time so they can see them … but uh— yeah— she’s beat up pretty bad, we’ve removed all the shards of glass from her skin and stitched up all the residual lacerations.” Peeta cringed at the doctor’s extensive description of his daughter.  “She suffered some internal damage to her organs—”

“When c-can I see her?” Peeta stammered, interrupting the doctor and fighting back tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Soon.  I’ll have someone page your nurse once she’s stabilized, and then we’ll get someone to bring ya up there.  Ya got any other questions?” Haymitch asked Peeta, squirming to get out of the chair.

“Has … has anyone told Katniss— my wife?”  Peeta warily asked the doctor.  Part of him was hoping that Haymitch had already told her, while deep inside he knew it had to be him to deliver this crushing blow.

“No, not yet.  I have to round on a few patients and then I’ll be stoppin’ by her room.”

Peeta gulped, “Would it—”

“Sure kid, it’s all yours.  It’ll save me the trouble of havin’ to do it,“ Haymitch gruffed.

Geez, Dr. Trinket wasn’t kidding about his bedside manner, Peeta silently ruminated, all the while, wondering how in the world those two were married.

  “Katniss? Katniss, baby, can you hear me?” One of the nurses hunted down a wheelchair and rolled Peeta into Katniss’s room.  The sight of her broke his heart.  She was lying there, unconscious and connected to an assortment of tubes and wires.  As he sat by Katniss’s side, he found comfort in the steady beep, beep of her heart monitor, which he hoped was a good sign.  He reached for her hand, holding it in his own, and closed his eyes, silently willing her to wake up.

I … I can’t do this alone; please Katniss, please wake up, with a quivering lip, he silently pleaded to her.

“Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” Peeta looked up and asked the nurse.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Mellark, but it isn’t an exact science.  Patients can wake up anywhere between a few hours, to a few days once they’re weaned off the medication.”  Katniss’ nurse, Annie informed him with a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Although Peeta was frustrated, he knew it wasn’t Annie’s fault and forced a smile to his lips.

Peeta wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he first arrived in Katniss’s room.  He had already twice refused to return to his own room; he didn’t care about himself.  All they wanted him to do in his room was rest, and he was perfectly capable of doing that from the comfort of his wife’s room, if not better.  If he went back to his room all he would do is worry; at least in Katniss’s room, which was just across the hall, he could attempt getting a little rest.

“Mr. Mellark?” Annie slowly crept into the room.  Peeta had fallen asleep in the chair next to Katniss’s bed, the cramp in his neck proof of the poor position he was in.

He jerked up when he heard Annie’s voice. “I know you don’t want to leave her side, but Doctor— I mean Haymitch just called and said we could bring you up to see your daughter.  Would you like to—”

Peeta jolted up from his chair, forgetting about the injury to his leg for a moment until the pain shot up his spine.

“Oh no, no, no, I will get your wheelchair and take you up there.  You wouldn’t make it to the elevators,” Annie smiled.

Annie rolled his wheelchair in from outside the room and wheeled Peeta to the PICU floor.

“So, does everyone call Dr. Abernathy by his first name?” Peeta tried to fill the uncomfortable silence with small talk.

Annie chuckled from behind him. “Yeah.  He and Dr. Trinket— Effie; they don’t like formalities.  They claim it helps eliminate the doctor/patient barrier; something about trust and bonding.” Peeta nodded and thought, ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense.’

“Okay, I guess … I can see that.  Have you worked here long?  Do you know … is he a good doctor?” Peeta hoped he wasn’t being too intrusive, he just needed to know if Haymitch was as qualified to care for his daughter as Effie claimed.

“Haymitch?  Oh, yes … he’s the best.  If it were my son lying in a hospital bed— no matter where in the world I was, I would want Haymitch as his doctor.  Heck, I would gladly pay him whatever he wanted and have him flown to whatever corner of the world I was in.”

“Wow, that’s … impressive.  So, you have a son?”

“Yes, Nick is four years old,” Annie stopped and flipped her name badge over, stretching it out in front of Peeta’s line of sight to reveal a picture of a little boy with the greenest eyes, and wavy, sun kissed golden-blonde hair.

“He’s adorable … he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he’s older,” Peeta smiled, his heart aching to hold his own daughter.

“Thank you.  His name is Finnick— well, Finnick Junior, after his father, but we just call him Nick.  Oh, look!  We’re here!”

Annie wheeled him into the PICU and spoke with one of the nurses who helped him to the “Scrub Room.”  ‘Johanna’ first demonstrated the process of “scrubbing down,” which meant vigorously washing your hands with a medical scrub brush that contained a special, hospital-grade antiseptic soap.  When it was his turn, Peeta “scrubbed” for exactly three minutes while Johanna stood over him, observing with her stopwatch in hand throughout the entire process.  On the one hand, it made him feel self-conscious, but on the other hand, he was glad the staff was this precise.  Then she checked his temperature, because, under no circumstances was anyone permitted to enter the unit with a temperature above 100.3.  The last step was donning a sterile gown, gloves, and a facial mask before finally being allowed to see his daughter.

  “So, if someone leaves and comes right back just a few minutes later, they have to do this all over again?” Peeta asked Johanna.

  “Every single time—no exceptions.  Hospital policy—or, well, Haymitch’s policy,” Johanna chuckled.

Prim looked so tiny in the incubator she was lying in, it reminded him of the ones you see premature babies in.  It brought back memories of the day Katniss gave birth to their daughter, Peeta, silently thanking the heavens that his and Katniss’s newborn baby was full-term and healthy.  He just hoped luck was on their side this time, too.

Peeta’s entire body quivered with trepidation when his eyes landed on his daughter.  Prim was covered in stitches— they stretched across her entire body; on her arms, legs, her chest, and covered a majority of her face and head.  It looked like they even had to shave a portion of her hair to place some of the stitches.  She had IVs inserted in both her arms, a tube down her throat, and a tiny nasal cannula blowing oxygen into her nostrils.  Peeta’s eyes began to sting from the sight of his beautiful Primrose, and the closer he inched toward her, the harder his eyes stung.  Until finally, the dam broke, and the tears began pouring from his eyes, followed by uncontrollable sobs escaping his entire body.

“Oh, Primmie baby, I am so sorry.  Daddy is so sorry; do you hear me?” Peeta cried to his little girl.

“Is she … will she make it?  Do you think— can she— will she survive this?” Peeta looked up, meeting the nurse’s eyes, and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“I honestly cannot give you a definitive answer Mr. Mellark.  These little ones tend to have a mind of their own.  Right now, it’s kind of touch and go.  I would say that if she makes it through the night, then she’s got a standing chance.  But I’m going to tell you something, I’ve seen babies much worse than your daughter bounce right back, but— on the flip side, I’ve seen others with barely any injuries—” Her words trailed off, hesitant to complete her sentence, but Peeta knew what she meant.

They didn’t make it.  Peeta sucked in a breath, mustering all the courage he had to be strong for his daughter.  What would he do if Prim di— if she … he couldn’t even think the word without his chest feeling as if thousand-pound bricks were smothering him.

“Why is that? What makes the difference?” He forced the words out.  If Prim was to survive this, he needed to know.

“I think … Now, this is just my opinion, but I truly believe it depends on how hard they’re willing to fight.  Their will, their drive to live.  Right now, I would say, and perhaps this does nothing to ease your mind, but … hope and pray.  As a veteran PICU nurse, I truly believe in the power of prayer.  Talk to your daughter and let her know that you are waiting for her; that you are counting on her to survive this.” Peeta nodded, understanding what the nurse meant.  “Give that beautiful little girl something to fight for,” Prim’s nurse finished with a kind smile.

“What was your name again?  I’m sorry, I didn’t catch it, and how long will you be Prim’s nurse?”

“My name is Portia Rose, and I’ll be here all night,” the kind nurse replied, with an equally as kind smile.  Peeta wondered if it was fate that brought them together.  His daughter, named after Katniss’s lost sister, and this ‘Portia Rose,’ their names having an uncanny similarity.

  “Peeta, Peeta what happened?” Katniss croaked, knowing something was wrong the moment her eyes opened and her husband’s tear-streaked face came into focus.

“Katniss, there was an accident.  What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember, we were going to the gas station … you wanted to stop before it got dark.  We … we were on our way to see Mom … and then … and then … Peeta, what happened?  Where is Prim?” Katniss asked, pushing herself up with her hands to straighten her position in the bed.

Water pooled in Peeta’s eyes and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of tears.  He had to be strong for Katniss, he couldn’t show weakness, not yet.  Not now. 

  Peeta poured Katniss a cup of water and handed it to her. “Here sweetie, I bet you’re thirsty.”

Katniss took the cup and pulled the water into her mouth, “Peeta, you’re scaring me.  W-what happened?”

“Katniss, we were in an accident; w-we were hit head-on by a drunk driver.”

Katniss felt the heat spread through her face, and then slowly, it radiated to the tips of her fingers and toes.  “And Prim?” She asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy.

“She’s okay for right now.  The doctors are taking really good care of her.”

“Okay, that’s good.  That’s really good,” Katniss smiled.  Peeta could see the tears welling up in her eyes and knew she was biting down on the inside of her cheek to quell her tears as she nodded.  He instantly knew that something wasn’t right; this was the opposite of how Katniss should have reacted.  His Katniss would be screaming, throwing a fit— demanding to get out of the hospital bed, adamant to see her daughter.  But this was more like … like denial.  He saw this once before … when her father died.  Granted, that was years and years ago when they were barely teenagers.

Peeta observed Katniss for a few hours, occasionally leaving to check on his daughter.  He knew the staff in the PICU were taking exceptional care of his daughter, and something told him his wife needed him more.  After his most recent visit to Prim in the PICU, he made sure that Portia knew how to reach him in case … in case she needed him.

When Katniss was given “out of bed” privileges, she walked around the room, cheerful and full of smiles as she chatted jubilantly with her mother on the phone.  She acted as if their daughter’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance just a few floors above them.

“Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow,” Katniss informed Peeta after placing her phone on the bedside table.

Concerned for his wife’s emotional stability, Peeta spoke with one of Katniss’ nurses to find out when he could take her to their daughter.

“I don’t see why it should be a problem, she does seem to be basking in the river of ‘De Nile’,” Dr. Cinna noted, trying to lighten the mood.  “Perhaps seeing Primrose with her own eyes will open her mind to the truth,” Peeta smiled, shaking Dr. Cinna’s hand; he was the first one to refer to their daughter by her name unprompted, and Prim wasn’t even his patient.  It was at this time that Peeta decided that he liked Dr. Cinna— that he was perhaps his favorite doctor as of yet.  Dr. Cinna provided Peeta with a wheelchair for Katniss, after first making sure Peeta’s legs were strong enough to haul her to the elevator.

“Come on Katniss, let’s go see our girl,” Peeta suggested, rolling the wheelchair up to Katniss’ bedside.

“Okay, sure.  Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow.”

“That’s good Katniss, I’m glad,” Peeta tried to feign enthusiasm.  He frowned, wondering if she realized she just told him this only minutes ago.

Peeta wheeled his wife to the elevators and then pushed the “12” button that would deliver them to the PICU unit.  He followed the arrows and pressed the button on the intercom, waiting patiently for someone to answer them.  Johanna immediately recognized him, and took them through the same procedure from earlier of scrubbing down, a temperature check, and donning the sterile gown, gloves, and mask before Johanna led them to their daughter.

“Peeta, what— what are we doing here?  I thought you were taking me to Prim?” Katniss asked, all traces of joy disintegrating as she was wheeled to Prim’s bedside.

“Katniss, honey— this is—”

“Oh, baby!  Prim, baby, oh my God, what, how—” Katniss’ eyes filled with tears as she craned her neck up to meet Peeta’s eyes.

“No, no.  NO!” Katniss screamed, standing up from her wheelchair, glaring daggers at Peeta.  “NO, this is NOT happening!”  Katniss shrieked, bolting from the room.  Peeta did not follow her, he knew she needed time.  The wheelchair was only precautionary, Katniss’s main injury was the concussion, which had healed during her medically induced coma.

He pulled a chair up to his daughter’s bedside, stuck his gloved hand inside the isolette and began to stroke her tiny hand.  He needed her to know he was here for her and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet baby girl.  My beautiful, beautiful, Primrose; Mommy, and Daddy are here for you and we’re not going anywhere, do you hear me?  Mommy is just scared right now, and she will be back really soon.  Oh, Primmie— we love you so, so much and we need you to get better.  Oh, Prim; I know you probably don’t know this, or understand it, but you are the light of our lives.  You have to get better, okay?  Please fight, Primrose; you have to fight.  I don’t think Mommy would survive if we lost you, I don’t know if I would survive.  I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on such a little girl, but … but—” Peeta closed his eyes, held his head down, and did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. 

He prayed.

“If there is anyone out there who can hear me, anyone at all, I—” Peeta began, pleading with the powers that be as he sniffled, wiping his eyes with his free arm.  “Please save my girl, she is my world, my everything.  And— and my wife— Katniss needs her Primrose.  I’ll do anything; if it’s a life you want— or need, take mine instead.  Prim is just a baby; she hasn’t had time to live yet.  She still needs her first day in kindergarten, her first best friend—a first boyfriend and a first heartbreak.  I’ve lived, I’ve had all those things and more.  I’ve lived a happy life, but please, just please, don’t take my girl.”

“Prim …” Peeta began after a moment, hoping to reach out to the sister Katniss lost so many years ago, “if you’re out there, and you can hear me, please … please look over our girl.  Please, don’t … you can’t take her, it’s not her time,” Peeta sniffed again, his head perking up from the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Mr. Mellark?” It was Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch, looking no worse for the wear.

“Hi, Dr. Aber—”

“Haymitch.  Call me Haymitch.”

Peeta nodded and met the man’s eyes, “Peeta.”

“Peeta, we’ve done everything we can for your girl, now it’s up to her.”

“What does that mean?” Peeta asked with a befuddled raise of his brow.

“It means that medically speaking, there is nothing more I can do for your girl.  Now, it’s up to her, whether or not she’s willing to fight.  If she gains consciousness before the night’s over, I am optimistic that, in time, she’ll make a full recovery.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Peeta asked, trembling with fear as he awaited the doctor’s answer.

“Then it’s not likely she’ll wake up at all, and then … we’ll discuss extraordinary measures.  But let’s not cross that bridge until we get to it.  In my experience, kids will fight to live if they have somethin’ ta fight for.”

“Thank you, Dr.— Haymitch.  I … I need to find my wife— what are visiting hours?”

“I’ve cleared it with the nurses; you and your wife can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled and shook Haymitch’s hand, eager to find Katniss.  As he made his exit from the PICU, he noticed Haymitch taking the seat next to his daughter and cleared his throat.  Peeta slowed his pace, straining to hear what the doc had to say.

Haymitch cleared  his throat once more and began to speak in a soft and gentle voice that  Peeta almost didn’t recognize from the hardened doctor.  But it was— without a doubt, him.  “Listen, sweetheart, I know you don’t know me and all, but my name’s Haymitch and I’m your doctor.  I know you’re little and all and you probably don’t understand how the world works, so, I’m gonna tell ya.  You see, doctors give orders and patients are s’pposed ta listen.  I’m the doctor, you’re the patient, got it?  Alright, well now that that’s settled, I’m ordering you to stay alive, alright kid?  That’s all you gotta do; stay alive.  I’ll do the rest.”

With that, Peeta went on a quest for his wife, knowing his daughter was in good hands.

  After Peeta wheeled Katniss to their daughter’s bed, it all hit Katniss like a ton of bricks.  That was her daughter lying in that miniature hospital bed.  Her Primrose.  She had already lost one Primrose; she wouldn’t survive losing another— she just wouldn’t.  Unable to face the truth, she ran from the room and took the elevators to the top floor.  Once she exited the elevator, she went to the nearest door, which led to a stairway.  She took the steps two at a time and passed through another door that opened up to the roof.

Katniss ran to the edge, leaning against the banister; not to jump, but just to look out into the sky.

For the first hour, she cried.  She cried and cried, trying her best to convince herself that wasn’t her Prim lying in that bed, but someone else’s baby.  It couldn’t be her daughter, it just couldn’t.  The universe couldn’t be that cruel, right?  But deep down, she knew it was.  And then, she was consumed with guilt—for wishing that fate upon someone else’s child.

During the following hour, she did something she hadn’t done since she was small, since her own parents forced her to do it.  She didn’t necessarily believe there wasn’t a God exactly, but she didn’t really believe there was one either.  But what if there was?  Would he still listen to her after all the years of silence?

Deciding it was worth the risk, on the off chance there was some kind of higher power out there, she begged, she pleaded for them to save her little girl.  And then, she resorted to begging, dropping to her knees as she bargained her life away.  She didn’t know that at the same exact time, her husband was doing precisely— the same exact thing.  She was on her knees sobbing when she heard the door whoosh open, her husband’s beautiful blue eyes piercing into her own grey ones.

“Katniss, are you okay?” Peeta asked her, worry glazing over him from the sight of her on her knees.

She wanted his comfort, needed it even.  But then, she was angry at him.  No, not angry, but furious, enraged.  This was all his fault, after all.

“Go away!” She shouted at him, seething with rage.

“Katniss, what?” Peeta shrunk back, hurt by her rejection.

“This is all your fault Peeta.  If you hadn’t— YOU’RE the one who wanted kids, not me.  If YOU hadn’t convinced me to have kids, this wouldn’t be happening.  We wouldn’t be losing her.” Katniss stood up and inched herself closer to Peeta, sending him a cold, icy, glare.

“You don’t mean that Katniss,” Peeta told her, holding his stance with pain-filled eyes.  He knew deep down that she was just hurt and needed to channel her frustrations elsewhere.  Lashing out at him was the easiest, and fastest way to achieve that goal.

The closer Katniss got to Peeta, the angrier she became.  The tears began streaming down her face until she could no longer hold back the uncontrollable sobs.  She began hitting and pounding her fist against his chest, she was so angry.  But Peeta didn’t budge.  He didn’t try and stop her, he just stood there, taking each hit and allowing her to use him as her own personal punching bag.  He knew it wasn’t actually him she was angry at, she just needed somewhere to divert her anger.

Peeta pulled Katniss into his arms and within seconds she ceased pounding his chest.  He held her, crying his own silent tears while Katniss sobbed in his arms.  Once the tears subsided, Katniss looked up to see the pained expression on her husband’s face, in addition to the tears streaking his cheeks and she felt … guilty.

“I’m sorry Peeta, I’m so sorry.  Oh, Peeta, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Shhh, sshhh.  I know, I know,” Peeta whispered into her ear, stroking circles against her back as he tried to comfort her.

“I can’t lose her Peeta, I— I won’t survive if I lose her.”

“I know Katniss, I know.  Me too.  But … but I won’t survive if I lose you.  So, let’s pull ourselves together, go to our baby girl and give her something to fight for,” Katniss sniffled and nodded her head.  Together, they walked back to the PICU to be with their daughter.

They re-entered the PICU and headed straight for Prim, only to see a swarm of nurses huddled in a circle; in what looked like them holding vigil at their daughter’s bedside.  One look on their faces and Katniss and Peeta knew something was wrong— devastatingly so.

“I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, her vitals are steadily declining.  It won’t be much longer now; would you like to hold her before— before—”

“I … I wasted so much time,” Katniss cried, nodding as the tears streamed down her face.  One of the nurses pulled up a rocking chair for one of the parents to sit in.  Peeta was adamant that Katniss hold her first— just in case.

They opened the tiny incubator and placed Prim in Katniss’s arms, draping a blanket over them while another nurse made a call to Haymitch.

“Oh, baby girl, momma loves you so much.  Mommy and Daddy love you so, so much sweet girl.” Katniss hummed through her tears.  “You are so special Prim, so, so very special, my sweet, sweet girl.  You are so special and so loved and …” Katniss sobbed through her tears, placing kiss after kiss to her little girl’s forehead.  Peeta squatted next to Katniss and with one hand, he linked their fingers, and with the other hand, he stroked his little girl’s foot.  The floodgates were open— he didn’t think he could cry any harder until he heard Katniss’s beautiful voice singing the lullaby to their daughter.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head and close your eyes,

And when they open, the sun will rise;

Peeta’s heart plummeted in his chest as he heard Prim’s heart monitor “flat line.”  As difficult as it was with the splint on his leg, he inched closer to his wife and daughter as they both cried and overwhelmed Prim with kisses.  They showered her with as much love as they could muster, telling her how much they loved her.  They told her how special she was and how they would never forget her.  As badly as it hurt Peeta to say the words, he finally told his baby girl that it was okay for her to go.  The last thing he wanted in this world was for her to suffer.

The nurse reached up to silence the heart monitor when, suddenly, the steady beeping from the machine resumed all on its own.

“What the—” the nurse exclaimed just as Haymitch burst through the door.

“I thought you said code red?” Haymitch growled, seeing the normal heart rhythm on the monitor.

“She—she flatlined, and then— she just— came back,” Portia stuttered in complete bewilderment.

“Little slugger had something worth fighting for, what’d I tell ya?” Haymitch chuckled, looking at the teary-eyed parents.

One Year Later:

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you …”  Katniss and Peeta sat on either side of their daughter on her third birthday, slightly less than a year after the devastating car accident that nearly took her life. 

  “That is one happy little girl,” Effie looked up and smiled at her husband.  “Thanks to you,” she added in a whisper.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Haymitch pretended like he didn’t care, but Effie knew—she always knew; he cared too much.

  “What did you wish for, sweet girl?” Katniss asked her daughter after she blew her candles out.

  “A baby brudder,” Prim said, her face smeared with chocolate frosting and a mouthful of chocolate cake.

  Simultaneously, Katniss and Peeta’s eyes locked and Katniss inadvertently reached up to palm her belly.

  “Should we?” Katniss mouthed to her husband who gave her a slight nod.

  “You’re going to be a big sister Prim, but not for a few more months,” Peeta informed their daughter, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Yay!  I like wishes, Mommy!” Prim squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around her mother’s neck.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Through The Looking Glass Ruins" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

When Disney announced episode titles/synopsis for the new season (On a day that left my head SPINNING!), there was one episode that I knew deep down that would cause controversy and discourse amongst the fandom. And that episode was "Through the Looking Glass Ruins." Not because it would be bad, far from it. Instead, because the episode was a Gus episode with a Lumity subplot, that meant that discourse would start as fans decide which story they prefer more. A situation that, might I add, would result in no winners.

Do you prefer the Lumity plotline? Well, guess what! You're a racist who chose to talk about an overrated ship rather than a heavily underrated character who just so happens to be a person of color.

Do you prefer Gus' plotline? Well, guess what! You're a homophobe who decided to shine a light on a character who's underrated for a reason instead of praising a ship that just so happens to involve two girls.

Either side you pick is going to result in making people mad. The only way to avoid that is by explaining in heavy detail that you still enjoyed one side despite preferring the other. Even if you loved both, you'll most certainly have to explain to everyone that you mean it and that you're neither racist nor homophobic. And all I have to say is this: F that.

F that S in the A right now.

Because I, or anybody else for that matter, shouldn't have to explain myself when it comes to saying why I prefer one plot line or the other. I shouldn't have to prevent getting ripped apart by some bulls**t, black and white mentality of people who can't accept that others like a show for different reasons than they do.

You wanna know what I think about "Through the Looking Glass Ruins?" Well, continue reading to find out. You'll have to make your way through spoilers, but it's the only way for you to learn why I consider this episode not worth any discourse that I'm already certain is cropping up.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Opening Scene: I'm kind of digging how snappy and to the point these opening scenes are getting. In the span of what has to be less than a minute, we're given all the information we need to know: Gus is insecure about his illusion magic because he accidentally got Willow injured. It's a great way of setting up why Gus wants to prove himself to the Glandus students and a great way of showing how much Willow's friendship means to him. Look at how he's reacting a few days after the incident. He's still mopey and guilty about it, and I feel bad for the little guy.

Gus in General: And while we're already talking about him, let's give this episode a round of applause for giving Gus the spotlight without having him screw over his friends...except for Willow.

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" really fleshes Gus out much more so than past episodes. As I said, it plays heavily into his own insecurities while proving how he's capable as an illusionist. He's also the best possible outlet to explore more about what illusionist magic can really do. It can't hurt anybody or work well in a fight. Instead, its strengths lie in the act of convincingly tricking others into thinking that something that should be fake is actually real. And Gus got to prove he really is a super witch because of his illusions through a jaw-dropping scene that's as dark as it was enthralling. The fact that he did it all by himself, without the help of an illusion elder who was right there, is honestly even more impressive. A lot of people aren't that interested in Gus as a character, but I feel like, after this episode, he certainly won a few more fans over.

Willow Getting Injured and Missing the Episode: This is a smart move, in my opinion. Willow acts as the voice of reason in the friend group, so if she tagged along with Luz and Gus right away, she would have easily talked Gus out of joining the Glandus kids on a dangerous quest. I love Willow, she's a solid character, but writing her out is really the only way the plot could have progressed.

(I also love that she wasn't mad in the slightest over Gus getting her hurt. She has every right to be, but she also understands that it was an accident, and Gus wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt her. And that's sweet!)

King’s Prerecorded Message for Gus: That's just adorable. We need more cute friendship moments between these two, DAMN IT!

Gus Being Sick of Luz’s S**t: Of all the characters I expected to get sick of the whole Lumity situation, Gus wasn't really one of them. I'd always thought it'd be Willow, primarily because the rest of the fandom latched onto that idea, but for Gus, I'd figured he'd be more supportive rather than annoyed. That being said, seeing him call Luz out for borrowing his library card to see Amity (Not ask her out. Just to see her) is not only a hilarious moment for Gus but also an adorable moment for Luz. It's something I would never have seen coming, but now that I have it, I want more. GIVE ME MORE!

(Sorry if I'm being a little intense)

Luz Trying to Cheer Up Gus: It's moments like this that prove why Luz is my favorite character.

Willow might have the most common sense out of the group, but it's Luz who still has the biggest heart. She knows her friend is down in the dumps, so Luz pulls out all the stops in cheering him up. Whether it's researching the first-ever human (really surprised he wasn't the tiniest bit excited about that, by the way) and lending him glyphs for his mission to help show up Mattholomule. She may be slow in the romantic relationship department, but episodes like this prove that she excels with a platonic friendship.

Bria: I consider Amar adorably optimistic, and I have no strong feelings for Gavin, one or the other. But with Bria? Holy hell, did the writers do everything they should with her!

At first, it seems like she'll be a generic nice girl for Gus to have a crush on. Only for that writing to be a perfect twist into how she's kind of the worst. You see hints of her true personality in the overly sweet way she threatens to force Amar to eat a bug he gets distracted by. A viewer's initial reaction to that would be to think that while she's sweet, she still means business. But no, it's actually a perfect way to reveal her true intentions while hiding them at the same time. Bria may be rotten to the core, but with how perfectly executed this twist was, I can't help but adore her contribution.

Mattholomule: ...I would sooner expect to have gone insane before believing that this little s**t weasel would make his way onto my good side. Despite that, here we are in episode five of the new season, and I like Mattholomule now.

The reveal that Glandus High forces students to believe that the strong survive and the weak are inferior explains so much for Mattholomule's thirst for power in "Something Ventured, Someone Framed." It doesn't excuse his actions, not by a long shot, but it definitely paints a clearer picture. It also explains his treatment of Gus, as well as Mattholomule's reasoning to help him. Because of Glandus High inserting a "the strong survive" mentality into Mattholomule, he belittles Gus due to thinking that illusion magic makes Gus weak. But after seeing how they're both stooges to Bria's mistreatment, he's quick to apologize and willingly helps Gus out. In the process, the two of them create a believable and cute friendship...a friendship that is absolutely going to be interpreted as something else by the fandom...which is something that I'm more than supportive of--HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! I WENT FROM ONE OF THE BIGGEST GUSTOLOMULE DENIERS TO ONE OF ITS SUPPORTERS IN LESS THAN A DAY! HOW DO THESE WRITERS MANAGE TO TAKE ELEMENTS THAT WERE ONCE ON MY S**T LIST TO THEN MAKING ME MORE THAN OK WITH THEM!

IT'S INSANE!

Mostly impressive.

BUT ALSO INSANE!

Edric and Emira: More so than ever, I am so happy that the writers took their course correction with Edric and Emira. These two work so much better as supporting characters rather than minor antagonists like several fans thought they would be after their treatment of Amity in "Lost in Language." They're quick to pick up on Luz and Amity's mutual affections for one another and do their part to help their friend and baby sister out. It's wholesome to watch, and, you know what, I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Edric and Emira Blight are much better mischievous twin characters than Fred and George Weasley. As much as I adore Fred and George, there is an issue how they're always referred to as Fred and George, not Fred or George. It's because their personalities are as identical as they are, so separating them is pointless. With Edric and Emira, they have enough individuality that you could enjoy them separately as much as you could seeing them together. Emira is more emotionally supportive in how she listens to Amity vent her frustrations about her feelings, while Edric is more of a doofus who can't take a hint to save his life. It creates a great set of characters who can potentially work well on their own. I hope they get explored more at some point, but for now, I'm happy with the cute moments these two offered already.

Lumity Moments: BUUUUUUUUUUUUT, nothing compares to the cuteness of these two.

I don't care if I'll be called a racist for it because these! Moments! These moments are the highlights of "Through the Looking Glass Ruins" for me! Seeing these two interact in this episode, now that the pining is mutual, was everything I could have ever hoped for, and so much more. Seriously, how can you complain about anything about all of this when you get cute bits like:

Luz getting flustered of seeing Amity with her hair down

Amity risking her job to help Luz

Amity being motivated to find the diary due to the possibility of a date with Luz in the human realm

Luz going through hell and back to get Amity her job back

All of the blushing

And that F**KING KISS AT THE END HOLY SH--Don't you dare think I'm not going to further discuss that. DON'T YOU DARE!

Gus' story was entertaining with how it surprised me in all the right ways, don't get me wrong. But seeing Luz and Amity's relationship develop more and more always fills my heart with glee that, believe it or not, I'm always going to remember it more. I love you, Gus, but I love Lumity more.

Philip Whittabeen: So we finally have a name to the alleged human who was here years ago, and we get properly introduced to him through a really visually appealing animation change. I'm personally curious to see where the writers go with him, but it's too early to say if his inclusion will be worth something. But I will say one thing, though. One thing, and then I'm going to move on.

Here it is:

Philip sounds eerily similar to Emperor Belos to me.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Luz’s Sentences in Spanish: I want to give a personal shout-out to mi buen amigo @l-egionaire for pointing this out because there are some things to analyze in what Luz says in Spanish in this episode. Knowing what she means, it's clear that they are ideals that Camila instilled into Luz. Ideals that possibly show a lot about Camila's personality on top of revealing where Luz got her hopeful optimism and sense of determination. It's the second sentence that Luz says later on that I really want to delve deep into:

"Nada funcionará a menos que lo haga funcionar."

Translated, that means "Nothing will work unless you make it work." Again, this proves the dedication that Luz has filled into her soul, but to me, it says a lot about Luz's dedication to Amity. She wants to make this relationship work but fully understands that it won't unless she puts in the effort. It's a sweet sentiment that says so much about how Luz feels about Amity that some fans might not be able to pick up on if they don't speak Spanish. Or, in my case, have a good friend who finds the translation for you (thanks again @l-egionaire).

The Galderstones: Pretty interesting concept, I'm not going to lie. It's also interesting that of all the types of witches in the Boiling Isles, it was illusionists who were the ones that guard over the Galderstones. Because illusion magic can't really harm anyone, it makes a weird type of sense that they would be the ones to keep the Galderstones out of the wrong hands. And, even better, it showcases Gus' strength as an illusionist when he was able to take down Bria, who was hopped up on Galderstone power, through that same "harmless" magic. It just goes to show that if you have a big enough brain, you don't need to overpower somebody. You need to outthink them.

Malphus Being a Surprisingly Cool Dude: What can I say? I'm a sucker for expectation subversion.

Luz and Amity Crying: First of all, a HUGE round of applause to VAs Sarah-Nicole Robles and Mae Whitman through their vocal performances in this scene! They really sold how upset and broken apart Luz and Amity were due to their feelings for each other messing things up. More so with Sarah-Nicole.

Second, this might be the closest these two have gotten to a confession so far ("so far" being the keyword). I specifically latch onto Amity's expression after hearing Luz agree that she's always weird around Amity. In one way, it looks like Amity is surprised to see she made Luz cry, but in another, it could be that she realizes that perhaps that Luz has feelings for her as well. Or, at least, that's how I interpreted things. The thing about art is that there's no one interpretation to agree on. And that's what this scene is: Art. It's performed, written, and animated well, that no matter how you look at it, it's a masterpiece.

“I’ll call the hounds”: One line. One line was all it took for me to love the Keeper of the Looking Glass Graveyard.

Amity Dyes her Hair: I always assumed that Amity would let her original hair color grow out as defiance to Odalia. But dying it lavender? Thus crafting her own identity without having her be compared to either Odalia or Alador?

...yeah, that's brilliant. Whoever thought of that, you are a genius and deserve all of the credit that comes from it.

ALL of the credit.

Amity Kisses Luz on the Cheek!: I'll save my "Wha-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" for an actual kiss, but for now, THIS IS AWESOME!

This moment, much like other Lumity moments, was everything I could have ever expected and so much more:

Amity's instant panic after realizing she seriously just did that

Ed and Em looking fondly at their sister taking such a big step

The look on Luz's face, which may or may not hint that she realizes that the feelings are more than mutual

And the fact that Luz's legs give out soon after Amity leaves

It was adorable as all forms of hell, and it was a perfect way to end such a perfect episode...or, at least, an almost perfect episode. I do have some issues.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Mattholomule Helping Gus too Easily: The Glandus kids were right there, in-ear and eye-shot, yet did nothing as Mattholomule effortlessly helped Gus and the Keeper escape...how?

Gavin falling for Gus’ Illusion: I want to laugh at how stupidly easy that was...but it's too stupidly easy for me to forgive.

And that’s about it. Just two nitpicks that don’t really take away that much enjoyment from the episode

IN CONCLUSION

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" keeps Season Two's winning streak going by being another solid A. It fleshes out characters, develops cute relationships, and keeps the story going despite being so character-driven. It's easily more than worth the time...but it's not worth any discourse that comes from some fans preferring one plot over the other.

I highly doubt that some people are racist for loving the Lumity plotline or homophobic for loving Gus'. Maybe some people are, but also consider that maybe, just maybe, a person loves a ship because it's their favorite, or a person likes a character cause he's their favorite.

Which.

Is.

Fine.

There's no definitive way to like a series, and demanding that people like it for the same reasons you do is not worth anything. Because, believe it or not, even Dana Terrace doesn't care how people love her show. In the AMA she did, when a fan asked if she's upset about fans obsessing over Amity's crush on Luz, this is her word for word reaction:

"Not at all! No, the main focus of the series will never be on any romantic thread but that doesn't mean those threads aren't important. And I'm thrilled that people connect to our characters!"

THERE YOU HAVE IT! The creator herself fully admits that she doesn't care what fans latch onto. She's just glad to have people who like the show in the first place! So don't create discourse just because some people enjoy a part of an episode more than others. The second you get that through your heads, the sooner we can all move on with our lives.

(Also, that's five episodes in a row that are hits. And, man, is that stinker going to hit harder because of it.)

[neakco]

The Lost Temple ch. 2

Ao3 Ch.1 Ch.3 Masterlist

Marinette doesn't fully trust the American Heroes but knows that she probably needs their help.

Tim doesn’t trust these two teens that are definitely hiding something.

Yet they made camp together anyway.

Ch.2 Sleepless Night

It had taken longer then they would have like to figure out a watch schedule. While they had both agreed to an alliance, neither group trusted the other.

 

Finally a compromise was made. Each group set their own schedule. Marinette and Adrien agreed to each do half the night. While the Trio took one 2 hour shift each.

 

Adrien would take the first 3 hours and would be starting his shift with Superboy. Impulse had the 2nd watch which he would share with both of them before she would finish out the night with Red Robin.

 

Marinette was a little nervous, she knew Superboy had heard Plagg earlier. They weren’t used to others being able to hear as well as her Kitty. She was lucky that her bond with Tikki allowed communication via emotions.

 

She stared up at the stars, at least this wouldn’t be the first time she had gone without sleep for a mission. She glanced briefly at the tent the American heroes had set up. It looked cramped. She was quite happy with her blanket.

 

Her and Adrien had tried using tents before but he preferred to sleep up high and she enjoyed the connection to the plants she got on the ground. It always allowed her to feel more rested, even if, like tonight, she didn’t actually sleep.

 

Adrien came to let her know it was her turn so she rolled up her blanket and went to join Impulse.

 

The boy never seemed to stop, he constantly dashed back and forth as he talked non-stop about everything.

 

“Doesn’t that drain your energy?”

 

He stopped short as if he had forgotten she was there. “No, well yes, but II can quickly get back to civilization for snacks.”

 

She nodded as the hero began to move around and started talking about his favourite snacks. She had an idea to run past Red Robin once he joined her on watch. She would suggest it to Impulse but she had a gut feeling that would be a bad idea.

 

 

Tim woke a little early for his turn and crept towards the trees in order to observe Marinette and Bart.

He was a little surprised that she seemed interested in the one-sided food conversation. At least he had assumed it was one-sided until she chirped in with a question about Bart’s preferences on French pastries. He didn’t expect the girl to become so offended when Bart told her he didn’t like croissants.

 

Tim decided that it was close enough to his watch and stepped out of the shadows.

 

Impulse flew into the trees in his surprise while Marinette hadn’t moved. Had he lost his touch? No, she may not have jumped but he noticed she had a hand to her back where it hadn’t been before. He concluded that she had probably reached for a weapon.

 

“Seriously Rob? I love you but that’s just mean.”

 

Tim smirked, “Maybe next time you will pay attention.”

 

“You’re a bat, doesn’t matter how much I pay attention.” Bart grumbled as he waved goodnight to Marinette and headed off to find his sleeping bag.

 

Tim turned back to Marinette and was shocked by the level of malice being directed at him. “What did I…”

 

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Her voice, while harsh, was soft and filled with concern. “I could have killed you. If it was Adrien you had startled you wouldn’t be alive.”

 

Tim swallowed his retort. Normally he would think it hilarious that this tiny enigma thought that she or her delicate looking friend could hurt him, but there was something there. It was the way every sound stilled at her anger, the way his gut yelled at him to run. Putting all this together with their first conversation, he began to wonder if the two teens had been granted power by the gods.

 

Marinette was taking deep meditative breaths. “You are lucky I analyze before reacting.”

 

“Sorry. I had figured you had a sixth sense.”

 

She eyed him, “You were testing a theory?”

 

“Yes. I like to know what my allies are capable of and it’s not like you two have been very forthcoming.”

 

It surprised Tim to see her relax at this rather than get angrier.

 

“The decision to share isn’t really up to me or Adrien. I assume it is similar to your identity, unless what I've heard about Batman is wrong.”

 

Tim laughed quietly while keeping an eye to their surroundings. “We actually tell people our identities all the time, people just assume we are joking.”

 

Her eyes widened, “That works?”

 

“Well it works if the public's image of your two personas are vastly different. People will believe what they want no matter what you tell them.”

 

He was about to ask if she was thinking of becoming a hero when he noticed her darkening look. Unlike before where it had been anger mixed with concern, this time it was mixed with sadness and pain.

 

“You okay?”

 

“People really do believe what they want.” Her eyes turned wistful and she looked up into the trees. “Really shows you who your real friends are.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” How was he supposed to comfort her? Alfred would probably offer her hot chocolate and sweets.

 

“No, it all happened years ago. I am mostly over it.”

 

Tim let out a sigh of relief, at her look he tried to smile kindly. “No offense but I was raised by the most emotionally distant people and I really had no idea what to do if you started crying.”

 

The sudden laughter surprised him. That wasn’t a normal reaction. He frowned as he watched her try to stifle the sound.

 

“I'm sorry, it’s just, well, welcome to the club.” She started laughing a little bit harder and maybe a bit more broken. “Adrien can tell you some stories. Well I can two, but mine only start a few years back. I don’t have a life's worth like he does.”

 

“But why is that so funny?” He frowned harder trying to understand if he was the joke.

 

He jumped and threw a batarang that thankfully missed when Adrien suddenly dropped out of a tree and landed beside him.

 

“Where we come from it was always better to laugh instead of giving in to emotional distress.” He turned to Marinette, “You okay M'lady?”

 

“I just,” her giggles increased slightly, “strays, it’s always the strays.” She giggled a bit longer before stopping suddenly and glaring at Adrien, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

 

Tim could see the blonde visibly gulp as he lied poorly, “bathroom. Going back to sleep now. Bye.” He quickly left back into the trees and took off roughly in the direction of camp based off the rustling.

 

“You two are very strange.”

 

“Says the talented human commanding literal super humans.” She snorted. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you think Impulse could quickly map out the jungle for us?”

 

“If he can keep himself from tripping over roots and snakes then maybe. Why didn’t you ask him?” Tim was curious. She had spent an hour with Impulse, there had been plenty of time.

 

“I figured you were the leader and I would have to ask no matter what. Mostly I was worried he wouldn’t be able to but pride would cause him to say yes anyways.”

 

Tim tried to study her expression but it gave nothing away. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

 

“Simple, Impulse acts like a younger Adrien.”

 

 

Marinette thought back, Chat had been so free. She missed those times. Unfortunately reality had hit them both fairly hard. She doubted if they could ever be that carefree again.

 

“I would deny your assessment if I could.” Red Robin leaned back against her tree and typed into his arm. She hadn’t realized there was technology integrated into the suit. She was almost jealous.

 

A holographic map of the jungle was displayed floating above his arm so she leaned forward to gain a better look.

 

Red Robin pointed to a small area causing a dot to appear  “This is our camp.” He gestured to highlight a portion green. “This is the area we checked yesterday. My initial reports showed activity in these areas.” This time the highlighted red, or brown in the areas that overlapped with the searched area.

 

She hummed in thought, “Add another kilometer to the searched radius. Adrien split off a couple times yesterday.”

 

She could see his eyes shift to suspicion briefly but he complied anyway

 

“If you knew that then you never needed Impulse to make a map, you wanted him to find the enemy.”

 

She nodded but stayed silent and observant. It was kind of nice watching someone else think like she does.

 

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if Impulse was capable of stealth. “She watched him remove the searched area from the map in order to zoom in on the rest.

 

“You have a plan.” She was grinning, she could already tell what he was thinking.

 

The way he looked at her screamed that he knew that she had already figured it out. She was happily surprised when he decided to continue explaining to her.

 

“I propose that we split up. My team has trackers to keep track of our own whereabouts and comms to communicate. I think Superboy and Adrien take this route.” A Blue and red line appeared on the map. “While we take this path more to the right.” This time the line was red and black. She knew they were supposed to represent his colours but they worked just as well for her. She bet Adrien would have a laugh.

 

“I'll have Impulse cover this middle area in between our groups to cover any gaps and act as a runner in case we need anything. Anything to add?”

 

She bit her lip. These were heroes, she could probably trust them, at least a little. Plus Adrien wasn’t able to sense the temple’s magic. “How good is Superboy's x-ray vision?” Damn it, she thought she had fixed her word blurting problem.

 

Red Robin seemed surprised by her words, “What? Why?”

 

She chewed on her lip a bit more before she felt Tikki's reassurance. “What I am about to tell you is secret enough that it could very well get you killed. Are you sure you want to know?”

 

She watched his face carefully. There was hesitation, doubt, curiosity, and finally that thirst for knowledge that got her into trouble constantly.

 

He finally shrugged, “Just an average day for me.”

 

She smiled but dropped her voice into a serious tone. “There is a temple here that was lost underground years ago. No matter what else happens I can not let anyone get the knowledge and treasures it holds.” She remembered some of the things the monks had told her and Adrien without ever actually explaining what the temple was guarding. “If these people find the temple first then best case scenario has them taking over the world.”

 

Red Robin's voice was low, “And worst case?”

 

“They destroy the entire universe as we know it.”

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

[rockinrpmemes]

“Gargoyles” S2 || PART 3

DISNEY'S "GARGOYLES" SEASON 2 QUOTES RP MEME

This meme was HUGE so I cut it up into 5 parts. The original poster is linked to the title!!

Truce?

You are the cause of all this.

Humans will learn to respect you.

I would rather they fear me.

What are you doing to help?

That's one way to settle an argument.

I thought I'd rid myself of you long ago

You've forgotten about me.

You're too late. You can't save them. No one can!

I'm not here for them. I'm here for you.

I want it over between us!

I wear this as a reminder of your treachery.

Let's not start that again. You blame me, I blame you. Aren't you tired of talking about it?

I'm not here to talk.

Killing me will gain you nothing but your own death.

Death is never the answer. Life is.

I'm just so tired

Your thirst for vengeance has only created more sorrow.

I offer you one last opportunity for forgiveness and mercy.

I merely offer a sample of what you planned for me.

You have learned nothing.

I will still have my revenge!

What do we do with them?

You come in handy now and then.

I'm quite glad the plan worked.

I'm no hero, I just do my job, and my job for tonight is over.

All I want to do is hit the sack.

Why would you want to hit a sack?

How long was I out?

Even shadows must be true to their shade.

We don't need to wait for sunset.

Is it supposed to hurt that much?

Just get on with it.

Recognize the woman?

She seemed familiar, but I just couldn't place her.

You're getting real good at bypassing alarms.

Don't give me credit.

It was too easy!

Maybe misery loves company.

If you're human, then you're subject to human laws.

Either way I win!

I fear no human!

There are forces at war within me.

I will return some day, if I can.

You sound like every human employee I ever fired!

Crush all of them together and you couldn't squeeze one iota of personal integrity from the lot!

No excuses, creature!

Learn to take responsibility for your own actions! And STOP whining!

Oh, I am trembling in my chair.

You believe I am not responsible. Yet I remain your prisoner?

Who said you're not responsible?

It doesn't matter that you were tricked, you know now that your actions inflicted grievous damage. Do you take responsibility for them or not?

Well, what are you going to do?

You seem distracted, having second thoughts?

We'll celebrate over breakfast.

No more excuses. I accept full responsibility for my actions. I was wrong.

Integrity is never easy. It's a daily struggle, a costly struggle.

I know I owe you a great debt for the mistake I made a year ago.

If the text wasn't new to me, it was at least worth revisiting.

All I know is I'm about to be wiped out!

It doesn't have to be that way.

I can break these chains. But only you can get me past the bars.

Automatons know nothing of betrayal or honor. They know only what they're programmed to know.

Only living beings possess the ability to change, and make new choices.

You've given me much to consider.

We are friends.

I'd rather not have your death on my conscience

You'll never reach the bridge!

You have two minutes until impact, one minute before I detonate.

I don't want any innocents hurt!

If it goes down, I'm going down with it.

I knew you wouldn't let me down.

Yes, well, you have that effect on people.

I built this company for you!

I'd probably give it to you, if you'd just stand up and ask me for it honestly!

Asking for it wouldn't be any fun at all.

'Fun' is still more important to you than honor. I can't understand that.

Maybe you'll have better luck relating to the next generation.