#god this was still on my mind because the moment that disconnect happen

[jpasionr]

I had one player who used the dynamo roller, not doing anything during the first wave then disconnect into the second wave

if you’re gonna do this shit in freelance, DON’T bother playing this month’s eggstra work!!!

[canirove]

The invinsible princess | Chapter 1

"Champions of Europe"

Index | Chapter 2

Masterlist

“C’mom, go talk to her. Look at how miserable she looks.”

“Why don't you go talk to her?”

“Because she doesn't fancy me, Gavi” Ferran smirks.

“That's something the press made out.”

“Or not” Ferran shrugs. 

“If you don't go talk to her, I will.”

“Fermín, don't you have a girlfriend?” Gavi says.

“Yeah. And?”

“You can't go talk to the princess. That's cheating.”

“It's just talking, Gavi. Relax” he chuckles.

“Unless the press sees you and then boom! Fermín the Prince” Ferran laughs. 

“Fermín I of Spain. Sounds cool, I like it. What do you think, Pedri? Pedri?” he says, looking around for his teammate.

“Where is he going?” Ferran asks.

“He’s… Oh my God, he's walking towards the princess!” Gavi gasps.

“There he goes. Pedro I of Spain” Fermín chuckles

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“And then it all had been a mistake!”

“That is so funny” my dad laughs. “Isn't it, Sofía?”

“So funny” I say with my best fake smile. 

Why am I stuck with a bunch of old men? This is a party to celebrate that Spain just won the Euros. I should be out there mingling with the young people, talking with the players and their families, getting to know them all a bit and properly congratulate them. But no. I'm stuck with a man telling us about his latest golfing trip to Scotland. 

“Something similar happened to me last time we went to Mallorca” my dad says, making me already disconnect from the conversation. I know which anecdote he is about to share. I probably already know it by heart just from hearing him telling about it to everyone he's met lately. So instead of listening to him, I start looking around.

There are some players dancing with their partners, others playing with their kids (which is the cutest thing ever), others are just chilling… And then, there is someone wearing red and a medal around his neck walking towards me. Or trying to. 

“Right, Sofía?” my dad says again.

“Yeah, yeah” I nod. 

One of the good things about him having told this anecdote so many times is that, by now, I also know when he asks for my support and how I have to react to it, what I have to say. Which comes very handy when your eyes are stuck on the guy smiling and standing in front of you, and who is currently moving his head to one side to make you follow him somewhere. 

“Dad, do you mind if I go get myself a refill?” I ask him.

“Yes, sure. But just beer.”

“Just beer, I promise” I smile before finally leaving the group of men and following Pedri. 

Oh, yes. Because the guy who had been smiling at me and asking me to follow him, was freaking Pedri González. 

“Ma’am” my bodyguard says behind me. “Are you going somewhere?”

Shit. Fuck. I had forgotten about him.

“I'm just going out to get some fresh air. I'm feeling a bit dizzy” I say with a nervous laugh.

“Alone?” he says, looking at the glass door that leads outside the room, Pedri waiting on the other side.

“I… Ummm… It'll be just five minutes.”

“Ma'am…”

“Five minutes, Carlos. It's not like he can kidnap me or something with his leg like that” I chuckle. 

“He cannot, no. But what about others? You are Spain's Princess.”

“But not the heir. No one cares about me.”

“Don't say that, ma'am.”

“It's the truth” I shrug. “Anyway, can I go outside for five minutes? Please? He may just want a photo for his mum.”

“Ok, fine” Carlos sighs. “But don't leave the building.”

“I won't, I promise” I smile before basically running towards the door. He may still regret letting me go.

Once outside, it takes me a moment to find Pedri. When I spot him, he is resting against one of the huge windows, checking the brace he has to wear on his knee. 

“Is it too uncomfortable?” I ask him as I walk towards him.

“Uh?” he says, looking up. And maybe, just maybe… I gasped when the lights from outside illuminated his face in all the right places.

“The brace. Is it uncomfortable?”

“A bit, yeah” he smiles. 

“I'm sorry about what happened.”

“Thank you” Pedri smiles again. “Though everything worked out in the end” he says, touching his medal. “Do you want to try it?”

“Oh, I, ummm…”

“Here” he says, taking it off before walking towards me and putting it around my neck, carefully untucking my hair so it doesn't get tangled with the strap. “Perfect. How does it feel?”

“Heavier than I expected” I chuckle.

“It can't be heavier than a crown” he laughs.

“I don't know. I've never tried on one.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. It's not like I'm gonna be the one who is gonna have to wear it. That's my sister, the heir.”

“But you still are a princess, aren't you? Don't all princesses wear crowns?”

“Nope. I may get to wear a tiara one day if I'm invited to a big event like a royal wedding or a reception for someone important, but other than that…”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, don't be. Sometimes being the second born that everyone forgets about actually comes with its perks. Like being here today, for example.”

“I thought it was because you liked football.”

“That too” I chuckle.

“And football players?” Pedri asks me. “Do you also like them?”

“What?”

“My friends were talking about you fancying Gavi.”

“That's my sister, not me.”

“Ha! I knew it! I knew it was her and not you. But they were so convinced they didn't want to listen to me.”

“I'm used to people mixing us, don't worry” I say while playing with the medal. “And I actually am more into dark haired guys than brunettes like him.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah” I shrug, still focused on the medal. 

“Anything else you like in your men?” 

“Why are you interested?” I ask him, looking up and at his face, a little smirk on his lips. 

“Just curious about how the future Prince of Spain could look like” he shrugs.

“Well… I like men with interesting noses.”

“What?” he laughs.

“Yeah… I don't know how to explain it. But if you look at the list of men I'm attracted to, famous or not, they all have that in common. Yours would actually make the cut.”

“My nose?” he laughs again.

“I… It is too weird, isn't it? Urgh” I say, covering my face with my hands. And that, my friends, is how you ruin things with the guy you are trying to flirt with. 

“No, no. Not at all. Is just that no one had complimented my nose before. Most girls talk about my lips.”

“Your lips?” 

“They say they were made to kiss and be kissed. What do you think?”

“What?” I say, still covering my face.

“Are my lips kissable or not, your royal highness?” Pedri says, his hands suddenly on mine, moving them away to rest at my sides. But he doesn't let go once they get there. He keeps holding them, his fingers playing with mine, his thumbs sometimes caressing my knuckles or the inside of my wrist and sending waves of heat all the way up my arms. 

“They are ok” I manage to say.

“Just ok? I think I'm gonna have to move closer so you can see them better” he says, closing the space between us a bit more. 

“They just look like lips” I shrug. But that's a lie. Because his lips do look made to kiss and be kissed.

“Maybe if we moved towards the light…” he says, his hands suddenly on my waist, moving me until my back is against the big window, the light once again hitting his face in all the right places. 

I knew Pedri was handsome, but this handsome? Wow.

“Better now?”

“Let me see…” I say as I move forward a little bit, the medal doing it with me and hitting his chest. We are so close right now… “Nothing. Just lips.”

“Well, if you can't see anything, I'll guess we'll have to try with a different sense. Like touch, for example.”

“What?”

“How does this feel, your royal highness?” he says, gently taking one of my hands and kissing it, the other still resting on my waist.

“You can start calling me ma'am now. Royal highness is just for the first time you address me.” And how I've managed to give him a protocol lesson while feeling my skin burn on the spot where his lips have been, will forever be a mystery.

“Ma'am sounds like something for someone old. What about my lady?”

“You could also call me by my name” I shrug. 

“We just met, my lady. Aren't you going too fast?” Pedri smirks.

“Me? Who is the one looking for a way to kiss me?” I smirk back.

“Busted” he laughs. 

“Though if you want to kiss me, you just have to ask.”

“Ok, then. May I kiss you… my lady?”

“You may” I whisper. 

“Thank you” he smiles. “But…” he says, stopping just as his lips brush against mine. “After I've done it, will you tell if my lips are made to kiss and be kissed?” 

“I will.”

“A princess must keep her promises.”

“I will, I promise. Now are you going to kiss me or not?”

“As my lady commands” he smirks before finally doing it and kissing me. Pedri… the Pedri… is kissing me. And it is… wow. Just wow. “And?” he whispers against my lips.

“I haven't told you to stop.”

“So bossy” he chuckes.

“Well, I am your princess, am I not?”

“You are, yes.”

“Then as your princess, I'm telling you, Pedri González, to keep kissing me.”

“With my lips made to kiss and be kissed?” 

“With your lips made to kiss and be kissed, yes” I say, making him smile before kissing me again and… Oh, my God.

I thought winning the Euros earlier had felt amazing, but I was wrong. Being kissed by him, and in the way he is right now, is what truly feels amazing. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I think this is yours” I say, giving Pedri his medal back.

“It looks better on you, tho.”

“Oh, stop it” I laugh, putting it around his neck, the place where my hands were resting not that long ago.

“It's the truth” he shrugs. “And do we seriously have to go back in there?” he says, nodding towards the party.

“We do, yes” I sigh. “But, we are meeting again tomorrow.”

“We are, yes. And you've promised me a tour of the palace. And a princess…”

“Keeps her promises” I smile.

“Exactly” Pedri smiles back. And we stay like that, just smiling like two idiots, until someone clears his throat behind us. Carlos, my bodyguard. “I think that's our cue to go inside.”

“I think it is, yes.”

“Do you think he will send the secret service after me if I kiss you one last time?” he whispers.

“There is nothing like trying” I shrug.

“Ok, then. Bro, look the other way!” he says to Carlos while I just laugh, his hands suddenly cupping my face before kissing me one last time. “No secret service?” he whispers, opening one eye. 

“No secret service.”

“Thank God” he sighs, making me laugh again. “Anyway… I should probably go in first, shouldn't I? Distract everyone with my limping so they won't look at you.”

“Oh, don't worry. No one looks at me, I'm the invisible princess.”

“Only someone blind would not look at you, my lady.”

“Thank you” I say, feeling my cheeks getting warm. We've been kissing and flirting, and him saying that is what finally makes me go shy. “But like I told you, I don't mind being invisible sometimes. This” I say, playing with the strap of his medal. “Would have not been possible if I was the heir. And the secret service would have definitely jumped at you the moment you got too close.”

“Lucky me, then” Pedri smiles.

“Lucky us” I smile back. “Now go. I can see Carlos getting impatient.”

“Urgh, fine… See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Ok. Good night, my lady” he says, kissing my cheek.

“Good night, sir” I giggle as I watch him walk back into the party, laughing one more time when he turns around to look at me and blows me a kiss.

“Feeling better, ma'am?” Carlos says behind me.

“Much better” I smile. 

“Then I'm sorry about what I'm about to tell you, ma'am.”

“What?” I say, turning around to look at him.

“It's about him, about Pedri. Something I heard his friends talking about when I went back inside to give you some… privacy.”

“Carlos, you are starting to worry me.”

“I… I'm sorry, ma'am.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

The next day…

“My lady.”

“Pedri.”

“I wasn't expecting to be offered croquetas at the royal palace” he chuckles, nodding at the table in front of us.

“Yeah, well.”

“When we met earlier it was kind of awkward, wasn't it? Shaking hands with your parents and your sister, acting as if we didn't know each other and nothing had happened last night…”

“Did something happen last night?” I ask, eating an olive and finally looking at him. “Besides you winning the Euros, I mean.”

“We… you… what?” he says with a confused look.

“I don't remember anything important happening” I shrug.

“You don't… Oh. Oh, I get it. You are teasing me because out here someone could hear us” Pedri says, looking around at his teammates. After meeting the whole team inside the palace, we are now in the gardens, everyone chatting, having a drink and relaxing before they have to go to Cibeles to celebrate.

“I'm not teasing you, Pedri. I don't remember anything” I shrug again. “Wait, no. I do remember one thing” I say, moving forward. “That you are a dick” I whisper in his ear before walking away.

“That I'm what? What are you talking about?” he says before following me. 

“Is your hearing also injured?”

“My hearing is perfect, my lady” he says, struggling to keep up with me. “What I don't understand is why.”

“Why what?” I say, suddenly stopping. We've walked away from where everyone else is, kind of hidden behind some bushes.

“Why are you calling me a dick? What did I do?”

“Do you seriously have to ask?” I laugh.

“Yeah.”

“I can't believe it” I laugh again. “You fucking used me, Pedri!”

“What?”

“You used me to have a laugh with your friends! You made a bet with them to see who could get a kiss from me first!”

“What?” he says again, looking more and more confused by the second.

“Carlos heard them talking about it, so don't you dare try to deny it. I'm sure you all had a laugh this morning when you told them everything that happened between us.”

“We don't… I…”

“I was an easy target, wasn't I? The poor princess that no one looks at, the one who always is in the shadow of her sister, who always is the second option. I'm sure you felt so proud when you told them how easily I fell for your charms, how stupid I was. But not anymore, you hear me. Not anymore.”

“That's not what happened” Pedri says, grabbing me by the arm when I try to walk away, earning himself a even more deadly look than the ones I was already giving him. “Sorry. I'm sorry” he says, letting go. “But please let me explain myself.”

“Why? Why would I do that? You manipulated me once, you could do it again. I am that stupid.”

“You aren't stupid, and I didn't manipulate you. I…” he says, running a hand through his hair. “The boys were talking about who could get you out of your misery, that's true. We were watching you talking with your dad and those men, and you looked so… Bored. Like you wished to be anywhere but there. But I wasn't part of it, I swear. I actually was getting mad while listening to them and the way they were talking about you. So before any of them found the guts to go talk to you just for fun, I did it myself. Not the go talking with you for fun part. The one about finding the guts to go talk to you. Because I… I have a bit of a crush on you.”

“What?” I laugh.

“Yeah” he says, nervously touching his cheek. A cheek that had turned almost as red as his Spain's shirt. “Here, look” he says, taking his phone out of his pocket. “I have proof.”

“Proof of what? You being an idiot?”

“An idiot for you, yes” he says, showing me what he had been looking for on his phone. “It's a WhatsApp conversation I had with my brother yesterday before the game when it was announced that you were attending. You can check the date and the time, it isn't fake.”

Your girlfriend is gonna be at the game tonight 🤭 If you win she may give you a kiss 😚 Instead of Casillas and Sara Carbonero, Pedri and the princess ⚽👸🏻👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 

“This… This means nothing” I say, giving him his phone back. 

“I can show you more messages from him teasing me about it. Look.”

People are shipping Gavi with the princess after the game 😂 Maybe he could introduce you to her little sister 😏 Gavi king and you prince 😂

“I… Pedri…”

“Everything that happened last night was real. I swear it” he says. “I didn't kiss you because of a bet with my friends. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I like you.”

“You don't know me. Like, you barely know anything about me, only what the press publishes.”

“I know enough. Because to me” he says, taking one of my hands on his, his thumb caressing my knuckles like he had last night. “To me you aren't invisible or someone's shadow. To me, you shine brighter than anyone else. King, queen, heir to the throne or whatever.”

“That's so cheesy” I chuckle.

“But the truth.”

“Pedri, I…” I say, meeting his eyes. He isn't lying. Everything he's said about kissing me because he wanted to and not because of a bet, about liking me, about me not being the invisible princess I always believe myself to be… All that is true. I can see it in his face, on his blushed cheeks, in his eyes. He is being honest about it all. “I believe you.”

“You… You do?”

“I do” I nod.

“Thank God” he sighs. “I thought any moment now you would call the secret service and they would send me to… Where do they send people when they arrest them?”

“Can't tell you. It is the secret service for a reason��� I wink.

“Makes sense” he chuckles. “But does this mean that I am not a dick anymore or…?” he says, closing the space between us a bit.

“Well… There is something you could do to make me completely forget about it” I say, also moving closer towards him.

“Something like what?” he asks, his other hand finding mine, now both his thumb caressing my skin, bringing back the waves of heat I felt last night. 

“You could kiss me with those lips of yours” I smirk.

“Here?” he says, looking around. “What if someone comes this way and sees us? Like someone from the team, your dad or… your mum. Your mum is quite scary, you know?”

“Oh, I know” I laugh. “But if we move over here…” I say, walking us behind a big tree, my back against it. “No one will see us. We'll be… invisible” I smile.

“You are anything but invisible, my lady” Pedri smiles back, his hands letting go of mine and moving to rest on my waist.

“Then show me” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“Will you then give me a tour of the palace? You promised it last night, and a princess…”

“Keps her promises, I know.”

“Exactly” he smirks.

“First we kiss, then we do the tour. But just so you know, Carlos will probably join us.”

“Wait, is he here?” Pedri says, looking around, his eyes wide.

“He may be hiding behind a bush, yes” I laugh.

“Shit. If he sees together after what he heard last night…”

“I'll explain everything to him, don't worry. But if you are being serious about getting to know me…”

“Deadly.”

“Then you better start getting used to his presence.”

“I think I can do that. Because you” he says, brushing his nose against mine and making me giggle. “Are worth it, my lady. So worth it” Pedri says before finally kissing me again, making me feel what he has been telling me since we met: that I'm not just someone's shadow, a second option. That I am not the invisible princess anymore. 

[genericpuff]

say sike right now, she's actually going back to The Doctor Pepper Show-

Like, this is just "What if The Doctor Pepper Show and LO had a baby?" Because at this point it's very clear Rachel only knows how to write from inside her own head, which is full of unresolved salt towards her childhood and medical fetish shit. The imagery in the first panel is very LO, and the imagery in the second is literally The Doctor Foxglove Show-

Evidently she's been reskinning the same shit for years-

Listen, I've been, for the most part, keeping my lips sealed on a lot of Rachel's old projects and what I've dug up on her previous works, for a few reasons:

1.) We were all cringe on the Internet at some point in time and a lot of these older works, such as Freak Scene Surgery and The Doctor Pepper Show, would have been from when she was in her late teens / early 20's. I'm not here to judge Rachel's personal preferences or whatever kind of fetishes she's into. It's totally normal, expected even, for a lot of creators to have older works they're trying to bury or disconnect themselves from because it's simply not them anymore.

2.) Ultimately I've been focused on discussion around Lore Olympus and Rachel as she currently operates as a creator, so I don't want to go digging up her old skeletons as any sort of "gotcha" towards LO today. Ultimately a lot of these works don't have anything to really 'do' with LO as it exists today.

That said, the reason I'm bringing it up now is because these new series... are bridging that gap that I've been avoiding for ages now. The gap that's filled with skeletons of Rachel's past that she's trying to both disconnect herself from but now fall back on with LO come and gone. It almost goes to show that her being a one-note pony goes back since far before LO - these are literally the only ideas she's able to come up with at this point, and it's painfully obvious in how both these new "graphic novel pitches" are pretty much the exact same and could apply to the same character, and that character may as well just be Persephone, i.e. Rachel, all over again.

Like, I'm calling it now, Patients in the Dark is just gonna be more "moms are bad" rhetoric, and Eleanor's Deathbed is gonna be Hades and Persephone, but replace Hades with some death god and Persephone with a training mortician, which is basically also still just Foxglove training to be a doctor, and Icy Shaw bragging about fondling corpses.

If anything, now that Webtoons is no longer carrying her around on their shoulders, this is gonna be Rachel's moment of "put up or shut up". She can either actually put in an active effort to write something that's decent, or she can flounder under the weight of her own tired mediocrity that's been knocking at her door for years now. As much as she's using her labels that were bought for her to sell these books which aren't even in real development yet-

-Webtoons isn't gonna be there to buy her Eisners forever. This is entirely on her and the imprint that Webtoons shoved her into. Her process is still the same, she's learned nothing from the experience of making LO, she's just got the money and awards now and is trying to run with it, but all she has are the same tired pitch lines that she's been using for decades now and just so happened to work with LO because LO had both Webtoons and the appeal of it being a Greek myth "retelling" to carry it into fame.

I'm gonna go into a bit of a tangent here, but it's been weighing on my mind since I found out this news and have been discussing it with pals within the ULO circle. Rachel once said in an interview that she wanted to use her platform to raise awareness of issues regarding sexual assault, mental health, and "the patriarchy":

"Who do you know that hasn’t been sexually assaulted? The number is depressingly low, right? Why is that? There is no short answer or an easy fix. I have a platform. I can tell a story that will hopefully educate and help others feel acknowledged and vindicated." - Rachel Smythe, Interview with Gossamer Rainbow

"...obviously I'm very feminist, and that sort of stuff really matters to me, um, the best way to approach this question is… I began, the pilot was written in sort of mid-2017, and I think what I wanted, what I wanted to achieve, and I don't even know… probably in 5 years time I don't know how I'm going to feel about this but I'm taking the risk, I really wanted to write a story where, uh…this female character goes through these things and I think what I wanted to do, what I wanted to achieve, was like a really common, I can't speak for like, men, but I can definitely speak for like, you know, if you're sitting in a group of your female friends and you're like "Hey! Who's been sexually assaulted?" … The response is going to be really depressing… Most female people that you know have probably experienced sexual assault to, on one level or another, and I'm like, for me I'm like "Why is that? Why?" And is it because there is a lack of information, lack of education, like what is it? And I'm lucky enough to have a platform and I'm like, if I could just provide some information in story format, would that help? Is this what I can contribute? So I feel like, especially, when writing sexual assault in media often it's… it's a way for the main male character to be, like, uplifted to hero-ness by, usually like, violence is the way to fix the problem, and that's not the approach that I want to take… um, I think [sighs], oh god, sorry I've lost my train of thought, [sighs], yeah, I think a lot of the time in movies when they, like, show rapists or something it's generally someone who's jumped out from behind the tree at a lady in a park and it's not really how it is like 90% of the time [laughs], so I just wanted to make something realistic where people could at it and be, like, "hey, nagging someone into sex isn't cool" or like removing all of their opportunities to say no isn't cool, or for someone to look at it, and just like feel validation, this is me trying, trying my best to make a difference with the platform that I have, and yeah, this is my roundabout answer for it" - Rachel Smythe, Interview with The Comic Source

And yet not once has Rachel actually used her platform for good outside of herself. She just asks the question, "Sexual assault?" and then writes off the answer "yes, it's bad!" and it especially shows in LO where the resolution to the one plotline she kept around to draw in readers was "assaulters are sent to the timeout corner!" Sure, it works for the readers who are simply seeking validation that their experiences aren't unique to themselves, but is it actually doing any real work to talk about the systems in place that leads to people like Apollo being created? Is it doing anything to address purity culture as it exists and the double standards that exist for women who are navigating sexual relationships? Is it doing anything to take the discussion outside of the narrative and put it into action through support of women's shelters, charities, mental health support for men, etc.? Not really. Like many of Rachel's ideas throughout LO, she simply goes, "Men, amirite?" and the answer is "yeah men suck!" and nothing more. The answer to the entire SA plotline is "rape is bad, don't do it" when anyone who could even relate to that conclusion in the first place already knows that.

Ultimately the activism she claims she's trying to do doesn't actually service the issue at hand - it just services herself and her own insecurities, her own unresolved trauma, her own need for validation through Eisners and merch sales. She asks the question, "Who hasn't been assaulted?" so that when she responds to the women who come forward and relate to Persephone, it's with the intent of getting them to read LO and buy her merchandise. She winds up making herself the center of other people's experiences, even ones that she cannot relate to. At BEST her attempts to "use her platform" as a means of starting discussion around ongoing societal issues like the patriarchy and sexual assault towards women is about as effective as Bell #LetsTalk, it's purely performative, self-profiting, and offers nothing of real tangibility.

If she just wants to write her own self-empowering personal works, that would be fine. Plenty of creators do it. Art is, at its core, self-expression. But it's extremely telling that she's built a platform off her self-expression, and twisted it into what she believes to be "activism" and "feminism", so that she can continue to profit off it in her future works such as this, which, again, are just reskins of her previous projects which were largely centered around the fetishizing of abuse towards women.

I don't want to claim that this is what it is, but... how much of the "feminism" in LO is done purely through the lens of victimizing women? Why is there more effort put into torturing female characters like Hera, and Demeter, and Minthe, and even Persephone to a certain degree, than there is into actually addressing the larger issue that she's claiming she wants to shed light on and resolving her questions with actionable answers?

That is the only question I will leave you all with. I am absolutely 100% not planning on touching these works with a ten foot pole, even if they should come to fruition. With the recent realization that she was into artists like Trevor Brown, alongside the fact that we've known for a long time she's into Lolita and there are very clear parallels to draw between it and LO, I think it's safe to say at this point that Rachel's work is not something I want to continue to support even when it's "hate reading". Again, I'm not going to outright accuse her of anything, but I feel like the writing is clearly on the wall here and I'm taking that writing as my warning to steer clear.

I didn't want to discuss the elephant in the room - her older works as they exist in the distant past of the early 2000's - but she's now riding the elephant.

[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 ~ 𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞

word count: 1.3k

genre/tropes: second chance, romance, lovers to strangers to...?

warnings: smut, gaslighting, dumbification, slight degredation if you squint, nothing super hardcore.

pt one pt three

“How are you?” 

“I’m…Are you okay?” 

“You first.” 

I snorted. “Not how this works.”

“Well I asked first,” Chris huffed.

“I’m fine. Why did you…what’s up?”

“I can’t call just to talk?”

I paused. “You said you didn’t know who else to call. Is something wrong?”

Silence grew in the space between us. My fan hummed above me, eliciting chills across my arms. “Chris?” I whispered.

“I love the way you say my name,” he murmured quietly. “I missed you. A lot.”

My stomach began to curl into knots. “I missed you too.”

“I know it’s late. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you okay?”

“...I’m not sure.”

“What’s wrong?”

I slid down to rest against my pillow, wet hair pressing into my cheek. “I have a lot of feelings about…you. And me.”

“Like what?” His words seemed to pull my mind open, hooking gently into the crevices of my brain and tugging it wide, gaping, vulnerability in its’ truest form, and I let him. How could I not?

“You were the first person I ever loved. And the first person I ever kissed…there were a lot of firsts with you. You make my stomach feel weird. I still can’t look at you when we pass in the halls.”

“How do I make your stomach feel weird?”

I let out a short giggle.

“I heard that,” he said, and I could feel Chris’s smile through the phone.

“You called and it tied up into knots.”

“Aww,” he mumbled. “That’s adorable.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, almost a whine.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna tell me eventually.”

I rolled over, shuffling my feet underneath the cool sheets to relieve the tension in my body. “Am not.”

Chris chuckled. “Okay, ma.”

My cheeks began to throb from the width of my smile. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

I scrunched my nose. “You’re so sassy.”

“Sassy, really?”

“I said what I said. What’re you gonna do about it?”

He paused. “I can think of a couple things.”

“Oh yeah?” I said with a snort. “Like what?”

“Drive over here and find out.”

The breath shot out of my lungs and my toes curled at the edge of the bed. A moment, a lifetime of quiet, and then–“Yeah?”

“Come on, mamas,” Chris said. His voice filled my ear with warmth. “Come see me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Be there in ten.”

“Good.”

“See you soon, Chris.”

“See you soon, pretty girl.”

My stomach dropped out of my ass and into the floor. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he hummed, and the line disconnected.

Holy fucking shit. What was that? What just happened? I’m…oh my god.

I slipped out of bed and shut off the TV. Keys, where are my keys, fuck, okay, wallet, wallet, dresser?yes on the dresser, shoes, door, shoes, on, on, on, hurry up, lights off TV off brain off, come onlet’s go, out the door QUIETLY BE SO FUCKING QUIET…okay down the hall, soft steps, can’t let Dad know I’m leaving, would freak out, don’t get caught do not get caught, come on come on come on, out the back door, to the car, quiet, car, quiet, car, quiet car quiet car okayokayokayGOGOGO OUT THE DRIVEWAY YEAHHHHHHHHHH.

I drifted slowly, so slowly, onto the dark street, shifted the car out of neutral, turned the engine, and as it roared to life, took off about as fast as I could. I didn’t bother to plug my phone in–I knew the way by heart. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Chris said, making no move to leave the car.

“You’re welcome.” I blushed at his unwavering eye contact.

“What?” he asked. Chris’s head tilted and the corners of his mouth twitched up.

“Nothin’.”

He smiled and my own grin became so much harder to hide. “Nah, there’s somethin’. Why are you blushing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, lying through my teeth.

Traffic lights glowed above me as I drove, lighting up the interior of my car in phases. The tick of my blinker fell quiet in the silence I sat in. I couldn’t handle music right now.

“I love you,” Chris whispered into my hair.

I giggled–the sensation tickled against my sensitive neck. “I love you more.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes I do,” I said, taking his hand into mine and caressing his knuckles.

“No way.”

“You said you had a song for me?”

He perked up and rolled over, tugging his phone out from under the backpack he rested on. “Yeah…this one.” Chris settled his wired headphones into my ears gently, letting his fingers stroke my cheeks as he released me. A hollow hum filled my brain, followed by a steady thumping noise, and then–a voice. Male. Pain. Love. Rhyme. Metaphor. A lot of this applied to Chris. I looked at him, and he nodded, still holding my hand. 

“I love you,” I said, looking him in his stupid blue eyes.

“I know,” he replied.

When I turned onto his street, my stomach began to tingle and sink into the seat below me, butterflies thundering in the cage of my ribs. His house was the last one on the left. Somehow, it looked exactly the same and everything had changed.

“I hate you,” I giggled, trying to roll away from him.

“Nuh uh, get back here.” Chris snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me across the bed towards him, his muscles flexed against any attempt at escape.

“No!” I cried. I loved every second of this. His fingers found their way to my ribcage and I was assaulted with cruel, evil, very bad tickling. “Shit, Chris, please, no, I–eep! Quiiiiit, quit, I’m gonna pee, stop–”

Laughing, Chris agreed to a ceasefire and moved his hands up to my stomach, petting me gently. “Please don’t piss the bed. That would suck.”

“You can actually shut the hell up,” I murmured sweetly, kissing his hand to punctuate my words.

“Okay, thats fucking it,” he huffed, and the ceasefire ended as quickly as it began in spite of my yowling protests.

I switched the engine off and rolled along the curb until I felt well enough inconspicuous to stop. Pulling the parking brake, I turned the car all the way off and took a moment to get myself ready–a spritz of perfume, a touch-up of lip balm, a tousle to the hair–and I was as ready as I’d ever be. Now listen, I said to myself, looking hard in the mirror of my sun visor, You’re going to talk to him. Nothing else. Not even if he looks cute, not even if he begs. Just talk. With that out of the way, I took a deep inhale, stuffed my keys in my pocket, and stepped out of the car. 

Chilled air covered my body as I closed the door and made my way up the drive. My phone buzzed, and I flipped it up in my hand, the screen coming to life as I did so.

Message from: Christopher Sturniolo

door open for you 

like always

My chest twinged. “Sounds good,” I typed back, stepping carefully onto their porch. The Sturniolo’s had a motion sensor light and it flicked on as I crossed the simple concrete landing, making me jump. A few more deep breaths and I was inside, their front door snicking shut behind me. Chris’ room was downstairs and I crept through the pitch dark house by memory alone, trying desperately to ignore the increasing sensations of anxiety, fear, and excitement thundering through my body. 

There it was. His door looked the same as it always had: one Lyrical Lemonade poster askew and faded near the top, the same four scratch marks near the base. I knocked softly. “Chris?”

“Come in, ma,” his voice rumbled, so much deeper than the last time I’d heard it in person.

Butterflies roared through me, my head was rushing, blood pounding, I grasped the handle, turned the knob, pushed the door open–

Chris sat on the bed, a loose pair of basketball shorts the only covering on his body. The moment his eyes, those stupid blue eyes, met mine, he slid off the mattress and walked toward me, taking my hands in his, towering over me with a look of heartbreaking gentleness. “Hey, kid.”

My heart lurched. “Hey Chris.”

request to be on the taglist under this post right here

tags: @pinksturniolo @malirosee @st7rnioioss @nonat-111 @cindylcuwho @evie-sturns @h3arts4harry @fanficsbymia @dazednmatthews @sturniolo-rat @mattsmad @sturniolo04 @bellasturn @blahbel668 @yomamaslays4lyfe @stasiesturn @pleasantlycrazyworld @ariqolyx @wh0resstuff @krissy4gov @coochiedestroyer1 @realqueenofpepsi

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

Warming the ice (Bi-Han and Tomas MK1 fic)

(MK1 childhood Lin Kuei trio - Bi-Han and Tomas)

Summary - Bi-Han feels isolated. Alone. Unloved. Little toddler Tomas can't have his brother feeling that way, and steps in to try and help.

(Hurt/comfort/brotherly love) (~3000 words)

Will eventually be up on my AO3 once the rest of the chapter is complete and I'm satisfied with it all - We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Enjoy!

.

“You cannot keep acting like a child.”

Bi-Han lowered his gaze to the pebbled ground beneath him, trying desperately to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat.

“You must be stronger. Smarter. You cannot afford to keep showing these weaknesses of yours, Bi-Han. The Lin Kuei depends on you.”

“I’m sorry.” Ice was forming on the tips of his shoes. A new development of his cryomancer abilities, if he had to guess. It would have intrigued him, had it been at any other moment in time. Now, it only aided to further humiliate him. A physical manifestation of these weaknesses of his. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yet it continues to, despite our discussions.”

“I know.” His head dipped lower, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Rough, sharp canines cut easily through the plump flesh. His tongue tasted copper. “I will better myself.” He bit out, “I will. For the clan. For Earthrealm.”

“It doesn’t look it, Bi-Han.”

Sometimes, Bi-Han felt lonely.

It was a stupid, childish feeling. One he knew he shouldn’t have- shouldn’t even consider at all, really- because how could he be lonely, surrounded as he was by the Lin Kuei? By his family? By the bustling life of the temple and its nearby surrounding villages? 

He wasn’t some isolated outcast, shunned and forgotten by society. He interacted with people every day. He studied with his masters, sparred with the other students, listened to his elders- he was one of the sons of the Grandmaster, for the gods' sake. People knew him. Took advice from him. Respected him. Feared him.

And still, here it lay, deep beneath the surface. That gnawing, hungry emptiness he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he tried- and believe him. He tried.

A silent killer- it crept in during the quiet moments. Moments where he was supposed to be relaxing, away from his life as the Grandmaster’s heir. Moments where he was supposed to be happy, living as the boy he was, not as the man he was expected to become. Where peace and joy were supposed to overtake everything in his soul.

When the echoes of his footsteps, and the whispers of his breath were the only sounds of the night. When the only noises were the whistles of the wind, and his fingers flitting through the pages of his books. When he meditated, when he ate, when he lay down to sleep. That’s when it would sneak in. It always knew exactly where to find him, to hurt him most. Wrapping itself tight around his heart, turning the featherlight moment into something suffocating and heavy.

“You’ll always be different. You’ll never fit in.”

“No one could ever love you, you know.”

It gnawed at him, quiet and persistent, gently unravelling the threads of his calm until all he could feel was frustration and doubt. Where he could no longer meditate, or read. Where he could no longer stand the silence that he would crave at any other time in his hectic life. 

He didn’t understand it- this inexplicable sense of isolation that lingered even when he was surrounded by his clan. It made no sense. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel like he was? Why did he feel so distant, so disconnected from everyone around him?

“You will never belong.”

Maybe this was one of his weaknesses. The ones his master spoke of, constantly chided him about. Maybe this feeling inside of him was proof of his failure to overcome. Proof he wasn’t as ready to fulfil his destiny. Proof he was not as ready as he thought he was.

“You’ll never be ready. You’ll never be enough.”

The thoughts twisted in his mind, feeding the guilt that already festered deep inside. He was supposed to be better than this- stronger, colder, unfeeling- unyielding like the ice he so graciously commanded. He was supposed to be the future protector of Earthrealm, the future leader of the Lin Kuei, the future Grandmaster himself. But instead, he felt adrift. Lost in a sea of emotions. Emotions he should. Not. Be. Feeling.

Something soft and wet landed on the skin of his hand, startling him out of his own head.

He blinked, gaze darting downwards to look at the watery droplet on his hand, and then upwards at the sky high above him. It wasn’t raining. The night’s clouds were sparse- even the few he did see were light and wispy, not dark and heavy with… Oh.

He scrubbed a hand over his damp face with a shaky huff, breathing thickly into his palm. Weak. Weak, weak, weak.

“A Grandmaster does not weep, Bi-Han. He does not shed tears. He is the foundation of his clan, the stones upon which his people walk.”

He shakily exhaled, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d never be good enough. He’d never feel content. He’d never feel happy. He’d never feel loved. He’d never-

“Bi-Han?”

A voice startled him from the storm raging inside his mind. It was quiet, muffled, almost overshadowed by the wind. Any normal person wouldn’t have even heard such a small mutter of a noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small figure standing at the edges of the courtyard, watching him. Their little hands wrang nervously against one another, ghostly pale eyes peeking out curiously at him from behind wisps of grey, smoke-curled hair.

Tomas.

Panic and shame surged through Bi-Han. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

He quickly straightened, hastily scrubbing a hand across his face as he went, praying it erased any lingering traces of his vulnerability. Tomas couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t allow him to witness his failures. What kind of older brother would he be if he did that? 

Tomas knew him as a brave, fearless warrior, he couldn’t see him as a scared, weeping child. Tomas looked up to him- relied on him. Needed him to be strong. Tomas depended on him to be a protector, a warrior of unyielding ice, the Grandmaster he was destined to become.

The whole world did, really. Whether they knew it or not.

“Tomas.” He called out to the boy. His voice was rough and scratchy, edged with an iciness that he hoped sounded commanding. He inhaled once more, forcing his shoulders back, attempting to regain his lost composure. “What are you doing out here?”

Tomas wasn’t allowed in the training yard, by orders of their mother. That much Bi-Han knew- and while technically, Tomas wasn’t in the courtyard, the little boy standing just on its outskirts, his small face peering in past the entrance archway, it was good enough. It gave him something to focus on rather than the uncomfortable coiling in his gut. 

The child didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to the ground, clearly eyeing the fine-line between outside and inside the yard. His tiny teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other. He looked so small, so… innocent.

Bi-Han briefly wondered if that was what he himself looked like, when the elders scolded him.

“I just… uhm.” Tomas’ voice was still whispered, still that timid, uncertain tone. “I saw you sitting all by yourself.” The wind ruffled his grey curls, the hair swirling like smoke from a fire. “You looked… sad.”

Bi-Han’s heart tightened uncomfortably in his chest. He forced himself to remain stern, to keep his voice steady. This little interaction would be over soon, and then he could go back to… whatever he was doing before this. “You should be inside.” He started, “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” 

Usually, Tomas would take that as his cue to dart away, lest he faces his eldest brother’s infamous icy lectures. To run right for his room and right to bed, as suggested. But Tomas didn’t move- at least, not to leave he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward. Into the training yard.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han warned, voice low.

Tomas took another step. Then another. Then another- his bright pale eyes never leaving Bi-Han’s own dull brown ones. Small, milky-white teeth still worried the skin of his bottom lip, his tiny hands playing with the dulled, yellow seams of his hand-me-down jumper. This was unusual of the kid- Tomas never defied any rules set for him, even the ones that Bi-Han himself deemed silly and pointless. He found himself silent, watching him wander closer, and closer, until the boy was mere metres away from him.

“Are you…” The seams of Kuai’s old jumper were falling off in little chunks, now, torn away by fumbling little fingers. “Are you… okay?”

Bi-Han almost outright flinched at the question. 

His mouth instantly opened, ready to scold, to fight- to push Tomas away. To protect his image, to reverse whatever memory Tomas now had seared in his mind of his elder brother, weak and crying right in front of him. 

But nothing came.

He couldn’t do it.

Something in Tomas’ gaze- the sincere, too-real understanding. The ghostly eyes filled with concern- it made him hesitate. The harsh words he wanted to say, willed himself to say, never came. The words intended to scare the child away from ever attempting this again couldn’t form. His cold tongue turned soft. 

Tomas took another shy step toward. His small, soft hand reached out to gently touch Bi-Han’s knee.

“It’s okay.” The little boy whispered. He sounded far too old for the age he really was. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

His throat tightened. Those words, such simple, stupid words, and yet- yet it hit him. Hard. Harder than any of his master’s criticisms ever had. Bi-Han’s lower lip was trembling, his vision blurring with those god-forsaken tears again, his so-carefully built walls crumbling easily under the watchful gaze of a mere child.

He didn’t know what to say- how do you respond to something that sincere? That honest and truthful? Such pure, disarming kindness? He wasn’t used to it- he wanted to squirm away, run for the hills and never look back- and yet he didn’t. He found himself just… nodding. A small, almost imperceptible motion, but Tomas caught it. Tomas saw it. Saw him.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Tomas’ mouth, a soft, gentle expression that seemed to warm the frigid air around them. A boost of confidence that set the toddler aiming further. Higher. 

Without much hesitation, his littlest brother clumsily climbed up onto the bench beside him, his small hand never leaving Bi-Han’s knee, using it instead to boost himself up with a soft oomph until he was safely onboard the wooden contraption, his own knees dangling off the bench’s edge.

Bi-Han watched him with a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name. It was unfamiliar. A warm feeling that spread from where Tomas touched him, seeping through his bloodstream to his cold, icy heart. 

Hope, maybe? Love?

Tomas settled beside him, shuffling so he was close enough that he could rest his head against Bi-Han’s side, his other hand curling around his arm, clutching on tight. The toddler didn’t say anything else- he didn’t need to. The message was clear.

“I love you.”

“You belong.”

“You’re enough.”

For a long while, they sat like that. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but soothing, and gentle. The heavy weight in Bi-Han’s chest seemed to lessen, just a little. As if Tomas’ presence was enough to shave away some of the thick burden that he carried. He could feel the toddler’s fingers tiredly tracing the swirling gold pattern on the sleeve of his hanfu. Could see his eyes were half-closed, cheek smushed from where it was pressed against him. He really should be in bed by now.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han’s voice was croaky from disuse, though softer, that icy edge from before long gone. “Why exactly were you out here- in the first place? You know you shouldn’t be.”

Tomas lifted his head sleepily, blinking up at Bi-Han with those almost glowing pale eyes. “I saw you from my bedroom window.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” He snuggled back in, sighing warmly, eyes beginning to close once more, voice drifting into an almost silent murmur. Words that felt like they weren't for Bi-Han’s own ears to hear. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Bi-Han’s heart twisted at that. He unravelled his arm from out of Tomas’ grip, instead curling it around the boy himself, drawing him closer, into something that somewhat resembled an embrace. His fingers touched soft, smoky hair. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words thick with emotion, “I… I needed it.”

Tomas smiled up at him again, his face tired, but his eyes shining with joy. He pressed closer, little grey hair tickling Bi-Han’s chin as he wormed his way further into his brother, as if he was attempting to merge their bodies together. Bi-Han simply let him.

“Don’t worry.” The little boy whispered, after a brief moment of silence. “I won’t tell Kuai.”

A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corners of Bi-Han’s own mouth now. “Good.” He found himself replying lightly, nodding. “You know I’d hate to lose my reputation as the cool one.”

Tomas giggled softly, yawning. “You’ll always be the cool one. Kuai’s the fiery one, remember?”

They sat there in silence for a little while longer after that, the quiet evening wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Bi-Han found himself staring out at the empty courtyard, watching the shadows deepen as the night finally fully set in. Normally, this would be the time where that loneliness crept in. Reared its ugly face at him, reminding him of all his fears. All his doubts and insecurities. But tonight was different. With Tomas here- though asleep as he was now, drooling on the side of his very expensive hanfu- it was different. The silence wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t debilitating. It was bearable. Enjoyable, almost. 

It was no longer an enemy, but the companion it should have always been to him. One that allowed him to breathe, to simply exist as himself. Not as the future protector of Earthrealm- not as the future leader of the Lin Kuei, not as the future Grandmaster, but as Bi-Han. 

He could be just Bi-Han today. And that was okay. It was okay because people wanted just Bi-Han. In whatever shape and form he came in- broken or unbroken.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,162 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: language, mentions of injury A/N: This is part of a series! You can find the rest on my Master List, the pinned post on my blog.

Summary: Injured and scattered, the group tries to find each other.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl,

Our son is two years old today. You wouldn’t believe how much he’s changed in only the last few months. It used to be that you could only make out baby babble with a few words here and there, and now he’s stringing together full sentences, expressing his own original thoughts. He looks less like a toddler every day and more and more like a little kid, soon to be asking questions about the world that will be harder and harder for me to answer. He reminds me of you in so many ways and I hold onto this part of you extra tight. When I think of how much you’ve missed of his little life, of all the milestones we’ve already passed, every part of me aches, and to know he’s missed out on having you too... that hurts even worse. I know you would be the most amazing dad. You love as fiercely as anyone could.

When I think of you at all, it nearly stops me to a grinding halt, could bring me to my knees, the pain is still that sharp. If we never find each other again, I think I’ll walk around forever with this poignant sense of something profound missing. It’s hard to write this, but if it wasn’t for DJ, I may have given up by now… But if I know anything, it’s that you’re out there somewhere, still alive, still surviving, still protecting the people you love. I know that beyond any doubt, because that’s who you are. I just hope that in our continued wandering that we find some sign of you. I don’t know what it would be—but Jen keeps telling me not to give up hope, to trust that my intuition is right.

I’m not having that dream anymore—the one I wrote about before where you’re calling for me from the other side of the glass—but lately I’ve been having a new one. I find you again, out in the woods, wandering, and then the next moment you’ve vanished. It’s almost worse than the last dream, because I think I have you and then a moment later I lose you all over again. It feels so unbelievably real. I wake up completely gutted with my cheeks wet. I have to reach for DJ every time.

God, I miss you.

It’s hitting me hard today, on DJ’s birthday. I hope you’re safe wherever you are…

With love, Y/N Daryl was mentally running through the parts of your book he’d already read, and wishing he’d made the time to read more, but he was also thanking himself for not bringing it along. He was certain The Reapers had gone through his pack. He didn’t know what would have happened if Leah had found it… She’d know he’d found you again and then all of this—his pretended disconnection from “those people on the road” and the implied feelings he was manufacturing for her—it wouldn’t have been available for him to try to keep his family and Alexandria safe.

His hand strayed to the left breast of his vest and he could feel the stiffness of the picture in the lining. It was comforting. He hadn’t slept. He was too afraid to. His mind was too busy. He laid on his back on a cot, far off in a corner, and waited.

It had to be near first light when he heard bootsteps coming up the hallway outside. He turned his ear toward the sound, listening intently for anything else that could signal what was happening.

Carver showed up in the doorway. “Get up, dickhead,” he spat. “We’re moving on that info.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

A hand on your shoulder shook you awake and you startled at the sudden jolt.

“Easy.” Negan’s voice. His hazel eyes were looking right into yours beneath his raised eyebrows. The point of your blade was at his throat.

You let out the breath you’d been holding and lowered it.

Negan was in front of you, palms out. He relaxed as your knife left his neck. “I’m a little worried that reflex isn’t going to stop short one of these times,” he said.

You shifted so you could better sit up against the back of the dingy armchair. “Then stop surprising me,” you said. You winced as you moved and couldn’t help drawing in a sharp hiss of breath between your teeth. Your side, the knife wound from The Reapers, felt like it was on fire. “Fuck…” you murmured, shifting to attempt to relieve the worst of the pain to little success.

Negan’s brow furrowed. “How ya feelin’?” You thought you could hear genuine concern in his voice.

You shook your head. “Not at my best, but I’ve had worse,” you said.

He went on frowning at you. He swept a hand back over his short hair. “I don’t doubt it but, uhh, no offense… you look like shit. I don’t think the whole pale, graying skin thing suits you at all. I woke you up because I was starting to get a little paranoid that you might not wake up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so dramatic,” you scolded him.

Negan gave you a small tight smile despite the situation. “Can’t. Drama. Theater… It’s kind of my thing,” he retorted. He watched as you pulled your shirt up to look at the wound on your side. The surrounding area and the wound itself were an angry shade of red.

Negan saw it. “Well, fuck. That doesn’t look good.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and leaned back against the chair. You’d flushed the stab wound out as best you could and applied ointment but it didn’t seem to have been enough. “No shit,” you said. “Any other earth-shattering observations you want to hit me with?”

Negan let out a dry laugh and straightened up, grabbing his crowbar from where it was leaning against a dusty couch and swinging it absently. “You know, I am actually trying to help you here. You see anybody else around?”

You sighed. “Right. Right… Sorry. Just—this whole situation is—”

“Complete and utter-fucked, five ways ‘til Friday bullshit?” Negan finished for you.

You gave him a long look but eventually nodded. “Yeah.” You pulled your shirt up again and looked at the neatly stitched wound. Negan had helped you with that the night before, and you had to hand it to him that he’d done a good job. “It’s a local infection or the start of one,” you said softly. You paused to think. You had limited medical supplies left and had used the last of the antibacterial ointment the night before patching up your side and Negan’s leg.

“Alright, so, can we kick its ass before it becomes un-local? From what I hear, that’s something to avoid, what with the lack of hospitals and meds these days.”

You chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. The burning and pulse you could feel in your whole side made it hard to think. “Hopefully…”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression darkening like a cloud passing across the face of the moon. “You have a fever?” he asked, and you heard some apprehension in his voice.

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.” You mopped at the cold sweat on your brow even as you answered, but you were pretty sure that was just from the pain.

Negan cleared his throat and stepped closer hesitantly. “Can I check without you slitting my throat?” he asked. “I’ve actually already had that done, courtesy of Rick, and it isn’t something I’d like to repeat.”

“Fine.”

He bent his tall frame and put the back of his hand on your forehead. He shook his head and let out a hugely relieved sigh. “No. No, I think you’re good.” You gave him a questioning look. “I had the thought that maybe they’d coated their blades… so that anyone that didn’t die right away would go full-blown undead asshole.”

You fixed a steely stare on him. “Oh, you mean like you did. To the Hilltop.”

Negan gulped and his face fell. His eyes turned down to the floor. “Maggie told you about that, huh?” he said softly.

“Mhm…”

“Yeah. That was pretty fucked up.” He was still avoiding your eyes. “But it was effective...”

“Negan—” you started angrily.

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact! And to be fair, it was a fucking war! I was looking after my own the same way—” he broke off abruptly at the look on your face.

You shook your head. “No. Not the same way I do. Not the same way they were. Not even close.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never done anything royally fucked up to keep yourself or people you care about alive? Hmm? Doll,” he said, swinging his crowbar up onto his shoulder, a smirk on his face, “I ain’t buyin��� it.”

You scowled at him. “Don’t call me ‘doll.’ In fact, let’s just table any more nicknames you’ve got floating around in your head. And let’s get one thing straight, Negan. You didn’t care about those people at The Sanctuary. You gave them barely enough to stay alive and it wasn’t even a life. The only person you actually gave a shit about was yourself. And have I done fucked up shit? Yeah. Plenty. To keep me and my son alive… not to set myself up as some sort of wannabe god to assuage my bloated ego,” you spat at him, wincing and putting a hand over your side again and shutting your eyes.

There was a tense pause and then Negan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and another small laugh escaped him. “I can’t really argue with most of that. You’re right. And I see that Maggie and Daryl have been pretty thorough in catching you up already.” He sighed and sank back down on the wooden chair across the room from you. “But none of that shit matters right now. So, what do we do about your tidy little ticking time bomb there? You have any more of that—”

“No, we used almost everything up last night,” you interrupted him.

Negan laughed humorously. “Now let me make something clear here; you’ve gotta be okay,” he said emphatically. “If something happens to you while you’re with me, Daryl will fucking murder me. That is not an exaggeration. No, he won’t just murder me—he’d probably carve off little pieces slowly. He isn’t gonna hear that it wasn’t my fault. So, for your health and mine,” Negan said, fiddling with the crowbar across his knees, “we’ve got to figure this out. So, what do I need to do? You obviously can’t go anywhere fast at the moment, which is really what we need.”

Your ground your teeth together and Negan saw the muscle in your jaw tense. “You’re going to have to find me some moss and get us some water and fuel for a fire.” Negan stared at you blankly.

“Sorry, did you say fucking moss?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A specific kind. I’m gonna tell you where it grows and what it looks like.” You pulled your pack closer and dug around inside it until you pulled out a small cloth bag and held it out to him.

“Is now the right time for a scavenger hunt?” he asked, but he got up and accepted the bag from you.

“A lot of mosses have antimicrobial properties that should fight the infection and—look, just do what I’m fucking asking, okay? Or I can go myself. Like I said, I’ve had worse,” you started getting out of the chair, pushing yourself up on the arms but the pain in your side seemed to ricochet through the rest of your abdomen and chest and you quickly froze, only partially standing.

“Whoa!” Negan grabbed your upper arm and helped you lower back down into the seat. His leg didn’t feel great, but it was definitely better than your side. “I’ll get it! Fuck, just sit the fuck down,” he shook his head at you. “I can see why you and that pain in the ass Daryl are together. Stubborn with an attitude,” he said with some amusement. “Moss. Water. Fuel. I can handle that. Just tell me what I need to know…”

You did. And Negan set out and returned a couple hours later with all of it.

Soon you had a fire going in one corner near a broken-out window, any smoke trailing up and out—though you’d made sure all the fuel was dry as a bone so it wouldn’t lead The Reapers straight to you. The water had finished boiling and was sitting to cool a bit. Negan was watching you with interest from his seat again as you cleaned as much debris out of the moss as you could.

Negan was casually peeling the bark off a stick, sitting on the stiff wooden chair and watching you work. “Are you going to tell me what the deal is with you and Daryl or what?” he asked.

Your eyes flickered up to his face for a moment and you paused, completely still. Then you went back to what you were doing. “No,” you said simply.

“Ahh, come on. What the hell else are we gonna talk about? I’m dying to know how exactly he ended up having a kid he didn’t seem to know about. Especially one that looks to be about ten years old.”

You tossed the handful of debris you’d been picking out of the moss into the fire. “I’m sure you are. But you’re the last person I’m going to discuss my personal life with, Negan.”

Negan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Come on. It’ll pass the time!”

You fixed your gaze on him for a long moment. “I’ll give you one question,” you said, dusting off your hands.

“Hot damn!” Negan grinned. “I better make it a good one… Hmm. Let’s see…” A smirk grew on his face. “So, are you guys fucking again? I mean what’s the current status?”

“Negan!” you barked back at him angrily, color flaring in your face. He only chuckled.

“It’s just a question! Anybody can see the guy is head over heels. That was obvious by the way he looked like he was mentally dismembering me anytime I came within ten feet of you.”

You only glared at him. “Do me and yourself a favor and shut the fuck up,” you growled. You collected the moss and plunged some of it into the still warm water and let it soak for a few seconds. Then you removed it and wrung most of the water out. Negan watched with interest as you packed it over the wound in your side and secured it around your body with a long makeshift bandage you’d fashioned from a spare flannel you’d had stowed in your pack.

“That’s gonna fight off infection?” Negan asked, interested. “Seems counter-intuitive to stick some dirty shit you found outside right over a wound.”

“It’s not dirty. And yes, hopefully. Long before we had modern medicine, plants were doing what doctors and pills used to,” you said, climbing to your feet and sinking back into the armchair again with a sigh.

“How the hell did you learn this?” Negan asked, digging in his pack for his MRE and tearing off the top.

You shrugged. “Aren’t we all picking up new things all the time? One of my people, from my last community, knew a lot about medicinal and edible plants. I paid attention.”

Negan nodded, scooping another bite into his mouth. “So, we gotta just wait now?”

You nodded. “Just have to let it do its job.” You sunk back more heavily into the chair and closed your eyes, but they were only shut a moment before Negan’s voice broke the silence again.

“You’re really not going to tell me about you and Daryl?”

Your eyes opened. “No. I’m not.”

He sighed. “What if I tell you about my wife?” he said softly.

Your brow furrowed. “Which one?” you asked sharply.

“The real one.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

The next morning, you woke up gently. Negan was already awake, standing at one of the dingy windows, staring thoughtfully outside. He turned when he heard you shifting. “You’re looking better,” Negan commented.

You stood and moved without pangs of pain and sighed with relief. Unbinding your bandage and peeling the poultice from the wound, you saw that the redness was gone and it was no longer inflamed. The moss had done its job. You applied fresh, dry moss over the stitches and rebound the bandage.

Negan wandered over, watching you closely. “You good?”

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah.” You paused. “Thanks. For your help yesterday with getting all that stuff.” He nodded once. You slung your pack up onto your shoulder. “Come on. We’ve gotta get to that house. Maybe the others are waiting there.”

“You can’t be serious,” Negan said, nearly stepping in your way as you moved toward the door. “You want to keep going? We don’t even know if anyone else made it.”

You started to unbarricade the door with a grunt of effort. “They did,” you said matter-of-factly.

Negan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do!” you snapped at him, standing up straight. For the first time, Negan saw something like desperation in your eyes. “They made it,” you said firmly, but he heard the shake in your voice. “Now, help me move this…”

Negan looked at you for a long moment and then sighed and pushed the heavy oak desk out of the path of the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Maggie, Gabriel, and Elijah waited in silence. The air was heavy with anxiety and Maggie found herself alternately pacing the length of the room and then standing frozen at the window, peering out through the wooden slats. Through the narrow space, she saw figures moving on the street outside but it was difficult to see through the leaves of the shrubs close to the house. “I got movement comin’ up on this side.”

Elijah stood and went to another window near the front door. His knife was in his hand.

“Oh my God. Oh, thank God,” Maggie suddenly sighed. “It’s alright. It’s Negan and Y/N,” she said, happy tears in her eyes.

A moment later, Elijah pulled the door open and the two of you stepped into the dilapidated interior, Maggie rushed over and grabbed you in a hug. “Thank God you’re alright,” she said.

You tightened your free arm around her, bow in your hand at your other side. “You too. All of you,” you said, looking at Elijah and Gabriel as she broke away, but at the same moment your heart sank. “Daryl?” you asked, your brow furrowing and casting a shadow over your momentary relief at seeing the others.

Maggie shook her head. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen Daryl or Frost. Alden’s hurt bad. I left him someplace safe,” she said, her voice breaking. “Agatha. Duncan. They’re gone...”

You hung your head and closed your eyes for a long moment. “Fuck…” Your knuckles shone white as you gripped riser of your bow hard. “Goddammit… I’m so sorry.”

She nodded solemnly and then scrutinized you and Negan more closely. “How are you two?”

You moved farther into the house and stood beside the small stash of supplies. “We took a little damage but I think we’ll be fine. What’s the plan?” you asked, getting straight back to your purpose.

“We’ll wait a little longer for Daryl and Frost, in case they’re tryin’ to get here. But then we have to move. It’s not too far to Meridian from here.”

Negan let out a small scoff and paced away in a small circle, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Maggie bristled. “Somethin’ you wanna say?”

“Maggie, look at us. We’re hurt. There are only four of us. One more encounter like the one we just had and that number is going to drop to zero.”

“People back home are dependin’ on us. Hungry kids. If we can’t make this work, Alexandria is done.”

Negan sighed and leaned back against the wall, but he stayed quiet.

“So, unless you’ve gotta somethin’ helpful to add, just keep your mouth shut for once in your life,” she snapped at him.

“Hey—” Elijah said suddenly. “Something’s up.” _ _ _ _ _ _

The heavy bootsteps overhead seemed to press on your ear drums as the Reapers moved through the house. Your heart was hammering in your throat. Then suddenly—Daryl’s voice. You clapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from gasping with relief. Alive. He was alive. He was okay. But then your stomach plummeted into the pit of your stomach. But why was he with them?

It didn’t take long for you to realize what was going on. A voice. A woman. “You’re either with us, or you’re not.” Leah. It had to be Leah. It was the only thing that made sense.

Your chest tightened and it was harder for you to draw in even shallow breaths. You closed your eyes, straining your hearing. Daryl again. “What do you want me to do?”

Then it was obvious; Daryl was dropping as much info as he could to you hiding below. 20 people. Weapons. Supplies. Walls. And then he was picking a fight on purpose with this “Carver” asshole.

“Shaw. Wake. Up. Everything is a test now,” Carver spat. “If you think this guy is ever going to give a shit about any of us, you’re gonna fail.”

“He’s right,” Daryl said quickly. “I don’t give a shit about any of you. Except you.” You felt a sharp pain between your lungs. “I’m here for you. It’s no secret I made mistakes. But I’m here right now.”

You were trying to suppress a rising wave of nausea. You could feel Maggie and Negan looking your way and you ducked your eyes, kept them down-turned to the cement of the cellar floor. A second later, Maggie touched you on the sleeve and tilted her head toward the cellar door. With Daryl distracting Leah and Carver, you snuck away, but the painful bubble in the middle of your chest stayed with you.

When you were finally safely away from the town the Reapers had been combing, Maggie stopped all of you. “We can stop for a minute,” she said, out of breath just like the rest of you from rushing through the woods. “We’re getting’ close. About three miles out.”

Negan let out a disbelieving laugh again, but you silenced him with a look. Maggie turned to you and touched you on the arm and spoke to you in a soft undertone. “You know Daryl was only sayin’ those things to—”

“I know,” you interrupted her, nodding, but your face was downturned. It still felt like a knife was lodged upward between your lungs. Listening in on that, Daryl saying those things to another woman, to her, had been excruciating. You hadn’t even realized how much so until you were out of the immediate danger. They seemed to ring in your head. “I’m here for you.” “I made mistakes.”

Maggie frowned softly. “Y/N, you and DJ are his whole life. I was there. I saw it. I saw how he was after. We almost lost him when he lost you. And then he never gave up on you. He never stopped searchin’. Whoever she is, she’s nothin’ to him compared to you. Believe that. Trust it.”

You gulped and nodded again and managed to give her a forced smile, though the worry line stayed between your brows. “What’s the plan for taking care of these assholes?”

You all turned as sticks cracked nearby. Walkers were wandering in. Everyone fingered their weapon but Maggie stopped you. “Wait,” she said, looking at more following behind out of the trees. She glanced back at the group of you. “Think we can find more?”

[k-s-morgan]

Hi. I hope you're well. Just finished reading the new chapter and I must say that it is one of the best presents I could wish for. It brought me so much fun: I even chuckled several times.

“I am… a guardian,” he said with only a slight stumble.

“A guardian,” Ciel repeated. He sounded unimpressed, and the way Sebastian tensed, the way the energy around him coiled defensively ignited a fire of malicious pleasure in his gut. “What are you guarding? The dining room? The food?”

I adore how lost at first Sebastian was when Ciel releases him from his butler role.

Having no task to do and no good reason to be here, disconnected and ignored, he appeared to be absolutely miserable, and Ciel absorbed this healing sight for a while.

And how Ciel enjoyed. Oh, I was feeling this glee with him:D

“Kindly choke to death,” Sebastian said with a sharp-edged smile. It was so jarring to hear something this rude and offensive from him in the presence of others that Ciel jolted, nearly falling off his chair.

“Sebastian!” he yelled, mortified. His shock was so overwhelming that only a part of his mind registered his mistake. Another part joined in when Sebastian’s grin widened.

“I don’t know anyone called Sebastian here, my lord,” he replied.

And this moment was pure gold! How I laughed at Sebastian's behavior here. And just before this paragraph, I was wondering if Sebastian misses being called by name and then - Ciel accidentally does it! Sebastian's pov of this game will be incredible. I can already feel it

He proceeded to serve everyone, but when Ciel was about to dig in, he caught the imperceptible shake of Sebastian’s head. Startled, he hesitated — just on time to hear the exclamations and spluttering from around him.

This was so sweet of Sebastian to warn Ciel. I wonder if he did it instinctualy or purposely?

On the other hand, Ciel was supposed to mean more, at least right now, being Sebastian’s owner. Surely he deserved better manipulation?

And how Ciel thought that he is worth a better manipulation. Oh god these two killing me.

I also felt proud when Ciel manipulated with the same technique his cousin (Edward? I often forget his name). It was done splendidly! And the story about the frog! Thank you for adding one more moment from Ciel's past

TLDR: Your chapter is as always amazing. Thank you for creating and sharing despite your harsh circumstances. Sending you love and peace♡

Hi! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments - I'm thrilled that you liked this chapter! It was such a fun experience to write it, especially as everyone started to relax into their roles.

Sebastian was having an identity crisis revolving around Ciel, and now he ended up having one of his own :D He's going to think about Ciel's question for a while, and at the end of this arc, he's going to give an answer to it, finally coming to understand what his current identity represents.

Ciel calling Sebastian by name, briefly forgetting about his own rules, was definitely a moment of triumph for Sebastian. And I think he warned Ciel about the food because no matter what happens, no matter how at odds they are, they are still a team - they always will be. Sebastian likes being petty and setting up his own challenges for Ciel, but he will protect him from problems devised by others.

I've been wanting to do a scene between Ciel and Edward for a while, and this chapter seemed like the best place for it. Poor Edward, he had no idea what he was stepping into :D

Thank you again, I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this game!

[intertexts]

ROSXSSSSSSSSS can u talk abt muse. pls. muse is the part of nhw that drivrs me the most crazy insane. makes me feel GENUINELY ILL i was reading one of ur most recent muse posts earlier and was like. Oh. ohhhhhhhhh oucwch. ouchiees. had 2 put my phone down and just stare at my desk at work for a minute or so. oh my god. tell me abt nhw ashe a lil bit!!!! his brief lucid moments as muse. does he ever snap out of it while using his powers???? how horrifuying is that. what is he like when hes finally not under the trickster's control and is completely free??? whats it like when hes back with the wards???? im going 2 throw something ougbghh nhw ashe i love u

GODDDDDDD. HIIII WHISKEY HI <333 insane person questions 2 ask because thats literally exactly what i've been thinking about for hours. holy shit. ok. yeah. u get insane 1130pm thought trains!!!! <3333

>it is VERY RARE for him to snap out of it while he's actively in his breaker state [non-lucid state regardless of whether he's being controlled, he's just. going on autopilot & instinct + thats also the terrifying reality melting one that the trickster Likes and chose him for. so.] just bcos he's fucked up regardless-- it happens a couple times!! during a couple fights that mark & tide + the wards are there for!! mackerel also had some thoughts on this i need 2 fucking pick his brain more tomorrow....

>when the trickster is finally Gone (via mal). um. things are. i will be real with you!!!!!!! they are Not Great!!!! they are-- better!!! still fucking Bad!! first of all wibby & virion & dakota are. horrifically traumatized by seeing muse disembowel and tear apart william while still keeping him alive and with all his senses & pain receptors intact. like, he survives, mal puts him back together, but it is-- not. something that any of them easily come back from, especially wibby. they all have involuntary trauma responses towards just. seeing ashe, really-- it's been long enough that their first thought when they see him isn't "oh our awesome best friend ashe :]" it's "oh god oh fuck how did the trickster get here." which everyone hates!!!

ashe specifically... god. he is in a fucking horrific headspace immediately post-muse. the physical and mental strain of being forcibly kept in his breaker state (something that, like, historically, had triggered maybe.. twice. three times. in ten years or so.) as long and as often as he was took a fucking toll. being kept under almost 24/7 mind control for almost a year straight kind of put his head in the blender. for the first... god, whoever knows how long after that, he gets, like, almost daily pulsing headaches & migraines with the aura and confusion and nausea & shit. has a whole host of fucking brain issues-- debilitating anxiety & paranoia over being followed & watched, delusions related to. well. being fucking lobotomized by an insane sadistic superpowered murderer who controlled you and kept you as his favorite toy and had you commit horrific acts for over a year. frequently is terrified or convinced he's still being controlled. shit like that. severe derealization & disconnection frm his own body & such.

also ^ yeag. <3 he is. god. simultaneously insanely touch-repulsed & touch-starved because. the only person really touching him for a year was the trickster!!! yeah!!! his wires r so fucking crossed & he freaks the fuck out whenever anybody makes to touch him and he also misses it so badly, just wants a fucking hug from his dad but for a while he can't even do that without flashbacks and nausea and terror. the same except ten times worse for anyone touching his hair. freaks out when anybody tries to do Anything fucking... caretaking or comforting, really. which sucks because he also is in a ton of physical pain & damage from the insane amount of physical stress-- nothing permanent in a debilitating way, but. y'know. even after he's healed he aches and his joints hurt and he can't stand for too long without it being Bad and it takes a very long time for him to get his coordination and fine motor skills back-- anyway, it's a nasty feedback loop because he very much Cannot do some things on his own but anyone helping him almost always brings back trickster shit. can't help him into the shower can't drape a blanket over him or move him somewhere more comfy if he falls asleep on the couch can't hug him etc!!! & all this while the rest of the gang is also. incredibly fucked up & they're all accidentally hitting each other where they're already hurt and unintentionally triggering each other and like-- it's better!! god!! it's so much better! but it's still. u know. he has to have the worst most miserable excruciating long recovery arc. OH. YEAH. he also straight up fucking refuses to use his powers. is just. incredibly horrified and guilty and full of self-loathing and revulsion at everything that was done using him as a tool. is unspeakably terrified of it happening again, of him accidentally hurting anyone. etc. anyway. it gets better!!!!!!!!!! it gets worse before it gets better though. yeag. yeah.

[dethronetheveil]

Like a Villain | Part Three

Pairing: Noah x OC (Christie/Chris)

Warnings: mention of m*rder, cursing, making out, mentions of mental illness, going missing

Synopsis: Part Three- Chris tries to find out if Noah is okay, and it turns out Noah had the same idea. The two spend some more up close and personal time together. That is, until Noah goes ghost.

Word Count: 2.5k

Tag List: @ladyveronikawrites , @catj422 , @asilentsiren [lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part!]

I sprung up out of bed and allowed my body to carry me to the front door of my apartment. It was as if I were in a dream-like state, because my mind was not processing a single thing that was happening, but my body was carrying me forward. Before I could even slip on shoes, my hand was reaching for the handle of the door, and I was shaken out of my state of comatose, when Noah was standing at my front door, half-dressed and sleepy-eyed. My body seemed to stumble into his arms, as I haphazardly hugged him.

“Oh my God, Noah, I thought it was you. I don’t know why that was my first thought, I was just worried, and I got up the moment I saw the notification, and-” my mouth was racing my brain and unfortunately my brain was losing. That was until Noah wrapped his long arm around my back and began to trace random shapes onto my shirt with his fingers. I could tell he just wanted me to shut up, but he was too nice to say that to my face. His method worked, and I no longer felt like talking. I just wanted to stand here, warmed by his embrace. But, my brain finally caught up to everything, and this caused me to take a step back, disconnecting our bodies.

“Wait, why were you already at my door?”

Noah dropped his arms, almost as if he had been defeated, “I-I came to check on you. I think I had the same thought as you… you can never be too careful.”

“Well, I’m okay. D-did they figure out who was… killed?”

Noah just shook his head and looked down. I could tell that his hands were shaking, and this was the first time I realized these murders must be getting to him just as much as they were getting to me. I gently placed one of my hands on top of his, and his shaking slowed to a stop. He raised his head slightly and just grinned. I knew this was his way of telling me, ‘thank you.’

We stood like this for a few seconds and then Noah pulled his hands away with a short cough, “Um, well, now that I know you’re safe I should probably-” he pointed behind him with his thumb and began to stumble backwards.

“Uh, Noah?”

“Yea?”

“I-I know we haven’t known each other long, and this might come off as a little weird, but, um…” I didn’t know what was about to come out of my mouth. I think my lips just started to move and I didn’t have enough time to stop them, “Um, could you stay with me tonight?”

I placed my hands on my hips, immediately wanting to take back what I had said. What the fuck was I thinking? We had just met and now I probably just freaked him out. I don’t know if I had asked him to stay over because I was genuinely scared of the murders or if I just wanted an excuse to lie with him. Maybe both? But, this was not the time. As I was internally cursing myself out, Noah let out a soft chuckle, “Are you scared of the boogeyman?”

I couldn’t help but blush. I felt like I was back in middle school, flirting with my crush, but this time I was inviting someone in my home to sleep in my bed. It was a little different, I’d say. “Well, if the boogeyman is gonna take me out, then yea, I’m a little paranoid.”

“Damn, I didn’t realize the boogeyman was taking you out too.”

I knew exactly the joke Noah was making, and in the spirit of feeling like I was back in middle school, I playfully hit his arm, but I couldn’t help but laugh, “Yea, seems like you’ve got some competition.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not scared.”

My laughter was still echoing through the courtyard, and I finally took a deep breath to quiet myself. Noah and I stood there just looking at each other for what seemed like forever, before I started rocking back and forth on my heels, “Soo?”

“Oh yea, I forgot. Sure. I’ll stay with you. Wouldn’t want the boogeyman to get you.”

I rolled my eyes at him, but secretly I was gushing inside. It felt like my limbs were on fire, especially when I grabbed his hand in mine and pulled him through my front door into my apartment.

He took a moment to look around, “Ah, so this is what it’s like to come through the front door of this place.”

I laughed. I forgot just a few short hours ago, Noah had snuck through my window and scared the shit out of me, and now I am inviting him into my bed. This seemed like a bad idea, but again, something about him made me trust him. He was a comforting presence to be around, and he seemed like he knew how to cuddle.

I started walking to my room, and he obediently followed. I flipped my light on and sat on the edge of my bed. I watched as he picked up every small trinket I owned and inspected it, like it was some great wonder of the world. He didn’t ask any questions about the items, but maybe he just wanted to speculate and keep whatever ideas he had about them as that. Just speculations. He finally placed the last trinket down on my dresser and took a deep breath. On his release, he took a step towards me and looked right at me.

“So, do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

A wave of disappointment washed through me. Of course he would want to sleep on the floor. It would be weird of him not to ask. We had just met. He probably thought I was crazy. “If you want to,” I tried to answer as enthusiastically as possible, so he couldn’t sense what I was truly feeling.

“D-did you have another idea?”

I could feel my cheeks turning red once again, “No, no. I just-”

“I can sleep in the bed with you. If that’s what you want, Chris.”

Despite my better judgment, I just nodded and patted the mattress next to me, signaling for him to come sit next to me. He knew immediately what I meant and he just smiled and sat next to me. I could tell we were both nervous, even though just hours ago we had kissed for the first time. That didn’t mean we were automatically ready to jump each other’s bones though. Not that I thought that that’s what would happen. Noah was looking down at his lap, and I couldn’t help but look over at the clock on my bedside table. It was already 1am, but it honestly wasn’t as late as I had expected it to be.

“Should we try and get some rest,” I asked.

“Yea, yea. That would probably be good.”

I just nodded and turned my bedside lamp on and stood up to turn the overhead light off. I walked back to the bed and Noah was already under the covers, but because he was so tall, his feet were sticking out of the end of the covers and over the mattress. I couldn’t help but laugh at this image. He was like a giant, but he already agreed to sleep here. I could tell he was rethinking this decision.

“Comfy?” I asked through laughs.

“Oh, I bet you’re loving this.”

“Oh, I very much am. You should see yourself.”

“Oh yea?” He jumped up from the bed and grabbed me at the waist. It all happened in one swift motion and I felt myself gasp as he grabbed me off my feet. I scream-giggled as he gently threw me on the bed. He held himself up over me and I could tell he was breathing hard from all of that commotion.

“Don’t tell me I was that heavy.”

“Oh, shut up, Chris.”

“Hmm, I don't think I wi-”

Before I could finish, Noah’s lips were already pressed against mine. He was still holding himself up over me and I wanted him closer. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of me. The kisses started slow and methodical and became messier and rougher as time passed. Our lips always found one another, no matter how sloppy our kisses got.

After a few minutes of this, I wrapped my legs around his back. I wanted to feel every inch of him against me. He felt safe and warm. I could tell this drove him crazy, because he disconnected his lips from mine and began placing sloppy kisses against my neck. My breathing became heavier as my hands made their way up into his hair. My fingers nestled in his scalp, and every time his lips touched my skin, my fingers pulled against the strands of his hair. This caused Noah to begin to suck against the skin of my collar bone. I let out soft sighs, causing his lips to explore down the front of my chest, all the way to my torso. My body was on fire, and it felt like there were 1000 bees buzzing beneath my skin. The feeling of exhaustion and arousal mixed together to create a feeling of bliss.

Noah made his way back up to my mouth and continued to kiss me as though he were never going to have the chance to kiss me again. It felt so good to be able to kiss him again. I had been thinking about our kiss since it had ended. I couldn’t stop thinking about his lips against mine. Noah snapped me out of my daze by removing his lips from mine. I couldn’t help but pout a bit. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Noah just chuckled.

“C’mon, don’t look so sad.”

“Well, you stopped kissing me, so…”

Noah placed a soft kiss against my forehead and smiled, “There you go.”

“Thank you,” I chuckled softly.

“I have wanted to do that since I first saw you,” Noah said.”

“What? Kiss my forehead?”

“No, no. Everything else,” he chuckled and shook his head. He then yawned and looked over at my clock, “But, it is 2:12 in the morning and I did come over so we could sleep, so we should probably do that.”

I sighed with a tinge of annoyance, “Okay, you’re probably right.”

“I always am,” he smiled and wrapped himself in the covers.

“Hey! You can’t take all the covers for yourself,” I laughed.

“Then come and get under them with me.”

“You’re cheeky,” I replied, but got under the covers with him anyway. I curled up against him and already started getting more tired as we lay next to each other.

“Good night, Chris,” he said with a yawn.

I leaned over and turned the lamp off, “Good night, Noah.”

***

I woke up that morning from the sun peaking through the curtains of my room. I rubbed my eyes and felt around my bed, expecting Noah to still be laying there. He was gone. My heart dropped to my stomach. Why did he leave? Did I freak him out? Or was it something worse? I crawled out of bed and paced around my room for a beat to try and calm myself and get my thoughts in order. He probably just had to leave early because he had work or something going on. I made myself believe that was the case, otherwise, I was going to freak myself out too much. And, it wouldn’t hurt to text him and see why he had to leave so early.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my phone from the bedside table. I texted Noah ‘Hey, hope everything’s okay. Why’d you leave so early?’ I hit send and threw my phone onto my bed. I didn’t want to look and see if there would be a notification. Sending texts like that always stressed me out. I always thought they would freak people out. Maybe I was just too in my own head. I picked my phone back up, and there was nothing yet. But, it was still early. I had to give it time. I walked out of my room, phone in hand and started making myself breakfast. Maybe he would reply by the time I was done. I was wrong. He still hadn’t texted back, but it still hadn’t been that long since I had sent the text. I just had to keep going on with my day. Keep myself distracted. I wasn’t going to let this get to me.

After about four hours, Noah still hadn’t texted me back and I was beginning to worry. Maybe I did scare him off. My mind began to wander and overanalyze everything I did in the past day that he could have considered weird or off-putting. My mind decided that it could have been anything I did, and this was driving me crazy. I needed answers, so I decided to text him again. ‘Hey, Noah. Did I do anything?’

I sent this and really did not look at my phone this time. I didn’t look at it until the next morning. Still no reply. Something was seriously wrong. Now I was actually worried.

***

It had been a week and five unread texts later and Noah was still nowhere to be seen, or heard from, or literally anything. It was like the dude had fallen off the edge of the world. But, the murders didn’t stop, and neither did my stress. I thought of him every day. Every time there was a new murder, I was expecting it to be his face that showed up as the next victim. I could not handle this.

I had to sleep alone again, but there wasn’t much sleeping being done. I had called out of work for days at a time, just because my anxiety was so debilitating. This was insane. I had never obsessed over a guy like this. But, it could also be because every day I didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

This continued for days on end, until one day, I was taking a walk around the courtyard and I felt a buzz in my jacket pocket. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but my first thought was ‘What if this is Noah?’ I decided to let it wait. If it was Noah, he didn’t deserve my immediate reply anyway. And if it wasn’t Noah, then it would just set me off again. I waited a couple of minutes, not noticing that I was walking in a circle around the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and I finally dug my phone out of my pocket.

The text was from a number I did not recognize, so my heart immediately dropped. It wasn’t Noah. I read the text anyway, because I was already looking at my phone. But, the text was not what I expected. It read, ‘Chris. It’s Noah. Come to my apartment.’

[thestarfilledsea]

Quiet day

it’s my birthday! wooooooooo i’m ancient now.

Have a self indulgent “Wukong struggles with the passage of time” fic because i can and this has been sitting in my drafts for a month.

AO3

words: ehhh like 1k

—

Have you ever noticed that you’ve gotten used to the quiet?

The warm light of the lantern hanging from above flooded through Wukong’s cracked eyelids. Throwing an arm over his face, a sigh escaped his lips. His fingers drummed against his skull in an old rhythm of a dance he couldn’t quite remember the steps to. It had to be at least two millennia ago. Where’d that even happen anyway? Who was he with?

Echoes of disjointed sensations were all the sage could recall, which was not unusual for a being as old as he. The brush of cloth on his skin, his feet hitting the floor until they ached, spinning on and on and onwards. A festival perhaps? He recalls the smell of the food-rich air, a wild excitement crackling like lightning in his veins, and…oh. Wine. a lot of wine.

A chuckle fell from his lips.

That was a long time ago.

Gods, he’s getting old. Why so nostalgic all of a sudden?

Dragging his arm back and peering upwards through his loosening fingers, Wukong couldn’t help but stare at the rays of light pouring through his lax grip. It wasn’t unlike laying under the thick branches of flowerfruit mountain.

Wukong never considered himself old…mentally, that is. As the years went by though, he could feel himself becoming more and more complacent. Content to sit and watch the world go by. To watch it bloom, wither and die only to sprout from its own remains again.

He felt disconnected from it. An observer watching a never-ending cycle repeat until time itself runs out. His memories meld together into an indistinguishable blur, only solidified by the stories scholars tell and ghosts of sensations the king recalls. In a way, he was perfectly fine to let those memories fade and die as the rest of his past did. Maybe there was some reason for mortals' demise. I mean, he could barely recall some of the things he’s done in his life until someone asks him to recount the tale.

Wukong shifts, adjusting himself more comfortably into his couch. his ears twitching towards the timeless sound of the monkey's play.

Some things never left him though. Like the weight of the circle upon his head, the scars that still ache when it rains, and the dreams he has almost every time he sleeps. The dreams are disjointed and chaotic, blurry images paired with unintelligible voices painted with an urgency he didn’t understand. A language he no longer spoke.

He’d drag himself out of bed, still burdened by the weight of the long restless nights. His body felt more like a vessel than actually him these days, with aching scars and calloused hands serving as a constant reminder of his age. His eyes, once full of the curiosity and excitement of youth, were now weary and dull, stained by smoke.

No matter how desperately he tried, he could never truly rid himself of the ghosts of his past. The faces of those that stood before him remained as their names faded. But he could feel their presence. Looming over him—lingering.

The feeling of nothing shook him to his core at times. The realization that another year had passed without so much a blink of an eye rattled him. Seemingly going in and out of some sort of fugue state. One moment it was spring, the next thing he knew snow had fallen.

The lights between his fingers danced timelessly before his eyes. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, not quite sure if he’d be able to summon the strength to roll off the couch. You’d think he’d be better at this by now, but he wasn’t.

The faint murmur of someone lecturing echoed in his mind, ever so faintly, teasingly just out of earshot. As if they were standing just outside the door. He couldn't quite make out the words, but it was a voice he knew all too well - one of reprimanding before a punishment.

The voice seemed to grow closer, as if the person was getting impatient. Frustrated, he strained his ears, desperate to understand what was being said. Yet it still stayed just out of reach, frustrating him even more.

“Monkey King!”

The sound of his successor's voice made the sage jump, snapping him out of whatever masochistic reverie he had been swimming in. MK had a knack for doing that. Always seeming to know when to come knocking. Like a ray of the sun leaking through the fog, shedding light on the world around him.

“I brought some noodles cause Pigsy said you were more mopey than usual.” MK casually swung open the creaky door of the cottage and waltzed inside.

“I don’t mope, I brood. There’s a difference.” Wukong mumbled, defeatedly sitting upright. The inviting aroma of fresh food wafting through the cottage for the first time in weeks.

“Yeah yeah I’m sure there is in your world, now eat up before I have to call in your entire army to cheer you up.” MK says, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of the sage.

Wukong chuckled, unwrapping the bag and peering inside at the warm food that awaited him. MK looked on expectantly, while pulling out his own smaller serving.

“Dig in.” MK encouraged, as he continued struggling with the packaging on his own serving. Wukong was not daft, quite the opposite. He understood perfectly well that his apprentice was concerned about him, watching him like a hawk to ensure that he was eating.

Sometimes he forgets how observant his student could be. Beneath the happy go lucky demeanor, MK was sharp as a tack. Wukong, after all, took pride in his ability to act like there was absolutely nothing wrong even during his... episodes.

Yet, despite all these measures and precautions, MK saw right through him and never failed to show his concern.

With an ancient mischievous twinkle in his eye, Wukong tilted the container of noodles back and devoured the entire thing in one single fluid motion. The sound of MK’s snort was the prize he had won, as he raised the empty container in a mock victory, as if displaying an achievement for all to see.

“All gone!” He set the remains of his massacre to the side, settling comfortably into the couch. The tension and unknowing of earlier dissipated with the laughter of another.

“You are one crazy old man.” MK snorted, bringing his own noodles to his mouth.

“I prefer the term eccentric, actually.” Wukong replied in an exaggerated tone before unleashing a loud belch the likes of which gods would fear.

“See, If you had burped like that in the Lady Bone Demon’s direction you could’ve one-shot her” MK mumbled, his mouth full of noodles as he leaned back in the chair.

“You know, in all my years of living, I’ve never had someone bring such a good point to my attention.”

“That’s what I’m here for, remember? To challenge an old man’s ideas.” MK teased, fishing around the bottom of his own noodle container for the scraps of a meal now eaten.

“Yeah yeah, now hand over the remote.” Wukong dismissed with the wave of his hand. MK expertly tossed it over, eyes casting themselves towards the television.

“Quiet day?”

“Quiet day.”

MK nodded knowingly, shifting himself into a more comfortable position.

“I was thinking you’d show me that series that you always talk about. That uh…what’s it called?” Wukong struggled to recall the name of the show he was referring to. It was on the tip of his tongue.

MK's face instantly lit up with excitement, clearly knowing exactly what his teacher had been trying to remember.

"I know! You mean the show about the superhero team," he interjected excitedly, finishing his master's sentence for him with a smile. "I think you'll love it! It's all about this group of crime fighters who use their powers to protect the city and take down villains—“ MK rattled on about the plot as Wukong pulled it up, adjusting himself as to be facing both the screen and his student.

Sometimes, a new kind of quiet can shake things up. The quiet doesn’t have to be spent alone

[chicknparm]

So uh. TW death, and all that.

Today I stood beside my grandmother, one of the women who raised me, the woman who took me in after my mom died, and I held her head, and stroked her hair, and looked into her eyes as she breathed her last breath. I was the last thing she ever saw.

People always talk about dying “old, peaceful, and surrounded by loved ones” as the ideal way to go, and I’m sure people will describe her death that way to make themselves feel better. Mostly the people who weren’t actually there, because nobody who sat in that room with her and held her hand would describe that process as peaceful. It was hell. She was in agony. Most of what she was able to say was just “oh god,” “please,” and “I want to get out of here.” When the drugs were enough to soothe her pain, but hadn’t yet robbed her of her lucidity, she was able to respond to questions, tell us she loved us, make requests (the last thing she ever asked for was a cup of cold, whole milk). She was still there. She’d always been there.

Id watched her physically deteriorate over the last 10+ years; she lost weight, lost hair, lost the ability to breathe without an oxygen tank, and to keep her dentures in. But her mind never deteriorated. She’d joke about “senior moments” when she’d forget a name or her mind would blank on something, but realistically that didn’t happen to her anymore than it happens to anyone else. If anything, it was a similar enough joke to when we say “homophobia strikes again” anytime something inconvenience us. She never actually forgot anybody, she called and sent cards for everyone’s birthdays, and trust me there were birthdays on almost every day of the calendar. She did her crosswords and watched Jeopardy and played Trivial Pursuit. She was There. And I think she was still There in the end. And that made it so much worse.

It seems like a special kind of hell to suffer through the end of your life, completely disconnected from yourself, your memories, the life you lived. I think it’s another, more understandable and relatable and therefore terrifying hell to be dying in extreme pain, but unable to physically form words despite your best efforts. Unable to effectively communicate with your loved ones. Everyone in the room wishes they could take your pain away, but everyone also knows they can’t. Everyone in the room knows what’s going on but we can’t say it. Well, we don’t say it. It’s only the dying person who truly can’t.

She smiled when her son made a joke, responded in kind when we said we loved her. She asked for milk. So when all she could do was moan and make noises, and we’d ask her if she needed meds, if she was in pain, and she’d shake her head, I’m inclined to believe that she knew what she was doing. Have you ever seen someone cry, without physically being able to make tears, or move their body, or even make more than an “ahhhh” sound? I think that’s what was happening. She knew we loved her, and she loved us, but as things went on it’s obvious to me that she was scared. She wasn’t ready to leave. She wanted to live. She didn’t go peacefully, she want gasping, desperately looking at us, I’m sure wishing we could grab her and pull her out of this and help her breathe, help her live. But we couldn’t. All we could do was stand there and hold her and kiss her forehead and tell her we love her and are proud of her and grateful for her. But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t save her. She was in agony, agony she was fully aware of, until she died while desperately fighting against her body, trying to live. It was not peaceful, or beautiful, or profound. It was hell. And the only people who will try and frame it as the former are the ones who were too selfish and cowardly to be there to bear witness.

My grandmother was one of eleven children. So she had 10 siblings, and therefore more nieces and nephews and grand nieces and grand nephews than one could count. She loved so many people, and touched so many lives, but the only people there at the end were me, my father, and his girlfriend. One of her sisters was there the day before, but she left shortly after she and my dad gave the consent to move to pain management care as she “transitioned.” That sister went home but continued to check in. One of her grand-nephews, an 8 year old boy, called my phone last night so that I could hold it up to her so he could tell his great aunt that he loved her. That was it. That was the only contact we had with her massive family while she died. Her sister that she was closest with, who drove her to appointments, who played cards at her appointment, who went to lunch with her all the time? She was nowhere to be found. She had to go out of town to another great-niece’s graduation (I’m telling you, there’s a lot of them). The first sister I told you about was also planning to go that. But she canceled those plans, because her fucking sister was dying. If anybody deserved to be surrounded by family it was her. I had to take a greyhound bus to come see her but I didn’t question for a second whether or not I should. I heard she was doing bad, and I left, and I was determined to stay by her side until she didn’t need me anymore, one way or another, consequences be damned. Because she would’ve done the same thing. Maybe I’m the weird one and my perspective is skewed by the frankly insane degree of toughness, and principles, that the women who raised me showed. If I was suffering like that, there’s not a chance she would’ve left my side. It seems like that doesn’t matter to most people, but it matters to me.

Anyway sorry for dumping this on your dash. I’m guessing most of the people reading this, especially reading to the end, are the people in my discord server so you already know What Happened, but I needed to fully vent, and also you understand there are people in that chat who knew this woman personally, and I don’t want to force these details onto them. Also my therapist wants me to journal more, so at least by writing this I’ll have something to show her on Monday. Idk how to end this. This sucks.

[fiddlepies]

grief and absurdity

it's been just under a month since i beat P3R and i've had some time to distill my thoughts on it, because there's something about it that just really resonates with me, particularly post-october, and i'd like to write about it. this is kind of personal but i want to share it anyway. cw for parental death

six months ago my mother passed away, and a month after that i moved out on my own and started university. i started making tons of new friends and spending time with them and going to clubs and events. but despite that, one of the biggest struggles i had in that period of change and adjustment was isolation. something that kept coming up in grief counselling was how disconnected i felt from my new life, because i had this horrific life event and all these complicated emotions and mourning weighing me down. it felt like when i spent time with my new friends i couldn't engage or connect like i wanted to, because the bereavement was such a big part of me but i couldn't talk about it. i had no idea how to go about opening up to people i've only known for a couple of weeks about something so intense. i felt so awkward and alone, and so pained, but life went on, dragging me behind it

P3R was my first exposure to P3, i knew barely anything about it, but when i was playing through it i really felt like it saw me. obviously the game is all about life and especially death, but the way the actual game flow is constructed just completely represents how i felt in these past months. like shinji's death for instance. it's fucking awful, the worst-case scenario, and you're powerless to do anything as you watch this life you loved disappear forever. you're forever changed.

but you still have to go to school after that. you still have to study for your exams. you have to meet people and spend time with them, even when they have no idea the depths of what's actually going on. you want to tell them but they could never understand. a cycle of doing your best to be fine in the day while the memories catch up with you at night. it's completely absurd, going back to a 'normal' daily life while carrying such a burden. but you have to do it, don't you?

that's what i felt like. when i spent the day as the MC in class, maybe seeing someone after school, and then returning back to a somber dorm, where personal reality sets in... that's exactly how i felt every night for weeks. i still do. it's fucking bizarre.

but you know, i wasn't completely alone. even though the people i surrounded myself day to day in class didn't understand, i had people who did understand. my friends who knew me before everything happened, who were there for me at the crux of it. i have still have a family who loves me. that's what i saw in SEES after shinji's death. friends and allies that truly do understand and share in your pain. going back to the dorm every day and seeing everyone's faces hurt, but it hurt in a way that wasn't lonely. it was comforting, knowing none of them would be alone in this. one of the moments that really solidified SEES as a family to me.

and mitsuru's father's death, god. the week where she was absent due to funeral and inheritance preparations hit me especially hard. since i lost a parent too, i had to be part of the same processes. luckily nowhere near the extent she had to, being the sole benefactor and organiser, but my heart just ached for her because i knew what that felt like. it doesn't feel fair, you feel way too young to be losing someone like this... but you have to do it. you have to.

i don't really know how to end this. but it's been on my mind for a while and i wanted to share my impressions... maybe someone else feels similarly. if you read all of this, thank you. make sure to tell people you love them 💛

[spicyicymeloncat]

I don’t remember if I ever rlly elaborated on my potential Ninjago s12 but I’m listening to GRRRLS and it reminded me of it, so briefly here’s all the ideas I had for it (and are currently having for it because I am now coming up with stuff on the fly):

The focus on Jay would be forshadowed by the fact that Jay doesn’t get a resolution to what he does in s11. He seemingly feels bad about ignoring Zane’s dream and in general feels more of a disconnect to the group. This is subtle and he tries not to let it bother him. This is highlighted more at the start of the season, as they are investigating the mechanics hideout.

We would see that Jay gets transported as player 2. He arrives at the very core of prime empire, the tower, which also serves as menu screen. He’s greeted by Unagami, who offers to play games with him, an offer he takes due to being excited

I think on the ninja’s end it would mostly be the same. BUT Whilst Zane and Pixal can’t enter the game due to risk of their data getting scrambled (how that works I’ve decided is that, Prime Empire works by translating bio matter to digital but it can only do bio matter bc it knows how it works, and it doesn’t know how nindroids are made and therefore can’t translate them without risk of error), zane and pixal can set up some sort of communication system that allows them to contact the ninja. Essentially zane and pixal are video calling the ninja from their minds and over the course of the season they chip in with gaming tips (canonically zane and pixal are both gamers so)

The ninja end up meeting superstar rockin Jay, and it goes on as normal, although Okino is a little weirded out by him

In the just dance episode, Nya finds out on the dance floor that Jay is the sussus amogus imposter. Shock horror on the dance floor

It turns out that superstar rockin Jay was just an artificial construct being controlled by the real Jay who is still in the tower with Unagami. But recently Jay and Unagami had a real fight and that’s lead to Unagami taking control of superstar rockin Jay in an attempts to stop his friends’ progress

Not entirely sure how the superstar rockin Jay thing ends tho, all Ik is that I want Nya to have an “oh my god what happened to my boyfriend”/“wait a minute Jay would never say that”

There would be an episode detailing Jay’s pov, showing how he and Unagami became friends and started playing the games together after feeling similarly lonely, exploring Jay’s tendency to ignore his problems and how it’s resulting in him growing distant, before Jay realises he doesn’t want to give up on himself and he’s gonna try to reunite with his friends (probably after seeing how hard the ninja are trying to find him). Then Unagami reacts badly to the idea of being abandoned by Jay and they fight, ending with Jay falling through the walls and into the core of prime empire, in like this weird void of pure code.

I kinda also wanted to idk make more lava moments but that’s just me

I never really worked out what I wanted Libber (Jay’s mum) to do in this but she’s gonna be relevant

Like something something she’s been here, there’s an echo of her buried in the code. Maybe the game was based on her travels somehow. I kinda wanted Jay to be guided out of the code void by some sort of depiction of her

I kinda want Milton Dyer and Scott to have both somehow known Libber

Maybe libber really did abandon Jay. Maybe like Jay she also had issues that made her feel like she had to distance herself. Maybe there was a genuine reason and she was taken from him. Maybe the point of the season is that it’s hard to tell what happened in the past but that doesn’t stop you from carrying on in the future

Idk I just need there to be a more conscious parallel between jay and Unagami and themes of abandonment

There’s also some kind of theme of giving up not giving up seen with Scott, Okino and Blazey (racer 7), where they’re all encouraged to keep trying. I gotta do sometime with that idk…

Also the mechanic deserves to be cooler. Like can we make him more badass I want his villain resume to look so good that he actually qualifies as a Crystal council member

That’s all I had/have got for now but yeah! I do like most of the season I just think it has a lot more potential yknow

[canirove]

Ten years | Chapter 5

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

It's been a week since Declan and I kissed, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I've tried keeping myself busy with the pub, working out, reading, watching tv... Even going out with Benjamin again. But it's been impossible. The moment I disconnected for a second, I'm back on that car, feeling his lips on mine.

"Ah, fuck, shit!" I yell.

"What happened?" Dom says, running from the other side of the pub to check on me.

"I burnt my hand with the coffee machine. Fuck!"

"How did you do that?" he says, quickly putting it under cold water. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing" I say, the water easing my pain a bit.

"And that's why you burnt your hand. Because you weren't thinking. At all."

"I'm stupid, I know."

"You aren't stupid. But something is definitely going on with you."

"Dom, it hurts" I say, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. This doesn't look good."

"It isn't that... Oh" I say when I see the state of my hand.

"Lily, can you manage on your own?" Dom says.

"Yes, of course. Is it too bad?"

"I don't know. But I don't like how pale she's getting" he says, covering my hand with a wet cloth. "Let's go."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"It looks more than it actually is" the doctor says, putting some lotion on my hand. "Very painful, but not serious."

When we arrived at the hospital I was crying like a baby, Dom having to carry me on his arms because of the pain.

"Thank God" he says.

"But you must do something about this, miss" the doctor continues. "It's your second visit in a week. First you cut your finger on your other hand, and now this."

"Sorry" I say between sobs.

"Is there anything worrying you?"

"No" I lie. "It's just that during summer we have too much work."

"Well, we don't want to lose you and having the best pub in the area going to hell, so you better take some days off and rest."

"But..."

"You heard him, sis."

"Next time I see you, I hope it's at the pub sharing a beer, not having to take care of another wound."

"I'll try" I say, my hand throbbing.

"I'll give you some painkillers for the pain. You can take them twice a day, and put the lotion three times. As it starts healing, you can do it less often. But be careful with the blisters, we don't want to risk an infection."

"I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry" Dom says. "Thank you very much."

"Thank you" I repeat after my brother.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"How are you feeling?"

"I think the painkillers are starting to kick in" I say, closing my eyes and resting my head on the car's headrest.

"Good, good. But sis, did you notice how the doctor was flirting with you?"

"What?" I mutter, my eyes still closed.

"He said that he hoped that next time he saw you, it was sharing a beer at the pub."

"And?"

"That's flirting."

"Whatever."

"Maybe you should ask him out since things aren't going anywhere with Benjamin."

"Dom, I feel like my hand is about to explode. Can we please discuss my love life later?"

"Of course" he says, definitely smiling from ear to ear.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

"There you are. Finally!" someone says as Dom helps me get out of the car. No, not someone. Declan. Why is he here? "How are you? Are you ok?"

"It's less than what it looks" Dom says.

"When we went into the pub and Lily told us you had gone to the hospital because you had burnt your hand, I thought the worst."

"I'm fine" I say, my voice sounding very weird on my ears.

"It looks nasty" Declan says, grabbing my arm to check my hand. "Are you sure it isn't serious?" he asks, his thumb doing small circles on my forearm, something he used to do to help me calm down when we were together. And something that if I wasn't feeling completely numb because of the painkillers, would definitely make my knees feel like jelly.

"It isn't" Dom says.

"Well, if she isn't dying, then we can go back to minding our own business. Can't we, Deccy?" Birgit says behind him.

"Deccy" I snort, everyone looking at me. "Sorry. The painkillers."

"I think you need to lay down for a bit" Dom says.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

"Take care of yourself" Declan says, finally letting go of my arm.

"I will, Deccy" I say, quickly realizing what I've said and trying to cover my mouth with my hand. But I use my burnt one, the pain making me feel dizzy.

"Let's go" Dom says, picking me up in his arms again. And I don't know if it's the pain, the painkillers or all of it, but I could swear Birgit mouthed something like "you are dead, bitch."

[wickedlittlecritta]

Psst psst psst. you wanna read this little interlude between stories 2 and 3 in my nano project?

You’re about an hour east of Flagstaff when you all stop at a diner, and you see the payphone. It looks like it still works, though the little shelter around it has been heavily layered in graffiti.

It asks for only fifty cents for a call still, and you find two quarters in your jacket pocket.

It feels like a sign from God. You’re not sure you believe in God anymore though.

“I’ll be a second,” you tell Fox. “I gotta take care of something first.”

He looks at you. Not with suspicion, though you think maybe he should. Just with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just need a second.”

He nods. When you were in high school you used to think you couldn’t possibly be in love with him, because love seemed like a fickle, impermanent thing, and whatever the two of you had was much deeper. But you’ve learned that that’s what love is supposed to be. Everyone else had it wrong, not you.

You are not used to being right. Not about the important things.

Fox heads inside the diner, and you miss him even though he’s just right there.

You could change your mind. You can’t.

You walk across the lot to the payphone, sitting forlorn by a bus stop sign, and put the fifty cents in. The dial tone hums in your ear as you press those old, clunky buttons down satisfyingly in the familiar rhythm of your parent’s landline number.

You hope they haven’t gotten rid of it since you left. They were talking about it. Only scams and solicitors calling, your mother said.

Do you hope more for your mother to pick up, or your father? Both will ask questions you can’t answer. You miss them both terribly. But you get along with them better when you miss them, you've found.

The phone rings. It keeps ringing. You wonder if you’ll go to voicemail. You wonder if they did disconnect their landline, and the payphone will simply ring forever, hopelessly hopeful.

Maybe voicemail would be best.

There is a click as the phone is picked up. “Chevalier residence,” your mother’s voice says. You adjust your hold on the phone.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Marcel? Marcel! Honey, are you alright? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine. I’m with Fox.” You don’t tell her where you are. It’s safest if she doesn’t know.

There is a brief moment of silence. “Honey. Did you elope with Fox?”

You startle. “What? No.”

“You know we like Fox, you could come home and—”

“Mom, we didn’t elope. We…” You don’t want her to worry. She’s going to worry anyway. “We maybe. Got into a little trouble. With the mob.”

Silence again. “Jesus Christ, Marcel.”

“Nothing bad has happened. We’re just being careful.”

Your mother sighs. You feel bad. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“You should know better than get involved in anything like that.”

You don’t answer. How can you? You’ve known better your whole life, but you just keep making bad choices. Leaving Fox. Going into the Navy. Robbing the MFA with Fox. You knew better every time. It’s like you’re punishing yourself, only you’re not sure exactly what crime you committed to deserve the things you do to yourself. Being born, maybe. Feeling like a loose gear that’s never fit in the machine of life, probably.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I’m sorry I never figured out how to be a better person.” You hope you don’t sound bitter. You aren’t. You’re just a little confused. Why do you always feel so confused when you talk to your family?

“Marcel,” your mother says.

“I love you,” you tell her. “Tell Dad I love him too, okay?”

“Marcel, I don’t know what’s going on, but we can fix things. Come home.”

“I promise I’m going to stay out of trouble,” you lie. It’s possible to lie to your mother over the phone, if you try hard.

“Marcel! Don’t—”

“I love you,” you say again, and hang up. You think you feel worse than you did before you called. You stand in the thin band of shade under the payphone cover a moment longer. The desert in winter is comfortably warm. You’ve been in other deserts, far away, but the smell of greasy fries from the diner is keeping them from encroaching, like a sandstorm in your mind. There’s no sandstorm of memory today. There’s just you and your big boots and feet sweating inside them from your wool socks that are too warm for the weather. You take a big breath and head inside.

The diner is one of those long steel buildings with big neon signs outside, and chrome and red and turquoise inside. Elvis is playing on an old jukebox when you enter, just audible over the sound of chatter. Most of it’s coming from the middle of the diner, where three tables have been pushed together so that Paddy and Carmen and Chela and Fish and Fox can all sit together.

There is an empty chair across from Fox, with a plain white ceramic coffee mug siting at it, full of coffee with cream, waiting for you. You sit at the chair left for you, and pick up your coffee. Fox loves you; he knows how to make it just right.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you again, studying your face. He was never pretty, back when you both thought he was a girl, and he’s not handsome now, with his angular, pointy face, but he has the softest brown eyes.

“Everything is perfect,” you tell him. And you mean it.

[waterfall-ambience]

i will not put noli me tangere and el filibusterismo in perpetua, i will not put noli me tangere and el filibusterismo in perpetua, i will not put noli me tangere and el filibusterismo in perpetua, i will not-

rambling under the cut because i need to figure out something to finish this scene:

the reason why i bring it up at all is because i want to show what a mundane conversation between damien and avery is like when there's not really much else happening in their lives.

much of their conversations in arc 1 were mundane yes but it was like 'getting to know each other (and also letting damien heal a bit after going through the horrors)'. also i will probably need another pass at arc 1 act 2 because i think things are a little messy thematically and i start juggling quite a lot.

-> anyways i wanted that mundane friendship conversation to be about a piece of media. i think literary analysis is something the two of them would talk about (because that's exactly the type of nerds they are, and you've gotta write what you know, yknow?)

there is a precedent for including real books and pieces of media in perpetua. i did it early in arc 1 with mary shelley's frankenstein, to establish perpetua as an educated community, suggest at minerva's sense of humour, and introduce ideas like the rage towards one's creator (with a parent-child / mad science twist).

> haunted hollow (the owl house, but i can't just name drop that one because it's too recent) was mostly used to establish the kind of nerd that avery is, give damien an in-universe blorbo in the form of a zuko/hunter-alike.

>> i might go back to this in arc 3 when the gods chew damien out for not living up to their expectations and compare him to his own blorbo.

> ponyo (which has no in-universe name as of now) was also used to bring in the general theme of "it doesn't matter what you are, i still love you" to the context of damien and avery's friendship. i just needed it to work for a scene and i think it does?

so i absolutely can use real books. the question is whether i should use noli me tangere / el filibusterismo specifically:

el noli came to mind because i'm pretty into it at the moment, and it's thematically rich enough for damien to passionately talk at length about just how hard it goes.

> i'm trying to do this to show that he hasn't just been thinking about haunted hollow for the past 8 months or so, lmao. not that its unrealistic for that to happen, i just think he wouldn't. he's more the type to have a broad knowledge of a lot of different things and then excitedly draw connections between them, rather than fixate on one thing for a long time if that makes sense.

> on a meta level i want to show infodumping and passion in a positive light (avery finds it cute, etc.) because some of my family members don't really appreciate it. i feel like a freak sometimes, i really do.

BUT ANYWAY. the implications of the books

both noli me tangere and el filibusterismo are very much rooted in their socio-historical context, that being the philippines during the late spanish colonial era, and the way it portrays society and the systems in power is unfortunately evergreen. sometimes it feels like hardly anything has changed 137 years later.

in relation to perpetua, the books show a world that the characters have never experienced, whether that be past or present. damien has filipino heritage but the disconnect is apparent (so ironically it loops back around into being a pinoy diaspora experience?). its something to consider when the gods judge him for not being 'good enough representation'.

i dont know how this is going to play out because captain luna is broadly similar to ibarra, in that they're idealistic, upper class illustrado filipinos who studied abroad and had childhood sweethearts named maria-[something], neither of whom they got with in the end. with bonus queer aspects of their stories because tbh it reads like there was Something between ibarra and elias. but anyway. i dont think luna would've read noli and i dont know how he'd feel about the parallels between him and ibarra. probably not very good!

maria-isabel was named after maria clara YES, but i read noli and fili recently so everything surrounding the luna/ibarra parallels are a coincidence.

> damien will likely pick up on these parallels and that opens up an entire can of worms!! worms that i don't know what to do with! but also its an interesting book and i want more people to read it because it fucks severely.

if you have any suggestions for works that damien can be interested in (thematic relevance to greater story ideal) i would love to hear them