#it's kind of like being pulled into a world of funhouse mirrors

[yakketymax]

ok ok wait, funhouse mirror glass eyes??? thats SO fascinating- does that have anything to do with how funnel casts their illusions? sort of like reflecting a funhouse mirror version of something, or projecting it into the world? or is it just a cool magic thing they can do because they're rad as hell

Upon multiple occasions, I've described Funnels eyes as being a kind of pseudo magic wands. Without their eyes, Funnel is not entirely powerless both physically and magically, but they are handicapped by a drastic amount- so like if they were to be blinded by debris or if their eyes were to get covered in some manner. They can cast lesser illusions using the perpetual dark aura that exudes from them naturally (Witch Cookies and their inherent bad vibes) but they won't be much and they'll be easy to shake off.

Funnels eyes are a funhouse mirror that's been directly connected to the brain of someone with a wild and loud imagination, which is why it requires more focus from them to make something "normal," like a reflection of another person or a reflection of a real place. You look into the mirror and you see whatever they want you to see reflected back at you, warped far beyond what's comfortable in reality.

[vesipha]

right person, wrong time | kim namjoon

summary: you and namjoon keep saying goodbyes even though you know he is the love of your life. content: angst ♡ 691 words

It wasn’t supposed to rain that day.

But of course, it did.

A slanted, indecisive kind of rain that tapped on the crooked umbrella you held above your heads like it was knocking gently on the door of goodbye. Namjoon always hated goodbyes. And you—you hated him for being the one you had to say it to.

The rain kept soaking the hem of your jeans and blurring the outline of the train station as if the universe was trying to smudge you out. You stood under that crooked umbrella like a cliché, one half shielding you from the weather, the other half failing entirely. A perfect metaphor for your relationship.

Namjoon stood across from you, his suitcase at his side, that ridiculous passport cover you gave him tucked under his arm. He looked like someone preparing for a flight, not just a train. A man about to leave for a life that didn’t have you in it.

“You always pick the saddest weather,” you said, trying to laugh. Your voice cracked like glass anyway.

He gave a soft smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes anymore. “You think I planned the rain?”

“I think the rain plans you.”

He glanced up, following a drop that slipped from the umbrella’s edge. “Maybe it’s poetic.”

“Maybe it’s cruel.”

You weren’t touching. That’s what you remember most vividly. His fingers were in his coat pocket. Yours were white-knuckling the umbrella handle. Between you: every word you never said, every almost, every 'I love you' you were too scared to let loose.

“Why are we like this?” you asked.

“Like what?”

“Right for each other. But never at the right time.”

Namjoon looked away then, toward the tracks, like he was afraid that if he met your eyes, he’d crumble. “If I knew that,” he said, “I’d rewrite the whole damn story.”

And there it was—that ache. The one that bloomed every time you imagined what you could’ve been if you’d just been less yourselves. If he hadn’t had to chase his dreams to a different city, a different future. If you hadn’t been so rooted, so unwilling to un-plant your whole life just to follow him.

You kissed. You don’t remember moving. Just his lips on yours, warm and trembling, like he was trying to memorize the shape of goodbye. Your hands slid into his hair. His arms wrapped around you like he was trying to keep something from slipping through his fingers.

When you pulled away, he whispered against your lips, “I’ll miss you every day.”

And that was the worst part—because you would too.

The loudspeaker overhead crackled, announcing the departure. The train was waiting, the world already pulling him away from you in invisible threads.

You wanted to be brave. To tell him to stay. Or at least to beg. But the words died in your throat like wilted flowers.

Instead, you asked, “Do you think we’ll find each other again?”

Namjoon’s eyes softened. He brushed a thumb across your cheekbone. “We always do. In some version of us. Maybe not in this one.”

A pause. The kind that feels like an eternity living in the span of a second.

“I love you,” you breathed. Finally. “Even if it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he said. “It matters more than you know.”

He stepped back. Picked up his suitcase. And every inch he moved away from you felt like someone pulling thread from a seam—quiet, deliberate, final.

You didn’t watch him board. You couldn’t. You stared at the ground, watching raindrops gather in a small puddle by your boot, warping your reflection like a funhouse mirror.

And when the train pulled away, the sound was deafening.

You stood there long after it left. Still holding the umbrella like a relic. Still feeling the ghost of his mouth on yours. Still pretending the warmth on your face was rain and not heartbreak leaking out of you in slow drips.

The umbrella tilted to one side. The wind picked up. And just like that, you were alone.

But even in the cold, the kiss lingered.

The only warm thing left that day.

[bestworstcase]

Took a look at the image organizer you linked the other day, and MY OH MY is there so much to unpack there. While I think I understand most of it, there's still some stuff I'm unclear about. What are those quotations from? What's Jaune doing here (and I think I remember you mentioning him as the Oz stand-in for the Ever After)? What about those scattered extra panels in the Jaune column, like Bumbleby-Adam and the maple leaf? What're the entire bottom three rows doing, what is the truth, and who is the "she" who knows it? I really need to do a rewatch...

By all means, go as overboard as you want to (or not), I just love hearing what you have to say.

the quotations are all heraclitus (there’s a link to the fragments at the bottom – the Bn tag on each quote is the fragment number) – heraclitus being a pre-socratic philosopher who had a significant influence on plato, and rwby being a story that draws heavily from plato (see also: atlas/atlantis). the philosophical ideas articulated in v9 regarding balance and creation/destruction get at concepts like flux (everything rests by changing; equilibrium is a state of constant motion and transformation, like a top which stays upright only while it spins) and strife (not conflict, but the push-and-pull between opposite forces, like the tension on a string which creates music).

i get very exited about this because it is the basis for rwby’s destruction-is-not-bad thesis; true equilibrium cannot be found without destruction because creation must have its counterweight. conflict is antithetical to balance specifically because it is a rejection of strife—it’s, to continue the metaphors, creation smashing the top because it doesn’t like that destruction causes it to spin instead of standing perfectly upright, or destruction cutting the string to free itself from destruction.

the OP specifically is about my thesis that rwby’s narrative is fractal—reflected aspects of the ozlem story repeating over and over again as this shattered fairytale strives to get it right this time. jaune (like cinder, like ruby) is a mirror held up to salem—the girl in the tower refracted in the “lovable idiot stuck in the tree”—but he’s a funhouse mirror. he’s a salem without her faith in humanity; a salem who is fundamentally cynical (he cheats his way into beacon, he wanted to be the hero to prove himself worthy to his family, he is ultimately corrupted by his rejection of change—which twists him into a reflection of ozpin instead) and thus repeatedly puts himself in the tower. and the point of him with respect to the fractal narrative is that being Good and Kind did not save him from his cynicism, and that the essential difference between salem and ozma is that she truly believes in her cause (that the gods are unjust and humanity must live free) whereas his commitment is hollow and borne of fear.

(likewise cinder is a salem whose tower is her faith, because what cinder believes in is the innate cruelty and injustice of the world and her destiny to be crushed beneath it, and she is in want of something true to believe instead; and ruby is… more or less literally who salem was when she was young)

jaune is also specifically paralleled with cinder in this regard – his time in the ever after mirrors her exile after haven, and both reflect salem’s isolation after the moonfall; he gives into despair and stagnates (like oz), cinder angrily drags herself out of the pit and keeps clawing her way forward (like salem).

(yang and blake killing adam are just there because i didn’t have a better place to note the echoed framing when cinder kills rhodes – different camera angle, but there is a striking visual comparison drawn here. the narrative does not smile on rhodes)

and then the last three rows are my unhinged mumbling about salem having met the blacksmith before in picture form. Ma’am Why Is Your Illustration Of The Human Soul A Blacksmith. What Do You Know.

like the thing is. heraclitus again: fire is arche. it is the beginning. the transformations of fire, first into sea, and of the sea half becomes earth, half whirlwind. from the outside, the tree is earth and air (the holes in the ground, the leaves on the wind) – on the inside, it’s an ethereal cosmic ‘river’ of souls flowing to their next life; and in the center, it is a forge. and this rhymes also with ‘for it is death to souls to become water, and death to water to become earth, but water comes from earth, and from water, souls’ – like

???

before she’s drowned in the fountain, salem is engulfed in dark’s flame – the flame he once used to restore jabber to life. and then she drowns and returns, with aura, now immortal. salem leaps into the pool of grimm seeking change and is transformed – the faunus in the myth she quotes immerse themselves in magical waters and are transformed. and then we have this recurring motif of a character (or symbol thereof) engulfed by flame, trees, katabasis, drownings, spiritual or physical rebirth. and salem waving the blacksmith under our noses since 2014. maple leaf carved into the frame of her family portrait – maple leafs shed by the tree – the maple leaf guiding jaune to pyrrha’s statue. it’s very

it sure is pointing in a direction!

[erik-even-wordier]

I come from a small, rural town in Wisconsin

Posted to Facebook by Olver Kornetzke on May 1, 2025

I come from a small, rural town in Wisconsin—the kind of place where the high school mascot is sacred, the churches outnumber the stoplights, and the local diner still offers political commentary with your scrambled eggs, all filtered through a Reagan-era lens of rugged individualism and bootstrap theology. It’s a town that raised me, yes—but also one I outgrew, not out of arrogance, but out of an insatiable curiosity that was simply not compatible with fences and familiar last names.

My childhood was an oddity in that place. While most of my peers stayed anchored in the gravitational pull of local norms and traditions, my parents handed me a passport and pointed outward. Road trips across the US turned into train rides through Eastern Europe. I was the kid who collected fossils and insects instead of baseball cards, who could name capitals but not quarterbacks. Later, I moved abroad. I pursued higher education. I immersed myself in history, science, philosophy, and the relentless pursuit of knowledge and understanding, trying to understand not just the world, but why people move through it the way they do.

And then, like some tragic protagonist in a novel about the perils of nostalgia, I came back.

If distance grants perspective, then returning to the town of my youth was less like coming home and more like stepping into a diorama. The streets hadn’t changed, but I had. What once seemed wholesome now felt performative. The patriotism wasn’t pride—it was ritual. The friendliness wasn’t openness—it was surveillance. And beneath it all ran a silent, suffocating current of fear: fear of change, fear of the other, fear of being left behind.

This divide isn’t just geographical. It’s evolutionary.

For 95% of our species’ existence, we lived in small, kin-based bands where survival was contingent on cohesion, predictability, and suspicion of outsiders. Tribalism wasn’t a flaw—it was a feature. It kept us alive. To be skeptical of the unfamiliar, to prioritize the known over the unknown, was adaptive. But we don’t live on the savannah anymore. The threats we face are no longer predators or rival clans, but climate collapse, income inequality, and information warfare. Still, the reptilian brain lingers. And it does not care about nuance. It cares about belonging.

Rural America, in many ways, remains a living museum of this tribal wiring. In places where diversity is minimal and ideas circulate slowly, identity calcifies. Community becomes echo chamber. It’s not that people don’t think critically—it’s that critical thinking is punished. Conformity is rewarded. Outsiders—literal or ideological—are threats to the fragile cohesion of a community whose worldview has not been tested by difference but merely reinforced by repetition.

This is the root of the urban-rural divide—not intelligence, not morality, but exposure. In cities, survival demands adaptation: to new cultures, new technologies, new ways of seeing. In rural communities, survival demands continuity. And so when the firehose of modernity blasts through cable news and social media, it’s not processed as information—it’s processed as attack.

And the right wing has weaponized this brilliantly.

They’ve learned that fear is easier to manufacture than hope, and far more profitable. That a brain wired for tribal survival will always choose the strong lie over the complicated truth. That it’s easier to sell paranoia than policy. In my town, like so many others, they claim to be patriots who love their country, but they’ll vote for the man who promises to burn it down. They don’t believe in climate change, but their crops are drowning and their wells are poisoned. They don’t want to be ruled, but they’re desperate to be led—by someone who speaks in absolutes, who confirms their suspicions, who reflects their anger back to them like a funhouse mirror.

And this is the part that stings the most: these are not all bad people. They are people trapped in a feedback loop that exploits the very instincts evolution gave them to survive. They have been trained to confuse subjugation with strength, cruelty with conviction. To them, surrendering their rights to a strongman is not cowardice—it is tribal loyalty. It is faith.

So when I walk those old streets of my youth now, it feels less like homecoming and more like fieldwork. I see not just neighbors but a case study in inherited fear. A once-hopeful people turned against themselves by a machine that knows them better than they know themselves. A culture that clings to its myths not out of ignorance, but out of necessity—because without them, the whole house of cards collapses.

And the tragedy is this: the world they’re fighting to preserve no longer exists. The 1950s never really happened—not the way they remember them. What they mourn is not the loss of a country, but the loss of an illusion. And in their desperation to reclaim it, they have become foot soldiers in a war against their own future.

But still, I hope. Because if evolution has taught us anything, it’s that adaptation is possible. That fear does not have to rule us. That our tribal instincts, while ancient, are not immutable. That exposure, education, and empathy—slow, hard, and human—can expand the circle of who we call us.

I don’t know if my hometown will ever change. But I know I have. I know that what we choose to do with our understanding—how we wield it, how we share it, how we live it—matters more now than ever.

Because history doesn’t just happen to us. We are it. In every conversation. Every vote. Every time we choose truth over comfort, connection over fear.

That’s the long arc. That’s the work. That’s the hope.

[neapenning]

I understand that so much of Phainon's struggle is from the toil- slowly losing his humanity bit by bit, but surely, the first handful of cycles were the most painful.

The first time Khaslana sees Cyrene perish from the black tide. He knows this has to happen, he knows she planned it his way (for him, because she trusts that he is the key that will protect everyone), but it still hurts. His hands feel like they're stained with her blood again., that it's him slicing through her in that field. And he can imagine the pain of his younger self, remembering when it happened to him, but now he doesn't even have his friend to share his pain with. And for a moment, this Phainon is just as alone as he is.

The first time he sees this Phainon meet with all the Chrysos Heirs, and it feels like some sick twisted mirror because it's just like how he remembers it and yet so, so different without Cyrene there. But that's when the loneliness sets in, when he realizes his friends will never see him the way that they see this Phainon. The way this Phainon's life is like watching a movie he lived through a funhouse mirror, where everything is just a little bit off, but knowing this is the way things have to be.

The first time he has to speak of the evils of the cycle, but not having enough answers to the questions. Experiencing doubts from people who used to trust him, seeing how they treat him as an outsider. Knowing that he should speak with more conviction for someone that is telling them they're all doomed and can do nothing to stop it, but knowing that even he has his doubts.

The first time he has to kill himself, knowing he will make the same choice every time.

The first time he has to point his blade at his dearest friend Mydei, the first time he hears the man call him "Deliverer" in a sarcastic tone. Khaslana knows he's being disrespectful by challenging the prince with a waver in his voice, but he can't help it. The first time he uses his own friend's only weakness against him, and seeing his eyes lose their fire by Khaslana's blade. Knowing he has to do it again. Did Mydei feel betrayed? Was the untested belief that this would save the world enough of a justification? How could he do this more than once, knowing it would hurt like this every time?

The first time he turns his blade against his sweetest friend Castorice, who is far more understanding than she should be. He tries to convince her to give up as best he can, but he remembers he always admired her resolve. She is far too kind to him, even as she begs him to turn around and lay down his sword. But he knows he cannot if Cyrene's promise is true (and it has to be true, he's already pulled the Coreflame of Strife from Mydei's limp body), so he continues until he wrests his sword from the dragon's belly.

The first time his gentlest friend Hyacine is at the other end of his sword, who is positive to the end. She is not a warrior, so she cries out in pain when the blade hits for the first time, and he remembers the voices of his childhood friends crying out from the mouths of the black tide monsters. It's the first time he cries in the presence of his opponent, and the first time he wonders if he can really do this (but he has to see it through, he's already felled Mydei and Castorice), and rips the Coreflame from her even as the sky grows dark.

The first time he has to stare into the terrified gaze of Cipher, or hear the agonized cry of Thanatos, or slowly rip Lady Tribos apart one version of her at a time.

Was he relieved for a moment when the cycle reset and saw everyone alive again? Or did he despair knowing he had to do it all again?

And the first time he realizes he takes another life and doesn't feel anything.

[sciencestyled]

Rainbow Ninjas and Disco Balls: Mastering Light and Optics in Art

Alright, my fellow nerds and art enthusiasts, buckle up because we’re about to take a high-speed joyride through the dazzling world of light and optics in art! Picture this: you’ve just chugged three espressos and washed them down with a twelve-pack of Red Bull. You’re vibrating with the kind of energy that could power a small city. Now, imagine channeling that jittery buzz into an art project that not only looks cool but also teaches you some mind-bending physics. Sounds like a wild ride, right? Let’s dive in!

So, light and optics—basically, the universe’s way of flexing its neon muscles. We’re talking about reflection, refraction, and diffraction. These aren’t just words you’d drop at a science fair to sound smart; they’re the secret sauce behind some of the trippiest art you’ll ever see. Think of them as the ninja moves of the physics world, and we’re about to go full Mortal Kombat on this topic.

First up, reflection. Imagine you’re Narcissus, but instead of a pond, you’ve got a disco ball. When light hits that shiny surface, it bounces off like a hyperactive squirrel on a trampoline. This is why you can see your face in the mirror every morning, questioning your life choices and wondering if you really need another cup of coffee. In the art world, mirrors aren’t just for checking your reflection; they’re for creating visual chaos. Artists like Yayoi Kusama take mirrors and go ham with them, creating infinity rooms that make you feel like you’ve stepped into a kaleidoscopic rabbit hole. Seriously, it’s like being trapped inside a lava lamp during a rave.

Next, let’s tackle refraction. This is when light decides to bend like it’s auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. You’ve seen this in action if you’ve ever stuck a straw in a glass of water and noticed it looks like it’s broken in half. Mind-blowing, right? Artists use lenses and prisms to pull off some wicked tricks with refraction. Imagine a painting that changes color and shape as you walk past it. It’s like your very own Hogwarts, minus the existential threat of dark wizards.

Now, diffraction. Picture light as a celebrity trying to sneak past the paparazzi, only to get scattered in all directions by a strategically placed fence. When light encounters an obstacle, it doesn’t just stop—it spreads out, creating patterns that look like they were designed by a digital-age Picasso. Holography, for example, is like diffraction’s greatest hits album. You’ve seen those holograms in sci-fi movies, right? The ones where Princess Leia pops out of R2-D2 and says, “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope”? That’s diffraction working its magic. In the real world, artists use holography to create images that hover in mid-air like spectral illusions. It’s like having your own personal ghost artist.

But wait, there’s more! Let’s combine all these optical shenanigans into one epic art project. Imagine a series of installations that use prisms, lenses, and holography to create an interactive light show. You walk into a room filled with mirrors, and suddenly you’re in a funhouse where reality is as bendy as a rubber band. You turn a corner, and BAM! You’re hit with a prism that splits light into a rainbow, making you feel like you’re on the set of a Skittles commercial. Keep walking, and you stumble upon a holographic display that makes you question whether you’ve accidentally wandered into the Matrix. It’s physics education with art on steroids.

And speaking of physics education with art, let’s not forget the main keyword here. This isn’t just about making pretty pictures; it’s about learning some hardcore science while you’re at it. Think of it as tricking your brain into studying by disguising it as fun. It’s like hiding vegetables in your kid’s mac and cheese—only instead of broccoli, it’s a crash course in optics.

Let’s sprinkle in some contemporary pop culture references, shall we? Imagine you’re Tony Stark, and your art project is the Arc Reactor. You’re using reflection to create that sleek, shiny look that screams “billionaire genius playboy philanthropist.” Refraction? That’s your Iron Man suit’s HUD, bending light to give you all the info you need to kick butt. Diffraction? That’s the holographic blueprints you pull up when you’re about to invent some next-level tech. You’re not just making art; you’re assembling the Avengers of optical phenomena.

Or picture this: you’re in a room full of art installations, each one a tribute to a different pop culture icon. There’s a giant mirror maze inspired by Black Mirror, where every reflection is a distorted version of yourself, challenging your perception of reality. Next, a prism room dedicated to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon,” where light splits into rainbows that dance to the beat of the music. Finally, a holographic tribute to Star Wars, where you can interact with characters like Yoda and Darth Vader, learning about light’s behavior in the process. It’s like Comic-Con meets a science fair, and your brain is the ultimate fanboy.

In conclusion, exploring light and optics through art isn’t just a fun way to pass the time; it’s an educational thrill ride that combines the best of both worlds. It’s like taking a physics class taught by Willy Wonka, where every lesson is a golden ticket to a new adventure. So next time you see a rainbow or catch your reflection in a mirror, remember: you’re not just seeing light—you’re seeing the universe’s way of showing off. And with a little creativity, you can harness that show-off energy to create art that’s not only visually stunning but also scientifically enlightening. Now, go forth and conquer the world of light and optics, one mind-bending art project at a time!

[eldritchamy]

#gonna read later #edit: okay then

I take it you have thoughts?

This feels like one of my less coherent posts, maybe in part because it's got a "woman badly explains eldritch knowledge revealed to her while hallucinating a meeting with an elder god" vibe, maybe partly because I've been eating less and sleeping different.

Maybe partly because I mixed too many metaphors and made a big sloppy mess of a post instead of working out how to say what I was thinking in a way that made more sense.

All of that confusing nonsense is what I would consider "the basics". The POINT of it all is this:

Let's say you have knowledge of something that hasn't happened yet. Something huge. Something with world-ending, maybe existence-ending consequences. Something that is enormously complicated and was set in motion a long time ago, the result of many choices and consequences that have had time to build. Time to establish deep riverbeds in the progression of the universe.

Let's say there's a "Fixed Point" in time that you know is coming. For the sake of the argument you are some manner of being with an unusual relationship to time, and you feel the ripples of cause and effect as they echo backward through the currents of time. Kind of like in Terminator Dark Fate when Carl says the temporal displacement of a Terminator appearing creates a shockwave in time measurable before the event.

Except you experience multiple threads of possibility, different courses history might take, like intrusive thoughts.

You see the shadow of a shadow of the shape of time, the shape of all those currents, reflected in a broken fragment of a funhouse mirror. And you see different pieces of different shadows through different shards of different mirrors.

To use the whirlpool example from the initial post, you are sensitive to the way the current shifts slightly when it gets close to the whirlpool, far enough back that you have enough time to make preparations for it. You have the ability and the KNOWLEDGE to make last-minute choices that can't prevent you from entering its gravity, but can change HOW you enter it so you might just escape its vortex on the other side with the right angle and momentum.

But entering the vortex in the first place is still inevitable.

Enough choices were made, enough consequences have been woven into the tapestry of time, that the path of history is trapped in its current course: there is no longer an available current through the ocean of time that will lead you away from this Fixed Point.

Time is racing toward this event. It's inevitable. There's no stopping it. It WILL happen, one way or another.

The only thing you can do is try to change HOW it happens. And if you twist things just right, you might be able to tweak the circumstances of causality just enough to make it through this event with the fewest, least catastrophic possible consequences.

But how?

You have to pull some strings in the fabric of time. Pull them OUT, if possible. Prevent certain courses from being chosen. Limit the range of possible outcomes to increase the odds of a FAVORABLE outcome. It is possible to survive the Fixed Point. It is possible to enter the whirlpool in time and not drown.

It may not be possible to survive unchanged, but it is possible for the world to continue on after the danger has passed.

But the danger is great. And survival is very, very unlikely.

There's a trick to it.

"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

You eliminate bad outcomes by removing the choices that lead to them. For our purposes, if you eliminate enough of the causes that lead to bad effects, then what you have left, as improbable as it is, is just the right set of interwoven possibilities and choices to get you through the other side of that whirlpool. But to make this happen, you have to manipulate the CIRCUMSTANCES under which the Critical Choices will be made.

An element of randomness will always be there. Like the stick anchored in the river: it makes ripples and micro-currents that may alter the surface details, but it's not a big enough disturbance to change the shape of the river.

Imagine trying to sort out which circumstances are an allowable random deviance and which ones will lead to critical choices (someone bumps into you on the street and you drop something and it takes only two seconds to pick it up, vs you drop an armful of somethings and in the minutes it takes you to get everything back in your arms, you just miss a chance meeting with a person who would have changed the course of your entire life).

Imagine being responsible for changing that one life by making the stranger step around YOU, just so you could slow them down enough that they bumped into the person with the armful of things, to prevent THAT person from having a chance meeting with someone else two blocks further down the street. THAT's the level of complexity of changing the course of time.

The ability to see time, and be responsible for choosing possible outcomes when faced with a threat on the scale of gods, must be one of the most stressful things in the universe.

The real nightmare of time is not that it continues forward regardless of what gets swept up in its currents. It's not that time flows forward without hindrance or mercy.

It's not that history is like a pen that never stops moving and never leaves the page, continuing to write word after word of the course of events that come to pass, utterly void of any emotional connection to the words being written no matter how fast and turbulent and deadly a current time gets caught in.

The real nightmare is being the only person who can see the pen, the only one who can see the outline of the story before it's finalized on the page. The one who can see the whirlpool on the horizon.

The one who has to stop it. At any cost.

The one who has to live with what "at any cost" means.

There's no such thing as fate. There is only a vast, cosmic tapestry of different threads of possibility and consequence weaving together endlessly every moment, and the shape that tapestry takes as an unimaginably complex assortment of random chance and choices pull different threads into the mix.

And yeah, maybe sometimes it feels like the gods are stabbing you a bunch. But that's what it takes to knit the fabric of time into a sweater with a bunch of smiley faces on it.

You wouldn't want the sweater to have sad faces, would you?

A question for Uneiverse (to give you an excuse to talk about it, only if you wanna. Since I also just really hearing about it). What's a detail about it that you really enjoy but haven't gotten a chance to use anywhere story related or otherwise just don't get to play with much (silly or serious)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for over 5 months.

It's time.

And so, we begin with a question of my own.

What IS time?

We're off the map now. Come with me. Take my hand as we walk through the valley of the shadow of time. We're going to uncharted waters, and I'm going to put the fear of god into you. I'm going to make you ask yourself (and me) Amy, how the fuck does you brain WORK like that?

Let me tell you about time and fate, and about what it means to "predict" the future.

And you will begin to understand the scale of what lives within me, eternally gnawing at the inside of my skull, begging for release.

If I asked you to conceptualize time, what would you say? Is it the neat and rigid tick-tick-ticking of regular intervals on the clock? Is is the fluid, indivisible space between?

Is is all just an illusion conceived by the animal brain to account for the changing shape of the universe as one dimension passes through another, which our three-dimensional eyes are too flat to see all at once, and our souls have concocted for us a comforting lie, that we may pretend to know the universe in its whole, by knowing it piece by infinitesimal, grinding piece, seeing the pan-dimensional amalgam of existence as an endless, continuous sequence of cross-sections in a number of dimensions our meat-circuitry can pretend to process?

Time is shadows.

Imagine, if you will, a sphere.

You hold it up against the light. Suspend it in the air, perhaps, for simplicity's sake. And the sphere casts a shadow.

Is the shadow still a sphere?

Far more importantly, is it even a circle?

At even the tiniest fraction of an angle, the sphere casts a shadow that no longer perfectly represents a cross section of the sphere. It has ceased to perfectly capture the nature of the object that cast the shadow, even accounting for the wrong number of dimensions. It's skewed. You can never unskew it. The distortion is irreversible.

And the floor isn't flat.

The sphere casts a shadow at an angle at a surface that ranges in distance and direction from the object casting the shadow. Is the shadow still an oval? Has it become a shape you can't name?

But the shadow isn't cast upon a floor, even an uneven one.

What shape is the shadow of a sphere cast at an angle upon a field of grass blowing in the wind? By now there's no pretending you know the answer. And even if you could snapshot a single instant of a single shape, the very next instant that shape would change in the breeze as the grass shifts.

The world is not a field of grass upon the ground. The world is endless variation of leaves upon trees, forests upon mountains, birds in the sky, hunting for the bugs that crawl on the branches of the trees. Massive floating pools of water churning in the low atmosphere as humans decide whether that one looks like a mouse or a sheep. So many humans walking, their clothes flowing behind them as they talk, eat, buy goods, shed tiny particles of skin and hair into the wind, their breath adding chaos to that same wind and a hundred miles away a leaf turns slightly more to the left than if that human had said nothing.

What is the shadow of a sphere cast upon that world? Twisted by its unfathomable complexity of shapes and movement?

And now, to make things worse, imagine if that shadow were a tangible thing that you could pick up. That could cast its own shadow not on the floor but up against the wall.

And all of that is if the shadow is cast by a perfect sphere.

Imagine you are a being that can see the shape of time. Could you look at the echo of a shadow of a shadow of a reflection in a fun house mirror, and recreate what it once was?

Could you look at a crooked set of lines upon the wall and know the meaning of cause and consequence? Could you predict what consequences of which actions would lead to favorable outcomes when realization dawns on you that

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖍, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖔. 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞. 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖞.

Time is an ocean of possibility. Each possibility has consequences. Each consequence a sea of new possibilities. How can you hope to understand the shadow of a shadow of a shadow, and not only know what's coming, but how to stop it?

Nothing is fated. But I said something important that bears repeating. Time is an OCEAN. We'll come back to that.

Time MOVES, at least the way we perceive it. I don't like the phrase "everything happens for a reason." I prefer something of my own creation: for every effect, a cause. To achieve a desired effect - a desired outcome - you must change the circumstances of cause that lead to that effect. But there are limits to your influence.

The time to change the course of a river is when the river is still small. The longer that river runs its course, the deeper it shapes and erodes the ground around it. The larger and faster a river the harder it is to redirect it. It will go where it's going, and there's nothing you can do about it. There is an element of momentum that must be accounted for. An element of inevitability.

The path of one person's life, one set of choices available to them in one specific context, may feel perhaps like the current of a river, when you look back on it. But if different changes were made during its formation, it could have taken a completely different path. Ended in a completely different place. And influenced the formation of completely different paths in the future as a result.

But I'll say it again, and you'll know its significance now: time is an OCEAN. It is not a river, but an IMMENSE network of currents with no clearly defined borders, flowing with or against or around each other in an unimaginably complex churning of possibility and consequence and cause and effect. A shift in one current may brush up against another. The second current may shift with it, or crash violently into it, or ignore it entirely.

For every effect, a cause. But for every CAUSE, many POSSIBLE effects.

So time becomes a series of choices beyond number. Each choice leading to fathomless changes in the flow. As the earth turns, some currents flow inevitably in certain directions. If not here, then somewhere else. SOME CHANGES ARE INESCAPABLE.

The universe must be dynamic. If nothing changed, the universe would not need to exist at all. Change is the point. Variance is the point. Choice is the point. The universe exists to know itself, and it knows itself through change.

There is an endless sea of currents flowing in various ways with, beside, against, around each other. Some directions of flow are strongly influenced by the shape of the seafloor and the rotation of the earth. There are changes in the world that are virtually guaranteed to exist, whether because the nature of the universe has made them inevitable, or because changes long past have created the currents that are now too old and too deep to change.

Picture a river again. What happens when you throw a stick into it? The stick is swept up in the current and carried along the river.

Throw in more sticks. Same thing, right? You can make small changes without affecting the overall outcome. Within one large shadow of a sphere, the details of a hundred blades of grass whose shadows are lost within the larger shape.

Anchor a large stick to the riverbed so it can't get swept away. Now, it's just one stick. The water will flow around it. There are small ripples. Tiny changes in the river, micro-currents that will affect a localized area. But on the whole? The river still flows. You changed something. But you didn't change the course of the river.

Add stick after stick after stick until the river is obstructed completely, and the current is forced to change shape.

Which stick built the dam?

Which straw should the camel's back blame?

Back to the ocean. Can you dam the sea? Can you build that dam one stick at a time, by throwing sticks into separate currents, hoping the currents bring them where they need to be in time?

There are patterns borne out from the endless flow of possibility as the ocean of time churns. With all those ancient currents running together, what difference does the wake of a boat make on the shape of the waves? How many breaches from how many whales would it take to turn a current south instead of north?

What if you could make a bigger change? What if an avalanche altered the shape of the seafloor, so the rotation of the earth forces new waters to resist the old currents? So the inevitability of the dynamic universe drags forth a new set of possibilities?

There are a LOT of currents. They've been turning for a long, long time, ebbing and flowing with a billion tides and ten thousand quintillion waves. Choices can make new currents. BIG choices, with a lot of consequences, may even change existing ones.

But the ocean still has a geography to it. There are places where water is forced through the gaps between landmasses, or forced into the shallows, or freed to dive into the black beyond a continental shelf. There are places where, no matter how many changes you make, many currents are still guaranteed to meet.

There are fixed points in time.

What if one of those points is a whirlpool, threatening to swallow everything drawn into the place those currents meet?

What about a whirlpool on the scale of worlds and gods?

How do you keep from drowning?

How do you give yourself the best chance, not of AVOIDING the whirlpool of inevitability, but of entering it at the farthest possible edge, where the right momentum, the right decisions made in the moment you are caught in its gravity, may carry you through to the other side, so you still remain when time marches on?

Is it better to see things coming at all? Or is the ability to see time, to speak a language of the universe that no one else can speak, one of the greatest cosmic horrors you can imagine?

Imagine the burden of time on those who can see it.

Imagine the WEIGHT of being able to see those currents. Of knowing which threads of fate to pull. Of knowing which ripples to make, which waves to break, which currents to shift. Of knowing.

Imagine the complexity of figuring out WHICH changes to make. And the great leviathan of guilt left on your shoulders when the decisions you made - even in pursuit of the best possible outcome - bring harm to the ones you love most, the ones you're most desperate to protect.

Even if you're right.

Even if you played 17-dimensional chess with the wizard-addled corpse of god and knew, with certainty, that if a single problem you had a hand in creating had been resolved more neatly by even minutes, the sticks would not have fallen into place within the dam, and the entirety of creation could have been swallowed piece by piece by the horror you were trying to stop.

Imagine the horror. Imagine the responsibility. Imagine the unending, agonizing pain of the burden of Knowing.

Because what time is, most of all, is a nightmare.

And there's no waking up.

[redrobin-detective]

how quickly the glamour fades

 “What do you think the Captain does in his down time?” Wally asked, squirting a large amount of cheese whiz onto a cracker and eating it. He was still getting used to being the Flash, being in the Justice League alongside his uncle’s friends. They’d helped him grow as a hero and a person over the years and now he was one of them.

“I don’t know, Cap is always working,” Hal said, taking a bit of his pizza. “The guy never quits I’m telling you. If he’s not here, he’s putting out fires in the jungle or fighting space-magic-tentacle monsters or working with an apron at the soup kitchen. I don’t think he knows the meaning of ‘down time’.”

“We all have to take a break sometimes, even gods,” Wonder Woman said with a raised eye brow. She didn’t technically chastise him but Hal’s shoulder crept up to his ears anyway. “Marvel is the personification of the Gods’ will on Earth. He may not require physical rest I’m sure he must take moments to collect himself but it is, surely, none of our business.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Wally said hastily. “I’m still new here, trying to figure everything and everyone out with these big shoes to fill.” He cleared his throat and glanced over at the door Captain Marvel had exited out of a few minutes earlier. “I don’t know Marvel well, he was just a reserve member when I first met him and now we’ve moved into big leagues pretty much at the same time. I guess I’m trying to get to know my fellow newbie, he seems like a really nice guy, someone you’d want to talk to outside of work.”

“Yeah good luck with that,” Hal snorted and preemptively winced from the force of Diana’s glare. “What? Look, I love the big cheese as much as the next guy but he’s hard to pin down! He’ll smile and chat up here at the Watchtower no prob but he won’t go out for a drink, he won’t attend any of Bruce’s fancy parties. Barry used to practically beg the guy to come over and have some of Iris’ cooking and he turned him down every time.” A brief moment of silence as Hal coped with the sudden, casual mention of his best friend. “He’s friendly but not sociable.”

“Perhaps he needs time alone, away from all this,” J’onn said, walking in to stand by Diana. Without being asked, she reached into the cabinet and pulled out his favorite cookies. It could have been telepathy or simply years of love and experience. “As you mentioned, he spends much of his time battling the evils of the world, both the grand and the mundane. He may need solitude to cope.”

“Isolation doesn’t heal anything,” Wally grumbled, playing idly with the cheese whiz can. “The Titans taught me that there’s strength in community. I won’t begrudge the man some alone time but,” he sighed and set the can down. “I don’t know, he smiles like Dick does sometimes, when he’s keeping all the hurt inside. I think he could probably use someone to talk to.”

“He’s a god or something, it’s not like we can relate to him,” Hal sighed. “I’m with ya, Kid. I’d be over the moon if Cap ever decided to hang out after the battle was done but he’s just not that kinda guy.”

“Your kindness is appreciated, Wally but Marvel is entitled to his privacy. Should he ever need that listening ear you suggested, he of course knows he can come to us.” Diana smiled. Wally smiled back but still didn’t feel completely settled. There was something about Captain Marvel that never felt right, like he was only seeing a funhouse mirror version. His smiles were too perfect, his lines so cheesy, almost practiced. In a way, he almost didn’t feel real and that the real person was hiding behind this perfect cardboard cut out they all knew.

“Yeah, okay,” he frowned before perking back up. “Did you guys catch the game last nigh-”

“Don’t get me started squirt my team looked like they were sleepwalking, not playing.”

Hundreds of thousands of miles away in Fawcett City, a boy was cold and he was hungry.

“Achoo!” Billy Batson sneezed. “Ugh either someone’s talking ‘bout me or I’m coming down something.” He sniffled, wiping his nose on his threadbare sweater sleeve. “I don’t even know which is worse.”

It had been warm on the Watchtower when Bill, well Marvel, had finally left. The halls had been crowded and there’d been plenty of food and company. It would’ve been nice to stay but that wasn’t the way things worked. Cap didn’t need food to stay full or heat to keep him warm. He enjoyed the conversation but it felt so empty with the large wall he had to keep around his other life. It was safer this way, for him and for them.

The weather was turning cold and the shelters would have stopped giving out food by this late hour. Another night spent shivering and another night without a meal.

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” Billy chattered to himself as he slowly made his way back to the abandoned apartment he’d been sleeping in. “They don’t need to know about this, won’t care about another homeless kid. You’re lucky you get to know them as Marvel, you’re lucky to have Marvel.” He squeezed his eyes shut to fight back tears. It was an honor, a blessing to have the power to help people but oh did it hurt sometimes.

He wished he had someone to talk to about this but all he had was Tawney and the empty throne of the Wizard. There was the League but he couldn’t risk it, Marvel’s good standing was the only way they let him be active without giving away any details. They wouldn’t listen to him anyway, if they knew who their powerhouse really was. The illusion was hard to keep up sometimes but it was all he had.

All the way home, he hummed a tune he’d heard Black Canary humming while doling out portions of pizza and thought of the way Wonder Women’s gentle strong arms had felt around his shoulders and the sound of Lantern’s loud laughter and imagined that he wasn’t alone.

[ravenpie52]

Back in a Secret Saturdays mood and I’ve just been thinking about the narrative relationship between Zak and Argost. The two are so multifaceted and interesting. Like on one level, Zak is/was a fan of Argost’s show. He knows a ton about what Argost is like and what he does, though it’s definitely not enough in the end. Like it’s so interesting to me that Zak, for a while, retains this strangely amicable view toward Argost. Like I can’t think of any other show that pulls such a thing off.

The two characters are set to be parallels of each other, both controlling cryptids and having a close tie to the cryptid world. But like, they’re also fundamentally different people. Super great foils.

Argost is pure manipulation. He manipulates the race for the Kur stone and is always ahead of things. He drives the entire narrative, fitting of his flair for the dramatics. He manipulates everyone’s impression of him through appearances and his actions. He’s seen as this weird well-meaning but creepy icon by the masses. And in season 2 he manipulates Zak on a more personal level. The way he manipulates cryptids is pervasive and cruel.

Zak on the other hand, with his Kur powers, can’t control cryptids beyond what they’re willing to do, it doesn’t remove free will. And those powers coming from a being deemed evil by history? Now that’s a whole other can of worms. Zak’s outright a kind individual, though inexperienced. But see, Zak is genuine, and that’s the main difference. Zak tends to be pretty blunt and true in his words if there isn’t a reason to lie, though he does dabble in deception, reflecting back on Argost.

Zak’s genuine in character and also the real, genuine article of Kur, the thing that Argost reaches for and strives to be. But, because of the way he is, there’s no way for it to be possible. Zak Monday was a “mirror” version of Zak Saturday, but V. V. Argost is like some sort of funhouse mirror version instead.

It’s super fascinating. I wish the fandom had a bit more interaction with the text because there’s real depth there to pull from.

[spenciegoob]

Cracked Mirror

A/N: hi, I continued to see a bunch of “season 2 Spencer would be so scared of season 12 Spencer, so I decided why not write them meeting? let’s do it, baby super angsty :P it took everything in me to not tag ‘how it should’ve gone’ but basically this is ‘how it should've gone.’

Summary: Spencer Reid? Meet a very much older Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Season 15 Spencer & Season 2 Spencer

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: no ship, mentions of drug addiction, drug abuse, Tobias Hankel, Maeve, mentions of Jeid

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

_____

Spencer 15:

The smell was always the first thing I noticed when I woke up from a restless sleep. It meant I was alive, that the terrors that danced across my eyelids like a ballad of the doomed were not real. I never believed in the Higher Power, but if there was an Evil Spirit, it possessed my mind the second my guard fluctuated.

The smell, however, the one made up of stiff air that paralyzed you and blood you weren’t sure was yours, that smell meant I got to live another day.

It also meant I could still die.

But now I woke up in a startle because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I escaped this place before, I made it out. Did my only indicator of life just turn into my own personal Hell? Was I finally gone, seconds ago hoping for rest only to come to the conclusion that I would never get the chance?

I was back in a gray jumpsuit, and what scared me the most was how quickly I got up to make my bed.

“Reid, you have a visitor.”

Spencer 2:

They say every person in their career has a moment that changes the way they view their job forever, and I would’ve liked to continue to believe I had mine already, when I put away the first unsub that didn’t deserve the life they were unfortunately gifted to live out. I know I couldn’t sleep much after.

But now that I hurry past empty cells and recreation rooms on my way to a stone box with a killer, I changed my mind.

This was my moment.

I had to keep up with Hotch, and I wish it was because I was scared of getting lost, but it wasn't. If I lose Hotch, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life.

We just had to reach the interrogation room, and we’ll be fine. We just have to talk to... to who?

Who are we here to see? Why am I here?

“Hotch.” The older man stopped his fast pace to turn to me exasperated. I would have that expression too if someone stopped me in a place like this, but here I am, feet stuck to ground like a fear-inducing glue because I can’t remember why I’m here.

“What’s wrong, Reid?”

“Why am I here?” Hotch didn’t get angry, or confused at my question. Instead, Hotch’s face turned into something that was a prized rarity at other times, but right now, it ran my blood cold.

He nodded at me, his face visibly relaxing with understanding, and kindness spreading from his eyes into mine.

“You have someone here you need to see.”

And then he just continued the path we were on until we reached a metal door with a window not large enough to see who was waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t get too close, giving myself a 5 foot head start in case I needed to run, but Hotch would never put me in a position like that, right?

He would never use me as a pawn in a game of life or death.

“Whenever you’re ready.” By the time all the questions flooded through my head like a tsunami that made it to the tip of my tongue, Hotch was gone. 

The invisible magnetic field between myself and the door was a force backed up by science. I felt the way it tugged me forward, like negative and positive electrons charming me with the song of the buzzer unlocking it.

When I was ready, he said. Would I ever be ready for the feeling that washed over me? I felt the weight of the world rest on my shoulders, stuck in an ocean made entirely of resin, slowly hardening around me to keep me trapped.

But I still grasped the cool metal doorknob, and I wish I took a deep breath before entering. It was the wrong call on my part, because I walked in and all the oxygen left my lungs in a flash.

The air in the room felt different. It hung with the purpose of imprisoning those who dare breathe it into their lungs. Enchantment and intoxication were meant to hold beauty and grace, leading the charmed to a fulfillment in life worth living.

But the eyes of Medusa were in the room with me, and I was stupid enough to turn to stone.

“Who are you?” How could I ask that? I knew the answer by looking into his eyes. I say his, because they weren’t mine. Sure, they had the same hazel color, and the same round, boyish shape, but they looked so dull. Sadness, the kind that moves mountains and starts wars, was buried deep in the beholder, casting a shadow over his soul. 

I didn’t stare for very long. I couldn’t.

“You know who I am.” His voice was worse. “I know why I’m here. Sit down.”

“I- I just... Absolutely not! This is- this, I- I can’t. I have to get out of here.” Insanity! It had to be. I was staring at a person I didn’t know, yet knew every little detail about, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sit down before you panic.” There was no point in lying and saying I was fine, he knew it would be a lie. We weren’t just profilers.

So I sat, taking my time to round the table and pull the chair farther back to establish a far enough distance between us. He did the same. Of course he did.

“Answer my question,” I whispered, looking down at the place where the leg of the table met the top.

“There are far better questions to ask me.” He was right, there were more pressing matters at hand, but how do you ask someone what landed them in a jumpsuit when you were terrified of the answer?

“Did- is time travel a thing?” The second the question left my mouth, I realized how absurd it was, but so was staring into the cracked funhouse mirror I was currently stuck in front of.

“Come on, we don’t have much time, and that’s what you want to ask me? Dig deeper.” Is this how Morgan feels when I’m always right?

How could I dig deeper when it all went so far that the only thing consuming my soul was a bottomless black hole? The memories flashing from projectors all around me as I sank further until eventually my oxygen ran out. Going deeper meant letting the weight of my heart push against my chest like a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean, but I suppose he would follow me.

“What happened?” I looked up to see him take a deep breath, leaning back in the chair with careful contemplation. There was something more though, something that lingered the second we met eyes.

Jealousy. There was nothing of myself to be jealous about, however.

“We made too many mistakes.” We. Only one of us was in the jumpsuit. There had to be some way to avoid that, right?

“God, this is insane!” I promptly shouted, standing up frantically. “You’re the prisoner here, not me, okay? I didn’t do anything. You did. How am I even here? What is happening, I don’t understand.” At the end of my yelling, I was so far out of breath that I had to lean against the wall. “What is this?”

“Tobias Hankel.” No no no, it can’t be. Am I dead?

“Sit down.” I listened immediately this time, too exasperated to care about being cautious about it.

“You’re with him right now, and from what I can tell, you’re probably in a drug-induced dream.” My head shot up at the mention of Tobias’s coping mechanism for myself. “When you wake up, I don’t expect you to hold onto hope, but for that quick second you let go, don’t feel guilty about it. It will eat you alive if you do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but I’m right, and you need to listen to everything I’m telling you.” I was never one to make demands like this.

“And if I do? Will it stop me from becoming you?”

“No, probably not.” Before I had the chance to get angry again, I watched the way his eyes started to glisten with tears. I watched him crack a little bit more, adding to the already gaping slashes across his heart. How many more until he breaks?

“Leave them in his pocket,” he continued after taking a grounding deep breath. “You don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretly, I knew what he was meant, because after this nightmare ended I would be back in a far worse one silently begging to return to this interrogation room. 

There were so many thoughts running through my head that it was hard to focus on just one. Plus, I wasn’t really getting any context here.

“I don’t think I can give you many details. I don’t even know if we’ll remember this, or how I got here, but we don’t have much time. There are so many things you need to know.”

“I know practically everything.”

“No you don’t, kid. You know nothing.” He suddenly stood up, walking over to the wall on our left, leaning a hand against it and hanging his head. “When you feel like something is wrong with him, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Hotch, request time off, do whatever you have to do. Just, go visit him.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know.” There was so much guilt in his voice that I felt it in my chest. It was like a hole was drilled into me, leaving my heart exposed to vultures who wouldn’t hesitate to rip pieces from me.

“What about my mom? Do I... you know?”

“No, you don’t, but promise me something.” He turned to look at me again, hazel meeting hazel. “On days that she’s lucid, tell her everything. Tell her what you ate for breakfast, and that one time Morgan fell trying to kick a door open. Tell her about the dark parts, about how much you love her. Tell her everything.”

“Oh God is she-”

“No. I don’t think I should be telling you that, but no. Don’t think like that.” As if remembering something, he rushed back over to sit down, pulling his chair in and leaning over the table. “Stop running every negative outcome of every situation in your head. Be careful, but don’t be so careful it becomes reckless. That’s how people get hurt, including you.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that how you ended up here?”

“No. I’m innocent, always was. I ended up in here because I let myself get blinded by a fantasy I had no business dreaming about. There’s going to be times for you to have dreams bigger than yourself, but the second they start to become nightmares, you have to pull yourself back. Don’t get trapped, kid.”

“You know, Morgan calls me ‘kid’. I don’t really know if I like it or not.”

“You’ll come to love it, but with Morgan, don’t push him away. He’s one of the only few people in this world that won’t scrutinize or judge you, and you need to be honest with him.”

“Why?” After asking, I immediately regretted it, because his answer was the one I’ve been dreading the most.

“Because things are going to hurt you, and it’s okay to ask for help every once in a while.”

“What things? Tell me,” I begged, rushing my words and internally cringing at how desperate I sound, but I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

“When you fall in love, tell her.” He casted his eyes downward, staring at his hands rough and calloused from the years, kind of like Hotch.

“Is it... is it JJ?”

“No,” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head softly. “You’ll learn one day the difference between being in love with someone, and just simply loving them.”

I couldn’t help the disappointment spread through me for a second, but I quickly gained my composure when I remembered I’m sitting across a profiler.

“This is too much.” My brain was starting to hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” A question crossed my mind causing my hands to stop their fidgeting for just a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone and my hands resumed. He caught it though. Of course he did.

“What was that thought?”

“My d-” I cleared my throat before continuing. “William. Did he ever...?” I let the words fade out, hoping that he would understand where I was going. He did. Of course he did.

“No.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching tightly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” While I was disappointed, he looked angry. As sick and twisted as it was, I wish I was more like him. Even with the despairing look in his eyes that came with agonizing memories, he was the man everyone expected me to be. 

He looked at me as if he also wished the roles were reversed. Of course he did.

The edges of the room slowly started to get fuzzy, my vision blurring for a second. “You’re waking up.”

“Can- can I ask you something?” Even though I was terrified of the answer.

“Of course.”

“When did it all go wrong?” He let out a long sigh before running his hands down his face.

“I can’t tell you the exact moment, because even I’m not sure. I can tell you that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re alive. You survived, and on some days that’s all that’s going to matter.”

“Do you smell that?” Please say yes, because the smell of burning fish hearts and livers was burning my nostrils and clouding my head.

“Wake up, Spencer. It’s okay.”

“Wait!”

Spencer 15:

My eyes shot open only to be met with blinding lights that seared my pupils. The beeping coming from the machine next to me was the second thing I noticed, and the third was a very alarmed Penelope.

“What happened?” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned intensely.

“You don’t remember? Spencer, you collapsed.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Logically, I knew I probably sustained a head injury from the explosion, but when I tried to think beyond that, my brain got fuzzy.

“Are you okay? You know, besides the whole passing out thing?”

“Y-yeah, I just.” I stopped talking. Just what? Penelope hummed curiously for me to continue, but I couldn’t.

“I think I got a second chance.” No matter how vague it was, how little she knew of what that truly meant, Penelope beamed with joy at my answer, and I smiled right back.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” And when she left, I stared up at the ceiling, hoping that the scared kid I used to be took my advice.

____

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[cutesilyo]

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night. 

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

[mirrerover]

Big Plans

“You know shit’s never gonna fucking change, right?” Jason makes to grab for his Zippo. Remembering Dick will happily remove his nuts from his waxed sack for even contemplating smoking inside Dick’s apartment, he stops. His fingers twitch with irritation, nothing like a little nicotine deprivation to start the day. “Gotham’s a gothic nightmare where corruption runs thicker than blood and Blüdhaven’s worse, somehow. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. Uglier. More warped.”

“I really do enjoy our little morning pep talks,” Dick replies, closing the last two buttons on his dress shirt before tucking the fabric into the waistline of his pants. In general, Jason would say he prefers the Kevlar-enhanced, ass-hugging suit Dick prowls the night in—but there’s something to be said for a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, forearm veins on display. He doesn’t know how the Blüdhaven criminals are faring but, personally, he wouldn’t mind letting Detective Richard Grayson slap some cuffs on him. Let Dick work him over hard in a surveilled box until Jason cracks, raw and bloody under the harsh fluorescent lights. 

“These fucking places,” Jason grumbles, tired and cranky from watching Dick getting ready to leave, all that warm, gold skin about to slip right out the door. “It’s not something anyone can fix. Nothing short of dropping a bomb on the damn place and razing it to the ground.” 

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer, strands brushing the bone of his jaw. He’s no stranger to this; Jason and the trash he talks. Words pouring out of him sharp as knives, the blades full of blood. Just endlessly spewing shit.

“No point to it all, huh?” Dick leans a hip against the dresser, arms folded, eyebrow raised. There’s an ease to him that’s inherent; the way he owns his body, his space, every room he’s in. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to lure me back to bed.”

 Jason thinks it over. Admits, “not originally,” and lets his legs fall apart slowly. Nude body lounging against cheap, synthetic pillows, he’s got Dick’s low-rent sheets strategically draped across his crotch, all tasteful and shit. Just like the Renaissance paintings cluttering the hallways of the Wayne Manor. None of the shameless, naked peacocking Dick gets up to after sex. No, Jason’s classy. Artful. The signature Jason Todd brand. “But are you feelin’ down to fuck?” he asks. 

Dick throws his head back and laughs. Really fucking laughs. Eyes scrunched up and shoulders shaking, all charisma and beauty and warmth. Laughing like that, it’s suddenly easy to see how a group of metahumans chose Dick as their leader despite his lack of superpowers or how the Blüdhaven Police Corps would accept him as their own despite him being the ward of Gotham’s favourite billionaire asshole. There’s something about Dick like there’s something about Bruce. Something captivating and inescapable that would make you launch a thousand ships for them. Burn down entire worlds for them. Jason’s not sure Dick’s aware of that. And in a way, Jason thinks he understands the Joker better than Bruce ever could. 

Dick’s laughter fades too slowly, and Jason would be annoyed but there’s a tightness to Dick’s pants that wasn’t there two minutes ago, and Dick’s always laughing. Joyful and happy. Like those are easy feelings to conjure and easy feelings to have. As if getting out of bed isn’t like crawling out of a dark pit every morning and as if life isn't like taking a suckerpunch to the gut, over and over.

“Wish I could,” Dicks says, and Jason swears he sounds like he means it. “But I got big plans today. Gotta save a city.”

“‘Save a city.’ Jesus Christ. More like go get shanked in the gut.”

Dick shrugs and slips on a watch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The other bats all have their day jobs. The Police Detective, the Socialite, the rising Tech Wunderkind, and Jason’s personal favourite: the Student. Jason derives no small amount of pleasure from knowing that Bruce and the Demon Spawn get to suffer through the worst of it. Like an ill-fitted suit, Jason hopes it pulls and itches every time they’ve got to slip their disguises on. It shows how removed they are from the rot and the grit and the filth of what is Gotham. The gore at the core of it all.��

That’s where Jason lives, at its epicentre. 

He’d fallen into it naturally, being a crime lord. It had been a logical first step when he’d come home, head full of green fumes and rage. He’s proud to say, he puts the organized in organized crime. Outshines even the worst of them in calculated vicious violence. The crime part of the job, Jason can admit he’s gotten more discerning about. There’s no peddling drugs to kids or bleeding junkies dry, no people traded like cattle, and he doesn’t like selling guns to the lowlifes clogging Gotham’s streets. So, he’s become a parasite instead. Infiltrates a crime organisation and eats it from the inside out till it finally collapses. Scraps the dead beast for parts and money.

It’s not something Jason talks about with this version of Dick. His shady deals, his underground moonlighting. Never with a cop like the one making his way to the bed right now, uniform tight over thick thighs and a sway in his hips that’s nothing less than sexual warfare. 

“Try smoking in my bed again, Todd,” Dick warns, looming over him. He stops whatever threat he was going to utter, disrupted by Jason grousing at him to fucking let that go already. Perfectly pleasant, Dick does exactly that. Just stares at Jason with a face far too naked and utterly too fond. Something’s creeping under Jason’s skin at the sight of it—an itch he doesn’t know how to scratch, unable to decide whether he wants to kiss the prick or break his perfect face instead.

A little lower, there’s a bruise peeking out of Dick’s collar that looks like a handprint. Jason had put that there last night. Violently. Not even the fun kind of violent but the messy kind. The kind where something hunts Jason through nightmares and his body acts before his sleeping brain has had the chance to catch up—that kind of violence. Maybe a better person would wallow in the guilt and remove themselves from the situation. Not Dick and Jason. They just get better at hiding the batarangs and guns. The 200 pounds of well-trained muscle and murderous reflexes are a little harder to counteract but Dick’s no babe in the woods. Besides, Jason’s not exactly the first lethal bitch between Dick’s bedsheets.

Dick smiles. A teasing thing full of soft edges. “Mornings are hard. Aren’t they, Sugarplum?”

“Fuck you to hell.” Jason groans with feeling, hating the hard lumps of Dick’s mattress when he sinks back into them. “Just get lost already, Birdbrain. There’s no fucking point to you with your clothes on.”

“Nice to know I’m not completely useless.”

Jason wants to fight that far too favourable self-assessment. Would fight it, were he not half a pack of Lucky Strikes and three cups of coffee short of mustering the energy. Which is also the only reason he’s letting Dick press an off-centre kiss to his forehead. A shitty place for a shitty kiss from a shitty person, if you ask Jason. Very much Dick Grayson’s style.

“Try and behave, Little Wing.” Dick’s already moving away from the bed and shrugging on a jacket. “I really like this place. Got three South facing windows and none of the neighbours run a meth lab.”

“Prime Blüdhaven real estate,” Jason mutters darkly.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Dick takes one last look at himself at the mirror, shoots Jason a tacky wink because his existence is a curse, and promises under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like I’ll be back or I’ll miss you. Another twenty seconds later and Jason hears the front door lock click back into place.

His day is wide open now. 

There are things to do but there are always things to do. At any time, Jason’s got about forty things in various stages of motion. Always working on something. Someone. Bigger games than the one he’s running on Dick right now, lighting one up in his bed.

Blowing smoke up into the air, Jason decides that today he’s going to crack the safe Dick keeps behind the panel in his closet. Perfectly harmless, really. Just him fishing through some of Dick’s case files—maybe even solving a few, if he’s feeling charitable. And for tonight, there’s that Malaysian place three blocks over that does a better Rendang than anything he’s found in Gotham. Dick never shuts up about it. Like he’s never going to shut up about the cigarette smell seeping into the wallpaper.

Jason smirks. Solid options. He still has last night’s terrors painted on the back of his eyelids and the feeling of Dick’s neck under his hand but they’re slowly fading. And Dick’s got him covered, said he’d take care of the big plans, so Jason doesn’t have to. And next time, when Jason’s Dick and Dick’s Jason, he’ll have Dick covered too. Jason will tackle the big plans while Dick raids Jason’s fridge and leaves wet towels all over his apartment. Jason knows it’ll happen. It has happened. Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

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

@wethatake thanks for being the beta and basically a co-writer. You suck but I love you. <3 Here’s to hoping that your sad little sack of a co-worker doesn’t kill you. XD

[sadienita]

Maison des cartes - The High Priestess

Shapeshifter!Gahyeon x Reader (feat. Youngeun of Rolling Quartz)

Word Count: 6.4k

Contents: wild animal attacks, animal violence, some gore, yelling, aggression

Previous | Next

~

loss of inner voice repressed feelings

~

You grabbed the papers and got up off the floor. At least laying down had helped you out. You hadn’t hit your head or hurt your back and that was good. The house itself wasn’t big so you were hoping that creaking sound was the front door. You didn’t know how many rooms there were but something had opened.

However your stomach sunk when you walked into the hallway to find the front door closed. You tried the handle but to no avail, it was still stuck tight. You were still trapped. But all the rooms on the main level had been covered right? Other than a small bathroom that you couldn’t get into that afternoon.

You froze as faint sounds of whispers hit your ears. It sounded like a woman’s voice, but she was saying so many things at once, some in languages you didn’t know. You kept your breath quiet, knowing that whatever was there could see you anyway, squeezing your eyes shut as your heart raced and the whispers grew louder, as if getting closer.

Finally you spun around, if you were going to die you might as well face it.

As soon as you opened your eyes the whispers stopped. A whimper left your lips as you spotted the open door in front of you. That door had been jammed shut in the afternoon and yet now it stood open with a flight of stairs beyond, leading up to the second floor. Clearly, that was where you needed to go next.

“I hate this, I hate this so much.” You grumbled under you breath as you climbed the stairs. “It’s so much worse going upstairs.”

The floorboards creaked under you feet and you grimaced with each step. Something was definitely watching you now and you could feel it. But you had no choice but to keep going until you could get that damn door open.

An open door down the hall caught your attention and you moved towards it slowly. Something about the upstairs was even creepier. It was more dusty, more cobweb covered. The floor creaked more and it looked untouched, as if no one who had broken in had made it up here.

A whine left your lips when you peered in the open door. The room was full of furniture, all of which was covered in white sheets, as if waiting for the day someone came back. The only thing uncovered was a large, king sized bed with posters and hung with a light, airy, albeit moth eaten fabric.

Your eyes landed on the card sitting neatly in the middle of the bed.

“Well at least this time I have a bed to lay on,” you muttered as you walked through the room and climbed onto it. You placed the music next to the pillow before taking a deep breath and grabbing the card.

~

You gasped as you sat up suddenly, your lungs greedily sucking in the air they had so sorely lacked. There really was no way to get used to that horrible feeling but at the very least it was less and less disorienting the more times you did it.

You looked around quickly, trying to get your bearings. You were in a small tent and you could hear the din of voices and excitement outside. The circular table you had been laying on was covered in a messy pile of tarot cards. You organized the pile, trying to figure out where you’d been dropped when someone pulled back the curtain for the door.

“You have one more for today.” The woman peering in said.

“One more…?” You questioned, knowing you probably sounded dumb.

She rolled her eyes. “One more fortune to tell,” she sighed.

“Ah,” you said, feeling tense. “Send them in.”

You heard chatter and what sounded like a protest before a young woman was pushed into the tent, clearly a little disgruntled over being there. She smoothed out her skirt and straightened the shawl over her head before sitting across the table from you.

“I’m Gahyeon,” she said plainly. “I’m sorry about this, my mother insisted I have my fortune read before I marry. I know your day was almost over.”

“It’s fine,” you hummed, trying to figure out how you would read her fortune. “Uh, take some cards.”

She quirked an eyebrow at you, clearly not buying it, but doing it anyway. You watched her hands, assuming you needed to do something to help her and wondering what it would be. She handed you the cards and you caught sight of something on her wrist, what looked like a tattoo, covered mostly in her clothes. Some kind of animal.

You placed the cards on the table slowly, having no clue what they meant but stuck on the tattoo. Was there a chance she was a shapeshifter? Could you make that guess? Maybe not all the ones you met would be witches. Maybe some would be something else.

“Can you touch each card for me?” You asked, hoping it didn’t seem like you were stalling. Gahyeon rolled her eyes again but did as you asked. As she reached across the table her sleeve pulled back and you caught sight of the tattoo of a leopard on her wrist, so lifelike you thought it might jump right out of her skin. You regarded it until she pulled her hand back quickly, tugging her sleeve down and your eyes snapped up to her face, just catching the pendant hanging around her neck.

Another leopard.

“You-” You stopped, properly taking in the cards and recognizing all the ones you had seen in the house so far. You still weren’t sure how to read them but could that really be a coincidence.

“You wanted to know about your marriage?”

“Look you really don’t have to do this. I don’t really believe in this stuff anyway but if I don’t do it my mom will freak out. She thinks it’s a bad omen or-”

“A cat.” Gahyeon stopped talking, staring at you with wide eyes. “That- uh- you’re like a cat, that’s what I’m getting.”

Perfect, now you had to bullshit something. But you were guessing that your suspicions were correct, at least.

“You’re independent, you like to have control over your life but-” you searched the cards below for more words and their faces stared up at you, giving no help. “You feel… turbulent.”

“H-” Gahyeon seemed in shock as she listened to you.

Might as well run with your hunch. “You need to find control and balance or this- all of this- it’ll all fall apart. You can’t build a future like that, without control, without a sense of who you really are.”

Gahyeon stared at you, mouth gaping. She was shaking slightly and you were worried you had overdone it but at least you knew she knew you knew what she was. Either that or you had frightened some poor woman half to death. But you thought your guesses might be right and what she needed was to learn how to control it.

“That will be all,” you collected your cards and she clamped her mouth shut, nodding numbly before stumbling her way out of the tent. You organized the cards into a neat pile before slipping out the back of the tent.

~

You wandered through the busy carnival as the sun slipped lower in the sky. Lights came on as you did so, drenching the whole place in colour. Everything seemed as if you were viewing it in a funhouse mirror. Things seemed just a bit too exaggerated and distorted.

You wondered if this was a magic carnival. That might explain why it was so odd, well more so than a non magical one anyway. Then again you still didn't even know where you were taken. Were you in your own world? In a different universe? A different time? You had no clue, just that you had to help in some way.

At least you had a clue this time.

You wondered where Gahyeon had gone. Meeting up with her was your next step but you weren't sure where she might be. At any rate you wandered to the outskirts of the carnival, hoping to spot her leaving and gazing at the forest just beyond the open field.

You didn't like this place. There was something so unsettling about the lights, about the cartoonish features of the space around you and it felt as if it was just a little bit outside of time. Like things were standing still in the worst sort of way that made your stomach lurch. The further you got from the music and the lights the more calmed you were but something about it still freaked you out.

"You!"

You jumped at the sudden angry yell as you looked around before your eyes landed in Gahyeon, her face flushed and her expression unkind.

"You're the one!" She stalked towards you and you stepped back. She nearly closed the distance anyway, grabbing the front of your shirt and speaking to you in an angry whisper. "How did you know?! No one is supposed to know!"

“I-I- Your tattoos,” you said quickly, shaking slightly from the sudden confrontation.

“You can’t tell anyone!”

“I wasn’t going to!” You said quickly. “I want to help you.”

Gahyeon regarded you skeptically. “Why would you want to help me?”

“Because I can.” Those were bold words. “I think I can, I mean.”

Gahyeon let go of you. “Well someone needs to,” she muttered. “I can’t get married like this. I can’t…” She took a deep breath. “It’s getting dark and I need to get home.”

“I’ll come with you,” you blurted out and Gahyeon gave you a strange look.

“Why?” That was a good question. Why should she let the random stranger who freaked her out stay the night?

“The carnival moves,” you said, hoping that seemed like a legitimate answer. “I don’t have a place nearby.”

Gahyeon sighed before looking at the darkening sky. “Fine, just hurry up. We don’t have much time before nightfall.” She grabbed your hand and pulled you with her away from the carnival.

~

Gahyeon’s cottage was cozy. The little fireplace filled it with warmth that staved off the nip in the air outside. She was a good host, even if she did seem a bit wary of you. She was the first not to trust you so quickly but that was fair. She didn’t know you. She just knew that you knew her secret and you were saying you could help her.

Which you hoped you could.

She knew. She knew she was a shapeshifter so that was the first step. She already knew that she did change but you were guessing she had no control over it. Arem had an enchanted necklace. Did Gahyeon need one too? She had to do it on purpose right? She had to practice to be aware of herself, to remember who she was.

“Stay in your room,” as Gahyeon took away the tea you were sipping on she gave you a warning. “Lock it and stay in there. I know that I’ll change tonight but I can’t control myself. I’m…”

“You’re barely aware of it, like it’s not even you.”

She looked at you sadly. “I almost wish I didn’t learn, didn’t figure it out. It would be easier if I didn’t know. Now I- it’s like I can see through its eyes but I’m trapped inside. It’s hazy and spotty what I remember but it gets stronger every time.”

“You can learn to control it,” you said. “You will.”

Gahyeon didn’t meet your eyes. Instead she looked out at the moon, rising through the sky. “You should go to your room.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You questioned.

Gahyeon set the mugs in the sink. “I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

You nodded slowly before rising from your seat. Gahyeon motioned to your room and you went into it, giving her a half hearted good night before closing the door. You locked it the way she’d told you and heard her locking the other side. The minutes ticked by and you looked around the room, grabbing a book and sitting on the bed to read it.

You heard the front door of the cottage opening, creaking on its hinges. Footsteps in the main room before something crashed to the floor. You rushed out of bed and to the door when you heard Gahyeon’s groan and stopped. You listened through the door, knowing she told you not to come out but worried that she might be hurt.

Until you heard a growl.

A low, saw-like growl. You kept your breaths quiet as you pressed your back to the door, wondering how strong it was. She had lots of locks on it. That had to be for a reason. The growls outside the door got closer and you pressed your lips together to keep quiet.

A roar came from the other side before a loud bang on the door. You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming as claws scratched at the far side of the door and another roar came before Gahyeon banged against it again.

Tears stung your eyes as the bangs and roars continued. You pressed your back against the door harder as if that would keep it in place and buried your face in your knees, biting down hard on your lip as if the sound was what was tipping off the beast outside.

You mouthed silent “pleases” as you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping for a miracle, hoping for something that would keep you safe. The question crossed your mind again.

Could you die?

A howl in the distance caught your attention and the growls stopped. You listened to the silence for a moment before the large paws on the other side of the door bounded away, running out into the night.

~

Your back hurt as you started, waking up from your sleeping spot against the door as Gahyeon called your name from the other side. You shook out your head, taking in the way the sun streamed through the windows and shakily you stood. Your hands were unsteady as you undid the locks on the door and slowly opened it. Gahyeon had a somber, guilty look on her face and you let out a gasp when you saw the back of the door, scratched up with deep gouges.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed shakily. “I lost track of time. I-I should have left sooner.”

“I’m okay,” you said, nodding quickly. “I’m fine and that’s what matters.”

“Wh- What do I do?” She asked. “H-How do I stop this?”

You moved through the room and sat on the couch slowly. “I met another.”

“You did?!” She said.

You nodded. “In- Well somewhere else. She has this necklace that could stop her from changing.” 

Gahyeon’s hand came up to her own pendant, thinking. “It was enchanted?”

“I think so.” You said.

“Then I need one, I need to get something enchanted.” Gahyeon stood up and started rummaging through her things.

“Do you think it needs to be specific?” You asked.

“No it’s not that I- I need something to pay with. Things like magic are never free.”

“Money?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, some…” Her shoulders dropped as she picked up a glittering flower broach. “This was my grandmother’s. I was supposed to wear it for my wedding.”

“You can give something e-”

“No,” she said. “No it has to be special to me. Otherwise it’s not worth it to her.”

“Gahyeon…”

She shook her head. “Come on, she lives close to here, just a couple hours walk. We can make it there and back before sundown.”

Gahyeon took your hand and pulled you from the cottage. You wrapped yourself tighter in your clothes in the chilly morning air. She led you into the shade of the forest quietly, keeping her eyes away from the claw marks on the nearby trees. Away from what looked like a dead animal out of the corner of your eye.

“How long have you-”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“You don’t have to pretend to care. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m-”

“You’re still a person.”

She’d eyed you. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well I don’t like the silence, so humour me.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “I don’t know when it started exactly. I know about two years ago I realized I was blacking out, losing my memory. I thought it was nothing, just fatigue and forgetfulness. A few weeks ago I… Well I realized that it wasn’t just fatigue. I realized I was changing. That’s when I noticed the tattoos, like they were hiding from me and one day they were just… there.”

“Do you remember last night?” You asked.

“I wish I didn’t,” she grimaced.

“Ah.”

She sighed. “So what about you? How do you know so much?”

“I-I-” You chuckled nervously. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I shapeshift into a leopard. Is it crazier than that?”

You thought for a moment. “I’m not from here.”

“There’s got to be more to it.”

You sighed. “I was… sent here. I’m… I’m trapped somewhere else and the only way to get out it seems is to figure out whatever I’m supposed to do here.”

Gahyeon laughed. “You were right, that does sound crazy.”

“Hey!”

You carried on chattering on your way through the woods. The walk was long but Gahyeon seemed to warm up to you a bit and it was nice to talk to her. It was different from the others, but you had a clear path here. You knew what your goal was pretty easily this time. You just had to make sure you did it.

The woods around you grew thicker and though the air chilled you it didn’t scare you so much. Maybe you were just getting used to this all. How many days had you spent on these quests now, and yet only hours had passed at home. It seemed impossible, but then from the second the door was locked none of this was possible. Still, you might as well go with it at this point.

Soon enough an old, gnarled tree came into view ahead. A door was visible in the front of it and eerie lanterns that gave off a yellow-green light hung around the entrance. The sight was spooky but Gahyeon seemed calm, if a little somber, as she walked you closer and through the door.

The inside was hazy, thick with some kind of smoke or incense. Gahyeon pulled you close to her side as you looked around and she stopped you from stepping any further.

“She’s a powerful enchantress,” Gahyeon whispered. “And unlike you, she actually can see what’s to come.”

“Why didn’t you come to her in the first place.”

Gahyeon rolled her eyes. “She can be…  Just- Let me talk, okay?”

“Okay,” you hummed.

Gahyeon took a deep breath before leading you through the dwelling. Around the center of the tree the smoke got thicker. You coughed slightly, waving away some in front of your face before seeing the young woman sitting ahead of you. Pink hair cascaded over her shoulders and as she turned to look at you, you could see that her eyes were white and milky.

“Gahyeon,” she smiled slowly, her voice was gentle and high. “And you bought a friend.”

“Youngeun, I know you told me not to come back b-”

“You need me to enchant your pendant.”

“Y-Yes,” She said. “You know I’ve been having trouble and I-I brought something you might like.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Gahyeon,” Youngeun said. “I want something from them.” Youngeun’s gaze shifted to you and she pointed at you slowly in a way that unsettled you.

“Youngeun they just came with me, I-I’m the one who-”

“If they’re not willing to pay then this is over,” Youngeun said simply.

“I’ll pay,” You said quickly. “Gahyeon you need this.”

Gahyeon pressed her lips together but nodded. Youngeun let out a giggle. “Splendid! Give me the pendant.”

Gahyeon quickly handed her the pendant and you stood back and watched as she started to speak in a strange language. The pendant glowed thoroughly under her hands as she did so and her eyes grew brighter, shining out into the room. You shifter closer to Gahyeon, a little afraid as Youngeun said her incantations. Something about it was very unsettling and you were starting to wonder what you had agreed to but you couldn’t back out, this was your only way home.

The moments ticked on and the glow started to fade as Youngeun’s words grew slowed until she finally stopped. She picked up the pendant and handed it to Gahyeon who rushed to hang it around her neck.

“You must change,” Youngeun said. “If you don’t change once a month it will break. Your true hope lies in control.”

Gahyeon nodded quickly and Youngeun reached for you. Gahyeon pushed you forwards and your hands found Youngeun’s, unsettled by her unnaturally strong grip. She squeezed and you felt a rush of emotion run through you, like all of your recent memories were playing right in front of your eyes.

“You have been on quite a trip,” she smiled, the image of her hazy before you. You watched as older memories played in your head, reaching into your past. Youngeun reaching into your past into moments you had nearly forgotten. You tugged back a little but her grip remained strong and you felt dizzy. 

“Youngeun,” Gahyeon hissed.

“Fine,” Youngeun released you. “That was more than enough.” Gahyeon pulled you to your feet but Youngeun grabbed you before you could leave.

“You won’t die, not for real. But unfinished business needs to be finished.” She turned her head to look at you. “Make sure to finish it.”

“Okay,” you choked out and Gahyeon pulled you, thanking Youngeun and dragging you from the house.

~

Weeks passed by and the chill in the air got stronger. Gahyeon left at least once a week at night to change forms. You knew she hated taking off the pendant. You thought about what Arem had said, about how frightening it was not to remember what happened. You worried about her being all alone all night, about when she changed back and woke up somewhere strange.

But she seemed to be changing. She seemed more able to remember what had happened. More of it was sticking around and you thought maybe she was accepting it little by little. That seemed to be important and even though you felt you weren’t doing all that much at the moment, you were happy progress was being made.

You sipped at the tea in your mug as you sat on the couch, looking out the window at the colours of fall, still only a few leaves on the ground but brilliant colours filling the top branches, as if meeting the fiery sky at sunset. Gahyeon had left to see her fiancé for the day. They didn’t meet all that much and for good reason but she seemed a little more excited about the whole thing recently.

Your name was called excitedly as the door flew open, Gahyeon with a bright smile on her face. Her happiness was infectious, tugging at your lips and making you giggle before you even knew what was so amusing.

“You had a good time I’m guessing?” You said.

“More than that,” she chimed. “I mean the visit was wonderful but that’s not what I’m excited about.”

“It’s not?”

Gahyeon shook her head, still grinning. “I changed, on purpose.”

“Wait really?!”

She nodded quickly, holding your hands. “I did, it was harder to change back but I did it on purpose and for the first time it was all so clear! I can remember everything, I was so aware, so in control this time.”

“Gahyeon, that’s awesome!” You smiled.

Gahyeon reached around beyond her neck and undid her pendant before handing it to you. You looked back and forth between her and the piece of jewelry, feeling a bit wary.

“I want to show you,” she said. “I want you to see it, it’s so cool.”

“A-Are you sure?” you asked.

Gahyeon got up off the couch, “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

You gripped the pendant tight in your hand as you got off the couch nervously. You watched as Gahyeon took a deep breath before curling forward, spotted fur sprouting from her body. She transformed before you, growing larger and stronger until she lifted her head.

Her eyes were still the same. They still looked like Gahyeon’s as you called her name nervously, unsure if she was really still there or if she had gotten overzealous. She regarded you curiously, stepping a little closer and sniffing the air. Your heart pounded out of your chest as you reached a hand forward cautiously.

Something in her eyes shifted, her expression growing colder. A low snarl passed her lips.

“G-Gahyeon?” You asked, stepping back. “H-Hey.”

Gahyeon started to stalk towards you and you scrambled back until you tripped on the uneven floor and fell backwards. She reacted to your quick movements, pouncing forwards as you covered your face with your arm.

Fabric tore and ripped and you let out a cry of pain as her claws sunk into your skin. She cut through the flesh of your stomach like butter, in a smooth swipe that left you dizzy, screams tearing out of your throat in pain and fear as blood flowed down your side.

Gahyeon growled louder and somewhere in the back of your mind, some small part of you trying to keep you alive remembered the pendant. You peered at her and brought the pendant up in front of you just in time to stop another swipe.

Gahyeon stumbled back and whined. You let out gasps as you tried to call her name and your hand came to cover your side, ending up covered in blood.

“Gahyeon, I know you’re in there, please,” your voice was weak and your brain foggy but it seemed to do the trick. Gahyeon’s eyes shifted again, full of sadness before she shifted back, growing smaller until she sat up from the floor, panting and distressed. She rushed forwards and grabbed the pendant, fastening it around her neck again, her hands shaking as she tried to speak and find something to help you.

“I-I” Her words didn’t seem to come out as she pressed part of her skirt to your side, trying to soak up the blood. “I- y-” 

“Gahyeon,” your voice was breathy. “I need s-something.”

“Y-Yeah,” she nodded quickly, pulling off the layer of skirt and left it with you as she rushed to the kitchen. You panted, the pain searing and setting your body on fire. You pressed the fabric into your side a little harder, knowing you were bleeding through it.

“Th-This,” Gahyeon brought a bottle to your lips. “It’ll help with the pain, a-and stop the bleeding.”

You drank it gratefully, feeling it sink through your body. The pain receded somewhat, though it still hurt. Gahyeon brought another bottle to your lips and you drank again, missing what it was but feeling a tightness in your stomach, groaning at the feeling.

“I-I have bandages.” 

“Okay,” you sighed, closing your eyes and feeling dizzy. You heard Gahyeon run off and come back before she pulled the fabric away from your side. You started to waver in and out as Gahyeon gave you apologies, “I’m so sorrys” falling off her lips as she covered the wounds in your side.

~

The trees grew more and more bare in the weeks that followed. Gahyeon could sense your tension but you weren’t sure how to let it slip away. With her pendant on she was safe, she wouldn’t hurt you, and she had apologized enough times for a lifetime. She also helped with your bandages and went out to get more.

The potions she gave you helped, they dulled the pain and helped it heal but even so as it healed enough to not bandage it it still seemed that a scar would be left over. You didn’t know how long it would last. What happened to your body here didn’t happen in real life, right? You couldn’t die, right?

You took more walks when you could, and Gahyeon usually tagged along. You knew she was worried about you going out on her own, even if she was too nervous to change around you anymore. She was treating you like glass but you knew she felt guilty about the whole thing.

“I never liked this part of fall,” you said, breaking the silence.

“No?” She asked.

“No,” you sighed. “I like when it’s bright and colourful. But when all the trees die and you’re just… waiting for winter.”

“I don’t mind winter out here,” she said. “It’s pretty when it snows, you’ll see.”

“It’ll be chilly,” you said, “but I can imagine it.”

Gahyeon nodded, moving a little closer as the breeze blew through. “What were they like, the other one like me?”

“Arem?” You asked. “She was nice, or she is I suppose. She was aware of herself better when she shifted, she said it took months of practice.”

“Was she- Was she okay? Like was going to be?”

“Gahyeon,” you said. “You can do this.”

“I keep thinking, what if I get married, and we’re there in the same house in the same bed? And what if I change in the middle of the night and suddenly I don’t remember who they are? What if they just look like a…”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be afraid.”

“How can I not be afraid?” She cried.

“No no,” you grabbed her hands. “What I mean is, I think you need to accept it. It’s a part of you. I know you’re scared, I would be too. But maybe, I don’t know finding some peace with it, accepting that it’s a part of who you are for better or worse. Maybe even making it better.”

Gahyeon was teary-eyed as she regarded you. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I don’t think you have to right now,” you said. “But maybe it would help, maybe it would let you feel more in control all the time.”

“What do you think happens if I never learn to control it?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know.”

~

The last of the leaves were still clinging to the trees as the first snowfall of winter came. Months had passed since you first arrived. Cold clung to the air and the fireplace burned almost constantly in the little cottage, keeping the two of you warm. Gahyeon had the door replaced eventually and the scars on your body remained, though faded as if older than they truly were.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Gahyeon called to you as you swung the axe down into the wood.

“It’s no problem,” you grunted, pulling aside the broken logs, now the right size for the fire.

“It’s rotten work,” she said. “It’s hard, you didn’t have to.”

“I’ve been living here for months,” You laughed. “Helping out is the least I could do.”

“Hey, when are you leaving, not that I don’t like having you or anything but, what’s your plan?”

You stopped, stretching out your back. “I’m here as long as I need to be, until I figure it all out.”

“You almost sound like Youngeun,” she muttered and you laughed.

“I- Look as crazy as it sounds I just get dropped into these places.” Gahyeon stopped and leaned against a tree, giving you a bemused smile. “I’m here until I’ve helped you and then I’ll go. I don’t really have any say over it.”

“You were sent to help me?” She asked. “Like an angel?”

You snorted. “I don’t know if I would say that, but yes I’m here to help. I mean I woke up here right before you showed up in my carnival tent.”

Gahyeon thought quietly for a moment and you put another log down to chop, wanting to get a few more done before it got too dark. Gahyeon said a few words to herself and you let her think, giving her time and space to do so as you chopped. A few more swings of your axe before you looked back up at Gahyeon.

And your blood ran cold.

Three wolves stood behind, haunches raised and lips pulled back in silent snarls as they stalked closer to her, no doubt looking for a tasty dinner and thinking they had found it.

“Gahyeon!” You screamed, stumbling back into the snow and pointed towards the beasts. She looked up and ducked down just before the first pounced. Your heart raced and you screamed as you lost sight of her and the wolves turned on you, stalking towards you, the snarls on their faces almost like twisted grins. 

“Gahyeon,” the name fell off your lips like a whimper as you ducked down as much as the snow would hide you, screaming as the biggest wolf pounced.

A streak of yellows and blacks streamed in front of you and the wolf howled in pain. Your eyes followed the sight to the large leopard that was growling and pinning the wolf to the ground before slashing at his face.

You couldn’t help the whimpers that came from you as you looked away from her to the other two wolves who had chased after and were biting at her. She seemed to throw them away easily. No match for her strength, though their attacks were persistent. You watched her bite and throw them off of her until a closer growl caught your attention and you noticed one of the three moving towards you.

“Gahyeon!” The screech burned your throat as you covered your eyes and heard the sound of another growl before the whimpering of the wolf. Your eyes searched and found it wounded and limping and Gahyeon stood between you and the wolves and let out a ground shaking roar.

The wolves whined, finally backing down, whining and lowering their heads before taking off in search of other prey. Gahyeon watched them until they disappeared and her growling quieted. She shook out her head before changing form in front of you, back to the small woman you knew.

“Come on,” she said, “Quickly in case they think it’s wise to come back.” Gahyeon supported you to your feet and helped you back to the cottage, trying to calm you the whole way.

~

The sun was streaming through the window but you didn’t wanna get up just yet. Your warm, fuzzy pillow was too comfy to just get up and leave. You nuzzled into it as you tried to shake the bad dream of wolves chasing you down from your mind, shifting as your pillow shifted.

As your pillow… shifted…

You sat bolt upright and gasped before clamping a hand over your mouth. The large, warm, fuzzy pillow was in fact a large leopard. Your brain tried frantically to parse out what was dream and what was real from the night before as she stirred, blinking and then lifting her head.

There was Gahyeon behind the eyes, but you stayed frozen. You had been here before. Had she learned enough? Or would she forget herself again?

Gahyeon let out a low, chattering sound and a sigh before dropping her head down again. She just seemed tired but you were still afraid to move. Then again if you were remembering last night correctly she had saved you from those wolves, and lost track of her pendant in the process. She seemed to not be able to sleep, maybe from your own nerves, but she lifted her head again with a grunt before nudging you.

You let out a nervous chuckle and watched as she cautiously placed her head in your lap and gazed up at you with sweet eyes, almost as if pouting. You gently brought your hand to her head and petted her, earning a low rumble from her that had to be akin to a purr.

You stayed like that for a while, smile spreading across your face at her gentleness. She shifted over, chattering again until you scratched her chin and purring more loudly when you did so.

“You’re only staying in this form to get affection,” you teased.

Gahyeon let out a disgruntled grumble as she stood slowly before nudging you with her nose. You chuckled at her and watched her change back into her human self.

“I wasn’t, it was just nice and comfy and warm with all the fur.”

“Sure,” you giggled.

Gahyeon rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go and find my pendant.”

“What happened to it anyway?” You asked.

“I don’t know,” She said. “I threw it off and didn’t even think about it. I just needed to make sure you didn’t get eaten.”

“Thanks for saving me,” you smiled.

A grin tugged at her lips. “Will you be here when I get back?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” you said.

“Well then,” she took your hands. “Thank you.”

“For getting into mortal danger?” You chuckled.

“No,” She hissed, playfully whacking your arm. “For believing I could do it.”

“Hey you just needed someone to believe until you could,” you said.

“Yeah I think so,” she nodded. “At any rate, I couldn’t have done it without you. So, thank you, guardian angel.”

“You’re welcome,” you giggled. Gahyeon pulled you into a tight hug.

“And if I don’t see you again, I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too,” you replied.

Gahyeon let go of you and grabbed a coat before heading out the door with one last smile back your way. Even as she did you sucked in a big breath as the darkness wrapped around you. The words “A souvenir” echoed through your mind in a familiar voice as you were swallowed in shadows.

~

initiative inner voice

~

You breathed in deeply, feeling like you were getting better at holding your breath. You thanked the soft bed under your body as you turned your head and watched the card disappear, the sight no less eerie than the first time. You rested a hand on your stomach as the paper appeared and felt something odd beneath your shirt.

The blood in your veins ran cold as you lifted it back to reveal old claw scars on your stomach.

Masterlist

[litwitlady]

Cosmic Clowns, Part Seven

Read the first six parts on AO3.

Liz picks Alex up the next morning so that he can leave his car at home. She keeps looking over and grinning at him the whole way to work. Once even reaching over to squeeze his knee in excitement.

‘I’m so happy for you and Maria. Even if you are both dating my ex’s siblings.’ Alex laughs. ‘What kind of friends let me date a cop? Anyway, keep Max Evans far away from me, Alex. Do you understand?’ She pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine. ‘I never want to see that vanilla frat boy face again.’

Inside Maria is already clacking away at her keyboard. ‘I’m here early so I can leave early. Getting my nails done for tonight.’ She wiggles her fingers at them, then frowns. ‘Why the crutches, Alex? Feeling okay?’

‘Oh, yeah. The prosthetic is down in Liz’s car. I don’t want to wear out my leg before tonight. So, crutches it is.’ Alex leaves the two of them to their happy laughter and shuts his office door for a little peace and quiet. He’s nervous – more nervous than he’s willing to admit.

But he doesn’t have much time to wallow in his anxiety before a client calls him and occupies his mind for the next two hours. And then another client and another until four o’clock rolls around and Liz is bringing him his prosthetic. She wishes him luck and leaves – Maria already long gone.

Alex changes in his office, walking into his small bathroom to give himself a once over in the mirror. The outfit is simple – his favorite pair of jeans with the knees worn out and a thin, black sweater in case the night grows chilly. He tries to swoosh his hands through his hair enough to make it look fluffy and freshly tousled. To complete the look, he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a tiny gold hoop and pushes it through his still pierced ear.

Michael texts that he’s downstairs. Alex takes several deep breaths and stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. He quickly puts on extra deodorant and heads out of his office.

He swings the building doors open and finds Michael leaning against the passenger side of his truck, one leg kicked back onto the fender and grinning at the sight of him. Alex grins too. And they stand like that for an excessive amount of time – beaming at each other like clowns. Clowns who are beyond a shadow of a doubt falling head over heels, ass backwards in love.

‘Well, you look good enough to eat.’ Michael stalks towards him, eyes focusing on the earring in his left ear. And then over to his mouth. Alex blushes but does his own once over. At Michael’s tight jeans, the copper belt buckle – his white tank top covered by an unbuttoned black shirt with roses stitched into the chest pockets. And the way he smells so, so good.

Michael asks for a hug by raising his arms and crooking all his fingers at Alex. He complies, nearly tripping over himself to wrap his arms around Michael. ‘I’m really excited about tonight.’ He pulls back and smiles softly. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Trust me, Alex. The pleasure is all mine.’ He opens the truck’s door for Alex to slide inside. And then, they are off into the night.

Dinner goes really well. They share all the details of their troubled childhoods, the dreams they dreamed as kids, and Michael tells several obscene stories about his first terrible sexual experiences. Mostly, they laugh. Laugh and eat and enjoy each other’s company. Even their silences, comfortable and relaxed.

When they pull into the fairgrounds, Maria and Isobel are already waiting for them. They exchange hellos and Isobel grabs her girlfriend’s hand – winks at Michael and Alex – and starts walking backwards. ‘We’ll leave you boys alone. Give you two some personal time. Meet you at the Ferris wheel in an hour.’

‘So, what do you want to do first?’ They pay the entrance free and get their hands stamped. ‘I think the funhouse has great potential. But the Gravitron is always a hit – or I could win you a giant purple teddy bear.’

Alex laughs and shakes his head. ‘No teddy bears. But the funhouse sounds like a plan.’ He gathers his courage and holds his hand out to Michael. He likes the way making the first move feels. And when Michael threads their fingers together, he decides that whatever risks await him within this relationship – the rewards are bound to be so, so good. And that’s a chance he’s finally ready to take.

They get quite a workout – walking up and down the fairway stopping at each and every attraction. Forty-five minutes pass in a blur as they head towards the cotton candy stand. Michael declaring that no carnival experience is ever complete without the proper carnival diet.

Michael gets in line behind a couple of other people. But Alex hangs back, wanting to spend a moment taking in his surroundings. He’s felt like such a recluse these past several months, and he’s not sure why. But being outside in the crisp spring air has him feeling energized and full of life.

The fairway stretches before him for what feels like miles, disappearing into the dark horizon. Flashing lights blink all around, the heat from the bulbs creating a smokey, surreal atmosphere that transports him to some other time and place. The laughter of small children and the soothing voices of their parents fill his ears alongside the eerie funhouse music echoing behind him. The whoosh of mechanical rides splitting the air and the whirl of the crowd crushing in close disorients him in a delightful way. He smells roasting turkey legs drenched in tangy barbecue sauce and buttery popcorn. Salt-crusted pretzels and the sickly-sweet scent of lollipops and caramel coated apples. A gentle breeze rustles the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck, sending little shivers dancing up and down his spine.

All his senses are lit on fire. Exploding with the carnival’s chaos – the overwhelming cacophony of teenagers gossiping, flags whipping in the air, hot dogs roasting on rotating oven racks, and the syrupy hint of strawberry slushies on the tip of his tongue. The world tilts, slanting into a spin. Alex closes his eyes and lets himself go. Allowing the thrill of the fair to sweep him away.

And when he reopens his eyes, Michael is directly in front of him. Close enough that his body heat creeps slowly into Alex’s skin. The evening’s sights and sounds still so oppressive and pulsating, pushing him forward with no hesitation because all his fear and worry and anxiety is buried beneath the too much of it all. And before he can even breathe, his arms are hugging tight around Michael’s neck – their bodies touching at every point from chest to hips to thighs and tangled feet.

And their lips – their mouths – their teeth – their tongues.

Pressing together as Alex licks Michael’s pink candy-dusted lips asking – no begging – for entry. And Michael complies – going pliant beneath Alex’s insistent tongue. Abandoning his cotton candy to the fairway detritus of those who came before. Michael’s hands don’t know where to begin, starting on the slight curve of Alex’s hips and sliding upwards across his firm chest and taut nipples – landing eventually in his thick, soft hair. And the first time the tip of Alex’s tongue glances against his own, Michael involuntarily bucks his hips and moans into Alex’s mouth.

They are still standing in front of the vendor stall and patrons are beginning to complain. Someone pushes at Michael’s shoulder roughly, yelling at them to get a room. Too love-drunk to break away, Michael tightens his arms around Alex’s waist and lifts him – blindly walking them backwards to the side of the makeshift shed housing the food stall. When his shoulders slap against the fake paneled wood, he spins them around and presses Alex against the wall. Never once disconnecting their mouths. He shoves his knee aggressively between Alex’s thighs, loving the vulgar way Alex starts to pump his already hard cock against his own denim-clad thigh.

But Alex – Alex is lost in a dream. Utterly undone and trembling with pleasure. He wants nothing more than to strip them down here and now. Let Michael fuck into him while everyone watches them rut against this shaky unstable shack. It’s been so long – too long since someone has touched him like this. Maybe no one has ever touched him like this. And he never wants him to stop. Michael’s hands reach down, palming his ass and Alex sucks at his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. The carnival slowly begins to fade away. The noises hushed by the beating of his own heart, the sights dimmed under his heavy-lidded eyes, the smells drowned out by the clean scent of Michael’s shampoo. And the tastes – my god, the tastes – melted away on Michael’s bruising lips and filthy, wet tongue.

Take all that carnival nonsense away and what’s left is them – just Michael and Alex. And the best kiss of both their lives.

[stitches04]

Funhouse Mirror

Is my body even mine?

I’ve been thinking about it for some time

How a few reparations are just a dime?/

Is this my reflection, even me?

Am I who I was meant to be?

just one fix up or three/

Skin so soft

must be porcelain

I thought and thought

How to just fit in/

Look at the waves down my back

Braids line up in neat tracks

Inches shorter will frame my face

But that’s strike three away from that place/

I’m.just. Noott a. Beautiful girl

despite what everyone tells me

I’m.just.nottt meant for this world

it’s just not fit for me

My reflections never the same looking through a funhouse mirror

I try for a better view but it never gets clearer/

Prima Ballerina

growing from a Nina

Kind of like the way I look in my favorite dress

But then I think if I had another body I’ll look my best/

distorted

image not the same

Imported

Photos in my folder I saved/

I don’t know if I am who I am

Wolfs coming after a lost little lamb

Who’s that little girl in the pictures

Notes behind the photos lost scriptures/

I remember all those lectures

Felt like I was a committing a crime

Afterwards simple gestures

I became just a baby doll mime/

I’m.just. Noott a. Beautiful girl

despite what everyone tells me

I’m.just.nottt meant for this world

it’s just not fit for me

My reflections never the same looking through a funhouse mirror

I try for a better view but it never gets clearer/

Fabric on my young frame

Never thought I’ll be the same

Threads keeping me from being who I am

pulling me stitching me they don’t give a damn/

I’m.just. Noott a. Beautiful girl

despite what everyone tells me

I’m.just.nottt meant for this world

it’s just not fit for me

My reflections never the same looking through a funhouse mirror

I try for a better view but it never gets clearer/

What a pretty girl you have

You must be so lucky

Changed now looks like her dad

Remember when you were tall and chubby/

I never knew I looked this way

Didn’t know it was a problem

Insecurities to this day

From school and family drama/

Odd Shapes and curves

Lines undefined

They really had the nerve

To say I was just fine/

Clumsy little thing Accident prone

always broken hearted but never broken a bone/

I’m.just. Noott a. Beautiful girl

despite what everyone tells me

I’m.just.nottt meant for this world

it’s just not fit for me

My reflections never the same looking through a funhouse mirror

I try for a better view but it never gets clearer/

They mold me like I’m putty

But I’m nature made like a gem

Compliments galore

locker behind doors

take take and take but i never get more/

Right behind the glass

don’t be such an ass

just a little girl stuck in the past/

If you saw what I saw

you would know it would be hard to show

If you heard what I heard

You would know it would be hard to grrowww/

From the left to the right

It never leaves my sight

From up to down

to my shoes to my crown/

pale smooth skin

looks different everytime

When I step right in

To the shower before night/

cant avoid what I see

cant get away from what I hear

never can just be

never can live without fear/

Don’t see myself Through the looking glass

I see a distorted image one I’ll never just pass

Playing hide and seek

never shy away from their peeks

just for the glass to shatter

for once can my tears just matter

Bridge

Flashing lights

child frights

circus communication in

The late nights

And I might

Be the performer they want me to be (they want me to be not me)

and when I see the other side

I can’t believe this is my life (this is my life dont want it to be mine)

And when I see what's in front of me

I think about who I would want to be (who do I want to be? Is this me)

I don’t wanna be you anymore

Leave the room and lock the door

want to run scream cry and shout

is this what being true to me is all about/

Feeling my reflection is not my own

they say can’t think this way I’m not grown

But yet again teen girls are sensitive

Replace tears with the Christmas gifts incentives

[casper-writes-stuff]

I Think I’m In Love

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921265

Summary: Virgil falls for Roman, and the realization hits him pretty hard. But... It's not a scary realization, like he thought it would be.

In which I'm five days late for Virgil's birthday, but here's his birthday fic that got way out of hand. I went into this expecting like no plot and Virgil simply thinking about how gay he is for Roman and then Roman refused to be ignored and it just kind of went from there. I've dedicated this to Max ( @max-is-tired) cause honestly? They've helped me get out of my writing funk lately and also they've been super excited for me to finish it since I sprung the idea for the fic on them in the first place lmao.

It wasn’t exactly a soft realization, when Virgil had it. It wasn’t like Patton telling him he loved him so much, and that he wouldn’t know what to do without his friendship. It wasn’t like Logan handing him a book on something Virgil was really interested in, wanting to discuss it with him and Virgil figuring out that was Logan telling him that he loved him like a brother. Nothing with Remus was soft, but realizing Virgil cared about him, too, wasn’t nearly as jarring as this.

Honestly, realizing how much he loved each of his friends never hit Virgil quite as hard as it did when he realized he was in love with one Roman Grimm. It was like a bag of bricks dropped from a few feet straight onto his chest.

Virgil had come up with a particularly creative insult and it had left Roman keeled over, wheezing so hard all that was escaping his mouth was high pitched noises, not a breath of air between them. He’d crossed his arms in triumph, feeling like he’d won that days bickering.

It took him all of ten seconds before he realized his expression wasn’t the smirk he’d been going for, but an overly sappy, love-filled smile at Roman’s laughter. And that’s when the bricks dropped and all air rushed out of his lungs, his eyes widening as he watched Roman gather himself.

He… didn’t run. Didn’t even consider it before Roman had recovered, made a comment that prompted Virgil into a response that sent him cackling again. While the conversation continues, Virgil thinks.

He thinks about his last venture into the dating world, and how it ended in such a massive disaster that he did his best to jade himself to feeling like that again, because what’s the point of butterflies when they’re only going to rip through your heart on their way out?

But… being around Roman doesn’t give him butterflies. Strangely enough, Virgil feels like he’s the one with wings, when he’s with the flamboyant actor. Being with Roman makes Virgil feel like he could do anything he wanted to, so long as he had him by his side. Doesn’t matter that they’d be bickering and insulting each other the entire journey. If anything, that’d make Virgil feel more confident that he can actually pull it off, whatever it was he decided to do that day.

And honestly, now that he’s thinking about it, Virgil gets kind of reckless when he and Roman are in the same vicinity. Dee has even pointed out to him before a venture into an abandoned amusement park to go ghost hunting that Roman had an easier time convincing Virgil to do something stupid and kind of dangerous than Patton did trying to get him to sleep.

Virgil had, naturally, told him to shove that stick in his ass down his own throat. He may be spending a little too much time with Roman’s brother, if he was being honest with himself. Dee had only scoffed, rolling his eyes before letting Virgil leave the house to meet up with an eccentric blond.

That venture into the old, rusty amusement park was one of the best nights of Virgil’s life, if he didn’t count being almost crushed to death under an unsteady beam in one of the haunted houses. He and Roman had so much fun getting scared shitless by every creak and groan of the old rides. The funhouse mirrors had sent Virgil into laughing fits when every single one somehow only showed Roman as his normal self while he himself got the different appearances.

Thinking back on it, there was definitely a ghost fucking with them that entire adventure, but Virgil was having too much fun exchanging witty insults with Roman to really care. He’d had fun, and really wasn’t that something? Cause Virgil… Virgil didn’t have fun. He mildly enjoyed things while anxiety tickled the back of his mind, making him overthink every single action that was a result of him not thinking enough. The anxiety faded, the longer he knew the people he hung out with regularly, but it never really went away long enough for him to forget it was there until something that needed it happened.

Virgil was about to start thinking about how Roman managed to get him out from under the old rotting wood of a support beam before the haunted house got worse when Roman himself interrupted his thinking.

“Virgil. Vee. V-Man. Very Unimportant. Walking Existential Crisis. Vladimir--”

“Roman if you finish equating to me to the president of Russia, your face will no longer be as pretty as you think it is,” Virgil interrupted, his eyes finally focusing back on Roman’s expression. Which was filled with a confused concern.

Oh shit, did he space out?

“Well sorry, you stopped responding to me for a minute there, and your face went from all “Roman is a dumbass” smirk to some kind of mushy, gooey grin.”

Virgil scrunched up his nose in disgust at the comparison.

“Ew. Don’t ever call me mushy or gooey again, and I’ll let you live.”

Roman snorted, rolling his eyes at Virgil’s false disgust of all things soft.

Which, rude. Virgil had a reputation, he couldn’t just let himself be called mushy. What would his pretend fans think!

“I’d like to see you try and kill me, Very Short. You can’t even reach my shoulders without my assistance, you think you can aim for my heart from all the way down there?”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed while Roman’s grin widened, turning into a challenge.

There was exactly two beats of silence before Roman bolted for the door, Virgil chasing after him.

Virgil stops thinking about his feelings after that, stops thinking beyond strategy to capture Roman and somehow give him the biggest noogie of his life for daring to bring up Virgil’s height.

And it just kind of… continues. Virgil feels comfortable around Roman in a way he hadn’t before, despite Virgil never thinking he was ever uncomfortable around him prior to his revelation. Maybe it’s because he’s aware of the feelings now, and he recognizes his actions for what they are; pure, genuine affection and romantic attraction.

Over the next few weeks, Virgil can’t help but test the waters a little bit. He starts flirting back when Roman sends him some stupid pick up line he thinks is funny. Several times they’ve gone for hours, trying out-flirt each other and many times Virgil has won because Roman can’t let go of the overly ridiculous lines that focus on sex and Virgil is actually flirting so Roman eventually gets too flustered to continue.

Along with the flirting he gets… a lot more touchy. It’s not exactly subtle, nor is it obvious the touching is another result of his discovery, considering it’s really just Virgil letting himself rise to a lot of the bait Roman lays out for a playful fight. Patton definitely notices though, and the conversation that leads to is awkward at best, mortifying at worse.

And no, he doesn’t really feel like recounting that event in his memories.

It’s two days before his birthday when his brother and Roman’s brother trap him in Dee’s room with them to confront him.

“You know, you could’ve just asked to talk to me in private instead of hooking your arms around mine to drag me in here,” Virgil comments after flopping on his back on the carpeted floor beneath him. Dee and Remus had both taken advantage of their heights, and Virgil hadn’t really been able to keep his feet under him so when they let him go he’d fallen on his ass and who was he to pass up the opportunity to lay down?

“Yes, but that wasn’t nearly as much fun as dragging you in here like we were going to torture you for information!”

Virgil huffs a breath of air, trying to get his bangs out of his eyes enough so he could give Remus a curious look.

“Okay, and why are you torturing me for information?”

Dee cuts in, then. “Because you’re so open with us, Virgil.”

Virgil narrows his eyes in a glare at his older brother.

“You’re point, Monty the Python?”

Dee rolls his eyes at the nickname, crossing his arms.

“Our point, V-Section, is that you’re acting weird around my brother and he may not have noticed but we have,” Remus butts in with an irritated huff.

Virgil blinks, staring at his brother’s best friend for a solid thirty seconds before he speaks up.

“Was that… Did you just call me a C-Section but with the first letter of my name?” he asks, utterly bewildered. Usually Remus was a lot gorier or NSFW with his nicknames for others, and he didn’t usually relate their name back to it like Roman did.

“Did you really just totally ignore everything Remus said after that?” Dee asked, exasperated with the thing Virgil chose to focus on rather than the important part.

Virgil shrugged, shifting his feet so his knees were in the air and bringing his hands to rest on his stomach.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not like I’m really trying to keep my actions a secret, guys. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t say anything sooner? It’s been, what, two months since I actually started flirting with him?”

Dee blinks in surprise at Virgil’s admission.

“...That’s it? You’re not going to fight us on this?” he asks, skeptical of how easy Virgil was taking this. He was quite literally taking it lying down.

“Yeah? Why would I fight you on this?” Virgil asked, raising his torso up on his elbows to better stare at them in confusion.

Genuine confusion.

Jesus Christ.

“Probably because when you dated Chris and he criticized literally everything you did and liked you broke down after he dumped you and told everyone you wouldn’t let yourself interact with romance again?” Remus said, confused by Virgil’s confusion.

“Ah. That. Well, it’s whatever. In the past, literally years ago at this point. Why should I let it bother me now?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Was Dee’s immediate response, panic that was almost genuine ringing clear through his words.

Sighing, Virgil flopped back onto the ground, ignoring the slight burning on his elbows from sliding them against the carpet. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, arms spread wide and knees knocking together as he thought (he’d been doing so much thinking lately).

“I know, not exactly something you’d expect me to say, as someone with generalized and social anxiety disorders. But… I don’t like Roman, the way I liked Chris. With Chris, things were fast but they felt kind of forced after a while. I mean yeah, it was fun making fun of people with him, but he didn’t exactly stop at other people, or even me. He criticized himself, and I felt a kinship in that, I guess. I felt like he’d relate to me on my worse nights. I dated him more because I thought he’d understand the feelings because he went through them too.”

Remus and Dee looked at each other as Virgil trailed off, obviously lost in thought. They let the silence go for a minute before Remus got impatient.

“Okay, then how is my brother different than Crucifixion?” he asked, impulsively grabbing one of Dee’s hands to play with his fingers see how long he could squeeze them together before he pulled his hand away.

Virgil still didn’t look at them, instead choosing to smile softly at the ceiling and wow, if that wasn’t a strange look to see on his brother.

“With Roman it’s like… it’s like coming home after a long day of bullshit. It’s a huge relief, I get to unwind from my stress by focusing on something else that I enjoy exponentially more than talking to other people. Instead of overly stressing about how someone reacted to this action, or what to say next to avoid pissing people off, I get to focus on just being in the moment and enjoying myself. It just… feels like home, loving him.”

“Well, slap my ass and call my Lucifer, cause hell must have just frozen over,” Remus says, making Virgil freeze as what he just said sinks in.

“Well. Guess that answers that question, then,” Dee comments, finally pulling his hand away when Remus scrunches his hand in a way that shoots pain through the back of it, making Remus grin at him.

Virgil makes a noise, but Dee can’t really identify what it is, now that Virgil has covered his face with his hands. Granted, that really does nothing to obscure the way his neck and ears have turned red, and if Dee guessed, his face was probably just as bad.

“Remus, I think we should let Virgil stew in his words by himself now.”

Remus perks at that. “Oh! Can we go to the creek? I think I saw a dead squirrel there yesterday and I wanna see how much it’s decomposed.”

Dee sighed, but nodded, turning away from his brother as his best friend bounded out of the room in excitement.

Virgil let out a groan as he listened to Dee and Remus leave, noting the lack of the door clicking shut. Guess it was left open then, probably to urge Virgil out of Dee’s room faster.

Well… he may as well accept that he just admitted Out Loud to his brother and friend that he was in love with Roman. Not like it was information he didn’t already know, he just… hadn’t really anticipated telling them it was something beyond a stupid crush.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil uncovered his face and made quick work of getting himself off the floor so he could actually go chill out in his room like he’d been planning to do before he was ambushed outside of the bathroom.

Honestly, Virgil really shouldn’t have expected Dee and Remus leaving him alone after his admission would mean they would just leave him alone about the topic altogether. Especially now that it was his birthday, and Roman was coming over in five minutes and Remus was giving him a wide unsettling grin.

Usually, that wouldn’t mean anything. Except it was paired with Dee’s self-satisfied smirk as he swung his keys around his finger to entertain himself while he waited.

Virgil glared at the two of them from his spot on the kitchen counter (he’s gay and has anxiety, you couldn’t pay him to sit properly on a chair. Or in a chair regardless).

“What are you two up to? I swear to God, if it’s a surprise party, I will skin you both,” Virgil hisses.

Remus goes to respond, fully prepared to get into a competition with Virgil on who can come up with more creative threats, but Roman bursts in at that exact second, and Virgil slinks off the counter to go meet him at the door, shooting Dee another harsh glare over his shoulder.

“I’m here, Charlotte’s Web!”

Virgil couldn’t help the small smile that formed at the classic nickname, shaking his head as he stopped in the doorway leading in and out of the kitchen.

“Hey, Caesar Salad,” Virgil greeted, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket and forcing his smile into a more lopsided smirk as Roman looked up at him.

Roman paused for a second, staring at Virgil like he’d just seen something he hadn’t before, making Virgil quirk a brow in question. Instead of an explanation, Roman just cleared his throat and finished maneuvering a large brown paper bag through the gap between his leg and the doorframe.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked, stepping forward to help Roman out by grabbing the thing he wasn’t struggling with--his jacket.

Roman glared at Virgil, who only smirked in response before huffing as he managed to get the bag through without ripping it.

“You’re birthday present if you must know, Gerard Gay.”

Roman was rewarded with a snort as Virgil turned back into the kitchen, gesturing for Roman to follow with a wave of his hand.

Entering the kitchen, Roman let out a long groan.

“Remus, what are you and Rumplesnakeskin doing here?”

“I live here, Roman,” Dee responded before Remus could, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but you’re never here when I’m here, and if you are, you always make a quick getaway. You’re up to something, Jafaar, and I don’t like it.”

Virgil couldn’t help but agree with Roman, going back to glaring at the two as he hopped back up on the counter to get comfortable.

“Plus, you both have been giving me your evil plotting smiles all morning.”

Roman shuttered. “Oh yeah, something’s definitely up. Spit it out Dr. Gloom and William Snakespere. What foul deeds are you planning today?”

Remus snorts at that, pulling a recorder out of his pocket. One of those old handheld ones you see in movies when the main character needs proof of something that was said. Something he must have gotten from Logan.

Something he probably had two days ago.

Virgil froze, eyes zeroing in on the recorder. The next thing he knew, he was launching himself off the counter in Remus’ direction, reaching for the device in hopes of either grabbing it or making Remus drop it so it’d break on the ground.

Neither of those things happened, considering Remus seemed to anticipate Virgil’s reaction as he gave a gleeful squeal, leaping onto the table and holding the recorder high above his head, out of Virgil’s reach.

Virgil had no qualms getting on the table, but before he could, Dee stopped him.

“Virgil, that table can only handle so much weight, do you really want to incur both of our moms’ wrath by breaking the table when we’re only visiting?”

Roman watched as Virgil was clearly panicking at the fact that Remus had a recorder in his hand, gaze switching between Remus and Dee and Virgil as he tried to figure out what was going on.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, other than the fact you guys have recorded something Virgil clearly doesn’t want me to hear, but I’d honestly really rather you didn’t force him into sharing something he’s not ready to share yet,” Roman said, crossing his arms after dropping the bag on the floor.

Remus let out a loud whine at that. “C’mon, Roman! I thought you’d be curious to know what we’ve found out.”

Roman shrugged at that, looking to Virgil, who was currently staring at him with wide eyes. He met the look with a small smile.

“Yeah, of course I’m curious. You guys know I hate being left out of the loop, but Virgil doesn’t want me to know right now. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll never want me to know. And even if it does, I’ll respect that. My curiosity is not an excuse to betray his trust like that.”

“I love you.”

Roman blinked in shock at the words that suddenly left Virgil’s mouth, and if the surprise on Virgil’s face was anything to go by, Virgil hadn’t expected to say them either.

Silence filled the kitchen for a few minutes before Remus let out a resigned sigh.

“Well that just took all the fun out of this. Dee let’s go to the park so I can scare some kids.”

Dee shook his head at his best friend as he hopped off the table.

“We’re not scaring children again, Rem. The last time we nearly got kicked out of the park for good, and I know that one is your favorite for corpse hunting.”

Dee’s words trailed off until the door closed behind the two friends as Roman and Virgil continued to stare at each other.

“...I love you too.”

Virgil’s face immediately lit on fire, and he let out an embarrassed sound, but didn’t move from his spot leaning against the table, knee halfway on top of it from when Dee had stopped him.

Roman couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head.

“Was that what Remus wanted me to hear?” he asked, shifting to sit on a counter (a habit he gained from Virgil, though he was more prone to sitting in actual chairs, he sat on whatever surface was closest to him).

Virgil finally shifted his leg off the table, clearing his throat as he collapsed onto the floor, legs spread out before him while he leaned back on his hands.

“...Yeah. Yeah it was. Though the recording probably had a lot more embarrassing stuff on it, I doubt they only recorded the last bit of that conversation.”

Roman nodded, tapping his fingers against the hard surface of the counter.

“To be completely honest, I had my suspicions when you started flirting back? But I didn’t really want to say anything in case you stopped, or I was wrong.”

Virgil groaned, letting his head fall back so he could stare at the ceiling.

“Yeah, that started like a week after I figured it out. Remember when you called me mushy and gooey and I threatened your weak life form?”

Roman snorted. “Yeah, I remember. And excuse you, you’re the one with a weak life form Virgil.”

Virgil squinted at Roman then. “Roman. You’re allergic to cats. And chili peppers.”

“You’re lactose intolerant!” Roman protested, earning a smirk.

“Yeah? Do you see me avoiding dairy, Roman? I have chugged an entire gallon of milk, Princey. You really think something as stupid as milk inolerance is going to stop me?”

The bickering continued, them not really acknowledging their feelings beyond the initial declarations of love.

Which was fine with Virgil. They didn’t need to label anything just yet, and it’s not like Virgil was really into physical affection beyond cuddling anyway, so nothing really would change between them, label or not.

And if they held hands more often, or teased each other with pet names they didn’t dare do before, then that was really nobody’s business, was it?