#*same in the sense of they are people with rough edges and many many flaws but many positive qualities too

[primus-why]

Sometimes I just love megop because these two are among the few who have seen each other's darkness, seen them at their lowest, at their worst... and yet they still choose to be with each other. They still see each other as people, not just infallible legends.

[violet-amet]

friendly reminder that im bisexual. also i can get a bit /weird/ sometimes. im sure that im annoying to people for those reasons, but i cant fully change those parts of me. that said, i hope you all are having good times~!

on a different tangent.

i have some different writing ideas going on in my nogging, but i am dealing with some general writer's block. i just hope to be able to express those ideas well enough that it just makes sense, despite how hard it feels to me that it never does. i know its just because as a writer, as i work on the story, i see it in a different view compared to readers. i see the rough edges, the points that stick out a bit more than others, and the flaws that i want to fix, but its hard because i never know /how/ to do that without messing up the original idea i have. i do too much and lose track of the original idea. its like seeing the inside of a sock, with the fluff, while the outside looks smooth.

writing is such a difficult and fun hobby that i love. and its hard when im such a perfectionist. its why i share a lot of my drafts, or post whatever work i finished, with some edits. its imperfect, and it will bother me and i will hate it, but at the same time, i love it because i made it if that made sense.

anyway, thats just how ive been feeling lately about my writings. people like it, which makes me happy, even if no one really comments on some. it helps, sure, to read others thoughts, because they tend to help me figure things out or put me back on the path i need to take to continue. but i still write, even if not many read them. not doing it for fame, but for fun. i wouldnt know how to handle being popular if that ever happens. im not really someone who wants to be in the spotlight, even if i am sharing my stuff to the world.

but im rambling and sleepy. it just feels good to sort my thoughts out this way to help me get a better understanding of myself.

[lake-archive]

Chapter 43 - Except We Are A Couple (Now)!

AO3 Link

Fandom: Ensemble Stars

Series: Alte Liebe Rostet Nicht

Characters: Izumi Sena, Anja-Sophia 'Ann' Wolff (OC)

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Talk about the tension rising ever since. At first none of them seemed to have really thought about this but ever since it was brought to their attention by people surrounding them it was not unlikely that both were questioning this altogether. That would of course assume that Ann had heard the same things Izumi did. He did not know! It could be the case! But the question was if that had been the case or if it had been something else. Because she was awfully quiet, to say the least, and limited conversations, talking as if she wanted to get this over with. And he wasn’t any different for the next few days, limiting conversations even at home, as if too flustered to speak. Not to mention that Izumi’s own thoughts were racing, to say the least, and he felt so many emotions go through his body at once when wasting his thoughts on the sheer possibility. At first he tried to deny it.

“Huh… Could it be… Izumi– Chan… Are you in love?”

Him? Catching feelings for Ann? Naru–Chan had been making an outrageous claim at the time. Or so he’d like to believe. Regardless, he had started reflecting ever since, as if this was edging him on to think about it. Maybe there was some truth behind it? Thinking back on the past few days if not weeks– Him insisting to take her outside twice, seeing her in such an upbeat mood and admiring her smile. He loved to see it and wanted to see it as much as he could. 

And sure, she was a bit of a mess sometimes as well as being rather unpredictable, but it was exciting in its own right. She can be a pain in the neck due to her seemingly spontaneous reactions, no denying, and her being so clumsy that she is somewhat incapable of doing her own housework properly is a talent of its own. Then again, everyone had their flaws. It was annoying and yet he had the odd urge to help her. He wanted to stay by her side for as long as he could. 

At first he thought that this was merely because he wanted to pay her back for what she had done. After all, if Ann had not pushed him around, he and Patch would have never reconnected. She was the reason things may have been rough for Izumi for a while but he came around eventually. She had the chance to push him away multiple times and yet she decided against it, despite her having been rather open about disliking him at first. She couldn’t stand his guts for some time and he couldn’t stand her existence either. But a lot happened and he gave her credit for starting it. So, since she was there for him, he wanted to be there for her… As a friend. Or so he told himself.

When that excuse no longer worked he shoved it to a sense of guilt once being made aware that he left her alone as a child. Let alone her ‘not minding’ to be alone… It was something else to hear. So he saw it as his duty to stay close, make sure she has at least one friend. Although maybe he was trying too hard here… A little too hard. He could admit that and yet he would not admit to anything else. So being put on the spot was frustrating… 

He hated to admit to it. In fact, should he ever admit to something like this? Him, falling in love with someone like her? She doesn’t seem like his type and he was of this opinion for a while but… Now… Looking back on it all, it would be foolish not to admit it to himself!

So, Izumi planned to address it eventually. Especially since the silence was killing him. He couldn’t bear it. It’s been going on for days now! And this he decided to take a deep breath and just say it. Besides, he couldn’t handle another dinner in silence. It has been going on long enough here!

And thus he decided to open up a conversation after a few bites. It was now or never, especially since it is just them at the moment. “Hey, are you hearing this… Nonsense too?” 

It made Ann look right at him, mouth stuffed and crumbs all over her mouth. Of course they were… That girl may as well be a hamster. Though she looked confused at him, as if unaware.

“Ok firstly, swallow! Don’t stuff too much into your mouth at once!”

She nodded, chewing a few times before swallowing however much she had in her mouth at that point. He then continued speaking.

“As for what I mean.. Well… I’m sure someone pointed out that… Uhm…” Urgh, he wanted to say it but even then he had a hard time saying it out loud now! Damn it! Was it so hard to come from his mouth here!? 

Though he was in luck this one time as she finished the sentence soon enough, though in a rather soft tone compared to the usual. “We’re like a couple?”

“Y… Yeah, that!” He responded, hearing it making his head almost spin, so close to feeling light headed. “It’s nonsense, isn’t it?”

“Y… Yeah! Complete nonsense!” He heard her agreeing, though also stuttering, as if flustered thinking about it. Was she? Anyway…

“W… We are just friends though, aren’t we?” Yeah, just friends. No need to hope for anything to begin with. He was fine with it. Just friends. Yeah, just friends…

“Totally! Just friends!”Never dating, right?” She asked, almost stuttering.

“Yes, never!” He agreed and it was there where silence kicked in for a few more moments, both looking away from each other. Ugh, this conversation was just… Just… Well… No words. 

And thus they were silent yet again, finishing up their meals respectively before putting their bowls and chopsticks (or a fork in Ann’s case) down, first facing the table before both turned their heads up to face one another all of a sudden, staring at each other… Wait, she’s red too!? What is the meaning of that!? But old habits die hard because before they knew it they would start yelling at each other again, Ann starting.

“You brought it up!? Meaning!?”

“What do you mean ‘meaning’!? I’m not trying to say anything by that!”

“Then why say that!?”

“Because you’re silent all week!”

“You too! You wanna date suddenly!?”

“Hah!? D… Don’t be ridiculous! It’s nothing like that! I’m not desperate!” Despite being aware he was still denying it verbally… Great… “You point it out so what are you trying to say!? That you want to date me!?”

“Hah!? I… No! Not desperate!” Ann denied however, flushed red. 

“Yeah right! Sounds like to me you fell for me you know!” 

“Me!? You fell!” She countered, as if confident in that statement but also not really. It was rather odd, to say the least. and yet the indication was all too obvious.

“Hah! I won’t admit it if you don’t!”

“Ok fine! I may fell in love! With you!”

“There we go! Because I think so do I!”

It only kicked in seconds later what she had said, he had said and what they both had said. It seems that they had taken notice at the same time, staring right at one another and viewing each other’s flustered expression. Izumi’s thoughts were racing and he knew all too well that his heart was beating like crazy now. He just heard it from Ann’s mouth, no denying that. She just admitted to something he did not see coming… Nor did he see it coming that he would fall for someone like her to begin with. But fate works in strange ways, doesn’t it? After all, nowadays he wasn’t really complaining. Actually, he was relieved to hear that. And yet he would hold himself back to grin like an idiot. Not yet after all, not yet. But would she say something first? He wasn’t counting on it but…

“I… Uhm… Thought about stuff and… We might be a couple?” She said, turning her gaze away while blushing rather heavily, then continuing to stutter. “I mean, given… All of it… Ah! Not just because we occupy a small space! I just mean… Uhm… If you think a bit then… “

“Ann, I’m in love with you.” Izumi didn’t know what exactly had come over him all of a sudden but maybe he couldn’t wait. That or her stuttering was getting a little on his nerves. So he decided to take matters into his own hands and just say it, perhaps making it easier on her in the end. She was beating around the bush after all, something there was absolutely no need to anymore. Sure, as a result he felt himself heating up out of sheer embarrassment and yet he said it. He has nothing to lose now since hearing how she felt! 

And yet she went silent with wide eyes, the redness lighting her own face up. She may as well have been a stoplight at that point. “Hah!? Did you say—”

“Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?” He interrupted before she could get another word out. This resulted in her just staring at him, as if she had not read between the lines. Though she probably did, she should be able to do that at least. If not… She’s a lost cause in all honesty. 

“N… No just… Ich… glaube es immer noch nicht… ”

“Uhm… What did you—”

“Ah— Force of habit! Just…. Uhm…” She responded quickly, soon enough a small smile forming on her face however. So she’s the first one to crack huh? How funny, he thought he would be the one since he was at the brink of it. And yet, here she was instead. How cute.

“I… I started to be in love with you too!” Finally, she said it, red yet smiling either way. It hit hard and yet it was the rest to make him grin like the biggest he could be at this moment. Damn it, he never imagined something like this to be that big of a deal. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? He was overwhelmed with joy yet it wasn’t a bad thing, while at the same time he was more than relieved. It was hard to put into words, this was the best he could manage.

“And I thought we’d sit here forever.” He admitted, though trying to keep calm in the end.

“So… Uhm… Would that mean—”

“You mean us as a couple? Well, it would only make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess but—”

“What? If you don’t want to, just say so.”

“Not what I meant! Do… you want to?”

“I… wouldn’t be against it, no.”

“Then… Well—”

“Don’t expect me to go any easier on you though.” Izumi suddenly warned, just wanting to make sure. He doesn’t want her to get any wrong ideas after all. He had no intention whatsoever to go soft on her, he’d never consider that with anyone! “Actually, I think I should go stricter on you.”

“Stricter!?” Ann asked with visible shock in her eyes, flinching even. “T… Talk about… Moment ruined…”

“You have no one but yourself to blame y’know. I’m only doing this because I… Happened to care!”

“C… Can I back out?”

“No, too late now. You’re stuck with me now! Whether you like it or not!”

Though it was… Nice. There’s no harm in giving it a shot after all, is there?

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[justabooklovingmetalhead]

4 stars

There are a lot of really great ideas in this book. The problem is that there may be too many ideas in it. Namely- in this book, Witchers are magic-users and are an oppressed group, and a lot of the plot involves fighting anti-Witcher legislation. Meanwhile, the plot also involves a lot of corruption within the Witcher community and secret plots and etc. Both of these were great ideas for a book, but paired together, at times I thought they detracted from each other? At the same time, the two ideas did work well together at times and both very much contributed to the themes of the book- the combining of the two was a little clunky at times but well-done overall.

Another thing I noticed was that, at the beginning, the book was almost doing too much, too fast? It got into its stride after about 100 pages, but I think the intro could’ve used some time to breathe and better establish relationships and worldbuilding. That being said, once it was past the rougher part, I really did think it was an excellent book pacing-wise and plot-wise.

I loved the worldbuilding- you can really tell that the author put a lot of thought into the magic system. There were a couple things that didn’t make sense but overall I thought it was excellent. I thought the character arcs were very good, and it was interesting to watch them clash more and do darker things as the book went on. You can tell the characters care about each other, but they’re all very flawed and have their own motivations behind things. Also, the twists were both logical and unpredictable- this book was a wild ride by the end, and the plot holds up while still shocking the reader.

TL;DR: an amazing book with some rough edges. I’d recommend this to people looking for witchy books, themes relevant to today’s world, a cast of complex and often morally grey characters, complex plots with political intrigue, and darker YA fantasy.

[scalamore]

Your Majesty, Please Spare me this Time!

My review. This is not a quick read to pass the time. It involves human nature and human psychology to understand. There is fantastic worldbuilding. This is a a romantic fantasy drama. Plot and Romance development go hand in hand. Season 1 (Ch 1-41) and Season 2 (42 - ) set up the story for the rest of the series. There are some cute moments between the main leads, but their feelings develop slowly but surely. Because of their situations, they consider each other enemies. They shouldn't fall in love. But they do. The ultimate ending for this series is “Rupert and Lariette obtain happiness”. Both of our leads have complicated, traumatic pasts. Both are distrustful of the other and are enemies at first. But over time, they fall in love with each other naturally, not by misunderstandings or for shallow reasons, but rather because they fall in love with each other’s “true self”, despite the masks they wear in public and the secrets they desperately hide. Both Rupert and Lariette are flawed humans, and make mistakes and suffer the consequences. In this series, some allies turn into enemies, and some enemies turn into allies. You don’t know until the last moment. In this world, Lariette is betrayed many times, and her faith in what she thought was true is tested. Lariette is a very sweet, lovely character who radiates warmth and comfort. She hides her trauma and hatred from the past deep in her heart, as she suffers greatly when those memories surface. Rupert is rough around the edges. He is fundamentally a kind, gentle person who acts very rude. His first meeting with Lariette was very bad, and he had threatened her many times at the start, because he had 0 sense. His goal is to survive and become Emperor, and he learns what it means to be a “human” with Lariette’s influence. When reading this series, keep an open mind. There is no “filler”. Past chapters will be referenced in future ones. Characters you’ve met once will appear again. Memories of the past influence the decisions of the future. Both RupeLali will grow and change over time - the people they are at the start of S1 is not the same as in the end of S2. As they grow older and mature together, they grow so close, yet they remain so far from each other. During their tender moments together, you just want them to succeed and be happy! But in order to reach their happiness, they have a long journey ahead. Both of them can’t be together as a couple, until their past traumas are addressed. They have to have both their own individual willpower to move on and accept the future, and the willingness to share, support, and completely accept the other for this to work. Otherwise, they can never be together. The end of Season 2 is just the beginning. This series explores human nature, what it means to be loved, to trust and believe in others, and for one to grow and make their own decisions and choose their own destiny. I hope readers will give this series a chance.

[five-rivers]

Is there any way we could possibly convince you to write more of the Eldritch!Danny au? As it's own phanfic? This, of course, would only be done once you are under considerably less stress, and can comfortably put the effort into that, if there ever could be such a time whilst writing Mortified and Stars Aligned. It could even wait until one or both of those has reached a point that you deem them Completed™. I'm just immediately part of Sam's Cult XD

It’s been a bit, and this is kind of random, but...

.

Clockwork’s avatar pressed the food to Danny’s lips, and he bit down, hard.  Juices dribbled down his chin as the food squirmed.  He moaned in something like relief as the pressure in the venom sacs in the roof of his mouth lessened.  He ate.

He kept Dreaming of himself with fangs and venom. Did that mean something?

A cold pressure under his chin forced him to look up.  Clockwork’s avatar inserted another piece of food into Danny’s mouth.  

Of course, it means something, it said. You are such a generous soul that you must give of yourself before you can even do something as basic and vital as eat.

Something about that didn’t sound right, but Danny wasn’t in a position to argue, not when he found himself so hungry.

Clockwork’s avatar fussed over him, feeding him more and more, past the point of mere satiation to the point where he felt bloated and slug-like.  He wanted to curl up and sleep real sleep.  The image of a caterpillar who, having gorged itself, began to form a cocoon, flittered across his mind.  

You are a long way from metamorphosis yet, dear one, said Clockwork’s avatar.  Come.  I have something for you.  

Danny followed the tug of the chained collar around his neck, blinking blearily, his footsteps just a little unsteady.  

The careful direction of the chain led him to a small table cluttered with trinkets.  Clockwork’s avatar leaned down to press its cheek against the crown of Danny’s head.  Its cloak fell to either side of Danny, cutting off his field of view to the left and right, leaving him with only the table and the wall behind it.  

A gift, said Clockwork’s avatar.

“Why?” asked Danny.  It felt odd to speak here, and much more so in English, but he was still learning how to use his True Voice.  

I wanted to give you something myself, before we celebrate your birthday.  

“My birthday is ages away,” said Danny.  

From some perspectives, perhaps.  But we missed so many of yours.  We must make them up before the next one.  

There was something ominous there, but Danny just leaned into the avatar’s touch, unwilling to devote himself to interpreting omens.  

Pick one, said Clockwork’s avatar, pick wisely.  Gifts received in the Dream become part of you.

Danny nodded and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the trinkets—no, the gifts—again.  Gifts that, like all good gifts, came with strings attached.  

There was something off about that thought.

But it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t as if he could refuse a gift.  

He reached out.  

.

He picked the beaded pectoral necklace.  Mostly because he was curious to see how it went on, what with the collar around his neck and all.  Yes, this was the Dream, and multiple things could exist in the same place at the same time, but usually there was an… internal consistency, of sorts.

It turned out the answer was that the necklace merged with the bottom edge of the collar, which felt weird, but it was fine, because both were manifestations of Clockwork’s Love.  

The unfamiliar weight of it hung strangely off his shoulders, especially given the counterweight that hung down his back, and forced him to alter his posture.  He stood straight and… Well.  Not tall. But to his full height.  

Clockwork’s ticking sounded pleased.  An echo of something where Danny’s heart once was agreed with that assessment.  

When he left the Dream and went on with his life, it seemed as if not much had changed, except—

He felt more confident.  More coordinated.  He didn’t stutter as much.  People listened to him more.  

Even Sam and Tucker remarked on it.  

Only a few days later, Clockwork called him back, reeling him into the deep Dream by the chain attached to his collar.  He had another gift for Danny.  A bracelet.  Its weight joined that of the necklace.

Since you seemed to enjoy this so much, said the avatar, running its fingers over the faience beads.  

And so it went.  

Every few days, Clockwork would call him back and give him some new little adornment.  A ring.  A jeweled comb.  An anklet. A brooch.  A belt.  Each gift seemed to smooth away some almost imperceptible flaw in his waking self, seemed to draw more eyes to him, more attention, more praise.  People who would never give him the time of day before actually sought out his company.

He wondered.  Each thing he was given was a display of wealth.  Did that come across, somehow?  Or was it simply gravity, the mass of his presence pulling in their regard?

The improvements weren’t just in his human life. The others were easier to fight, to distract and ward away.  Their blows did not hurt nearly as much, nor did their ‘appearances’ distress him as much as they once had.  

He noticed, too, the weight of what he wore in the Dream.  Each ring, each bauble, made it easier for him to sink into the depths, made it harder for him to reach the surface.  

Sometimes, after a return, he would like on the floor in his room, panting.

But he was growing stronger, too, and he hoped—

It didn’t matter what he’d hoped.  

He could no longer reach the waking world. He tried seven times before the chain, vibrating with amusement, pulled him back to Clockwork.  

We must celebrate, said Clockwork’s avatar, pulling a sort of woven metal sleeve over Danny’s right hand.  It hooked neatly onto the rings on each of his fingers.  

“Why?” asked Danny, barely holding himself back from falling to pieces.  He had a responsibility to Amity Park.  Not to mention, he wanted to live there with his friends and family.  

Because it is a wonderful milestone, that you are too powerful to reach that place on your own.  The avatar placed a crown of knotted metal on Danny’s head.  This is what a cult is for, my little gem.  To pull you up.  

“What if…” said Danny, “I get too… heavy to be pulled up?”  

Another milestone.  

.

Except, no, Danny’s hand still hovered over the table, undecided.  He let it fall back to his side and blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the vision that had just overtaken him.  

Did it show what would be, what might have been? Or merely a possibility?  

Reality splintered.

.

He put his hand down on a stack of folded white cloth, jostling the bells sewn to the hems.  He didn’t actually know what it was, but it seemed harmless, and the fabric was soft.  

It turned out that the cloth was a set of folded veils.  The bells were weights, to make them hang properly.  

Clockwork’s avatar helped him put them on in front of a mirror, since Danny had never worn anything like them before.  The cloth was thin, diaphanous gauze.  Where the veils touched the clothing he was already wearing, it whispered away, like it never was.  In some places, mostly on his shoulders and back, for some reason, the veils merged smoothly, seamlessly, with his skin.  It was an odd sensation, made more so by the fact that his nerve endings seemed to extend partway into the cloth.  

Although, that might not be by design, but because Danny expected it.  This was the Dream, after all.  

Once all the veils were in place, the only pieces of his body exposed were his hands and bare feet.  It was strange, looking at himself in the mirror through the sheer veils over his face and head.  He almost looked like a ghost.  

It was… it was kind of embarrassing, being dressed like this.  The veils were the only things he was wearing, and even with all their frothy layers, he could make out the silhouette of his body beneath them.  

He spun in place, just enough to hear the bells ring with high, clear tones.  Like this, the subtle embroidery on the veils looked like feathers.  

When he woke again, normal clothes felt rough and coarse against his skin in comparison.  He gritted his teeth and bore it.  He couldn’t very well walk to school in the nude.

“Did something happen last night?” asked Sam, surveying Danny up and down.  

“Um,” said Danny, “yes, but why?”

“You look…”

“Mysterious,” said Tucker.  

“Ethereal,” decided Sam.  “But also…”  She hummed. “Untouchable, maybe?  I don’t know.”

Danny explained what had happened.  

It was in the course of just messing around that they found another effect.  

“Dude,” said Tucker, as Danny sat on his shoulders, “did you lose weight or something?”

“No?” said Danny, turning away from his sticky-note masterpiece on the classroom ceiling.  “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You just seem a lot lighter than the last time we did this.”

They weighed him later, at Sam’s house.  He was.  

The next time he visited the dream, there were changes.  One, the sensation in the cloth had extended.  He could feel almost all the way to the ends of some of the shorter veils. Two, his form beneath the veils was less distinct.  Softer. When he put his hand underneath them to check, his body felt softer, too.  Three, he was glowing.  

Of course, said Clockwork’s avatar, stroking its cold hand down his back in a way that made all of his new nerve endings overload.  As the illusion fades, the truth may shine.  

It did not elaborate, no matter how Danny pressed him.  It did, however, pet him until he was left as little more than a pleasantly chirping puddle of veils and feathers on Clockwork’s floor.  

He did not note the significance of the feathers until his next visit to the Dream, whereupon some of his veils had become wings, bells still attached and ringing with every motion.  He spread them out and flew.  

Flying was even better than he had imagined. Never before had he known such joy.

The changes continued, the form he wore in the waking world becoming progressively more and more alien to him, more grating and uncomfortable.  

“That only makes sense,” said Sam.  “You’re more than us.  Being constrained like this can’t be good for you.”

Tucker nodded in agreement.  “I mean, look at all of this.”

Danny looked around the cafeteria, catching several worshipful gazes.  

“You don’t belong in a cage like this.”

“I want to be able to help,” said Danny.  It had become easier, in some ways.  It was as hard as ever to fight the others, but human aggression stopped dead in Danny’s presence.  

“You’ll still be able to,” said Sam.  “But Tucker’s right, you should be trapped here. You should in a high place… on a pedestal.  Somewhere to give us hope.  Somewhere we can look up to.”

He stood in front of Clockwork’s mirror again. There was a suggestion of a human body beneath the wings, but nothing more than that.  Soon, even that would be gone.  

Even as he thought it, he let his wings shift, forming a more spherical shape.  The light at his center became blindingly bright, but Danny could still see the chains of Love attached to it that kept him grounded.  

One of those chains pulled taught as Clockwork summoned him, not even bothering with the avatar this time.  This time, Danny would be able to talk to Clockwork directly, and it would be fine, because Danny had shed that illusion of humanity and become more like Clockwork.

He entered Clockwork’s direct presence and—

.

Danny reeled as the vision simply stopped being something his mind could interpret.  He felt a part of what he called his sanity crumble.  

Perhaps…  Perhaps not that one.  Instead…

.

He chose the featureless white mask, lifting it with both hands.  It was surprisingly heavy.

Clockwork’s avatar reached out, the sleeves of its robes whispering past Danny’s ears.  Let me help you put that on, it said.  It took the mask and flipped it over, brushing the broad, white satin ribbon out of the way with its thumbs.  

Before Danny could think to protest, before he could decide if he wanted to protest, the mask was pressed against his face.

The soft inner lining fit perfectly snug against his features.   Perfectly enough that it forced his eyelids and lips closed.  The bottom edge of the mask cupped his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.  

He could not see, with the mask on. Somehow, this surprised him.  Part of him had expected to supernaturally be able to see through the mask.  

This was inconvenient.  On the other hand, not being forced to see the Dream and its denizens could be a boon in and of itself.  

Clockwork’s avatar finished tying the ribbon.  When you wear this, only those who know you will know you.  And only those who you keep in place of your may have their knowledge progress.  

Danny tested his ability to speak, first with human words and then with his True Voice.  The best he could manage was a sort of hum.  

I know you best of all.  One cannot progress past completion.  Remember, those who Love you will understand you, even without words.  You will be allowed to remove the mask if it pleases you.  

Danny nodded to show he understood, the weight of the mask making the motion more energetic than usual.  

It took Danny time to learn how to navigate the Dream blind.  The Dream was, well, Dream.  It did not follow the usual rules of object permanence.  Things Danny could not directly perceive existed only at the whims of others.  While he was with Clockwork, he could have faith that things would stay mostly stable, but once he left, his world shrunk to echoes and what lay against his skin.

But when he did finally make it home and opened his eyes, he was able to fully understand what the mask gave him.  

He could not see the nightmares and madness lurking just under reality.  His sight was human.  He turned to his mirror and saw not a monster, but simply his physical body.  

He found himself weeping in relief.  It had been so hard.  Even if it was an illusion bought by ignorance, for the first time in far too long, he felt safe, no longer exposed.  

Whether or not it pleased him, he might never take the mask off.  

He walked to Jazz’s room to tell her the good news, only to discover he could not speak.  

After some experimentation, Danny and Jazz determined that, when he wore the mask, his speech was as constrained in the real world as it was in the Dream.  If he wanted to talk, he had to slip into the Dream to take it off.  

It was inconvenient, but still.  A perfectly hidden identity and relief from seeing were more than worth inconvenience.  

With the mask on, he almost felt human again.

Before the school day began, he paused in the bathroom and braced himself.  He had gotten away with being quiet at home, but at school, teachers would require him to answer questions.  

He stepped into the Dream and reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head.  It would not come loose.  Danny pulled harder.  

If it pleased him.  

Well, it didn’t please him to be exposed in school.  Beyond that… Danny suspected that Clockwork also had a hand in when he was allowed to remove the mask.  

A few weeks later, the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with selective mutism.  

“It almost makes sense,” claimed Tucker, gesturing at Danny’s ceiling, “if you think of it like a parent keeping their kid safe on the internet.  Like, you don’t want their identity exposed, so you keep them from giving away personal information or talking to strangers.”

“That,” said Sam, poking Danny’s cheek, “or he wants your cute little face all to himself.  What do you even look like in the Dream?”

“Like me,” said Danny.  He raised a hand to touch his face.  “I don’t know what I look like with the mask on.”  The words came surprisingly easily.  Before the mask, he’d worried that he’d eventually be unable to speak English, what with how difficult it was becoming to translate his thoughts to sounds.

Later that day, there was an incident.  Danny couldn’t help.  He couldn’t see.  

(It was, however, very clear that the others could see him.)

(He couldn’t help but feel guilty.)

That night, Clockwork pulled him into the Dream.

There is someone I want you to meet, said Clockwork’s avatar as its fingers untied the mask.  

“Who?” asked Danny as the mask came away.  He nearly forgot his question as he once again took in Clockwork’s appearance.  He had forgotten how beautiful it was here.  Tears rolled down his face.  

Your brother, said the avatar, gently leading Danny forward.  I think you will get along.  You both like masks.  

It took a few minutes for Danny to distinguish this new presence from Clockwork’s, but once he did, the name came easily to his mind.  This was Nocturne, the Dream Eater.

“Why is your mask different from mine?” asked Danny, because he couldn’t make a good first impression to save his life.  

The mouth and eyes on Nocturne’s mask turned upward in humor.  It plucked Danny’s mask from the hands of Clockwork’s avatar, and, to Danny’s simultaneous horror and delight, Danny discovered that he could feel Nocturne’s claws on the mask as if they were on his face instead.  

That is because it is your face, said Nocturne, the one you show the world.  Why wouldn’t you feel it when it is touched?  When it is damaged?  Nocturne ran his fingers down across the space where eye holes would have been in an ordinary mask, and Danny found himself forced to blink.  For the other, it is because you are a child.  I see and speak for myself.  A child sees the world through their parent’s eyes.  A child has no voice, but their parent speaks for them.  

“Will it change when I get older?” asked Danny.

Nocturne laughed.  You will not grow older.  He moved forward suddenly, pressing the mask to Danny’s face, and putting one of his other hands against the back of Danny’s head.  You will always be the youngest of us.  The most… Human.

.

Is something wrong? asked Clockwork’s avatar.

“No,” said Danny, quickly.  “It’s just hard to decide.”

You could have them all, it said, if it is so difficult.  

Danny shook his head.  “No, I just need more time.”

Maybe if Danny were human, this would be about getting the best deal, choosing the gift with the lowest price, but he wasn’t, and it wasn’t.  This was about choosing the price he wanted to pay.  

It surprised him, how much he wanted to pay some of them.  

.

The set of bracelets clinked merrily when Danny touched them.  They were four bands, each about two inches wide and a couple millimeters thick.  The metal they were made of was smooth on the outside, but on the insides, they had the same fractal patterns as the collar.

The manacles are a good choice, said Clockwork’s avatar, approvingly.  

Manacles.

Not bracelets.  

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was allowed to change his mind.  

The manacles went around his wrists and ankles, each one closing with a snap.  When they shut, the metal they were made of swirled, the hinges and seams disappearing to present a flawless surface and the overall shape shifting so the inside laid flush against his skin.  

As soon as he closed the last one, and it finished altering itself, Danny felt a sharp pain through the center of his wrists and ankles, followed by a radiating numbness, as if a rod had been driven through each manacle, through each wrist and ankle, stopping only when it hit the other side.  But the numbness soon faded, and as he flexed his hands and feet, he didn’t feel anything like that.  

Still.  The message was clear.  The metal bands were not coming off.  

Clockwork’s avatar took one of Danny’s hands, and examined the band.  The metal, which had warmed against Danny’s skin, turned frigid under the avatar’s touch. For a moment, Danny’s vision blurred, and he saw a multitude of delicate chains leading from the manacle in every direction, connecting it to Clockwork, the other manacles, the collar around his neck and who knew what else.  His vision cleared.  A few long, silent minutes later, the avatar released him.  

They were made with much skill.  I hope you find them useful.  

Danny nodded.  

The manacles weren’t visible in the waking world, but Danny imagined he still felt them.  Especially when he was doing things with his hands or feet.  

‘Made with skill,’ indeed.  

Lots of skills.  Skills like drawing, writing, dancing, sign language.  He didn’t trip or stumble any more but moved smoothly.  It was interesting.  It didn’t feel like the skills belonged to someone else.  They were his, now, wherever they had originally come from.  He knew how to do each thing he was doing, and he did them intentionally.  

Still, his art (which he had always considered at least decent) was now scary good.  He’d also outplayed Ember on the piano a few days back, breaking her hold on the people who had been listening.  She’d been… rather upset about that.  

It was worth it.  

The string attached to the gift didn’t make itself known for a while.  One day, while he was drawing, his wrists burned cold, and he found himself drawing something more than what he’d originally intended.  The general subject was the same, but the skill put into it, the effort, was far, far greater.  He’d meant to doodle a little, maybe for ten or so minutes before he went to bed.  

Instead, it was hours later and if it wasn’t on the back of his French homework the drawing could have been hung in a museum.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to imagine that he was being puppetted, controlled, that the manacles made him into a marionette, but that wasn’t what it felt like.  Instead, it felt as if something had flipped a switch inside him.  

He understood, then.  The manacles granted him skills, but he couldn’t always decide when to use them.  Or how much.

It wasn’t the last time it happened.  He’d suddenly be seized with the urge to do something.  Make use of some skill.  And whatever he did when those urges settled over him was inhumanly good.  Dangerously good.  As in, attracting the wrong kind of attention good.  

Those men in suits had been there for him, and he was quite certain that, if he had been perceptible to people foreign to Amity Park, they would have tried to take him.  Tried, being the operative word.  

More importantly, the mural he’d been compelled to paint on the side of the supermarket last night seemed to be attracting a following.  He’d attempted to keep elements of the others out of it, but he knew they somehow slipped through, slipped past his attention, and into his art.  

Sam and Tucker thought it was fine, though. He was inclined to trust them.  

He was glad that the manacles did not seem to infer any violent or deadly skills.  He wasn’t what he would do if they did and the urge to act turned into an urge to harm.  

The manacles turned cold.  

Perhaps he’d bake a cake.  Something for Sam and Tucker, as a thanks for putting up with him.

.

Danny slumped against Clockwork’s avatar, who held him without complaint.  These visions were mentally draining.  They would be, what with containing weeks compressed into seconds.  

Were they seconds?

.

The picture frame caught Danny’s eye.  It was a picture of him, as an infant, being held by Clockwork’s avatar, the great expanse of Clockwork himself in the background. Danny wasn’t quite sure he knew the picture was of himself.  Really, he’d been a generic-looking baby.  But he did know.  

He took the picture.  

Nothing happened.  He went home, woke up, and went about his normal life.  On occasion, he would look at the picture when he dropped into the Dream.  It warmed something in him.

It took him a month to realize he was aging backwards.  

To be fair, no one else seemed to notice, either, even though the change was much more rapid than normal forward aging.  Danny suspected they were being blocked from noticing.  

No, that wasn’t quite right.  They treated the age he appeared as the normal state of things, but they also treated him as if he were his apparent.  Something which had bothered him all last week, even if he didn’t realize why it was happening.  

It made it slightly more embarrassing that he himself had only noticed when he’d gone to retrieve a cup from the top shelf in the cabinet and couldn’t because he was too short.  

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were confused when he brought it up to them.  They seemed to be under the impression that he’d always been a few years younger than Sam and Tucker.  That he’d been skipped forward a few years to be in the same class as them.  Danny had let the subject drop.  He had no idea how to even begin fixing this.  If it even could be fixed.  

Every day, as he got younger and younger, he also seemed to attract more and more attention.  Positive attention.  People would smile at him, tell him he was cute, give him presents out of nowhere. Danny couldn’t say he hated it.  

Until he got small enough for people to carry around. Which they did.  Frequently.  Without asking for permission.  Even this wasn’t so much of a problem.  

Until the cult.  

Until the knife.

Until the sacrifice.  

(And Clockwork was so thrilled to be able to raise him from infancy.)

.

He hadn’t decided yet.  

How could he decide?  They were amazing gifts.  Terrifying gifts.  Gifts he could not refuse.  Gifts he didn’t want to refuse, at least on some level.  

But this wasn’t about what he wanted.  It was about what he could live with.  

The pectoral gave him power and the respect of his peers but took away his ability to use those things in the defense of Amity. Although being powerful in the Dream was an idea that tickled at the shadows in Danny’s mind.

The veils gave him something he always wanted – flight – but at the cost of his humanity and individuality.  

The mask would protect him, let him hide and return to a mostly ordinary life, but he would lose the chance to face his new existence on his own terms as well as some of his autonomy.  Not to mention, his ability to actually help his people.

The manacles gave him skills he’d enjoy, but also made him a hazard for others.  

The picture frame…  Something twinged inside Danny’s chest… The picture frame gave him a new life with Clockwork, from the very beginning.  But he’d lose everything else and kickstart an unmanageable cult.

He couldn’t give up his friends, his family, his human life.  He couldn’t give up his ability to protect Amity.  Perhaps all those things would fade from importance in his mind as he became more and more other, but for now they were razor sharp.  That made his choice clear.  

“The manacles,” he mumbled to Clockwork’s avatar. He could work around the drawbacks (even if part of him resisted the notion that the drawbacks were drawbacks).

The avatar stroked Danny’s hair.  An excellent choice.

“How,” said Danny, trying to recollect his thoughts, “how do they work?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered as he saw the chains on the manacles again.  The way they felt on his skin was just like what he remembered.  

Skills that go unused are lost in the Dream. These find them and bring them to you, bind them to you, so they are never lost again.  Clockwork’s avatar plucked one of the chains.  It felt as if someone had traced their fingers possessively up one of his arms.  Although some of the chains have other functions.  It nuzzled Danny as something deep below in Clockwork’s depths began to chime.  One can never be too connected to those they Love.  

Danny woke in his bed and moaned.  His pillow was wet with drool.  Evidently, he had left his body behind this time.  That happened, on occasion, when he went to the Dream. He was never sure how he felt about it.

He raised his hands up above his head.  As expected, the manacles were not visible, but he did feel more… connected to the world around him.  Being connected was good.  It meant that what happened before wouldn’t happen again.  It meant that he wouldn’t be lost.  

He lowered his hands, clasping them over where his heart would have, should have been.  

The connections, though, were mostly to Clockwork, who was as inhuman as any of the others Danny protected Amity Park from. Should that bother him?  He thought of what Nocturne had said in the other timeline, the one where he had chosen the mask.  He’d known, already, that as much as Clockwork protected him, he also kept him in a state where he needed that protection.  Wasn’t it natural?  Wasn’t it the desire to keep Loved ones close?

His breath hitched as he briefly felt the soothing mental weight of Clockwork’s Love increase.  

It was fine, wasn’t it?

[gaycatwizard]

I feel like "bad/flawed characters that are still likeable" are just some of the Best characters and tend to have a bit more emotional staying power, that they're more relatable and more interesting, more memorable. We need more of them, but they're really... hard to do? Not necessarily hard to make, but hard to do well. Because the amount of flaws and Badness (in a moral/philosophical sense, not quality of a character's design and personality) can vary so drastically, along with the amount of redeeming traits and their potency. It can be hard to want to "copy" or mimic the exact ratio from the character that inspired you. Tangent: it's fine to be inspired by one or more works. It's fine to allow it to influence your works. It's hard distinguishing from "I want to do x, but that's basically just rewriting one of my inspirations but with a palette swap" and "this inspires me so I want to use certain elements/themes/ideas/technical aspects of it." That's not the issue here, y'know. But like... I think the sheer variety you can have in Loveable Asshole characters like that, in the ratio of how bad and how good they are, is part of what makes them so interesting, so realistic, so powerful. Like... there are characters who are overall pretty good people, but are rough around the edges in a way that clearly makes them sympathetic and likeable. There are characters who are basically layer upon layer upon layer of mistakes, hatred, and bile with the tiniest nugget of good at the center, that you rarely get a glimpse of, but feel something raw and enthralling because of that. Like... I think Bojack Horseman is a good example, especially because it has a lot of different Likeable Bad People varieties and it does them all really well. Also Bojack Horseman is a good show and, not unlike JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, I want to talk about it at every given opportunity. Bojack himself is a cynical, selfish, destructive, defensive, spiteful, jealous, vain, self-loathing, stubborn piece of shit. He's a bad person and that's... kind of the point of the show. But his entire character, his entire arc that spans the whole of the series, revolves around the diamond buried deep in that rough. He wants to change, but he's so set in his negative ways (and so used to being surrounded by such negativity and toxicity) that he doesn't really know how. Every time he wants to change, he doesn't know how and fails to keep up with his new habits. Every time he's doing well and making progress, some external factor comes in and pushes him violently back down the mountain, back to square one. But he makes an effort, it's very obvious that he doesn't like being this way, that he regrets the things he does, that he feels remorse for the pain he's caused, and he does finally change and improve, things do finally get better for him. His foil (who has such an AMAZING dynamic and relative arc with him I could write a whole essay just on that), Mr. Peanutbutter, is sort of the exact opposite. They have similar careers and positions in the world, but everything goes right for Mr. Peanutbutter. Everyone likes him, everything is handed to him on a silver platter, he's perfect, he's happy, he's attractive, he's popular, he's everything Bojack isn't, and yet somehow he's drawn to Bojack and always wants to try and be his friend. But as Bojack slowly improves over the show and the softer, nicer, Better side of him becomes more and more prominent and common, the negative side of Mr. Peanutbutter slowly gets revealed over the show. He's also selfish and stubborn and stupid and persistent and dangerously disconnected from reality and his interpersonal skills are absolute shit. He puts on that act to make people like him. As the show goes on, it's slowly revealed that he doesn't really pay attention to the wants or needs of others, like, at all. That he only ever really cares about himself and just wants to do and be everything and anything as long as people like him and it makes him happy, regardless of who it hurts. It's amazing. It's in F is

for Family, too. Netflix Adult Animated Sitcoms are very often hit or miss, but these two are absolute homeruns. Frank, the protagonist, of F is for Family is selfish, violent, short-tempered, arrogant, judgmental, ignorant... but he's remorseful and introspective and intelligent and, in a very convoluted and misguided way most of the time, incredibly caring and devoted. He is a piece of shit and he's terrible, and a lot of why he's still likeable, why he's allowed to be so politically incorrect and abusive is due to the setting. Parenting norms were different back then and, now with hindsight, we know that those norms weren't good and you should NEVER hit or yell at or emotionally degrade your kids. The show is a perfect mix of "everyone is a product of their time and environment" and "no matter the time and place, people are people and we have the same thoughts and feelings and struggles," all without glorifying or excusing the terrible actions of the characters with the excuse of the time period or due to being "protagonists" or having redeeming traits. They're human, flawed, some incredibly so, and that's what makes it so good. It's part of why I like F is for Family more than most Adult Animated Family Sitcoms. You've got the typical stupid, selfish, arrogant, etc. Bad Dad and his Housewife, but there's still chemistry. They're still unique, three dimensional characters that clearly love each other and have a reason to still be together despite arguing and hardship. Same with how Frank and Sue treat their kids. They're not great parents, but they're trying to do their best (which isn't always good) and they do clearly love their kids and want the best for them. Their kids are resentful at times and hate their parents for some of the things they do, but they do stick together at the end of the day because there's that underlying realization that none of the mistreatment is done with malicious intent. That doesn't excuse it, but they're all just fucked up and trying to do their best. And they do have sad, relatable characters that are clearly bad people and aren't likeable, despite having sympathetic traits. Like Ginny. Her husband, that she loves dearly, is gay and simply doesn't love her the way she loves him, their marriage is hollow and empty. But she constantly forces her suffering on others, regardless of whether they want to hear it or are emotionally equipped to do so. Attempting to leave the conversation or explain that other people have problems too means, to Ginny, that you're a terrible human being who can't be there for someone in pain or that you're selfish and disgusting and never stop thinking of yourself. She has every right to be upset, but she takes it out on others and manipulates them, and that's not okay, and the show depicts it that way. There are so many options for character arcs with these characters, too. They don't even have to be related to their flaws, they can be entirely external or related to something like relationships or interests. You can show someone working on their flaws, acknowledging that they're not perfect and they might be bad, but that they want to do better and actively try to do so; they don't avoid responsibility or blame others, they own up to it and do their best to improve. Hell, even just coming to the realization that you are responsible for your actions, not anyone else, and that you have to put in effort to change could be that arc. You can have someone get worse, whether an intentional path of bad decisions without regard for others or a failure to understand which decisions are right. Some people have redeeming traits, but still aren't redeemable. Some people don't get better. Some people still get better, but get worse first. There are so many real, relatable options that show the darker, uglier side of life that we so desperately want to experience and perceive (likely due to the cathartic and taboo aspects), and bringing up flaws and shortcomings and anything else in this context can start interesting conversations and challenge

us to think about things we may not have before, or from a new perspective.

[previousloversandmuses]

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is. 

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career. 

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before. 

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura. 

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white. 

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again. 

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks. 

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back. 

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me. 

“An audience,”  I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation. 

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment. 

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head. 

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.” 

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity. 

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say. 

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head. 

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself. 

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning. 

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger. 

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again. 

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words. 

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.” 

There is silence. 

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.” 

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word. 

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda. 

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him. 

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling. 

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff. 

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu. 

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief. 

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.” 

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

[definitely-not-a-wasp]

I'm okay with a bunch of disorganized rambling honestly 😂. But if I had to narrow it down then I guess I want to know about main and side characters and how they compare to the original?

I know that tumblr is the Prime Site for disorganized rambling, but I have perfectionism issues. But that is a great question, nonnie, and I will be happy to ramble is a slightly less disorganized fashion.

When reading Maximum Ride as a somewhat-formed adult who discovered they enjoy English classes about 3.5 years ago, I noticed that JP, when writing, doesn't understand consistency. At all. Which means, in many ways, I have a free sandbox to work with.

Spoilers for my rewrite WIP, because I strongly believe that if a story would no longer be good if one had spoilers, then it wasn’t a good story in the first place.

I'm trying to keep the backstories the same, plus or minus the scientific method and a few characters (RIP my OCs. I want to bring you back so bad but it wouldn't fit with the thematic narrative). I've mostly kept their (starting) abilities the same, too. Without further ado, I'm going to introduce some WorldBuilding. (If I'm good at nothing else, I'm good at world building)

First off. Logically.

How are they getting Cable?

How are they getting internet?

How are they getting money to eat and stuff?

JP's answer: handwave it off. Sometimes you need to ignore logistics for the sake of plot. This is an answer I'd accept from an author that I like, such as Julie Kagawa, that makes amazing worlds, characters, and narratives that I will happily handwave a few things that wouldn't work in the real world. James Patterson, on the other hand, did not make any of that; he made a cool concept, some good rough-draft characters, and nothing else, and therefore this is an unforgivable sin.

Wasp's answer: They are not getting any of that.

Introducing Cottagecore.

The house is off the grid. Solar Panels and a wind turbine create electricity. They have their own well. They grow their own food, raise livestock for eggs, milk, and wool, and trap fish for meat. They get money through dumpster diving and pawning. They still have to steal half of the necessities they can’t make themselves. They do have a TV, but it can access about three channels on a clear day. Internet is only a thing when they go to the public library.

Giving the flock a background that’s heavy in farming and livestock rearing shores up the plot holes mentioned above, but in my opinion, ties the flock more tightly to the environment, thus giving them something tangible to lose when they have to leave the E-shaped house. Because they’re not just leaving a house and a safety net— they’re leaving their entire way of life with no promise of getting it back. It also gives them a tangible connection to the earth in case I want to actually pursue the global warming themes.

Main Characters

Maximum “Max” Ride (Birthname: nonexistent)

First off, I'm letting her be Latina, James Patterson.

In the original, Max was very much the headstrong, independent, action girl. Leaning into Strong Female Character (TM), but overall she had a strong, solid foundation and enough character consistency through the first three books for me to not have to just make an entire new character. However, I felt that she was, in some ways, a bit too Action-Girl and Strong and Capable. Yes, Max is incredible and competent, but she’s also fourteen. She’s a child.

In the rewrite, Max’s character is still headstrong, independent, capable, and sometimes not the best at listening to others. All of that’s the same. But she’s that way not because of girlboss energy, but because there’s no one else to do it. She doesn’t want to lead, necessarily. She wants to get some rest and let someone else handle the problems life keeps throwing at her. But she knows if she did that, the responsibility of leader would fall to Fang and Iggy, and she can’t ask that of them. She doesn’t want to place that burden on anyone else (Look, there’s a reason I chose Ayano’s Theory of Happiness as one of her signifier songs, okay?). Her narrative is very much centered around burden, and also around loss. She lost her cultural heritage when she was taken away from her birth family, she lost her childhood to being a leader, she lost a good deal of her friends to the school (RIP my OCs), she lost Jeb, and then she lost her stability. And she’s going to lose a lot more before the end of the story. So a lot of her character arc deals with learning that there are some things she can’t fix, some things that can’t be recovered. She can’t get the E-shaped house back. She can’t get her Little Baby Angel back, even after they rescue her. She can’t get her friends back from the school. And instead of working so hard to recover those or find something to replace them, she has to learn to live with that sense of loss and move on with her life without feeling guilty for leaving things behind. And she has to learn that asking for help and sharing her burden is selfish or weak.

Other changes I made that don’t necessarily fit into her narrative arc, but you asked for rambling so rambling you shall get:

Max hallucinates, because mental illness is also a prominent theme in the rewrite. She doesn’t have a psychotic disorder, but her C-PTSD causes visual/audio hallucinations, especially when she’s stressed or sleep deprived. 

Max ends up having a Gender Discovery throughout the story and goes by He/She pronouns eventually. I don’t know when, but it will happen.

As far as genetic modifications/special quirks go, she can fly faster than the rest of the flock, but not 300 miles per hour. She averages about sixty mph with diving speeds of 240. She cannot breathe underwater or shut down her organs on command. She also has the Super Special Power to predict the weather, but that’s not because of genetics, it’s because she has chronic pain in her right arm that gets worse when weather fronts change.

Her favored weapon is her trusty rebar that she picked up from a condemned building. I think she’s going to name it eventually but I don’t know what yet.

Fang (Birth name: Gabriel Xue)

In canon, Fang is characterized in early books by being the “dark, strong, silent type”. He’s probably the most reserved member of the flock, to the point of falling into the Brooding Mystery Man trope in parts of the book. They care a lot, but they’re not the best at conveying that, especially with the younger members of the flock, and at times their high empathy leads them to making mistakes. Despite the high empathy, he’s often compared to a robot due to his lack of expression and external emotions.

Well, first change is that they’re not a man, so jot that down—

If Max’s narrative is centered around burden and loss, I would probably say that Fang’s is centered around humanity and moving on. None of the flock was treated as human while in the school, but Fang was more often than not treated like a wild animal due to “behavioral issues”, and therefore had and continues to have a difficult time considering themselves real and alive, let alone human. This manifests through a several different ways— where in canon Fang definitely had a ‘fight’ reaction, in the re-write they have a ‘freeze’ or ‘shut down’ instinct. They’re selectively mute for multiple reasons (including derealization, jaw pain, the fact that they didn’t learn how to speak until they were 10, and genuinely forgetting it’s something they’re capable of), a period of Cotard’s syndrome, and a tendancy towards self-loathing and self-sacrifice. In short, Fang is still halfway stuck in the mindset that most of the flock grew out of when they escaped in the school, and doesn’t know how to move past it.

Much of their character arc revolves around not necessarily seeing themselves as human, but learning to treat themselves as human even when they don’t feel like one (or even feel real), and knowing that just because they don’t feel human all the time doesn’t mean anyone else can treat them the same. They never start easily expressing their emotions, and they’re always going to be selectively mute, but they learn to accept that those aspects of themself aren’t character flaws or signs that they’re sub-human. 

Other additions to Fang’s character include:

They don’t get their hair cut in New York. It stays long through the entire series. They have the longest hair in the flock by the end of the series, and they can wear it in so many styles.

Fang uses they/it pronouns because themes of reclaiming the weapons used against it and, more importantly, Gender.

They’re actually really good at spelling compared to the rest of the flock, because they and Iggy communicate with Print-On-Palm when they’re nonverbal, and they’re nonverbal for some pretty long stretches of time. 

They and Max have... zero romantic tension. At all. There is none. The number of times Max calls them her sibling/little sibling in the first arc alone is staggering, and that will not change.

Igneous “Iggy” (Birthname: Jamsetta “Jamie” Griffiths)

I’ve talked about Iggy before. Canon doesn’t give us much to go off of, but from what’s shown, he’s smart, sarcastic, has sharper edges than Fang and Max, and also has a sizable ruthless streak. So that’s what I have to go off of.

The big difference between Iggy and Fang&Max is that Iggy has a much better memory of the School. Most of the flock have areas (months or years) that they don’t remember, or people that they’ve blocked from their mind, but Iggy... doesn’t. So he’s the one that remembers all of the other AVIAN test subjects that were old enough to have names and identities but died due to complications. Max might have the burden of leadership, but he has the burden of memory. And that has lead to both a massive fucking guilt complex, because why did he survive when they didn’t, and, as mentioned above, a ruthless streak that he doesn’t shy away from.

Which is to say, by the end of the story, Iggy has the highest kill count.

I love, love writing Iggy next to Max and Fang. I love writing Iggy next to Gazzy and Nudge. Because, I say this with all of the love of the world, but Iggy is not a good person. He is loyalty and love incarnate, and the world can burn down if he and his siblings are safe. Max and Fang will always try to save as many people as they can. They will wonder what’s wrong with them the first time they kill and don’t have a mental breakdown about it. They are good in a way that Iggy is not. He’s okay with killing Erasers. He’s okay with killing humans. He’s okay with killing people who might not necessarily deserve it, if they show themselves as a threat or are simply in the blast radius. He knows perfectly well that most of those Erasers he’s murdering are four and five and he is okay with that, because a lot of the AVIANs were that age when they died. (Yeah, in the rewrite it’s not Fang who has an issue with Ari; it’s Iggy who wants the 7-year-old wolf-boy dead.) 

And this is, of course, juxtaposed with Iggy being really, really good with Nudge and Gazzy (especially in the beginning). Because, again, he actually remembers being a child. He remembers a lot of kids that died and is therefore fiercely protective of the kids that didn’t, as well as fiercely protective of the innocence that he never got. So he’s the one that cooks their favorite foods when they’re having a bad day, always makes time when they want to talk about something, and convinces Max to let them go to that toy store in New York because, yeah, he Max and Fang aren’t kids. They never were. But Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel can be. (And if he has to be a murderer to preserve that, then he’s perfectly okay with that.)

He and Angel don’t get along very well, though. The telepath doesn’t like hanging out with the person with the most clear memories of the school.

Other additions:

Iggy is trans and says trans rights

He also has paranoid episodes, because C-PTSD. Sometimes they’re very helpful. Sometimes they are not.

I actually decided that he’s one of the flock that doesn’t meet their parents. I know in canon he did, but I always found that very clunky because it didn’t add to his character. He was one of the characters who, until it was convenient for the plot, seemed to care the least about his family. I’d much rather give that to a character whose arc would benefit from it.

Iggy! Gets! Older Sibling Rights! Seriously, he’s two months younger than Fang, he is just as capable.

Iggy does not know braille because Jeb decided it wasn’t necessary for him to know. Iggy is also the best speller in the flock, because Print-on-Palm was the only way to talk to Fang for a solid year. Yes he mocks everyone over this.

Iggy is the only member of the flock that enjoys swimming and can take into the air from water. Everyone else in the flock is incredibly jealous.

Nudge (Birthname: Monique Robinson)

If Iggy is defined by his memories, Nudge is his polar opposite. She was seven when she left the School, but she has next to no memories of it. She is missing a lot of time in the first year she escaped. And that causes... a lot of things. It makes her feel disconnected from her older siblings, it gives her the ability to function in society in a way the other’s can’t, it lets her feel less grief over the ones that didn’t make it and she doesn’t remember, it makes her feel guilty that she doesn’t remember what she’s old enough to know. 

Basically, in order for me to keep the character of Nudge as I saw her (more extroverted, not afraid of the world, fascinated with humans like her siblings aren’t, desiring to fit in instead of isolate), I had to put a little bit of distance between her and the flock. Of course, she loves them— that will in no way change— but she’s old enough that she should remember the school (and her dead friends) unlike Gazzy and Angel, but she can’t, and she very much fears forgetting the flock if anything happens to them. So she’s trying desperately to keep the flock close and wants desperately to experience the world at the same time, and doesn’t know what to do when she can’t have both. That’s her biggest character conflict throughout the series, along with that in-between area where she’s not quite where her older siblings are but understands so much more than Gazzy and Angel, and where she stands in that.

So yeah. Nudge’s journey is that in looking for belonging in the world, in her family, and in herself.

This is why she’s one of the ones that gets to find her parent, James Patterson. 

Other additions include:

She never straightens her hair. Never. Her resources at the E-shaped house aren’t perfect, but she still has learned how to take care of her hair and has a few styles she cycles through.

She becomes the default person Max sics on people when the flock is trying to befriend them. Also their de-facto diplomat around strangers.

As in canon, she does take some time away from the flock to expirience ‘normal life’. This does not last long due to the stress of being separated from her siblings/not being able to help them and [REDACTED]

Nudge is... not the only person in her head. I’m not focusing on it much because she doesn’t actually know and neither does the flock (I don’t know if they ever figure it out during the series, either), but she has dissociative identity disorder. She’s not aware of her alter(s?). Her alter isn’t super aware of her, either. 

The alter that I’ve developed is named Oxy and is not super aware of the outside world. In her eyes, she’s still seven and they’re still at the School. She would not recognize the body as her own if she looked in a mirror.

Nudge actually leaves the flock for a while to pursue her dream of living a normal life. She deserves it. She learns how to make muffins and the basics of software development. These things are unrelated.

Gasman (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

Honestly, writing Gazzy is kind of hard for me. Partially because I’m not great at writing kids, and partially because I feel like he’s a pretty surface-level character in-series that... isn’t super compelling in canon. But even if that’s the case, I try to treat all of my characters with respect, so here we go. In my rewrite, he escaped when he was four, which was half a lifetime ago for him, so his memories are ill-defined. Therefore, he managed to circumvent a lot of the trauma that the rest of the kids have, and not in the way Nudge did, which is by creating an elaborate blockage in her memories. 

Which means Gazzy... really doesn’t know how to deal with all of this traumatic stuff happening. So much of his development turns out to be a coming-of-age narrative. Learning how to deal with the horrors of what his siblings grew up with. Learning the fears that they had the entire time. Losing his innocence when everyone around him never had it in the first place, and being so terribly alone because of it. Because, really, how can you explain such a deep loss to people who never had what he had? How can they help in a way that matters?

Also, relationship-wise, I’m slowly deteriorating the relationship between him and Iggy. Slowly. Or, changing it, at least. Gazzy hero-worships Iggy in-series, and for good reason, because Iggy is super cool, especially in the eyes of an eight-year-old, and especially when Iggy has taken care to cultivate parts of his behaviors to be child-friendly. Part of growing up is seeing the flaws in your heroes, and Gazzy has to learn how to deal with it. End of the series Gazzy is much less closer to Iggy than beginning of the series Gazzy, and neither of them are really okay with that, but they learn to live with it, because that’s really all they can do.

Notes:

I’m keeping the mimickry! It plays a bit of a bigger role because that’s how Gazzy learned to talk. I’m debating whether or not he has his own voice or if he just borrows the flock’s as he sees fit. He also uses it to scream really loudly and occaisonally burst the eardrums of Erasers.

At one point he cosplays as Jessica Jones. No you don’t get any more context than this.

He has a horrible sense of fashion.

I’m changing his name eventually because it sucks. He’s either going to change it to Gannet, Garrison, or Ivy Mike temporarily, and permanently to Zephyr. (I never said I was going to make his name GOOD, because he’s eight, but it’s changing. You’re welcome.)

Angel (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

It’s just... a completely different character, at this point. I’ve changed so many things about her in an attempt to make her consistent and act like a six-year-old and work in the whole “telepath before she has a solid sense of identity”, so it’s a different character. Also, I’m tired of writing coherently or in paragraphs, so have some interesting facts.

She has epilepsy! Super severe epilepsy! I think she might also develop juvenile MS in the future because her brain has so many scars from being a fucking six-year-old telepath. There’s no way she could get out of that unscathed.

She has more memories of the school than Gazzy, but only because she keeps accidentally reading the minds of Max, Fang, and Iggy. On a related note, she interacts with Iggy as little as possible.

The mind reading means that she has a hard time developing as a normal child with a normal sense of identity or reality. She can’t tell how much people are individual people and how much they’re just extensions of her. Conversely, she can’t tell how much of herself is actually her instead of the thoughts/opinions/identities of someone else. It’s... kinda fucked? But also super not-her-fault. 

She’s albino because white wings. Also, because I thought it was cool. This also means that her vision sucks, though. Also she has the biggest straw sunhat and the most stylish sunglasses a six-year-old can have.

She’s responsible for Max shaving her hair off.

She has the highest swear count because I think it’s funny. She’s the only person allowed to say the fuck word in writing. Everyone else can only say ‘hell’ and the occasionally ‘damn’ but she can say whatever she wants for dramatic and comedic value.

She is NOT THE FUCKING VOICE, J*MES P*TTERSON.

Honorable Mentions

Jeb

I’m skipping Jeb because of how little I care about him. He’s a little bitch, next character.

Ari

STILL HASN’T BEEN REVEALED AS AN ERASER. I’ve been writing for 50,000 words and he’s over here saying ‘nope nope not yet, not dramatic enough’. He’s had speaking lines but has refused to make himself known to Max. I am so frustrated with this seven-year-old wolf-child that I’ve already considered how I would kill him, if I decide I want to kill yet another child in my writing.

So, my main thoughts for Ari is that he... really just drew the short end of the stick in every possible way. While Jeb didn’t sign him up for Eraser expirimentation, he didn’t do anything to stop it, and pretty much cut his losses when he realized this expiriment made a wreck of his ‘perfect, unflawed’ son, because Jeb doesn’t consider children of any species to actually be humans. So, Ari really hates his dad, which makes things complicated, because he also really loves his dad and really wants his approval. 

Which means that he also really hates Max, because she’s the child that always got Jeb’s time and attention, even when Ari was human. I think, on some level, he knows that trying to tear Max down to a less-favored level isn’t actually going to help his situation— infighting for the love of an abusive parent won’t make them any less abusive— but he’s also seven, and his development is already severely stunted due to becoming an Eraser, and he doesn’t see ‘leaving ITEX’ as an option like the Flock does. ITEX is his everything. It’s all he’s ever known, and they tell him he’s doing the right thing, and he wants them to love him. He wants his father to love him. He knows that if he ever questions ITEX, his father will never love him. So it must be his older sister that’s ruining his life and being a horrible child, and once Ari drags her back down to his level, Jeb will realize who the best child is and love him properly again.

Ari, on an even deeper level, does care for Max quite a bit, because she’s his older sister and he wants that to mean something in a way that ‘Jeb being his father’ obviously doesn’t. He wants what she made for herself, and he hates the Flock because she loves them and obviously doesn’t love him. 

Ari, if anything, is the product of neglect, and both loves and hates everyone who shows a chance of caring about him. And he’s seven, so he can’t notice these patterns, let alone break them.

So. Notes!

He doesn’t look like an adult. I thought that was gross and unnecessary. He’s seven, but he looks closer to thirteen or fourteen. Still young enough that he looks like every Eraser’s little brother, and the Erasers high-key treat him like it.

On a related note, he’s the only Eraser who can talk. The others don’t have the mental capacity or vocal structure to replicate human speech, but they can understand language (at about the level of a two or three year old) and are very good at nonverbal communication. This is why Ari managed to climb the ranks despite only having three years of “service” and also looking like a tween.

He doesn’t have an expiration date because that is SUCH a stupid plot point.

I’m giving him a chainsaw! I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but he deserves to have a chainsaw and GODDAMN I will give it to him.

Emergency and Gene

The OCs that I love and also killed pre-series. They don’t have any scenes, because they’re dead, but their deaths greatly effected Max, Fang, and Iggy, and they are very commonly referenced. Their voices are probably Max’s most common hallucination, to the point where she sometimes pretends they’re ghosts that she can talk to. They’re not ghosts. They’re dead.

Dr. Valencia Martinez

I’m actually keeping her pretty close to canon— loving, supportive, the type of person to take in a gsw victim with minimal questions. The difference is that rather than kindness fueling her actions, it’s incredible guilt. She has three goals surrounding Max: Give her as much support in any way she can, teach her as much about chicane culture as possible, and never let Max know that she’s her birth parent.

(She’s probably going to fail at AT LEAST two of those, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Notes:

She has a pet fox named Robin Hood that she rescued from an exotic animal salesman that got arrested.

I think I’m going to kill her. I don’t know yet, but it’s on the table.

Anne Walker

Y’know, the fake FBI Agent. Who’s not actually a fake in my story because I hated that plot point. She’s genuinely an FBI agent who put the Flock into pseudo-witness-protection in order to build a case against the Institute of Higher Living, accidentally got attached to her prime witnesses, raised them for a few months, realized a [SPOILER] and promptly had to let them get the hell out dodge.

I really like the Anne Walker that lives in my head. She is a VITAL part of the Flock’s development, their mental/emotional recovery, and adding to their safety net to fall back on. She serves them as their first adult role model, and is the first adult to show them what parent/child are supposed to look like from a healthy perspective. Though she has several fuck ups, she becomes someone that the Flock genuinely trusts and loves, which makes it all the more difficult for them to leave when [REDACTED].

Notes:

She and Max do butt heads initially, because Max is paranoid and also afraid of becoming uneeded. This ends up being incredibly important because Max needs to learn how to live and find meaning in life without being the designated Leader/Parent/Big Sister

Anne, at one point, sits the entire flock down to teach them about consent, which was something no one ever talked about with them before. She goes in talking specifically about consent in a romantic/sexual sense (because they’re fourteen and that’s something they need to know), but quickly turns into a full-fledged no, people are NOT allowed to do that to you, what the FUCK.

She’s responsible for giving the flock a laptop. It’s because Angel is online schooled (bc telepathy makes actually learning difficult) and was therefore provided with a computer.

Anne is also allowed to swear, but only when it’s funny.

Michael “Grey” Rivers

Aka Grey from the Sewers Aka GR3Y H47 Aka Mike from the Bronx Aka Gifted Child Syndrome Incarnate Aka Would-be-in-MIT-if-his-parents-weren’t-horrible. He’s my son, your honour.

Basically, his backstory boils down to him being a genius, getting into MIT at 14, his (horrible) parents wanting a perfect child who could “make it out” of the Bronx and represent his family/neighborhood/borough to the world. When he inevitably failed their expectations due to stress, a schizophrenic-spectrum disorder that completely alienated him from the rest of his support network, and refusing to take his psych meds because the side effects were horrible and they made it harder to think (and therefore pass his classes), they kicked him out. He fully intends to go back to MIT when he turns 18 and has control of his finances/scholarships/medication/therapy.

So that’s how the flock meets him. 

Mike ends up in a very prominent support role for the flock both in technological persuits (helping them track their parents, helping them get information from ITEX, trying to disable Max’s chip and failing multiple times until it becomes a matter of personal honour—), in helping the older members of the flock figure out how to deal with hallucinations/delusions (because he’s actually been to therapy, unlike them), and in being one of the only people who talks to them and helps them without any ulterior motive. He’s not trying to build a case against ITEX/The Institute of Higher Learning, he’s not double crossing them, he’s not plagued with guilt. He just genuinely wants to help them, and they genuinely want to help him, and that’s their first introduction to a healthy, non-codependent relationship.

My many disorganized notes on Michael Rivers:

He’s from specifically Morris Heights, Bronx, NYC.

He would say that his last name is actually Rivera, but his grandparents changed it to Rivers so it would sound more English, and his family has been in America for so long that he doesn’t know much about any Latino heritage he may or may not have. He identifies as African American, not Afro-Latino. He’s just bitter that his family felt the need to change their surname to have better opportunities in New York.

Nudge aggressively befriends him pretty much the moment she meets him, bullies him into teaching her how to code, and he very quickly adopts her as his pseudo-little-sister.

His delusions in the book seemed to involve government conspiracies, but as that’s the one delusion that is proved correct in the book, I’ve decided it would be best if his delusions and reality intersected a bit less if I don’t want to write him having a manic/paranoid episode in the second scene he has screen time. So his delusions are more based on “none of this is real”, “someone is recording everything I do and setting me up to fail” and “my ill-wishes on people can and will come true if I dwell on them too long.”. Government conspiracies are one of things he is skeptical about because he thinks most conspiracies are either “CIA admitted to this twenty years ago” or “antisemitism”.

He’s taking online free college classes that don’t actually give him any college credit, but they have good information and help him feel like he’s working towards something. He plans to double major in computer sciences and electrical engineering, minor in marine biology. He’s wanted to join NOAA since he was twelve and he is nothing if not stubborn.

There you go. These are my characters, now. I have custody.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

honest love 

tanaka ryuunosuke x reader

tags: established relationship, descriptions of tanaka’s past failed relationship, descriptions of him loving someone else in the past, thoughts of proposing lead to tanaka being anxious, descriptions of anxiety loosely inspired by champagne problems by taylor swift 

in the middle of my tumblr break i wrote this and wanted to post it so, do with it what u will. ok bye again! 

fem reader word count: 1783

-

Rejection weighed heavy in Tanaka’s pocket. 

Trepidation burned the back of his throat like the taste of stomach acid. 

He was shaking, and not because of the cold. 

Memories of heartbreak played in his mind like a bad movie that he couldn’t shake out of his head. Every time he thought about what happened, it made him want to die; nothing he could do would rid the memories forever. He would never be able to erase those shattered scenes from replaying in his mind, almost like his brain was trying to sabotage him from feeling delight ever again. 

It was like the wound was still fresh, and maybe it would never heal. Even now that his heart had moved on, he was still hurt. 

She was beautiful and kind and delicate, and maybe those are some of the reasons why she didn’t want to be with him. Tanaka was rough all the way through; too rough for her. 

And yet, he was still naively dreaming of being someone’s one. 

So he found the courage to knock on your door.  

You opened it with the happiest smile and pulled him close like a magnet on metal, treating him in a way no one ever had and doing a good job at convincing him that he wanted this forever. 

“Why did you knock? You have a key,” and you kissed his cheek then his lips, and he wondered why the affection didn’t wash away his anxiety. 

“Thought I’d surprise you.” He cleared his throat and tried to speak softer, without that edge in his voice that’s always been there, but he couldn’t. “Did it work?” 

“No, I’ve been waiting by the door since seven. Was hoping to catch you walking in like you own the place.” Your laughter was angelically soft but it could only do so much to calm him down. 

You noticed. He wasn’t sure what gave it away, whether it was the sweat on his brow or the uneasy way he’d been avoiding your gaze, but he wasn’t able to hide it from you. 

“Something wrong?” 

“No,” he replied, quickly, like he’d been expecting the question. “No, everything’s alright, don’t worry.” 

You said, “Whatever you say,” because you saw through him. It wasn’t shocking. Most people could. But you didn’t push him, and he was grateful, because if you had things would have completely gone off plan. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thanks.” He watched you walk away from him toward your kitchen before he could get another word out, expecting him to follow, and for some reason he hesitated. Like if he walked too close you’d realize just how much he clings to you and want him gone. 

He had to do everything right tonight. He had to, or else the future he’d drawn up for himself would all be scrapped - again. Crumpled up and thrown in the trash only to be revised in three odd years when he’s haunted by two rejections rather than one. 

“I thought about cooking,” he heard you start, which prompted him out of his daze to make way to the kitchen. “But then I decided I didn’t want to. So what should we order?” 

He laughed at your honesty. “It doesn’t matter to me.” And you sighed at his indecisive response, a reaction which added more weight in Tanaka’s chest. 

“Well, think of something. I was thinking…” 

While he heard you talk he gave vague nods and positive responses, agreeing with anything you offered in hopes it’d help you make up your mind, but he wasn’t actually listening. He couldn’t. He felt like he had a crowd of thoughts in his mind, every one of them loud and overwhelming, and he couldn’t hear you over them. 

He looked at you, watched you. Noticed the way you stumbled over your words like there was a pothole in the middle of your sentence, only to keep speaking as if it wasn’t there - expecting him to understand what you meant. The way you were struggling to simply choose a restaurant to order from, scratching your head and scrolling through options on your phone as if you were deciding your last meal. You had dressed up for this occasion even though you had nowhere to go. And he liked to think you had been best dressed for him, even though he knew you weren’t. You could wear anything and Ryuunosuke would still think you were the fashion icon of the city - you knew that. And you didn’t even care if he thought that way. 

He looked around the room and wondered how all of these small things could add up to you. A collage of dishes in the sink, a mess on the stove from whenever you last cooked, your morning cup of coffee that had been abandoned on the counter with a few drinks left to go cold. 

You weren’t exactly perfect, were you?

You did so many things that Ryuunosuke couldn’t stand. Water bottles left on nightstands, holes in sheets you don’t change as often as you should, a mess of a closet he’s always deemed as your own personal cavern. Hair stuck to shower walls and socks left forgotten in corners. Loud laughter when he’s trying to sleep, and a grumpy attitude every morning when he’s trying to wake you up. 

And yet without those small additions, the answer wouldn’t be the same. Somehow, the entire equation that led to you was charming to him - even your affinity for bad books and your argumentative nature and your morning breath. 

His love for you was unique to him, and it wasn’t because of how deep in love he was. It was because he didn’t love everything about you that had him scratching his head every time he found another thing he didn’t like. He didn’t love you for your bad habits, the things he deemed as flaws in what should be a masterpiece but wasn’t quite there. 

He loved you in spite of them. And that doesn’t make him special - he’s well aware he isn’t boyfriend of the year for simply looking over your messy desk and road rage. But this love was different to him. Maybe that’s how he knows he’s grown up, he’s more mature than he was at twenty-two when, in his mind, the love of his life was embossed in gold with angel wings and a glowing halo to match. 

And maybe that’s why she wouldn’t put his ring on her finger. Maybe he didn’t love her in the way you’re meant to love someone. Maybe it was too superficial to last, and maybe she knew that. 

But you - your ragged edges were beautiful without being soft. And he didn’t miss the delusional love he once had. You taught him that an honest love was worth infinitely more. 

“You’re not even listening!” 

You were right, he wasn’t. “I -sorry!” 

“What else could you possibly be thinking about that’s more important than what we’re getting for dinner?” 

He didn’t have an answer, not one that made sense, not one that wouldn’t scare you right out of your own home with how honest it would be. But you took his silence in stride, cracking a joke that made him shortly forget those serious thoughts. 

“You’re not thinking about your other girlfriend, are you?” 

He gave a crude laugh from deep in his chest, “You caught me, babe.” 

“I’ll call the custody lawyer - this is my weekend, you know, you’re not allowed to be thinking about her.” 

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Sorry, I’ll try my best. I hope you can forgive me,” and laughed at the way you seemed to move on from the bit in hopes of solving your current food related problem. “We could go out?”

You thought about it; he watched as you donned your thinking face - an expression he’s never pointed out to you but he’s always endeared - and he knew what you were thinking without you having to say it. 

Going out, rather than ordering in, consisted of taking the train. And you didn’t like taking the train. 

So maybe he shouldn’t have made the offer, and the anxiety in his stomach reminded him that his plan of doing everything right had been completely fucked from the moment he walked in. 

“Fine,” you said, giving him a strategically sly grin as you made your way over to wrap your arms around his waist. “We can go out. I’m guessing you want to go to a bar, then?” 

You never followed the road map of plans Tanaka had in his head, but maybe that was his fault for not laying it all out for you to see. 

Tonight, he was fine with it. Tonight wasn’t the night. He wouldn’t complain about that. 

Because you were willing to take an evening train with him to his favorite bar across the city, where you would eat less than stellar bar food and he would get too tipsy for your liking, just because that’s what he wanted to do. And you wouldn’t complain about it. 

And when you two got home, you would make him cuddle up close and watch whatever trashy TV show you were currently obsessed with for much later into the night than Ryuunosuke would like. And he would complain about it. 

You’d fall asleep and in the morning while you’re sleeping on his chest he’d debate whether or not he should propose right then and there, with the golden morning light and your bedhead framing your face, as if it would be a proclamation to you that he wants to wake up that way forever. 

That was his new plan. One that was destined to change so long as you were half of the equation. 

“Why do you seem so nervous today, Ryuu?” you asked him, lips pressed against his jaw, the two of you still standing in your kitchen even though Tanaka’s mind had been elsewhere. 

And he answered honestly, “You make me nervous,” though in the frame of a flirty joke it didn’t seem that way. 

All you could seem to do was shake your head and pull him toward the door, and it was obvious you knew more than you were willing to say. Ryuunosuke was bad at keeping secrets, after all, so maybe you noticed the trick up his sleeve minutes ago. 

But the nerves he had when walking through your door were gone now, replaced with a simmering excitement for the day the weight in his pocket is a ring on your finger. Because you were beautiful and flawed, kind and tempered, delicate and loud, and you loved him all the way through. And it was enough to give him the kind of hope he hasn’t had since he was loving someone blindly and driving home alone because of it. 

[emmie-sue-who]

Hurt

A woman I knew once is selling a size 10 men’s wedding ring, never worn, for $300 on Facebook marketplace. A fraction of what she paid, the listing says.

In a post she writes, “There will be no wedding,” because of “irreconcilable differences” but a week later she shares a post declaring that cheaters should “go straight to hell.”

“Cut his balls off,” one friend comments. “That’s what I’d do.”

Except, no, you wouldn’t, probably.

Probably you’d just walk away. Cancel the wedding, sell the ring for a fraction of the price, and walk away.

Sometimes hurt is not violent. Sometimes hurt contains love. Sometimes that’s why it hurts in the first place.

Every day for nearly 60 years my grandmother made breakfast for my grandfather. On days when they were not speaking to each other, she wordlessly set the meal before him. Scrambled eggs, toast with apple butter, a mug of hot cocoa because coffee was too bitter. There were a lot of those days.

He told me once that he wanted a divorce but could not afford one. I thought I knew, then, that they clearly did not love each other. In my life, I did not know a time when they made each other happy—not until just months before his death. When he did not know where he was or what he was supposed to be doing, when the only face he recognized was hers. She would set that same breakfast before him, and he would thank her with a kiss.

He called out for her at night then. Asked her to take him home. She was the only one who could calm him enough to explain that he was home, that this was their home.

At his funeral, my grandmother cried like I’ve never seen her cry before. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” she tells my mom, “now that I don’t have to take care of him. I wake up in the morning to fix him breakfast and then I remember that he’s gone.”

I realized how wrong I had been. My grandparents were never unhappy because they did not love each other. They were unhappy because they continued to love each other through years of being distant in every sense except proximity.

For them, love did not smooth over all the rough edges. Love brought its own edge. The pain of being so close to someone who’s so unbridgeably far, the pain you can only feel when it coexists with love.

I have seen so many people commit themselves to relationships that made them suffer. I thought perhaps those people settled, gave up on believing that they could find anything better. But it was more than that. It was a decision. Deciding what you can live with in order to be with someone you think you can’t live without. And maybe the reason I didn’t see that is because it’s not a decision made rationally; it’s a decision made in spite of rationality.

I thought it should be simple: love brings you happiness, and if it doesn’t, it’s not love. Marriage is supposed to be the happily ever after, and divorce means the marriage was a mistake to begin with. I liked it that way, mathematical almost. If the equation does not work, you are using the wrong numbers. But I see now it’s my formula that’s flawed.

A woman I knew sells a wedding band at a great financial loss because she needs to be rid of the reminder that the person she loved—loves, was supposed to love forever and still might—betrayed her in the deepest way. My grandmother eats a bowl of bran cereal in the mornings, alone in her apartment, and cries over someone who vowed to cherish her but later swore he never wanted to see her again. People who make each other miserable get married out of love, and some, still in love, leave each other. And it hurts, but it’s not a violent end. Because, despite it all, they still ache for that person.

[thotsforvillainrights]

Hope your ask box doesn’t get flooded right away! But could I please request some Mimic smut? Maybe his s/o has just kept testing his patience (flirting, holding things out his reach when he’s in tiny form, nicknames poking fun at his height, etc) and Mimic has enough of it and decides to get some payback?

[Haha it’s too late! But it’s okay because I find it must mean people still tolerate and like my writing lol. Aside from that, I don’t think I’ve ever done smut for him before. Seems like an okay time to give it a shot I suppose. I’ll test the waters with a little teasing smut instead of a full thing. Hopefully if it does well, then I’ll put an entire thing out]

~Teasing~

-Joi Irinaka smut-

Teasing:  intended to provoke or make fun of someone in a playful way.

Annoying him was your forte and honestly it’s one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. You were really something else in his eyes, and to be dating you in the present was a real shocker to those around him. He wasn’t brutish in the same sense that Rappa was, but Joi had his own rough edges to himself. To think he’s be able to attract any woman/man/person as a significant other wasn’t a first thought for many of the people that knew him first hand. Still, you were there for him. You helped him when sick, saw some of his most vulnerable emotions on display behind the closed doors of your bedroom, and you still loved him flaws and all. Most of all he felt the same about you too. This being said, he still sometimes found it hard to keep his patience when you got to be annoying to him. 

Today was just one of those days where you seemed to be on his ass excessively. 

He groaned at the amount of times he’s lost count of the money in front of him while you pestered him. If he didn’t get this treasury thing done before 5:00 then he’d have to push his break back. Did you even care about that? Well of course you did! However, he didn’t have to know that right? “Awwww. What’s wrong? Can’t keep count? Can’t focus, Joi?” You whispered in his ears, watching in delight by the way he shivered for you. These little touches and whispers were spread out over the span of the week. It wasn’t just that though...You also didn’t hold back when it came to teasing him in other ways. Other ways that were less sexy and more...well...annoying. 

“cUt ThAt ShIt OuT nOw!!!!” He complained and you basically dangled his keys above him like he was a tiny little toddler. In this form he might as well had been. Sure he could just go into his normal form, but this would be almost the 20th time this week he had to stretch himself back out for you, and those little beanie baby bodies costs began to add up in costs when he kept ripping them to transform. “Give me my shit Y/N!” Of course you didn’t until about 10 minutes later of tormenting him. Your antics continued until the end of the week. Now that it was Friday and his off day was tomorrow. Anyone else he would beat to a pulp, but for you he had found a better way to channel his anger out. So he endured it for this last day. He endured the nicknames, the insults, the poking and prodding, the delicate feather light touches, and even the nibbles on his ear when you caught him in his human form. All of it was just fuel to the fire. Then Saturday had finally arrived.

You popped up and stretched your arms out with a yawn. The space beside you was no longer occupied by the warmth of your boyfriend as he now stood at the end of the bed, watching you with a focused scowl and his arms crossed intently. “Oh looks who’s finally awake.” Before you could ask what was going on he reached under the blankets, grabbed your ankles, and snatched you downward so you’d be laying on your back. He wasted no time towering his large frame over you. “J-Joi?!?” He smirked and maneuvered his hands into your panties/boxers/undies, finding his favorite spot on your body, and putting in work from the very moment he did so. “Don’t act all surprised now cutie. Not with how you’ve been treating me lately of course. You thought I’d forget huh?” His fingers/hands working you undone slowly coupled with his morning voice and that damn smirk of his? Forget speaking or trying to work your way out of this heated punishment. You’d have to pay your dues this time. It was easier said than done with the way you were gasping for air lightly. Every time he brought you to the edge, he pulled back and rested his hands on your lower tummy before showering you with sloppy kisses. It was easy for him to tell when you were close to crossing that line by the way your gasps and moans picked up in both intensity and speed as well. That and the way you gripped at the sheets in desperation. Each time he stopped and started resulted in a shorter time that you could handle this. What went from 10 minutes of you holding out, ended up being 5, then 3, and now you were only a minute away from making a mess of his hands when he suddenly stopped again. You whine in distress and yearning? That was music to the man’s ears. 

“Keep it up, we’ll be in here all day until you learn to stop messing with me. Got that brat? Now bend over and I might treat you to this cock if you promise not to cum too soon.” 

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

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[pinevalley]

“It’s called the Future Well,” Francis said, sitting cross-legged beside the hole in the ground. They ran their fingers along the boards nailed across it. “My grandad said that his grandad said that if you jump into the well water, you’ll see the future.”

“That’s a kinda lame name.” Grace dropped a pebble through a crack in the boards. She counted five seconds before it clattered against something. No splash. Grace stood, took a step back, and frowned at the well. “And now it’s a dry Future Well. They’d only see their death coming up to meet them.”

A morbid joke, but a chuckle still left Francis. Grace smiled. Her friend’s grandad shared many strange stories, either from his own experiences or passed down from others. Grace knew Francis found them fascinating. She also knew Francis tended to believe them. Or they said they didn’t believe them, but she still caught them casting a wary glance at the antique shop their grandad had warned them about, or carefully stepping over a dry patch of grass at the edge of one parking lot, which their grandad claimed would bring danger to anyone who touched it.

Grace found the stories interesting as well. She didn’t believe most of them, though. Her mind pointed out their many flaws and inconsistencies. True, the valley’s logic was peculiar by nature, but Grace was also skeptical by nature. She believed her friend’s grandad twisted truths or invented details to add to the intrigue. Rumors likely influenced the stories as well. She also guessed the truthfulness of older stories had faded over the years, their details shifting and reality blurring with each retelling.

Still, they inspired conversation and adventures between Grace and Francis. The sixteen-year-olds often went exploring when they weren’t in school.

A few days prior, they’d found the well in a clearing in the woods. Francis had consulted their grandad, learned the ‘truth’ behind it, and invited Grace out to visit it again because they’d discovered it was special. A typical start to adventures for the duo.

So they’d returned.

“So,” Grace continued, “back when there was water and you didn’t die, you jumped in the well and saw the future. And then you were just... fine afterward? You climb out and that’s that?” Sometimes strange things happened to people in the valley, and they had strange effects. That much was true. The effects tended to fade within a few hours or a few days.

Francis shook their head. “No, it’s like, a permanent thing.” They chewed their lip, their voice grave when they went on. “My granddad said you look around and see bits of the future everywhere. Forever.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad. I bet it would help you get better grades on your math tests.”

Francis sighed at her teasing, but amusement still glinted in their eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” Their gaze returned to the boards. “But like… it sounds kinda creepy, right? Getting glimpses of what’s gonna happen? And what if it’s like in the movies? Where somebody can see the future but they can’t change it, no matter what, even if it���s something bad. Seems like it would be better to just… not know.”

They shivered and pushed themself further away from the well — as though worried that if they stayed too close, an unknown force would smash through the boards and drag them in. Grace bit back a grin.

Something rustled behind her. She turned to look, expecting a squirrel or a deer rummaging in the leaves. Or maybe some weird valley animal.

Her mind stuttered.

It was a deer, grazing at the edge of the field. Or something vaguely shaped like a deer. Its spine rippled as it stepped forward and tore at another clump of grass. Its dark coat appeared rough, covered in small ridges and uneven bumps, and glossy, as though drenched in water. Grace imagined running her hand along it and the sensation of cold, damp gravel shifting beneath her palm.

It lifted its head. Its depthless eyes met her gaze. A heartbeat passed before it ran straight toward her.

Grace stumbled backward and her shoes thudded onto wood. The boards creaked, old and rotted with age. Panic shot through Grace; instant realization.

The deer leapt over Grace as the boards collapsed. She fell; her heart leapt into her throat; the brick walls rushed past. Francis’s shout echoed after her.

A split second thought crossed her mind: “I’m going to die.” The future, but she’d misspoken when she’d mentioned it to Francis — death wouldn’t come up to meet her. She’d plummet down to meet it.

And then she hit the bottom of the well and pain shot though— no, she plunged into ice cold water and sank. The shock left her frozen before her lungs fought for— no, she didn’t need to breathe.

The water enveloped her. She found herself unable to close her eyes, let alone swim upward. The slightest movement proved impossible. She might have been a stone dropped into the well. She continued sinking, her descent slow and her surroundings dim yet strangely still visible, as though weak sunlight streamed through the water at every depth.

She couldn’t turn her head, but the brick wall in front of her appeared further away than it should have been. She sometimes glimpsed things in crevices. Coins. Some dull and some bright; some coppery and some silver. The brighter ones glimmered before she sank past and they vanished above her.

She couldn’t look down, but she sensed something far below her. A presence. Waiting.

It felt cold and ancient; solid yet shifting. She sensed depth beyond comprehension; water slipping through a vast labyrinth beneath the ground; wishes ingrained into coins threading through the same maze; forgotten spaces concealing forgotten secrets; time fraying between rocks; time worn thin.

Aside from the pressure and the smooth current that rippled over her skin, she could barely distinguish the water from the sensation of freezing air. The presence stayed fixed below her, growing stronger as she sank deeper. Her dread grew. Again, with remarkable clarity, she thought: “I’m going to die.”

And then another voice came, a low voice, a voice that welled up from rocks deep in the earth and surrounded her and pressed into her ears and mind.

‘You will not die.’

The rocks far below Grace shifted and sank and scraped against one another in the darkness. When the voice welled up again, it matched her own.

‘You will not die.’

A sudden surge in water pressure, and her ears popped in a burst of pain. Her hands raised to cover them and grazed the walls instead. The well had returned to its proper width. Her muscles also obeyed her desperate need to escape — at last, she stopped sinking and began swimming upward.

Seconds passed with no daylight in sight. Her need for air returned with a vengeance; her lungs burned. Exhaustion weighed her down. Her vision darkened; the coins in the walls glimmered like starlight in velvety blackness. For someone not going to die, it felt an awful lot like death was closing in.

And then the passage tipped over backward, from vertical to horizontal, and her back slammed against the wall. Dizziness swept away her thoughts. Her fingers clutched at the bricks at her sides and—

Grasped handfuls of soft grass instead.

A waterlogged cough left Grace before she could gasp in air. Brightness blinded her, and she shut her eyes against it. Dizziness still washed over her. Her skin prickled and begged her to move, though, so she unsteadily pushed herself to a sitting position.

A muffled sound came from nearby. Grace looked toward it to see a blurry figure kneeling beside her. She blinked. Francis. Crying. Grass and trees around them; the clearing. The well; the boards gone.

She shook her head to jostle the water from her ears. She almost regretted it; her friend’s ragged sobs brought a sharp ache to her chest. They hugged her, and though her mind still struggled to catch up, their tight embrace lessened the lingering numbness. A few seconds passed before she regained her senses enough to wrap her arms around them in return.

Dry arms, she realized. Her clothing was dry. She was dry. A ghost of pain lingered where the walls had scraped her hands, but her skin had no scratches.

She’d died, Francis told her once they’d calmed down enough to speak, their voice still hoarse and their words jumbled. Or they’d thought she died. They’d seen her fall and lunged to grab her hand. Much too late. They’d looked down the hole.

And seen her crumpled at the bottom.

They’d shouted and she hadn’t moved. They’d ran toward the edge of the clearing to get help, but before they reached the trees, a sudden impulse had caused them to glance over their shoulder. Grace, unbroken, lay beside the well. She’d sat up by the time they’d ran back and knelt beside her.

Despite her friend’s protests, Grace peered into the hole. Dry. Rocks and broken boards at the bottom. Still, something pulsed in her chest at her closeness to the well, so she moved away again.

She tried to explain what had happened, but she could tell Francis was too shaken to process her words. Their face was pale and their gaze intense, fixed on her, as though they expected her to vanish or fall to pieces at any moment. Which made sense. They’d seen her dead or close to death. Now she sat beside them, discussing her not-death, unscathed.

Unscathed and… seemingly unfazed. Realization struck Grace — the proper response would be panicking, crying, but an eerie calm had settled over her. And that realization should have brought alarm, she knew, but instead it brought interest. She could talk about this as easily as commenting on the weather. Logic had always kept her levelheaded in crises — she could layer facts and observations over her emotions until those emotions smothered, a useful defense mechanism against the valley itself — but this felt different. Deeper. Foreign.

Like the water — or a piece of whatever presence lurked beneath the well — had sunken into her, wrapped around her lungs and bones and muscles, blanketed her nerves and made a home within her, inextricably twisted into the very fibers of her being.

Unreasonable. Illogical. Impossible. But why had she coughed up water? Had she ever opened her mouth as she sank or swam? Moreover, her clothing and skin had been dry when she woke up beside the well. So why had water clogged her ears and muffled her hearing; stung as it blurred her vision?

She pushed those thoughts aside. Smothered them beneath the fact that right now, she needed to reassure her friend. She told Francis she hadn’t seen the future, hoping to spark their curiosity, but they only acknowledged the comment quietly, their fingers pulling at each other. The remnants of their fear and panic shone through when they lifted their gaze — tears still brightened their eyes and flushed their face. She didn’t want to scare them more.

Maybe staying quiet was for the best. Maybe they needed to respond the way many locals responded to terrible things: shove the incident behind them. Never mention it again. Pretend it never happened. They’d already done that a few times in the past.

Grace still asked about the deer. A glance around her had revealed no trace of the creature — no hoof prints stamped into the grass, no glimpse of its dark coat and pitch black eyes between the trees.

“What deer?”

They hadn’t seen a deer, they said. They’d only seen her turn around for some reason before she’d stumbled backward and fallen into the well.

Confusion and worry had spread across their face, their brow furrowed and teeth digging into their lower lip. Grace knew she needed to respond before their concern spilled over and they asked whether she’d hit her head, whether they should find a doctor. Grace did not want to see a doctor. She imagined them looking down her throat, giving a solemn hum, and informing her with calm professionalism that they’d spotted groundwater and that she ought to consider visiting a specialist in well entities.

Grace could have sworn she heard gravelly laughter in the back of her mind.

Francis was staring at her. Grace spoke quickly. “Never mind. Just imagining things, I guess.” She managed a smile. “Really, I, uh… I kinda just wanna get a milkshake at the diner. I’ll feel better then.” And Francis would feel better then, she hoped. They liked milkshakes more than her. The diner also offered normalcy; milkshakes and jukebox music and laughter would wash away the memory.

Relief swept over Grace when her friend’s shoulders relaxed. They helped her stand. Or rather, they held her hand as she pushed herself upright, their grasp loose and trembling. They squeezed her hand once. Grace remained intact under pressure. They seemed to find solace in this, more tension leaving their form, and they released their hold and stepped back.

Her dizziness passed. Briefly, they debated what to do about the well — a danger, clearly — and decided to tell their parents about it so they could replace the boards. Hopefully with much sturdier ones.

As they walked away from the hole, Grace spotted a patch of clovers. Nothing unusual about it. But the moment her gaze fell upon it, the well’s voice spoke in her mind again; groundwater slipped between rocks; time frayed and slipped along with it.

‘It will rain soon.’

A casual statement. Commenting on the weather.

Grace swallowed hard. She tugged her gaze away from the clovers and focused on walking, on Francis insisting on paying for the milkshakes. It meant nothing. She’d likely imagined it — the prior terror playing tricks on her mind, twisting her experience with the whole ‘future well’ business Francis had described. And if she hadn’t imagined it, the effect would likely fade within a few hours or a few days. She needed to get over it and move on.

“Seems like it’s gonna rain,” she heard Francis say from beside her. Grace tilted her head upward to see the sky. It had been clear and sunny the last time she’d checked. Grey clouds now darkened it.

And a drop of rainwater fell onto her forehead.

[seizethesam]

Look At Me

Summary: You feel a little down and start to doubt yourself when you see the lifestyle of the Alexandrians, Daryl comforts you. (Set in late season 5 - Alexandria.)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Word Count: 1556

Author’s Note: Heyy!! This is my first Daryl one-shot. I’ve been working on it for a few days and now it's with you!! I hope you like it!!

Happy reading! xx

You took sluggish steps through the large gate, your eyes wandered on every human being you spotted. Daryl was standing by your side, on his rightful place, with cautious eyes and a dead possum hanging from his one hand, the other holding the strap of his crossbow.

His chin was slightly tucked to his chest, watching everyone with his piercing gaze. He looked intimidating, if not dangerous. He was on alert just like you with all your guards up.

You were brought to this so-called paradise where people lived happily, without any worry, any wrinkles on their brow. You’ve imagined that the only thing they had to worry about was what extraordinary food to cook that evening.

Alexandria… The name had a good ring to it.

The people were laughing, chatting, going on about their days, while you and your family were covered in filth. Your bodies were caked with blood and dirt on the road. You were pretty sure that you looked like months old human garbage.

You were afraid. You were afraid that all this could be real. You were terrified that this place could give you hope for a better life.

You were used to being out there, in the wild, walking on the dangerous lands. Lands that now only belonged to nature and the dead. The dead, starvation, and danger had almost become a second nature to you.

Almost.

But at the same time, you were tired of losing people, tired of seeing blood everywhere, tired of sleeping with one eye open. And you were sick of getting blood on your hands.

Altogether, you wanted to rest, wanted comfort. You wished to have a fine supper with your family, a good night sleep with Daryl’s arms wrapped around you. You were afraid that a chance to get all this also meant losing them all over again.

First, the leader of the community, Deanna, took all of you for interviews. Rick was the first one to go, then Glenn, then you…

You stepped into the large living room and spotted an armchair and a video camera right in front of it. You didn’t know what to with yourself. You walked towards the armchair, drawing a circle around it, afraid to stain it with your dirt.

Everything in the room was so clean and neat that you felt out of place with your body caked with blood and dirt, greasy hair sticking to the sides of your face.

“You can sit down,” the voice came from the entrance to the living room.

Deanna greeted you with a warm welcome which caused a wave of shock through your body.  

You hesitantly sat down on the armchair across the camera. The comfort was causing uncomforting feeling.

“What is your name?” asked the woman.

“(Y/N)”

“You’ve been through great deal, haven’t you, Y/N?” she questioned.

You paused for a minute to think about the things you’ve been through; the farm being gone, the road, the governor, the infection, the governor again, the road again, terminus, the road, and the constant pain of losing people along the way…

You swallowed the pain growing inside you. “I guess,” you answered plainly.

“What did you do before all this?” she continued. Her eyes were wandering over you, studying you. You didn’t make sense of the question.

“A painter, a teacher, an astronaut, a zookeeper,” you listed the first professions that had come to your mind, “does it matter anymore?” your voice was tired and flat, and far from being irritating.

You were just exhausted.

After the interview with Deanna, you were all gathered in one of the houses that they have assigned you. You were all on a knife edge, constantly looking for reasons to bail out, reasons to take this place down.

It wasn’t much later that you thought how crazy all this was. Yes, you needed to protect yourselves, you needed to stay sharp. But being on the edge at all times, looking for reasons to not to trust people would just make you insane. Drive you crazy.

“They’re trying to split us apart,” Carol commented.

“We should all sleep here for tonight, ‘till we make sure they’re alright,” added Rick. His voice was almost a whisper that you could barely make out what he was saying.

The air moved fast through your nose and lungs. A light buzzing sound filled your ear when you saw stars falling down in front of you. Daryl was mouthing something, but you couldn’t make out what.

You supported yourself with one hand on the couch next to you and draw the other to your head when your vision went dark for a second.

“Hey hey,” Rick approached you with concern, “you okay?”

The others were watching you with worried eyes. “Yeah, I’m alright. —Guess it’s the blood pressure,” you said when Daryl had rushed to your side.

“S’ go outside,” Daryl suggested and you nodded after Rick padded your shoulder.

You exited the house to the front porch, and you sat yourself on the comfortable swinging chair. Daryl sat down next to you, handing a bottle of water for you.

You sat in silence for a while, observing the greenery of Alexandria. You saw a woman exit another house with a smile on her face, waving good-bye to the other person. They were really living their lives down here, weren’t they?

You couldn’t help but be jealous. They were in here eating chocolate cakes, while you were fighting out there, and yet, still losing.

“You think this is all real?” you asked with a low voice, referring to the community.

Daryl waited for a while before answering, he was thinking, biting his thumb. “I donno,” he murmured.  

“I want it to be,” you said. You were surprised how vulnerable you sounded.

“Wantin’ it ta be real is one thing, the truth is another,” he pointed.

You chewed your lip as you nodded, “I know.”

“Look,” he said in a whisper, “look at me,” he repeated, and you turned to face him. “We’re gonna make it work, we always do,” he assured you as put his hand on the back of your head.

He drew your face closer to his and pressed his forehead against yours.

“uh-huh,” you hummed as you closed your eyes.

The same day after the sunset, you were in the bathroom of your new house. There was a clean shower, clean towels, a working tab that actually spilled clean water. There were multiple choices of shampoo and shower gel.

You slowly opened the small cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. Your reflection on the mirror was not comforting.

In the cabinet, there were tampons and pads from multiple brands, razors, ears picks, floss, and every other small detailed necessity.

You didn’t know what to think, or what to say. It had been a really long time since you’d seen this many supplies in general, much less personal hygiene products.

You closed the cabinet and saw your reflection clearer now.

You looked like shit.

Your braided hair was sticking to your head with grease. Your undereyes were a different shade of purple now, if not black.

Your lips were cracked like a piece of deserted soil. Your tired hand traced the bitter flaws of your features from eyes to lips. Then, your hand reached for the slightly red, skin colored scar from your neck, over your collar bone, to the chest. A courtesy of the Governor.

You unbraided your hair without taking your eyes off your reflection. You spread and let your hair fall down your shoulders.

They looked fairly lesser than you remembered. You run your hand through your hair and saw the grey hairs that took place in several parts.

You frowned at the discovery. You certainly weren’t old enough to grow grey hairs. No. These were the result of years of worry, fear, and stress.

The person in the mirror looked—old… and tired, and sick…You couldn’t recognize her.

“What’re ya doin’,” the sudden noise from the door made you startle.

You turned to see that it was Daryl. “Was lookin’ for ya,” he said with a soft voice which was not very usual with him.

“I was just checking in with myself,” you sent him a joyless smile.

He stepped in the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He must have felt your downcast. He always did. Whenever you were feeling down or just stressed, he’d be there to just make everything okay. Whether it’d be a silent hug, or his reassuring words.

Daryl would always make your feel better.

He walked towards you, “ya okay?”

Words were stuck in your throat; you opened your mouth to speak but they didn’t come out. So, instead you nodded your head ‘no’.

You leaned your back against the counter, so you were standing face to face with Daryl.

He didn’t say anything to your subtle respond. Instead, he came closer and wrapped his big arms around your weary figure, “C’mere,” he whispered.

The warmth of his body was engulfing yours in every possible way, reminding you that you were safe in his embrace.

“I’m here,” he said.

Opposing to his rough exterior and muscly arms, his hug was that much softer and gentle.

Right then and now, you didn’t doubt yourself. You didn’t look old…or sick…or broken.

You were, now, a whole.

Tag:

@ly--canthrope

[beneaththetangles]

Tangles Writers Do Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai, Arc 2: To Drop or Not to Drop

Greetings, Tangles readers!

Yesterday, Twwk posted an excellent article to kick off our deep dive into the Bunny Girl Senpai series. Twwk’s article focused largely on Sakuta’s character: his selfless, genuine love for Mai and his transparent, authentic self. But of course, Sakuta’s character isn’t all sunshine. As Twwk points out, he tends to dance on the line of commitment to Mai throughout the show, and often gets himself into trouble with his speech and conduct.

And if you’re looking for a perfect example of these negative characteristics which Twwk discussed, look no further than Tomoe’s arc. In some ways, this arc presents Sakuta with no filter—authentic and honest, sure, but also hurtful and demeaning. Today, I’ll be writing about how episodes four through six of Bunny Girl Senpai almost compelled me to drop the show. I’ll reason through why I ultimately decided to stick around. And I’ll describe how my personal struggle with this arc of Bunny Girl Senpai finds its place not only in Tomoe’s story, but also, perhaps, in your own.

Got all that? Good. Let’s proceed.

Before we continue, enjoy a coffee break, sponsored by best girl Rio Futaba. (Look out for her article in a few days!)

I’ve always had a strained relationship with Bunny Girl Senpai. Let me be clear: I’m 90% into this anime for the cheeky banter between Sakuta and Mai. It’s fantastic. So I really liked the first three episodes of the show. Episode four, in contrast, presents the first signs of genuine conflict between the two, as Tomoe’s Adolescent-Syndrome-caused looping leads to a misunderstanding with not only Mai, but the whole school. Ultimately, Tomoe and Sakuta end up feigning a relationship for Tomoe’s sake: Her friends think that she’s dating Sakuta and she feels uncomfortable admitting their mistake.

Already, the flashing lights were going off in my head. Mai’s gone and Sakuta’s pretending to date someone else? It all seems foolish and immature and out-of-character. (And where’s my Mai dialogue?) Regardless, I was willing to forgive those minor setbacks to see how things would go in Tomoe’s story. But as things progressed, it became very clear that the dynamic between Sakuta and Tomoe was far different than that between Sakuta and Mai. In some ways, it was endearing. Sakuta’s sort of like a big brother to Tomoe, hanging out with her, bringing her food when she’s sick, and lending her an ear amidst her struggles.

But as many big brothers are wont to do, Sakuta pokes fun at Tomoe. And many times, it goes way too far. Now, I’m willing to admit that some of the discomfort I felt at Sakuta’s jokes might say more about my boundaries than the show itself.1 But much of what Sakuta says to Tomoe in this arc could genuinely be classified as sexual harassment, and there’s times when the jokes genuinely trouble Tomoe. It threw me off, to the point that I was ready to cast the show away out of sheer discomfort.

Amen, Tomoe. Amen

Why, then, did I decide to stick with the show?

Before I continue to answer that question, I’d like to clarify the tension I’m describing here a little. I don’t mean to imply that watching Bunny Girl Senpai violated my conscience. Stay away from shows like that—but I’m talking about something a little different. Bunny Girl Senpai doesn’t violate my conscience in these scenes; it violates my moral standards. These scenes don’t tempt me to sin; they portray sin as a good thing. They don’t inspire shame but anger: anger at wrongs going unpunished.

Maybe a few examples will help to clarify what I’m trying to say. When I think of problematic anime, I think of Made in Abyss, which contains several scenes that arguably sexualize minors. Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid, one of my favorite shows, runs into the same issue with the relationship between Lucoa and Shouta. And The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, a fan favorite, has its own issues with sexual harassment as well. These are all shows which clearly contain scenes which violate moral standards in such a way that no one could be blamed for dropping them outright.

Of course, all the shows that I’ve listed, including Bunny Girl Senpai, are shows that I watched through to the end. So why didn’t I drop them? There’s a lot I could say here, but in short, it’s because each show, despite its flaws, had something worth staying for. Haruhi drew me in with its absurd yet hopeful celebration of the oddities of this world. Kobayashi reminded me that sometimes it only takes a dinner table to welcome those who share nothing in common with you. And Made in Abyss presented a stirring tale of adventure with its own moral quandaries to boot.

What about Bunny Girl Senpai, then? Well, if it’s Sakuta’s personality that turned me off, it’s the same personality that kept me coming back. Again, despite his flaws, Sakuta is abundantly authentic. At his best, he hates lies and misunderstandings; he doesn’t pull punches; he says exactly what he’s thinking. And for Tomoe, who’s struggling with fitting in and finding her own identity in the midst of the chaos of adolescent social interactions, Sakuta’s bluntness comes as a great reassurance. Regardless of how her friends treat her, she knows Sakuta will always treat her the same way he always has. He’ll always be there for her.

In fact, I have a theory. I think that Tomoe’s struggle to reconcile Sakuta’s good and bad sides isn’t too much different from my own. Even as she finds herself angered and frustrated by the things Sakuta says, she knows there isn’t genuine malice behind them, because she knows Sakuta is for her. His bluntness sets her on edge, but it also sets her at ease, because she knows he’s willing to tell her what she needs to hear, and to help her grow in the process. It’s because Sakuta is Sakuta that she knows that she’ll be loved no matter where she’s at. It gives her the confidence to move forward.2

And in the end, I think the moral tensions that I’ve described in this article aren’t too much different from the same tensions we experience in all our lives. It’s really easy for us as people to polarize reality. That artist or that book or that show is problematic, so anyone who supports them is problematic. Alternatively: that artist or that book or that show is good, so anyone who discredits them is wrong. But life is more complex than that. I should know: I find that complexity in my own heart, as I vacillate between good and bad intentions and desires and actions. Like Sakuta, I can issue a word of wisdom in one moment and a word of mockery in another.3 I need grace in every moment of my life. We all do.

So what if, instead of polarizing reality, we learned to live as children of grace? What if, when people hurt us, instead of responding in anger, we responded in gentle love? What if, when ideas harmed us, we wrestled with them rather than smacking them down? What if, when media unsettled us, we stopped to ponder intentions, rather than to assume them?

I don’t have answers to those questions. It’s certainly a hard task, to show the grace we’ve been given. But, at the very least, I hope I’ve shown that it’s okay to wrestle with these tensions rather than to find cheap answers. That is, after all, what Bunny Girl Senpai is about: learning to live in a world where there are no cheap answers, and demonstrating kindness and faithfulness in the meantime. Those are lessons worth learning—even if there are a few rough patches along the way.4

=====

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai can be streamed on Funimation.

1 To be fair to the writers of the show, some of the worst jokes from the light novel source were toned down for the adaptation. The comments still make me deeply uncomfortable, though. 2 I want to be very careful here. I don’t mean to say that Tomoe shouldn’t feel angry at Sakuta for the things he says. I’m simply pointing out that she’s facing the same tension I am in deciding whether or not to stick with the show: the antithesis between affirming what is good and confronting what isn’t. 3 Again, in an abundance of caution, I’ll say that while both Sakuta and myself exhibit these sorts of moral tensions, that doesn’t reduce the weight of Sakuta’s sins. I’m not excusing Sakuta; I’m condemning both him and myself. 4 Much of what I said in this post was inspired by Alan Jacobs’ Breaking Bread with the Dead, which argues for reading classical literature because of its ability to confront our sensibilities and form us into better people. In some sense, I think his argument can be adapted into a case for watching anime in the same sort of way, and that’s what I’ve tried to do here.

[bailspogue]

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒: 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐓

( 𝑗𝑗 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 )

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. ─── A tremendous curiosity had always been one of your flaws — however when it drives you to seek out your best friend in the midst of night throwing rocks at the window of JJ Maybank you can only wonder if friends are all you both will ever be.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. ─── swearing

𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡. ─── best friends

𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑. ─── no 

              Those whirling winds howling throughout the unwavering emptiness of those hot summer nights were nothing more than an indication for all that was till to devastate Kildare County disrupting the pretentiousness of their heavenly promises amidst the rough waters whereas the peninsula prevailed — more hurricanes were still to come.

However sullen the thought — your mind had strayed amongst the many possibilities of what was to unfold behind those closed windows stains and filth embellishing them. Those faint bruises that had scattered amongst the many blemishes of the tanned skin of JJ Maybank along with those few days his presence was dearly missed at The Chateau had become a strain upon your conscience — A sense of worry had manifested within yourself.

              That very sense of worrisome dispensation had brought you to his house — one amongst the various untouched by the wraths of Agatha or so it had seemed. Few branches had been scattered within the grass surrounding that horrendous house. The slightest rays of luminescence had wallowed fractions of that very same field brought your concentration to the few loose pebbles that trounced amongst the sand.

An unforgiving harshness brought forth the relentless shivers that spread across your skin — while those cold surfaces of one of the stones smoothed within the warmth of your palm before it had found its expeditious trajectory against the window of the one who had consequently tormented your every thought — a second had soon followed aggravating you furter as all behind that very window had remained unmoving.

              Those very same eyes of yours had roamed across the night sky plentiful starts devising their own extraordinary patterns across the abyss — lips parted absentmindedly shallow breaths falling from them transpiring within the sweltering summer air awhile the nerves arose within you — fingers stirring alongside the smooth surface of the stone still resting within your nonchalant hold.

However the insignificant sound of that precious window unlocking it had gathered all attention from you once more — he stood within it bewilderment personified him momentarily while those clouded blue eyes sought an answer within the many branches disregarded within the debris that littered beneath the window. A scoff surpassed your lips accompanied by one of the eye rolls that had become infamously associated with you while you moved closer towards the walls embellished with the many remains of polished paint that had once brought a sense of life to the godforsaken house you had found yourself stood beneath the window of he who called it home.

              ❛ Are you fucking deaf? ❜            You taunted a smothered laugh intertwined within the blatant sarcasm of your words. Sometimes you would find yourself wondering if you too had found your love within the most wonderful of people — a mere thought at the sight of the bewildered blonde stood within his window mere inches from where you had persisted inside the shadows dispersed from the many leaves hung above your head.

❛ Can you shut the fuck up? ❜            He asserted — the pettiest of grins curving the edges of his busted lips. He lived for the seething glances you had brought upon his form only fueling into his antics more all while he laughed along with his own words awaiting an answer from you and an answer he from you he shall receive — another rock had encountered the window sill with a loud thud only ever so insignificantly missing the hand he had leant upon it with.

              ❛ Cool it with the rocks, Juliet. ❜

❛ Oh, Romeo. ❜            You called out to him — a sickeningly sweet tone settling within your softening voice while your eyes met once more.   ❛ Wherefore art thou. ❜

              ❛ Right here, Dumbass. ❜            JJ acknowledged — he laughed along with you before those words of confusion fell from those bruised lips of his.   ❛ Its the middle of the night. ❜

              ❛ Oh sorry. ❜            You answered — a laugh hidden within your joyous tone of voice while you lowered it ever so insignificantly the slightest traces of your mischievous temper interlacing within the troublesome grin that had become engraved upon those anxious lips of yours mimicking that very smirk infamously endowed by JJ Maybank.    ❛ Am I fucking up your curfew? ❜

❛ Go home — I'm closing the window. ❜

              ❛ Dude. ❜            Your reaction to the taunting words of his caused that infamously gorgeous smile to resurface once more — however, those entrancing eyes of his had found yours once more widening at the mere sight of your satisfied stance beneath him. He watched you intensely while his arms found some comfort within leaning upon the window sill — challenging you awhile he awaited your acknowledgement before he too spoke again.

❛ Dude. ❜            

              ❛ Yeah, just break in while you're at it. ❜            He had muttered underneath his breath — the faintest amusement hidden within the lowering of his voice while he observed you intensely the slightest fluttering of his breath had caught those thoughts of you from roaming within his mind.

❛ I am actually a great friend. ❜            You defended yourself — you had found your actions justified while your feet sought their steadfast amongst the splintering paint that had varnished the walls you leaned against absentmindedly.

              ❛ The best. ❜            He had forced out while you brought yourself closer towards him — hands steadily extended to be taken by his. Reminiscent of the many melancholic memories that had begun to submerge within his conscience at the mere sight of your widening smile — brought one to his bittersweet features the feeling of your fingers skimming across his calloused palms so mindlessly awhile he had assisted you through the window.

His adoring eyes were no longer wandering your form they had found their attention brought to your hands seething where his skin had touched yours so thoughtlessly, so hastily — how you both had wished it could have lasted longer than the mere moments it did.

              ❛ Walked all the way out here — just for you. ❜

❛ Adorable. ❜            He laughed in disbelief — his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly while a frown formed upon his features at the words you had spoken before his eyes too found the photograph held in between your gentle fingertips.

              Rays of golden sunlight disintegrated against the sunburned features of yours and his wallowing all else in a sunny summertime radiance as those rays of golden sunlight ignited their skin and all thoughts seemed to vanish from your mind — How blissfully unaware of those sunkissed smiled adorning their lips when her arm had been wrapped around his shoulder holding onto your beer loosely between the nonchalant grasp of your fingers seething along with the condensation that had brought a refreshing touch to them.

❛ Total invasion of privacy there. ❜            JJ complained — the slightest tinge of amusement hidden within the flustered tone of his hushed voice not able to stand the fact you had stood so far from him now when all he wanted was to be held by your hands once more.

              ❛ I love these. ❜            You declared truthfully — the faintest of smiles brought upon the edges of his lip while he watched your eyes full of adore at the photograph of you and none other than John Booker Routhledge beer cans surrounding the both of you while one had remained precariously loose within your intoxicated hold.   ❛ Was a great fucking time. ❜

❛ Can't remember half of it to be fair. ❜      

                    ❛ Sounds about right. ❜            He could only watch you with his heart aching for that very same love within your eyes to once be destined for him — your laughter brought him alive. Warmth arose from within him — all those uncertainties, all those nerves everything that had once been bothering him set aflame within your very presence.

❛ Why are you here? ❜            He had sought an answer within your eyes once they had found one another once more — his heart fluttered at the mere thought of you. He had watched your soothing fingers saunter along with the photographs amongst the messy walls — their gentle touch a mere memory from the many youthful nights you had spend with one another. A troublesome grin unfolded along with the words he so teasingly uttered while he had crossed his arms over his chest.     ❛ Can't just be to admire my decorating. ❜

              ❛ You had me worried. ❜            Your fingers lovingly sauntered along with the photograph that had been torn ever so subtly as if had been folded messily before — however his sudden answer had brought your eyes to his form once more.

❛ I'm okay. ❜

             His fingers too sauntered amongst the blemishes of the holding onto it despairingly — all sense of reality had become lost on you underneath the realisation of the sudden proxamity he had been within. The smell of him entrancing beyond reason, feeling him so close — so intimately had drowned out everything else that had gone on around them before your eyes wandered amongst the photograph again.

              The reminisces of a drunken smile casually kindled the exhaustion from your features — imprints of those godforsaken rings of JJ Maybank caressed delicately against the blemished skin of your heated cheeks along with the affectionate tenderness of his bruised lips varnished with that very same taste of alcoholic disaster pressed against them.

You could no longer withdraw the sense adoring that had prevailed the corners of your lips to transform into an unwavering smile amongst the many thoughts of him that ensued within your admiring subconscious once more — eyes wandering amongst the wounds that devised their very own patterns across the delicacy of his blemished skin every detail of him had you mesmerised and falling ever so easily.

             Memories of that very summer night — However faint, However conflicting — had remained a cherished remembrance of just how you felt for him that night.

                             ❛ If you say so. ❜