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heyidkyay · 7 months

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10 Things Y/n Can't Live Without | GQ

Got to watching Matty's old one of these and just decided to try and write one for reader, it's silly and short but if it might be something you're into then I hope you enjoy x

“Hi GQ, I’m Y/n, and you might’ve heard a couple of my songs if you’re stuck watching this- if not, then boo, you suck.”

She pauses, thinking on it, then winces slightly and looks straight past the cameras at one of the shoot’s directors.

“Can I say that? Is that too mean?” Before anyone can actually answer though, she waves a hand, “Ah fuck it, I don’t care. If Matty can act like a twat on his one, then so can I.” She bears a giant grin and then the lens closes in, switching from frame to frame to capture the few items she’s brought in.

“Why are you here then today?”

She blinks and then exaggerates her eyes at the sudden reminder, “Not even five minutes in and I’ve already messed this up. But yeah, sorry! Today, I’ve brought in my ten essential items, and I guess you’re wanting to see them.”

Wiggling her fingers, the scene then changes.

1 - “A Lighter.”

She hums in reply to the voice, looking down at the item and then back up again. “I bet, like, if you had Harry Styles on here, his first thing would be something really nice and lovely, like Emma by Jane Austen. Seems the type, right?”

Scratches her nose in thought, “But no, you’ve just got me.”

“And what a privilege it is.”

She laughs and gives a mock bow.

“Anyway, yeah.” She continues on, fiddling with the clunky silver antique in her hand, “Not much to say about it, really. If you need a light, I’m your gal. Always prepped for arson or the odd joint.”

“Okay, probably shouldn’t say that.”

“Right, yeah ‘course, sorry. Um, don’t smoke weed then, kids?” She points at the camera with a mocking salute before the scene then changes again and she’s asked to flick open the lighter for a different shot.

There’s a click and then the flame dies.

2 - A ziplock bag sits on top of the table. A basic run of the mill seal-again with a fading Tesco’s branded on one side.

“Ah, this is probably my most prized possession, I reckon.” Her eyes dance under the studio lights and a few chuckles can be heard from behind the camera.

“What are we looking at here?”

She drags the plastic baggy in closer and unzips it, taking a sniff of the strong scent that escapes. “Tea bags.”

“Tea bags? What kind?”

“Yorkshire through and through. Here in the states it’s so hard to find even a basic PG pyramid, let alone one of these babies.” She cradles it close to her chest, “Honestly would kill for a brew right now. But these things help me whenever I get a little too homesick- both on tour and when I’m just travelling.”

“Very lovely.”

“Very British.” She corrects with a wide grin.

3 - “I honestly want to meet the person who first invented headphones, because? Wow. What a man.” She sighs, almost reverently, opening up the AirPods case she holds with a single hand, one which seems to be covered in tiny stickers and a difficult to read engraving.

“Reckon they had to have been the world's biggest introvert at the time. I mean, just imagine shoving shit into your ears trying to escape the idiots sat ‘round you, but then doing one better and deciding that you’d much rather prefer to listen to something sick.”

“How are they essential to you?”

“It'll sound dramatic. But I actually feel like I’d be lost without them? In a sad way. They let me disconnect when I need to, and with a job like mine that’s really hard to do at times.”

“And the last song you listened to?”

She smirks, eyes squinting at the question as she glances into camera one. “A demo.”

“One of yours?”

She merely laughs, and the joyful sound of it echoing around the studio space. “No, I wish! We’ll be waiting on that one for a while longer still.”

4 - The next item is slid into shot.

“Ah, my phone.” She clutches it in one hand but looks down at it, almost saddened.

“It feels so stupid to say it’s an essential, because I miss the old days when we were all forced to go outside and knock about. But it really is. It has everything I need to keep me safe stored on there and also keeps me updated on things happening back home, just stuff like that. Plus, it really helps to keep my brain occupied on long flights and during meetings. So there’s always an upside.”

“What kind of case do you have on it?”

Her nose wrinkles as she glances down at the battered protecting she’s had since she first got the phone, and hums, “Just one of them hardshell ones- that what they're called? But yeah, it was a present- very much me, or so I’ve been told- and I was grateful for it. It’s scratched to bits now though, but my screen has yet to break!”

She winces, “I say that, but that’s it now. The next time it drops it’ll shatter, won’t it?”

5 - We watch as she sits a clunky old disposable before herself. It’s black and yellow, and slightly scuffed, but looks very well loved.

“Pretty self-explanatory. Just a camera, I take pictures, these things pair well together.” She turns it on and an unexpected flash goes off, “The price to print film is fucking extortionate though. So, don’t expect a copy of that.” She chuckles, alongside a couple of the camera crew and then slides the camera further down the table.

“If anyone were to get hold of it though, they’d have a proper field day- but alas, what happens on tour, stays on tour.”

6 - The next item is one she toys with for a long moment, looking down at its yellowed pages before settling it down gently before her so that the camera can get a close up.

“A novel?”

She shakes her head, wearing the beginnings of a fond smile.

“No, this little beauty is my first child.” She states, splaying a hand over the cover of a leatherbound journal. Which earns her a few raised brows that she just laughs at before picking the thing up to flick through. “It is! But it’s also your quintessential songbook. Packed full of stories and lyrics and messy scrawl. I’ve got things sellotaped in there too, just as reminders or for when I lack inspiration.”

“What sort of things?”

With a hum, she thinks about it. “Bottlecaps? Um, a couple polaroids... Think there’s a seashell or two in there as well, from the time I was visiting a friend of mine in Barbados. So yeah, I’ve had it for years, just keep adding pages in. Need a new one though. Desperately.”

“Can we have a look inside?”

She peers down the book, hands cradling it almost protectively now, then chews on her lower lip.

“You can say no.”

Her eyes dart upwards again, “No, you’re all good. It’s just personal, you know? But yeah, I can show you the first page or so.”

Slipping off the elastic binding it altogether, the book practically bursts open on its own. She’s quick to flick to the very first page, which sports a couple of film pictures as well as the odd sticker, but is mainly just filled with miniscule scribbles.

The camera zooms in for a closer shot.

“So, all the doodles and wobbly words are just from friends or other writers I’ve worked with.” She points to a little drawing of a t-rex in the corner, “This here, was my mate George’s work. He’s vandalised quite a bit of this book, I can’t lie. But we’ve known each other for ages, and he’s produced and worked on most of my music.”

Then she trails her finger lower and across a couple of names, “There, Lewis Capaldi wrote that I’ve got a great arse, and then Noel Gallager graced a corner with his scribbled signature- still aiming to get Liam’s somehow. But I’m working on it.”

She peers a little closer, looking for another story or detail to mention, “Oh, down here you can see a bit of blood! Like two or three splatters that stain the page.” She grins wickedly and glances back up at the camera, “That was from a time I tagged along to a Bring Me The Horizon tour, way back when. Oli sliced his hand on a guitar string and it was a proper mess. Bit mad looking back on it actually.

“What can you tell us about that main photo?”

She practically beams at the question, her gaze immediately shooting back towards the picture sat in the page’s very centre. It’s square and has its own doodled frame.

“That’s me and a couple of very good friends of mine. Bit of a difficult picture to make out, but only because it was taken with a flash and it’s about a decade old now.” She relays, dropping the notebook down on her forearm so that the camera guy can get a better look. “That’s Hann and Ross, and there’s G’s big smile. My oldest mate, Vin, is the idiot leaning over the shoulder of my cousin, Lol, in that very top corner, and then at the bottom there is Matty and I.”

“Very cosy.”

She smirks.

7 - “Number seven, what have you got for us?”

She huffs around an amused smile, “Do you know how hard it was to think of ten items? Like, if I was back home I’d’ve probably brought my mum’s dog along- or my settee. But I’m not, so I got stuck and as I was thinking about it I figured that these had to be an essential of mine. ‘Cause when I’m with the guys I’m sort of known for always having some sort of sweet treat on me.”

A pack of Haribo is placed down onto the table, alongside a red and yellow wrapped lollipop and a single bar of chocolate.

“So, you lot haven’t got any Tangfastics here- which is, I can’t even begin to fathom how you survive. Someone start a petition, please. But anyway, instead I’ve got these Zing things? Which are similar but not as good, no hate! Just the truth.”

She shrugs gently before opening the packet up and nicking one, then offers the rest of the packet outwards, smiling as a few step forward.

“These two… these are from back home.” She claims as she drags the remaining two items nearer, “The lolly is a drumstick, don’t know if you have them here, or have even heard of them, but we typically get them in mixed or party bags back home. They’re a favourite, but I reckon that’s just mainly down to my mum’s love of them. And then this,” She moves swiftly on, twirling a wrapped chocolate bar between her fingers whilst she smiles, “This is one item I can't live without. They’re the messiest things, but taste so fucking good.”

“What’s it called?”

“A flake? Usually we get them on a 99, but they do them in multipacks and in like your local.”

“A 99?”

Her eyes widen theatrically before she drops her head into her hands, “I can’t do this today. Do you really not know what I’m on about?”

8 - A blue passport is chucked up in the air and she almost topples out of her chair to catch it.

“Ha!” She grins, waving the thing about smugly before dropping it down again. “This felt so stupid to include, but I couldn’t not. I need this for most places I go; hotels, airports… sometimes even a club if I’ve forgotten or lost my ID. But yeah, I couldn't just show you a pack of Haribo and then not include my passport.”

9 - A clinking breaks up the quiet filming they’ve been wrapped up in as they move onto the next item.

“House keys!” She exclaims happily, rattling the horde of keys she now carries.

“To how many houses?”

She rolls her eyes, not unkindly, and then smiles, wrapping the keys up in between her palms. “Three. But don’t worry, they’re not all mine!” She feels the ridiculous need to make known, but she only receives a few curious glances in return.

Taking the first set between her forefinger and thumb, a silver key and brass chub, she shows them off to the camera lens, “These are to my mum and dad’s house, they let me in through the front door whenever I want. Although I guess they're more so for emergencies, ‘cause I still like to knock when I turn up.” She shrugs a single shoulder, swiping through the keys again, “Also have the one to their garage on here somewhere as well- see, it’s that small one right there.”

Next, she dangles a single fob key and another silver cut in view. “These are mine. They let me past the front gate and the other one opens the majority of whatever else. Probably shouldn't be letting the world know that.” She snorts, but ultimately shrugs before moving onto the last of the three.

“And these,” She says as she rattles the chain to reveal a rather large horde of other keys, “Are to my very first flat. I shared it with a mate at first then things evolved and changed, so we moved onto something bigger.”

“Why do you keep them?”

“Why not?” She quips, grinning down at the set, “I mean, they hold a lot of sentimental value to me. Not just in the sense that they belonged to my very first place, but the memories I made there.”

She smiles back up at the camera a second later, now holding a little lego person that had been dangling from one of the many rings, “And there’s this little guy, too. Never had the heart to get rid of him or separate him from the others, so he just stays there. He’s beyond recognition now and definitely seen some shit, I can’t lie- actually, you can barely even make out his face or the shirt he’s wearing. See?”

She holds the yellow figure further outwards. She’s right about how disfigured the thing is, but there’s a slight mohawk to be seen and a faded outline of what once would’ve been its shirt.

“Can you remember where it came from?”

“‘Course! A friend, at the time, gave it to me. I got proper jealous of the one he’d been given at some wedding or other, like, just loved playing with it whenever we were driving and stuff. I did end up forgetting I had them at times though, so he got me one of my own just so that he could finally have his keys back.”

Her laughter is contagious, and she looks to be caught up in the memory of it.

10 - “I haven’t really got a tenth one!”

Her claim is met with quiet protests to which she mirthfully shakes her head at, “Honest! I was really stressing about it on the way over here.” She chuckles before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Have you got a special mention then? Something you’d like to claim your tenth spot?”

She gives a wily little smile, as though she’s just thought of something but can’t say it. “I do.”

A silence settles, and they’re waiting for her to continue on so they can wrap up the shoot, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Well?” One of the directors asks with an intrigued chuckle, wanting to know now.

That smirk of hers doesn’t dim and so she just shrugs, “I can’t say, but they’ll know. And they’ll be so miffed they didn’t think of it first.” She almost cackles at the thought but just shakes her head instead, grinning away happily.

“They?”

“Uhuh,” She agrees and then sits up further in her chair, a sudden realisation hitting her, “You know what? I think this essentially is my ‘get away’ bag.”

“Pretty sure Matty said something of a similar degree.”

A scowl etches into her features at that and she rolls her eyes, “Oh my God. He’s such a copycat-”

…

“You have your ten essentials now.”

“I do! I have my ten essentials.” She smiles into the lens, eyes skimming over the people laid out beyond it, “Honestly thank you all so much for having me, this has actually been pretty fun. Like, sort of got to go down memory lane and whatnot.”

“Glad to have had you.”

“So, I guess the question now is, who’s on next?”

Comments:

@/user actually obsessed w her @/user so many questions 😭😭 @/user Swear I’ve seen that lighter before ⤷ @/user :link to an old instagram picture on @/the1975 account: @/user anyone see what was engraved on the airpods case? @/user A demo?? I swear if it’s one of the bands I’ll sob. @/user HER SONGBOOK. THAT PICTURE. THE FACT THAT SHE HAS OLI’S DNA JUST ON HAND ⤷ @/user They’re so cute. It hurts. @/user i want Lewis to look at my ass:/ @/user George’s lil dino kills me off 😭 @/user ‘What happens on tour, stays on tour.’ WHAT HAPPENS ON TOUR Y/N? ⤷ @/user THE WAY SHE JUST SMIRKS TOO @/user What this video’s taught me, if you need an arson accomplice yn is your gal x @/user The lego man’s shirt!! Definitely a box there. ⤷ @/user And the mohawk too?? Dead giveaway. @/user Her tenth has got to be Matty no? @/user THE WHOLE HOUSE KEYS BIT? WHAT?? Didn’t she share a flat with Matty at one point? ⤷ @/user No, they did. But also “..things evolved and changed, so we moved onto something bigger.” So WE moved… WE 🙂 ⤷⤷ @/user We’re really just skipping over “a friend, at the time” then.. Okay! @/user 6:12 That bit at the end?! They?? This has to be about Matty, right? He’s the only one who’s been on before! @/user Have they always been together? This has me so confused rn 😭 ⤷ @/user Welcome to the club lovely!:) ⤷⤷ @/user At this point I’m actually scared we’ll never know ngl ⤷⤷⤷ @/user They are my roman empire @/user Can we get one of the Derry Girls on please! It’s not a want, but a need.

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months

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When do you think she’ll pull the trigger on the divorce? Or they’ll pull a David and Wallis, miserable ever after.

I don’t know anymore. I used to think as soon as she had Archie, she’d bail for LA, taking the designer clothes and leaving divorce papers (as she did to Trevor).

Then I thought Harry wouldn’t be able to cope with being in the US (he seems to be doing fine, I guess).

Then I thought they wouldn’t be able to deal with the COVID lockdowns together and they’d be a COVID casualty. But then they bought a 14-bedroom mansion for 3.5 people so…

Other things have happened over the years that made me think “this is it, this is the trigger,” but they’re still sticking together.

As most recently as last summer (Summer 2023) they had started to split their public personas and brands which felt like a trial run of divorce PR in a “can we do this separately” sort of way but obviously something happened that made Meghan cancel her separate PR and they launched a “happy couple” PR campaign at Düsseldorf IG.

So every time I think “this is it,” they get through it and it’s not really fun anymore guessing “this is it.”

I do think this Nigeria trip is do or die. ARO/Roop isn’t going well - social media likes and follower counts have stagnated. Meghan isn’t getting big offers anymore. She can’t find a CEO for ARO and the gossip that she’s stealing concepts from Flamingo and Goop is getting louder by day. Invictus Games is also having trouble, with financial revelations that Düsseldorf and The Hague games were enormously over-budget. Then the royals didn’t show up for the anniversary service (which I feel was only planned so Harry could try to force their hand and support/see him). Now the gossip is getting louder that Invictus wants out because Harry (and Meghan) isn’t delivering on being their patron.

So it’s do or die time. Harry needs to step up and show he can actually help and work for Invictus. Meghan needs the humanitarian branding to correct some of the public perception about her greediness and luxury-focused ego that ARO revealed. They both need the diplomatic branding to remain relevant and competitive with William and Kate and to get new money/endorsements/content for their projects.

If they don’t succeed on each of these fronts, then they’re going to be pretty miserable when they go back home. Miserable enough to divorce? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. They don’t really seem to live together and as long as they can keep that from becoming public knowledge (for now it’s just speculation and gossip), they’ll probably stick it out together. Meghan because she knows being married to Harry keeps her name in the press more than it would if she wasn’t. Harry because he doesn’t want to admit to everyone back home that they were right and he was wrong.

And of course, let’s not forget that Meghan always needs a safety net before she leaves a relationship. She won’t leave Harry until she has someone better and more wealthier already committed.

#brf #sussexes #theories #rumors

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asimplearchivist · 4 months

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𝑪𝑯. 𝑽𝑰 — 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹.

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary 🕷️ ⤏ you reflect on your history with miguel—both your husband and your new…colleague. pairing 🕷️ miguel o’hara/spider!reader word count 🕷️ 5.8k a/n 🕷️ [gif credit] ⤏ the chapter I had planned previously just didn’t fit right yet, plus my poll ruled that so I decided to go a different direction since my muse was being a capricious bitch like usual. we’ll hit the levity another day boys.⤏ I sprinkled in the little bit of comic lore that I’ve absorbed through fanfics and the wiki while tweaking it all to fit the timeline of my fanon for this fic, but I tried not to go into too much detail bc ATSV!Miguel’s history is still so vague. please correct me if there are any glaring mistakes.⤏ please mind the tags in the masterpost linked below. here be stupid (albeit lore accurate) decisions. 🕷️ MASTERPOST 🕷️ 🕷️ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ 🕷️ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER 🕷️

Considering how odd your life had proven to be until present, you shouldn’t really have been surprised by how quickly you were able to adapt to your new circumstances.

Receiving high enough marks in your earliest years that you were hand-selected to be sent to Alchemax’s glorified drone factory of a school, steadily ascending through the ranks of your peers as your intellect was honed and sharpened with heavy instruction and endless study, and working your ass off through the highest levels of education in hopes of becoming successful enough to live comfortably all culminating in you meeting the love of your life in the process was only the start.

Your Miguel had been an undesirable individual, one to whom you hadn’t initially been attracted due to the history that preceded him (mostly because you had roomed with Xina for a time). He’d been a cocksure player with mommy and daddy issues, as well as an arrogant attitude and smart mouth in equal measure—playing himself off as the typical bad boy to hide all the scarred wounds he nursed underneath his standoffish exterior.

You hadn’t been able to stand him at first. The first time you’d met him, when he’d stopped by the dorm to pick Xina up for a date very early on in their relationship, you’d waited up apprehensively until she got home that night. You’d told her that he was bad news, that you only saw trouble branded across that massive forehead of his, and that she should drop him like a hot potato.

“But I like hot potatoes,” she’d said, eyes twinkling as she’d undressed for bed. “I’ve known him for a long time—since we were kids. He’s really a sweetheart once you get to know him. He’s standoffish to everyone he meets at first, but once he warms up to you, he’s really nice. Just wait, you’ll see. Let him get used to you.”

The first time he’d hung out at the dorm, you’d waited until Xina had slipped into the restroom before leveling him with a glare full of hellfire.

“You break her heart and I’ll break that stupidly fucking perfect nose of yours,” you’d growled, jabbing a finger in his slackened face. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, O’Hara. I know your type, I’ve read your mail—you think you can get away with everything you set your mind to just because you feel like you’re entitled. But I’m warning you right now—don’t test me. She deserves someone who will treat her right. I will not hesitate to wreck your shit, tú hijo de puta*.”

He’d only stared at you, jaw slack as he’d continued to lounge on the couch—taking up nearly half its width with his wide wingspan and those ridiculously long legs he’d sprattled out as though he owned the place. He hadn’t had the chance to respond before Xina had trotted back into the main room. You’d set down the drink on the coffee table that you’d used a guise to get closer and had moved back over to the kitchenette to resume cooking supper as though not a word had been uttered. He hadn’t said another thing to you the rest of the night save a mumbled, “Good night,” when he’d left, averting his eyes from yours the entire time.

Xina had given you a suspicious look once she’d shut and locked the door behind him, but hadn’t brought anything about it up until days later.

“Mig said he really liked your tacos,” she’d remarked casually while the pair of you’d worked on your assignments, sprawled on the floor in the warm afternoon sunshine spilling through the window. “He hasn’t had his mother’s cooking in a while, but he said it reminded him of home. He wanted me to thank you.”

You’d hummed noncommittally, scribbling away at your notes. “Is that all?”

“And he said you threatened him within an inch of his life.”

You’d tipped your head, casting her a glance through your lashes. You’d expected her to get irritated about it, but instead she’d looked…amused. “And…?”

“He also said,” she’d continued, lowering her tablet and folding her arms to prop herself up, “that he’s glad I’ve got someone loyal like you to look after me.”

“Someone has to,” you’d responded evenly, returning your attention to your handwriting. “You’d be up a creek with no paddle without me.”

“He wanted to know if you’d be okay with him coming over again.”

You’d looked back up to her, raising an incredulous brow. “I’m not your keeper, Xi. You can do whatever the hell you want with him.”

She’d mirrored your expression. “I think he’d just like some assurance that you won’t gnaw on his ankles the next time he hits the door.”

Rolling your eyes, you’d shaken your head. “I’m fine. I got my bluff in. I’ll even make him churros if it’ll get him to crack just one smile.”

“Careful, he’ll probably hold you to that. That man has a sweet tooth worse than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He’d orbited you like a small child would a large dog (despite the size comparison being the exact opposite) for a long time after that, only daring to venture closer when you had brandished food at him like peace offerings. How you had managed to actually intimidate him was beyond you (and a part of you had always wondered if he had only acted like it for your benefit), but you had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth—so to have had all six foot five of Miguel O’Hara give you as wide of a berth as one would a bear when you so much as stepped into the room was a power trip you’d tried not to let get to your head.

He wasn’t as bad as you’d first anticipated. He did warm up to you over time, and you’d discovered that his curt demeanor stemmed primarily from his awkwardness. He didn’t talk much because he didn’t know how to talk. He had a difficult time parsing his true meanings and feelings, often stumbling over words or being unintentionally blunt or misleading in the process—if he got frustrated enough, he’d even stutter a bit. He was still an asshole sometimes, certainly—especially around other people he didn’t know or just plainly didn't like, as well as when he’d been in a foul mood after a bad day—but he was, admittedly, pleasant enough company to keep around.

He’d inhale any food you’d set down in front of him, anyway, and cooking had always been your biggest love language, so that had made you feel a bit better about him, at least. A complete dickbag would have complained about your heavy-handedness for powdered thyme and salt, but Miguel had only ever asked for seconds (and sometimes thirds) and had expressed his gratitude by bullying his way in front of the sink to help clean up the dishes.

“He’s like that,” Xina had laughed when you’d griped at her about it. “Can’t thank anyone to save his life, but he’ll be damned if he lets you do anything yourself. Very much an ‘acts of service’ type of guy.”

He had a really dumb sense of humor, unexpectedly simple for one as intelligent as he was—and you knew he’d had to have been keen of mind in order to catch Xina’s eye in the first place, as she didn’t tolerate ignorance in the slightest—but the plainness of his puns and quips and jokes always caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever been able to bestow a name upon the glitter of mirth in his eyes when he’d managed to make you laugh until Xina had pointed it out.

“He likes you, you know,” she’d said casually over coffee somewhere near the university. “He asks about you all the time, wants to know more about you. I think it would help if you’d give him a little more than the time of day.”

You’d given her a wry smirk. “You want me to be chatty with your boyfriend?”

“Just enough to convince him that you’re not some weird cryptid that lives in my pantry,” she’d sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how many times he’s asked me how we never met you growing up in school.”

“I’m younger than both of you by a couple of years,” you’d reminded her longsufferingly. “I got bumped up to graduate early. I’m lucky I qualified.”

“No luck about it. You’re a smart cookie, cupcake.” She’d sipped her coffee, eyes cutting out to the street on the other side of the glass, then had pursed her lips. “You know, he…didn’t have a great childhood. He’s been through a lot.” She hadn’t met your puzzled expression. “Just…cut him some slack, will you? He’s a good guy.”

“I don’t have anything against him,” you’d assured her. “He’s just not really the type of person I usually gravitate towards.”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re all about those mousy little nerds who can’t pick up a sack of flour,” she’d laughed, rolling her eyes. “I mean it. He likes you. I can’t say that for a whole lot of people, you know. It takes a lot for him to open up as it is, and he’s really making an effort to try. I don’t know what it is about you, but I’ve never seen him so invested in getting to know someone new—he’s got his little posse and that’s about the extent of his centrism.”

You’d frowned. “You’re not worried about that?”

“Nah.” She’d shaken her head. “Mig’s a lot of things, but duplicitous isn’t one of them. I think you just made a really strong impression on him. Maybe all that bad bitch energy you’ve got oozing off of you is actually toning him down some.”

Eventually, he’d offered to help you cook, too. He’d helped Xina pick up around the dorm when you were out. He’d even helped you study for the biochemistry exam you’d convinced yourself that you’d fail, and you’d ended up making an A. He’d interwoven himself inextricably into your lives and daily routine, resulting in those orbiting your immediate social circle referring to you as the ‘dumbass trio’. Wherever Miguel and Xina went, you often weren’t far behind—not of your own volition, of course, as they often roped you into whatever they were doing unless it was strictly a couple’s thing. Xina had sworn up and down that they had mutually agreed to include you on most things so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you’d appreciated a bit more than you’d ever have readily admitted.

You did make him churros for Christmas, and he had, indeed, smiled—so sincere and sweet in the tight, enveloping hug that he’d given you in lieu of thanks with Xina’s laughter tittering over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You’d patted him awkwardly on the back as he’d released you, turning to the tray to pluck up one of the sweets while you’d been too busy resisting the urge to watch his thick fingers disappear past those impossibly plush lips for his tongue to collect the sugar crystals lingering there—you’d managed it (barely), but you’d spent a little too long that night huffing the collar of your sweater while stripping in the bathroom to shower because his cologne had seeped into the chunky knit and you had never before smelled anything so divine.

Eventually, you met Gabriel, too, who had flirted so shamelessly with you that first time Miguel’d had his face buried in his hands throughout the entire ordeal, muttering curses to himself in Spanish that you hadn’t been able to quite catch (but hadn’t necessarily had to—the mortification in his eyes had been clear).

You and Miguel had spent time together, too. Sometimes he’d come to the dorm when Xina was busy elsewhere just to catch a break. He’d told you that he enjoyed the quiet, and that you were relaxing to be around. Having gradually gathered bits and pieces of his past through the various off-handed remarks that Xina had made about his parents, you’d taken that as an utmost compliment. He was, truly, a sweetheart beneath all those bristles he brandished to most. He trusted next to no one, but was loyal to a fault to those select few that he did.

Your best friend’s boyfriend had weaseled his way into your heart, you’d had to admit, and had wormed into your good graces. Over time, you’d learned his eccentricities and mannerisms and colloquialisms. You’d gotten used to him. You’d grown comfortable around him. You’d go so far as to say that you’d liked him, too.

Then he’d cheated with his brother’s girl, a stunt just like you’d initially feared.

You kept your promise. When he’d stopped by the dorm (while Xina was out—the point of which had been clearly made to assure lack of contact on both of their parts) to exchange the meager few belongings of hers that had ended up at his place with his own, you’d broken his nose with a solid jab that he hadn’t even had a chance to block due to his surprise. Luckily, he had set the box down first, and your rage had delayed just long enough to make sure nothing of Xina’s was broken in the process.

He’d bled all over the front of his shirt. You’d shoved a wad of toilet tissue into his sticky, crimson-stained hands, and with stinging eyes and a tight throat you’d slammed the door shut in his teary, crestfallen face.

You didn’t see him for a long time after that. Xina had buckled down and nearly worked herself to death to finish her classes and graduated early. You’d followed the year after her, transitioning into Alchemax’s robotics department, specializing in nanotech, but flexible enough that you ended up working all over the department when the various teams needed an extra set of hands. You’d secured a lease on a nice apartment thanks to your wages, had caught your future by the tail, and had settled in to enjoy your newfound independence and freedom.

Miguel had shown up on your doorstep a couple of years later holding a box brimming with tamales and a bottle of your favorite wine a couple of years later, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, overall looking like the definition—the epitome—of shattered.

You’d almost turned him away—had almost laughed about how karma was a bitch—but the half-circle bruises under his eyes, the welling split in his lip, and the tears gathering on his lash line as he’d croaked out a hoarse and utterly pitiful, “I really fucked up, pastelita**,” had stayed your instinctual cruelty.

So, with an exasperated sigh, you’d stepped away from the doorpost to gesture him inside. Within minutes, he’d set himself down on the very edge of the end of the couch, shoulders hunched in and downwards, knees clamped together to take up as little space as possible while you’d brought a couple of chipped coffee mugs from your cabinet into which to pour the borderline cloyingly sweet strawberry wine. He hadn’t touched any of the tamales until you’d demolished three, but you’d been able to tell that he was only eating to have something on his stomach. He’d looked ill, and if it weren’t for his confession you’d have been pressing the back of your palm to that massive forehead of his.

Dana had flipped the script on him—had grown bored of the lack of thrill for the affair once Gabriel had caught wind and cut all ties to leave her with his older brother in favor of pursuing an older, richer man further up the hierarchy at Alchemax—and Miguel had no one else to whom he could turn to wallow in his sorrows.

You hadn’t given him an inch. You’d told him just what he’d done to Xina, how you hadn’t had a full conversation with her beyond a handful of texts in the last six months because she’d buried herself so deeply in her work so she wouldn’t have to think about how she felt. You’d told him how big of a dick he’d been to ruin the trust not only for his childhood best friend and girlfriend, but also his brother. You’d told him that you were still pissed enough now, a couple of years later, that he was lucky he wasn’t getting a full sixteen ounces of fermented fruit juice in the eyes. You’d told him that he’d hurt you, too, because you’d ended up losing both of the only friends you’d ever managed to make that had tolerated you enough to keep you around in the process.

He’d taken it all with a lowered gaze but in good faith. He’d admitted that he’d done wrong, and that he’d never be able to truly forgive himself for it. He’d said that he deserved every bit of misfortunate that had riddled his life ever since he’d made that irreparable mistake. He’d also told you that he’d reached out to Xina in attempts to make amends, and had at least convinced her to talk for a few minutes to let her know how sorry he was, that he didn’t expect her to forgive him, and that he would like to make it up to her by remaining friends on somewhat good terms if she wanted.

That had surprised you. Miguel didn’t admit he was wrong. Ever. That he’d go so far as to give someone room to think that indefinitely had proven to you then and there and he had actually realized how badly he’d made a mess of things and had genuinely wanted to change his trajectory.

So you’d shared your homemade salsa with him, had watched at least seven more tamales disappear down his ravenous gullet, and had told him that you could make them better with an arm tied behind your back and blindfolded. You’d managed to leverage a wet, quiet chuckle out of him when you’d told him how ugly he was when he cried—which was really a complete, bald-faced lie. You’d never seen a man look more gorgeous than Miguel O’Hara sobbing into a mug comically small clutched in his mitt of a hand stating proudly in gold calligraphy on a turquoise glaze that, ‘I’m too cute to compute,’ about how uncertain he was that he’d ever be able to fix everything good in his life that he’d broken with his stupidity and recklessness.

You’d bundled him up in your favorite, heaviest blanket after three mugs of wine and had tipped him over to stretch across the woefully ill-fitting length of your couch well past midnight. You’d shoved a pillow under his head, had pulled off his shoes (with his feet dangling off the opposite arm, it only made him look twice as tall), and had slept in the armchair next to him so he wouldn’t wake up alone.

Perhaps you’d been too easy on him. Perhaps you shouldn’t have entertained him after everything he’d done, much less forgive him after one sob story. But you’d missed him, too—like crazy, like hell. You’d missed his sullen pouts at being teased about his forehead and his stupid jokes about mitochondria and the way his smile was just a bit too wide and lopsided, like he didn’t know how to measure it once someone did manage to crack his solemn facade.

You’d called Xina the next morning to explain your end of the story (whatever details Miguel had elected to share with you, even while intoxicated, you held in strict confidence—just like hers were secrets you’d carry to your grave). She’d sighed and said she knew everything, and that she didn’t want to have drama. It would take a long time for them to salvage their relationship and reconcile, but she’d admitted that she’d missed him, too, and just wanted him back as one of her best friends.

Miguel had spent significantly more time with you after that. He came over with food after work once he’d made sure you were home, fussing you right out of the kitchen and letting you pick whatever the pair of you would watch—even if he sighed when you would, inevitably, pick another romcom from a century prior.

It had been a slow process, patching those wounds. Miguel had changed a lot in the time you’d lost, had matured more than you’d ever imagined he would. He cleared the air with Gabriel, and that Christmas all four of you spent the holidays comfortably together eating too many sweets and exchanging gifts. You baked him pan dulce and he brought you cinnamon rolls that he’d made all by himself—although they had been a bit gooey, not quite baked long enough, you’d eaten half the pan yourself.

A year passed. Things got easier. You had no longer felt anxious, hurt, or resentful upon seeing him walk through the door—excitement, affection, and fondness took their places instead. He had made amends as best as he was able, working endlessly to patch up the wounds he’d so carelessly inflicted while also fixing his own issues to prevent it from happening again.

…He’d confessed his feelings for you entirely by accident. It had just slipped one night, after a few too many drinks and continuous bumping into each other while washing and drying and storing the dishes, that he’d liked you for a long time—since he’d met you, really—and he wouldn’t have added the fact that him seeking your company had long since slipped from avoiding loneliness into wanting to stay close to you if you hadn’t nearly pried the words from his clenched jaw with increasingly creative and outlandish threats of nonviolence.

He had intended to never say a word, you’d learned. After everything he’d done and gone through, he’d convinced himself that he was undeserving of love and utterly incapable of nurturing it into anything remotely palpable, healthy, and long-term. He was terrified of losing for good what little bit of love that he’d managed to salvage from the only people he’d had in his life that genuinely cared for him unconditionally, having already ruined his first serious relationship with a night of foolhardy negligence. Despite his ardent adoration of you and how you had changed his flaws into virtues, he had resigned himself to remaining your friend for the rest of his list so he would never risk fucking up his chances at happiness again—he would have taken that to the grave, had his restraint not wavered with your nonchalant, half-teasing confession of him being the most important—and favorite—person in your life.

(Except it hadn’t been a joke. You’d realized, in the span of a breath after you’d uttered those baring words, that it was entirely true—even your close friendship with Xina paled in comparison for the bond that you and Miguel had painstakingly built throughout the trials and crises you’d faced together. Despite his grievous errors, he’d remained steadfast in the face of resolving them—a trait so rarely seen that you’d stood by his side in support without question.)

In a blind panic at your prolonged, shocked silence, he’d thus fallen into a continuous spiel that contained more words than he’d ever spoken throughout your entire acquaintance combined. He vomited his childhood traumas and adolescent hardships and formative follies up as if he were lancing an infected wound, and the underlying explanations behind his personality, behavior, and insecurities became all too apparent in that moment. It didn’t excuse any of his actions, by any means—he’d acknowledged that much vehemently without you even having to open your mouth—and he’d known that he would never truly be able to reconcile all the shit he’d brought upon himself, which had resulted, in turn, in him inflicting misery and heartache upon others entirely undeserving of it. He’d apologized profusely for every slight he’d made at you, had begged that you disregard him ever having said those three damning words in order for everything to stay as it was, to go back to normal, so he wouldn’t lose you, too, for a second time.

…He had never been anyone’s favorite in his entire life. That idea had broken your heart.

But it had been a lot to swallow all at once, too. You’d shoved an ice cube into his mouth to calm his hammering heart and to stifle his anxious rambling, as well as to give yourself a couple of minutes to regather your bearings. You hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought, much to your chagrin—too caught up in the all-to-recent memory of him gazing down at you with such softness and reverence that one would have thought that you had strung up the constellations before murmuring with as much conviction as one would a benediction, “I love you,” emblazoned onto the backs of your eyelids and ringing in your ears.

Once the ice cube had melted, he’d tried to start talking again. You’d hushed him by placing your fingertips over his chapped, chewed lips and saying softly, “I love you, too, tonto.* I have for a while, I just…didn’t know how I felt about it, and wasn’t sure about bringing it up.” You’d cupped his jaw, then, and had stroked the pad of your thumb along the crease of his gaping mouth.

The wake of his relief had crashed over him so hard that he’d cried. You’d armed him up as best as you were able, given your size difference, and had held him until he’d soaked your shoulder, rubbing his back in soothing circles all the while. You’d never felt more at ease in someone’s embrace as you had with him, despite the emotional turmoil involved and the uncertainties the pair of you now faced.

But, as before, you’d worked through the complications together. Xina and Gabe had both supported you, after a bit of surprise (and exchanging money not-so-subtly under the table the next time you all had gotten together for dinner—Gabriel complaining about being out fifty dollars falling short of Xina’s smug, knowing look had not gone unnoticed). Dating felt no different from the comfortable, borderline domestic rhythm you’d already—unwittingly—fallen into that past year since his plea for mercy, except that he now had no holds barred around you.

While you’d suspected that he’d never be big on PDA or sweet nothings, Miguel had shown his ardency for you in other ways. All the issues with your apartment magically resolved themselves whenever you’d complain about them. Your closets, cabinets, and pantry had stayed stocked even when you ran out of time to make grocery runs after grueling nights at the lab. He’d insisted on paying for everything, had hardly ever let you lift a finger, and had spoiled you absolutely rotten. He’d done his damnedest to redeem the second chance that you’d granted him, and you’d been a little amazed at how seriously he had taken the whole affair.

Xina hadn’t been miffed about it in the slightest. “He’s a different man, now—a better man,” she’d told you, “and you’re to thank for that. I never could get through to him like you can, and that’s okay. It’s wonderful, actually. I’m so proud of him and I’m so, so very happy for you. You deserve the world and I think he’s doing his best to give it to you…if you’ll let him try.”

Your strict intolerance for his vices had polished off his roughened edges with friction. Your high expectations had driven up the standards he’d long since set for himself. Your hopes had helped him to accept what he had thought were his weaker qualities, but were, in fact, what you had considered his greatest strengths. You’d mended his aching soul and he had given you everything that you could ever have asked for in return.

The wedding had been a cozy, intimate affair. The honeymoon, despite the lavish PTO and cushiony funds you’d both accrued over the course of your shared workaholic employment, hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, in your opinion. Finding a penthouse to lease together with your joint salaries afforded you a breathtaking view of Nueva York in the mornings and evenings, and after a short time it had become a home.

You were thankful to have experienced all the good times, as well as the bad. You would’ve endured those tragedies all over again to experience that devoted love once more.

You still missed your husband like hell some days, though. Much of your life now had grown around the grief that used to suffocate you, gently laying over tender roots for new experiences, but there were still times that you had to spritz his old pillow with his slowly diminishing bottle of cologne and recluse yourself inside your bedroom until the ache loosened enough for you to rise and greet the life you now had to live without him. You no longer felt the urge to visit his grave anymore, except for his birthday and your anniversary, however, knowing that he wasn’t truly there, but in your heart—and you considered that the ultimate step forward.

You wondered at the odd twist of fate, though, to be tossed by sheer chance into a league of multidimensional Spider-People like yourself, led by a copy of the man whom you’d have sacrificed your own life in exchange for his (and still would without question nor consideration). You saw much of that initially wounded, derisive man in this new Miguel—but instead of ever finding healing and bettering himself, he had seemingly gotten worse. (Or something had made him worse. You were uncertain of which was the case.)

You couldn’t entirely blame him for it. While he hadn’t revealed the details (and was under no obligations to do so whatsoever), you’d gotten enough of the gist that he’d struggled through some horrific circumstances…and had just barely made it out the other side, if your perception of his underlying misery was to be believed.

He softened up somewhat after that raw, quiet conversation in his lab, at least with you. He no longer acted as though he walked on eggshells around you—no longer rigid and on edge when you were remotely close to his proximity. He wasn’t as guarded, either, relaxing just enough to reveal his calmer, quieter nature. Being the leader of the Society was tedious, stressful, endless work, and having to wrangle so many odds and ends ranging from mischievous to volatile would render anyone’s nerves to short fuses. You figured out that he’d whittled himself down to the bone, yet refused to accept any help from the likes of his most valued associates, despite Jess and Peter B.’s prodding and insistence otherwise.

So, since you hadn’t been around long enough to even know where to start making headway in the mountain of anomalous analytics or projection reports with which he had to deal with every day, you opted to try to help him in the few areas where you confidently could.

You coaxed him out to grab meals in the cafeteria when LYLA told you he’d been cooped up in his lab alone for too long, you organized his tools and things when he did happen to be out so he’d have a clean and tidy workspace to come back to, and you continued your accidentally established tradition of bringing him a sweet upon your daily deliveries of leftover baked goods from your shop every evening. He’d started to grumble at you about the lattermost habit, remarking that he had a strict diet that he’d maximized for his metabolism and physical activity, but you’d told him that the treats wouldn’t stay on his physique as busy as he stayed.

“In fact,” you’d argued playfully, “I think it’s been doing wonders for improving your mood. The newbies aren’t running for the hills whenever you walk through the foyer anymore.”

He’d stopped bringing it up after that, didn’t quibble with you about it anymore, and you’d noticed that the corner of his mouth had started to pinch when you’d press the crinkling sack into his not-so-reluctantly awaiting palm. You hoped that it was a restricted smile and not a grimace, like you had feared initially.

(…Had he ever smiled around you? You couldn’t recall a single instance of it happening. You’d have to work on rectifying that.)

You enjoyed learning about the other Spiders, too. Nothing fascinated you more than to delve into deep discussions about the state of their respective universes—the time periods, technology, and history all relative to yours—as well as their personal differences. To all be the same type of hero, you were amazed by how vastly different each and every single one was. All were bound, however, by a common story, punctuated by tragedies that defined every purpose.

You still hadn’t been able to figure out this Miguel, though. You would never intentionally pry into his story, even though he had consented to his bio to be uploaded to the Society’s network for transparency’s sake—you felt that it was something he would tell you personally if it was that important, or if he trusted you enough to be inclined to do so. You were vastly curious about his physiological characteristics, however, so you’d spent an entire afternoon mentally compiling a comparison and contrast between your late husband and what you had gathered about his multidimensional counterpart.

Taller, bulkier, with all the added traits of spider-abilities overwhelmingly evident, but the same features otherwise. Red eyes with perfect vision that seemed extremely sensitive to light (the only explanation for why he kept his lab so damned dark all the time, and also how he could read with perfect clarity from so far away). Fangs and talons that could tear through just about anything. Same frown when concentrating on something, same sullen pout when teased. More soft-spoken, significantly shorter in patience and temper, extremely antisocial…that lattermost fact, at least, remained exactly the same. In so many ways, he was still the person you had known best, even if he wasn’t yours.

You decided soon enough that, despite the rocky start of your acquaintance, that if no one else would get through to him, you’d do your damnedest to try breaking down the walls he’d so meticulously built up around himself. It was the least you could do, by helping to mend another version of him back together again, to repay your husband—the man you’d loved most—for giving you the best years of your comparatively drab and lonely life, even if this Miguel were to fight you tooth and nail every step of the way. He deserved to be safe and sound just like everyone else ever did.

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irisintheafterglow · 9 months

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End Game #10 - The Epilogue

summary: after signing with the best team in the country, satoru asks you a question on new year's day. (read the rest of the volleyball captain!gojo au here!)

wc: 1.1k

cw/tags: post-highschool time skip, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and parties,

note: happy new year everyone! i hope 2024 brings you love, happiness, and success. hope you like this little epilogue <3

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :))

“I didn’t think it was physically possible to have this much glitter,” you huff, pulling a stray golden streamer from the top of your head and discarding it in the trash bin. The dustpan and brush take a break on the dining room table and you lean against the back of the couch, picking at a loose thread on Satoru’s old high school jersey. “Next time, we’re having the party at Suguru’s.”

“You don’t need to do all of this, babe,” your boyfriend reminds you from the kitchen, taking inventory of the catering leftovers and copious amounts of alcohol covering your marble counters. It was still early enough in the morning that girls were walking around the building’s lobby with their heels slung between their fingers. “I’ll have the cleaners come by in the morning to pick up all of that.”

“There’s candle wax on the floor, Satoru. I don’t even know how that ended up there without setting off a fire alarm,” you point out and he nods in agreement. “I’m just glad we have hardwood. This would be a nightmare to get out of the carpet.”

“It doesn’t need to be a nightmare at all, if you just let the cleaners take care of it. But, if it makes you feel better, remember that I moved all the cleaning supplies to the cabinet in the hallway.” Colorful tubes of glass carefully clank together as he repositions them on the shelves of the wet bar, sweeping confetti and more streamers off of the marble with the back of his hand. When he’s done reorganizing the remaining bottles, he neatens the stack of square polaroids and then promptly messes them up again, spreading them across the counter like a dealer with a deck of cards. “Can you believe we had this many people over last night?”

“I’m still in disbelief that we have this place, honestly,” you admit, slinging a leg over the side of the couch and rolling over the back, landing in the living room of your shared penthouse with Satoru. It still surprised you, what Olympic gold and brand sponsorships could buy, even with the tall ceilings and stunning views of downtown Tokyo. It brought a lot of acquaintances that had the nerve to call themselves your friends, most of them whose names you couldn’t remember. The important people were still in your life, though, Suguru with his highschool ASB sweetheart and the former first years all sharing a flat. It wasn’t a bad life, to say the least. “I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and you’ll just be a figment of my imagination.”

“Believe it or not, I have the exact same nightmare.” He flops down next to you and pulls you closer to give himself more space, absentmindedly chucking a few throw pillows to maximize the space. “All these fluffy pillows and expensive wines seem a little too good to be true sometimes.”

“You’re an Olympic athlete, sweetheart. Fluffy pillows and expensive wines are pocket change for you.”

“For us, you mean. Nothing is just for me anymore,” he corrects. Ever since he signed on with the most successful pro team in the country and you earned your degree in sports management, everything had been you and him. Though it was new territory for both of you, it still felt familiar in some ways as you served the same roles that you did during high school. When Suguru joined the team, it only became more comfortable and the light-hearted banter helped keep you grounded in such a competitive atmosphere. “Speaking of, we should consider getting married.” Your eyes fly open after fluttering shut against his chest and you sit up, stick straight.

“What did you just say?” You look down at him in shock, only to be met with a shit-eating smirk.

“You know exactly what I said,” he says quietly.

“You can’t joke around about those kinds of things,” you murmur as you fall back into your original position, poking a finger into his side for good measure. “It’s not nice.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“Why? Why now, of all times?”

“You expected me to have a much larger proposal,” he muses and you feel your face become warmer. In your defense, he was always known as the flashy one, the one who brought you bouquets of flowers when you were in class or sent your study room catering to make sure you’d eaten. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of marrying Satoru before. You just expected a much grander gesture than mentioning it while you procrastinate cleaning up the sparkly mess in your bathtub. “Disappointed?”

“No, just…surprised,” you say slowly and he hums thoughtfully. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“About marrying you? Since we won Nationals, obviously,” he states like it was written all over your bedroom wall in Sharpie. “But, if you’re asking about proposing while we’re lying on a glitter-covered couch at five in the morning, I thought of it just now. Call it delirium.”

“Hmm,” is all you can muster up as a response.

“Hmm.” He hums in the same tone, looking at you curiously. “So, what do you say?”

“You actually wanna marry me?” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes melodramatically in exasperation.

“I can’t believe you just asked that,” he says under his breath, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. “I cannot believe that you just asked me that.” You follow his movements until you’re sitting with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Satoru. I just…get doubtful at times.”

“Doubtful that I love you?”

“Doubtful that you’ll let me stay with you through all of this.” Your hands gesture vaguely at the high ceilings and the shining floors, out at the stretch of Tokyo’s skyline and the infinite horizon beyond it. “I’m scared you’ll find someone else to share such a lavish life with–”

“I wouldn’t ask you to marry me if I wanted to spend my life with anyone else, sweetheart. I’ve got this ring from my sock drawer to prove it.” Your jaw hits the floor and he starts laughing, your body frozen in place but screaming at you to see if he’s right as he fishes something from his pocket. “I wanna clean up glitter and bottles with you on New Year’s day for the rest of my life,” he promises, taking your hand and sliding an elegantly simple band on your left ring finger.

“I can’t believe you propose to me in the most unassuming way possible,” you chuckle, admiring the way the morning light catches on the metal. “You didn’t even get down on one knee.”

“This is the private proposal to make sure you say yes,” he reassures you with a grin. “The public proposal will be much more extravagant.”

“Mmm, I can’t wait. Happy New Year, Satoru.”

“Happy New Year, my love.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk volleyball au #jjk au

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sophietv · 1 year

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the thing that makes me believe they are still together in some capacity (ranging from recent reconciliation to having a family w 2 kids….i go back and forth on this) are the koincidences they both keep consistently pulling.

if they’re truly not in each other’s lives in a meaningful way i don’t get the benefit for karlie to keep doing those things? regardless of what she posts the large majority of the comments WONT be people actually getting whatever that day’s nuanced link or reference to taylor or her work is … rather they will just be hate comments so you’d think if anything that would make her want to distance herself from taylor. and lets not forget that it’s not even just random instagram posts, it’s several of her brand commercials and stuff that have been eerily similar in ways to some of taylor’s stuff (aka lots of planning, meetings from both K and T’s teams). yes, some make the argument that karlie is just using taylor for clout but if so where are the pictures from the ERAS tour then? that argument has never made sense to me because from day 1 karlie has seemingly acted the opposite of a clout-chaser w/ regards to taylor (correct me if you think otherwise).

and from taylor’s perspective she’s doing so much unhinged shit recently (8/9 heart eyes to K that were 100% deliberate and meant to be noticed or the 8.03 shipping etc) that if they’re not together i’d just laugh because wtf girl.

for me it always comes back to the fact that such a small % of her fans pick up on the queer flagging she’s doing in general and an even smaller % see the consistent links to karlie that if they aren’t together it just seems like an awful lot of work for both of them.

Couldn't agree more with EVERYTHING that you said just there!

#kaylor #gaylor #lsk #anon #koincidences

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kabie-whump · 6 months

Text

✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 8 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series

First | Previous

Chapter Summary: Onthyes goes home. Ventis faces his punishment.

Chapter Content: Drug withdrawals, head injury, domestic abuse, character death mentions (Ventis still thinks Onthyes is dead), branding aftermath

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I know you’ve never been smart,” Onthyes’s father muttered, his fingers pinching his brow. “But fucking your boss’s pet? Are you deranged?”

Onthyes winced as his father’s physician dabbed at the wound on the back of his head with a damp cloth that smelled strongly of herbs and alcohol. Early morning light shone through the curtains, making a throbbing pressure grow behind his eyes. It had still been dark when he’d woken up in that alley with a head wound and stumbled back to his father’s place where he had to partake in the harrowing ordeal of telling the man what had happened.

His father seemed more concerned with the fact that Onthyes had lost his job and angered one of the most important men in the city than the fact that he was injured.

“I told you. We didn’t… do that. I never touched him.”

“No. You just decided to steal him away in the night. What were you going to do next? Sell him? Keep him for yourself?”

“You don’t understand, father. I was trying to help him. He was being abused. He wasn’t happy.”

“It was not your place to intervene.”

“I couldn’t just stand by-”

“Enough!”.

Onthyes’s mouth clamped shut.

“I need to start cleaning up the mess you made. Our reputation is salvageable, although you should lay low for a while. Get out of my sight.”

The physician finished cleaning and bandaging Onthyes’s head, and Onthyes found himself wandering into his bedroom. It had been years since he’d last slept in this room. It was just as tidy as he’d left it, and he could tell someone had dusted the furniture recently.

Onthyes sat down on the bed, rubbing his temples with a groan. The events of last night were fuzzy in his memory, but he remembered important little snippets.

Holding hands and sharing nervous smiles with Ventis as they snuck off into the night. A brush of cold lips against his. Then Athos. Always Athos.

Ventis was gone, surely back under Athos’s thumb, probably being punished. And Onthyes had to live with the knowledge that whatever Athos was doing to Ventis was his fault.

If only he could’ve just minded his own business. Played the part of a good house guard without getting distracted by the nearest pretty boy with sad eyes. If only he wasn’t bound by this stupid fucking hero complex.

“Onthyes?”

Onthyes looked up as his mother entered his bedroom, still looking just as young and graceful as she had the day he was born, unlike his father. His father bragged about her all the time; about how no matter how old he got she would always be the beautiful young elf on his arm. There was always resentment in her eyes when he said those things, but still she stayed.

She sat on the bed next to Onthyes and pulled him into a hug, his head on her chest. “It is so good to have you home,” she said into his curls. “But I heard about the circumstances of your return. Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Let me see.”

Onthyes turned, sitting still and quiet while his mother pulled the bandages aside and examined his wound. Her fingers were warm when she touched it and whispered the familiar words of a healing spell. His headache receded.

“Your father tells me you tried to steal Athos Landleigh’s slave. Is that true?”

“Not steal,” Onthyes corrected. “Only objects can be stolen. I was trying to free him.”

His mother’s smile was full of warmth as he turned to face her again. “It was a brave thing to do. I am very proud of you.”

Onthyes shook his head. “I failed. Athos took him back. I probably made things much worse for him.”

His mother’s brow furrowed. “You’ve only failed if you’ve decided to give up. Are you giving up?”

“No.”

She laid a hand on his cheek. “That’s my little hero.”

✧･ﾟ Ventis’s POV ✧･ﾟ

Ventis rarely dreamed but he did that night. Onthyes’s face. Onthyes’s hands. Onthyes’s lips.

Onthyes was the first thing on his mind when he woke the morning after his failed escape attempt. Ventis had kissed him. He didn’t know why he did it, just that he had felt for the first time in years that he actually wanted to kiss someone and he’d acted on that urge. The kiss had been a tiny, fragile thing, but maybe it could have been more. If only they hadn’t been caught. Maybe Onthyes had been Ventis’s one chance of ever experiencing real love.

But he was dead now. He had to be. Ventis couldn’t imagine a reality in which Athos let such a transgression slide.

Onthyes was dead and it was all Ventis’s fault.

His back exploded with pain as bandages were peeled away. He’d been so caught up in his own mind he hadn’t even realized that it had been the feeling of being rolled over and the blankets being removed that had woken him.

Ventis let out a cry, trying to pull away from the source of the pain.

“Now, treasure. You know how unloved it makes me feel when you fight. Hold still please.” Athos’s hand landed on his hip, holding him in place as he continued to clean the brand on his back. It hurt so much worse today than it had last night. Probably because there had still been nightspill in his system last night, dulling at least some of the sensation.

Nightspill. He needed it. The familiar ache of withdrawal was already settling on top of him.

“Master,” Ventis whined as Athos redressed his wound. “Please.”

“What is it darling? Do you need something?”

Ventis peeked his face out from where he’d been hiding it in his pillow. Was he kidding? Athos administered nightspill for him every single morning. Sure, it was unusual that they’d ended up sleeping in Ventis’s room instead of Athos’s, but it was still part of their routine.

“My medicine,” Ventis reminded him. “It’s time.”

“Hm. I’m sorry, pet. After your little stunt last night I was under the impression you didn’t want me to provide for you anymore.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Ventis would have been naive to assume that someone as petty as Athos wouldn’t seek retribution aside from the brand he’d already given him.

“I am sorry,” Ventis said, sitting up slowly in an effort to not upset his back. “I regret it. I will not do it again.”

“Too late.”

The coldness in Athos’s voice made Ventis flinch. “Master-��

“I don’t want to hear it. I have been lenient with you the past few years because you earned it by being so well behaved. My trust and affection are privileges that you have now lost. You will have to work to get them back.”

Ventis didn’t want Athos’s affection back. He didn’t want any of this. But what he wanted and what he needed didn’t always agree, and he needed nightspill.

“I understand,” Ventis said, doing his best to keep his voice soft and even despite the way his thoughts screamed at him to fight. “But please, I need my medicine. You know what happens when I don’t take it.”

Already Ventis could feel lightning crackling through his veins, threatening to escape him without warning. If left unchecked, his storm magic would tear this mansion to the ground.

Maybe he should just let it happen.

“It’s sweet of you to worry, but I’ve got it covered. Come now, we’ve slept in long enough.”

By midday, Ventis was back in his usual place, lounging at his master’s feet while the man held court with some business partners in one of his sitting rooms. His wrist was decorated with a new piece of jewelry, locked into place and engraved with runes that glowed every time his magic threatened to surge to the surface. These moments of suppression brought on waves of dizzying pain, but the pain faded into the background when compared to everything else.

The burn throbbed angrily on Ventis’s back, making itself known any time he shifted. And the lack of nightspill in his system left him painfully aware of his surroundings. Every light was too bright. Every sound was too loud. He flinched at the slightest touch, something which Athos seemed to find some sort of sick enjoyment in and made a point of provoking as much as he could.

Ventis wanted - needed - to be blissfully numb again. Unfiltered reality was just too overwhelming. Too painful.

Ventis leaned his head back on Athos’s knee, suppressing a sob. His skin was beaded with sweat and he couldn’t stop shivering. It didn’t help that whatever these men were discussing was so painfully boring. There was nothing to keep him distracted.

“Is your companion alright, Athos?” one of the droning voices asked. “He looks…”

Shit. Athos had trained Ventis to walk a thin line, keeping a careful balance between being an elegant addition to Athos’s grandeur and not being a distraction. He was supposed to be admired, but never the center of attention unless Athos presented him as such.

This was not the sort of attention he was supposed to draw.

Athos’s hand found Ventis’s hair, stroking in what seemed to be an affectionate gesture at first but quickly became a painful fist in his hair. Ventis gasped, then bit down on his lip.

“Pay him no mind,” Athos said dismissively. “He’s just begging for attention. He’s fine. Aren’t you, pet?”

Ventis swallowed hard as another wave of pain left him lightheaded and burning hot. He could hardly focus on staying upright, let alone forming words. “Yes master,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.

Athos’s hand squeezed harder, turning Ventis’s face in the direction of the man who had spoken. “Apologize for the disruption.”

I can’t do this. I’m going to pass out.

“S-Sorry.”

“Manners, pet.”

“I am sorry for the disruption, sir.” Hopefully no one noticed the tears that filled his eyes as he stumbled over the words.

The meeting resumed once again and Ventis was glad to have the attention turned away from his condition. He was usually so good at pretending to be alright, but without nightspill to keep his emotions at bay it only got progressively harder not to scream with every new wave of pain. By the time the meeting ended Ventis was barely conscious, shaking hard as he leaned his full weight against Athos’s legs.

Once the others had left Ventis tilted his head back so he could stare up at Athos with pleading eyes. “Please,” he croaked. “I can’t do this. I’m gonna die.”

Athos gave no indication he’d even heard Ventis, and Ventis finally broke down crying.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump @sleepyiswhumping

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torahoes · 4 months

Text

(IDOLiSH7) Torao Mido - An Idol's Daily Life Rabbit Chat: Part 1 - Street corner batting

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Good work today, Mido-san. I apologize for not noticing you earlier when you called out to me...!

Torao Mido: It's alright; I did call out to you pretty suddenly from my car. But I didn't think you'd be so startled that you'd jump like that.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Just as I noticed someone with a strong aura wearing sunglasses appear in a luxury car, they suddenly called out to me, so I wondered what the matter was...!

Torao Mido: I recognized you right away.

Tsumugi Takanashi: W- was I really that conspicuous?

Torao Mido: Yeah. If a woman in a suit is walking with heavy luggage on a street lined with luxury brands, heads will turn.

Torao Mido: At first, I thought the luggage was moving on its own.

Tsumugi Takanashi: I had a feeling that I was somehow drawing attention from the people around me… > <

Tsumugi Takanashi:

Torao Mido: You were on your way to the parking lot, right? Were you having a meeting nearby?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Yes! IDOLiSH7 has been given the chance to collaborate with a sports brand this time, so we had a meeting with the manufacturer!

Tsumugi Takanashi: We ended up receiving various samples during the meeting, hence the heavy luggage...

Torao Mido: Ah, they're releasing collaborative design shoes, aren't they? I heard from Haruka.

Torao Mido: I like that brand too.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Is that so...! Apparently, many of the IDOLiSH7 members also use that brand.

Tsumugi Takanashi: I heard that it's very popular because you can place custom orders.

Torao Mido: Since everyone has different foot shapes and instep heights, it's good to have something that fits their feet perfectly to prevent injuries.

Torao Mido: Depending on the intended use, it's also best to adjust the cushioning to reduce strain.

Tsumugi Takanashi: I see...! Especially with acrobatics, it does seem like there would be a lot of strain on the feet... > <

Torao Mido: It's a whole different experience once you put them on. Haruka recommended them to me, and now I can't live without them.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Isumi-san did...!

Torao Mido: He's knowledgeable about these things because of his extensive experience. I didn't have any dance experience until I joined ŹOOĻ, so I rely on him.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Eh-

Torao Mido: What's wrong?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Mido-san, you didn't have any dance experience!?!?

Torao Mido: Yeah. Is that really so surprising?

Tsumugi Takanashi: It's the most shocking thing I've heard recently...

Tsumugi Takanashi: Mido-san's dancing is not only dynamic but also graceful and powerful, and your acrobatics are so beautiful, so I just assumed you had been dancing since childhood...

Torao Mido: Not a bad pick-up line. I don’t feel bad being praised by you to such an extent.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Words like these simply are not enough...! Of course, it's thanks to your efforts, but it's also because you have such immense talent.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Were you naturally athletic, or did you undergo any special training?

Torao Mido: You're bombarding me with questions. Are you that curious?

Tsumugi Takanashi: I- I'm sorry... I just couldn't help but wonder how you learned to dance so captivatingly!

Torao Mido: Don't worry about it. I'm used to your questions. If you want to know something, you can go ahead and ask me.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Thank you very much!

Tsumugi Takanashi:

Torao Mido: Regarding my athleticism and lessons, right?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Yes, if you don't mind, please tell me...!

Torao Mido: I was naturally good at sports, and if I put my mind to it, I could do most things better than average. I was in the tennis club during my school days and received several awards.

Torao Mido: I didn't take any special lessons, but I used to go to the gym, so I probably already had the strength and stamina from the start. I didn't do anything particularly special after that.

Tsumugi Takanashi: I see... Perhaps it's because you had established a solid foundation in physical fitness that you were able to grasp things quickly.

Torao Mido: That could be it. Well, compared to other sports, both dancing and acrobatics become easy once you understand how to move your body.

Torao Mido: It's not that difficult.

Tsumugi Takanashi: To me, even a backward roll seems incredibly difficult…! I struggled with it back in high school > <

Torao Mido: A backward roll…?

Torao Mido: Not a backflip?

Tsumugi Takanashi: Yes. I found it difficult to roll properly and often ended up rolling sideways instead.

Tsumugi Takanashi:

Torao Mido: On the contrary, isn't that actually more difficult…?

Torao Mido: That's a talent in itself.

Tsumugi Takanashi:

End of Part 1.

#idolish7 translation #zool #idolish7 #ainana #i7 #id7 #rabbitchat #rabbit chat #torao mido #mido torao #i7 translation #midou torao #torao midou

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five-rivers · 1 year

Text

Flitter

AO3

For @echoghost1 and @kawaiijohn

(Also, I would love to have a better name for this fic if anyone can think of one.)

It sounded ridiculous in retrospect, but the shoes were the first sign.

"Danny, please, we've been here for over an hour. Pick a pair."

"I'm trying," said Danny, staring across his empire of discarded shoe boxes (he was thinking about calling it Shoelandia). "None of them feel right."

"Of course none of them feel right," said Maddie. "They're brand new. You'll break them in as you wear them. Just get the pair that feels the least off."

Danny grumbled to himself as he tried to remember which one that was. There had been a wide one near the beginning, before the salespeople gave up on them… There! He lunged across a heap of boxes to secure the sadly orange shoes.

"Great," said Maddie, clearly relieved. "Let's go check out and you can put them on before we go out to the car."

"But–"

"If I let you wear those any longer, people will wonder if I'm neglecting you."

Danny followed her pointed finger to his reliable red shoes, which weren't that bad.

Okay, they were that bad. Ghost hunting plus teenage growth spurts were not friendly to footwear, it seemed.

Fine.

The next sign was his skin. As in, there was something wrong with it. Danny didn’t like to brag, but he had pretty good skin. It wasn’t perfect - whose was? - but he didn’t get a lot of acne and he definitely didn’t get chapped hands or whatever this was.

Disgusted and fascinated all at once, he peeled off another thin layer of skin from the back of his hand.

“What is this?”

“I don’t know, man,” said Tucker. “Did you get sunburned or something?”

“No,” grumbled Danny, peeling more skin from his arm. “I haven’t even seen the sun this week.”

“A ghost sunburn?”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean,” whined Danny, rubbing the back of his hand. The skin there felt weird.

“No, it’s probably normal,” said Sam. “Stuff like that sometimes happens to me if I, like, get really sweaty in the pool.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not quite that much, though. Please tell me you aren’t going to just leave that on the floor.”

“You know, most household dust is dead skin cells, so it’s not like-”

Sam snatched the tissue box from Danny’s bedside table and threw it at him. “You’re disgusting.”

Danny sighed and stood up, mincing his way to the corner of the room his dustpan lived in.

“You know, most people take their shoes off inside,” said Tucker.

“Most people don’t live with two mad scientists. Going barefoot is dangerous.”

“Three,” corrected Sam. “Jazz is going into STEM, too, right?”

“My point is, if your shoes are bothering you that much, you don’t have to wear them.”

“I know, I know, but I’m trying to break them in.” He swept up the sheets of peeled skin. “Happy?”

“Never.”

Danny threw the tissue box back at her.

The third sign… Well. It wasn’t so much a sign as an avalanche of signs.

Danny woke up sore. Not unusual, considering his extracurriculars, but annoying. Had he even fought a ghost yesterday? Things had been calming down, lately. He’d even been able to keep up with homework…

There had been Boxy… Boxy didn't count unless he showed up more than three times. So. No. He was just aching for no reason.

Ugh.

Puberty sucked.

Why couldn’t he have gotten it over with in middle school like Dash and the other meatheads?

He untangled himself from his bedsheets and forced his aching feet into his house slippers. Not the safest choice, but he didn’t want to deal with his still-new, still-orange shoes. Eyes still half closed (it was too early to be this bright) he made his way down to the kitchen.

"Danny! Your hand!"

“Hwuh? Wha?”

“Did you break a pen or something?” asked Maddie, pulling his hand up and turning it over.

“No?” said Danny, deciding he should try to be at least slightly more awake. He forced his eyes open and looked at his hand.

The tips of his fingers, from his first knuckle halfway down to his second, were black, the color shading to blue and then peach before it reached his palms. It was hard to tell with the color change, but the shape of his nails was also subtly off.

He pulled his hand back, then raised his other one. It was the same.

This was some crazy ghost thing, wasn’t it? And he’d just walked straight to his trigger-happy ghost hunting parents like someone with a death wish–

“Danny,” said Maddie, “Danny, don’t panic. Jack, dear, can you go down to the lab and get the quarantine protocol ready? Okay. Danny, have you noticed any other changes? Do you feel anything else strange?”

Danny shook his head. He’d just woken up. He hadn’t even noticed this.

“Really? Nothing? Not even body pains, soreness, that kind of thing?”

“Maybe a little,” admitted Danny. “I thought it was just growing pains… I don’t know what this is.”

“We might,” said Maddie, lowering her goggles.

“Really? You know what this is?” asked Jazz. Danny hadn’t even noticed her in the room. “Please tell me this isn’t because of one of your inventions.”

"Well, not exactly, but… last week, we were working with an ecto-irritant in the lab," explained Maddie.

"A what?" asked Jazz, suspicion still lacing her tone.

"It's supposed to cause transformations in ghosts," said Maddie. "Unexpected ones. Hijack their shapeshifting abilities. But it does have some impact on highly ectocontaminated people as well…"

"Ectocontaminated people?" repeated Jazz. "Should I be worried?"

"No, you aren't nearly contaminated enough."

"Isn't that what you thought about Danny, too?"

Maddie rubbed her face. "We'll run some tests."

"Where did you even get this, anyway?" asked Danny, hoping that would explain at least some of… everything.

"Vladdie!" said Jack, coming back up the stairs. “We were testing it for him!”

Wow. That really did explain everything. Screw Vlad.

"Well, one of his R&D labs developed it. They wanted to use it as a ghost repellant. He asked us to do some independent tests, first, but if it does this to regular people like Danny…"

Yes, that was totally what Danny was. Absolutely regular. No ghost powers here.

Maddie shook her head and turned to Jack. “Do you have the quarantine set up?”

“Sure do!” said Jack. “Come on down, Danno, we’ll get you fixed up in a jiffy!”

“It… might be a little longer than that,” said Maddie, putting her hand on Danny’s back and steering him towards the door down into the lab.

“But you do know how to undo this, right?” asked Danny.

“Well, in theory,” said Maddie. “It wasn’t something we were really interested in when we were testing it on ghosts.”

Of course it wasn’t.

“Do you at least know what it’s transforming him into?” asked Jazz, following them down into the lab, her breakfast thoroughly abandoned.

“That’d be the other reason we were going to advise Vladdie against it!”

“What, you don’t know?” asked Jazz, aghast.

“Nope! Seemed pretty random! Half the time, we got these fluffy little blobs, and the rest of the time they turned into real monsters! Not good for a repellant at all!”

“Great,” said Danny. “Love knowing that I’ll either turn into a blob or a monster. Really love that for me.”

Maddie squeezed Danny’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out before then.”

Danny had doubts.

Beyond the persistent ache, whatever was happening to Danny didn’t really hurt. Which was good! Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t want it to hurt. But if it did hurt, it might have been easier to tell what was changing.

Right now, it was mostly his family members noticing things, not him. Jack had gotten the full length mirror from the master bathroom, so he could, in theory, help that way. Just staring at himself in a mirror looking for problems seemed kind of messed up, though, and he was, maybe just a little, still in denial.

The stain on his fingers was also on his toes, creeping halfway up his foot. His parents were still looking at x-rays of them, arguing about whether or not their structure had been changed. Danny wasn’t sure, but he felt like both his fingers and toes were longer.

The blackened skin was also hardening into something almost chitinous and fusing to his nails at the tips. It made him feel like he should put a toothpick under his nails to clean them out.

But it also felt weirdly satisfying to drum his newly-hardened fingers against things.

“Time for the blood test!” exclaimed Jack, making Danny flinch. “Gotta see how much of the irritant is in you!”

“Right,” said Danny, smiling nervously. “Gotta see that.”

Jack faltered. “Oh, Danno, your teeth…”

Danny raised his hand to his mouth. Yep. He had teeth. Specifically, he had canines that were almost twice as long as usual and felt sharp even through his toughened skin.

“Let’s… let’s get that blood draw done, okay, sport?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, also shaken. He hadn’t noticed. That was in his mouth and he hadn’t noticed.

Jack carefully cleaned a spot inside Danne’s elbow with an alcohol wipe and slid in the slender needle. “Don’t feel lightheaded or anything, do you?”

“Nope,” said Danny. It would take a lot more than that to make him feel lightheaded.

“That’s good.” He withdrew the needle. “Okay! Half for the centrifuge, half for the microscope!”

“Don’t forget the test strips!” said Maddie.

“Oh, yeah!”

Danny returned to angstily zoning out, this time tapping his fingers against his teeth. Then the centrifuge started up.

It sounded like an ice pick driven through his brain. He shrieked and covered his ears.

“Danny?!”

“It’s too loud!”

Someone shut off the centrifuge. Cautiously, he removed his hands from his ears.

“Okay,” said Maddie. “Okay. Let’s… take a look at your ears. Jazz, can you get the noise canceling headphones? The ones you got me for Christmas last year?”

“Sure,” said Jazz.

As Maddie went through a number of hearing tests that Danny did his best to cooperate with, the brightness of the lab’s overhead lights rapidly climbed to ‘unbearable.’

“Your eyes, too?” asked Maddie.

Danny moaned in response.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, brushing some of his hair back behind his ear. It tickled. His ear flicked. He decided not to think too deeply about that. “Here, Jazz has the headphones… Why don’t you take a nap for now? We’ll wake you up if anything else big changes, or if we find anything out, okay?”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Not much else to do if I’m sitting with my eyes closed and my ears plugged, I guess.”

“It’s going to be alright,” said Maddie. “We’ll probably have everything worked out before you know it.”

Danny woke up to the vague sense of someone moving around near him.

“Hm?” he said, sleepily.

“Don’t worry, Danno!” said Jack in an exaggerated whisper. “I’m just bunking down here with you tonight! Jazzy thought that, eh, we needed a break.”

“Mm,” said Danny, opening his eyes just a sliver to see Jack setting up one of the Fenton Folda-Cots nearby. He sat up and stretched. His spine felt… different. Good. Like it fit together different, better.

“Oh, you don’t need to get up, Danny, I’ve got this handled,” said Jack, rearranging his bedding.

“Mm,” said Danny again. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened while he’d been asleep and got distracted by how long his canines felt now.

Concerned, he raised his hands to feel out his face. There were two hard little bumps right at his hairline that curved upward. Was he growing horns? He put the question to the side and brought his hands sideways to his ears, questing under the noise canceling headphones. They were long, droopy, pointed and fuzzy.

Somehow, Danny didn’t think this was what Tucker meant when he said that someday he’d turn Danny into a furry.

He started patting himself down. Were those scales on his shoulders? No, no, don’t think about it. Further…

That was a tail. A long tail. It was fluffy. It was… the change he had felt with his spine, darn it.

So much for waking him up for big changes.

“Danny? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” Danny said. Tried to say. His mouth went through the motions, but all that came out of his throat was a series of chirps. He started to shake, but before he could work himself up too much, Jack pulled him into a hug.

“It’s going to be okay, Danno,” he said, patting Danny’s back. “Just take a deep breath. Everything will be better in the morning.”

Danny snuggled closer, taking in the warmth. Something in his chest that had not been there that morning began to purr.

If this ecto-irritant thing was turning him into some kind of messed up cat, Danny was going to murder Vlad.

Things were not better in the morning. In fact, they were worse. Not in that his body had changed more in the night (which it had. He’d woken up with patchy black and white markings all over his body, ears too large to fit under the noise canceling headphones, and the beginnings of extra limbs growing under his arms), but in that Vlad had decided to show up. After Jazz had already gone to school, too.

“When I heard what had happened to young Daniel I just had to come,” said Vlad. “I’ve brought all the research from the development team, of course, and I want to offer my own expertise.”

“Great!” said Jack. “With your help, we should fix this in record time!”

Somehow, Danny doubted that. He was tempted to flip Vlad off while Jack’s back was turned and Maddie was focused on the research, but that would require moving and growing extra limbs was exhausting.

“I certainly hope so. I would hate to have this progress any further.”

Translation: Vlad would love to have it progress further and he knew exactly what it was progressing to.

“But I believe that between the three of us and Daniel’s cooperation, we can overcome this.”

Translation: Vlad wanted something from Danny.

A siren went off upstairs.

“Oh, my,” said Vlad. “Is that the mayoral ghost alert hotline? You’d better go answer it.”

What the heck? They still had that?

“But Danny–”

“I can keep an eye on him and compare my research to what you’ve already done,” said Vlad. “You should go. There may be lives at stake with an evil ghost running loose.”

“This is the first time they’ve called, Mads,” said Jack. “We should at least see what kind of ghost it is.”

“Oh, alright,” said Maddie. “But call us if anything - and I do mean anything! - changes.”

“Of course, Maddie,” said Vlad, smoothly.

Danny watched nervously as his parents both ran upstairs, leaving him alone with his archnemesis.

“So,” said Vlad, “you’re probably wondering what I want.”

Danny turned away.

“I understand that you think your parents will find a solution,” said Vlad, conversationally. “So. You could listen to me… or I could stage a ghost attack that will destroy every last bit of research they have on your transformation and the ‘ecto-irritant.’”

Danny jumped to his feet - and was immediately knocked down by one of Vlad’s duplicates and held there, too weak to do anything else. He tried to call up his ghost form, but he just didn’t have the energy.

“It would be easy. So you could listen. Or not.”

Danny glared up at him.

“Good. It seems like you’re listening. As you might imagine, I know how to fix your little problem. In exchange, I only want one thing.”

Danny made the best questioning sound he could, under the circumstances. Vlad smirked.

“I wish for you to accompany me to an event I’ve been invited to, as an attendant.”

He could not be serious.

“Oh, I’m quite serious. This isn’t a human event, after all, and your appearance is part of the dress code.” Vlad hummed. “You’re confused. I can see it on your face.”

No duh. Because everything Vlad said was mental.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Fey? Fairies? The Fair Folk? Hm? Don’t give me that look. I know that you’ve personally fought unicorns.”

Yeah, and they were bloodthirsty monsters. What was Vlad’s point?

“The Infinite Realms are infinite, Daniel. I would quote the Shakespere, but you’re no Horatio, and I know you’re failing English.”

Screw him. Danny had met Shakespere, and he’d seen Hamlet performed by ghosts.

“The Fey are quite real, in any case, and they have certain social standards. Persons of high rank are expected to have appropriate garb, weaponry, servants…” He trailed off, looking significantly at Danny.

He had to be kidding.

But Vlad wasn’t looking at him, and therefore was not given the benefit of the full force of the most incredulous expression he could muster. Instead, Vlad was opening his briefcase and pulling out a tablet. He turned it on and showed it to Danny.

There was a picture on the screen of a roughly humanoid creature with bright pink skin, large dark eyes, four arms, a furry, fluffy tail longer than it was tall, fuzzy moth-like wings, fern-shaped antennae, and long, soft-looking ears. The image didn’t give any scale, but it felt small, with disproportionately large head, feet, and hands. Their hands and feet were covered in black.

“This is what the higher-class servants look like. Look familiar?”

Vlad’s stupid face was so smug Danny would bet that there was a smugness shortage somewhere else in the world.

“You wouldn’t have to do much beyond follow my instructions and remain at my side while there. The event is only a few nights long. I’ll be back in a few days to pick you up - in a way that will keep your parents from guessing anything, of course - once you’re done getting ready.” Another, smugger, grin spread over Vlad’s face. “You can decide whether or not to cooperate then, but I urge you to do so. After all, I doubt you want to be stuck like this forever.” He stood up and two more duplicates materialized behind him. “Now, I have a ghost attack to stage.”

Danny’s parents completely bought Vlad’s ghost attack story because, well, it had been a ghost attack. Technically. The ghost was just Vlad. And they were terrible at charades.

Okay, maybe Danny was terrible at charades, too, but come on. He deserved a break. It wasn’t like he was getting one in anything else.

The scales on his shoulders were developing into wings. His tail was getting longer and fluffier. The hard, black, nail-like substance on his fingers and feet was creeping upward to his wrists and ankles. His second set of arms was getting bigger, longer. His teeth were getting sharper. What was left of his voice was gone, replaced by something that quietly chirped and purred deep in his chest. The ‘horns’ on his head were growing into fuzzy antennae. His hearing and sight were so oversensitive he wanted to just burrow into a pile of blankets and stay there. He was shrinking.

His parents were beside themselves. And they kept having to go take care of minor ghost attacks.

He wrapped his tail around him and curled deeper into his blankets. This transformation business was exhausting. Or maybe it was just that what he was getting turned into that was exhausting.

He looked at the mirror. He looked awful. Sick. The domino-mask black streak across his eyes didn’t help with that impression.

He was going to have to take Vlad up on his offer.

“It’s really quite remarkable, the system the Fey have,” pontificated Vlad after he had ‘extracted’ Danny from the lab. “Their various castes are perfectly suited for their assigned tasks. They’re designed that way. Born that way, usually. For example, the form that you yourself are taking at the moment? A perfect servant for the High Fey. Many hands to work and hold and serve, wings, to ensure they can follow everywhere, sharp eyes the better to see things that need to be cleaned or repaired, sharp ears the better to hear orders, attractive enough to be decorative, but not distracting.”

First off: Ew. Secondly: Vlad really liked to hear the sound of his own voice, didn’t he?

“Antennae,” continued Vlad, “to ensure harmonious movement with other servants. Now, the High Fey, who I most resemble…”

Danny tuned him out, instead choosing to watch the green clouds of the Ghost Zone roll by. The way they were traveling was actually pretty interesting. Vlad had gotten a chariot somewhere and hooked it up to his flying goon squad, AKA the inexplicably yiddish vultures.

They were flying in a direction Danny had never been in before. The islands and doors they were passing were new, strange. Floating trees and strange stone circles dominated the ecto-scape. As they continued, they tended to floating forests and island-hills with formations of standing stones.

Vlad, meanwhile, continued talking.

“... of course, animal servants are considered gauche - too human, too mortal. And the farmer caste is entirely different…”

Danny tuned him out again.

A great mountain was rising up out of the trees around them, its sides gray and silvery. There was a circular hole in its face, the edges of it studded with slabs like the ones he’d seen earlier in the standing-stone circles.

They looked like teeth.

The chariot flew right through them.

On the other side was light - but this light didn’t hurt his eyes. There was no sun in the sky, only a moon floating over a twilight purple-blue backdrop. Green lawns stretched in all directions, stopping against tall, green trees and the glittering walls of a literal fairy-tale castle.

Other chariots were sweeping down to the drive of the castle, tall, colorful beings fluttering out of them, escorted by shorter fluttering beings.

Like Danny.

There was a buzzing– No, not quite a buzzing, but what else could he call it? – in… in Danny’s antennae. He rubbed their bases, wary of directly touching the delicate fronds.

“Don’t fight it,” said Vlad, jovially. “After all, you aren’t trained as a servant. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

Danny glared at him, but the expression was unusually hard to form.

“See? At this point, you would usually be calling me names. Lovely, isn’t it, that you can’t? No way for careless servants to make unwise deals or spread secrets with loose lips - their loyalty is reserved for their High Fey lords.”

Vlad really, really liked the sound of his own voice.

If this worked on fairytale rules like Vlad was suggesting, he was screwed.

His head felt really weird.

The chariot landed, and Danny jumped out, not even quite thinking about what he was doing, and swung around to Vlad’s door, opening it so Vlad could step out, his even-flashier-than-usual cape billowing behind him.

“Very good, Daniel. See? Keep things up, and I’ll make sure you get back to your… admittedly less-useful regular body.”

Danny padded behind Vlad, hating how tall everything here was and how short he himself was like this. He’d earned his five-foot-five stature with a lot of hard work! Right now, he wasn’t sure how tall he was, but he felt that it was closer to four feet than five.

It was not a great feeling.

He really didn’t like this.

He stayed close. Rather, he stayed at the distance the little itch in the back of his head told him was appropriate. Meanwhile, Vlad smarmed about with literally sparkling people. They were all so tall, with inhumanly sharp features and wings far more colorful and varied than Danny’s or those of his fellow servants.

Fellow servants.

He folded his hands behind him as well as he could, given his wings. This was temporary. It was.

And then one of the tall people was right in front of him, fingers under his chin, tipping his head up, examining him with many-colored eyes, tilting his head back and forth. He took a step back.

The person - the fey? - turned to say something to Vlad. Their voice sounded like it was underwater. Meanwhile, a small servant with the same coloration as the person talking to Vlad stepped forward and regarded Danny curiously.

They were a solid two inches taller than Danny right now. He turned his head away. The other servant stepped into his field of view again, and the feeling of being observed redoubled.

“Daniel,” said Vlad sharply.

Danny hurried to follow him.

“Now, you see,” said Vlad, to the small group of fey he had gathered around himself, “I am more than capable, and I can serve as your link to the human world. We can bring in materials, performers, art, artists… anything you can think of.”

Some of the fey nodded. Others looked dubious.

“And at whose discretion would you direct these imports?” asked one.

Danny blinked, somehow surprised he could understand this fey when he… when he couldn’t understand any of the others.

He really didn’t like this.

He liked it even less when the fey made eye contact with him.

“At the discretion of whoever secured my services,” said Vlad, “and the high king, of course. With, perhaps, a few scruples for myself.” He raised his glass.

“Very well,” said the fey. “I shall sponsor you, as you say. But one gift must be exchanged for another.”

“Anything in my possession that I can– Daniel, stop that at once!” Danny dropped Vlad’s cape and shook his head vehemently. That was a bad kind of promise to make. Especially when it could be argued that Danny was in his possession.

“Perhaps I could take that unruly servant off your hands.”

“Ah,” said Vlad, getting a clue. “Perhaps not. Might the gift be your first delivery instead?”

The fey hummed. “Perhaps. We have much to discuss.”

“I suppose you were not a terrible servant tonight,” said Vlad as they flew away in the chariot. “Are you sure you don’t want to practice a little longer?”

Danny tried to scowl at him, but it was becoming harder and harder to make any expression that wasn’t neutral and pleasant. Apparently, his transformation hadn’t quite been finished yet.

“I suppose I should tell you how to reverse your transformation,” said Vlad. “But it will be so much more fun to show you.”

What did that mean?

A duplicate appeared behind Danny, grabbed the wings he was only just beginning to get used to, and severed them with a sharp-edged ecto-construct.

Danny shrieked.

Because he could shriek. The transformation that had taken days, gone in a moment.

“See?” said Vlad. “Easy.”

“What the heck, you jerk!”

“Tut tut tut–”

“Who even says that–”

“If you want to get home safely, you should reconsider attacking me. I am the one who knows how to get back.”

Danny sat down in a huff.

“Now, let’s start discussing the cover story we will tell your parents about our adventures, hm?”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

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catindabag · 9 months

Text

TBOSAS on Crack short take (55)

Prof.Click: Alright! Settle down, my children! Let’s communicate~!

Felix: Professor, are you perhaps drunk right now?

Prof.Click: President Ravinstill?

Felix: No, I’m Felix-

Prof.Click: Sir, why are you in my class and not running the country?

Felix: Yup. She’s drunk.

Coryo: Ugh. Who gave her a bottle of posca before class?

Diana: Wasn’t she drinking two gallons of water at the cafeteria earlier?

Festus: Are you sure about the water part?

Diana: No. Not really.

Prof.Click: Shhhhhh~! Quiet, my children. We are about to start a brand new session!

Festus: A new session?

Prof.Click: Yes! Our first official ✨group therapy✨ session!

Juno: I thought our school can’t afford a real therapist?

Prof.Click: That’s correct! We can’t! That’s why I’m being forced by our fantastic Dean Highbottom to do the “therapy” part.

Festus: But you’re not even a licensed therapist-

Prof.Click: I’m your communications professor, boy! I’m the closest thing to a therapist! I can even communicate with squirrels!

Felix: *sighs* This is why drinking posca and whiskey should be banned in the workplace.

Coryo: Class Pres, why can’t the school afford a real therapist? I thought ✨The Academy✨ was pretty well off-

Felix: Unfortunately, our school is currently facing bankruptcy due to the infamous Heavensbee Hall Flooding Incident. So-

Coryo: It’s our fault.

Felix: Yeah.😑

Coryo: Well, that explains why Dean Highbottom is still forcing us to go to every ✨Late Night Live Shows with Lucky and Jubilee✨.

Felix: True. Our crazy interviews are financially helping the school buy more booze.

Coryo: You mean books, right?

Felix: Sure. Whatever you say, bro.

Coryo: More sponsors, more money, I guess?

Prof.Click: Hey, stop talking to President Ravinstill, Snow! Our first group therapy session is starting!

Coryo: But-

Prof.Click: First question! How did you guys survived the war?

Festus: Professor, I think that’s too personal-

Prof.Click: Mr. Creed, fire away.

Festus: No.

Prof.Click: Answer my question.

Festus: I refuse-

Prof.Click: Detention will be given to those who defy me and my dumb questions!

Festus: That doesn’t even make sense!

Prof.Click: Your odds don’t make sense!

Festus: Fine! But don’t share this information or I’ll sue you.

Prof.Click: Lol. No promises.

Festus: I- Um- I survived the war because my crazy mama forced me to hide and live in a rat infested dumpster for 2 years when the rebels infiltrated our home!😭

Coryo: Festus, are your okay?

Prof.Click: That’s rough, buddy. Who’s next?☺️

Coryo: Professor, are we not going to address the fact that Creed’s mother just left him to rot in a rat infested dumpster for 2 years?!

Festus: It’s fine, Coryo. Don’t feel too sorry for me. My crazy mama even forced my germaphobe dad to do it too.😞

Lysistrata: Well, that explains why Creed’s favorite hobby is dumpster diving for food coupons.

Prof.Click: Enough chitchat! Monty, you’re next!

Palmyra: The war? What war? I don’t remember any war~.😊

Iphigenia: Why is Monty acting like the Dark Days never happened?

Coryo: Sadly, that’s just Monty’s way of coping with her war trauma.

Iphigenia: So why is she smiling like that?

Coryo: You do know about the infamous Rebel Pie Incident, right?

Iphigenia: No. Not really.

Coryo: Oh, you sweet summer child.

Iphigenia: Why? What happened?

Coryo: Ask Florus. He knows more about that incident than I do.

Iphigenia: *turns to Florus*

Florus: No! You can’t make me talk!

Iphigenia: Florus, tell us about the Rebel Pie Incident.

Florus: Never!!

Iphigenia: I’ll ban you and your family from my grocery store if you don’t tell us~.☺️

Florus: Ughhh! Fine! But don’t blame me for ruining your day!

Arachne: Just spit it out already, Flory!

Florus: *sighs* The only reason why Palmyra’s crazy family survived the war is because her unhinged mama fed the rebels her notoriously deadly apple pies when they broke into Monty’s mansion.

Iphigenia: So the rebels died from accidental food poisoning?!

Coryo: That wasn’t an accident, Moss. That was a premeditated murder in the form of self-defense.

Florus: Yup. I was there when it happened. And yes, I still have nightmares. And- *is having war flashbacks*

Coryo: Florus, are you okay?

Clemensia: Florus, do you need us to call the medics?

Florus: Those rebels didn’t just die peacefully, Clemmie!! They (censored)! They freaking (censored) in front of my eyes!😭

Coryo: Florus, please stop saying (censored)!😩

Florus: Coryo, they really (censored) in front of me!!😭

Coryo: Florus, please-

Florus: I can’t believe those poor bastards really (censored) and died horribly when they ate Monty’s accursed pies!!

Iphigenia: Can a grown man really (censored) from eating expired pies?!

Coryo: But seriously, guys, please stop saying (censored)!

Festus: (censored).

Diana: Don’t say it again, Creed. You’re scaring poor Coryo and Clemensia!

Festus: (censored).

Apollo: He said it again!

Felix: Stop saying (censored), Creed!

Festus: You’re saying (censored) too, Class Pres.

Clemensia: I’m going home!😫

Palmyra: Well, it’s what they get for breaking into my mama’s mansion without an invitation~.😊

Prof.Click: Sorrows and prayers. Who’s next?😀

Lysistrata: Coryo, you go.

Coryo: Fine. The only reason why I survived the war is because my family and I illegally traded and bartered all of our expensive belongings for food.

Lysistrata: Oh, that’s not so bad-

Coryo: I also had to fight off a crazy cannibal who wanted to eat me.

Persephone: Don’t look at me. It wasn’t me!

Coryo: And I also had to wrestle my pesky neighbors for stealing my precious cabbages.

Prof.Click: Cool.

Coryo: There was also that time where I had to punch a former congressman who wanted to trade me for 10 cans of lima beans.

Festus: Trade you?!

Coryo: Oh, and one time, I had to fight a pack of rabid dogs for some garbage.

Prof.Click: Lol. Is that all?

Coryo: Nope. That’s just the half of it.

Lysistrata: Coryo, are you okay?

Coryo: No. I’m traumatized for life, ✨Bestie✨~!🥰

Arachne: Well, that explains why Coryo is now willing to marry and become Sejanus Plinth’s little housewife~.

Coryo: At least I’m going to be fabulously richer than you, Crane.

Prof.Click: See! I told you that this group therapy session was helpful-

Felix: For reminding us of our war traumas!!

Prof.Click: To be fair, Mr. President, we already lost our marbles even before the war ended.

Felix: *sighs* Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe we should just change our school into a mental asylum.😞

Coryo: And I thought our school was already a mental asylum for the rich and me.😑

Prof.Click: Hilarius, you share!

Hilarius: Um- I-

Prof.Click: Don’t be shy, Heavensbee. We’re all here to support you.😊

Hilarius: I don’t believe you.

Prof.Click: Do you want a demerit?

Hilarius: *sighs* I survived the war because my creepy old man hid me inside his super secret basement when the rebels destroyed my family’s gold encrusted mansion.

Arachne: What’s inside the basement?

Hilarius: You don’t want to know.

Arachne: Tell us, Hilari.

Hilarius: No.

Prof.Click: Demerit and detention-

Hilarius: Fine! The basement was filled to the brim with Crassus Snow’s cute candid photos!

Coryo: What the actual f*ck, Heavensbee!

Felix: Well, that’s another restraining order for Mr. Heavensbee Sr.

Hilarius: This is why we don’t share our war traumas with each other!😭

Festus: By the way, where’s Sejanus?

Coryo: Yeah. Where’s my sugar daddy- I mean, boyfriend?

Urban: Don’t be mad-

Coryo: Urban, where’s my fiancé?

Urban: I think I accidentally locked him inside Highbottom’s broom closet earlier-

Coryo: You what?!

Urban: We should better go and check on him.

Prof.Click: No! You can’t leave! Our first group therapy session isn’t over yet!

Felix: Professor, please stop this madness! You already made Florus and Hilarius cry!

Prof.Click: They can cry harder!

Felix: That is it! I’m calling Highbottom to suspend you!

Prof.Click: Joke’s on you, Sir! I’m also Highbottom’s therapist!

Coryo: That just explains why Highbottom’s drunk all the time!

*Meanwhile, with Sejanus*

Sejanus: *is still locked inside the broom closet* Guys? Hey, guys! Is anyone there? Hello? Hello~?! Coryo?! Clemmie?! Festus?! Class Pres?! Can somebody help me?! Hello?! I have money!! Please call my boyfriend! I’m scared!! Get me out of here!😭

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yeehawthethird · 9 months

Text

Chase headcannons because I project onto him an unhealthy amount

Trans obviously if you don’t know that I think that you’re very new here

He will forget and wear a binder for like 16 hours straight because he hyperfocuses

Inherited Douglas’s fear of needles (he knows it irrational but like…)

Obnoxiously vocal stuns by clicking his tongue e his top teeth

Or he just chews on the inside of his mouth

Had big noise canceling headphones because bionic hearing

Listens to classical music (mostly holst the planets tbh) and weird techno shit

His flannel collection rivals an American eagle werehouse (half canon but like)

Has dermatillomania (skin picking disorder) and is like super self conscious about it, pretty much refuses to wear shorts because of scars on his legs

Checks out like 50 books at a time from the library

Is way too pissed about the burning of the library of Alexandra

Drinks exclusively like raspberry iced tea or some other weird shit like that (and only from like 2 brands too)

Will eat chickpeas out a can at 2 in the morning

Once corrected the tour guide at a museum and then got told like “no that isn’t true” only for him to be proved right like 10 minutes later

Is now well known at that museum because of it

Watches weird ass shows like Victorian farm

In every single weirdass nerd school club you could think of

Joined mock trial cause it let him argue with ppl

Joined model un becuase like this dude wants to be in politics OBVIOUSLY he’d join weirdass clubs like that

Fuzzy sock enthusiast (do not ask I just know)

Will yell at you if you eat KitKats the wrong way (kaz will do it just to annoy tf out of him lmao)

Stole Bree’s aquaphor once and cannot live without it lmao

That man wears glasses and you cannot tell me otherwise bionic vision be dammed (they’re blue light)

#lab rats #chase davenport

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mihrimahfs · 1 year

Text

Tera Renard Castlevania Nocturne- thoughts on final episode

Okay so a week after the Castlevania Nocturne season one premiere I have a lot of thoughts, mostly very positive regarding this season. But one moment has struck me, has occupied all my mind since this aired (warning this will contain major spoilers for this season so if you haven’t watched this yet, please avoid this) and that is the final episode. particularly when they’re rescuing Maria from being sacrificed by Abbot Emmanuel as a “offering” of his loyalty to Erzesbet Bathory (aka the Vampire Messiah). There’s a lot of stuff that i think when I think of this scene over and over again and it’s one that I think broke me deeply. All great art does this in some way, breaks you till you’re wonderfully changed. anyways, let me begin. (and please also note, i am not an expert by any means, just a historian geek so if im incorrect, don’t hesitate to correct me)

we already know that the abbot regards the revolution as a subversion of “God’s natural order” which at the time and especially Catholic Church, that was the way the order of the world was seen. That royalty had the so called “divine right to rule” which the catholic church supported as it had them provide legitimacy to rulers for this divine right. France has had a storied loyalty to the catholic church and the papacy, was often seen as a bastion, hell one of their rulers was deemed “the most christian prince” (ironically Francis I). It’s no surprise that for an abbot as “devoted” as Emmanuel, he sees the revolution threatening this, his position and faith that has formed most of his world and how he’s able to “reason” with the world as it were. His alliance with Bathory is sort of seen as his desperate attempt to keep a hold onto this power and this divine order even though he works with vampires and makes night creatures (rather slowly might I add). He sees himself as a bastion of holding the faith and fear mongers his parishioners to following his way and his order to keep this order and also keep hold of his faith. which all is rather ironic considering as a priest who is supposed to keep celibate, he ostensibly had and affair with Tera who fled from Russia which resulted in Maria. and for Tera to say she had to lie to Maria that her father died so she wouldn’t be branded a whore, who eked out a life in france, barely paying rent (see episode 1) all the while the Abbot lived in relative privilege is also another nail to his "piety". Now I cannot say whether he might have indirectly supported Maria and Tera, that’s neither here nor there and many clergy had children on the side they supported or not. It was only after Maria found out what the abbot was doing and tera confronted him that he reluctantly revealed he was marias father. He is a hypocrite. Many of us know “men of faith” that do things like this, lie constantly to justify their own view of faith and God, thinking themselves victims and making martyrs of themselves instead of being held accountable. We can see Mizrak who’s more of a believer be disgusted at the Abbot’s actions especially in light of this revelation and at the abbot’s willingness to sacrifice maria to bathory. He is a hypocritical man who makes himself a victim to justify his actions thinking he’s working “for the glory of God” though he’s made many suffer (Tera, Maria, Edouard, Jaques, etc).

Tera’s sacrifice without a doubt has been the most brutal scene for me in this series. When the abbot is trying to sacrifice Maria, citing the story of Abraham and Isaac, it also heightens the abbot’s self centered view that he is in divine communication with God- by re-enacting the scene by binding maria to the altar as Isaac was, according to the Bible, he wanted to prove how he was a god fearing man, his legitimacy to his actions, however bad, divinely authorized. I think also for a “god fearing man” as he proclaims to be, to have a child on the side presents a thorn to him and in this way, he can prove she played a part in a divine plan for his redemption for his “mistake” and allying with Bathory. Honestly right now it seems like nonsense what im saying but to be at the point where you’re sacrificing your child and thinking it makes you holy and can wash all you done away is pretty disgusting. I believe in the bible, it was seen as a binding like he had to bind Isaac which suggests (and please im not a biblical scholar) reluctance on the part of Isaac for this. as a muslim for me, we present this differently- ours has Abraham have a dream he has to sacrifice his child as a test of sorts to prove his love for God above everything but we believe he told Ismail about the dream and Ismail said readily “if its God’s will that he wants this, i am willing to do this”; its really remarkable how the one with isaac there’s reluctance but with the islamic perspective, there’s consent, there’s the readiness to be willing to be sacrificed while having faith in God. Now in both, God stops in the nick of time and offers a ram in their place. When Tera comes and rightfully so confronts the abbot about this and then bathory comes and realizing that there is no other way to save her daughter, she did what any mother would do- take their place. Let’s also backtrack; when she found her sister trapped in Bathory’s prison in russia, she sacrificed her in a sense, not wanting her to live out in that agony and pain and terror. she sacrifice her innocence, being brought to the point of killing her sister to save her from a worse fate and years later, she did the same for her child, sacrifice herself to save Maria, knowingly and with full cognizance of this action and consent to do this righteous holy deed. Tera is the true martyr, the true epitome of divine sacrifice who is willing to suffer and give her life for the holiest thing a mother has- a child. for her to say “I am the ram. God has given you the ram, Emmanuel” shows who truly is the one who is doing the right thing for the right reasons. As a muslim, i was always taught that God doesn’t need sacrifices, like its not meant for His consumption or his want or needs, but that these are to represent what we are willing to do and prove that God is our top priority and that also what are we willing to do to help others. As we commememorate the sacrifice of abraham in our festival Eid ul adha by paying for goats and animals to be sacrificed and their meat distributed to our family, neighbors, and the poor, we remind ourselves there that our sacrifices must be for helping others, not for ego or showing off. The abbot wanted to sacrifice for the wrong reasons and Tera did for her child’s life. It’s still gut wrenching to watch and still heart breaking to remember this selflessness that made Tera turn to a creature that has haunted her for 20 or so years. but its castlevania, no one has a totally happy ending lol. and also, Emmanuel is nothing more than other priests and religious leaders who adopt cowardice and cloak it as piety. Tera deserved better. I truly hope it haunts the abbot and that he gets his karma for his actions and his hypocrisy made an innocent woman sacrifice her life to save their child.

I wonder if , when they asked the abbot if he loves Tera when she offered herself in marias place and he says yes, did he mean that? like truly love her , like if he genuinely has all these years loves tera. or if he loved that she sacrificed herself and . some might say both. He might see that this is part of the sacrifice he had to endure for his “holy mission” and thus “loves her” for that. who knows? it would be nice to see a flashback of them. when I think about it, I think he loved being "god's warrior" a bit more than tera which i obvious given after being with team he didn't disavow his vows and marry her and raised their child. I think he might but it's always in conflict with his view on faith. the love he had for tera once faded as his love for his glory and "divine purpose" overshadowed it all. I do wonder also if Tera might have had lingering feelings for Emmanuel. I imagine especially after this, probably not and I hope Tera gets him as her first “victim”. Honestly she’s suffered too much and I want my Muva back. I wonder that Maria might have to think she might have to do what tera did to her sister to her mother. But we see Edouard still retain his humanity despite being turned to a night creature so one can hope the same for Tera. 🙏

Again piggybacking to the comparison of the different religions views on Abrahams sacrifice, where one is seen to be against the consent of the victim and the other with their consent, i find it also telling that many evangelicals love to paint sacrifice as we have to do this to you to save your soul and save ours- much like the abbot. There’s no choice; there’s their way or no way. Versus Maria choosing to save her daughter. Cause that’s what a good mother does. What any good person would do on those horrifying circumstances. And that at her turning, (and someone on here said the same sort of thing) that reaction was against her will, non consent.

I’m reminded that in Islam there’s this saying that we have of God saying “if you oppose my desire, then I shall run you ragged of your desires” and I hope this very much applies to the abbot who despite professing all he does is for God is much rather for his own ego and inflated sense of worth and I hope it all runs him ragged and beyond all redemption in this life or the hereafter.

Justice for Tera Renard and I hope and pray Tera Renard gets the abbot and Maria gets healing and peace as well as richter and annette.👏🙌🤲🙏

I hope somehow all that I said makes sense as it’s sort of me ranting and me trying to make sense…. Cause Tera’s sacrifice hit me so very much like thank God season 2 is confirmed cause I need Muva Tera to come back hands swinging and good news for her!

#castlevania nocturne #nocturne spoilers #tera renard #maria renard #castlevania netflix #annette castlevania #richter belmont

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sephyathredon-writing · 1 year

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Whumptober #4: Shock to the System

Summary: After Ambrosius' mess up at the marketplace, the Director decides to take matters into her own hands. He's allowed to keep heading the expedition to arrest Ballister, but now there's a new piece of jewelry around his neck. What seems like a new piece Ambrosius added to his wardrobe turns out to be a shock collar which the Director will not hesitate to detonate, should she feel he's straying too far from Gloreth's light.

An Entry for Whumptober under the prompt "Shock".

____

Ambrosius was nervous to say the least when the Director called him into her office. He fidgeted with his fingers as he walked down the hallway. He had an inkling of an idea what this all was about.

Todd had gone and ran his mouth again. He wouldn’t put it past him to tell the Director about the incident at the market where he failed to put an arrow into Ballister’s back. He’d told just about everyone else about it and how unfair it was that Ambrosius was the only one with a clear shot and he just froze.

Ambrosius’ anxiety kicked in as he faced the large wooden doors that led into the Director’s office. He breathed unevenly as he pushed them open and strode inside. The Director bid him close the door behind him to give them some privacy, he did as he was told.

He approached the Director’s desk, but she held up a hand for him to stop halfway there. He did as he was told. She stood from her desk and approached him.

“Sir Goldenloin, I take it you must have some idea of why I’ve called you here, correct?”

He nodded his head, avoiding her gaze like a child who knows he’s done something bad.

But he didn’t, he was sure of it. He let Ballister live. He refused to injure him.

“Say it,” she demanded.

Ambrosius directed his gaze at his feet as he spoke. “I had an opportunity to capture Ballister and I let it slip through my fingers.”

The Director paced around him as she spoke. “Exactly. Now, I know the academy didn’t train their knights to hesitate like that.”

“But he’s-” Ambrosius started to retort, but bit his tongue.

The Director leveled him with a stare that told him not to interrupt again. “Perhaps I should have you taken off the mission if he means so much to you. After all, you aren’t thinking clearly when it comes to him, your inaction at the market proves that.”

Ambrosius bit his tongue hard this time, fighting the urge to interrupt. He waited a minute and then spoke. “With all due respect, Director. I don’t think that’s necessary,” he responded, showing every courtesy he could, as he had been taught. “Without me leading this investigation, it falls into the hands of Sir Thoddeus Sureblade, and both of us know he won’t do it right.”

Even worse, he’ll hurt Ballister, possibly even kill him to make the Director happy. He wasn’t sure if Todd was capable of that, but he didn’t want to find out.

The Director was silent for a few moments, she stopped her pacing to go over to her desk and pull something from a drawer. Ambrosius watched her, trepidation showing clearly on his face. She approached him with the item behind her back.

“Sir Goldenloin, I am entirely aware of your relationship with Blackheart,” the Director spoke.

Blackheart. The name that Ballister had been rebranded with. Ambrosius refused to call him that.

The Director reached out and placed her fingertips under Ambrosius’ chin, making him look her in the eyes. It was not strong, she was gently guiding him to look at her. Her expression held kindness and understanding

“It is only natural for you to have worries and doubts about this investigation, to still have feelings for him even after he’s been branded a monster. However, you are our beloved descendant of Gloreth. It is your job to lead the people and to make an example of people who make a mockery of our golden order, of Gloreth’s legacy.

“I know it is hard,” she continued, speaking softly, “that is why I have something to ease the burden.”

Ambrosius was so hypnotized by her eyes that he failed to notice the director snapping something around his neck until it was too late.

“I… huh?” Ambrosius asked, confused. He looked down but he couldn’t see the thing around his neck. Instead he removed a glove and reached a hand up, brushing it against what felt like cool metal all the way around except for a gem that was inset into the front. It seemed ornate and detailed.

Ambrosius’ eyes met hers again.

“Director, I’m not sure I understand. What is a new piece of jewelry going to do to help me?” Ambrosius asked.

“It is not just a piece of jewelry, Sir Goldenloin. Sorry to say it but I have been forced to take precautionary measures. What I have just put around your neck is a shock collar.” She revealed a small controller with a dial in the hand that had been holding the collar previously, “Should I see you straying too far from Gloreth’s light, giving into the monster’s temptations, I will rectify that.”

Ambrosius felt panic rising in his chest at the prospect of the collar shocking him, but he kept hiding his true feelings behind the same old mask he was used to.

“I’m not sure I understand, Director. This is such a drastic measure for one little mistake. Why are you doing this to me?” Ambrosius asked, some slight pauses in his breathing being an indication of his panic.

“It’s for your own safety, Ambrosius. I promise.” The gentle tone was laced in her voice once again. “Normally I would let you off with a warning, but with your inaction at the market, I see you walking down a path that will lead you away from us. The call of a loved one is too tempting for even the strongest man to resist. This is for your own good. If Blackheart got his hands on you, the kingdom would be doomed.”

Ambrosius was quiet for a while, taking this all in. He willed himself to calm down. He came away from his thoughts putting on a determined face and nodding. He understood where the director was coming from, that she meant well.

He was the one to blame for the collar, not the Director.

The Director continued, “You mustn’t tell anyone about it, they might think I’m being unfair. Should you slip and tell someone, I will have to punish you with it. To the public you are just wearing a new piece of jewelry. I pray on Gloreth’s name that I never have to use it for its intended purpose.”

“I do too,” Ambrosius responded, his voice strained.

“You are dismissed,” The Director ordered, going to sit back at her desk.

Ambrosius nodded and turned in place, making his way out of the room.

“Oh, and Ambrosius…” The Director’s voice stopped him in his tracks before he could reach the door.

“Yes, Director?” Ambrosius kept his voice even as he replied without looking back at her.

“You may not take it off until I say you can. If I catch you with it off, you will be subjected to a worse punishment than it can give you, understand?”

“Yes Director.”

“Good. You are dismissed.” she said, sitting at her desk and resuming her work.

As soon as Ambrosius was out of the Director’s sight, he ran.

Ambrosius didn’t stop until he was in the safety of his own room. He passed by Todd on the way who didn’t even have time to ask him about the new piece of jewelry around his neck.

Once he closed the door behind him, he curled up on his bed, his emotions finally showing on his face. Tears fell and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop them.

He’d messed up, and now he wouldn’t have the opportunity to mess up again. If he were to go face to face with Ballister again, he couldn’t hesitate, not if he wanted to avoid getting hurt.

Ambrosius tried to slip a few fingers under the collar, but it fit so snugly on him that he couldn’t, almost as if it were made exactly to fit him. As if the institute was worried about their Golden Boy straying from his leash all this time.

Her words about straying from Gloreth’s light echoed in his head. Was she really disappointed in him?

“Gloreth… I’m sorry…”

He waited a few moments.

“Ballister… I’m sorry…”

The last one broke him and he buried his face in his pillow with a sob.

He didn’t know what was going to happen next time he encountered Ballister, but it wasn’t going to be good.

Eventually, he willed himself to get out of bed and prepare for sleep. After brushing his teeth, he got a text.

[The Director of the Institute: Sir Goldenloin, tomorrow you are going to accompany me to the Institute. I have reason to believe that Blackheart may attempt to take my life next.]

The next text had the time and place they would meet up. It was early, even before sunrise. He was used to getting up early, but he didn’t think he could sleep with the collar on, it was too new, too uncomfortable.

The Director had told him not to take it off, though, so he would have to try.

Just as he thought, it took him a while to get to sleep. He was in his own head chasing his thoughts around and around for most of the night. Normally this was when he’d text Ballister and talk it out with him. He knew that Ballister wouldn’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night, if he could ease Ambrosius’ anxiety.

But he didn’t have Ballister around, an unfortunate truth he’d have to live with.

He fell asleep with tears still in his eyes.

His morning routine was the same as usual since he’d lost Ballister. He had to drag himself out of bed, and then he was obligated to spend hours in the bathroom getting his look just right, so he had to wake up before dawn. The biggest difference was the feeling of the shock collar around his neck. Once or twice in the middle of the night he woke up, swearing he was being choked, only to realize it was the collar.

He grabbed a granola bar, eating it on the way to meet up with the Director. He had no time for anything other than a quick breakfast.

He ruminated in his thoughts as he walked, wondering for how long he’d have to keep the collar on for, if he’d be allowed to take it off once Ballister was caught. He tried not to dwell on what would happen if he should come face to face with Ballister again like he had at the marketplace. Hopefully after that incident, he knew to stay away.

And just what had he been doing at the marketplace? He’d been kidnapping the squire that had been there on the day where everything went wrong. This wasn’t the Ballister he knew.

These thoughts continued even as he helped the Director into her carriage, only picking up in volume and internal panic, but he kept them to himself. It wouldn’t do to blow up in front of the Director, she didn’t deserve that.

His fingers traced the gemstone inset into the collar as he sat across from her looking out the window. He caught sight of a billboard as he passed, the faces of Ballister and himself as children staring back at him.

They were painting over Ballister.

They were trying to erase him.

“Something on your mind, Ambrosius?”

He could have said something here, but he didn’t. Like Descendants of Gloreth do, he hid his emotions. Instead he formulated a reply to her in his head.

‘My mind? I’ve lost my mind. I’ve lost everything. The man I love. My best friend. Although now apparently, he’s got a new best friend, what’s that about? What else is he hiding? Who's the real him? Who am I? A direct descendant of Gloreth? I didn’t ask for that.

And now I have this collar on because you can’t even trust me to do this right. Because without it, I’m going to hesitate, like I did at the market. I’m going to fail you, I’m going to fail Gloreth and her legacy.

Everyone expects me to arrest Ballister. If I don’t I’m a traitor to you, and this thing is going to shock me. If I do, I’m a traitor to him.

OH and on top of that, I chopped off his arm. HIS ARM. Who chops off an arm? Because I was trained to? Arm chopping is NOT a love language!’

He would have said all of this directly to the Director if he didn’t fear her response.

“I’m fine, Director,” was what Ambrosius told her instead. A bold faced lie, but it’s not like he hasn’t lied about how he was feeling before.

It wasn’t long before the carriage pulled up to the Institute and the two of them stepped out.

“Stay strong, Ambrosius. The blood of Gloreth runs through your veins.”

----

Ballister wasn’t sure what to expect when he got up to the Institute’s roof. He watched as Ambrosius and the Director stepped out of the carriage. Immediately he noticed an oddity in Ambroisus’ outfit.

Internally, he scoffed. Just a fancy piece of jewelry gifted to him by the Institute..

Except… he knew Ambrosius wasn’t much of a jewelry guy, the man didn’t even wear earrings. There was something almost sinister about the presence of the gold collar around his neck.

Still, he approached Ambrosius and he and Nimona tried to talk things out with him and the Director. All hope was quickly lost when his only evidence was shot out of his hand by Todd Sureblade, who seemed so proud of himself for it.

Their hopes were dwindling as knights filed into the courtyard. They were surrounded on all sides and in the air. The only thing left was to beg for Ambrosius to listen to him.

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t need proof. You know I’m not a murderer,” he tried to reason with Ambrosius.

“What are you waiting for, captain?” There was an edge to the Director’s voice as she spoke and a look of fear flashed across Ambrosius’ face as he glanced over to her before looking back at Bal.

There was a side comment from Todd that Ballister barely heard something about a whale, and then Nimona spoke up, telling Ambrosius to do the right thing.

“Who is she, Bal?” Ambrosius asked as Nimona’s eyes flickered in the bright light, revealing just how different she was. “What is she?”

“This is Nimona, she’s my friend,” Ballister responded, not liking the unsure expression Ambrosius made in response.

“But… aren’t I more than that?” Ambrosius responded, his hand hadn’t moved from the hilt of his sword.

“Of course you are. Ambrosius, I still love you. I just need you to trust me right now. Neither of us are your enemies.”

Ballister knew what a thin line he was walking. One wrong move could dissuade Ambrosius. He had to be careful. He had to get Ambrosius on his side with logic.

He saw Ambrosius’ grip loosen on the hilt, just a little.

“I don’t understand how any of this is relevant, Captain,” the Director responded from beside him. “Did you forget that you’re looking at a monster and his sidekick? She could be a monster too.”

Ballister glanced at Nimona. She didn’t seem to flinch, but he could see it in her eyes, the word ‘monster’ really hurt her.

‘Do NOT call me that.’

Nimona’s words rang in his ears.

“Ambrosius, you know me. You know I am not a murderer. I loved the Queen, and had no reason to kill her.” Ballister locked eyes with him, holding out his prosthetic hand, “You told me you’ve always wanted an escape from this life. Come with me, help me prove that the Director is the one responsible for the Queen’s murder.”

“Ambrosius…” The Director’s tone was clearly a warning. She was facing straight ahead but her gaze was to the side, looking at Ambrosius. Her hands were behind her back.

Ballister saw minor changes in Ambrosius’ posture and expression. His nose scrunched up and he closed his eyes halfway. His jaw clenched too, a sign that he was gritting his teeth. Ballister had known Ambrosius for years, he only ever showed these signs when he was in some kind of physical pain.

Ballister’s eyes went to the collar around Ambrosius’ neck.

“The monster is tempting you, Ambrosius. You are straying from the light, you must resist.” The Director’s tone was commanding.

Ambrosius was frozen in place, his body shaking for a moment before he attempted to hide it by tensing his muscles. He couldn’t hide it from Ballister though.

“Ambrosius, is something wrong? Where did that piece of jewelry around your neck come from?”

Ambrosius opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again, looking at the Director.

“What are you waiting for, captain?” She repeated what she said earlier, “Arrest them.”

Ambrosius closed his eyes, something seemed to hit him hard as he stumbled where he stood. He looked at Ballister and drew his sword. His expression relaxed and all signs of what had affected him previously were gone.

He took a few deep breaths as he stepped toward Ballister.

“Ambrosius, please…” Ballister begged. Despite that, he didn’t step back, he stood his ground. An arm went up in front of Nimona protectively. She didn’t say anything but her eyes were on Ballister, a worried expression on her face.

Ambrosius’ expression was unreadable, just a blank stoic expression. He made eye contact with Ballister and stared so long and hard that it almost felt like the man was staring into his soul.

The look in Ballister’s eye was genuine. He was telling the truth. Ambrosius knew him, so Ambrosius knew the tells that Ballister would inadvertently show when he tried to lie.

“Ambrosius. I am innocent. I am not a murderer.” Ballister made direct eye contact back, holding his ground, a determined look on his face. He wouldn’t flinch, not when Ambrosius was so obviously searching for a reason to believe what he was saying.

Time stopped and the moments where their eyes met seemed to drag on for hours, even though it was likely only a few minutes.

Soon Ambrosius pulled away and nodded his head at Ballister, taking the man’s prosthetic in his hand and standing beside him.

Ballister almost couldn’t believe it, Ambrosius was standing with him.

It made his heart swell with emotion, it made him feel like their love was strong enough to weather even something as disastrous as this. With Ambrosius by his side, he felt like he could do anything.

“I believe him.” The words from Ambrosius, said to the Director, almost brought Ballister to tears. Talking to Ambrosius had actually worked.

The expression on the Director’s face was one of frustration.

“Sir Goldenloin,” Her voice was cold when she spoke to him, eyes not quite staring at Ambrosius, “We talked about this. Should you ever stray from Gloreth’s light, I will rectify it.”

“What does she-” Ballister barely had time to formulate a response.

Ambrosius let go of his hand and crumpled to the ground beside him. He saw the director’s hands, now out from behind her back, in one of them she was holding a little remote control with a dial.

With a dawning sense of dread, Ballister realized what it was.

“It’s a shock-” Ballister started, but was interrupted again, this time by Nimona.

“Really? A shock collar!? Just when I start to think you people can’t sink any lower, you go and do this to one of your own!?” she responded, clearly outraged despite only knowing Ambrosius as an antagonist.

Ambrosius was on the ground, hands grasping at the collar around his neck, hunched over. Cries escaped his lips, one after another in quick succession as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Sparks jumped off his armor.

Ballister was by his side in a second, placing his prosthetic hand to Ambrosius’ back, something he immediately regretted as electricity shot up his arm and burned the flesh of his shoulder where it connected. Ballister let out a cry, reeling back.

“Go!” Ambrosius shouted through the pain, “Get out of here!”

“Not without you,” Ballister responded, gritting his teeth as he realized the knights that had them surrounded were getting closer.

“Knights,” the Director began, “Arrest them all.”

They didn’t have much time. They had to act. First priority was getting that collar off of Ambrosius, but they didn’t have the time.

“Boss… what do we do?” Nimona had her fists out in front of her, prepared to fight her way through these knights.

“We need to get him out of here.” Ballister gestured to Ambrosius who was now fully on the floor, curled up on himself. What had once been shouts, now turned to whimpers and cries for help.

Ballister grabbed him, gritting his teeth against the feeling of the electricity flowing through his body. If it lessened the amount that Ambrosius was affected, he didn’t mind.

“Nimona! I need something that flies. NOW!” Ballister shouted.

“You got it!” she responded, and her form grew. Wings, a snout, claws, a tail, but… soft features, big eyes, and that pink coloration that was so Nimona.

A laugh that Ballister sorely needed escaped his lips. He recognized the form. It was Kwispy the Dragon, from the commercial that had been playing the day before on the train.

Somehow, he felt like this had something to do with her not wanting to be perceived as a monster.

Using her tail, she knocked over several of the knights and the Director, being careful not to send them over the edge of the roof to their deaths. As much as Nimona talked about murder, Ballister picked up quickly that she never actually meant it.

She bent down and placed her head on the ground near Ballister. She didn’t even need to tell him to get on before he scrambled up it as best he could while holding Ambrosius. It was awkward to stay seated on top of her neck, but luckily little spikes jutted out that he could keep a hand on while he held Ambrosius with the other.

Just as Nimona took off, Ballister heard the voice of the Director.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Ambrosius jumped in his hold and grabbed on tightly to any handhold he could find in Ballister’s armor, body shaking from the amount of electricity flowing through it. Ballister assumed that she turned the collar’s dial up to max. If the collar didn’t come off, he could easily die.

Ballister could hear the sounds of Hoverbikes in hot pursuit, Knights shooting bolts at Nimona. While Ballister was worried for her, his focus was entirely on his boyfriend suffering in his arms.

“Bal… Ballister… it hurts… I’m sorry… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go against you… like that…” The mumbling continued like that, it sounded like Ambrosius just said anything that came to mind. Words were often interrupted by little whimpers as he spoke. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

Ballister responded in kind, answering his replies, “I know it hurts… You don’t have to apologize… I can’t believe she’d do something like that…”

The mere act of holding Ambrosius was causing him to share the other’s pain. Something he just had to deal with, for now. He wondered if Nimona could feel it too.

Shock collars hadn’t been used in the Kingdom in a long long time. The general consensus was that they were barbaric and inhumane. For the Director to use one on Ambrosius only proved that she was ruthless enough to have murdered the Queen.

It’s not going to settle well with the Knights, and they will talk. It might be a way for his claim to gain credibility, he just wished it didn’t have to happen like this.

This and many thoughts raced through his mind as he searched for a latch on the collar. There was one, but it seemed like it was designed to lock once the collar was activated. There wasn’t any way to get it off. Ballister made a noise of frustration before addressing Nimona

“We need to land somewhere nearby, preferably in the forest. Not near our hideaway, got it?”

A big pink dragon was a little too easy to follow for Ballister’s liking.

“Got it,” she responded, dipping down into the trees. Once she touched the ground, several trees bending around her, she reached her arms up and swatted at the hover bikes circling her. Ballister noticed that she aimed carefully so that the fall would be minimal by the time she let go and they’d land on the forest floor. It wasn’t so much a swipe as it was that she was batting them down.

When the skies were clear, she shrunk, but changed into a larger version of her human form with big arms, so she could carry them both. She set them down on the forest floor before changing into her teenage girl form. She gently plucked out several bolts stuck in her while watching Ballister and Ambrosius. Ballister let go of Ambrosius and stood, unhooking his arm and placing it on the ground. Smoke emitted from under his pauldron, a clear sign of the scarring that was sure to be there.

Ambrosius had spread out on the forest floor, on his back, the cries starting up again as his hands grasped the shock collar in a death grip. His whole body was shaking and his breathing was labored. Tears turned into full on sobs. He was begging for the pain to end now. His voice was raspy. Whether it was from all the screaming or the electricity, Ballister couldn’t tell.

“Nimona.” Ballister called her to his side, looking at her with a sad expression and teary eyes, “Please. There must be some animal you can turn into that’ll get that off of him. Please… I don’t want to lose him…”

Nimona nodded and turned into a crab, scuttling over to Ambrosius and placing a claw to the collar. She could hear Ambrosius suck in a breath in anticipation.

Nimona let out a pained noise as her claw touched the collar, but she squeezed it with all the strength she had and was happy to hear the sound of the collar breaking off of him.

Ballister acted quickly, grabbing it and tossing it away.

Nimona responded by running toward it and shifting into a rhinoceros, stamping over it with her feet. One or two shocks ran over her, but she hardly felt it. The electric field died down as the machine was sufficiently destroyed. When Nimona turned back to herself, she spit on it before returning to the other two.

Ballister had Ambrosius in his arm, holding him close. Aftershocks wracked the man’s body and there were burn marks on his neck. Ballister’s left hand pressed against the back of the other’s head, pushing it against his shoulder. Ballister’s posture was protective.

Before Nimona could get over to the two of them, there was a rustling in the bushes in front of them. Nimona turned into a wolf, anticipating an upcoming fight.

Sure enough, it was a knight that burst through the foliage. It seemed to be one of the ones that had previously been on a hoverbike, but they just stood there. Their helmet was pointed at Nimona at first, but then it looked at Ballister and Ambrosius. Ballister didn’t doubt that their eyes were focused on the angry red burn marks going up and down Ambrosius’ neck.

“Will… the captain be okay?” he asked, sheathing his sword to show that he wasn’t going to attack.

Ballister pulled Ambrosius back and looked at him, trusting Nimona to have his back. He forced himself to look at the burns before looking back up at the Knight.

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” he responded.

The Knight took a step back, “She shouldn’t have done this… especially not to him. I don’t… understand why she would do this.”

“Good. Question that,” Nimona responded, turning back into her human form, “Question the Institute, get others to question it. If they’re willing to do this to their golden boy, what do you think that makes you in their eyes?”

She approached the Knight and they took another step back. They looked over at Ballister and Ambrosius again.

Ambrosius was looking straight at them. His voice was destroyed, but he still spoke.

“She’s right.”

“I…” The Knight looked between the two of them and Nimona, “I’m sorry.” And with that, they left.

In the next moment, Ambrosius’ head fell back and his body relaxed in Ballister’s grip. It caught the other Knight by surprise, but he quickly reassured himself that Ambrosius had fainted, likely from the pain.

Ballister responded by holding him close again, looking over at Nimona.

“You okay?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.

“Me? Pfft, of course I’m okay. Just got a few bolts from the Knights, no biggie.”

“Nimona, You know I’m going to want to wrap those wounds, right?”

She nodded, “But you should worry about him first.”

“You’re right…” Ballister looked at Ambrosius again, feeling a wave of emotion passing over him, almost making him tear up, when he saw the scars. There was a few moments of silence, and then, “Nimona, could you, um, hand me my arm.”

She nodded, “On it boss.” She picked up Ballister’s arm from the grass and handed it to him.

He braced himself when he put it on, gritting his teeth as residual electricity from it flowed through him. Something was definitely wrong. He was surprised it hadn’t overloaded or short circuited yet. Either way, it would really need repairs.

Ballister stood, Ambrosius in his arms. His breathing was shallow and he clung to Ballister as if his life depended on it. His eyes were still closed, indicating that he was still unconscious.

“Let’s just go home.” Ballister’s voice sounded defeated. It had been a long day.

He could feel Nimona’s eyes on his prosthetic.

“I know you’re worried about that, Nimona, but it can wait until we get home.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

The walk back to the hideaway was quiet. Neither of them really felt like talking after having been through all of that. The only thing that was said was the few times when Nimona offered to carry the both of them, or to take Ambrosius off his hands so that Ballister didn’t have to use the prosthetic that was so clearly hurting him.

His response was usually a stubborn “I’ve got him.”

Once they all got home, Ballister removed each and every piece of Ambrosius’ armor, something he’d practically memorized by now with how many times he’s put it on the other. Then he placed Ambrosius gently on the couch and pulled off his prosthetic arm, placing it on his robotics bench for repairs.

Nimona took the blanket from the back of the couch and placed it over him. It was too small for him so it just covered from his mid chest area to his ankles. Ballister knew it wouldn’t do much, but it was a nice gesture.

And here he thought Nimona hated Ambrosius for the whole arm chopping thing. He wondered if maybe she was being so polite because she knew how much he meant to Ballister, or because she sympathized with the shock collar thing.

That last option had some very dark implications.

Luckily for Ambrosius, Ballister had some salve on hand that he had been using for his arm. He groaned when the other Knight began applying it, with his left hand so that he could be gentle.

He was about to put it away when Nimona cleared her throat to get him to look at her and pointed to his right pauldron.

“Ah, right,” Ballister replied.

It stung a lot, but his worry for Ambrosius encompassed his worry over the burns on top of his already healed arm.

He began to shrug off all his armor, deciding he should be out of it as well. His right pauldron and chestpiece were the last to go. He heard Nimona audibly gasp at the sight of the burns directly over the part that had previously been cut by Ambrosius’ sword.

Quickly, she grabbed the salve and began to apply it to Ballister’s arm.

“Thank you for the sentiment, but I can do it myself, you know.”

Nimona shook her head, “I’m doing it for you.”

That was the end of that conversation.

Hours passed until Ambrosius woke up, and even then he wasn’t awake for long, only long enough to gently reach up and cup Ballister’s face, whispering an apology to him. It ached to hear his voice. It was so hoarse because of his throat scars.

Ballister’s mustache curved into a smile and his hand went up to gently hold Ambrosius’, letting him know that there was no reason for him to apologize.

Ambrosius fell unconscious once again.

----

A day passed, Ballister kept applying the salve. He and Nimona caught the news on Ballister’s computer. Though he hated for it to happen this way, it had worked. Knights were questioning why their Director would use such a barbaric device on one of Gloreth’s sacred descendants. It was a ripple effect that led to everyone questioning the institution, the wall, and painting the Director as the person that really killed the queen, just as they had wanted. Ballister’s name was cleared.

He looked back at Ambrosius, He wished it didn’t have to happen like it did.

“Look at that! They’re finally starting to see!” Nimona gestured at the computer and smiled.

Ballister nodded, “Now we just got to get them to see you, for who you really are. I think it might be difficult after you turned into a dragon on top of the institute, but I think we can do it.”

Nimona nodded, tears in her eyes.

----

That night, in the middle of the night, was when Ambrosius finally woke up, fully coherent for the first time since the collar had been used on him.

“Bal!” he called out into the night air, voice scared.

An arm gently enveloped Ambrosius in a hug, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see Ballister there by the couch. He’d pulled up a rolling chair and clearly had been waiting for him to wake up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked

“Ugh, my throat hurts.” His voice was still hoarse, but that was to be expected. “But I think I’ll be okay… I just… I can’t believe…” he trailed off.

“That she would do that? Me neither.” He could hear Ballister walking away, and moments later the string lights within the hideaway were turned on. He returned to his seat after.

“Bal, she told me that she had to do that, it was punishment for my hesitation at the marketplace. She made me believe I deserved it.”

“How awful… I can’t believe that happened to you…” Ballister replied, finding one of Ambrosius’ hands and holding it tightly. He squeezed back.

“It’s okay. My neck might still hurt, but I am here and I am alive… and I feel like I’m free from the weight of Gloreth’s legacy, from the pressure of everyone expecting me to arrest you. It was… not the preferred way to find freedom, but well… The sting of the shock collar has definitely ensured I won’t be going back to the Director any time soon… As ironic as it seems, this might just be the best thing that happened to me.”

Ballister smiled, “Look at you, always finding the positives.”

Ambrosius laughed, sitting up and grabbing Ballister, much to his surprise. He pulled Ballister into a kiss that lasted as long as he had air for.

“Wow… I uh… I missed that,” Ballister responded.

“Me too.” Ambrosius then grabbed Ballister from the chair and pulled him onto the couch, on top of him. He was careful not to let Ballister’s head touch his neck, instead letting it rest on his chest where he could hear his heartbeat.

“I take it I’m not going anywhere soon, then?”

Ambrosius laughed, “Not a chance, we’ve been apart for too long.”

Nimona found them like that an hour later, fast asleep.

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #Shock #Nimona 2023 #fic #electrocution tw #burns tw #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #Nimona #goldenheart

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sunlightbender · 1 year

Text

A Somewhat Scathing Barbie Review (from a Barbie lover)

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BARBIE MOVIE

Okay, okay, PLEASE don’t skin me alive for saying this, but I thought the Barbie movie was mid at best. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t terrible, but I’ve been seeing people all over the internet praise it as the greatest cinematic masterpiece of our generation and it’s just... not.

As a positive opening, here’s what I liked:

Set design

Costuming

Acting

(Controversially) The narrator

The music

It’s obviously a gorgeous movie. It’s got so many references to actual Barbie sets and outfits, and as a Barbie fan it’s so much fun to see real people in replicas of Barbie clothes. It’s also super funny, and the music is really enjoyable. With so many positives, it might seem odd that this is titled as a scathing review, but for me, the most important factor in any movie is the story, and well... Barbie’s kind of sucks.

Look, I don’t want to ruin anyone’s perspective on a movie they enjoyed so I’d suggest stopping here if you really liked it.

The storyline was so heavily lacking. My first biggest qualm: this movie isn’t feminist, it’s sexist, dressed up in feminist frills. Disclaimer: I’m a feminist, hardcore, my family teases me about it all the time. From the very opening of the movie, where they mention that the Barbies see themselves as having made a feminist impact in the world, implying that Barbie as a brand HASN’T done that... eugh. Sasha’s opinion on Barbie is very heavily hinted to be the ‘correct’ one, where Barbie hasn’t positively impacted real women. Gloria’s suggestion at the end, to make an ‘ordinary’ Barbie backs this up - the energy of “We need a realistic Barbie, not the silly, pretty, blonde bimbos of the past”, if you will.

Let me state this: Barbie is, and has always been, a feminist. Barbie has represented strong women for ages. Barbie, in her pink and glittery glory, has had hundreds of careers, dozens of friends, is loved by all, lives life on her own terms, and has Ken as an accessory. She’s gorgeous and fun and smart and powerful and capable. She has ALWAYS been feminist, and any girl who grew up with Barbies will tell you that playing with them has only helped them imagine “what if I could be-”, in the best possible way. As a woman in STEM, I remember playing with Barbies as a kid, and knowing that I could really do anything, because Barbie could too.

To build onto this, Gloria’s suggestion that an ‘ordinary’ Barbie be made is ridiculous - I’ve always viewed most Barbies as ‘normal’ people! Are they incredible? Of course! But they’re normal people - that’s the whole POINT of Barbie - she can be anything, she can do anything, she’s incredible because women as a whole can be anything, do anything, and are incredible. To have an ‘ordinary’ Barbie that women can relate to is to imply that ordinary women aren’t capable of being vets, engineers, lawyers, environmentalists, businesswomen, etc. It’s almost as if the movie struggles to differentiate Barbie, the brand, from Barbie, the character. Can any one person have 200+ jobs? No, of course not, but Barbie, the character, has NOT done all of those - it’s just all different fields that Barbie could be capable of - because Barbie, the brand, represents everything that women as a whole can accomplish.

Next, the Kens. Oh god, the Kens. I LOVED the start of the movie. Himbo, accessory Ken is incredible. I love him. I finally understood why straight women loved Ryan Gosling. Then he became a misogynist. Ken’s whole arc is so rushed and muddled. Ken was miserable and bitter even before things started going wrong. In the perfect Barbieland, why should Ken be bitter? It doesn’t make logical sense - before Barbieland was falling apart, you’d think the Kens would be okay with their position in the world. And if not, then is the implication that Barbieland was never perfect? That didn’t come across to me. Let’s be frank, in a perfect Barbieland, there’d either be perfect equality where nobody was upset, or everyone would be 100% okay with the inequality in the world.

He was so obscenely sexist that the funny movie became genuinely uncomfortable to watch, and for the conclusion to be for Barbie to APOLOGIZE to him despite him stealing her house and brainwashing the country...????? And then the main issue was never even resolved - the hardcore matriarchy continues to exist - just everyone saying “I am Ken” is not going to prevent another Ken uprising, and if Barbieland is perfect, I reiterate once more, KENS DESERVE TO BE TREATED FAIRLY TOO. Also, it seems a little anti-feminist to make the Barbie movie essentially a Ken movie with Barbie crying in the back. The plot was SO Ken-heavy that it didn’t feel like a Barbie movie at all. A really feminist movie would’ve made Ken a background, barely-important character, but he runs the show.

I won’t go on and on, but it’s really uncomfortable. Including the forced almost-kiss.

Lastly, my big qualm is that Barbie becomes a human. Come on, is humanity not over ourselves already? Why do we make everyone in movies obsessed with us? It’s not enough that aliens should want to live on earth, or that princesses should dream to be common, or that robots wish they were human, Barbie herself has to long to dress in beige and be called Barbara. It was implied that the feminist out here is that Barbie has to escape Barbieland, to become her own person, but Barbie, the idea, has already been feminist! It was important for her to be Barbie, the idea, and there’s no sense to why she should want to be human. Why can’t she stay a perfect stereotypical Barbie, another cog in the perfect, plastic Barbieland machine? What’s wrong with that?

Then, all the dropped plotlines:

Gloria and Sasha’s relationship

The CEO

Ken’s still miserable

Barbie’s impact on the women of the world

Brainwashing apparently is fixed by one cheesy speech?

I think it’s a huge case of target audience. I only realized today, three days after the early screening day when I watched it, that it was not made for Barbie fans like me, who watched every piece of Barbie media, who’ve loved the brand for years. It’s made for people who played with the dolls in the 90s, relegated it as “for kids” and were waiting for a socially acceptable excuse to watch a pink movie again.

Was it a terrible movie? No, I suppose not, but frankly, the movie was muddled, corny, bland, and everything that the movie tried to do has been done better by Barbie’s animated movies and show. If you haven’t watched them, I’d suggest starting with Big City, Big Dreams. It’s a short, easy watch about being competitive without being toxic. The Dreamhouse Adventures series also has a lot of great messages. And then, my personal favorite, the Princess and the Pauper, has an awesome message about women supporting women. Now the men in THAT movie really ARE side characters.

One final comment: Barbie doesn’t give kids eating disorders. Adults telling kids they should look like Barbie gives kids eating disorders. And if you’re blaming Barbie for that, well, please also look at Disney, which pretty exclusively has their fat characters be villains, or toxic teen movies from the early 2000s which called people at size 2s fat. Take it from a woman who’s had multiple eating disorders.

What a rant, huh? And that’s WITHOUT getting into the lack of queer rep in a movie that marketed itself as being very camp - Hari Nef aside (she was wonderful!). If you enjoyed the movie, please don’t let me ruin it. It was definitely a lot of fun, but for me, the story really broke the movie. I’ll give it a 6/10 for enjoyability, and a 4/10 for objective quality.

#barbie spoilers #barbie movie spoilers #barbie review #barbie movie review #barbie

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stateswscarlet · 1 year

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but what if I genuinely don't want to do ANYTHING to get my desire, I just want to wake up and BAM it's there. Do you think that's possible? and please don't say "it depends on you and what you believe in your reality." I want to know what YOU think.

Why are you asking me? Do my beliefs and my state manifest in YOUR reality? Didn’t think so. You don’t need my validation at all, im some random chick on the internet who loves studying and teaching the law.

So yes anon it depends on you and what you believe in your reality, lmao.

But I assume you’re wanting MY personal opinion in MY reality correct? So I also assume you’re not going to cry and throw up and spiral to everyone else that “Omg scarlet said this!!” because you asked for MY OPINION.

(and this goes to everyone else reading this - I better not catch anyone spiraling in someone elses ask box about “scarlet said this, is it true?? is it real?? what do i do?” because I know DAMN WELL yall LOVE taking stuff out of context and blurt it to other creators without giving them the full story. So if you’re going to go throw up your spiral in someone else box, let them read my ENTIRE answer before you make me look bad.)

So since anon asked for MY PERSONAL OPINION IN MY REALITY I will share MY OWN PERSONAL BELIEFS THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYONE ELSES REALITY BUT MY OWN.

I don’t believe in MY REALITY that its possible to magically wake up in another life. I don’t believe in “magical” manifestations. I don’t believe in anything that isn’t already natural or COULD NOT BE experienced (even as a teeeeeeeeeeeny chance) by someone living on planet earth and all its laws. I don’t believe in manipulating physics, growing wings, changing your age and physically becoming a 10 year old from a 45 yeat old, changing your race (thats weird as fuck so idk why you’d do that anyways), transforming into a magic fairy, turning into a sorcerer who can teleport and mind read, or waking up tomorrow as taylor swift.

The way I learned and understood and firsthand experienced the law is:

1. The law is natural. It has ALWAYS been at play. It is ALWAYS working FOR EVERYONE. Even unconsciously we are all manifesting based off the law and our state. It works THE SAME WAY for everyone regardless of who you are.

2. Our consciousness, YES it is LIMITLESS has chosen FOR THIS LIFETIME a HUMAN experience that is bound to the 3D. Our consciousness has chosen an earth experience as its home, as its experience for our life that we are aware of. It CHOSE this (limited) 3D world as its experience and WANTS to experience what a human is capable of experiencing. The law exists amongst other laws like physics. Yes we are god, but we are GOD EXPERIENCING ITSELF THROUGH A HUMAN. WE CAN GOD IN HUMAN FORM. Not literally an all knowing powerful entity who can turn off gravity and create an ice castle in a blink of an eye.

So if you’ve lived your whole life never hearing of anyone that has magically woken up in a mansion in LA when they were just asleep in their studio apartment in Antartica, it would be pretty difficult to believe that to be true today. Now if you HAVE heard of that or firsthand experienced it, know someone who has, now thats a different story because again, IF YOU BELIEVE ITS POSSIBLE IN YOUR REALITY THEN THAT IS WHAT YOU WILL EXPERIENCE.

I personally have never heard of anything magical happening nor have I ever seen it with my own eyes so in MY REALITY its not possible in the slightest. I don’t see myself manifesting waking up in a completely different life with a new name, age, set of parents because first of all, I would freak THE FUCK out, that sounds SO scary and disorienting?! Maybe i’ll believe it when I see someone in real life flapping their wings, teleporting, and waking up in a brand new place with a new name/age. And I don’t mean people on here with success stories online, I mean people physically and/or people who don’t know the words “law of assumption” experiencing it (as I said up in number 1, the law is the same for everyone).

When I see “manifesting is illogical” I take it as we cannot conceptualize HOW something would happen. That is what ILLOGICAL means. It doesn’t mean that when you blink, a fat stack of a billon dollars is going to appear in front of you. It means YOU CANNOT PREDICT OR KNOW HOW IT WILL HAPPEN AND NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU TRY, IT WILL STILL HAPPEN IN A WAY YOU DIDNT EVEN THINK OF. Same thing applies for the “there are infinite realities, theres one where im living that!” YES you are correct! There is a reality where you have a huge mansion next to Kylie Jenner, and so there would be NATURAL STEPS TAKEN to make that a reality that would be the BEST way for YOU.

I believe in a natural bridge of incidents (it would have happened anyways or it makes sense how it happened after it did kind of thing) that is perfectly and best suited TO ME. Trying to “wake up” in a new life is messing with the how, because if you knew by the end of next week GUARANTEED you’d be living your dream life, would you give half a fuck about what steps needed to be taken for that? NO because you would just NATURALLY take them WITHOUT EVEN THINKING as part of the bridge! So yes, becoming a millionaire quickly is 100% possible, dating a celebrity is also 100% possible, moving into a huge mansion when you’re currently homeless is also possible, healing an illness is also possible, and so is manifesting an sp you don’t know/do know, and manifesting a career you’re not qualified for/rejected for because all of these things and everything else in between are things which humans can already experience (even as a very slim, nearly impossible chance) with or without knowing the law. I firmly believe the law isn’t magic.

I already know someone is gona be like “what about so and so success story? what about xyz stories? are they fake??”

When I say that I GENUINELY DO NOT GIVE A SINGLE THOUGHT thinking if someone’s success is true or not, I 10000% mean it. Who am I to tell someone else they’re lying or ask for proof? In THEIR reality they experience different beliefs than me and thats 100% okay. I dont care what someone is or isn’t doing in their reality. I don’t care if they’re lying or scripting because how does that affect me? I still believe in the law and love my natural and “limited” perspective and still get things reflected in the 3D in a natural and effortless way. I don’t need nor want proof of it because no one owes anyone any successes or proof that they manifested something and this goes for me too. I will say however that no one should be relying on other peoples successes on the internet and instead use the law yourself to be your own success story. We (myself included) are at the end of the day, random strangers on the internet who you don’t know. Why would you place your life in our hands? Study the law yourself from source and be comfortable with your own beliefs instead of asking me or anyone else “is this possible” instead ask YOURSELF if ifs possible for you.

Not to mention i’ve literally known people from other communities (reddit and subliminals community) who posted “impossible” successes yet were in my DMs saying how “gullible” others are and how none of that happened. It makes me sad knowing people would post anything fake, but I know that others lying has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. This is why I said that YOU NEED TO BE YOUR SUCCESS instead of relying on others because we aren’t special or unique, we are all regular people too.

Also I will NOT BE ANSWERING ANY ASKS RELATED TO CALLING ME LIMITED, BEING RUDE, TELLING ME OFF, ETC it will be INSTANTLY DELETED. This is MY PAGE WHERE I SHARE MY BELIEFS. DO NOT go around to 10 other creators venting that “omg scarlet said i cant magically wake up a kpop idol!” because if you’re spiraling over ONE random persons beliefs, im sorry you need to do better and go apply the law. If you are going to be throwing up elsewhere, make sure you link the entire post.

Call me limited all you want, im not stopping YOU from getting what YOU believe to be true.

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