#and they’re all aware of it but accept it because who else in this horrid world could ever understand them? accept them?

[the-darklings]

What is the I'd let you win tag? 🥺 👉👈

It’s a ship tag for two pov characters from my original novel.

They’re the duo I said people would like if they liked Corinthian/Wanderer in tibyim as their dynamic was basically backwards engineered from those two.

They’re the my monster recognises your monster, they’re dark mirrors, he’s her mentor (but trying to make her worse), they’re extreme versions of each other, they’re the academic idiots who can discuss anything for hours (he’s a genius, she has insatiable desire for knowledge), he’s extremely dark and manipulative while she’s grey at best so their morality is agree to disagree since he sees the worst in people while she sees the best, big I chose you/I made you dynamic, he’s Icarus and she’ll either help and prevent the fall or crash with him. Because who doesn’t love a good dose of devotion that corrupts and potential tragedy?

[anthonybialy]

Your Side on Top

Allies are appreciated more when they’re difficult to find.  We may as well accept consolation prizes provided by this rather miserable existence.  Learning who’s on your side is the only upside in a world filled with downsides.  The sanely decent seek others who despise lunacy as much as you do.  Looking for similarly logical perspective is as close as we get to experiencing comfort.  Put it in your Bumble profile.

A chance to self-identify is embraced by imbeciles.  Ghastly humans posting their horrid ideas publicly shows how they only help inadvertently.  Friends of fiends want as many others to see their allegiance as possible, which works out for the virtuous, too.  There’s a rather easy choice between good and evil involving who’s resisting marauders against life itself.  Learn what Israel’s enemies are doing by hearing when its enemies falsely accuse it of doing.

Outrage about pursuing terrorists is how immoral people flaunt how moral they are.  Preeners about the allegedly underprivileged never seem to quite muster an equal amount of outrage about same terrorists initiating wars on civilization.  You might think that sound precisely screwed up, and you might be correct.

The chance to flaunt identity works for evil idiots, too.  In a perfect world, everyone would be sensible.  In this far from perfect world, your enemies are ideally as dim as they are unpleasant.  The upright can only be glad that slouchers take the counterpoint.

We didn’t think spend September thinking we’d be encountering excuses for baby-decapitators.  But general awfulness being unnervingly popular is a permanent trend even if the specifics are unpredictable.  Hamas Decoder Ring-wearers qualify their support by noting that it’s of course awful to slaughter concert attendees before explaining why phantom genocidal oppression in Gaza vindicates it.

Shrugging away lousy behavior due to crummy circumstances is what liberalism is.  Brand salespeople have to make up reasons why their beloved downtrodden fire rockets at civilians without even using a protractor to aim.

Colonial oppression is an all-time classic fake absolution for real atrocities.  Sure, Israel has what we could go ahead and call a historical claim on its land, on top of how nobody wanted it until they got it.  Jealousy fuels lots of other unpleasant emotions, as seen by how crummily the vicinity’s sole republic gets treated by medieval haters paired residents of advanced societies who find primitive hellholes authentically quaint.

Noticing that they have is the only nice neighborhood in the area enrages those with refrigerators on their lawns.  As with all class warfare, anyone who succeeds must be torn down because they make failures jealous.  Democratic envious tax policy is reflected in contempt for the thriving country Israel built out of nothing.  Liberals claim whoever lucks into having resources gets unearned wealth, and the one place in the Middle East with no oil goes ahead and discredits them.

Liberals cause much of the rottenness they use to condone anger about what works in their self-sustaining way.  They think that’s how businesses keep going.  Crime spiking after decriminalizing it prompts stores to close in what’s used as evidence that free markets don’t work.  Internationally, the purportedly victimized find pals who lie about Israel stealing their snippet of land to condone a pillaging of it.  We’ve seen how they’d run things if they got their way, which is the millionth reason to cheer against the new Axis.

There’s no good news right now, but it’s at least heartening to learn who’s defending both truth and the innocent from fiends and those lying on their behalf.

Knowing someone else is aware of how much life sucks is the most assuagement available.  Blues music is based on the catharsis of knowing others suffer like you do.  Here are 12 bars that capture a woeful experience you fretted only happened to you.

Short of a large percentage of humans suddenly gaining wisdom and nobility, those suffering through the normalization of awfulness just want someone who grasps that this dimension is packed with aberrant dolts.

Knowing it’s much of the rest of the world that’s insane and not you is the service rendered by the handful of other steadfast operatives in the field.  Supports of good guys search for an outlook that differs from the warped take spewed by the sort of sanctimony junkies who think Israel is the terrorist for fighting terrorism.

Life could use referees.  It’s a relief to find others who know the rules.  Welcomed perspective leads to social media’s greatest value, namely finding others who think Jon Stewart is a sanctimonious twerp.  During wartime, a counter to the perfectly perverse narrative that responding to the unprovoked invasion is the war crime affords small yet valuable reassurance.

A war with sides obvious enough for a Marvel movie offers test of character that a sadly and unsurprisingly high percentage of people failed.  Participants don’t exactly have to enter harm’s way.  But noting besieged Israelis who face an assault on life and righteousness deserve backing is apparently too much for alleged sophisticates who reflexively crave an excuse for political-based carnage.

As for woke preeners who claimed they’d punch Nazis, it turns out they think “punch” means “hug”.  That’s surely the only word whose definition prompts struggles for them.   They mean people moving from New York to Florida, not executors of Jews.  Attempting to justify savagery should result in exclusion from polite society.  In our rather impolite one, know that others notice the rudeness.

[felikatze]

give me the a brainworms i am deeply invested in this man

(0) (2) (3) (4)

okay first of all you asked for this. second of all if i am a little off track from the game that is explained by me just building thoughts like building blocks without looking back. third i was supposed to be studying for an exam but this counts as practice right? it's character analysis anyway lmao.

buckle the fuck up, my dearest anon, because I have sub headings.

1. A as the Player Character

Let me begin with why I am obsessed with this horrid little guy in the first place: he's a silent protagonist. I am always obsessed with protagonists. It's a law of nature. I love taking hollow characters and dissecting them for scraps. It's a long standing practice of mine.

Being a silent protagonist, A, as X, does not have a set personality. However, there are patterns. Firstly, as any semi-silent protagonist, A is a reactive character. He does not start incidents, he only responds to situations, presented by the Sephirah, as they arise. He does not actively seek out new information, merely going about the routine of expanding departments, but expresses curiosity when information is presented to him.

I'm aware fandom likes to characterize X and A differently, likely because they are initially presented as different characters. I, on the other hand, would like to pose the theory that they are more similar than expected.

I believe that A is also a reactive character, rather than active. Despite the fandom wiki describing him as stubborn, the goal A pursues with such fervor, the completion of the Seed of Light, is not actually a goal he set for himself. Carmen is the one who set this goal for him by leaving him her legacy.

Throughout the backstory we get relating to the Cogito Project, A is Carmen's assistant, whereas Carmen is the driving researcher. This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be; going with the flow of goals set for them by superiors. Yes I will get into his attachment to Carmen later.

The above is not to say A isn't stubborn. Once he has accepted a goal as his own, he will pursue it at all costs, as is obvious from any and all flashbacks leading to horrible deaths. But the point isn't his pursuit of the goal, but where that goal comes from. Even Lobcorp itself supports this, despite what Hokma may say; A as X follows the "simple" task of managing the Corp's day to day activities, and executes any mission given to him by the Sephirah. He outranks them, and doesn't actually need to do their missions, but does so anyway. Players are driven by the reward offered by those missions, of course, and A might be the same in that regard. Nonetheless, at no point in gameplay do you do anything somebody else hasn't told you to.

The overarching narrative of the Script would be the most obvious example. Every single person in the game follows the script, whether they know it or not.

Lastly on this note, a phrase we hear attributed to A, "Machines must behave as machines." Now, Angela may be attached to this phrase because it bears significance to herself as a machine, and informs most of A's unjust treatmeant of her. However, what if it doesn't just apply to machines? The phrase reads as such, "Everyone must act according to their own role."

2. A, Carmen, and the disease of the mind

So, A will at any cost pursue goals Carmen set for him. Question is, why? The obvious answer would be saying he's in love with her, which like, true. But also, how did Carmen come to be so precious to him?

Let us return to the comparison, "This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be." We don't really know why exactly most characters joined Carmen, excluding mainly Daniel and Benjamin. But this does not mean we can't have theories.

Carmen's ideal was curing the "disease of the mind." What is the disease? Complete hopelessness. The inability to form aspirations and dreams, to think of a better future. A is a very reactive character who does not set goals for himself. Therefore, I personally conclude, that initially, Carmen's ideology resonated with him because he could identify with the disease.

This is the point where I start rewatching Lobcorp story clips. Dear god.

So, by briefly binging day 27 onward, I've come up with lines that very much support this lil theory of mine:

First, from Carmen, a description of the disease, "People lock away their own potential."

Second, a line from Angela, after the memory synchronization, "You've locked yourself in this prison without bars."

Carmen describes A as humble, and Benjamin thinks he is warm. If I suppose A was one of the diseased initially, Carmen would be the catalyst for this change. Carmen was someone with big aspirations, with plans to heal what is wrong with the City, and it gave him hope. He was one of the diseased, but through time with Carmen, with that relentless optimistic spirit, he may have been cured, for a time. It's not a stretch to say that she was his light.

But lor shows us what happens when the seed of light sprouts wrong, doesn't it? It distorts. A grasped hope for the first time and then it is ruthlessly crushed. Carmen was everything. Yes, A is described as a jack-of-all-trades, as a genius in all pursuits he puts his mind to, but what does that matter in the face of someone who can unite people? Who can give them hope of a better world? Who can inspire them to actually use the talents they have?

And what kind of pressure is it to put the legacy of a messiah in the hands of the diseased?

3. A and the Perception Filter: A is weak to White damage

No, I am serious about that. He's extremely weak mentally. Obviously death of a loved one is a changing experience for absolutely anybody, but Carmen's death destroyed him.

Not only did he refuse to confide this grief to anyone and bottled it up, now everybody looked to him to lead the project, but he just isn't Carmen. He isn't an ambitious person, he doesn't have the same optimism, he can't bring people together, but people expected him to, and he failed. Hard.

While he was without a doubt talented in science, he was also just an average guy.

After her death, A grew to hate humans. He lost trust in them. He refused to confide in anyone, and be confided in by anyone. Thus, the team fell apart.

In both lobcorp and lor, we get interesting tidbits about precations taken to protect the manager.

Firstly, Lobcorp's perception filter. The cartoony art-style of the game is a result of the game being in first person. Through the eyes of the manager, everything is cartoony!

This is a measure undertaken to specifically protect the manager's psyche. Angela tells us that, before it was deployed, the manager would frequently go insane, one notable incident including the manager trying to hang himself. When we first hear this, the previous managers and X are still separate in our minds. However, they're all A! A went insane multiple times without it.

This is understandable, considering that employees also frequently go insane and try to kill both themselves and others. But they're there in action, confronting the Abnormalities directly. Just watching them made the manager go mad. They could not handle the responsibility for the employees' deaths.

In lor, Angela explains why she picked the Rabbit Team from R Corp as their main contractor instead of any other team. One team was simply too big for L Corp's narrow hallways, and the other team... dealt in psychic damage. It was simply too big of a risk for the manager. But the manager is always secure behind the cameras. Would that teams methods just be that brutal visually, or would their attacks have reached the manager?

Combined with his immense grief at all of his friends and coworkers dying in part because of him, A cannot bear to look at death.

4. A's greatest flaw: Avoidance

A common thread during Core Meltdown flashbacks: A refuses to look at suffering. He just can't. Whether it be looking away from Elijah writhing on the floor or hanging up on Daniel's panicked report of death.

This is actually the thing Angela takes the biggest issue with, and what hurt her most. A would never look at her, acknowledge her, and she did not understand why. But I think A did not refuse to look at her out of maliciousness. Rather, it was out of grief over Carmen. He could not look at her without being reminded of what he lost.

Angela's creation came about because A wanted someone to guide him, someone like Carmen. He threw himself into the project to the point it made Benjamin happy that A was passionate about anything again. But as soon as the project he distracted himself with is complete, he is filled with regret. Carmen cannot be replicated, and he breaks again.

Furthermore, tying this back to my first point about A being a reactive person, we see Angela take charge over A. She's the one recruiting employees and leading the business. It was likely a relief for him to be able to step down from the leading position.

But avoiding it made everything worse. He did not act when he saw Elijah's unchecked ambition, he did not act beyond a simple check at Gabriel's decay, he gave Giovanni the same hope he clung to to no avail, et cetera et cetera.

Avoiding his problems is making them worse and sending everything down the drain (including his psyche), so he deals with it the only way he knows how, avoiding them more!

Biggest example of A's big avoidance problem as his psyche crumbles: the memory wipe. A, in perhaps his one singular moment of acknowledging his emotions, recognizes that he is incapable of fulfilling the Script in his current state. His grief is just too much.

By erasing his own memory, he could start fresh without his grief, because he might've really killed himself otherwise. His suffering became bigger and bigger, and he coped by avoiding it.

The memory wipe allowed him to distangle his problems. Through his interactions with the Sephirah (which I will not individually detail for the sake of my sanity and because I dumped all this on a friend on discord already), he can deal with and actually process his issues one at a time.

As the motto describes, only by facing the fear can he build the future. Only by finally facing his grief and acknowleding it, seeing that the past cannot be changed and he has no choice to move forward, can he actually do so.

5. The Sephirah as ghosts

Lobotomy Corporation feels like a ghost story. I've touched upon this in my previous A post.

As you reach the Corp's lower levels, there are less Sephirah. First there are four. They act like normal employees, and do not breach into the story's underbelly until you reach their core supressions and the facade breaks. Second, counting Tiphereth as one, there are three. They still go about their duties, but they know what they are. Third, there are two, and the facade is gone. They know what they are, and they will tell you about the sins of the past.

And finally, you reach Keter, and there is only one.

This gradual decay of the facade is what really gets to me. I said that by interacting with the Sephirah, A deals with his issues one by one, but that's what the Sephirah are, in this case. Representations.

The people the Sephirah used to be are dead, and the Sephirah are their ghosts. The core supression involve putting these ghosts to rest. Doesn't it match the progression of a typical ghost story? Find the ghost, find what they used to be, and help them move on.

So, if everyone is a ghost, then A is alone.

But, behind the scenes, the Sephirah are still there. They are still people, and they have changed for the better, too. As always, A simply does not look.

(Does he even see the good others see in him? Does he look away from praise, too? Did he even realize Benjamin's admiration for him? Will we ever know?)

6. A's end.

A's progression of moving on would be fine and dandy if it did not end as thus: A does kill himself.

A sees himself beyond the point of no return. Everyone is dead. He is alone. Carmen is never coming back. He can't call it quits now, or else everything has been in vain. (Even if the last days show us a part of him wants to just quit, so badly.)

So, there's only one thing left to do: follow the Script to its ending. Fulfill Carmen's legacy at all costs. Death as the ultimate release.

This is the point where I admit I do not like the death as release trope. But the game does a good enough job as presenting it as the only option A had, or the only option he saw himself as having.

However, I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again: A was not alone. Death was his release, but he left wreckage. In order to end his own suffering, he inflicted the same pain he went through on others.

Throughout the game, he moves on and pushes through. The ending shows that in reality... he didn't.

At least in lor the characters stick together and help each other heal.

This has been most of my thoughts on A, amounting to my longest analysis post ever, having taken me approximately two and a half hours to complete, and clocking in at 2337 words including up to this paragraph.

Thank you anon for giving me the incentive to verbalize all of this, so I can finally be at ease having inflicted my thoughts on everybody else.

[notquiteaghost]

alex keeps having wilde not be fine but not giving zolf any time to fix it and i, for one, am sick of it. this is a conversation they have immediately post-211 and i will only accept it not being canon if in 212 they have it instead. it’s 970 words and it’s also on AO3

"Right," Zolf says. "Okay, legalese with the lich, that's not gonna be quick. Can I just–" He glances round, and yep, they're still in a featureless crypt with no other exits. There's shit they need to do, and they can't afford to stop, but nothing is currently trying to kill them (probably, shit he's paranoid about gases now and all), and he can't get the look on Wilde's face out his head. "Look, sorry, but can you all fuck off? I wanna talk to Oscar."

Wilde, naturally, immediately starts up with, "Oh no, I'm fine, Zolf, there's no need–"

Zolf ignores him. Raises an eyebrow at Azu, who says, understanding, sympathetic, "Yes, yes, of course," and Hamid adds, "We can ask about the Cult of Hades, in the meantime," as they all awkwardly shuffle out. It's not a very big crypt.

Just before he pulls the door shut again, Hamid says, "Oh!" And jogs back over to Zolf, holds his hands out. It takes a moment, for Zolf to remember about Babbage. He hands the backpack over, and Hamid nods at him, and leaves with it.

Wilde's stopped protesting, at least, when Zolf turns to look at him. He sighs, instead. "Really, Zolf, it's fine."

"Sure," Zolf agrees. "Haven't had a chance to chat, though, have we? Since– Y'know. And I think you're getting all in your head about it."

"Well," Wilde says, with that horrid kind of cheer he's so good at, "Being fatally stabbed twice in such a short period of time does feel rather like someone's trying to tell me something–"

"Yeah. To wear some damn armour."

Wilde's face just– shutters. He's all layers, Zolf's learnt, a mask over a mask over a mask. And this one isn't even a good one, which means he's definitely more fucked up about this than he wants to admit. Which is fair. If he wasn't fucked up about dying twice in a fortnight, that would be worrying.

Zolf takes a breath, shoves away the memory of anything sticking out Wilde's chest, and says, "Look," as he takes a step closer. "You keep going into dangerous situations with only fancy clothes for protection, you're gonna get injured. You're gonna get injured badly. That's not, I dunno, a sign from the Gods that you're s'posed to be dead, okay, that's basic probability. And," he swallows, glances away, "No matter how many times they try it, I am always gonna bring you back. Kicking and screaming, if I hafta."

Wilde says, "Right." He sounds like Zolf just headbutted him in the gut.

Looks like it, too. Fuck's sake, why is Zolf so bad at this.

"I don't give a shit what the universe has planned," Zolf says. Swears. He reaches for Wilde's hands, twists their fingers together. "I can't do this without you, and no one can fucking make me. You're not– This isn't about whether or not you deserve to be here, okay? 'Cuz I don't care. I'm selfish and I need you. And, y'know, pretty sure I've done a lot worse than you, so if it's you that's meant to be dead it's definitely not about deserving it."

"You are so shit at comforting people," Wilde says, but it's fond.

"Working, ain't it?"

"Yes, I am just as emotionally challenged, we're all aware–"

"Shut up, I'm not done." Wilde huffs, a shadow of a laugh, and gods, Zolf would do absolutely anything to hear that sound. "You don't get to beat yourself up about this, you hear? I'm forbidding it. It's irrelevant. You deserve to be alive, 'cuz everyone does, innately, and there's plenty of people who're genuinely evil who've never been stabbed once. I'm not having fucking Barret make it through this but not you. Okay?"

Wilde huffs, again, and drops to his knees so he can press their foreheads together. It means Zolf's taller than him, too, which is always nice.

"Okay," he says. "I've conned the world's most stubborn cleric into loving me, so now I'm functionally immortal. Finally, all those months of reading your terrible novels and pretending to like your cooking have paid off."

"Nope, changed my mind. Next time I'll let you go."

"No, you won't."

"No, shithead, I won't," Zolf says, because that's how you get anything to sink in with Wilde; you have to catch him off guard. "You're gonna live to a hundred, at least. Two hundred, even. Has a human done that yet? You can be the first."

Wilde huffs another skeleton's laugh. "Not satisfied with cheating Death itself, then? Going to square up with modern medicine as well?"

"I'll fight anyone and anything that tries to take you from me," Zolf swears. Wilde swears, too, dropping his face into Zolf's shoulder and letting out a shuddering breath. Zolf wraps an arm round him, other hand still tangled with Wilde's. "Fuck, I wish this was someone else's job."

Wilde doesn't say anything, not even to make a shitty self-deprecating joke, so Zolf lets the silence sit, too. Pulls Wilde close. Listens to him breathe.

He's okay. He's here, and he's okay, and that's enough. Zolf can keep telling him that. Will keep telling him that, as many times as he needs to. Embroider it on a shirt, maybe.

Eventually, Wilde moves back, runs a hand through his hair, scrubs at his face. Says, "Thank you."

"Yeah," Zolf says. He squeezes Wilde's hand, swallows. Shoves all his feelings back in their box. "Right, then. Lich negotiations."

"You know, there's a lot I could say about our lives of late," Wilde says, as they walk out the crypt, as he pulls his own mask back on in a way probably only noticeable to Zolf, "But I'll give the universe this: They're definitely not boring."

And they get on with the job.

[silkylious]

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen­– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hello, the prompt are open again, yeeeaah! First things first: thank you so much for running this blog and for all the work you invest in this, it's really appreciated! Okay, so the prompt: Snow white au? You can make any changes you like, but really Sirius just screams to be Snow White (ebony hair, pale skin etc.) Thank you!

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" the Queen asked. She looked forward to this every time she asked, sure in the knowledge that her enchanted mirror would show her reflection.

Only instead of answering, "You, My Queen," as it always had in the past, it said, "The prince of this kingdom, Sirius." The surface of the mirror rippled, then showed a vision of her husband's son.

Anger roiled in her like a forest fire-- sudden and all-consuming. "What?"

It shimmered away to be a reflection, but it didn't change the answer she had been given. "He is the fairest in the kingdom, as you asked."

She grit her teeth together, her reflection animalistic. "Not for long."

*

Sirius had run away from his tutor. His maid told him that it was rude, but he had run away from her plenty of times too. His father asked him not to, but his mother always smiled indulgently and said he could do whatever he desired.

It's not as though he was trying to be horrid. In fact, the idea of making any of them mad was the opposite of what he wished, but he wanted to find his own happiness. He would not find happiness-- or even contentment-- locked away in a room in the castle, practicing his letters.

Usually, he ran to the gardens. Today, he went to the forest outside the castle.

He didn't have designs to see the world, but he would quite like to see lands outside the castle walls. He'd only ever seen the forest from atop a tower, and it was certainly more fun to be down among the trees than looking at them from afar.

Sirius spent his time today chasing a rabbit. A useless endeavor, he was well aware, but it was fun to run through the forest with abandon. Unfortunately, he was chasing after it with such single-minded focus that he ran flat into another person as they rounded a tree, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Sorry," Sirius said, scrambling to his feet. He held out a hand to the other man, who took it to ease his way up. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I can feel that quite evidently," he said with a laugh. He smiled at Sirius, bright and open.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. He was looking at Sirius like he couldn't even think of pulling his gaze away. After a delayed moment, he let go of Sirius's hand. "My apologies," he said. "I am Prince James of the Potter kingdom, five leagues from here."

"I'm Prince Sirius of the White Kingdom. Hopefully not a single league from here, otherwise I'm horribly lost."

"Oh, you're Prince Sirius," James said, eyes going round.

"Erm, yes. Why? Not what you expected?"

"No, you're- you're exactly as people say."

Sirius frowned. That wasn’t an answer that made much sense. "What do people say?"

"That you're the most beautiful person they've ever seen," he replied. A light blush crawled up his cheeks, but he didn't look away in embarrassment.

"I thought the only person that said that was my mother," Sirius said honestly.

"Trust me when I say she is far from the only one. Your looks border on legendary these days."

"Great," Sirius said wryly. "I'll just write songs about my beauty, shall I?"

"Of course not. Someone else has already written them."

"Please tell me you're joking."

James shook his head, still smiling at Sirius.

*

"-and then you hold it like this," James said, helping Sirius position his hands properly along the instrument. He'd brought it along with him at Sirius's insistence the last time they'd seen each other in the woods.

"How do you know all this? We're both princes, and yet you seem to know so much more than I do."

James shrugged. "I’m sure it’s isolated to hands-on activities, such as this. God knows you go through more books than I ever will."

"I read books because they never wish for me to leave the castle." He tentatively plucked at one of the strings.

*

"Here," James said, proudly presenting Sirius with a bouquet. There were plenty of flowers in the forest, but these weren't native to either of their kingdoms. Sprigs of white fluff framed large red blossoms that were more beautiful than any rose he'd seen.

Sirius felt heat rise in his face as he accepted them. He hated that his skin was so light; his blush was surely visible to James. "Thank you." He brought them up to his nose and inhaled deeply. They were sweet, and so delightful that he wanted to bury his nose in them and never come back out. "These are wonderful. I take it they're from the greenhouse you were telling me about?"

“Indeed,” James said, then he started to explain what they were called and where they were from.

Sirius listened, entranced with the cadence of his voice and the passion with which he spoke.

*

Sirius put a hand on the back of James's neck and kissed him. He was horribly nervous; he'd never kissed anyone before. But he fancied James, and they'd been meeting in the forest in secret for almost a year now.

There was a small pause as James froze in surprise, but then he tilted his head and wrapped an arm around Sirius, kissing him back.

*

"Since we're going to be married," Sirius said, "I should be able to visit you soon. Properly."

James smiled, carefully pulling a strand of Sirius's hair out from where he'd tied it back. He rolled it around his finger, gently unwound it so he didn’t tug on his scalp, then tucked it behind Sirius's ear. The long wave of it curved against the hinge of his jaw then fell further, stopping along his chest. "Tired of our forest jaunts, then?"

"Let's just say that I look forward to being in a room with you. Besides," he added a second later, "you've only ever seen me dressed down like this. I always get sweaty walking out here."

James's expression warmed. "As much as I look forward to that too, You know I don't care, right? I'm here for you, not how pretty you can look."

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Sirius teased, leaning towards him.

"Of course not; I simply wanted to remind you that, even though you're the most beautiful person in the world, I would love you if you weren't."

"Duly noted, My Prince," Sirius said, giving him a quick kiss.

*

"I have a job for you," the Queen said, folding her hands in front of herself.

The hunter-- a generously innocuous title, considering the type of jobs he did-- ticked an eyebrow up. "Never worked for the royal family before."

"And as far as your friends are concerned, you still haven't. You are being paid for your discretion, as well as the job."

"I'm listening," he said.

"Prince Sirius will be going into the forest exactly an hour after lunch. You are to follow him, kill him, and then bring me his heart."

"Damn, you must hate your son an awful lot to not just poison him."

"That thing is not my son," she hissed. Hate burning in her eyes, she took out a fat coin pouch and heaved it onto the table. She pulled the tie off, and gold spilled across the dark wood. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Fenrir's eyes trained on the gold as soon as it became visible, and his gaze was still on it when he said, "Yes. Do I want to know what you're going to do with his heart?” Word was that the Queen was a witch, and the thought of her eating it was unappetizing, to say the least. “Wouldn't a ring or summat be plenty of identification of a job completed?"

"That's none of your concern," the Queen said imperiously. "I expect delivery tonight." Then she swept out of the room.

Fenrir rolled his eyes. Sodding royals. This is why he'd never worked for them before. But the pay was good-- more than he'd ever seen in one place-- and after tonight, he wouldn't have to see her again, and he was sure she was looking forward to that as much as he was.

The time she mentioned came around, and Fenrir was already in place. The prince walked into the forest, though he didn't look much like a prince at the moment. No jewelry adorned him, and while his clothes were made of expensive fabric, they were made for traveling through the woods, and he had a bag with him that had already seen plenty of use.

Something about this wasn't right. What reason would the Queen have for wanting to be rid of him? She'd called him a 'thing', but he didn't look monstrous to Fenrir-- and the hunter had seen monstrous. When he stepped out in front of his path, the prince startled, then smiled. "Hello there," the prince said.

Fenrir wasn't used to being greeted in a friendly manner. He didn't have the face for it. The prince didn't look at him like he was scary, though. The hunter wished he was scared. It would make this easier. "Hello," Fenrir replied automatically.

"Were you leaving or going further?" the prince asked innocently. It was absurd the way that none of the stories about the prince's beauty had been exaggerated. He was like a sculpture of ivory, expertly carved, and when he smiled, the hunter could swear that the sun shone brighter.

"Going further."

"Would you like to walk together?" he offered. "The journey gets boring on my own."

"Sure," Fenrir said, more of a grunt than a word.

All the prince did was smile again and say, "Great!" like he was truly happy for the hunter's company.

Fenrir let them get far enough into the forest that if the prince screamed or tried to run, there would be no one nearby. Then he grabbed his arm and stopped walking. "I admit, I'm here on business."

Even with the hunter holding onto him, the prince didn't look like he suspected a thing. "What kind of business? I don't think there are bears, or any of your usual fare in these woods."

"The Queen hired me. She wants you gone."

"She..." he trailed off, happy air crumpling. "Me? I'm your business today?"

The hunter nodded, jaw clenched. "You seem a decent sort," he said apologetically. "Maybe you should close your eyes, so it's easier for you."

"No, I-" he tugged ineffectually, trying to free his arm as tears filled his eyes "-I can't. James would be heart-broken. We're supposed to marry."

Fenrir had thought that news of the prince being betrothed would've reached his ears.

"Please," the prince pleaded, looking up at the hunter with large eyes. He stopped trying to free himself for the moment. "I'll leave. I won't return. You can tell my mother that you killed me as she asked, and she will never see me again."

Fenrir thought he had long since lost his sympathy. He wouldn't have made it this far with it intact.

He let his hand drop to the side, and he jerked his head towards the path they had been on. "If you return, I'll have to kill you."

"I won't," the prince said immediately. He wiped at his face. He knew that he should run until his lungs felt like they were going to burst, but with frantic hands, he reached into his bag and pulled out the knife. He'd never used it before, but James had said it wasn't safe for him to travel without it, so he'd carried it. He picked up a handful of hair and started hacking it away. He was too recognizable with his hair this long; he'd never seen someone walking the street with long hair, only nobles.

By the time he finished, there was a circle of thick, black hair around his feet, and the hunter hadn't moved-- he just stood there, watching him.

"Thank you for your kindness, sir." He left. Not running, but making a quick pace. He felt the hunter's eyes on him until he disappeared.

Fenrir didn't know what to think of him. The prince had cut off his hair-- beautiful, long locks of ebony-- as if it was nothing. No, he corrected a second later, not nothing. He'd cut it off because in the choice of life or death, he'd chosen life however he could get it. The kid had called him sir. The hunter sighed and turned to track down a deer. The hearts were similar enough that the Queen wouldn't be able to tell the difference, especially if he mussed it up a little.

*

Sirius threw himself into James's arms, crying.

James had no idea what was wrong, but he still hugged him and assured him that everything would turn out alright.

After Sirius explained, James said, "It’s alright. We'll get married so you can change your name, and you can stay with us. Your mother will never know where you are. No formal declarations were made, so no one will know."

Sirius gave a small nod. He'd wanted to move to live with James anyways, so this wasn't bad. They'd already decided to get married, so this wasn't a horrible outcome. It was a good one, in fact. It was the one he wanted. He knew that at the end of it, everything would be okay.

It was just hard to see it right now.

James brushed some of his tears away with soft fingers and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "She won't hurt you, I swear it."

"I thought she cared about me," Sirius choked out. She was the only one in the castle that had supported everything he wanted to do. Had it all been a lie? Or had she found her hatred of him recently? Perhaps it didn't matter. No matter how she felt about him or when it had started, he wouldn't see her again.

*

"Are you going to leave the castle at all while you're here?" James asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I thought you wanted to spread your wings a little."

Sirius combed his fingers through his hair self consciously. "I didn't know if it would be safe."

"I'd be happy to come with you," James offered. There was a genuine smile on his face, though Sirius had never seen him with any other kind.

"You're busy," Sirius hedged, even though he wanted to take James up on it in a flat second.

"I'm never too busy for you, my love. Come on," he said, holding out a hand. "It's a sunny day, and you will only make it brighter."

Sirius didn't hesitate to take his hand.

[salemcat09]

You want a request? What about drarry and something with healers? Like maybe one is a healer and has to treat the other, or perhaps they’re both healers and end up working together, whatever floats your boat!

First off I just want to say I am SO SO sorry for how long this took, there's no excuse I'm just lazy. Anyway ,thank you so much for the request! I apologize for the fact that kind of took the first part and ran with it, the story is kind of taking the request loosely but I hope you don't mind too much :-)

(Read below the cut)

St Mungo's Malady (drarry)

• malady /ˈmalədi/ noun

- a serious problem.

Work had been hectic at St Mungo's for days now. It was the start of summer and all the children were returning home from school, of course with that comes reckless kids getting injured in ridiculous ways.

Draco had just finished tiding up his equipment from the last patient and was ready to go home and rest when there was a gentle knock on his door. Sighing, he opened it.

"Sorry Draco, but Margaret's had to rush home and there are not enough people on the shift, could you stay for another hour? It'll only be a few patients, promise" It was his very stressed coworker, Hannah Abbott. He cursed his breath but smiled politely, not trying to get on anyone's bad side more than he already was after the war.

"Of course, send them through". He hurriedly gathered his things and set them out ready for his patient and sat in his desk chair waiting. He heard the slight click of Hannah's heels hurriedly tracking the hall to the waiting room and back. The door once again creaked open and Hannah guided two people in, a short and oddly familiar dark-haired man and a strangely blue-haired child, Draco assumed to be around six.

His coworker kindly handed him the papers he needed and gave a small shocked sounding gasp and what Draco supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile (that just made him anxious, because why would he need reassuring). The blonde read his expression and gave a small nod to the papers she'd given before backing out of the room.

Draco smiled at the two people in front of him and gestured for them to sit, the man sitting in the chair across from him and the child hopping onto the bed. He furrowed his brow at the man, trying to understand why he looked oh so familiar but he failed, instead shaking his head and introducing himself as Dr. Greengrass.

The name belonged to his ex-wife, whom he'd only been married to for a year and a half before the relationship ended (it was inevitable, they were both gay but settled for each other to please their parents, they were miserable). The pair were still good friends though, and Draco saw no need to change his name again, being that he'd fought so hard to change it in the first place.

He read over his papers quickly to see what exactly he was treating (he assumed) the child for, expecting to see something along the lines of "accidental magic gone wrong" or "fallen off his quidditch broom". He ended up seeing that the child had fallen from a tree with a suspected broken arm, but also saw something else.

He recognized that name. Edward Lupin. Lupin had been his defense against the dark arts teacher in his third year and he would never admit it but he had been his favorite teacher. Of course, that didn't last long because the teacher quit after only a year, and died not long after. He also knew the first name. His mother had said something about a cousin killed in the war, by his Aunt Bellatrix, who'd left a young child behind. He knew the father of the child had not been well accepted, something about being old and poor and a half breed. Judging by the last name it was likely his previous teacher.

This must be the child he thought to himself. He felt sorry for him, his cousin. Being left all alone. But he presumed he wasn't exactly alone, he had his grandmother and whoever this man was. It just occurred to him at that moment to look at the listed caregiver's name, find out who he was.

He inhaled sharply reading the name. The name he saw so much yet always dreaded. The name of someone who had taken up so much of his mind for almost his entire teenage years. The name of someone he hadn't seen in years. Harry Potter. He looked different. Older. Draco knew he was only 23, they were the same age. But he also knew how the stress of war could age you.

He composed himself and looked between the two, trying his best to remain professional as he treated his blue-haired patient. He could tell Potter was trying his best to do the same but both were failing and the conversation was beyond awkward. Surprisingly enough, however, Har- Potter wasn't seething in disgust, but instead seemed interested and somewhat concerned.

Luckily for Draco, all he had to do was check over Teddy's (as he'd been told he preferred to be called) arm and try and see how much damage was done, before referring him over to another department. As he was guiding the two out (the younger one excitedly bouncing up and down with the lollipop he'd been given) Potter turned to him. "Nice to see you, Draco" he smiled.

As politely as possible and trying not to be thrown off by the man's own politeness, he replied "Just doing my job, Potter". And with that his old nemesis and crush turned on his heel and left, Draco closing the door behind him.

He sighed heavily and sunk down the back of his office door. He prayed there were no more patients today and he could just get home and wipe the entire interaction from his memory.

-•-

As much as Draco tried, for weeks he couldn't get the encounter out of his head. So many thoughts and questions rushed through, so many awoken feelings he'd all but forgotten. Of course, his biggest question was what on earth was someone like Potter doing with his young cousin? And letting him fall from a height like that?!

He cringed in embarrassment at the thought. Why was caring so much? The was a stupid question, he knew exactly why. The obsession of his youth was creeping its way back in. Who knew such a small thing could set him back so far.

In the end, he settled on asking his mother. If he was being drawn to Potter again why not just....allow it? He was being daft and he knew it but his ego would always rise above that. He wasn't going to stalk Potter again, that would be childish...and mildly creepy to be honest. No, he was just going to ask Mother why Potter was with his cousin. That seemed somewhat normal.

He walked into his mother's bedroom and knocked lightly on the door. She raised her eyebrows slightly but made no effort to make conversation with Draco, no surprise there. Draco noticed that she was sewing and didn't want to be bothered but frankly, he couldn't care less. He cleared his throat and finally Narcissa sighed and turned to him.

"Yes, Draco?" Anxiety fueled up inside of the young man, tempting him to back out and run. But he had to know.

"Mother, what would Harry Potter possibly be doing with my cousin's child?" He tried to act calm but sweat was curating on his palms and it was impossible not to notice. His mouth was dry. There was no reason for behavior like this, he was acting like a silly school boy with a crush.

His mother rubbed between her eyes and let out another deep sigh. "As far as I am aware, Mr. Potter was made godfather at the time the child was born. I assume now that either my dear sister would be raising him, or Potter would. Why?" Her voice seethed with sarcasm when speaking of her "dear" sister. And it was evident by her voice she had little to no interest in what her son was saying, her temper running thin.

"He came in with Teddy at work today, as his caregiver. I was merely curious is all" Draco responded, not exactly lying but not exactly telling the whole truth either.

"Hm, very well be off then" As blunt as ever Narcissa requested he leave and Draco of course obeyed, thinking to himself he ought to work out his...struggles on his own.

-•-

It was many weeks before he saw Potter again. He half expected half hoped for him to appear at work, for Teddy of course. But in the end, he never showed. By the time the end of Summer was rolling around and leaves began to darken, Draco had given up. He knew he was being stupid, hoping his old nemesis from school would just happen to walk by him so he could get one more glimpse at that horrid person who caused him so much stress. He still hoped though. He was still disappointed when September 1st came and summer was officially over.

He was taking his daily stroll down the parks of muggle London, having just bought his morning coffee after a long night shift at St Mungo's. As per usual, he kept his head down. If anyone from school happened to see him he was sure they wouldn't notice. The Draco they knew had always kept his chin unbelievably and insufferably high much like Draco now, who was skittish and quiet always trying to avoid being seen. That's why he didn't notice the man of his dreams walking straight into him with another scorching hot coffee.

The two collided, the coffees exploding onto each other, and both of them crashing to the harsh concrete ground beneath them. Draco swiftly stood up and without thinking whipped out his wand to clean the mess. When he looked up from the small puddle of coffee (on both his sweater and the ground), he noticed the stranger had done the same, going to use magic to clean the mess. He had obviously noticed as well, and they shared at silent moment of solidarity before both muttering scorgify under their breath.

Draco kindly reached out a hand to help this person up, knowing the collision had been entirely his fault and wanting to make up for it. Much to his dismay, however, he met the eyes of the other. For a split second, he didn't realize, simply seeing the most gorgeous green eyes. But then it clicked. He drifted his eyes slightly up to the left of this so-called stranger's face. The white lines of a lightning bolt spread out, slightly raised above his dark skin. It was him.

The flustered blonde acknowledged he had been staring for a tad too long, and blushed profusely before pulling, who he discovered was, indeed, Potter, to his feet. He coughed awkwardly and brushed himself off, to give his hands something to do (he found himself doing that a lot, especially recently). He gave a polite smile and avoided Harry's painful attempts at eye contact before hurrying off, back in the direction he was going before the interruption.

"Draco wait!" Draco gasped slightly and turned, to see Potter desperately smiling at him. He cursed under his breath and prayed to Merlin that Harry wouldn't want to talk but simply exchange simple pleasantries before being off on his way. He could handle that at least. Despite his deep hatred of small talk, he had gathered quite good at it over the years and felt prepared enough for whatever 'how are you's and 'how have you been's Potter may feel necessary.

To his misfortune, Potter started with hello. That wasn't a good sign. Draco smiled politely once again and said hello back, still with an inkling of hope that this would be quick. He may have been wanting to speak with Harry for months, and he may not have left his mind, but he certainly wasn't prepared to have this meeting completely random on a busy street in London on an early Wednesday morning.

"How have you been? I've been hoping to catch you since we last bumped into each other but Ginny's schedule has been somewhat intense" the younger man chuckled and scratched the back of his neck just where his hair stopped most endearingly way possible. It wasn't that that caught him though. Ginny. Of course. Potter's little Hogwarts romance. He assumed they were married by now, much like he himself had been.

"I've been alright, thank you. Ginny?" He couldn't help himself but ask. All possibility of a quick conversation out the window. He knew they must be together, why else would his schedule be centered around hers. Potter chuckled again and raised his eyebrows before answering

"Yeah, the way I said that makes it sound like we're married or something, we're not. We're not even together. We live together and co-parent our son, James, together with Luna is all. And with Teddy around more it's always best to have some sort of other parental figure around for him. So our schedules tend to revolve around each other." Draco was stunned. On one hand, he was silently pleased to hear that Harry wasn't still with Weasley as he assumed. But son? He had no idea of Harry having a child, he thought he would have found out by now given he's the chosen one and all.

"You and Ginny aren't together? You're single then?" Draco cursed himself for the way he said that, he hadn't meant to come across so upfront he genuinely was just curious. He had a habit of saying things that sounded right to him but as soon as they were said aloud he would realize how wrong it sounded to anyone else. He played it cool and decided it was best he ignore the slip up for now, he could always lay awake in bed in three years time and go over what he could've done instead.

Luckily for him, Potter laughed. Not a chuckle but a genuine laugh. It even made Draco's lips twitch a tad, and neither noticed the other but both of their eyes had darted down to the other's mouth for just a second. "Ginny and I split up, yes. About three years ago and she's now in a long-term relationship with Luna, but we're still great friends. We have to be considering we only had a son a few weeks ago" he did that awkward neck scratch again that just killed Draco. "And for the record yes I am indeed single, I have had a few relationships here and there but as of currently I am. Gosh sounds like I'm writing for a dating site" Draco laughed this time.

The blonde turned his head to fill in time while thinking and noticed a park bench right next to the pair. He gestured and Harry nodded, both sitting down somewhat awkwardly next to each other, to continue the conversation. "Sorry about your coffee by the way" Draco muttered just now remembering how they'd found themselves here in the first place.

"It's fine, you'll just have to buy me a new one next time" Harry laughed. It took Draco a few beats to catch up and realise Potter was joking. He forced an awkward laugh before Harry spoke again. The younger man nudged the older, in a humorous friendly manner that confused the older "I mean unless you do actually want to get a coffee sometime? You'd still owe me of course" Draco panicked, this time he really didn't know if he was joking or not. To him it sounded serious and borderline flirtatious. He decided to play it safe, and respond with a half joke

"Yeah alright then" he laughed. Harry also laughed while looking almost directly into his eyes.

"Alright. I can uh give you my number and organize it? Or we could go now if you like, take this conversation with us" He was definitely serious now. And still tiptoeing on flirtatious but Draco was sure he imagined it. Draco nodded

"If you don't have elsewhere to be, I'm sure you do, you know, mister chosen one and all, but if you don't I wouldn't mind popping into the diner down the road" Harry laughed at the chosen one line, glad someone would finally take it lightly and joke about it for once.

"I do not have anything else to do, being the chosen one dosn't do much for your social life on a Wednesday morning it appears" He smiled at Draco and began to stand "Other than this of course" he teased

"I'm flattered Potter" Draco quipped back half sarcastically. He took a deep breath and reminded himself this was just coffee. Old school mates catching up, nothing more. He did admit it was strange though. That Harry, whom he had hated so deeply and who had hated him was suddenly so friendly and almost key word almost flirting with him and appeared to have asked him out in some strange twisted way.

Little did Draco know, Harry was going over the exact same things. Except he was much more confused. He had to admit he had been thinking about Draco an awful lot since their last meeting. And having discussed with Ginny and even his ex (but still good friend) Neville it was clear his feelings toward him from the start. In fact, it appeared everyone had realized but him. That was normal though, he tended to be oblivious. But why had Draco accepted? He was joking at first but judging by the other man's face he was considering it, so Harry took his shot. Still half-joking but then he agreed? He had expected Draco to have walked away right at the start but he stayed. And now they were heading to a diner together for coffee, still chit-chatting about their day to day lives since school ended.

Harry also thought back to when he was with George. He had truly liked him, loved him even, but they weren't a match and broke up after nearly three years. It had been like this. He acted like this. And he knew why because he was always the same with his crushes/partners. He was like this with Cho then Ginny, George, Neville, and now Draco. And while the name never ceased to shock him (though it did explain a lot about his school rivalry) he knew it was the same as all the others. What was different was how Draco was responding. He was responding how all his other partners had. No resentment, no weirdness, just as if they had always been friends and this was normal for them. Harry had no complaints but it was still strange.

Slowly they made their way to the diner. Draco holding the door open for Harry. They ordered their coffees and began the conversation all over again. They talked about eighth year, finding jobs after school, Draco's marriage, what St Mungos was like, and if being a healer was something Harry could possibly look into (he liked the idea Draco raised of becoming a Hogwarts nurse), and even talked about their sexualities, something Draco had never done before. Somewhere in this midst numbers had been shared, and they agreed to meet up again at the same park. Hopefully not by crashing into each other this time Harry made sure to add. And all was well.

End.

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 5: What the Heart Wants

I was going to try to follow my scene-by-scene format for the entire season, but I’ve been getting a lot of migraines recently, presumably from staring at the computer too long, so I don’t want to spend all morning working on typing up the play-by-play for this episode.

Also, for what it’s worth I think this episode lends itself to plot discussion better than some of the previous episodes...at least in some sense.

And as another head’s up, it’s back to being critical for me. ;P

Storylines:

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

The Dress Shop/Rachel

Postal Service, Ned

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Carson and Faith

Henry

Elizabeth and Lucas

Clara’s Dilemma

--

School Ends/Graduation/Parent-Teacher Conferences

This plot felt a little scattered, but for once it wasn’t the kind of storyline they foisted too much drama upon. After years of every single function possible being besieged by bullshittery, it’s a relief to see one go off without a real hitch.

The beginning scene with Robert hugging Elizabeth was sweet. I enjoyed the Canfields immensely and am intrigued by Angela’s role in the story long-term (PLEASE let her befriend Allie!). Nathan...eh, I have thoughts—but I’ll talk about that a bit soon. The actual ceremony was cute and kind of fun with the kids singing. 

Neat Thing I Noticed:

Continuity? Cat Montgomery is still listed as Emily’s mother. ♥♥♥ I don’t know why but this made me really happy???

-

Complaint Corner:

Parent-teacher conferences should have been in this show from a much earlier point, and so should graduation have been. If there was a point to this celebration (the first year in a while anyone was old enough to graduate) that would have been a nice touch, too. It just managed to feel sliiiightly out of place.

I’ll forgive the “everyone in town goes to the graduation” thing because this is 1918...something like this would be a whole-town affair IMO. Invite everyone and have a nice get-together/party, probably on a Sunday afternoon after church but Hope Valley does whatever it wants, so...eh.

The threat of merging Hope Valley with other schools doesn’t fit in this scenario and it feels like they ripped it directly out of Tales from Avonlea which was almost rage-inducing to me.

Look, school mergers happened a lot in the early 1900s, especially around the WWI mark, but it wouldn’t be hitting a rural western town just yet. They don’t have any way of getting these kids to other towns for schooling. Where would the next closest school be? It would have to be pretty large and modern to merge multiple schools together.

*Adjusts nerd glasses* This felt forced and completely unnecessary. If anything this guy could be telling Elizabeth that they’re working on building a modern school somewhat close by, and could even have her involved in some decision-making regarding layout. Then they could bring in a “merger” storyline next season without it feeling out of place.

It mostly just felt dramatic for the hell of it, and it was boring, as was this man’s threat that Elizabeth had no right to teach a blind student. As if they’d accept Angela at a better school? As if her parents could afford top tier education for her? PLEASE.

Now it’s time for Nathan. The man chose to go fishing instead of to the parent-teacher conference? It makes him look like a tool. This isn’t about him or about Elizabeth; it’s about Allie. I understand why he didn’t want to go, but he should have done it anyway. It would have taken five minutes of his time. 

His flippant attitude annoyed me because it went completely against his character as we know it, but Elizabeth’s lecturing was irritating, too. For a moment I thought we had Lorigail back on the show...

I think Elizabeth was well within her rights to warn Nathan about the effect his work has on his ward, but that inquiry took like a week AT MOST. Heck, let’s be generous and say TWO WEEKS. Allie’s concentration suffered for two weeks. There was no need to say more than, “Hey she worries about you and her work suffered for a bit during that time frame, just so you’re aware.” 

I think what annoyed me about the math program thing is that...Elizabeth being a teacher would probably be VERY WELL AWARE that MOST of the parents to her students aren’t good enough at schooling to assist their kids with their homework. I dunno, it just feels out of place for her to tell Nathan that she wants to put Allie in an accelerated “program” and that Allie might need his help with her homework. It’s even more out of place when he admits he used to bribe his sister to do his work for him. Like. It’s very possible he’s not that good at math and isn’t capable of helping. (But maybe that will be a plot down the road...?)

“Or a tutor...” BITCH WHERE IS HE GONNA FIND A TUTOR IN THIS TOWN?! It’s super annoying to see dialogue like this that feels completely out of touch with the reality these people would be living in...lol. But also if she needs a tutor to stay caught up in an advanced program, she probably...shouldn’t be in the advanced program.

I don’t know how to feel about this whole thing here: “Nathan, you are Allie’s world. You’re the only father she’s ever known, and as she grows up you will always be the measure of the quality she’ll look for in a man as she chooses who to marry.” 

On one hand, it does fit the situation (he seems to think everything is behind him but Elizabeth’s words are kind of a caution that 1) his actions still have an effect on Allie, and 2) every day he’s teaching her by example). On the other hand, it seems almost wildly inappropriate to bring up? At the same time, it’s probably not wrong that Allie will measure other men (friends, acquaintances, potential future romantic interests) against Nathan’s example.

I dunno. The conversation felt disjointed. 

I think what they were going for was Nathan just feeling too awkward and weird about being with Elizabeth to want to be there for the conference, but...he interacted with her quite normally after the inquiry and stuff (even after she’d broken things off with him), so...it feels out of place. Like maybe this should have taken place right after the breakup and not weeks later?

Anyone else have thoughts on this and why it doesn’t feel quite right?

--

The Dress Shop/Rachel

This plot wasn’t what I would call a waste of time (rather, it’s worth having it mentioned now), but part of it was completely pointless and stupid. The whole Rachel getting lost thing was tacked into the promos to stir up drama, but nothing happened and there was nothing worrisome even going on. YAWN.

Rosemary’s desire to do something meaningful and different with her life is super interesting. I’m very curious to see what they decide to do with her if Dottie does sell the dress shop.

Also, Rosemary finding the book under Rachel’s bed was pretty funny.

But yeah, I didn’t really find much in this plotline to care deeply about. I guess I am pretty interested in knowing who might be purchasing the dress shop and/or if this decision is to bring someone else onto the show (a female love interest for the man who doesn’t win Elizabeth’s heart in the end, or even to bring back an old character*) or to take the dress shop out of the equation entirely... It’s also just as possible that Rosemary/Lee or Clara/Jesse end up buying it themselves down the line... Thoughts?

*I can’t begin to imagine who would be the best fit for this in this case, though. Who would have the money to buy her out?

--

Postal Service, Ned

Ned is just honestly so cute and fun. I love him. He’s really been doing well this season and seeing him wander around town delivering mail door to door was kind of nice.

Also, he’s one SMOOTH operator! Look at him, talking about putting a bell on the door so that he and Florence won’t be caught off-guard if they’re in the middle of...something. 

Oh my, Ned. What might customers be...interrupting? :3

Continuity? Not only was the ulcer from last season brought up, but the horrid cabbage juice was, too. :’) It was a nice touch. And these two had just enough screentime to be kind of fun/interesting without also taking up too much time.

--

Bill’s Uniform, Nathan’s Vacation

Nathan got his vacation and Bill is in charge...again. This happens an awful lot. I wonder if it’ll actually impact the next few episodes or if it’s just here for the hell of it.

I love Bill a lot and I want to brag up his character in this episode a bit. I’ve complained many times in the past about him being written like a Grumpy Old Man Yelling at Clouds but this episode was super respectful. He got his scene with his uniform. Nobody interrupted it. There weren’t even any words. I quite liked it.

But it also felt kind of...pointless? I don’t want to judge it too harshly yet. Like the dress shop plotline, this could actually be going somewhere in the next couple of episodes. 

Plus, unrelated to the uniform, it was nice to see Bill acting fatherly toward Clara. While it sort of came out of nowhere for the wedding, I appreciate the attempt at continuity there. Plus, so far this season, I’ve felt like Bill’s almost been a father-figure to Clara, Fiona, and even Nathan, so I’m enjoying that a lot.

--

Carson and Faith

CONTINUITY? The show finally remembered that not only is Carson actually a surgeon, but that was his original passion. It’s not that they completely forgot (S5 had him performing surgery on his sister-in-law, after all), but giving Carson a PASSION makes him a way more interesting character to me. 

And also, finally, this feels like a REAL high-stakes plotline for him and for Faith.

I really liked Faith’s take on things. I know, I know, I’ve been rooting at them to break up, but the reason is mostly because they’re just so BORING together. I’d rather watch Henry twirl around in a chair for an hour than suffer through date scenes with these two.

It’s not that I’m against a doctor wife/husband team. I’m not. I just think Faith was a much more interesting and cool character on the show before Carson showed up and usurped her place (and completely overshadowed her for literal seasons). This plotline for Carson might actually be interesting. Like, a fellowship? For modern surgery? IN BALTIMORE?!

I hope this is Faith’s way of saying she wants a break and/or a break would be good for them. I can’t picture her leaving Hope Valley without any trained medical staff, let alone long enough for a fellowship... 

But if this goes through, what will they do with it? Would they really write Carson off the show? To be perfectly honest with y’all, I’d be fine with that. At least it’s the type of write-off that makes a lot of good sense (unlike some of the other ones we got). I guess this is just another “wait and see” plotline which is uhh...the theme of this episode, huh? Anyone have thoughts on this?

--

Henry

Henry barely had any screentime, but I do want to say he is #relateable. The man is back at work for ten seconds and already exhausted. SAME.

Also, I appreciate that he’s ready to be back in the oil business. At what cost? I know people were worried they were gonna kill him off, and I really doubted it, but now I’m starting to wonder where they’re going with this exactly. Yet another wait and see moment LOL!

--

Elizabeth and Lucas

Some damn fine scenes for Lucas and Elizabeth in this episode. Mostly the scenic ones. :P

I enjoyed the agreement to a date. The horseback riding stuff was pretty cute. 

Complaint corner? I don’t know. I have petty complaints. Even though the celebration for the kids was a town-wide event, and therefore Lucas was invited, it still felt out of place to see it brought up. Maybe it should have been mentioned as a town celebration from the start?

Then Lucas’s comment about not wanting to make things awkward for Nathan (who is actually a parent and there) makes a liiiittle more sense. I do think it was good of him to not go, even though he wanted to spend more time with Elizabeth, but it gave off a weird vibe, like, “Look at how good and wholesome Lucas is!” Is that intentional? I’m not...sure...?

For what it’s worth I already felt like Lucas was an honorable person in this regard. He loaned Nathan money, after all. Maybe he should have told Elizabeth he views Nathan as a friend and doesn’t want to hurt his feelings unnecessarily and/or if he was there he’d want to hog her all to himself or something cheesy. Hm.

My other complaints are:

Elizabeth running to the saloon would be WAY faster than all this getting set up at her house...?? Who thought this made sense?

Elizabeth’s dress looked like a nightie she bought at Kohls.

Too many damn candles.

Characters Do What Plot Dictates Even Though Plot Makes No Sense. More at 11:00!!

I have no further comments on the dress. It needed sleeves or something so it looked more like a dress and not like a nightgown/piece of lingerie.

I think the candles might have been on purpose to parallel Jack...but I hated it lol. Fire hazard? HAVEN’T ENOUGH THINGS IN TOWN BURNED DOWN/EXPLODED?!

I didn’t hate the date scene! But I never feel like Elizabeth has any meaningful conversations with Lucas and it’s starting to drive me batty. 

Could we get uhhh something of substance please? It has to be surface-level nonsense on purpose. Right? RIGHT?

(And no, discussing a book for ten seconds on-screen is not “intelligent conversation” okay...?)

It’s really a shame because I’m starting to actually warm up to Lucas a little bit in this season but it feels like the conversations are just...kind of stilted and she’s not really into dating him—just agreeing to it because he’s the only option. 

And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...he deserves better than that. 

Don’t get me wrong, by the way. If it’s part of the story and it’s revealed as such down the road, I’ll be fine with it...but I always worry they’ll just skip important relationship milestones and/or important conversations and expect us all to just accept it.

Kiiiiiind of looking forward to the rainy date scene in the next episode, though. I’m Team Nathan mostly but I’m keeping an open mind and I think I might actually enjoy it. Hopefully they’ll get some good scenes together that don’t feel like this one did.

--

Clara's Dilemma

Clara’s fears about running the salon without Fiona...are legit. LOL.

Also, this little bit was funny (between Mike and Jesse and Bill):

Anyway, if Clara was that worried about it, she should have just...told Fiona no? I hope it comes up down the road. Poor Molly??

I genuinely don’t know how I feel about Clara and Jesse’s involvement in this episode. I guess it was okay. I liked Clara’s scenes with Bill. I thought the idea of Clara and Jesse buying into the cafe was a nice one. Jesse having “invested” their money and lost it all, though... They did a similar plot with other people in what...Season 5 was it? Or was that the start of S6? He didn’t even say what he invested it in? But he admits the money is all gone? 

I think that’s what was missing from that scene. “I invested it in X, hoping to make us more money, but it didn’t work out and we lost everything.”

I’m not going to criticize Jesse’s characterization, only because sometimes character "growth” doesn’t happen for the better of anyone involved. My biggest worry here is that it’ll be solved by the end of next episode....but I hope that’s not it.

Like, I think they did better with Frank and Abigail if we’re going to talk about a man who didn’t know how to live like he was in a committed relationship. It made more sense with Frank, too, being older and single most of his life. His bouts of selfishness felt realistic.

Jesse feels like he’s somehow getting worse and worse as a person as the show goes on. I’m kind of at a point where I hope he and Clara divorce, because he’s so damn selfish it’s embarrassing. He’s off having a beer while his wife works multiple jobs? And then he has the audacity to act like they should save money when he just blew all their savings? 

I’m sure it’ll work out fine but I hope Clara puts herself in charge of the finances at the very least.

As to investing failures, I liked how they did that with Henry and Abigail. That was the kind of tension and worry that felt natural to me—like she trusted him with her money after he’d proven himself untrustworthy ten million times throughout the years, and he failed and had to uhh admit that. 

Jesse straight up betrayed Clara. Which, if it’s dealt with in a satisfying way...I think can be a good plotline. I just worry about it actually being dealt with properly. That’s a huge stumbling block in a relationship. And why is he continually getting worse as a person? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. 

Gasp... it’s almost like it’s just plot because they feel like they have to give someone something every damn episode.

--

Which brings me to THE FINAL

COMPLAINT CORNER (The Big Boy™ Complaints)

The show has really struggled with finding its footing. I wish they’d take notes from better shows with ensemble casts (cough cough Road to Avonlea cough) without also ripping off their storylines (cough school merges cough).

My #1 complaint at this point in Season 8 is the SHEER AMOUNT OF THINGS GOING ON EVERY EPISODE.

I want continuity, so I want to see things happen naturally over a season, but my God do we not need to have mindless pointless crap in the episode. Rachel getting “lost” for ten seconds wasted literal MINUTES of screen time that would have been MUCH better allocated to basically anyone else in this episode.

And I don’t think it would bother me so much if it wasn’t also shoved into the promo like it was supposed to matter. It didn’t matter. Nobody cares. Why was it allowed to stay in the episode alongside stuff like Clara and Bill’s conversation?

Or Lucas and Carson’s?

I think they want to appease all the fans in every episode by giving them scenes of their favorites, but what did Henry sitting in his chair accomplish in this episode? Rachel getting lost? Jack not sleeping well/missing his mom? The school superintendent?

Did Bill trying on his uniform have to be in this episode? Did Jesse and Clara’s problems have to come fully to light right now?

When every episode is formatted like this, with 10 plotlines all interconnected slightly and going on at the same time, I feel like...nobody gets the spotlight they deserve when they deserve it.

I cANNOT believe I’m saying this, but this plotline for Carson, especially if it will end with him leaving the show for a while or permanently should get the focus it deserves. But it won’t if we get tiny snips of it here and there and then BOOM decision made because Reasons.

And again, I know I’ve said before that I want more continuity throughout the season, but... the best way to do that is to tighten up the plots. Have fewer of them per season and give more screentime to the ones you choose to pursue. 

--

Anyway, I’m still enjoying the season, but I hope they keep some of this kind of stuff in mind for next season. They don’t need plotlines for everyone in every episode. They need the plotlines they choose to write to be worth their screentime.

Sorry this was sloppily written and all that. Hopefully it makes sense. Very curious to see y’alls thoughts. Feel free to make your own posts and @ me, or reblog this or comment!

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Mage of Void

There are plenty of people out there who fear the unknown. Whether it be what lurks in the shadows or the brush, what truly exists out in the vast, ever-expanding depths of space, or something as simple as not knowing the secrets that lurk within the basement of that sweet-looking antique shop that all of a sudden popped up in your town, run by a sweet little old lady who always seems to have a bit of cobweb in her gray hair. You don’t know if you want to ever find out where she came from nor what secrets she keeps stowed away in that basement, which she so often ventures into when she needs to “fetch something from the back”, but whenever you watch her open that door and shuffle herself down the stairs, your mind begins to whir awake with words that paint the blank canvases in your mind. Ranging from the mundane image of a dingy old basement, filled with old, rotten wooden shelves - which really should have broken years ago - with brown, cardboard boxes piling up and filled the space, to the more dark and morbid possibilities. A flickering light bulb that hangs from a string, with a chain of beads waiting to be tugged so that the light may breathe once again and illuminate the horrors beneath. A surgery table, the typical metallic ones, with drenched, yet dry, tools next to it, and a person laying conscious atop that cold slab that will surely soon become their deathbed. A creature, or two, that hates the sunlight and so resides in the depths of the basement - perhaps even the vents - though you aren’t sure how it could fit all of those heads and arms and legs into such a tight space. But it could, if it truly wanted to hunt and stalk its prey before telling its owner, who is such a sweet old lady, “that one”. You don’t know what is in the basement, and it would be smart to say you don’t want to. A reasonable person would say that, but if you are not part of that group who would say no, then you may find yourself to be drawn towards the title of Mage of Void.

Those bound to the Aspect of Void do not fear what has yet to be explored, discovered, or established. They only see a possibility for something grand, new, and beautiful to be created where emptiness asks to be filled. While they may not fear it, the Void-bound do have a great disdain for intellectual authority, and often throw countless doubts on what others believe to be official truths. Most importantly, though, especially in the case of the Mage of Void, is that they are the universe’s secret keepers. The Mage of Void, much like its passive counterpart, is another interesting case when it comes to the Class and Aspect clashing together. However, while the Seer of Void was one who many people passively entrusted with their secrets, the Mage of Void is one who could easily be described as a morally gray person from the get-go. They hunger over secrets, lusting to gain more knowledge over the unknown and the secrets of everyone and everything around them. For some, this may sound more befitting for a Mage of Light, but do not be fooled. The Mage of Void does not do these things to gain answers, because the Mage of Void does not have any questions. They simply enjoy the feeling of power that comes from knowing something no one else does - whether it be the dark, forbidden history of a building or organization, or the secrets of all the affairs their boss has had. If there is an inkling of a secret to be found, it’s only a matter of time before the Mage of Void springs into action and chases after it, much like a predator with their prey.

However, this is getting quite a bit ahead of ourselves. What about the beginning of the Mage of Void’s journey? Specifically, what sparked this deep, never ending hunger for secrets? Much like the Mage of Blood, this fascination most likely started when they were quite young. Children are naturally curious, after all, but sometimes are curious for the wrong things. The Mage of Void was most likely the one who always wanted to be places where they shouldn’t have been i.e. their parent’s room without explicit permission or observation, the Janitor’s closet at school, the storage rooms in a grocery store, and so on. If there was a sign telling the Mage of Void to not enter a room, then chances are that they would proudly proclaim that the sign can’t stop them, because they can’t read. This would be when they were a child, after all. Keeping in mind that a Mage often begins their journey with a punch to the face and gut, the Mage of Void would most likely be met with a secret that horrified, scarred, and perhaps even traumatized them, but it would also intrigue them. They don’t try to hold onto these secrets for any malicious and harmful reasoning like that of a Thief, but it is undeniable that the Mage of Void feels a sense of superiority to those who don’t know the real truth of the world they live in.

From that point onward, though, the Mage of Void would slowly become more and more aware of the secrets all around them. There are some that, at least in the beginning, the Mage of Void would not dare go near for one reason or another. Down the line of their journey, though, there will always be some secrets that simply will not leave the Mage of Void alone. Constantly calling their name; luring them closer to discovering another horrific piece of information that very few get to see. These secrets are typically ones that personally affect the Mage of Void, and as such, it is oftentimes a rather difficult challenge for them to face these harsh truths. These secrets are ones the Mage of Void tend to struggle with accepting the most, because to accept it would mean allowing their sense of reality to falter, change, and perhaps even have the foundations crack beneath them. At first, these sudden changes may be terrifying to the Mage of Void, especially if these changes are so near and dear to their heart. Finding out that the dark secrets of a close friend or family member can bring great stress onto most people, and while some have the choice to not acknowledge it, the Mage of Void is not one of those people. They must face the unknown head-on if they so wish to complete their journey.

However, as stated before, do not mistake this behavior for someone bound to the Aspect of Light. The Mage of Void only cares to learn about the unknown; what lurks in the shadows, goes bump in the night, and what hides beneath the bed. They find solace in their suffering for this knowledge, because, much like many other Void-bound, the Mage of Void believes their perception of reality to be the clearest one. When there is a crack in the sidewalk, it is not the light that slithers all the way down that rocky and concrete chasm, for the light can only go so far. When the light cannot reach any further, that is when some people simply shrug and say that everything this crack has to offer has been revealed. The Mage of Void knows, though, that past the point of light within that crack is a world that goes far, far deeper and darker, for it is not the ant colony that lives in the scorching sunlight, but rather in the dark and hidden tunnels beneath the Earth. When there is shadow cast by the piercing rays of Light, the Mage of Void will do whatever is in their power to discover and know what horrid things lurk within the inky darkness of that shadow - big and small - while ignoring everything so blatantly illuminated by the Light.

The Mage of Void is one who often walks a fine line of being that of a social genius - capable of seeing all the secrets and lies created by people, if they so want, as well as witnessing all the hidden injustice woven in the world around them - and succumbing to the endless, existential expanse of Void itself - their mind becoming nothing but an dark ocean of ink, their head heavy from wearing a crown that is more jewels than actual crown, with each jewel being a secret the Mage of Void has learned. After all, what’s the point of seeing what the world, what reality, is truly like if no one will bother to listen? They have all of these secrets, all of this forbidden knowledge that they perceive to be the truth of all that is, was and will be, but when no one wishes to revel in the same ecstasy that comes with this superiority, it becomes a burdernous weight that not many people can bear. The Mage of Void suffers because, outside of fellow Void-bound, no one will listen to them.

While some of the other Mages naturally attract people to them, the Mage of Void is one who very few people would take note of. After all, Void-bound are often those who are easily missed when looking through a crowd of people, whether it be by the Void-bound’s choice or not. In a way, it would be up to the Mage of Void to approach other people and try to win them over as a companion. Although, when considering how Mages can often be quite erratic in their behavior, this can be quite a difficult task. The Mage of Void would only ever want to surround themself with people they deem as “woke” as them, as they have no patience in educating other people on what they have already experienced and learned. Chances are that the Mage of Void is one who lives a rather lonely life - not that they will ever care to admit as to how deeply it affects them. After all, even one who chases after the greatest secrets is bound to have their own. If the Mage of Void is not careful, and if no one has shown up to their Tea Party in Wonderland, then they might allow themself to become more further enveloped by the shadows that come with the Void. If questioned about how this affects them, the Mage of Void may either passively shrug and say they do not mind, as being alone only means they have more time to themself and their discoveries, or they may react harshly, snapping and insisting that it’s fine, that they’re fine, that the loneliness they feel is no big deal at all. In some cases, though, it is indeed the own Mage’s fault that they are left alone and to their own devices.

Although this analysis has mostly been for the Mages of Void who search for knowledge of Void, there are, of course, those who wish to seek knowledge through Void. One may think that this branch of the Mage’s journey is similar to the former. After all, becoming more aware of the secrets around oneself can’t be too different to becoming more aware due to the secrets around oneself, right? That is only partially true, but let’s explore why that is partially wrong. For the Mages who so choose to seek out knowledge through Void are, of course, those who have the harder journey ahead of them. While the Mages who seek out knowledge of Void simply dash into the unknown and darkness, the Mages who seek out knowledge through Void must first allow themselves to become fully engrossed in their Aspect. They must allow the bitter cold to nip and claw at their mind. These Mages of Void are ones who have already become part of the infinite, pure black of the void. They have gazed into it and have felt not one, not two, but millions of eyes of old, forgotten things staring right back at them. Sizing them up, judging them based on their own secret sins, questioning if they are truly worthy to gain such knowledge and wisdom. The Mage does not chase after the Void, but the Void chases after them. 

What the Mage does not realize in the beginning, though, is that they have already been caught and ensnared within the claws, teeth, beaks, tendrils of the Void. They have already been caught, and they allowed it to happen. The Void, as cold and distant and suffocating as it may be, is not here to bring about the end of the Mage’s life, though. With a price that only ever seems to go up, and up, and up, the Mage of Void may learn all the secrets the Void itself has to offer. It can not give all the answers, for it does not know many to begin with, but it can give a tool far more powerful to the little Mage: things long forgotten or hidden deep within the minds and hearts of those around them. For with these secrets the Void has given to the Mage, they may use them to twist the arms of whoever they want and bend the rules of wherever they go, but only so that they may get the true knowledge the Mage of Void so deeply hungers after. They are not as nasty or manipulative as a Witch of Void may be, but they most definitely are someone who knows how to get answers when they want them. After all, they may not want all the answers, but simply having the knowledge that they could make anyone fold and buckle with the threat of such secrets getting out is sometimes enough to satisfy the Mage of Void. At least to those who so choose to chase after knowledge through Void.

The Mage of Void walks a fine-line indeed, but it is a line, or rather a tight-rope, that they love oh so much. They think themself to be one of the bravest souls in the world to walk a line so taut, thin, and fine. Even if they fall, they know that they will fall like a true hero, for not many others are courageous enough to dare attempt such a challenge. However, once they reach the other side and have experienced the worst of what their Aspect has to offer, the Mage of Void is most certainly someone not meant to be trifled with. With one simple glance, an awakened and well-minded Mage of Void could know every last secret that someone so desperately wishes to hide, but only if they want to. Not only that, but they could so easily see all the loopholes and weak points of anything they so wished to target. Whether it be a single person, a group, organization, or perhaps even an entire system of government, all it would take is the will and mind of the Mage of Void to find the Achilles’s Heel of those who stand in their way. While they may not have many friends, on purpose or otherwise, those they do allow into their inner circle are those they trust the most out of the entire world. After all, it’s hard to trust many people when given the power to know everyone’s past mistakes, losses, and overall secrets. The Mage of Void may still feel that suffocating weight of the void atop of them, but when they have fully awakened and completed their journey, they are willing to bear that weight if it means not living in a false understanding of the world around them and instead becoming one of the most elusive and daunting people in their group. After all, the Mage of Void has nothing to fear - not even the unknown, or void itself.

[mrsgreenworld]

Son Yaz Season 2, Episode 22

"Adaletin Bu Mu Dünya" ("Is This the World of Justice?") aka Barren Land

So a new season came in like a wrecking ball. I've missed watching something that gets this level of emotional response from me. That's the beauty of this show - it played on my emotional strings from the very start. It is a different type of show now, however. In season 1 Son Yaz was pretty much a show about family, with all the mafia stuff being just a background noise. It may have seemed that it was Akgün's story and his found family. And in a way it was. But it was never just Akgün's story. It's the story of the Kara family as much as it was Akgün's. This estranged family comes together when this hurt and abandoned kid lands in their lives. The gift of family and love was something that Akgün not only got but also gave in return. That's why in season 1 intro we saw the blurry image of the Kara family, all four of them, and Akgün who was standing a bit to the side, like an outsider. And he was, at the beginning. Throughout the season we saw him close this distance, both literally and figuratively.

If we look at season 2 intro, it is something else entirely. The intro music theme is still the same but it's a reworked version, it sounds lower and more intense. The blurry image of this new intro is of Selim and Akgün, just the two of them, standing next to each other, at the dusk of the day. And I feel that's what this season is going to be about - the story of these two men and either their redemption or their further downfall.

But there is another pillar the story lies upon - Yağmur. These three are going to be the focus of this review. Let's get down to it.

Yağmur

I've decided to discuss Yağmur first because she's the first one we see three years later. I also believe that she's the one who had the strongest connection with Canan. Sure Canan was loved just as much by Altay, she was and always will be the love of Selim's life. But there's usually one person among our loved ones who we share a very special connection with. And I believe that for Canan that person was Yağmur and vice versa. That's why Yağmur is the one keeping Canan's memory alive. She dresses similarly, she keeps the key to the restaurant (that's named after Canan) under a flower pot which looks remarkably similar to the one in Çeşme. I even suspect it's the same pot. Yağmur has flowers in the restaurant that she takes care of first thing in the morning. In season 1 there were scenes of Canan watering the flowers.

It might look as if Yağmur has everything under control. She seems put together, almost like her old self. But it is the calm before the storm. It only lasts as long as she doesn't stop. Yağmur said it herself: if she stops, she'll start thinking about what happened, she'll have to face it and just the possibility is making her lose her mind. But this madness won't just go away, it's brewing just beneath the surface and it showed its face in the scene where Yağmur finally saw Akgün. She was absolutely unhinged. It's like after having been in denial for three years she was catapulted into anger within the first seconds of seeing him. That's the sort of maddening rage that stems from denying yourself a chance to grieve and truly experience loss. Yağmur's drawn-out denial is going to take its toll. She's clearly suffering from PTSD and from a glimpse of her in episode 23 fragman it's clear that it's starting to affect her physically.

I don't know what the writers have in store for Yağmur but right now it seems to me that she will have to go through all of the stages of grief and in the end find acceptance and peace.

Selim

And next we see Selim who lives alone in a secluded house in Rize. He walked away from his children and his old life. He left behind his vocation. He's no longer a prosecutor. I find it interesting that Selim repeated it several times throughout the episode: "I'm not a prosecutor". We saw in season 1 how much Selim's job meant to him, how something that he had initially pursued just to be closer to Canan had become his calling and a part of him. And now with Canan gone it's like that part of Selim is gone too. Or maybe he just killed that part of himself when he took his revenge on Halil Sadi. And the way it happened is the reason why Selim decided to stay away from his children. It was gruesome and savage and Selim understood clearly how that would taint a person. That's why he tried to convince Akgün to leave him alone to take care of it and that's exactly why he kept his distance from Yağmur and Altay so as not to taint them with his darkness. Selim owns his darkness and his sins. Selim Kara is not a good man. And he knows it. Now that I think about it, he was never a good person. Back in season 1 we saw what a shitty husband and father he was. Yes, they tried to redeem him and give him a second chance. He took this chance and, I think, he really tried to be the kind of a man who deserved his family. But the bitter truth is that he never deserved Canan or his children. And I think that Selim is painfully aware of this. That's why I'm not angry with him for leaving Yağmur and Altay. I don't love or even like him but I understand him. I'm also not angry that he involved Akgün into that nightmare. Selim gave Akgün an out, in the end it was Akgün's choice to stay. I'm definitely not gonna blame Selim for the choices Akgün made.

I've already mentioned that this season can turn into either a redemption story or even further downfall for both Selim and Akgün. But I feel that no matter which way Selim chooses to go - up or down - we won't see a happy ending waiting for him. It's clear now what's waiting for him. I believe that if we don't see Selim pulling that trigger again, it will be someone else's bullet that sends him to Canan.

Akgün

Or my sweet, sweet boy... He is a boy no more 😢

Killing his own brother, going to prison, giving up the love of his life, living on the run for three years - all of that took its toll and changed Akgün irrevocably. But most of all it was that horrid night and the choice he made that turned his hopeful and blossoming future into a barren land.

He's always been hot-headed, doing-first-thinking-never. Always ready to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. And the way he loves is fierce and maybe even a bit suffocating. And all of that hasn't changed. But now Akgün seems torn between being resigned and suicidal. He's resigned when it comes to Yağmur and the future he wanted to have with her. He's suicidal when it comes to saving his father and helping Selim.

I know that it's been pointed out in the show a number of times that Selim and Akgün are very much alike. And it may seem that what they did to Halil Sadi brought them closer together and made them even more similar. While that night definitely tied them together in a very special way that only the two of them will ever be able to comprehend, I also saw how in fact different Selim and Akgün are. And the ultimate difference lies here: Akgün is a good person. I just hope that he'll get a chance to become a good husband and a good father. The kind of a husband and father Selim never was and I don't think could ever be.

A few honourable mentions

🖤 Eray is the sweetest, most precious cupcake on this planet and he makes my heart burst with love and gratitude. He was so loving and affectionate with Akgün. From the way he hugged him and he called him "Canım benim" to the way he sent Akgün updates on Yağmur and how he comforted Akgün after the disastrous reunion.

🖤 I already said while I was live blogging that I really like the siblings role reversal they've got going on. Give me all the bitter moody teenage Altay who also has a picture of himself and Akgün from Canan and Selim's wedding.

🖤 Soner and Naz are cute and all but they're also incredibly dumb. Especially Soner who comes from a mafia family and has to marry a girl from another mafia clan. Her father is a mafia boss who's giving away his only daughter. And to make things even worse Soner had to drop the ILY at the dinner. For fucks sake... Where's your only brain cell? On the run with Akgün?🤦

And... That's pretty much it. I have to stop before it gets completely out of hand. Until next episode. I'm sure we're in for a wild ride.

[mushykat]

i am failing 4 classes

I’m sick and I don’t like it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I don’t like how it hurts to wake up. I don’t like how the feeling of hearing damage is the only thing grounding me to a plain of nothing but heartache and tragedy. I hate how much I’ve let myself spiral. I’m tumbling down a black spire that I’ve built for myself. What lays at the bottom will hopefully kill me when I connect with the waters below. 

Sometimes I want to draw. The picture I want to use to express the swirling mass of razors and burnt scraps of thoughts that plague my consciousness never turns out how I want them to. I don’t want to sit down and put time into something that I cannot love. It’s why I refuse to try and dig myself from the pit laden with the shreds of memories I hold on to in order to justify the horrible things I see. 

I don’t want to write as a career. A career path means choosing a secondary school, and it means going and applying myself to something. I can’t put the effort into keeping myself afloat in the sea of that of which troubles me, and yet I’m expected to weigh myself down with books full of repeated sentences that will suffocate me with a bad credit score and the inability to apply for a loan. 

I don’t want money to be spent on me for college. I’m going to do bad and eventually give up, like I always do. I never apply myself to anything like I should. I know better. As I sit and write, and let the crisp feeling of the screen sear the exhaustion ridden pupils I’ve tormented as such the night prior, I have assignments I haven’t turned in. If I can’t bother to not fail an 11th grade math class over my own impotence, then how am I supposed to swallow down the poison that is higher education. 

What’s the point of using flowery language to cover the corpse of what I write? What will the sprouts of tulips and daisies do against the rot of myself. Why must I try and work every word into an intricate tapestry to illustrate the images my hands refuse to draw. Why do I try to form the pictures my mind refuses to accept of what I see of myself. Why am I fucking sick? 

I can feel the rise and fall of my chest, and yet my lungs always feel empty. I can feel the beat of a heart cradled behind the intertwined digits of marrow that tuck it away in a forest of fleshy fat, and yet I wonder if I am truly living. Is this all life is to be? Am I expected to carry on in the future. Carry on and carrion are easy to mix up, I presume. But what a simple mistake for such a bloated carcass such as myself.

I feel like if I try to chase after the fleeting ideological wisps of smoke that arise from the coals I smother, and do in fact explore writing as a career, I fear I will run out. I think the only mirrors I can truly accept are the ones others have pointed towards me. The only thing I can see anymore is warped and distorted by the heat of a long burnt-out inferno that ate away at the only thing I could hold dear to myself. 

These little mirrors sit behind my eyes, and reflex off of each other. They shine beams of light to one another, as some sick paradox that I am too shaded to partake in. I want to see the light, but I fear what I may see if I allow illumination into the crevices of where I hide. The dark is cold and safe, and lets me shelter away from that which wishes to harm me. 

The world isn’t out to get you, after all. The only mantra I can remember clearer than the burning gazes of reflected disdain directed towards me. Are the shattered mirrors that try to piece my reality together warped from the heat of myself or others? I think I know who ignited me, but I would rather let the coals die away as I wish for myself. I envy the carbon lumps sitting in the sludge pooled at my feet. 

I am one of the ants that get burned alive under a child’s magnifying glass. I can still feel the heat enveloping me, and can taste the smoke as it hangs around my throat in a familiar noose. I welcome it, even. Why else would letting the smog from burning leaves powder kisses of slime and tar across my lungs? I relish the taste I’m left with. It is impure.

Impurity is the only state I know. Disgrace and dissidence is the only way for me to view myself through the shattered lenses that have been scratched and dulled with age. I wish I could pry them out of my skull with the screwdriver that sits in the drawer on my desk. Maybe if I slipped them out of my head and gave them a good rinse, I could have a clean look at the world around me. Maybe I could be happy. 

What’s to say they aren’t responsible? Holding tender orbs with a sheen of slime from the crevice they reside, smeared with the crimson shame that comes with self mutilation. I wonder if I could view myself with such an event. Could I get a good look? Could I watch myself desecrate the corpse that I walk in? 

Maybe my eyes aren’t the problem. The ants nibbling behind my eyes made my sight throb, as if what I’m viewing of the world is wrong. It’s never right, though. Maybe the ants are just more noticeable when I decide to grace them with acknowledgement. But they’re not real, of course. The idea of something being out of place would require something to be wrong, which there isn’t. I know because you told me. :)

I hate writing. It’s horrible and I’m disgusted with anything I read from myself. I do not approve of the venom that drips from my lips, and yet I refuse to pull my fangs. Maybe I could shatter the rest of my teeth while I’m at it. I could run my tongue over the raw indents where the abused shards of enamel I refused to care for would be. But since when do I care about taking care of myself? I’m scared of what I write. Every word is a little sliver of the mirrors that have cracked behind my eyes. The tears that fall hold shards of the reflective glass, and lands upon the scarred hands with which I type. I’m scared that the mirrors will be gone, and I’ll be forced to see the reality of what is before me in its entirety. And yet, I’m more scared of running out of escaping sorrow.

Why would I pursue a career in writing when I don’t know of what I write? Why would I try to make money off of a skill I do not have? What’s the point of humoring the idea that I can write? The illness that lets the steady drip of sickly ichor flow through me is the only reason I can type as I do. It’s the one who puppeteers this horrid poppet of flesh bound sinew and bone. If I am not sick, then how will I write? 

I cannot write. There is nothing to write about. Any of the scorch marks sitting heavy in my chest, and any of the burns lingering against my face from the reflected magnitude of the heat of the abhorrence of the mirrors others hold are from fault of my own. I am the reason I am sick, and I am the reason I refuse to get better. The feeling of the keys popping under my fingers is proof enough that I am not dead, and yet I let myself make allusions as to why I can only experience a dullness in place of stimulations. 

Every time I try to sit down and write like this, I try to crack a piece off of the mirrors. They’re melted into a grotesque putty, and it’s not delicate work to try and pry shards of it apart. I can swing and shatter the mass of heathenry, but then I would have to stare into the space between the shards. The spaces where I can see. 

How long can I chisel at a deformity before it is gone? Doesn’t the idea of writing to clear my mind imply that there's an end goal. That perhaps I can someday empty myself of the acid that eats away at the tissue behind my eyes. Doesn’t that mean that I’m the reason I’m ‘sick’? I don’t have the right to be upset. I know this. It’s my fault. 

The way others see me is the same, even if they claimed to have shifted their realities. Is it so easy? Why haven’t I done it for myself? I know why. I am lazy and prefer the glorification of necrophagous fantasies over the reality that the only rot in me is my own. The only poison that reaches me comes from inside. The bed of soil I rest in is free from mites and grubs, and yet I wrote. The only desecration is my own. 

As I write and try to put these pathetic ideas against a sickly backdrop of a fake shade of white, I can’t help but yawn., It seems to be tiring to do the most basic of tasks. Sometimes I wish that I could lay amongst the blankets marred with the imbecility of myself and not be roused. I want to slumber for the rest of time, and let the roots overtake me. Maybe as my flesh is eaten away and my bones are dissolved by a hundred rains, I could finally rest. 

I wish that I could bash my head against the wall and shatter everything going on inside of me. If it was in pieces, maybe it would be easier to weep under the rug. I want to hide it from myself. I don’t have anything wrong with me, I am just a hypochondriac that has done too much research. I know seven people who could agree with me. I live with three of them. Even if stories change, the words that linger are the ones that left bruises. Lying can’t fix the purple and yellow that litters my mind. 

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t like this. Sometimes I wished I was loved. But why would it change anything? I would be loved and broken. I would be shattered and adored. I would be coddled and ruined. What difference would circumstances make when I’m the one who sets the table against me? I’m the reason the betting is so low. I picked the numbers, and I knew what I was doing. I’m aware of the horrible things I do, and yet I do them. I know I’m failing classes, and yet I write with blurry vision to try and alleviate a fake weight keeping me from breathing. 

I don’t like school. I wish I didn’t have to go. But what else would I do with my day? I’m stupid. I’m tired of being told I’m not. I don't know the things people think I do. I only know things I can remember, and things that I care about. Neither of those apply to much. My mind’s empty enough that the few thoughts I can hold are the only thing keeping me from falling back into the static burning the edges of my subconscious. 

My neck hurts.

[lovelypersona]

Sunday (Akira Kurusu x You)

A/N: holy shit im writing for persona again who saw that coming!!! 

Word Count: 3,400+

Summary: You used to be friends with all of the Phantom Thieves. But now? You aren’t sure where you stand in their life as you sit in the diner, stood up once again. 

Commission Me

Where have you been?

Been searching all along

Came facing twilight, on and on,

Without a clue

Without a sign…

The rain comes down in thick sheets outside, the water smacking down on the roof and windows of the diner you sat in, undisturbed and dry. You had luckily made it in on time before the downpour started… but the seat across from you remained empty. 

Truthfully, as sure as the weather, you had expected just as much that he wouldn’t show. Akira, though only a high schooler, same as you, seemed unusually busy. Plans always seemed to fall through… but it seemed he always had time for the other friends he met along the way. Friends that you met, too, and you felt like you belonged with. Friends that were all dear to you- but maybe you weren’t as dear to them. 

You sigh as you run the tips of your fingers against the rim of the coffee mug in front of you. It’s been empty for quite a while, and the coffee tastes nowhere near as good as Boss’s. You were upset that your friend had decided to be a no show again, but you can't bring yourself to be disappointed. As stated before, you weren’t expecting anything different. 

Maybe it was silly to keep this charade going, you think. Maybe it was time to finally face the facts. 

Without grasping yet, 

The real question to be asked…

Where have I been?

You were beginning to feel like a porcelain doll. Fake smile, pretty hair… fragile and right about to break if shoved to the side.

Which, unfortunately for you, this was exactly the case since you met Akira. You could feel you weren’t ever a priority for him. Always shoved to the side… to be dealt with later at a more convenient time. It begs the question- what on earth was Akira’s priority anyway?

You had accepted since that rainy Sunday spent alone in a booth that you would never get an answer and your friendship with the entire group of misplaced misfits would never get better. If they wanted to brush you off… you figured you would do the same. Smile, say the right things, do what’s expected of you at the moment… but not a lick more than that. It was only fair. Why give and give when you are never given back? 

You felt hollow like a porcelain doll, too.

I’m a shapeshifter at Poe’s masquerade, 

Hiding both face and mind, 

All free for you to draw.

I’m a shapeshifter, 

What else should I be?

Please don’t take off my mask, 

Revealing dark…

“Has anyone noticed something off about ___ lately?” Makoto is the one to bring it up during their meeting in Le’Blanc. Everyone exchanges glances and nods and the student council president sighs. 

“They’ve seemed… I don’t know? Less spunky?” Ryuji scrunches up his face in confusion. 

“I’d say less energetic,” Ann butts in, “less… like ___. Like they’re trying to be someone else.”

“Withdrawn,” Akira says simply, the one word like the final puzzle piece everyone needed. Ryuji lights up. 

“Yeah, that’s it!” And then he dims down again. “But why?” 

“You don’t think something happened, do you?” Futaba fidgets in her spot, frowning and Makoto softly rubs her back. 

“It’s possible,” she sighs. “But I don’t know what it could be.”

Yusuke hums, a contemplative look on his face as he cups his cheek. “They don’t have family troubles, do they?”

“I don’t know a lot about their home life…” Akira says, and everyone else seems to feel the same. 

“Well, what do you guys know?” Morgana looks skeptically across the room, stretching his back lazily on the table. By now, he’s expected an answer, but as he looks at the group, he sees the lost expression everyone wears. Morgana’s ears droop back. “...I think that’s the issue.” 

Indeed. 

Moments of calm

Nothing left to be found 

A mirror right in front of me; 

That’s where I find an empty glass

Reflecting the sad truth,

It’s telling words not to be told...

Your grades were never the best, but they haven’t been getting better. They’ve taken a long steep dive into No Coming Back- This is Bad territory, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You never really cared about school what with their corrupt system and unfair teachers anyway- you only came for your friends. 

But you don’t really have friends anymore, so… 

You don’t know why you keep going to school if it’s only to look out the window and fail tests and wish you were anywhere else but there- seeing the people you love, being in their reach, and yet never being spared a glance. 

Home isn’t much better either. Your father basically hates you, always has, and he hates your grades- he thinks you’re a failure and he makes sure you know it every time you come home. 

You know you’re a failure.

For a second, you thought you weren’t. You thought, hey, I can do this. I can be someone- something-- if I can be with them.

But they’re gone, and they took a sacred part of you with them, so now you’re stumbling and trying to piece yourself back together. 

But you have no idea how.

I need the mask.

You don’t really care for Sundays. School isn’t in, which means you can stay home with your unhappy father or you can go outside and be all by your lonesome. Of course, the answer is always to go outside- you can’t stand the stiff and horrid energy your father gives, making anxiety swirl in your stomach all day. 

You’re wondering where you could possibly spend your day when an unexpected ting comes from your phone. 

Even more unexpectedly, it’s from Akira.

Akira: Are you busy today? 

You purse your lips and wonder what he could possibly want. 

You: Why?

---

Akira and Morgana sigh at your response. “That’s not really a good sign, is it?” The cat looks worriedly at the phone and Akira frowns. No, it’s not, but at least you replied, right?

“Just keep trying,” he huffs and types on the keyboard, trying again.

Akira: I wanted to hang out, all of us. Morgana misses you.

Said cat smacks at his hand, claws out and all and Akira yelps. “What?!”

“You can’t even give them the simple knowledge that you miss them, too?!” 

“Well-”

The phone buzzes, taking his attention away from his angry partner. 

You: Oh. I don’t know, don’t you guys hang out a lot? I don’t want to intrude.

You: If you wanted to hang out with someone, you should ask the people you really want to see.

Needless to say, his heart sinks. 

---

Akira: I asked you because I want to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t lately. 

You: Do you even remember last Sunday?

Akira: Why?

You: Then you don’t. You wanted to ‘hang out’ then too, but not with me. You had time for everyone else, but couldn’t even give me a message to stop waiting for you in the diner. 

You: Stop acting like you care when you don’t.

Sent at 9:33am.

---

There’s a hot, sizzling, awful feeling inside your stomach that reminds you of anger as you shove your phone in your pocket and continue to walk aimlessly around Shibuya- but with a lot more power in your steps than before. There’s another feeling besides that, just beneath the anger- a watery, upset and guilty feeling. You know you shouldn’t have snapped. 

How unlike you, right? 

You have to remember to play the part, don’t you? Act like you don’t care, act as a friend, act like you’re okay, act, act, act act act act- 

Your phone is buzzing but you can’t bring yourself to look at it as you- unknowingly- make your path to the diner and inside. You aren’t even aware that you’ve ordered a coffee until the kind waitress with sympathetic eyes places it down in front of you. 

A watery, broken sigh escapes you as you hide your face in your hands, trying to quell down your crying, but you can’t. Silently you weep alone in the corner of the diner, shoulders shaking and composure breaking. 

I’m a shapeshifter, 

Chained down to my core. 

Please don’t take off my mask, 

My place to hide…

“Why’d you call a meeting so early?” Ryuji yawns from his place on Akira’s couch. Futaba doesn’t look much better, more or less falling asleep as she leans against the blonde. Makoto rolls her eyes. 

“It’s 10.”

“Way too early,” Futaba groans, her eyes drooping before Akira smacks the table. The sound is enough to wake everyone up, standing alert and ready as they look to their leader. He drops his phone on the table, free for everyone to see as he frowns deeply. 

“We have a problem,” is all he says. 

It doesn’t take long for everyone to read it and for the facts to sink in. “Last Sunday…” Haru speaks. “It was raining, wasn’t it?” 

“Which means we probably went to Mementos…” Makoto raises a hand to her forehead, a guilty look on her face. 

“What do we do?” Ann questions, nervously tugging on her pigtails. “I… don’t think this is going to be easy.”

“The fact we barely know anything real about them and we still managed to let them down isn’t very encouraging,” Yusuke says. 

“I hate to be the one who says it,” Ryuji stiffens up, “but what can we do? Mementos, palaces… it’s bigger than them. We have to do this. We can’t help that they aren’t a part of it.” 

Everyone glares at him, but only because they know that he’s right. Except for one.

“You’re all hypocrites,” Akira hisses through his teeth, his expression furious as he gestures to his messages on the phone. “You all make time for someone! Makoto, you still talk to Eiko, and Ann still makes time to visit Shiho!” The leader angrily pockets his phone. “We all have somebody outside of this- this thing we’re trying to do. I thought you all cared for ___. Are they really so easy to push aside?” 

And yet, something curls unsteady in his stomach. Whispers in his ear, are you free of blame? Didn’t you do the same? Wasn’t it so easy to forget they were ever around?

Akira feels sick. With himself and with his friends. He knows it’s probably just the stress of school and the deadline- but their implications toward their friendship with ____ just--- he couldn’t believe it. 

“I’m going to go see them. I’m going to fix this. They deserve more than what we’ve been giving them.” 

What he has been giving them.

——

Alone in the diner, you begin to dwell on the past. It’s something you do a lot because it’s easy- the present is so sad and hard, so you’d rather think about another time when things were better. You still remember how you met Akira- and by meeting him, you eventually met everyone else. 

He had been studying in the library. Makoto was there too, she always was, but she had a fine way of tuning everyone out as she absorbed herself in her studies. She didn’t hear the relentless whispering from all around the room- all targeted at the new boy. But you did. 

How can anyone focus with all this noise? You watch him carefully- it’s a little hard since he’s hidden behind a cubby, and you feel a little creepy for trying so hard- but you want to know if he’s bothered. Does he notice how people talk to him? How can he stand it?

Do you think he’s studying, or do you think he’s planning his next crime?

The voice reaches out a little more than the rest- when you glare at the person it came from, they don’t seem to notice or care. And then you look back at Akira- you notice how his pen has stopped moving and his shoulders are stiff. 

So he noticed it, then. 

You knew what it was like to be rumored about and bullied. It’s not hard to become the butt of the joke in school- kids are judgemental and mean, it’s just what they do. But this seems too unfair… can’t you do something?

Without realizing it, you’ve walked up to Akira’s cubby and tapped on his shoulder. He merely looks up at you, a concerned look in his eye that you don’t blame him for.

“Hey, if you want to study without any noise…” You slowly start, “I know that the club room on this floor is empty right now.” 

There’s a nervous beat in your chest as you offer this to him. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way- you don’t want to get rid of him, you just want to help. You readjust your school bag on your shoulder as he refuses to respond. “Anyway, that’s where I’m going. You’re free to use it, too, if you need to.” 

Surprisingly, he stands up immediately, gathering the loose books in the cubby and putting them in his own bag. You wonder for a second if he’s about to dash off before he turns to you, a sincere look on his face. 

“Thank you. I’d like to go somewhere quiet.”

And that’s how it all started- simple as that. An act of kindness for your schoolmate turned into frequent study sessions in the empty club room, which gradually filled up with more people as the months went by. That’s how your friendship with them all started. It wasn’t the most exciting story, but you look back on that day and the ones it followed with a sad smile. 

The club room is no longer filled with the rowdy group after school. Eventually, it was just you- and then you couldn’t bear to be there alone anymore, and the club room became abandoned and cold. 

Thinking about it makes you want to cry again- but you think you’ve worried the poor waitress serving you enough today. It’s already a little past noon, hours flying by without you noticing it, and you should probably head home for the day. Nothing is waiting for you here. 

As you call the waitress and fumble for your wallet, the door of the diner slams open- hard- catching everyone’s attention as a dark-haired boy rushes through. Your eyes are wide as you realize who it is.

It’s Akira, and rather abruptly, he heads right for you and sits in the booth seat across from you. His cheeks are flushed and hair is unusually wild as if he’d been running, but he grins at the waitress even as he’s out of breath. “I’ll have a coffee, please,” he says. 

“O-okay,” she’s about as confused as everyone else, including you, but she hurriedly walks away with Akira’s order and the people in the diner collectively begin to mind their own business. 

Now it’s you and him- in the diner sat in a booth, on a Sunday- exactly what you were supposed to be doing before. But this time, it’s not raining. 

“You look like you ran a marathon,” for some reason this is the first thing you can think to say. Akira laughs, subtly fixing his glasses and smoothing out his hair as he does. You didn’t mean it in a bad way- he looks handsome either way. 

“You weren’t answering your phone, so I just ran everywhere I thought you might be until I found you.” 

Right. You had put your phone on silent. Wiggling it out of your pocket, as soon as the screen turns on you see dozens of messages, all from Akira. You instantly feel bad, but before you can say anything, Akira’s hand reaches across the table and covers your phone, forcing you to put it down. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I get it. I, uh,” he stutters, “I wouldn’t want to answer me either if I were you.”

“What are you doing here, Kurusu?” You ask him before you don’t have the guts anymore. Being here with him… It makes you anxious. You forgot what it was like to talk to him. 

Your choice in name visibly upsets him, but he doesn’t say anything about it. You feel it’s appropriate- you hadn’t talked in such a long time, you no longer felt that you should use his given name. It doesn’t feel right. 

“I wanted to see you,” Akira says. The waitress suddenly appears with his order, not saying anything as she quickly leaves after his quiet ‘thank you’, and then he continues. “I wanted to apologize for not being around lately… We’ve all noticed that you’ve been acting differently- but- we didn’t do anything. And I’m sorry.”

“Well, that doesn’t make me feel any better,” you frown, your eyes stinging as you look at the table. 

“I know it doesn’t… but I needed to say it. And I wanted… to spend today with you, if you’d let me. I want to fix it.”

You know he’s sincere- Akira doesn’t lie, not often anyway. He doesn’t lie to you- to his friends. Immediately, you want to say yes- please be my friend again, please make it feel better. 

But you can’t. 

“I can’t,” you say. “I… it doesn’t work like that. I can’t be your friend again while knowing I might not be your friend tomorrow, the next day, or next week… You just disappear, Kurusu, you all do. You all disappear and I don’t know why, but I can’t stand it.” Your hands wring together on top of the table nervously, your heart beating a bit too fast. You hate admitting it to him, but you can’t deny it anymore- whatever they’re doing, you’re not a part of it. It’s so painfully obvious that they don’t trust you, and it makes you feel like shit. 

Akira seems to be at a loss for words. The two of you sit in an upsetting silence- you want to apologize and make him feel better, but you can’t do that anymore, so you stay quiet. 

“Every… every Sunday,” Akira starts. You look up at him slowly. “Every Sunday, I’ll be here. And I can’t promise I can always bring everyone with me, but I’ll… I’ll be here. All day.” 

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” you sigh and he quickly shakes his head. 

“I do mean it. I told you- I want to fix it.” 

His hand reaches out again, softly grasping one of your own clammy hands. “I can’t tell you exactly what we’re doing… But I can tell you that the group and I… we’re doing something, and it’s dangerous. It’s exhausting. And I don’t want you to be a part of it because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

What… on earth does that mean? Your chest feels heavy as you hold his hand back, worry in your eyes. What are they doing that would make him say that- make him look so upset and tense?

“But I still want to be friends with you- you’re dear to me. I don’t want to lose you because I made the mistake of getting caught up in other things.”

You’re dear to me. 

Those words seem to break you apart. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry again today, but the tears fall before you can even catch them. You sniffle pathetically, holding Akira’s hand tighter as you cry. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. Before you realize what’s happening, Akira is standing up, moving around the table so he can sit beside you, still holding your hand. 

“Don’t be.” He whispers, his other arm wrapping around you and holding you against him. 

And it’s been so, so long since you felt this wanted- it breaks you all over again and you continue to cry, basked in the warmth that is Akira as he refuses to let you go. “Every Sunday?” You ask him, quiet and meek. A part of you is embarrassed to have him see you cry like this, but most of you is too overwhelmed to care. 

“Every Sunday,” he promises. And even though maybe you shouldn’t… you believe him.

[bonesthebeloved]

I'll write you bloody murder- intrulogical

Trigger/squick warning: mention of murder, blood, bullet wounds, surgeries (sort of).

Pairing: Romantic Intrulogical (they're married Y'all. Hell yeah)

Based on one of this prompt @chronophobica: 'Logan and Remus doing the serial killer and writer married couple trope.'

Hope you like it bud.

-

The little black bar on his screen flickered in and out of existence as Remus stared at the half-done page typed out on his laptop.

He was about halfway through the rough draft of his most recent horror novel and was just starting on the description of a rather graphic scene when he suddenly got stuck mid-sentence describing where the poor victim got slashed with a hunters knife.

He shuffled around in his chair, the thing a dark green colour clashing dramatically with the neon pink sleeping shirt he was currently wearing.

The apartment they lived in was small but cosy. Plants and soft chairs filled the livingroom. The large, jet-black couch and oak slab they used as a coffee table the centrepieces of the comfortable living space. The oak currently holding various notebooks, pens and cans of red bull on it, his coffee mug balancing dangerously on one of the armrests.

"Logibear?" he shouted into the quiet space, taking his eyes off his laptop too instead focus on the black ring around his finger. Twisting it around and feeling the words edged into the metal under his fingertips.

A few moments of silence and Logan's cool voice came floating back towards him.

"Yes, my love?"

Remus grinned at the pet name. He'd never get used to that. Logan, who as always so cool and collected and would be described as cold by an outsider having a pet name for him made him all mushy inside as if it was the first time he'd heard it.

He shook himself. Focusing on why he'd called out for his husband.

"What's the most painful place to get stabbed that wouldn't leave any lasting damage?"

"The lateral lower quadrants of the abdomen I believe. Both left and right upper quadrants have vital organs or veins that could be harmed if the victim got stabbed in that general area," Logan answered quickly. Casually. As if they were talking about the weather instead of where to best stab a person.

But then again. Remus didn't mind. Even more so he was happy that his husband knew all of these strange facts because it made it a lot easier to write out gory scenes.

He'd never wondered why his husband knew so much about murdering and torturing people. Or why he knew exactly how many organs a human could lose before their body gave up completely.

He was a medical professional after all. He was supposed to know these things.

Even if his loves fascination with killing rather than saving lives was a bit worrying at times, Remus didn't blame him. Would be hypocritical to do so even.

He was a writer after all.

Logan working in the medic field also explained why he sometimes came home late smelling like fresh blood while his eyes twinkled with something close to insanity.

It explained why the car was always spotless when he'd come back from long days or weeks even where he had to be present at the hospital.

What it didn't explain, was why Remus had found blood splatters on his regular clothing when he'd put them in the washer.

But he hadn't cared as much back then. Simply shrugged and thrown them in the washer. Having convinced himself that he must've imagined it by the time he'd gotten into bed and wrapped his arms around his love, nuzzling his face into the back of Logan's neck and breathing in the scent of home. Of wood and chlorine and the newly added blood smell. Of safe and slightly worried.

And when months flew by and Remus published his new book, itching all over when he had to put on a suit and tie and sign books and be nice to people, Logan had sat beside him, button-up as pristine as ever and his hand with the pure black band around his ring finger laced loosely with Remus his own.

And when a man who had been standing in line to get an autograph had cussed him out when he saw him next to his husband, Logan had excused himself. Saying he needed to go to the bathroom and walking away. Making Remus watch as he walked right past the bathrooms and followed the man further into the bookstore.

And when Remus heard about another murder on the news and saw the man's face pop up he'd ignored it. Shrugging off that particular feeling he couldn't quite place that had been growing ever since he'd noticed the first bloodstains on his husband's shoe and going about his day.

Shrugging off the cold shiver that ran down his spine when he found a little sticky note with the dead man's name and address on it under the couch. The thing probably having fallen out of Logan's calendar the day before when he'd come back late from work with that strange look in his eyes and a red smear across his cheek that he swore was jam before he'd gone to the bathroom to wash it off.

They laid in bed that night like always:

Remus in his briefs plastered against his husbands sleep-shirt covered back and face nuzzled into the back of his neck. Logan was completely lax with his hand covering Remus' own that were resting on his abdomen. Their rings clicking together when one of them shifted.

And deep in the night, when Remus wasn't even quite sure if he was awake anymore or simply dreaming, he looked at the back of his husband's neck and dared to ask.

"Did you kill him, Lo?"

And Remus would convince himself that he had been dreaming it. Starting on a new book and buying him and Logan a puppy for their anniversary. The setting of the fire alarm with his attempts at cooking and throwing clothes with the tiniest of blood splatters in the washing machine while acting like he hadn't seen the red splash.

Like his husband coming back from work a bit too late and a bit too happy while smelling of fresh blood as he kissed him hello was something normal. Like knowing exactly which veins to hit and how long it would take for the victim to bleed out was part of the job.

"I killed all of them." Logan had whispered back. And Remus had only hummed in response and wrapped his arms around his partner a little tighter. Intertwining their hands as their wedding bands clicked together and deciding right then and there that this had not actually happened.

And when the police were called on him because his novels were a bit too graphic and descriptive to be totally innocent he had sighed and let them look around his apartment. Dutifully telling them that his roommate had moved out a few months ago and giving Logan a strained smile and a kiss when he came back a few weeks later, blood on his shoes and a few scratches from where one of his victims had struggled on his left arm.

And he hadn't said anything when the new announced that bits of skin and tissue had been found under a victims nails and that they were scanning for DNA results.

And he'd stood in the middle of their apartment as they barged through the door. Logan whispering an I love you before three shots rang out and Remus realised that two of them had hit his love, one nestling itself right between his eyes.

The third had hurried through Remus his own body and shot out on the other side. Getting stuck in the plaster wall dividing their living room and bedroom.

He was vaguely aware of crawling towards his love lying still on the floor. The look of shock from when the first bullet had pierced his leg clear on his face. The bullet hole between his eyes seeming laughably small compared to the exit wound.

Remus was vaguely aware of making a joke he'd had one of his characters make when they had been shot as the special unit surrounded the two men on the floor and pointed their guns at them.

He was vaguely aware of the hilarity of it all. Laughing to show his amusement and getting another bullet through the leg as a reaction. But he laughed. The shock already having dulled the pain as he sat next to his husband. Hands intertwined and their rings clicking together as Remus thoughts about how they ought to have missed the lateral lower quadrants of the abdomen and hit something else that could be fatal right before he lost his balance and his body came falling down onto the floor.

An inch before his head hit the floor he was gone.

And the news report that morning went as followed: serial killer Logan Sanders and novelist Remus Sanders shot and killed when the authorities had come to collect them. The later was believed to have helped with the brutal murder of the 37 victims his partner had tortured and killed.

Though this claim would never be proven, the people had accepted it as a fact and millions of the author's books were thrown away or burned that day. Some people keeping theirs, looking at them with new eyes and telling a guest that came over about how 'these are the books of a murderer.'

-

Remus Sanders his last published book wasn't written by him but rather by a woman who had done excessive research on his case. Documenting his life and the way he'd fallen in love with a serial killer. How they came to be partners in the most horrid of crimes and the bitter end of this tragic love story. The victims of his husband and how the two behaved so elegantly at family dinners.

The book starts with the following sentence:

'The little black bar on his screen flickered in and out of existence as Remus stared at the half-done page typed out on his laptop'.

-

Taglist: @purp-man @crazycookie13o @deceitifullies101 @sapphire-knight @ragingdumpsterfiremess @chronophobica @lance-alt @mylifeisadeceit

[jae-canikeepyou]

| marked | j.jh | ch. ten

genre: superpower!au

a/n: italics in this chapter also meant dialogues. you’ll know what i mean. ^^ enjoy reading! ~j.

a cold hand caressed yours, waking you from the trauma. you flinched at the touch and it was too familiar to even forget. it belonged to jaehyun. you looked around to search for his presence except..

you couldn’t see much. they partially blinded you. light was still there but everything else was blurred.

“jaehyun? are you here?” you got off the leathered chair and swung your hands sideways. apparatus fell onto the floor as your palms wiped the cold surface of the nearby counter. soon hands caught your wrists, however, they were shivering; not from the cold but fear was felt in these precious hands. your body was pulled against his for a hug.

“if you’re here, why aren’t you answering me?” your voice cracked at the sudden the action.

“y/n i can see you, but i can’t hear you well.” he said with held-in chokes and sobs. “and i think it’s similar with acute hearing loss. your voice is muffled to me.”

suddenly he felt your hands cupping his cheeks. all emotions came to you. death wasn’t even in your mind at the moment as you realised how valuable it was. tilting your head to the side, jaehyun tapped it to assure you that escape was the priority.

“be my ears while i’ll be your sight. we have to get out of here before they find us again.” he then tugged you to be beside him whilst he led the way.

jaehyun knew the shape-shifters’ attempt to injure the two of you resulted in the fact that you both weren’t absolutes anymore. he had thought maybe if you and him weren’t absolutes but marked instead, your senses wouldn’t be as limited, that you both wouldn’t have to go through such horrid experiences that scarred you for life. he took glances behind him as he ran with you. the hallway and rooms were empty by which in a place like this, there were supposed to be people who looked out. he wasn’t worried about the enemy being present at a time like this. what worried him was that they deliberately chose to be absent. like vipers who hid and waited for a right timing to attack and make its prey stumble in its own fear. they wanted them to be aware that they were watching.

the building shook and it took a while for jaehyun to see the figures ahead, walking towards them. he didn’t see them clearly, but their presence made him stop in his tracks. were they the enemy? or rescuers?

pieces and chunks of aged concrete had fallen from above. the dust of once cinder blocks covered your heads. the place was about to give in. “i can’t find an exit.” you signed to him.

as the holder of death inducement you feared of taking people’s demise. and right now you feared of whether you would make it out alive. it was better to be injured than to not be able to see your friends again. “someone might be doing this, they probably knew we were going to escape.” you hear jaehyun pant.

hands of great force pulled you both to one side, and the rough ground surface probably grazed every part of your flesh. it took a while for jaehyun to see the figures ahead. he didn’t see them clearly. were they the enemy? or rescuers? inaudible conversations started to catch your attention. it was on every corner of the place you were dragged into. jaehyun still had his hand in yours, but his breaths were heavy that you couldn’t tell what he was seeing.  

“crap i thought they were that bastard wonhee and his fiancé boreum!” you heard a voice too familiar to flinch at his presence.

“so you just took whoever passed through our cell?” another asked.

“yuna, they might be their underlings! i can’t be lenient when we’re in the middle of possibly dying!”

yuna? she was here with you along with her team. but with them there was a chance that they could be shape-shifters who attacked you at the mountain top.

the moon as the only light source for now did not clearly reveal the faces to jaehyun, and seconds later little did he know he thought he wouldn’t be able to see them again. jacob squinted his eyes at the larger figure behind you, but the darkness of the room with a small squared window wasn’t enough to shine some light.

jaehyun felt your body standing up. he grabbed your hands and whispered onto your ear. “it’s bangchan and the others. the shape-shifters from earlier had passed from your power. i tell you it’s really them, my friends. trust me y/n.”

you refrained from doing so as jaehyun stood instead. “yuna, you’re seokmin’s girlfriend, yes?” they darted their gaze onto you. jaehyun did the same and wondered what you had told them.

“i’m y/n and i’ve been captured by the people from here. jaehyun’s with me too.” your sighing voice was interrupted with their bustled tones of hope.

“jaehyun?” they questioned until you pushed his body to the front. cries of joy and cheers slightly shocked you.

“you’re here! we’re finally getting out!” bambam pulled the lad for a hug, and the others had followed, for a group hug.

“he’s like the best in combat and for sure we can go home!” bangchan laughed in joy, that the echoes bounced from every corner of the room.

they waited for answer but jaehyun only stared admiringly with a sincere smile. their expressions of happiness replaced with lifted brows.

“we were captured because we were the last absolutes. they wanted us killed.” you said in a low voice where the rest of them gathered in front of you, all ears into listening like it was some legend’s story.

“if they wanted you dead, why are you still alive?” jacob had his arm crossed as he gestured to point at you. “unless you’re a ghost i’ll really freak out.”

“if i tell you, you’ll be shocked. but it’s something you all ought to know.” you smiled but sadness seen in your lips told them otherwise. the pause was an eternity to them, more than the waiting time that had for refuge. “other than us being absolutes, jaehyun and i are also called ‘marked’. we’re the holders of life and death inducement respectively.”

whispers grew from them but they weren’t questioning ones. “so you just.. killed the people who attempted to murder you?” lisa asked.

“it wasn’t by will. i couldn’t control it. if i could i wouldn’t have taken countless of lives in the past years.”

“she’s dangerous.” “give her to wonhee and boreum.” “i agree. we’ll all die if she’s with us.” “jaehyun stays but y/n leaves.”

jaehyun saw some of them taken aback. they had the right to be afraid at someone so strong and deadly. he then stood in between you and the others.

“i don’t know if they’ll believe me, jaehyun.” you signed to him.

“but they will believe me.” he replied back. jaehyun looked at his friends, pleading them with his eyes.

“you all know i’m an absolute for hearing. y/n came weeks ago and the system said she was like me; but an absolute for sight. during the survival game, shape shifters who disguised themselves as you all had attacked us, captured us and attempted to kill us because we were absolutes. on the bright side though, they only managed to partially deafen me and partially blind y/n. and with her as a marked, she couldn’t control the power she has. unlike me who could do it by will. y/n’s not dangerous, she really isn’t. if there was something to fear it shouldn’t be her. it’s her power.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

within hours of explaining of everything since the start, they immediately accepted you and just like that you were now talking with yuna. “how’s seokmin? is he doing well?”

“he is. though he still fights with mingyu every now and then.” you giggled. “he misses you a lot too. just before the shape shifters attacked us, he held onto the locket necklace, looking at your portrait.”

you sensed yuna tear up at the short memory you gave her. “i miss him a lot too. y’know y/n, we tried our hardest to get out of here. but seeing wonhee, boreum and their underlings, they’re on a different level. their powers were something i’ve never seen, nor do i know there were actually existing holders of those categories.”

yuna’s words made you remember the time you and jaehyun got separated from the others during the teleportation. it was simultaneously slow yet quick that you had no idea if that was possible. eunha’s scream still lingered in your mind and you probably hear that again if you were to see her again.

“someone’s coming.” lisa said so suddenly that everyone began to stand in their positions. her power was similar to eunha’s, where she could see sounds waves as colours.

younghoon pulled you and jaehyun just right behind him. jaehyun saw how you had camouflaged so quickly like the metal wall. he remembered how he was an adapter like seokmin and mingyu. he later saw his hands disappearing as well.

the screeches of metal made everyone in the room flinch to bend on their knees, where the underlings appeared like mist, searching for you and jaehyun.

“i don’t suppose you all saw a boy and a girl pass by here, do you?” the underling laughed seeing the feared faces of your new encountered friends.

“no, why would we?” bambam asked. “you locked us in here that we couldn’t even see the outside.”

“i guess that’s possible then.”

jaehyun saw the other whispered to the man, who obviously looked at younghoon in doubt.

“younghoon, you’re acting quite strange today.” he walked forwards slowly. “what do you have there? why are your hands behind you?”

“i’m just scratching my butt.” he shrugged, earning a giggle from his friends. “i can prove to you if you wan-”

“unhygienic as ever.” he scoffed. “leader wants you all at the grounds in an hour. you’ll meet your doom, and you won’t escape from here ever again.

the underlings left like how a television screen would turn off. the heavy sighs explained the tension and fear they had for them. it was a miracle that they survived here day after day without getting killed.

but that was day was today.

“he uses holographic projection but you could tell it’s rusted. so flawed you could tell he did not master the power.” sujeong rubbed her temples.

jaehyun turned to you with a confused look. he could sense something was wrong.

“your friends are scheduled to be executed. we all have to escape here and-” you signed to jaehyun and told him what they had said.

“luckily we have an escape plan.” sujeong giggled tiredly. “we could’ve gotten out before but every time we attempted, we’ve been caught several times with the previous being our fourth. so we waited for the time until they told us the day of our execution.”

“how will you escape without knowing the directions?” jaehyun asked.

bangchan laughed again, and his contagious feature made you laugh as well. “did jaehyun forget that i’m a manipulator for metal? i drew out the footprints of this building by touch.” he brought out a crumpled paper from his back pockets.

“we’re the elite team of the core.” jacob boasted. you doubted for a second until jaehyun had agreed with him. “the years before yugyeom’s team got the champion title, our team always won. we could win the survival game, so why not with this?”

“we’ll go forth with the plan. it won’t be a problem with two extra people. the plan won’t change unless something comes up. will you try your best to not drag us down?”

“i recently joined a team who won five years consecutively. i don’t see us failing you.” you smiled, and as the mirrored you, you knew you have earned their trust.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

| marked — chapter ten: locked-away pals |

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[crystalelemental]

Faye is cute but goodness fuck they ruined her character. Her characterization is literally: I love Alm. Her support with Silque is horrid. She has no aspirations except to stalk Alm. Even in her ending where she married SOMEONE ELSE she still spent her time stalking Alm. Like it’s awful so I can’t get behind Faye at all.

Okay, this is gonna be a quick thing that’ll probably lead into a longer thing, but let’s talk about Faye a bit.

First thing’s first: I don’t count the ending cards.  I feel like they’re often stupid or irrelevant.  Oh yeah, Canas died in a snowstorm, Nino and Jaffar ran off forever without their kids, Mathilda stopped being a knight to be a mom to Clive’s crotch spawn, and Sonia was turned into a witch while investigating what happened to her sisters after the war despite witches being the direct product of Duma’s influence and Duma’s dead at this point.  Even as recent as Three Houses they’re all trivial little lies.  Oh sure, Edelgard’s route ended in absolute victory against all their problems and everything was great continent-wide forever.  Yep, no negative repurcussions down the line based on creating an unchecked center of power across the continent that would allow any emperors that came after you with different ideologies to completely unmake all your progress.  No, definitely not.  They’re all dumb, and they don’t count.  If you really want to count them...why?  Like, I can’t stop you, but why?

As for Faye herself...listen, she’s an archetype.  Same as Tharja and Camilla before her, two other characters that aren’t handled particularly well either.  They wanted that yandere type, because Awakening sold really well and to this day they have no idea why, so they carried over the same tropes hoping to strike gold once more.  Faye was one such carry-over.  Is she handled well in Echoes?  No.  God no, not at all.  She’s awful to Silque for no reason, and the whole “ready to kill in your name” thing is awful.  But I kinda feel like...those are to establish those tropes; the undying loyalty to the main protagonist.  Alm isn’t an MU like Robin or Corrin, but he’s still the male character that they expect players will identify with, so of course he needed this obsessive devotion character behind him.

But also, just like Tharja and Camilla, I feel like there’s actually a decent character buried under the obvious outward yandere shell.  Faye’s a character marked by insecurity.  Nowhere is this more obvious than if Alm doesn’t recruit her, and Celica shows up but also refuses.  With Alm’s rejection, there’s an edge of playfulness, like she expects him to change his mind.  “Guess I’ll just be sad forever” isn’t really the kind of serious tone you take when you’re devastated.  But then he does leave, and when Celica arrives, seems a little more downtrodden, and asks if she can join Celica instead.  If Celica also rejects, Faye’s outright defeated.  “Right, it was foolish to ask that...”  She has zero confidence in her own abilities or general worth.  She throws herself into battles to prove herself, but at the same time, her reason for not following Alm against his wishes was she’s scared she’d be killed.  She’s someone who seems to want to prove herself but lacks the belief that she can, and I think this is a consistent part of her character largely because she shows the same things toward Celica in this interaction.

The other interesting part is that it’s not just Alm that Faye cares about.  She’s dismissive of Silque, which is odd, but when she sees Celica again after years, what’s the first thing out of her mouth?  “I’ve missed you so much!”  This is her romantic rival.  Even as kids, Faye had a crush on Alm, and recognized that Alm liked Celica better.  You’d think that an obsessive, awful character would hate Celica or never want to see her again.  Instead, she’s thrilled.  She actually missed her.  Faye’s people-driven.  I think it ties into that desire to prove herself; people are important to her, and she wants to be important to them too.  Except Silque for some reason.  I have a theory on that, though.

Faye’s dismissiveness is at the outset, where Silque’s offer of friendship is largely about wanting to talk about things “not for the ears of men.”  Basically, gossip, which just isn’t Faye’s deal.  Faye’s really direct about it, and comes across as rude, though I think a lot of the annoyance with this support is because it does the trope thing with “No, I just want to be near Alm” kinda nonsense.  By the end, Faye does apologize for being rude, but sticks to the fact that she doesn’t want to gossip about anything, but does want to learn more about Silque herself.  It’s not until she’s been around Silque a while and seen Silque’s persistent attempts to befriend Faye that Faye herself warms up a bit and starts to accept the offer.

Here’s how I think of Faye’s character.  She’s people-centric, but in the sense of wanting to have very close relationships.  She cares about her friends from the village, which absolutely includes Celica, but now all those friends are going off to war with enthusiasm, aiming to become heroes, and Alm’s becoming the leader of the army and drifting further and further from the group.  Faye doesn’t like that.  She likes her friends and everything about her life before they joined the Deliverance.  Hell, her final support with Alm is largely just about going back and living as they did before being her only wish.  Silque’s new.  She doesn’t hate Silque, but she doesn’t want all these new connections drawing everyone apart or ruining her hopes of returning to the old status quo.  She pushes Silque away because, as she’s said, she’s not interested in other people right now.  Alm’s the centerpoint of her fixation, but on a bigger scale she just wants everyone to live their quiet lives.  Once Silque’s been with them a while, though, Faye starts to open up a bit, and accepts that okay, she does like this person, and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one new friend here.  It takes her time to branch out.

Which I think also helps explain the fixation on Alm.  Imagine how this would’ve played out when Celica first shows up.  You have this close group of friends you really care about, and one in particular you’ve got a serious crush on.  Being a very, very simple boy, Alm responds to her in the same way he does in their supports; amicably, and without fully realizing, or at not acknowledging, what Faye’s feelings are.  So you’re pretty sure he likes you back.  Then suddenly, a new girl shows up in the village.  You have no idea what her deal is, but now the boy you liked is only paying attention to her.  While you’re playing with all your old friends, the person you want to be there most is off somewhere else playing with the new girl.  Given Faye’s natural inclination toward the status quo, this is a huge deviation.  It’s not just upsetting because you’re crush shows feelings for someone else, it’s upsetting because now the friend group seems split.  As the new girl sticks around and integrates more into the friend group, you get used to her and consider her your friend too, but your initial response is probably very similar to how she’d react toward Silque; dismissive and unwilling to even try being friends.  There’s even stronger emphasis on Alm, because he’s the one who keeps leaving.  I’m sure at some level, there’s concern that if she doesn’t tether herself to his side, he’s going to leave forever.  Her A-support is even all about that, asking him point blank to go back to Ram and being told he won’t.  And all things considered, she handles it well.  There’s still that self-depreciation, telling herself she should’ve known it wouldn’t happen, but on the whole, all she asks is that he understand she can’t just set aside her feeling for him, “at least until we part.”  There’s no hysterics at being told the feelings aren’t reciprocated or anything, and she’s even able to acknowledge that she’ll move on, it’s just going to be hard while they’re traveling together.  Which, frankly, is super fair.

All this to say...I get why people don’t like Faye.  She doesn’t get a ton of screen time, and almost all of it is spent talking about Alm.  Which is why we need support conversations in the first place!  Yes, Echoes added supports, but almost all of them are...frankly, pretty shallow and don’t offer a ton.  There’s also just so few, and one of hers is with Alm so we kinda know how that one will go.  I think there are pieces of character beneath the Alm fixation that can make Faye interesting.  Can.  I’m also well aware all of this is personal interpretation and extrapolation from scraps.  But because of this interpretation and those scraps...I dunno, I kinda like her?  Not a favorite, but I like her well enough.

[phantasmagoricreverie]

Hey there, I’ve recently finished a lot of Tourabu fics and all but will it be okay to request an lovingIshikirimaruxdyingfemale saniwa... my angsty ass is longing for a bittersweet fics

Ahh, thank you for taking thetime to send in this request! As to whether the saniwa is dying from anillness, or a curse, or something else entirely, I decided to leave it ambiguous.This ended up being sort of like a mini fic, at 1,459 words… In any case, Ihope you enjoy!

Ishikirimaru

You’ve known death is at yourheels even before you accept your appointment as a saniwa. It doesn’t evenreally register when you accept the appointment, but on the day of yourinauguration ceremony, you promise yourself to make as few attachments aspossible, to avoid the inevitable pain that those left behind would feel atyour passing

You’ve never really been afraidof dying (perhaps being alone when it happens, or being in a lot of pain, butnever of death itself), but it does have a weight that presses down on you,like a second gravitational pull. It’s something others notice about you, evenif you’ve become so accustomed to it that it’s imperceptible to you

You manage to keep your loomingdeath a secret (or mostly a secret, there have been times where you catch asword looking at you in a way that suggests they know). One the other hand, despite your best efforts, your plan toavoid attachment altogether fails. You’ve become attached to the citadel, orperhaps more specifically the swords that reside there along with you

Ishikirimaru is no exception to thissense of attachment. It initially starts as a simple interest, but as time goeson, you rely on him more and more, and as you recount how much time you’vespent with him, you realize that you’ve already fallen for him

Naturally these feelings are keptclose to heart. Even if your feelings are returned, you reason that it would betoo painful since you know you’re going to leave this world soon. You couldn’thurt the person you adore the most in that way

The weight of your death growsheavier and you can feel the day is coming sooner. It’s with alarming claritythat you realize you don’t have much time left. It feels less like a distantevent and more concrete, more real, and that’s how you know that you’re time inthis world is coming to an end

This knowledge ends up burdeningyou, as you wonder just when and how it will happen. Your health suffers andyou find yourself quite ill, to the point where you find it difficult to getout of bed

Ishikirimaru insists on being theone to take care of you. Despite the haze induced by your illness, you’re happyto see him; you don’t have much time after all. All the same, some lucid partof you curses as your heart skips a beat (or maybe two)

His presence reminds you thatyou’ve become afraid of dying, of leaving him and everyone else behind

It’s that train of thought thatconvinces you that maybe this is the moment that will come take you to yourmaker. The end can come suddenly, and that realization that sparks a fear inyou

It’s the same fear that grantsyou the resolve to confess your feelings, though you do decide to wait despiteyour days being numbered. You don’t want to earnestly confess only to have itbe mistaken for something arising from feverish delirium

Soon enough you recover, thoughyour mind is still a little foggy despite your body being relieved of itsailment. The oodachi asks if you’re feeling any better, and you say that youdo, and that when you’re certain your health is well you’ll be able to confess

It takes almost a full minute foryou to process the words that have just spoken. You blame your illness knowingfull well you’re too lucid for such an excuse, with the knowledge that it’sIshikirimaru himself that’s made you lower your guard

Now that it’s been said, you can’ttake it back, so you use the momentum your verbal slip-up gives you and give a somewhatmessy, but sincere confession of your feelings

It’s definitely not theconfession you wanted to give, but you think that it’s maybe for the best whenyou see the gentle smile that graces his face and he professes that he feelsthe same way

You’re incredibly happy, elatedeven. Then the realization that your mutual feelings for each other will makeyour parting all the more cruel strikes you like a dagger to the chest

It’s unfair to keep it a secretany longer, especially so to the man that loves you

While you’re being honest withyour feelings, you give another, more solemn, confession as you profess you’vealways known that your life would be short and furthermore, that you know youdon’t have a lot of time left.

You apologize at the end,reflecting on how unfair it is to have kept silent on something so importantfor so long

He seems saddened, maybe by thefact your life is bound to be a short one or perhaps that the time he has withyou is far more limited than it may be otherwise, or maybe it’s all thesethings in combination

The two of you start arelationship officially though, and you receive an embarrassing number ofcongratulations and quite a bit of teasing as well. It starts off a bitawkwardly with the two of you trying to figure out how to navigate therelationship

Despite the knowledge of yourdeath towering over you, or perhaps because of that, it’s a very sweetrelationship with very few problems, as the two of you are able to communicateclearly with each other. It’s a very solid relationship, something of a dreamcome true

Time moves on relentlessly, nomatter how much or how little time has passed, it’s not enough. But you knowthe end is near and that the hour of your death is approaching all too quickly.Although you had sent Ishikirimaru away on an expedition because you didn’t wanthim to be there when you died, you still can’t help but think it would be niceto see him one last time

You’re in your office sortingthrough the paperwork only those who know they’re dying have to do when hebursts through the door, out of breath, and the first thing out of his mouth isinquiring if you’re all right, that he rushed back because he felt thatsomething is wrong

You give a small smile, the sameone you’ve always given him, and tell him you’re fine now and that everythingwill be all right. Even though it’s the end, despite everything, you’re happyto see him, even if he isn’t spared the horrid experience of watching you dielike you wanted

The look of his face is that of aman absolutely crushed when he realizes the meaning behind your words and youcan feel some part of your heart die with him as he knows you’ll be goneforever and soon

He gently closes the door behindhim and makes his way to your side, taking you into his arms

For a short while, you stay inhis arms, trying to memorize every detail about him before you go, so that maybe,just maybe, some part of you will remember what he looked like, what he feltlike, all the little details. You want to carry at least one small piece of himwith you, as selfish as it might be

And then you feel it, it’s likethe dagger in your chest you felt when you had confessed, but more final thistime. There’s a fear that seizes you, as if that metaphorical dagger tore open somepart of you and released those feelings

You admit that you’re scared andyou don’t want to go, that you haven’t since meeting him, because Ishikirimarumakes you want to live and that is scarier than your inevitable death. He reassuresyou that he’s here for you, that he’ll be here until the end

He wishes there is some way hecan make it easier for you, but he knows he can’t. This is one journey you mustundertake alone

Your awareness of the worldaround you gradually fades, until you can no longer hear the ruckus of thetantou, to the point where you are only vaguely aware of the warmth of the manholding you.

Your lucidity vanishes soonafter, only vaguely aware of Ishikirimaru trying to support and comfort upuntil the final moment like he said. You wish you could tell him that you areglad to be loved by him, but your body doesn’t seem to want to listen to youand then you’re gone

Ishikirimaru stays there for awhile, holding your cooling body in his arms, softly calling your name, but it’stoo late; it’s always been too late, and you’ve already gone somewhere far, toa place where he may never be able to reach