#i was also having somewhat of an anxiety attack but i’m sure that’s unrelated

[mediumgayitalian]

managed to finish the mean fic i mentioned last night sorry will

[ymiwritesstuff]

A Traitor to The Country

This was requested by the wonderful @fortune-fool02, I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for once again requesting!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Valentine’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: You had your suspicions about the Steel Ball Run race and those suspicions only grew once you entered said race. However your travels almost come to an end when your biggest secret is revealed.

Notes: Spoilers for Part 7

The Steel Ball Run race was no ordinary race as it was filled with unexpected and dangerous events that forced the unfit racers to retire early on. Every day survival was the main objective and the constant enemy stand attacks kept you on edge the entire time. You had your suspicions about the race from the very beginning and your father’s desire to keep you far away from it led you to believe that the race had a deeper purpose. And your desire to find out exactly what that purpose was, caused you to sneak out of the watchful eyes of your father and join Steel Ball Run.

You had to stay cautious not only due to the dangerous mystery surrounding the true purpose of the race but also because you absolutely had to keep your identity hidden as your father would follow the course of the race, keeping his eyes on the thing he was pursuing, which you later found out to be the Holy Corpse. Still, you had to thank your father for not allowing you to appear in public too much. Valentine preferred to keep his personal life and relations hidden away to maintain his strong presence as the President and thanks to this, you could somewhat rest easy knowing that the common folk wouldn’t be able to recognize you.

And fortunately for you the two males you found yourself traveling with, Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli, didn’t know of your true identity and that’s how it was supposed to be. All they needed to know was that you were an ally helping them to find the corpse parts. The only thing you cared about was keeping the Holy Corpse away from your father as during the race you had quickly realized just how much blood he was willing to shed as the assassins he sent out were more than willing to put an end to the three of you.

Leaving your usual boring surroundings also gave you an opportunity to feel an immense sensation of freedom as well as a feeling of thrill and excitement you had never experienced. Even though your mission was under quite grim circumstances, you had to admit, this was.. Refreshing. Being in Johnny and Gyro’s company was definitely delightful, though you found yourself growing closer with the latter.

Gyro was.. Interesting, to say the least. You weren’t even sure why he attracted you so much, but there was just something about him that caught your eye. He was cocky, reckless and sometimes downright rude, but one thing was clear, he was determined to get his hands on the corpse and you had promised to help him in any way you could. However you could never let him know about your relation to the President as you were sure the Italian would not take the news well. And that thought of him finding out scared you more than you thought.

~

The heavy rain poured on you, the thunder distantly rumbling around you and the two males. Blackmore’s heavy breathing could be heard even through the piercing sound of the rain, the man laying on the ground with blood spilling from his fresh wounds, his stand that took the form of a mask, shattered. He would die soon. You glance over at Lucy, who was crying uncontrollably, seemingly traumatized from the recent events. Poor girl. You were fortunate that she hadn’t recognized your features that you were hiding under a hood, but still, your heart was hammering in your chest, an uneasy feeling slowly absorbing you.

Blackmore spits out more blood, which makes your eyes look at him. So this was yet another stand user your father had sent after you? They were getting more and more powerful and you already dreaded the thought of having to fight more of them or even your father himself.

The uneasy feeling bugging you only increases when your father’s henchman locks his eyes with yours, immediately making something ignite within them. “Y-you..” His trembling hand stretches and points at you, making your eyes widen. No. Please no. You grab the edge of your hood and pull it, in an attempt to hide your face more. This doesn’t seem to work though as the man before you continues his attempt to utter words:

“Th-the President’s.. d-daughter.. i-is-” Suddenly, the loud sound of a gunshot rips through the air and Blackmore finally goes limp, blood leaking from the new would on his head. The three others look at you, shock plastered across their features. Your hand that holds the pistol is trembling, smoke rising from the muzzle and your breathing is almost as heavy as the now fading rain once was. Your heart is pounding so hard it feels as if it’s about to rip through your ribcage. This was bad. Your secret had just been revealed and you know for a fact Gyro had heard those quiet words of the now deceased man.

“What he hell did he just say?!” Gyro looks at you, but you’re unable to look back at him as you’re too focused on processing what just had happened. A sudden breeze blows your hood away almost intentionally, revealing your features that you’re sure the blonde girl next to you recognizes. Your guess is confirmed to be true when you hear her quiet gasp.

“You’re.. (Name) Valentine. President Valentine’s daughter.” Lucy’s words painfully pierce you and your identity is revealed and confirmed to Johnny and Gyro. Your eyes quickly move to look at the Italian, his enraged and shocked expression painfully burning your insides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“So you’re telling me that you are that asshole’s daughter?! Look at me and tell me that’s not true (Name)!” Gyro’s voice is mixed with disbelief and anger, twisting your stomach in increasing anxiety. Your mouth stays shut and you can already feel the tears start to form in your (E/C) eyes. If only you could say that it was not true but no words come out of your mouth, only increasing Gyro’s frustration. 

“Gyro.. Please.. I’m sorry..” Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you just tell him? It would’ve at least been better than this. He was angry, not only about the fact that you were related to his biggest enemy but also because you had kept all of it a secret from him. Gyro felt betrayed and being lied to was definitely something he didn’t tolerate well. How was he supposed to know that you weren’t going to kill him and Johnny?

“Sorry?! Yeah, now you’re sorry ‘cause your little secret has finally been revealed!” Hearing his words only increase the amount of guilt you feel, your fast heartbeat ringing in your ears like a loud bell. You can’t say anything. What can you say? Sorry? That didn’t seem to work. You understand Gyro’s anger and can only blame yourself for causing it. A part of you just wishes to disappear and retreat back to your normal life. No. You can’t just give in. You have gotten this far and you had to do something.

“I never meant any harm! Please Gyro, I just want to make sure the corpse doesn’t end up in my father’s hands!” Your promise to help Gyro was genuine and you were determined to keep your promise. You would never do anything to harm him or Johnny and right now, the true challenge was convincing Gyro that you were not an enemy as the understandably probably thought.

“My father is a horrible person and I will not allow him to get the corpse.” You force your tears away and replace them with a determined gaze you without a doubt inherited from your father and focus that gaze on the Italian. “He may think his actions are those of justice but he has spilled far too much innocent blood and I refuse to just stand by and do nothing!” Gyro stays quiet and those tiny flecks of anger were still more than apparent in his emerald green eyes but the good thing is that he’s listening to you and hopefully also believing your words.

“So please, Gyro.. Let me stay by your side..” It was thanks to Gyro and Johnny that you had been able to get this far and if they were to abandon you now, you would never be able to accomplish your mission. You wanted to help them. Help him.

Gyro looks at you and notices your unrelenting gaze that seems to drill itself into the deepest parts of his mind. He recalls the time he met you and remembers you holding that same look in your eyes, only now it seems much more intense. You had shown no signs of aggression and he has never felt unsafe when around you. If you were an enemy, you would have already killed them. He has always deemed himself to be good at reading people and right now, your expression holds no signs of malice or wickedness.

With a sigh, he mounts Valkyrie yet again and returns his gaze to you. “We should get going. If you want to keep those corpse parts out of your father’s reach, you have to find the parts first.” When your face lits up in utter disbelief Gyro can’t help but to crack a small smile. He always felt strange warmth coating his insides whenever you were happy or excited and this time was no exception. You mount (Horse’s name) and look at Gyro once again, eternally grateful for allowing you to continue your travels with him and Johnny. You were a traitor to your father and your country, but you had promised yourself to not let anything deter you.

Even though Gyro was frustrated just a moment ago, he’s delighted to realize that you were nothing like your father and secretly hopes to see you surpass him and hopefully kick his ass as you had just shown how well you can wield a gun.

..Or maybe the latter is something he’d do himself.

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The Murdock Papers, Part 2

Bendis is going out with a bang, y’all! This is the back half of “The Murdock Papers” (DD v2 76-81), Bendis/Maleev. In Part 1, Matt and Elektra were on the hunt for the titular Murdock Papers, a file of proof the Kingpin had amassed that proved Daredevil’s identity. They’re in the middle of brawling in the street with Bullseye when Matt is shot by a sniper working for the FBI.

...And then he vanishes before the FBI can collect him.

Oh, and also? Fisk has a little surprise for everyone:

There are no Murdock Papers! But if they find Matt Murdock and he has a bullet wound exactly where Daredevil was just shot, well...that’s even better, isn’t it?

(Side note: I have absolutely no idea how a file proving that Matt Murdock is Daredevil would have kept Fisk’s underlings in line, especially since Fisk was under the impression that his underlings didn’t even know Matt’s secret until recently, as per Bendis’s own storyline. This strikes me as Bendis writing himself into a hole and climbing out somewhat inelegantly three issues later.)

Meanwhile, Milla is still naked:

All Milla really does from here on out is have hysterics. I’m sorry. Anyway Natasha is there to get Milla to safety, as she promised Matt she would, but Milla is understandably distracted and upset by the news story that Daredevil is dead.

Back to the FBI! The problem with using the bullet wound as proof that Matt is Daredevil is that they have no idea where Matt is. But Fisk has a guess - or rather, he’s pretty sure that Ben knows.

See, Elektra would undoubtedly have taken a wounded Matt to the Night Nurse. And Ben knows how to find the Night Nurse:

Yeah, Leland has gone completely off the rails here. Ben is furious (he actually physically attacks Fisk, which is why the FBI is holding him in the first panel up there), but he’s still faced with a choice: give up Matt, or face federal charges.

Meanwhile, Luke and Danny take Foggy somewhere safe to hole up:

I don’t know who this cheerful hausfrau is, but she’s not Jessica “Fuck You” Jones. I’m guessing her fuller figure is meant to imply that she’s currently pregnant, but that doesn’t explain the a) babushka and peasant scarf, b) completely different face, and c) pleasant demeanor. But then, Foggy looks like an unemployed garment worker from 1890 in that top right panel, so who even knows what’s happening here.

Anyway now both of Matt’s spouses know he’s “dead.” Anxiety abounds!

Well, actually, Milla has the advantage over Foggy, because Natasha has taken her to the Night Nurse’s clinic, so she knows that Matt is dying but not actually dead. Also, Elektra has shown up with the Hand, which she is currently in charge of, because we need another reason to have a bunch of women screaming at each other over Matt. Luckily the Hand has ~mystic healing powers~ which they are using on Matt:

God, how much would I love a scene with this many women without the arbitrary hostility and Orientalism? (I would totally buy organic hostility between Natasha and Elektra based on their jobs. But not based on Matt, who Natasha knows - and Elektra knows intellectually if not emotionally - is not worth it.)

WAIT LOOK AT THAT LAST PANEL, OH DANG BEN TOLD THE FBI WHERE MATT IS

Hey, you know who’s outside with the FBI? A whole bunch of Hand assassins, who are not just going to let the FBI round them up! Which means they start fighting the FBI. Which means Luke and Danny, who have just arrived with Foggy, stuff Foggy back in the car and start fighting the FBI, because even though technically the Hand is currently on Matt’s side, Luke and Danny can’t let FBI agents be killed by zombie assassins.

So to recap: FBI fighting the Hand fighting Luke and Danny outside, Milla having hysterics inside, Foggy having hysterics in a car, Natasha and Elektra are also there somewhere, and Matt, having regained consciousness, decides that enough is enough. There’s too much risk of someone getting seriously hurt here.

So he turns himself in:

Natasha keeps Luke and Danny out of jail, but there’s nothing she can do for Matt. And so:

AW BUDDY. :(

The last issue of this storyline begins at Matt’s arraignment. The judge asks Matt what he pleads and Matt absolutely spaces out, leaving Foggy, as always, carrying the ball:

DO NOT DO THIS TO FOGGY, MATTHEW, DO NOT...

Aw beans, you did it.

Matt makes his way to a rendezvous point and meets up with two of his girls and arguably the silliest accessory he has ever worn, Mike era included:

Please note that Matt has dyed his hair black to enter France, as is tradition. Also, he and Milla look so stereotypically Parisian right now that they are probably actively offensive to the French. Natasha why did you do this to them.

ANYWAY WHO CARES, LOOK AT THAT DIALOGUE. “Tell him I love him.” “He knows.” “He might now.” I’M CRYING.

Matt’s blissful life as a fugitive is cut short almost immediately, though, as he wakes in the middle of the night to find Milla lying dead beside him. (I decided to spare y’all the sight of yet another murdered woman in these recaps.) It’s Bullseye, of course, who has tracked Matt down. Matt pursues him, and in the ensuing fight does the unthinkable (but arguably necessary):

Unfortunately for Matt, there are witnesses, who run off shouting in what I’m pretty sure is grammatically incorrect French. Matt flees to the only person who will take him in:

Speaking of walking sartorial stereotypes, hoo boy Elektra’s outfit.

Anyway, Matt and Elektra have sex, but he quickly decides he can’t stay with her for long:

Wait, what’s this? Why is Elektra referring to Matt as “Mister Murdock” in the last panel?

BECAUSE NONE OF IT EVER HAPPENED!!! Matt is still standing in court deciding how to plead!

I find this whole sequence simultaneously utterly hilarious and utterly infuriating. This is what’s going through Matt’s mind? “What if I ran away? Milla and I could move to France. But then Bullseye would probably kill her. Then I’d have to kill him, and then I’d have to go to Elektra, and then we’d have a sex scene which I will now imagine in detail, and then...” Why are you fantasizing about unrelated murder and having sex with your ex-girlfriend right now, Matt??? This is so off the rails. It's like a dead serious Simpsons gag. It’s an R-rated If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Also, please bear in mind that that sequence above takes up almost the whole issue. If I’d waited a month for that issue and paid for it individually instead of binge reading on Marvel Unlimited, I’d be furious.

Moving on! Matt’s been to Japan 7 times in the past 7 years? We’ve only ever seen one trip, and that was way back in the O’Neil run. But sure.

Matt is denied bail. His friends are dismayed:

WHO BOUGHT STEVE THAT TERRIBLE TIE. WHO DID THAT TO HIM.

Matt is carted back to Rikers Island, but he’s not the only one:

Sure, they dropped the charges against Fisk, but there’s always new stuff to charge him with! And so Fisk is packed off to Rikers (the real world NYC jail, FYI), along with the Owl, and a couple other familiar friends we’ll see in the next storyline.

(When I first described the conclusion of this storyline to @puzzleboat​, she sent me the following image, and I still find it highly accurate and hilarious:

Apologies to anyone not old enough to remember that extremely controversial series finale.)

Hmm, locked in a prison with tons of people with good reason to hate him, including several of his rogues? Doesn’t look good for Matt, does it?

Next up: The Devil in Cell Block D, and the death of Foggy Nelson.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 2

Lily of the Lamplight by George deValier

Gilbert sat on the hard, bare bed, rubbing his swollen jaw and staring impatiently at the locked door. The night had passed fairly quickly, thanks to a quiet room and a near concussion. Strangely enough, locked in this provisional cell with a battered face, an aching back, and a death sentence, Gilbert had slept better than he had in months. But now the cold Russian sun filtered lazily through the wood-barred window, reality started to set in, and Gilbert sat waiting to be thrown into a prison truck and sent to his final posting. He almost laughed. Four years. Four years he'd survived the war in Europe. Four goddamn years of killing Brits, killing Russians; of avoiding bullets and dodging bayonets; of pissing off every superior officer who came his way. Four bloody, tiring, sickening years Gilbert had survived; and one damned hour after meeting that prissy Austrian, he was sentenced to a prison unit.

Gilbert normally wouldn't have given a shit about some soldiers staring and gossiping about a new recruit. Hell, if he were bored he probably would have joined them. Whether fortunately or unfortunately however, it was hard to forget a face like that, and Gilbert immediately recognised the beautiful Austrian sitting alone and wary in the mess hall. He had no idea what a rich, upper class musician could have done to end up in a German base on the front lines, but Gilbert felt immediately furious about it. After everything Elizaveta had done to protect this fool, after the man had been lucky enough to hide his Jewish heritage and avoid a work camp, he'd gone and gotten himself sent to the Russian Front. Gilbert was pretty damn sure Eliza had not given this man her name and fled to Switzerland so he could die at the hands of the Russians.

Gilbert sighed wearily, tapped his foot on the ground, and peered around the window bars to see how high the sun was in the sky. It was no use. Dark grey clouds obscured most of the light overhead. Impatience and boredom ate at his mind where perhaps fear and anxiety belonged. But he'd been in worse situations than this, and fear had long ago given way to indifferent acceptance. He could only imagine how Roderich was handling it in the cell next door, however. He almost felt glad at the thought. All right, sure, the Austrian hadn't asked for those filthy, gutless bastards to attack him, but he had been stupid enough to wander off alone on the base. Gilbert could see that protecting this little prince, even for Eliza's sake, was going to test every ounce of patience that he just didn't have.

Gilbert's sigh turned to a growl. "Hurry up, you lazy bastards," he muttered. When the hell would the guards come to handcuff them and… Gilbert blinked in sudden realisation. Handcuffs… He quickly dug around in his front pocket, past a small bag of supplemental candy rations and the last packet of coffee he'd been saving, until his fingers closed around the tiny metal pin he always carried. He tucked the pin into his sleeve, smiled smugly to himself, and silently thanked Francis for the one useful thing the depraved Frenchman had ever taught him.

.

"Right, time to go, Héderváry." Roderich's head snapped up at the words, and the cold dread he had spent the night suppressing fell like a rock in his stomach. He swallowed dryly, his head swimming. He started to nod, but instead held his head high as he got to his feet, praying his legs would not give way beneath him. The military guard marched across the small cell, grabbed Roderich's wrists roughly, and snapped the cold metal handcuffs around them. Roderich focused on breathing deeply and keeping the fear from his eyes. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid. I am better than them. Roderich repeated the words in his head like a mantra as the guard grasped his arm and led him from the cell.

Roderich did not know where he was going. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what to expect. He had barely slept; the entire restless night spent replaying the colonel's words in his head… They'll be heading on to the prison unit stationed at the next village… The charge is perpetration of illicit activity… Congratulations, Beilschmidt. You're now a walking dead man. And still, none of it made sense. Roderich did not even know what a prison unit was. He had thought he was in the most awful place on earth; but apparently, there was somewhere worse.

The guard pulled him through the hallway and into the square outside, where a large military transport vehicle sat idling in the nearly empty street. Everything was suddenly both too real and strangely dreamlike. Roderich blinked slowly, the street spun around him, and for a brief moment, he sincerely feared he would be physically ill.

"Morning, Héderváry. Sleep well?" Roderich turned his head sharply, both stunned and annoyed by the sweeping feeling of relief that rushed over him. Gilbert stood confidently beside him, smiling brightly despite the handcuffs on his wrists and the guard's rough hand on his arm. Roderich did not have time to respond before they were both abruptly dragged to the back of the truck and practically thrown through the open doors.

The dozen or so soldiers in the truck stared silently as Roderich stumbled into the vehicle behind Gilbert. They all looked to be regular army, of various ranks, and all had their hands handcuffed before them. Another wave of angry fear settled in Roderich's stomach. Why did everyone out here keep staring? He straightened his shoulders, forced himself to keep his face impassive and his head held high. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid.

The truck door slammed shut with a condemning thud, leaving just enough light from the high windows to see dimly. Roderich's breath caught in his throat, but he calmly followed Gilbert into the truck. He wanted nothing to do with any of these uncivilised people. But the brazen German had come to his aid the night before, and for some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be somewhat concerned for Roderich's safety. Roderich told himself he did not need the man's help, but was all too aware it was a lie. It made him intensely angry that he had no choice but to trust this loud, brutish soldier he did not know.

Gilbert pushed a few men aside on the narrow wooden bench that ran the length of the truck. Roderich wondered if he even noticed the men's angry mutters. From what Roderich had gathered so far of this brash German, Gilbert did not seem to care much about aggravating people. But doing it in this situation was just asking for trouble.

The truck took off almost the second Roderich took a careful seat at Gilbert's side. Another row of soldiers sat opposite them, and Roderich raised his eyes to stare past them. Surely if he just stayed silent, no one would even notice…

"Morning, boys! Pleasant day for it, am I right?"

Roderich's stomach fell and his eyes snapped sideways. The soldiers glared silently, but Gilbert just continued merrily, a broad grin on his face. "Summertime in Russia. Can't beat it for a drive through the countryside. Cheer up, lads, you look like you're going to a funeral."

"Gilbert." Roderich spoke as quietly as he could manage, disturbed and alarmed. These did not look like the type of men to make idle conversation with. "What do you think you're…"

"Think you're funny, do ya, Private?" snarled a man sitting opposite, an angry looking sergeant with a bloodstained collar and a large scar across his face. Roderich's eyes widened and his skin turned cold. Gilbert, however, seemed to bite back a giggle.

"I'm hilarious, I know, there's really no need to point it out."

The sergeant leant forward, his hard, focused eyes boring into Gilbert's in a blatant attempt at intimidation. In the dim light Roderich could just make out the name on the man's jacket. 'Hesse.' "You know, I really don't think I'm in the mood for this shit."

Roderich felt his entire body tense. This 'Hesse' was bigger, taller, and a hell of a lot angrier than Gilbert. Just what did this stupid German think he was doing? Roderich glanced at him warningly, but Gilbert simply smiled benignly at the sergeant. It took a few moments for Roderich to realise that he was also twisting his cuffed hands slowly and almost imperceptibly against his stomach.

"Just having a friendly conversation about the weather, friend." Roderich felt frozen in place. It was almost like Gilbert was trying to provoke the man. But for God's sake, why?

Hesse spat loudly on the floor by Gilbert's foot. Roderich recoiled in disgust. "That's what I think of your 'friendly conversation.' Friend."

The soldiers watched the exchange with interest, those on the end of the benches leaning forward for a better view. Roderich was reminded unpleasantly of a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Gilbert nodded pointedly at the spit on the floor, his smile unrelenting. "That's a filthy habit, Sergeant Hesse. You almost got my boot."

"Maybe that's what I was aiming for," growled Hesse threateningly.

"Really, it was?" Gilbert's hands continued to twist and Roderich formed the smallest suspicion in the back of his mind. But no… surely Gilbert wasn't that stupid… "If so, you've got terrible aim. I bet you're popular with the Russians." Hesse snarled, snorted, then spat again. Roderich could not hold back a small noise of revulsion when a large globule of saliva landed directly on Gilbert's left boot. Gilbert glanced at it indifferently, his hands went still, and he stared directly into the sergeant's steely eyes. "Come on then, on your knees and finish the job. You look like the type used to licking a man's boots."

Hesse squared his shoulders, raised his chin, and Roderich's heart seemed to stop in his chest. Gilbert had gone too far. Sure enough, Hesse rose to his feet, handcuffed hands extended, and hurled himself towards Gilbert. Roderich shrunk back instinctively. But instead of being crushed by the man's hurtling weight, Gilbert reacted. He tossed his handcuffs to the ground before reaching up, grabbing Hesse's bound wrists, and twisting them until the sergeant stumbled. Gilbert didn't pause. He used his foot to drive the man's ankles out from under him, pushed him face-down to the floor, and dropped to his knee onto Hesse's back. It was done in a matter of seconds. Gilbert spoke immediately in a pleasant, friendly tone. "Well, goodness me, now that was just rude! Here I am, having a friendly conversation about the weather, and you go and…"

"Who the f…" Gilbert cut Hesse off with a swift thump of his head to the ground. Roderich's head felt unclear as his ears rung with shock. Had Gilbert planned this the entire time? For what possible reason? Did all soldiers act like this, or was Gilbert simply insane? Gilbert just laughed and rolled his eyes at the quietly observant soldiers.

"Do you see what I mean? Rude!" Gilbert turned his attention back to the struggling sergeant. "As I was saying – and you might want to stop twisting like that because you'll hurt yourself – when someone starts a friendly conversation you do NOT go and spit on their boot! Did your mother never teach you anything?"

"I'll teach you something, you goddamn son of a…"

"Uh-uh." Gilbert smacked Hesse's head to the ground again, a little more forcefully this time. "Don't interrupt! Now I'm going to give you one chance to let this go and be nice, because I'm reasonable like that. Before you make your decision, however, I suggest you think very hard, and very carefully." Gilbert dug his knee deeper into the man's back and dropped the friendly tone. "Do you really want me as an enemy?"

The silence in the truck was absolute. The soldiers' surprise seemed to mirror Roderich's own. He could even tell what they were thinking: how had Gilbert removed his handcuffs so quickly? How had he so easily sent this man to the floor? Roderich's heart stammered again when Gilbert's eyes unexpectedly met his own. In the dim light, just like in his anger the night before, they appeared to glow red. Roderich felt his eyes widen with astonishment and his lip curl with disgust. It was just as he thought: this man was nothing but a violent, uncivilised brute. Roderich's heart sunk at the realisation. If he couldn't trust Gilbert now, what did he have left?

Gilbert's crimson eyes turned back to the man trapped beneath him. Hesse obviously realised that he did not have much of a chance in handcuffs, and grunted in reluctant surrender. "Let's just forget it."

Gilbert released Hesse instantly. "I think that's a wonderful idea!" He stood quickly and offered the sergeant his hand. Hesse just glared at it before pulling himself back onto the wooden bench.

"Suit yourself." Gilbert shrugged cheerfully, picked up his discarded handcuffs, and sat back down beside Roderich. Roderich carefully edged away. "Now where was I… oh yes! Summertime in Russia. Now, I thought winter in Berlin was cold, but for the middle of August this weather is just fucked. Shit, friend, aren't you freezing?"

Gilbert directed to question to the corporal beside him, but the man didn't answer. Instead he asked warily, "So how did you end up here?"

Gilbert's smile fell, he narrowed his eyes, and the corporal leant away. Gilbert pointed his thumb at Roderich then spoke in a slow, stern voice. "Someone messed with him."

The truck fell silent again. Gilbert just smirked smugly to himself. Not for the first time, Roderich wondered just what Gilbert could possibly be thinking. He had undone his handcuffs, provoked the biggest man in the truck, effortlessly crushed him to the floor, and then… Roderich paused, blinked, and tilted his head as he remembered.

Every year, Roderich competed in the prestigious Austrian Music Competition. He would turn up to the hall each day during the week beforehand, take out his violin, and practice onstage. Word quickly spread of his incredible skill. Other contestants would come to listen, then talk amongst themselves. And every single year, at least a quarter of contestants pulled out before competition even began. Roderich studied Gilbert through narrowed eyes. Of course Gilbert had planned this. He wanted these soldiers to see what he was capable of. He wanted them to know it was a bad idea to mess with him. Yes, there were only a dozen men in this truck. But a dozen men could spread a story very quickly.

Gilbert met Roderich's calculating eyes and gave him a tiny wink. Roderich slowly looked away, his heart still racing and his skin still cold. Maybe he had underestimated this German soldier.

.

Gilbert clicked his handcuffs into place just in time to have them removed by a military guard as he followed Roderich off the truck. The sound and smell of revving engines and shouting men was both suffocating and familiar. He blinked in the clouded sunlight and took in the view around him. Another small village, almost identical to the last; almost identical to all the tiny villages he had passed through over the years. A narrow road, piles of sandbags and weaponry, battered looking wooden buildings. One place blended into another after a while. A small assemblage of trucks and vehicles crowded along the street and military guards shouted at the men as they disembarked. The prisoners wore a diversity of different uniforms. Most were regular Wehrmacht - army, navy and Luftwaffe - but there were also some foreign units, even a few filthy SS. Gilbert kept close to Roderich and followed the row of soldiers down the village road.

Gilbert breathed the cold, oil-scented air. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind at all - he could do this. This was nothing. He'd been shafted to a hundred different regiments, been sent to a hundred different towns. He'd been in worse situations than this. But glancing sideways at the pale, silent, aristocratic man beside him, Gilbert felt a strange, nagging anxiety he was utterly unfamiliar with. This was completely different to the hopeless situations he had easily survived. This was so much worse. "Stay beside me, okay?"

Roderich looked utterly out of his depth, staring around wide-eyed behind his glasses, rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had cut into the skin. He looked sick, and he looked scared, and he looked like he was trying really damn hard to hide it. "I don't know what to do."

Gilbert groaned softly. Oh, for God's sake… "Just do what you're told, and call everyone 'sir.' Some get real pissed when you don't do that. All right?" Roderich did not answer. Damn it, the guy looked like he was about to fall over. Gilbert closed his eyes briefly. "Hey, when was the last time you ate something?"

Roderich's forehead furrowed slightly. "I don't remember."

Gilbert gritted his teeth and choked back a growling, frustrated sigh. Keeping this silly little prince alive was not going to be easy. He reached into his front pocket to check what rations he had stashed away. "Do you even want to survive? What did I tell you last night about eating?"

Indignant anger quickly replaced the fear in Roderich's eyes. He almost seemed to come back to himself. "Don't speak to me like that…"

"And you can stop with the bratty aristocrat act. There are men gonna speak to you a hell of a lot harsher than I do, but you're gonna shut up, and you're gonna listen - if you want to see another day, that is. Now here." Gilbert pulled his last candy ration from his pocket and pressed it into Roderich's hand. "Fruit candy. It's packed with sugar so you won't keel over for a few hours at least."

Roderich looked down at the candy for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he raised his chin and glared. "I don't need your charity. You're nothing but a thug."

Gilbert snorted. "Damn straight. A thug who quite literally saved your arse last night, and got sent to this hellhole for the privilege." Roderich winced in distaste. "And a thug who's gonna see to it that you make it through this mess alive."

Roderich's eyes clouded with doubtful confusion. "Why?"

"Why?" Gilbert paused. Because the only woman I ever loved risked everything for you, and I'll be damned if her sacrifice will be for nothing. Gilbert smirked. "Because I'm such a nice guy, that's why."

Roderich's leant forward as they walked, his expression proud and suspicious. "I don't believe you."

Gilbert just grinned back at him. "You don't have a choice, little prince."

Roderich's indignant response was promptly disrupted as they reached the tiny town centre. Military guards lined the broken and bullet-riddled buildings that surrounded the little cobblestoned square. Gilbert stayed determinedly by Roderich's side as the armed guards shouted and jostled the soldiers into rows. Roderich looked appalled and affronted at the slightest touch, until Gilbert found himself growling and glaring at anyone who came too close. He was practically ashamed of himself - reduced to being a damn guard dog for a precious little prince.

Thankfully it did not take long before the surging rabble assembled into a few haphazard lines. Surprised at the speed of assembly, Gilbert realised that there were only about fifty men standing at various states of attention. Somehow, in the commotion, it had felt like more. Gilbert and Roderich ended up in the front row between two blond soldiers, one short and one tall, both in unfamiliar uniforms. The tall blond wore a strange side-buttoning blazer with no medals and held a rifle by his side. Annoyance rose swiftly in Gilbert's chest. He'd been stripped of his rifle, his pack, and his treasured pistol the night before. Why the hell was this enormous bastard allowed his rifle? He was just about to broach the subject when a roaring shout rang out. "ATTENTION!"

Gilbert's eyes snapped front and he felt Roderich tense beside him. From the battered little building before them, between a line of guards, marched a short, scowling officer with a captain's insignia on his green jacket. His hair was shaggy and blond, his movements swift and precise, his expression cold and severe. There were two rifles strapped conspicuously to his back and a pistol at his hip. Gilbert almost laughed. He knew this type - a short little man compensating for something with too much firepower. Oh hell, this would be fun.

The captain snatched a folder from a guard and marched to the front of the line. As he passed, he happened to glance sideways at Roderich. He stopped, blinked, and his blank demeanour broke for just a second. Almost before Gilbert registered it however, the captain's face turned unemotional and he motioned over a guard. After a few muttered words, the captain's eyebrows shot up and he looked straight from Roderich to Gilbert. Roderich shifted on his feet. Gilbert stared the captain evenly, warily, in the eye.

Gilbert knew what was coming. He'd been lined up and yelled at countless hundreds of times, by sergeants, lieutenants, a dozen different commanding officers. Gilbert knew how this worked by now. Stand straight, keep a blank face, answer when you're spoken to. Gilbert wasn't too good at all that, though. If there was one thing he had in common with Roderich, it was that he didn't like being told what to do. Gilbert just didn't know how to accept authority. He did know that you shouldn't laugh, you shouldn't talk back, you shouldn't roll your eyes, and you really shouldn't ash your cigarette on an officer's boots - as three months on latrine duty had taught him all too well.

The captain marched before them, piercing eyes travelling along the disorganised lines of men, then stood still and silent. When he spoke, it was not with the deafening pitch Gilbert was used to, but just a deep and steady tone of command. "As of this moment, you are stripped of your rank. I don't give a damn if you were a corporal, a sergeant, or a goddamned colonel. Congratulations - each and every one of you is now a private. You're in my unit now. My name is Captain Zwingli, and you answer to me."

Gilbert chanced another glance around. A captain in charge of fifty prisoners? What had this guy done to get such a shitty assignment? The captain continued, his voice heavily accented. It was clear he was not a German.

"I don't know what you all did to end up here. Frankly, I don't much care." Captain Zwingli surveyed the row of condemned soldiers coldly, his hands clasping the folder behind his back, his eyes hard and narrow. Standing shorter than every man in line before him, he still managed to exude an aura of intimidation and utter authority. "This is the end of the line. You have been sent here to die. You can try to put it off as long as you like, but in the end, it won't matter. None of you will see the end of the war."

The foreign captain let silence fall, let the words sink in. His sweeping gaze fell upon the tall blond beside Gilbert, and he marched to stand before him. The soldier just stared down calmly. "Oxenstierna, wasn't it?" barked Zwingli. He looked down briefly at the folder in his hand. "Known as the 'Lion of the North.' Volunteer to the Finnish front, originally of the Svenska Frivilligkåren." The Swede stayed silent, only inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. Zwingli looked the man up and down. "What's this on your rifle, soldier?"

"'s'a picture," the Swede mumbled, his voice deep and detached.

"Well, I can see that clearly enough. Who is it of?"

Oxenstierna's expression was almost terrifying in its complete lack of emotion. "M'wife."

Zwingli raised an eyebrow. "Your… wife?" The Swede nodded and Zwingli stared again at the photograph taped to the rifle by the man's side. "Oxenstierna, either your wife is a rather unique looking girl who has cut her hair short, grown an Adam's apple and, judging by the uniform, joined the Finnish army, or marriage customs in northern Europe are rather different from what I had been led to believe." The captain waited silently, but Oxenstierna did not reply. Zwingli shot a pointed glare directly at Gilbert. "Wonderful. Looks like I've been given the homosexual unit."

Roderich stiffened and Gilbert's indignant response was prematurely cut off. "Oh, thank God," piped up the little blond soldier beside Roderich. "Do you know, I was totally starting to worry I'd been sent to the wrong place."

Zwingli snapped his head sharply at the words, turned on his heel, and marched the few steps to stand before the little blond. From the corner of his eye Gilbert saw the soldier take a step backwards.

"Stand steady, Private!" barked Zwingli.

"Okay, yeah, right. I mean, yes. Sir. Um."

Zwingli looked the soldier up and down then glanced down at his folder. "Feliks Łukasiewicz." His head shot up, his eyes narrow and slightly puzzled. "That sounds suspiciously Polish."

"I am Polish, sir."

Gilbert turned his head in surprise. He could hear a few low murmurs from behind. Zwingli just nodded once. "Now this I am interested in. How the hell did you end up here?"

Łukasiewicz let out a short giggle. "Well, come on, I didn't exactly volunteer now, did I?"

"You've been fighting for the Germans?"

"No, man, I tell you, it was crazy, yeah? One minute I'm in Berlin - I'm a singer in a cabaret, you know - living with my boy - my part - my, uh, my friend, Liet… well, his name is Toris, but I call him Liet, because he's Lithuanian, right?" The murmurs grew louder. Łukasiewicz didn't seem to notice the looks and just kept chattering obliviously at the bemused looking captain. "I mean, everything was fine until, like, a war happened, or something. And then, Liet and I… well…" The Pole broke off for just a second before continuing. "Well, he went home to Lithuania. Not, you know, like I care or anything, because I totally don't. So I said to myself - 'Feliks,' I said, 'If there's a war, you should go and, you know, fight, or something.'"

Gilbert could barely restrain himself from bursting into laughter. A brief sideways glance showed that, surprisingly, Roderich looked like he felt the exact same way. Tiny smiles broke on both their lips before they looked away. Gilbert expected the captain to stop Łukasiewicz, but Zwingli made no move to interrupt the prattling Pole.

"So I went into town and I asked, you know, where the Polish unit was." Gilbert felt the laughter die in his chest as an unpleasant suspicion formed in his mind. He knew where this was going. The little blond continued. "But the unit they put me in, it wasn't Polish. Like, they all spoke Polish and that, but they weren't… well…" Łukasiewicz broke off again. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "They weren't very nice. I mean, I didn't realise we would be fighting for the Germans. The things they said, and the things they did to our own..." Łukasiewicz shook his head firmly. "No. Those men weren't truly Polish. So, I asked to leave."

A rather confused silence fell. Roderich sighed almost inaudibly; Gilbert snorted softly. Poor, stupid Polish bastard. Zwingli gave the Pole a look that clearly stated he had never met anyone so simple in his entire life. "You joined the Polish division of the Waffen-SS, and you asked to leave?"

Łukasiewicz lowered his head. "I asked nicely."

"And now here you are. Fighting for the Germans after all."

Łukasiewicz looked at the ground and scuffed his boot in the dirt. "The way I choose to look at it, sir, is that I'm fighting against the Russians."

Zwingli widened his eyes, exhaled an exhausted sounding breath, and turned away, shaking his head. His focused stare turned directly to Roderich. Gilbert straightened, immediately on guard. This time, Zwingli did not look at his folder before he spoke. "Roderich… Héderváry." Gilbert clenched his fist. He did not like the way Zwingli said Roderich's surname… almost suspiciously.

Roderich did not seem to notice, however, as he replied. "Yes." Gilbert cleared his throat. Roderich paused. "Sir."

Zwingli raised his chin appraisingly and tapped his fingers on the folder. "You don't look like much of a soldier."

Roderich shrugged almost undetectably. "I am not a soldier."

"What are you doing in my unit, then?"

"I don't really know."

Zwingli's eyes were too bright, too discerning. "A composer from Austria, with a Hungarian name. Did your music displease the wrong person?"

Roderich spoke quietly, but firmly. His dignified air never once wavered. "Rather, it pleased them too much. There are certain things I will not be associated with. Nor let my music be associated with."

Zwingli's eyebrows shot up. "So we have a political dissident, do we?"

"No." Roderich breathed out sharply, sadly. "I'm just a musician."

"And you are of no use to this unit." Zwingli moved along the line. "You, however."

"Sir." Gilbert used his superior height to look down at the captain. He had long learnt how to appear intimidating without being outwardly insubordinate. Insubordination generally followed fairly quickly, however... he couldn't seem to help it.

Zwingli read from the folder. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." He looked up, interest and amusement in his intense, green eyes. Gilbert held his gaze easily. "No relation to the pilot, Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert felt the entire unit's gaze on him and rolled his eyes. Oh, here we go... If he was asked that one more time… "Yes. He's my little brother. I'm the bad one." He glanced around pointedly. "Obviously."

"So, Private." Zwingli stopped and tapped his chin. "Hmm. Private. Your younger brother is a Lieutenant, isn't he?"

Gilbert gritted his teeth. Scathing little bastard. "Like I said. I'm the bad one."

Zwingli nodded, his expression carefully dispassionate. "Interesting. Tell me. How does it feel to be standing in a prison unit on the Russian Front while your little brother brings glory to the Reich from the West?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. He was all too aware of Roderich listening to this exchange, and wondered why the hell that bothered him. "What is this, you interviewing me for the newspaper?"

"Just having a 'friendly conversation.'" Zwingli leant forward and flashed Gilbert a sly, tiny smile. "Friend."

Gilbert snorted, his heated anger replaced by a sense of accomplishment. Oh, how quickly twelve men could spread a story. "Ah. I see, sir."

"Well." Zwingli started to walk away. "At least we have one German in this pathetic little company."

Gilbert grinned and shouted after him. "Actually, I always considered myself Prussian, sir."

Zwingli laughed humourlessly. "There ain't no difference anymore, soldier. MEN!" Zwingli stood again before the assembled unit, his chest puffed out and his hands behind his back. "I suggest you get some rest. We will be pushing out tomorrow behind the regulars. You will be armed in the morning. I'll be giving you your orders soon, and I can assure you, you aren't going to like them. I wouldn't worry about it too much, however. Half of you will be dead before the week is over. Fall out!"

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[chxinsxwed]

Da Rules:

Hi, this is a bit lengthy - but first, thank you for checking out this post! It means a lot to me and I hope we can interact! <3

1. Themes might vary with this blog. I’m typically SFW, but keep in mind this is NEGADUCK. He’s not morally sound and will certainly not be nice to everyone who has the unfortunate opportunity to come across him. Be prepared for dark themes of that nature.

Things will be tagged! I’ll try my best, anyways. If you want something in particular tagged, please let me know. The format I use for tagging is, for example, tw: swearing.

I don’t have any triggers but I do ask you tag all of your NSFW content.

That said, I won’t do anything NSFW - gore is okay, though.

I’m of age.

2. I’m a little selective, so I might be a pretty picky when it comes to who I interact with. I’ll interact with anyone, including canon, AU, Crossover, and original characters - as long as they’re literate/write para.

If it’s a crossover, I have to know the fandom and be at least a little bit confident with it. This is so I’m able to work with you, our thread and have muse for it.

No godmodding or Mary-Sues, please.

This is bound to happen given Negaduck’s character, but this rule goes especially in fights. I will tread carefully in these and give partners fighting chances, so obviously I expect the same. i.e, don’t assume all attacks hit, keep dodging, etc; all that. Keep in mind Negs does not put up an easy fight, though.

Please don’t be offended if I don’t want to interact with you (and please don’t try to guilt me into doing so!).

As for following back, I usually take a week tops to do so - but if you’ve hit up my promo, I go through that eventually.

I’ve worked through a majority of Negs’ media, including his episodes, comics, and even small comics. That said, there are a couple I’ve missed (that are in another language) - so if I miss anything in reference to them, forgive me.

I haven’t completely finished Darkwing Duck, either, so as far as unrelated references ago, I might miss a few things.

3. Please don’t rush me for starters or responses.

I have a lot of blogs. Pretty much an understatement - so I’m pretty busy with stuff, and it’s all dependent on what muse I have. Motivation and life also exist.

Please note the mun deals with anxiety and depression - this might affect how frequently she roleplays.

Chances are, I’ve probably has seen that bit of interactivity and just haven’t gotten around to responding yet.

My roleplaying style being para/multi-para, I may take a while to respond. I hoard drafts like a dragon - it’s really just the motivation to write and ship those out.

Additionally, if I don’t end up responding to an ask or something, the case might just be I don’t have the muse for it, or I’m not interested in the thread. Apologies!

4. Shippings? Eeeeh, with Negaduck, I’m picky about them, depends on the muse and/or proposed relationship. Long story short: he’s an outright jerk so don’t expect much from him.

If I don’t happen to be interested, don’t force anything on my character.

I do not ship incestuous ships. Do NOT follow/interact if you do.

The ship has to have chemistry; I’m generally shipping trash, but if they don’t click, they don’t click, sorry.

This is a multi-ship blog, meaning there will be more than one ship without them conflicting with eachother.

If you want to ship and I already have a ship of your choosing going with a duplicate, please don’t hesitate to hmu! My ships aren’t exclusive and each character/relationship portrayal is unique to me!

Relationships are eternal until you deem otherwise.

5. Whilst I am of age, I’m not aiming for sexual content on this blog (and will not be dealing with fetishes). That stuff makes me uncomfortable, and I typically don’t recommend pulling it with my characters if you’re interacting with me. Nonetheless, should it arise, I will tag it appropriately.

6. About reblogs…

I am not a meme source, and reblogs clog up my activity. Please reblog any memes you find on this blog from their SOURCE. The exception to this rule is if there is no source; go ahead.

I don’t feel comfortable with Personals reblogging my IC posts, so please don’t do that.

A few times is fine, as it happens, but repeatedly breaking these rules will result in me soft blocking you.

I try to participate in reblog karma as much as I can, but always reblog from the source/a meme source.

If a post or ask is for you, you’re free to reblog it to save it though - but only if you’re an rp blog!

7. I’m a para / multi-para blog, novella if I’m adventurous and have time. Whilst I may roleplay crack threads with shorter responses, this does not apply to all threads I write. This means:

I write my replies as detailed as I can muster.

Short responses (such as one-liners) in more serious threads where I’ve written a decent deal can instantly kill my muse for that thread.

Whilst I’d prefer for partners to at least somewhat match my length, it’s entirely up to you - just try your best and make sure you give me enough to work with. ♡

If my muse happens to go nuts out of nowhere - like, overboard - don’t stress too much about matching them.

If para roleplays are not your forte at all, it’s not recommended you roleplay with me seriously. Anything else outside that is fine, though - we can still have fun outside of proper threads.

8. Threads typically happen naturally with me, but if you’re looking for interaction opportunities:

I’ll have a permanent starter call somewhere for you to hit up; honestly though, if you’re a mutual? Pls feel free to hit it up.

I reblogged a starter meme? Send something! If I’m interested, I’ll answer it!

If there’s a verse you’re interested in, please specify.

If you want to turn an ask into a thread, go ahead!

I may not roleplay with every starter I am given - I’ll do a ‘background check’ if you’re a new blog on the block. If I don’t feel your writing style/length matches mine, I might not respond. Apologies. ;__;

In that sense, I don’t recommend writing starters for me unless we’ve discussed something. I really don’t like to leave anyone hanging.

IMs are open to mutuals, if you want to do any in-depth plotting.

9. Guidelines on mains and relationships:

If we’re mutuals and we interact a lot, you’re welcome to ask me if I’d like to be your main!

Please don’t be offended if I deny, though; I typically want to pick those I trust to be my mains as well as people I can comfortably write with.

Not limited to them! I roleplay with duplicates galore so don’t be afraid to hit me up if you want to interact!

Pre-established relationships are a-okay in my book; if you have an idea for a relationship between our muses we can work towards, hit me up! I reblog those pre-established relationship memes every so often too. Romantic relationships link back to the shipping guidelines.

Also, friendship/family/rivalry relationships are EXTREMELY valid to me - Negaduck is generally a terrible person, but if you hmu, I’ll see what I can do.

10. If you have any issues, please let me know and hopefully we can resolve it!

Unlike the evil duck, Mun is actually super nice, so don’t be afraid to hit her up!

IM-ed me and I haven’t responded? Social anxiety is a jerk and it’s exhausting for me to communicate sometimes. Know that I’ve seen your message and will get around to it eventually!

Please leave me out of drama; I’m here to have a good time, as is everyone else, and it pains me to see people arguing.

11. It’s easier with a clean dash for me, so I’m more likely to follow people who:

Trim their posts.

Don’t spam reblog memes.

Have rules and about pages! I always read those before interacting or following!

12. On threads…

If you’re not interested in a thread anymore, and would like to drop it, please let me know! I’d feel terrible if we’re both not having fun with it or if partners feel overwhelmed with the amount of threads we have.

Honestly, unless I let you know, our threads have no expiry date - so no need to worry about me dropping them without telling you. I can just be quite slow sometimes.

13. Mun does not equal muse! Anything Negs might say does not reflect on how I think unless I explicitly say so. He’s a chainsaw crazy villain; mun is not.

14. The mun is TERRIBLE at breaking the ice. If she follows you, she’d like to interact - but she’s super nervous about approaching people.

15. These rules may be subject to change.

Please like this post if you’ve read the rules! You don’t have to, but it’s of personal reassurance to me if you have.

[same-sunsets]

Short Story Submission: Ophidia

“Ophidia”

The cold air ripped across the beach like a wraith lashing at exposed skin. Cold Harbor lived up to its name most days, but today especially so. The black waves slammed into the coast sending up a thick spray. Dr. Reid Clark stood near the road away from the biting spray. The sheriff had called earlier that morning asking for consultation on a death. He didn't know how a researcher could assist on a homicide, or how the sheriff knew his name. However, the sheriff's tone left little room for argument. The body lay close to the shore, with tarps protecting the scene.  The deputies milled about near the body, while the coroner and sheriff spoke. Sheriff Day waved for Reid to approach from near the body. He began to walk down the embankment and into the sand, sudden anxiety gripping his chest. The sand was wet and cold, some it spilled into his shoe filling him with discomfort and doing little to ease his growing fear. He hated beaches, the sand seemed to never come out of his shoes, and the spray always coated his clothes in salt. 

“Morning, Dr.Clark now I know you’re not an expert on animal attacks, but I thought maybe you could give it a try,” called Sherif Day over the roar of the wind. Reid quickened his pace and came to stand behind the sheriff. 

“Good morning, sheriff. I can certainly do my best, but I’m more of a scientific historian. I’m sure your coroner knows much better than I.”

“Well Dr. Clark I’m rather new here myself and a little help can’t do much harm.” 

“I’ll do my best, but again, I'm sure I won't provide much insight.” Reid wished that the man would let him leave. 

“That’s all I’m asking for,” The sheriff lifted the tarp off the body exposing a shocking scene. The fishermen’s body was mangled beyond recognition. Beneath the sternum, nothing remained, except for ragged strips of flesh that hung from the eviscerated torso. Reid stifled the need to vomit, hot spit filling his mouth as he turned away from the horror. 

“What you think could have done it?” asked the sheriff. Reid composed himself, blinking away tears from the corners of his eyes. The crescendo of panic faded as he straightened his jacket, and began to repeatedly clench his hands. 

“Maybe a shark, but I've never seen one do that amount of damage around, especially this far in the northern hemisphere.” 

a large grey truck pulled over onto the embankment near Reid’s small purple beetle. Its lights flicked off and a man climbed out of the truck. He was short and somewhat heavier set. He began down the embankment, stumbling in the sand. He wore an old flannel shirt over a once-white shirt. His stocking cap was torn and ragged in places giving him a disheveled look. This was compounded by the unkempt hair and beard that whipped about in the frigid gusts. 

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” called the man as he approached the scene.

“Paul, this is Dr. Clark. He’s going to be helping out also,” said the sheriff. Paul grasped Reid’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Clark.”

“Paul is a fisherman from down in Port Royale since we’re so close I asked him to drive up and give it a look, same as you.” Paul walked closer to the mangled hunk of flesh, wincing as he saw the full extent of the injuries. 

“That's a pretty mean bite, I’m not sure what could do that, but God almighty I hope I never meet it.”

The trio stared at the body, uncertainty painting their faces with a tinge of fear. 

“I’m going back into town guys, I'll let the Coroner and his men finish up. I’d appreciate it if you two could think about what could've done it and both meet with me in town later.”

“Would this afternoon be all right for you two? I'll be back around five,” asked Paul, glancing from the sheriff to Reid. Reid nodded but continued to wish that they would let him simply leave. 

“Sounds like a plan, see both of you later. Just come on down to the station and ask for me, Cindy’ll tell me you're there.”

As the three began to walk up the sandy hill a wave crashed hard into the beach sending up a chilling spray. Reid jumped, the cold surprising him. He turned, facing the ocean and thunder echoed as swells and black clouds writhed on the horizon. He glanced back at the poor soul that lay on the beach, but something then caught Reid’s eye. A piece of coral had washed ashore. It was discolored, a strange green spine jutting from the side of the tendrilled mass of white spines. He walked toward the fragment, lifting it from the sea. The coral had grown up around the green plate-like thing. He took the strange fragment and carried it with him to the road. 

“Hey Paul, you ever seen anything like this before?” He said handing the coral to him. 

“Oh yeah, I'm not sure what the thing is but every so often one will wash ashore. It’s funny that kind of coral isn't supposed to live around here. At least not near shore, it's from way down deep.”

“Yeah, that is funny… , oh thanks for the help.” Reid then took the piece of coral and walked to his car. He placed the coral on the passenger floorboard, on an old-college t-shirt. The car was a welcome respite from the frigid wind. He stared again at the odd coral formation puzzled by the mysterious origin. He drove into town, rain falling with a gentle patter against the windshield, the streams racing along the glass. The slate gray sky blanketed the world in a dreamlike monochrome. 

He drove into the small fishing town of Ophidian Bay. The town was small, home to only two thousand or so. The town had known better times. Once a hub for fishermen, now little commerce remained. Dr. Clark initially came to the bay in search of why the town had failed. The Smithsonian tasked him with discovering the cause for a piece on North American fishing. So far, he was uncertain why many of the fishermen abandoned the region. Ophidian Bay was well known for whaling during the first half of the century, but a series of terrible storms had ravaged the area. This caused the whalers to leave, but the fishermen left with them. Reid asked around the town for weeks, but everyone he met was tight-lipped on the subject. The behavior perplexed him, it seemed to only occur in Ophidian Bay. The fishermen forty miles south, in Port Royale, were quite friendly and answered his questions without evasion. However, this spawned another mystery. Why was Ophidian Bay struggling, while their southern neighbors flourished? Port Royale expanded in the past century from a minuscule village to one of the most frequented stops along the northwestern coast. 

Dr. Clark drove through the town, past the few remaining stores lining the main street. He took a left past the ancient bar lovingly called The Broken Oar. He continued down the aged, pockmarked road until he arrived at the only hotel in town. The decrepit structure seemed to lean with each gust of wind, the paint cracked and peeling everywhere. The shutters, what remained of them, hung loosely from the windows broken and flapped in the breeze. From its architecture, it appeared that it once was quite beautiful. He found it haunting it's lost beauty hung to the building like a burial shroud. Past decadence revealed itself in strange ways. His favorite was the massive chandelier in the lobby with string lights thrown about it as the wiring failed. The entire town mirrored this feeling. Once beautiful things now forgotten. 

As he gathered his things, standing in the overgrown parking lot rain continued to form an oppressive wreath of grey. In his hands, the sharp coral felt cool and wet. The emerald plate seemed to shimmer and warp in the light. He passed through the cavernous lobby, climbed the stairs, walked down the long hall of the second floor, and arrived at room 33. His door swung open, moaning as it went. The lights did little to illuminate the room, He had found that dim and grey was the go-to for the small fishing hamlet. Reid lay on the bed, thinking of the events from the beach, he still felt the man’s grey lifeless eyes staring up into him.

***

The fragment of coral rested on the small worn dresser in the corner of the room. For the past two hours Reid, researched everything he thought held relevance to the attack, and coral. The horrific wounds did not match shark attacks. While many sharks, including some quite large ones, did reside within the waters, none left wounds similar to those of the fisherman. That which had shorn the man in two left strange round indentations along what remained of the sternum. Reid still could not drive out the gruesome image from his mind. The coral he discovered belonged to a species that resided in the dark someone thousand meters below the surface. Reid could not fathom how such a sample had risen up from the depths. 

Perhaps it’s unrelated, I may just be grasping at straws, thought Reid, as he stared at the mysterious tangle of coral. The pale white coral appeared unremarkable, but the strange, angled plate still shone with that shifting, emerald light, that seemed to writhe and dance in the light. While the color and strange optical behavior appeared completely foreign, he felt some familiarity with the shape of the object. Reid reached into his bag, sifting through the contents. Finally, he found the pocket knife at the bottom. He pulled it free and flipped out the blade. Reid wedged the blade between a small gap in the coral and the mysterious plate. After a few minutes of prying, and some erratic stabbing, pieces of broken coral fell to the floor. Now freed from the coral prison, he saw the true shape of the thing.  The diamond shape was odd, and soon exposed the true nature of the object. While unlike any scale he had seen before, he recognized the sloped round edges that tapered into points. He set the scale back on the dresser and lay on the bed more confused than before. He rested his eyes and slowed his thoughts, letting sleep take him. 

Reid awoke two hours later unsure of the time. The eternal grey, of Ophidian Bay, prevented any determination of the time of day. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, checking the time. He found two missed calls and a voicemail from the sheriff. He pulled up the voicemail and listened. 

“Dr. Reid, Uh.. you know maybe you were right. This was a bit of an overstep to ask you to help. I could tell that you seemed uncomfortable and you know I think it’s best if my department pursues this case on our own from here on out. Hope you understand. I just think it’ll be safer.” 

“Weird,” mumbled Reid to himself. This morning the sheriff ignored all his many protests, adamant on needing Reid’s help. The gruff man did not feel like the type to change his mind seemingly on a whim. His mind began to spin, what happened between this morning and now. Something felt wrong, he could feel his face growing warm, as the hairs along his neck stood on end. A chill ran down his arm, as Reid became aware that it felt as though he were being watched. The room felt still, but it was as though there was some shift in the air. He jumped out of bed grabbing his keys, dashing through the door. He left his room and bounded through the hotel towards his car, every few steps glancing about wildly. A blast of frigid Ophidian Bay air ripped at him as Reid stepped out into the crisp salty air. He climbed into the car, locking the door behind him. The heat began to warm him, melting away the cold from his joints. From the corner of his eye, a single curtain swung back into place in a second-floor window. Reid pulled out from the parking lot and began driving toward the police station, his heart pounding in his chest.

***

[vorthosjay]

Let’s Talk About Chronicle of Bolas: The First Lesson

Chronicle of Bolas: The First Lesson came out today, and it’s a fascinating story without the sort of lore baggage that would require me to say much about it. So read and enjoy!

Art by Even Amundsen

"We all die, now or later," replied her Grandmother in her most maddeningly calm tone. "This could be a trap on the part of Ojutai to find me."

"So you are Yasova, keeper of the past and guardian of the unwritten now."

Unwritten was the name of the story where Yasova first appeared.

He took in several ragged breaths to build strength for more words. "Ojutai destroyed the records Shu Yun preserved for so many generations. He wants to destroy our memory of the past, and of our ancestors, so our people know only what the dragonlords wish them to know. But the story the Spirit Dragon told to the first shamans has survived because it wasn't only written down. It has also been passed down from master to student, memorized and handed on to the next generation."

Grandmother's brow wrinkled. A glimmer woke in her eyes, a flash of excitement, a thrill of fear and hope. "The Spirit Dragon spoke to your shamans?"

There’s also a secret archive, but this person doesn’t seem to know of it (or isn’t sharing that information). It would be rediscovered by Narset a millennia later.

My own story is a simple one. The one I loved best in all the worlds is the one who killed me.

How did it happen? That is less simple, and will take longer to tell. Listen carefully, for he may come here someday, and if that happens, then you must beware, for whatever words he speaks to flatter and persuade you will be lies.

Grandmother hissed sharply.

Yasova was tricked by Nicol Bolas into aiding him in killing Ugin.

If you should ever have the misfortune of meeting him, I would never recommend anyone suggest to him that he at any point in his long life has felt fear.

HA! Leshrac did this, and paid with his life for it.

"I want to know who those hunters are, and where they come from, and how we can destroy them. They've learned they can kill one of us now, so they will not fear us."

This story is great at telling us who Nicol Bolas is. Bolas can’t suffer others to feel confident against him. He must break them.

"I do not guess. Dragons are born with the gift of names. It is in our nature to know names without being told them. Just as we knew our own names at the moment we woke into consciousness." He closed his eyes, not at all afraid of us, then opened them to examine us with a keen and unrelenting gaze that irritated me because he was so sure of himself. But his curiosity and confidence also intrigued me. "Why do you each only have one name?"

Oooh, as some have suggested, Bolas was not originally part of Nicol’s name.

I sniffed at the dead animal, seeking from what lingered of its spirit some indication of its name and substance: it was an ibex, old for its kind; it had had a peaceful life, and that gave its blood and meat a certain pleasing odor.

I tore off a hunk of flesh. It was pleasurable to eat, even if a little tough.

This... is interesting. Weird that this comes from Ugin.

That which decays is also being consumed.

The revelation swept over me like a storm's hot rush: within the invisible web that is life and death, nothing goes to waste.

"Death is merely part of a greater cycle," I said, quite struck by my amazing wisdom.

This is important, as this is part of Ugin’s transcending color, most likely. The great cycle.

"I want to kill something," said Nicol. "Are you coming?"

It was the second time he'd asked if I was coming with him. To be fair, we'd never been apart, had never walked or flown the slightest span without the other within earshot. I couldn't imagine being in the world without him beside me.

Ugin thinks Bolas asking is because they can’t bear to be apart, but I wonder if right from the start he was challenging Ugin, prepared to leave him.

I ate thoughtfully, considering his words. It was true we had hunted in the manner of our older sister, each hunting alone, relying on our individual speed and strength. What if there was a better way?

Bolas and Ugin both begin to learn planning and coordination, important to their schemes later.

We spent years, as you Jeskai would measure the span of days, perfecting various techniques for hunting in tandem.

Hey, this might be the first indication we’ve had post-mending of the different measurements of time on different planes.

Several times we were chased by a big ugly dragon named Vaevictis Asmadi who, with his siblings, furiously guarded a territory they claimed for their own hunting grounds even though it had plenty of space and game enough for many hunters to cull.

The story also mentions even more dragons, which is great! It means there is enough for a true Elder Dragon War.

One day, we settled on a hill amid a richly forested plain. From this vantage, we found ourselves looking over a riverside settlement inhabited by the bipeds called humans. In general, we avoided humans. They didn't taste good, and I didn't like eating things that could talk.

THEY DIDN’T TASTE GOOD.

Just a reminder: Ugin has eaten people.

"I didn't realize humans would trust dragons," he said.

This is another important moment for Nicol, who is beginning to realize humans can be of use to him.

Death was no longer a stranger to me, for we had killed our share of prey, but the screams of the dying soldiers troubled me in a way that the last moments of the animals we'd hunted had not.

This is good! It’s too bad Ugin would lose sight of this somewhat when he became a planeswalker and messed with the fundamental natures of planes.

"You are the twins, Nicol and Ugin."

"I am Nicol Bolas," said Nicol.

"You are?" I asked. "When did that happen?"

"I have two names. All proper dragons have two names."

"Ugin is fine for me," I said, dismissing this as another of Nicol's quicksilver mood changes. I turned politely back to our older brother. "Brother Arcades, why did the humans attack us when we approached?"

Another great character moment. Nicol names himself Bolas. Ugin doesn’t feel the need. Very interesting.

And Vaevictis's mob. They're quite the gang of marauders. And more besides them, some flying alone and some flocking together. I protect the humans from the other dragons who roam this land. But I am also teaching the humans to a better path of life, one ruled not just by their own primitive, violent tendencies."

Here is the rest of the dragons I mentioned earlier. It’s interesting that Vaevictis is the leader of his own group.

I also find it very interesting that it is Arcades Sabboth who taught civilization to humanity! We previously knew NOTHING about him. Now, he founded human civilization!

Unlike our kind, they work together. Do you want to come see? You may visit for a little while as my honored guests, as long as you follow the rules of law and order I have established in this colony." 

So, it was then that we accompanied Arcades back to the town. He made us known to the people there, and they greeted us with awe and respect, although, perhaps not quite as much awe and respect as they showed to Arcades, whom they called "Dragonlord."

So that’s where the title Dragonlord comes from. For elder dragons who rule a human civilization, Ugin taught the name to the Jeskai. I wonder if we’ll be getting Dragonlord Arcades as his actual card?

I poked my snout into everything, and made particular friends with an old holy elder named Te Ju Ki, whose sole purpose in life, it seemed, was to think about things that could not be seen.

I’m not sure who Te Ju Ki is, but the name is so specific it feels like it has to be referenced somewhere, no?

Nicol had no patience for her possessionless way of being in the world; he wanted to be where Arcades was, guiding and advising the people. Nicol made himself useful in a hundred ways, digging into every crevice of human life and emotion. But the greed and excitement and anxiety and competitiveness of humans tired me when I was around it too much, so the solitude of Te Ju Ki's way attracted me. I soaked up the calm wisdom she exuded.

Nicol Bolas: Guider and Adviser.

In reality, Bolas was learning how to run a civilization, because he wanted to rule, not adjudicate.

Entire days would pass in silence as she and I sat in her circular chamber. Its roof had long since fallen in, and she informed me once that the half-collapsed tower was an artifact of builders who had bided here before the people who now lived in this place.

"We are not the first, and we will not be the last," she said. "We see only our hand before our face, but there have been other hands here before ours, and there will come others after us. Even this world is but one layer amid many others."

She knew many schemes as an aid to meditation, but I best liked it when she spun globes of light in the air. Translucent threads of magic tethered each of the globes to the others so that, as they whirled in the air, they remained both separate and yet linked by connections too mysterious for me to comprehend. She called each one a "plane," although I did not know what she meant by the word at that time. When I asked if the globes were a thought experiment or if they really existed, she said it did not matter because no physical being could cross between planes. But I didn't care about that. The way the radiant globes interlocked and moved in and around each other fascinated me as much as the wisdom she uttered in her whispery rasp of a voice.

"Everything that lives is interwoven. Everything that dies is consumed by something else, by another animal or by decay. In this rot lies the kernel of new life, for it passes back into the world as seeds take root and grow. There is no end, just endless cycles of transformation."

Ugin learns about the Multiverse!

The guards took him away. As a steward directed the body be removed and the blood washed off the stones, I raised my eyes to the roof of one of the nearby buildings. Nicol lounged there, stretched along the ridgeline, watching the scene with an avid gaze.

"What did you do?" I demanded in dragon speech.

"What did I do? I have not moved from here."

"You stood by and let it happen? You could have intervened."

A smirk of satisfaction creased his visage. "What if I did?"

The prickling sensation intensified. "What do you mean? What did you do, Nicol?"

"I have discovered a better way to get revenge. Are you coming or are you going to stay with your mealy-mouthed sage and her bland tidbits of wisdom?"

So... Bolas definitely used magic to make that guy kill the other guy, right?

I wonder what Bolas’s revenge will end up being.

[itsyaboisayori]

Why I’m questioning Sayori

I said I’d make this post so here it is! Even got on my laptop to properly do the post :p I’m just kinda winging this but I’ll try to list out everything I can. If I forget stuff I’ll go back and edit it later so if you’re curious, keep watch! I’ll reblog any time I make edits, at least somewhat big ones. 

Also, replies are welcome! I’m open to constructive criticism and anyone wanting to offer new viewpoints. I accept that I’m still learning and nothing is for sure yet. Also tbh anyone telling me I sound like I’m kin is validating as heck so if you’re thinking it then I’d appreciate you saying it ahaha, but please don’t lie to me because you think you know what I want to hear. I want the truth. I don’t want to be a confused mess ;n; And I know all/most of these could be COMPLETELY unrelated to being Sayori fictionkin, but I feel like they’re worth mentioning anyways. It’s more like, a bunch of little coincidences rather than big solid evidence, I’m aware of that and that’s a big reason why I’m questioning and not for-sure Sayorikin.

One thing I realized just a couple of days ago is how, since I was a kid I’ve had this like, ideal thing I guess? how do I put this into words lmao my brain is dumb,, I guess a fantasy, that I’d fall in love with a childhood friend, like someone I’m close with from a young age but strictly friends for a long time. I’ve always been in love with the idea of falling in love with your best friend. And of course that’s what happens to Sayori, due to her programming in DDLC. And if I’m kin with Sayori from other game(s) rather than just DDLC then it definitely could be something unrelated, just a coincidence.

I’m like, really drawn to DDLC?? Maybe just because DDLC is a great game and I love all the creepypasta type stuff behind it all, all the theories and dark shit, and also I think just as a cute dating sim it’d be great anyways (but nowhere near as great). But idk, when I saw it I immediately felt kinda drawn to it but maybe that’s just in my head or for some other reason like the characters look nice or smth.

Also it REALLY gives me feels. It makes me feel things in general. I rarely get genuinely scared from fictional stuff anymore but this game fucked me up. I’m still scared to play it on my own because, even after watching multiple youtubers play it multiple times, it still fucking scares me.

The Sayori suicide scene and her poem- especially the poem- really get to me. I saw people making hanging puns in the previous video before her death so it was kind of spoiled for me but even still, it got to me. And the scene where Sayori is freaking out because you deleted Monika before playing the game REALLY gets to me,, like I just understand that overwhelming, helpless feeling. Especially finding out why she acted that way, it’s so fucking hard to watch that scene and normally I’m not affected by this kind of stuff. So either DDLC is extremely good at psychological horror or I have some sort of connection to the scenarios, whether that be just that I’ve been through similar things and am projecting (not really that I remember though? idfk brains are weird) or ya know,,, I once lived as someone in DDLC or whatever.

(TW self harm/suicide/choking) Probably has no real correlation but when I have panic attacks/flashbacks (unrelated to DDLC I mean) I feel like I’m choking or like I can’t breathe. And when really frustrated I tend to choke myself? Sayori died from asphyxiation instead of her neck being broken, by accident because she used a stepping stool instead of something higher like a chair and jumping off. Btw I’m okay, I never actually choke myself to the point to causing permanent damage or anything, and of course I’m not saying this is like, okay or anything. I know it’s bad but I’ve done it completely on impulse, and this was all before learning DDLC even existed. I’m working on getting better and I’m not going to kill myself or anything, just thought I’d mention this.

I relate to her personality,,, so fucking much. Not just the whole pretending to be happy to make your friends happy thing, but how she is as a person besides her depression. Tbh I feel like a lot of people relate to her because of her depression and how she deals with it, but like she’s so much more than that. She pretends to be dumb but it actually pretty smart. Maybe she’s not the best with words but I think she’s a lot more intelligent than some people think. She’s so cheerful, maybe even annoying, and is kind of the class clown, and is a total weirdo sometimes but it’s GREAT and just,, same lmao. Like “looks like my boobs are getting bigger again >:D” is something I’d say lolol I just love Sayori so much, like idc if I’m kin with her or not she’s still fucking amazing.

Another reason I relate to her but probably is like not at all proof I’m Sayori or anything, just thought I’d mention anyways, but I was kinda like, really in love with my guy friend in high school for years, he’s actually kinda like MC in some ways, like he was kinda popular with girls but not like Popular(tm), super nice and couldn’t directly say no, but he knew I was in love with him (or at least knew I had a crush on him but he probably had no idea I liked him THAT much but hey neither did I for a long time lmao) and didn’t like me back and even started intentionally avoiding me. Like, he would make up an excuse to not give me a hug, like he was late for class, but hugs only take like a fucking second what the hell?? It sucked but like when the player turns down Sayori I Relate.

I just,,,,, want to hug Natsuki like she’s fucking adorable and I want to protect her the most bc she’s like a precious child and she’s obviously abused by her dad. Tbh Yuri is a little creepy and for some reason I don’t like her that much but I mean I’d still hug her. I don’t hate Monika, like it was just her programming to do all that stuff she did so I don’t blame her and she’s p cool and I’d hug her too tbh. When Sayori interacts with Natsuki it makes me feel all warm n fuzzy. Like I don’t think in my canon Sayori and Natsuki were dating or anything, I think I/Sayori am/was just really protective? Idk, thought I’d throw that out there.

I also heavily relate to wanting to be a mediator and wanting to help everyone get along and be happy. I often (try to) play that role in this life. I’m extremely empathetic, so that’s prob why, but I can’t stand when people are fighting or can’t see each other’s point of view. Though it also frustrates the FUCK out of me when people refuse to or just absolutely cannot see any point of view but their own. Maybe that’s not really a Sayori thing but ye

When I look at Sayori I get the same “that’s me!” feeling as when I see my kintypes. Who knows though, maybe in a month or two it’ll fade, we’ll see I guess. But right now it is Very Strong. Like I’ve somewhat questioned being fictionkin with other characters before but I’ve never had the “that’s me” feeling this strong with anyone else. Ruby from RWBY is a close second but I still think she’s just a kithtype.

I feel like having a past life or whatever as someone who was experimented on kinda makes sense?? Maybe I just enjoy horror a little too much but I really think if I am Sayori I’m kin with her like actual her not just the DDLC version of her. The new game hasn’t even been announced yet but I’m so excited, mostly because I feel like I want to learn more about my possible past life I guess. I wanna see if things in the second game connect with me or if it’s just DDLC. But I feel like, if I’ve had any past lives as any humans, they were probably really dark or smth. I kinda have a dark mind I guess and that would just make sense to me lmao, like I’m 21 why haven’t I grown out of my edgy phase, why the fuck am I still really into creepypasta? Damn.

I’ve been kinda obsessed with DDLC lately. I have BPD so it could totally just be a BPD obsession thing and maybe this obsession will fade and someday I won’t care too much about DDLC, only time will tell. Also I’ve had the song Your Reality stuck in my head for a week straight but it may just be a catchy song and I tend to have a song that kinda automatically starts playing in my head occasionally, usually lately it’s been Sad Machine by Porter Robinson (good song btw highly recommend)

Most likely unrelated but Sayori’s hair has been described as “strawberry blonde” on one wiki and my hair is like, light brown but reddish, though it looks more like Monika’s hair, especially because I keep my hair long. I’ve been kinda wanting to cut it but I like having long hair tbh and I feel like a lot of ppl don’t want me to cut my hair haha, though I really wanna get a short wig and maybe wear that occasionally (esp bc I’m non binary and wanna pass as more boyish sometimes, I know society will never accept me as nb bleh but anyways). Though, it’s been said that the reason her hair is short is because it’s easier for her to deal with, but I’m not 100% sure if that’s canon. Though I guess it doesn’t matter much? cuz multiverse stuff n all but, still.

Speaking of her appearance, she seems to not care too much about how she looks, which I relate to haha, especially because of depression n stuff. I mean I have Crippling Social Anxiety(tm) so I do care to an extent but usually I’m like, if someone likes me they’ll like me for who I am not how I look anyways. I don’t feel the need to dress super proper to impress anyone in casual social situations, like making friends or even going on dates (though I’ve only been on a real date like a few times and they were with my gf who I’d already been dating online for a while). And yeah a big reason she’s so careless about her appearance is depression but I think if I wasn’t depressed and she wasn’t depressed we’d still both have that mentality like, we don’t need to impress anyone with our appearance so it’s better to just dress how you want, whatever way makes you feel comfortable and happy with yourself and your body, than focus on being proper and stuff.

Maybe I’m just projecting but man I feel like a lot of stuff I do and my ways of thinking and stuff are very Sayori(tm). I feel like I am so much like her, like she’s so me. Though of course, maybe my reason for being kin with her is purely psychological. Maybe I “became” her after seeing DDLC. Maybe I am her because I relate to her so much. But again, only time will tell. If I still feel like I identify as her (which, currently, I most definitely do) in a couple of months or so, then I guess I’ll start calling myself fictionkin. Idk.

[logh-icebergs]

Episode 24: Victory for Whose Sake?

Summer 797/488. The season wraps up on the Alliance side with the failure of the coup d’etat, as Yang attacks them in two ways: one, with bad PR, broadcasting a “confession” by Baghdash that the coup was actually instigated by Reinhard; and two, with what I can only assume is totally accurate and brilliant physics, flinging gigantic chunks of ice at near lightspeed into the Artemis Necklace that surrounded Heinessen and completely destroying it. After Reinhard’s agent, Admiral Lynch, reveals to the rest of the military council that Yang’s propaganda was accurate, they kill him to eliminate evidence of the Empire’s involvement, but not before he shoots and kills Admiral Greenhill. In happier news, Merkatz (and Schneider) show up at Iserlohn and Yang decides to trust them and offer them sanctuary, demoting Schenkopp to having only the second best eyebrows in the Alliance. Sorry Schenkopp!

Frederica

The emotional core of this episode centers around Frederica, who receives the news that her father committed suicide after the defeat of the coup.

Okay actually Lynch shot him, but close enough.

Back when Frederica first found out that her father was involved in leading the coup, I pointed out that her main visible concern is whether Yang would fire her because of it; beyond seeing her anxiety over possibly losing her position and her relief when Yang in fact keeps her on, we’re not given any real view of her emotions about her father’s actions, other than initial shock. Throughout the battle against the 11th fleet she performs her duties as Yang’s adjutant without any apparent distress. 

From episode 21, 8:53...

...and 12:14. Sorry animators, I'm calling you out. It's like a spot-the-difference puzzle. Can you spot it? ˙ʇɐɥ s,ƃuɐ⅄ :ɹǝʍsu∀

Now that the fleet battle is over and they’re heading to Heinessen to fight against her father’s military council directly, however, cracks are showing in Frederica’s emotional armor; she spends the first half of the episode sitting in the background of every scene looking completely miserable.

Although we get a peek at her melancholy mood in these shots, she never (that we see) articulates any objection to their plan of fighting to bring down her father’s council, or indeed vocalizes her emotions or opinions on the matter at all (more on this in a sec). While the personal situation is obviously difficult, there’s no indication that her ties to her father outweigh either her loyalty to Yang or her own political opposition to the coup (we don’t know what the main factors really are, because—again—she never tells us). Her suffering here is silent and entirely in the background.

But after they successfully destroy the Artemis Necklace that was theoretically protecting Heinessen, Yang’s fleet is contacted by some other admiral from the council, who delivers the news that Admiral Greenhill committed suicide. This is a lie (although it’s hinted he may have been considering it), but let’s take a moment to parse what this news means to Frederica: Although Yang used a combination of propaganda and unmanned ice chunks destroying unmanned satellites in order to strip away that power of the military council rather than attacking them by force, the result of his actions (as far as she knows) was to shame her father so utterly that he took his own life. And she herself had a role in carrying out this plan; at the very least she never openly opposed it.     

So how does Frederica take her father’s death? After showing her immediate horrified reaction, eyes wide and trembling, the camera gives her a bit of privacy; we zoom in on Yang lecturing about despotism and free speech to the military council guy for a few minutes, and when we finally pan out again Schenkopp has come to replace Frederica at Yang’s side.

I love the subtlety of this camerawork, and the tiny worldbuilding detail of Schenkopp moving in to fill the vacancy. I suppose the commander is never supposed to be without an attending officer?

Frederica has braced herself against a desk off to the side to try to steady herself, and when Yang goes over to her, she asks him for two hours off to compose herself. Yes that’s right, two hours to get her emotions under control after the actions of her own fleet caused her father to commit suicide in shame after violently overthrowing a democratic government.

Asking first for one hour and then amending it to two makes it sound like she sees two whole hours as indulgent. Seriously Frederica, a true professional could pull herself together in fifteen minutes max.

Notice how hesitant and awkward Yang is in this scene; in the gif above he checks his impulse to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder, and here he haltingly resorts to trite words of encouragement. Both his sincere concern for her and his discomfort and fear of crossing any professional boundaries are clear.

Sure enough, by the end of the episode Frederica is back to dispassionately performing her adjutant duties, and brushes off Yang’s concerned look with assurances that she’s fine and keeping busy. 

She is still visibly downcast here, but again, Yang doesn’t feel comfortable pressing further when she doesn’t want to discuss it.

And that’s that. The season is over for the Alliance, and (spoiler) Frederica never mentions her father’s death again or seems at all outwardly traumatized by this whole sequence of events. Two hours of lying in bed looking at a photo and crying, just two hours to “compose” herself, and then seamlessly back to work. What’s really salient here isn’t just her stoicism; it’s how clearly she’s exerting conscious effort to push back her emotions and refrain from letting them get in the way of her job. She’s obviously struggling—that’s clear in her downcast gazes early in the episode, her trembling reaction to the news, and her carefully controlled but still dejected expressions at the end. But her work seems to come above everything; just as not getting fired was her main visible concern when her father first overthrew the government, her effort in this episode is directed toward not spending more than two hours away from her job of giving Yang papers to sign.

Which brings us, finally, to an important question about Frederica, which I confess I’ve spent the whole season somewhat skirting around:

….What the hell is her deal??

Frederica is, at this point, a bit of an enigma. She feels like a main character, both as one of the primary assistants to Yang and as a clearly marked Potential Love Interest—treated blatantly as such by her father, Schenkopp, and Yang himself (more on that below); and yet, we’ve been through a whole season and not once has she made a single decision that affected the outcome of events, or expressed an opinion that differed from the people around her. We haven’t seen her do anything just for fun or discuss her hobbies or personal life (beyond her eight-year adoration of Yang).   

This contrasts with Julian, whose identity also revolves around his role in Yang’s life and who also hasn’t been in a position to drive the action yet; but we’ve seen him taking care of Gensui, playing 3D chess, and here entertaining the Cazellnu girls. Even the several times we’ve seen him in civilian clothes all subtly build personality; we’ve only seen Frederica out of uniform in El Facil flashbacks. (From episode 16.)

Even Konev, with a total of about five minutes of screentime so far, feels in some ways more fleshed out than Frederica, with his love of wordplay and crossword puzzles as well as his habit of betting on battles with Poplan. And of course Poplan is shown here engaging in his favorite hobby of uhh, acting super heterosexual the moment right before a battle I guess? (From episode 21.)

Frederica graduated second in her class at the military academy, but we’ve never been told anything about her career aspirations or what she envisions for her future. Being the adjutant to the commander of the Iserlohn forces at only 23 years old might in fact be super impressive (I’m not an expert on how promotion through these various military positions works); but while we’re told repeatedly that she’s great at her job, it’s a job that seems to be all about executing someone else’s decisions. 

Like Julian, Frederica’s most salient skills fit into gaps in Yang’s own skillset; in Julian’s case it’s housework and physical combat, while in Frederica’s it’s logistics and technology. (From episode 19.)

All of which is to say, it’s difficult to know much about Frederica right now by just looking at her, herself. She is defined so far by her competence at and dedication to her job, her history of idolizing Yang, and beyond that mainly by negatives: lack of arguments with anyone, lack of questioning other people’s decisions, lack of glimpses into her life outside of work, lack of extreme displays of emotion—shown most notably in this episode with the effort she puts into not letting her father’s death by suicide interfere with her duties.

Frederica and Gender Roles

Meanwhile in the Empire... (From episode 18.)

Since we don’t have a lot of information about Frederica herself, it’s interesting to compare her to other characters in narratively similar roles. One of Frederica’s distinguishing features is that she’s a woman operating in an almost entirely male sphere; indeed it’s tempting to throw up one’s hands and attribute her lack of exercising any narrative agency or pursuing any agenda unrelated to a guy she has a crush on as simple lazy sexism on the part of the creators. But (repeat after me) this is LoGH, and before we jump to that conclusion the creators deserve for us to try to look deeper. And as soon as we glance around at the other women we’ve met so far, we find, well… 

...Jessica, who also filled the Potential Love Interest narrative slot for part of the season; but unlike Frederica we got to see her have substantive conversations with Yang about their views on the war and Alliance politics, and she also pursued her own political and activist goals independent from Yang’s or anyone else’s agenda. (From episode 21.)

...And Hilda, shown here approaching Reinhard, the rising political and military star of the Empire, and talking him into giving her a written guarantee that her family will be well taken care of once he overthrows the current social order. God damn Hilda is badass. (From episode 18.)

...And Magdalena, who unlike Jessica and Hilda (and Frederica) does not throw herself into traditionally male realms, but embraces her life as a noblewoman and navigates it with her own personality and values. Here we see her fuck with poor Kircheis while her minions look on; she’s also one of the few among the nobility who’s tried to be a real friend to Annerose. I love how Magdalena (and Hortence on the Alliance side—be patient okay) provides an example of a woman seeming to thrive without following a more typically (for their society) masculine path. (From episode 9.)

So, no: While the world of LoGH is certainly male-dominated, this show knows perfectly well how to imbue its female characters with aspirations, agency, points of view, and personalities that aren’t defined by the men around (or in power over) them. So when after a whole season Frederica still seems primarily defined by what she’s hidden from us, we should pay attention to this as a conscious choice by the writers. 

I said we haven’t seen Frederica push her own agenda or disobey orders but that isn’t entirely true: The one time she did was this attempt to get Yang to take better care of his physical health during a battle. By appealing to Julian’s authority. Unsuccessfully—the battle starts back up and Yang brushes her away and says he’ll eat later. Whatever the precise opposite of the Bechdel test is, I think this scene passes it. (From episode 15.)

As I struggled to piece together a portrait of Frederica in my mind from what we’ve seen this season, the list of her prominent traits started to sound rather familiar: working to keep her emotions below the surface; silent in meetings; never openly ambitious; rarely making jokes; focused on performing her duties at all costs (including uh, getting her boss coffee tea with brandy). Spend a few minutes googling around for articles on struggles women face in predominantly male careers and you’ll find pretty much this exact list. While Hilda is just beginning to throw herself into politics by aligning with Reinhard, and Jessica pivoted into activism from teaching piano after her love interest was fridged, Frederica by this point has come all the way through the military academy and spent time after that doing information analysis before ending up working under Yang. She’s been studying and working (very successfully!) in an almost entirely male environment for about seven years by now. Could her all-business, eager-to-please, show-no-weakness style have been learned in response to the general sexism of that environment in some way? That’s certainly not unrealistic, and worth keeping in mind.

In the brief flashback montage that we see while Frederica lays in bed remembering her father, we get a couple of further glimpses into their dynamic. Like most things about Frederica, why she chose to join the military in the first place is a mystery; was it to make her father proud?

As far as we know, Frederica was close to her father; but remember that we’ve seen him appear to blatantly matchmake her with her new boss, which is, well, messed up. Contrast this with Hilda’s father, who we see openly encourage her to be politically ambitious in her own right.

Frederica and Yang (and heteronormativity)

Frederica...what even is that expression? You know if you have aspirations of getting closer to Yang personally you’re gonna have to get used to him going off on monologues about the nature of war, right? It’s kind of his thing. (From episode 16.)

There will be plenty of time to talk about the dynamic between Frederica and Yang, but while I’m laying the groundwork for Frederica Discourse heading into season two, it’s worth summarizing a bit. We haven’t seen them interact much at all so far outside of the context of work; and within that context, from the beginning Yang has been very obviously conscious of the fact that, unlike everyone else around him in his daily life, she is a woman. 

This was not Yang’s finest moment, completely failing to contain his surprise that his new adjutant was female. Here we see the cycles of heteronormativity and sexism: Yang is a victim of societal norms, as we’ve discussed; but he’s also helping perpetuate them, since his stress about the mere potential of romantic (sexual) expectations being placed on him means that he lets the gender of his adjutant affect his behavior toward her more than he should. (From episode 6.)

...Not that he’s about to let societal norms about how to behave in front of women get in the way of his naps, of course.

This is the one time all season that Yang directs one of his musings on war at Frederica. Between her dumbfounded gaze (see screenshot above), his embarrassment after he remembers she's listening, and her quick transition back into fetching him tea rather than engaging with what he said, it's clear neither of them is comfortable with this interaction. There’s something (hmmm what could it be??) stopping them from having the same kind of friendship Yang has with Cazellnu, Dusty, Schenkopp, even Julian. (Both from episode 16.)

But Frederica isn’t just a woman who happened to become Yang’s adjutant; she has a very specific history with him, which is the one thing in her life she’s not very shy about. 

When Julian asks Frederica about her memories of El Facil in episode 17, he points out that Yang might have ended up happier if he hadn’t become a “hero,” but Frederica is quick to object that Yang would have just been captured by the Empire if he hadn’t successfully evacuated the planet. I don't know if that’s true—could Yang not have escaped himself, as his commanding officers did, without also evacuating all three million civilians? What is true is that Frederica herself, and her mother, would have likely been captured or killed. (From episode 17.)

Her first meeting with Yang on El Facil wasn’t just about thinking his dislike of coffee was cute: He saved her life. He is very literally her hero, and she has a deep personal stake in this major turning point in his life which, as Julian points out, was not entirely positive for him. Since we first met Yang in “My Conquest” we’ve known that his actions on El Facil brought him more attention than he ever wanted—specifically romantic attention from women that he didn’t feel interested in or comfortable responding to; Frederica is the love letters he didn’t answer in “My Conquest” brought to life. And she’s also his direct subordinate. While their working relationship seems functional and positive enough, it’s no wonder that personally it feels strained. 

Icebergs Canon: The three pink ones are from Frederica.

Julian

Julian Mintz. Age: 15. Likes: Yang; tea; 3D chess; Yang; the color purple; cats; Yang; pointing guns at people; housework; Yang; Kircheis. Dislikes: Baghdash.

After struggling to understand what’s going on behind Frederica’s carefully controlled exterior, Julian is a breath of fresh air. As always he wears his heart completely on his sleeve, to the extent that I feel a bit invasive watching him.

Yesss, demolish it all! Julian’s into it.

“God damn Yang has a great ass.” —Julian’s Iserlohn Diary, the unpublished pages ...Okay not actually, but come on, we don’t need to read his diary when that open-mouthed smile already says everything.

I’ve so far hedged a bit about declaring Julian’s obvious idolization of Yang to be an official crush, but hell—no one in the history of the world has ever watched someone clumsily burn his hands and then jump over a chair with that specific appreciative smile when they didn’t have a crush, so I’m ready to call it. Congratulations Julian, you are hereby Officially Canonically Smitten.

Just like his probing about Yang’s interactions with Jessica in episode 10, here we see Julian a couple of times in the background clearly paying attention to the dynamic between Yang and Frederica, and specifically to Yang’s awkwardness in knowing how to comfort her about her father’s death. While it’s subtle, in context this slightly heightened interest in Yang’s relationships with women is another hint that Julian’s own feelings are at least slightly romantically tinged.

Of course, Julian is also friends with Frederica (after all, he has the most in common with her…) and probably also worried about how she’s doing. But we don’t see him interact with her directly at all; we just see him look thoughtfully from her to Yang.

Now, despite my having declared Julian’s feelings a crush, I’m not claiming that he actually frames it to himself that way; after all not only do they live in a deeply heteronormative society, but their situation in particular is obviously...well, complicated. As I’ve discussed, Julian has always treated Yang as a mentor or commanding officer rather than as family; but the power dynamic remains, as well as the age difference, and I don’t imagine that Julian is in fact doodling “Julian <3 Yang 4 ever” in his notebooks and dreaming of a big traditional wedding. But crushes on mentor figures are common; and I believe we see enough in his gazes to tell us that his appreciation of Yang is the sort that makes his heart race in a way that constitutes a crush, whether or not he’s able to put it to himself in those terms right now. How these feelings, and his own awareness of them, evolve as we head into the next season is definitely something we’ll be looking out for.

In the meantime, please enjoy this gif that I randomly just love for the body language animation—the contrast between Yang’s slouch and Julian standing eagerly at attention; Julian skipping so nimbly out of the room while closing the door behind him. Also hmm, I think I’ve seen that lamp at Ikea...guess some things don’t change in 1600 years.

Stray Tidbits

Back in episode 16 Admiral Sitolet told Yang he was going to retire and start beekeeping, and hey, looks like he’s followed through! At least someone in this miserable galaxy is successfully living out their dream.

I will never watch the scene of Yang describing his plan to destroy the necklace without laughing out loud. I have no idea whether his application of the theory of relativity is uhh, scientifically sound—didn’t Yang flunk every class except history, or something?—but what I’m more interested in is where the fuck they came up with dozens of gigantic chunks of ice on such short notice.

Speaking of which, I love this screenshot and I encourage you to use it in a wide range of contexts.

Meanwhile, welcome to the Alliance, Merkatz and Schneider! We’re thrilled to have you, but I suppose this means it’s now my job to try to figure out what exactly is going on here... *thinking emoji*

Come on Greenhill, everyone knows never read the comments.

[writersindigestion]

teased | edward nygma x reader

“was it even regret, anymore?”

reader gender: female

words: 4362

warnings: trauma, substance abuse, paranoia, PTSD, minor violence, minor blood, Edward is still Mean and Green

notes: hey there again, everyone. once more - for your ease of reading, i’ve split this chapter into another two parts… because it was almost at 10,000 words. :////’ sorry i suck so much. but i’m nearing the end… i think. expect another part within the next week or so.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

For [Y/N], personally, the following weeks were filled with inactivity. She continued on her previous schedule as she’d been doing since her friend was killed, only making sure to at least sometimes talk with the people outside of her apartment. There were some good films that she saw in theatre, though she spent the whole time snogging her girlfriend, and had only assumed that the movies were “good”. There were some sports games she cheered on, some museums she visited, some books she rented - but nothing felt normal. The manic woman was beginning to realize that she’d likely never feel that way again.

More beers, more wine, more snakes at her spine, and the crucifix ever-taunting her from across the street.

For Gotham, however, the weeks were bigger than they’d been in recent history. They saw the escape of the Arkham monsters (Nygma not included, thank the Lord), they saw the rise of Fish Mooney’s escapees (undead or otherwise), and, most importantly, the catapulting of Oswald Cobblepot to the mayoral throne.

[Y/N] had long since chosen to remain oblivious to the goings-on in her hometown, having spent an exorbitant amount of time with the news droning on in her empty headspace - politics, theft, murder, mass homicide, life-threatening magicians and several attempts at axing Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne. Then there was Theo Galavan - even for a criminal, she didn’t like him. Had she not been too afraid to leave the house, she wouldn’t have voted for him. Not that it mattered, since no one else had been alive to challenge him.

Little did she know, her ignorance would be her downfall.

“Babe, you’ve got a letter!” Chryssie called from across the apartment, sauntering into sight with silky, pink pajamas floating around her form.

[Y/N] leaned backwards to peer over the cushy loveseat she sat on, her form having been curled up over a popular sci-fi novel. She dogeared the corner of the page and set the book down on the coffee table, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Really? Who’s it from? Not many people have gotten the memo about my new address.”

The envelope was heavy - clearly a fancy type of cardstock. She glanced over the off-white surface, her eyes catching the tiny, decorative speckles that blended into the background like an impressionist painting. The return address read ‘City Hall’.

“Ugh, government letters,” [Y/N] growled, making her girlfriend turn towards her.

The larger woman tutted, then chuckled, reaching for a pot to boil pasta in. “You probably have jury duty. Aren’t you special, babe?”

Her groans of disdain intensified, but she sliced delicately into the package, pulling out the paper that rested inside. Cramped fingers unfolded the letter, and she cleared her throat dramatically,

“Dear valued citizen,

You have been invited to a celebration of Mayor Cobblepot’s victory in the recent elections. We have hand-selected a number of individuals based on their contributions to Gotham City. The mayor’s home welcomes you to join us this following Sunday, provided this message reaches you safely. It would be an honor to have you.

No reply is needed, and plus-ones are accepted.

Warmly,

Oswald Cobblepot & Team”.

The pair couldn’t help but laugh at the card, practically bent in half with hysteria.

Chrysanthemum broke through her giggles first, “No offense, [Y/N], but what have you ever done to help this city?”

The seated woman spoke between wheezes, “Well, I was a member of the safety patrol in Junior High - clearly worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“You sure kept those hallways safe.”

“Hey! That was an important job! Think of all the collisions I stopped.”

“God forbid those clumsy preteens gently bump into each other.”

[Y/N] grew facetiously irate, “I prevented FATALITIES - I wore a BADGE! And a NEON VEST!”

Chrysanthemum paused for a moment before commenting, “Seriously, though, you probably got an invite for your work at the GCPD.”

Her partner rolled her eyes, tossing the letter onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah - my ‘work’ - delivering mochas.”

“Hey, now… We are only half as strong as our errand boys!” Chryssie exclaimed, stirring a spoon around in the pot of noodles that she’d nearly forgotten. “So what dress should I wear?”

The other woman sputtered, “W-What? I don’t want to go to this ‘party’! What if they make me wear a button? It probably wouldn’t even match my outfit. Not to mention…” She hesitated, grabbing the envelope again, pointing to the included address, “This guy isn’t celebrating in City Hall - he is partying in his house, which I’m positive is filled with breakables!”

“They need a safety patroller to stop guests from running into their precious valuables.”

“A neon vest really won’t match with anything I own…”

And so the couple decided to attend the celebration - well, one did, and the other begrudgingly followed.

The mayor’s mansion was indeed grand, and filled with fragile objects. [Y/N] kept her arms locked close to her body, and her body away from the walls - it would be just her luck to accidentally break something.

Both women wore black dresses (“In case either of us needs to don that sacred vest.”), their skirts coming to rest just above the knee, with the rest of the bodice fitted to their personal shapes and tastes. [Y/N]’s outfit, while beautiful, was slightly more conservative than her partner’s. She wondered, anxiously, if it made her appear insecure.

Of course, nobody would think anything of it, but her paranoia was potent, personal, and positively irrational.

She kept a stiff arm locked into the larger woman’s, content to let herself be dragged around, as if Chryssie was the one invited in the first place. Bodies swam gracefully between each other, every person grinning like they were actually excited to be there - [Y/N] didn’t believe it.

After awhile of being at the party, she felt comfortable enough to unwind from her girlfriend and mingle with the unfamiliar faces.

Where were the people she knew? If other precinct employees weren’t there - why was the former secretary - who left without warning and refused to answer any and all calls about her absence - invited?

The neurosis settled in full-force this time, and her shaking hand found its way back to the crook of her lover’s right elbow. Between mingling, she whispered these misgivings frantically in Chrysanthemum’s ear, but only got scoffs in return.

Frustrated, she kept her further concerns bottled up, and neglected to speak to most of the people they were now passing by.

Eventually, the feedback of a microphone drew the party-goers’ attention to the front of the room. [Y/N]’s anxiety was somewhat soothed at the hush that fell over the crowd, her senses no longer being assaulted by unrelenting stimuli. A deep breath in, and back out - she was going to get through this.

A man limped up to the mic stand following an over-exuberant introduction from a colleague. He was rather short, for the typical grown male, and had the haircut of someone far too deep into their grunge phase. His grin was proud, bordering on arrogant, but she’d already seen him an innumerable amount of times. Hard to forget the face of a known criminal and gangster when he had shown up so frequently at her place of employment.

Oswald greeted his guests, offering a sincere welcome, “Thank you all for coming - it means the world to me that I have your support…”

[Y/N] tuned out his babbling, staring politely in his direction so as to feign alertness. Absentmindedly, she noted him talking about his mother, his campaign team, and those who voted for him. She swirled the champagne around in her glass, gaze now drawn to the bubbly drink as opposed to the new mayor. Yeah, yeah - when is the buffet open? I’m starving.

“… And most of all, I want to thank my chief of staff, Edward Nygma, for believing in me, especially when it felt like no one else would. Without his faith - none of this would have been possible.”

But she didn’t hear anything past the moment when the mayor mentioned his name. Suddenly petrified, [Y/N] bent to the floor, staying on her feet as she pretended to search for an earring. Chrysanthemum had already realized the issue, crouching next to her as well. Applause erupted around them, and the larger woman grasped her friend’s hand tightly, pulling her away from the noise, their escape hidden under the cover of the crowd.

[Y/N] broke into a near-run as soon as they were out of the room. Chryssie almost had to jog to keep up with her partner, not wanting to risk the two of them being separated. Especially when she knew what was coming.

With the other woman unaware, Chrysanthemum held her breath, waiting on the edge of her seat as they finally reached the exit.

“Isn’t it a little early to be fleeing the scene? We haven’t even served dinner yet.”

[Y/N] didn’t bother turning around, she immediately placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it with purpose. And it moved - she wasn’t locked out at all, but her girlfriend’s hand on hers rooted her inside the building. Panicked, she cast an alarmed look at Chryssie, seriously debating whether or not she wanted to physically attack her partner, but the look in the other woman’s eyes stopped her from acting.

She could see the devil in her peripherals, but she’d already made up her mind that if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d cease to exist. Instead, her gaze bore deeply into her friend’s, finding grief, finding guilt, finding fear where she thought she’d find malice. Immediate remorse flooded through her - there was no way Chrysanthemum was doing this on purpose. She was no traitor.

What the fuck did he do to her?

Swallowing thickly, [Y/N] questioned her lover, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Did he hurt you?”

Chryssie’s face screwed up - silent, tense tears leaking down her cheeks. She tugged the smaller woman closer, grasping now with both hands. Her voice was quieter than feathers fluttering to the floor, “He didn’t hurt me… He said he didn’t care about me.” The couple’s eyes locked together. “But that if I cooperated, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

[Y/N]’s stomach dropped, and her palms twitched with an ugly anticipation. “You shouldn’t have worried about me. You should’ve taken care of yourself. I would never live it down if something happened to you. Maybe we could’ve gotten away.”

“You know we wouldn’t get away. We wouldn’t make it outside of the city before he found us.”

“We could have tried, Chrysanthemum! We could have tried! He’s not omnipotent-”

“He might as well be - what if we-”

Edward Nygma interjected himself back into the conversation, now standing only inches away from the couple. He fiddled with his cufflinks, giving a calculating, close-lipped smile to the both of them before he spoke, “If you two are done bickering, I have some things to attend to.” His large hand pressed against Chryssie’s shoulder, easily creating distance between the lovers. She looked confused, afraid - he enjoyed it. Always a pleasure to present dilemma to the simple-minded.

[Y/N] made a grab for her friend’s hands again, but was cut off from her side - a criminally tall man instead taking her outstretched arms. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. All she saw was the green of his suit tie, and even that seemed to dissolve under the weight of her renewed trauma and overall dissociation.

“Wait, wait - what the hell are you doing?” Chrysanthemum called, trailing after the murderer as he pulled her girlfriend into a separate room, “You said you wouldn’t hurt her. Are you a liar and a crook?”

For just a moment, she had his attention, and he turned to her with a flourish, hands still tugging the stumbling [Y/N] along. Edward’s smile was dazzling as he quipped, “Naturally.”

Chryssie was removed from the mayor’s grounds shortly afterward, not being given the chance to get a word in edgewise. She caught her best friend’s gaze before a closed door blocked her from sight. Never before had she seen someone more shell-shocked in her lifetime, and she never would again. After hours of waiting outside the mansion gates, she hailed a taxi, choosing to return home after the guards threatened to call the cops on her.

[Y/N] could only wish that she were being arrested. The hard, unforgiving seat of a police car would have been a welcome comfort against the capture of Nygma.

“I honestly hadn’t expected you to run away so quickly after that day. Smart of you, though - I was a little busy with some things anyways,” Ed started, releasing one of her wrists in favor of sending a short text message. He held up a finger for a moment, as if telling her to quell her thoughts until he was finished typing.

She didn’t have any thoughts. She didn’t have any senses. Everything seemed just a little too far away from where she was standing. All she saw, all she could concentrate on was red - and it was probably her own blood, as opposed to his, that was painted across her psyche.

Long fingers folded the phone closed, placing it in his left pocket with an uncanny amount of grace. He ran a thumb along the inside of [Y/N]’s arm, humming idly.

They came to a stalemate, neither bringing forth any conversation for the sake of letting the other suffer. Unfortunately, for the smaller of the two, Edward had all the power in the situation, and he intended to get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

She let out a yelp, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp as a dull thumbnail started digging angry, red circles into her skin. Her failed attempt at release only served to make his scratching all the more painful, his nail dragging down the length of her forearm as she closed her free hand around his, grabbing his middle finger and yanking it backwards until it nearly touched his carpals.

Ed let her go, his finger on the brink of breaking, and took a surprised step backwards at her sudden display of violence. He looked her up and down - this was not the same woman he left in the precinct basement, crying over her dead friend and chained to some leaky pipes. She had vanished to a far corner of the closed room, soothing the angry marks on her arm like a feral cat, licking its wounds.

[Y/N]’s lips curled back over her teeth, and she snarled as she spoke to him, “You should have died in Arkham, you evil, conniving bastard.” Her breaths came in heavy pants, scraping past her teeth so sharply that the nerves behind her enamel started to ache. “You deserve to suffer for the rest of your life, and then you should be brought back from the dead so you can suffer all over again.”

Something dark - darker than usual - passed through his scrutinizing, brown eyes. She saw the tightness in his jaw, the flexing in his neck. For a second, her fear and rage-induced bravery wavered, but she swallowed, a flagrant attempt at steeling herself against Edward.

But he didn’t advance on her, allowing the frightened woman her space, if only to help push her guard down. He kept himself in check, positive that the end would justify the means.

“I’ll allow you that one. I’m sure that you aren’t happy to see me,” He deflected, settling the topic back on [Y/N], “So how are you? It’s been quite a long time since we last met.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another step backwards, hands reaching out behind her for any unseen obstacles. “I think you know how I’ve been, Nygma.”

Ed clicked his tongue at her indignance, flashing a smile that hardly reached his cold, dead eyes. “Now, how are we going to understand one another if you won’t communicate with me. We didn’t keep in touch - how would I know what’s been going on in your life?”

“Because you’re smart. You know you’re smart. I know you’re smart,” She snapped, “What good does it do to tell someone what they already know?”

Another smile - this time twice as unfeeling, as unforgiving. “Humor me.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation. Everything Edward said sounded like an ultimatum. She didn’t know what she’d be sacrificing if she refused to play his games. What were the rules? How did she participate if she didn’t know what the penalties and rewards were? Her head hurt.

“I’ve been terrible,” [Y/N] started, words clipped and enunciated, but she thought better of her decision to enlighten him, “I haven’t been sleeping well. There is a draft in my bedroom.”

She watched him nod, his face feigning grief, feigning sympathy. He’d gotten his hair cut since going to prison - the shaved sides and voluminous top made his cheekbones all-the-more severe, his features all-the-more sharp. Ed had seemingly shed his geeky exterior in favor of a more threatening, business-like persona. It was sensible, she supposed, being that he was the mayor’s chief of staff - but it was much easier to have courage against a mathlete than a mobster. The woman found herself missing the days when she got to be the bully. If she’d known how events would pan out, perhaps she would’ve been meaner to him.

Begrudgingly, she wondered if being nice would’ve helped at all. It was likely that any kindness shown towards him would’ve resulted in a different, more co-dependent type of fixation.

He’s a murderer, a terrorist, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a hypocrite, a traitor, an abuser - there is no need to feel sorry for him, not even in retrospect.

He hummed, drawing the attention of his verbal opponent. “How tragic,” Edward mocked, his feet beginning to creep in her direction, “Sleep is very important to the human body, Miss [L/N]. Perhaps you need better insulation in your home? I could get you some help with that.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My girlfriend and I simply wear a few more layers,” [Y/N] vibrated, leaning away from him, but not wanting to box herself in a corner again.

He stopped in his forward assault about two feet in front of her. “Ah - yes, your girlfriend. You know you’re lucky, right?”

She refused to feed into his taunting, angry with herself for even mentioning Chryssie. “Yes. Very lucky. She’s terrific.”

“Chrysanthemum - a lovely name for a lovely person,” Ed drawled, caring little whether or not this woman played into his words, “She looked at her most lovely when she was begging for your life.”

He’d barely gotten his taunt through before [Y/N] launched herself at him, catching the lanky man around the waist and toppling the both of them. She reacted far quicker than he did, taking his shock as an opportunity force her palm into the underside of his nose. The man beneath her let out a cry of pain, and god did she relish that sound. It was even better the second time, when she closed both of her fists and smashed them down across the middle of his face.

He was reeling from the affliction, but thought rapidly, using her lack of grip to throw the woman off of him. This was not going as he had planned. Edward had to regain control of the situation before she ruined his plot any further. The towering male clambered back to his feet, hand pressed against his visage to soothe the aching.

[Y/N] had found footing long before he had, and used the discrepancy to put distance between them once more. “Did that hurt, you fucking moron?“ She growled, spit flying from her lips, cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, “I’ve seen middle-schoolers with more guts than you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he let go of his nose in a fit of egotism that he couldn’t quite catch - not that he’d ever been good at that. He sniffed, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, “Impressive, Miss [L/N], I must say that I’ve been caught quite off guard. Are you legally prepared to deal with me when I press charges against you?” Nimble fingers folded the kerchief long-ways, and he dabbed lightly at the blood that dripped from his nostrils. “I imagine your wallet isn't very well-lined from selling coffee.”

She didn’t flinch at his threats. “Go ahead - sue me. Send me to prison. I dare you,” [Y/N] barked, her hands still balled into tight, angry fists, “The only place I can think of that would keep me safer from you is death.”

“Death is not a place - it is a state of being.” Ed was then quiet for a moment, his head already leaps and bounds ahead of the woman. She was brave, yes, but she was still an idiot. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He quipped, his rhetoric short as he started circling around to his opponent’s side.

She mirrored him, stalking in the opposite direction to avoid letting him get too close. Her palms were beginning to sweat. Maybe she’d managed to land a good punch, but she would never be able to match him in an intellectual battle. He underestimated her - she knew that - and it was probably the only advantage she had against him.

His long legs stopped in their assault, and he changed directions, heading towards the door that they’d only just entered through. With a twist of the knob, it was open, and he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to exit.

[Y/N] squinted at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Edward didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re free to go.”

Her mind shut down entirely, her fists uncurled, her face unscrewed. “I’m free to go?”

Momentarily, his indifferent expression darkened. “Don’t make me repeat myself - I didn’t stutter.”

“Just what are you playing at? What am I going to find if I go out there?” Contrary to his offer of escape, she moved further away from Ed, his sudden complacence painfully suspicious.

“I’m not playing at anything. You want to leave, and I’m offering you a chance to leave.”

“That’s a load of bullshit - we both know it. What reason do I have to trust you?”

He smiled, his face lacking warmth almost entirely. In fact, the man’s personality seemed encapsulated in sub-zero temperatures. “I’m not asking for your trust, Miss [L/N], it’s something I simply don’t require…” Brown eyes settled idly on their prey, an unfriendly sort-of mirth lacing their irises. “What I’m asking is for an unwelcome woman to leave the mayor’s home.”

She bristled, but didn’t bother to test his patience any longer. Though reluctant, her unsteady legs drew past the hateful, worthless man, and she heard him follow her out of the room.

He watched her as she stiffly made her way down the front steps, [Y/N]’s entire body alight with anxiety. She paused for a moment, taking a glance backwards at him, and Edward tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss.”

Her steps quickened after his goodbye, and she had to hold back tears until she was off the property.

Chrysanthemum didn’t let go of her for a second that night, and in the following couple of weeks, she watched her companion deteriorate faster than she had after Kristen’s death.

[Y/N] quit her job. She canceled her gym membership. She gave away and donated practically all of her belongings, no matter their worth, not matter their sentimentality. She stopped speaking with friends. She stopped speaking with neighbors. She stopped leaving the apartment. She stopped communicating with her girlfriend. She stopped smiling. It hardly seemed like she breathed anymore, and she definitely didn’t sleep.

When slumber took even a moment to grace her eyelids, all she saw was Edward Nygma. It was a nightmare that she could neither wake from, nor rest from.

The familiar shape of a beer bottle found its way back into her limp grip, her body conforming into the chair that she’d spent so many long days rotting in. Tired eyes found their way back to the Catholics wandering in and out of the cathedral. And the will to live lost its way back to her heart.

She was exhausted in her lethargy. All she did was think - of ways to escape, of ways to beat him, of ways to recover, of ways to get help. There was an outright guarantee that if she even attempted to contact the police, it could mean death for the woman she loved - [Y/N] didn’t have to ask Nygma to figure that out. He meant to see her again. No one could offer sanctuary from a man that seemed to have buried his grubby hands in every niche of Gotham City. So quickly he’d managed it, too.

A happy family walked out of the doors to the church, smiles on their faces and their heads in the clouds. Inwardly, she asked herself if even God himself could save her from Ed’s disgusting, bruising clutches.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

Her tongue darted out to run across chapped lips, and she set the beer bottle on the side table, rising slowly from her seat. Bare feet brought her to meet the broad face of the packed, homey-looking bookshelf. Her fingers skimmed the bindings, looking for something particular. After several moments of searching, she felt it - a worn, faux-leather covering, a little handle sticking out for ease of transport. She pulled the book from its space in the collection, warming her palm over the canvas as she brought it back to her seat, opening the aged pages with care.

Her eyes did not comprehend anything they were reading, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. This was her chance. Maybe she could get away with this - ’God-willing’.

-

What. The. Fuck? Ed. You’re a prick. And… You look like a string bean. >://’ Anyways - let me know if you enjoyed this part! I’ve been working real hard on this story! Once again - I am taking requests, and would probably cry if you left me some. Also - still interested in a beta reader to help me check for continuity and grammar, ect… Love y’all. - writersindigestion

[kimberlylam1997]

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[panicattackhelp-blog1]

Panic Attacks While Driving

New Post has been published on http://keyofprosperity.com/panic-attacks-while-driving/

Panic Attacks While Driving

My panic attacks while driving were the strangest thing.  There were roads that I couldn’t drive.  These roads were just completely off-limits.  Stoplights would send me into a full on panic attack, I had to avoid those at all costs.  Distance from my home bothered me and was always nagging in the back of my mind.  Somedays I would feel extremely claustrophobic in my vehicle and need to get out, opening a window did help with this.  But the biggest problem that I faced was driving alone in my car.  Who would take over when I couldn’t manage anymore?  Also, to make matters worse, I had terrible anxiety when somebody else would drive.  The two worked against each other.  Overall, my panic attacks while driving were brought on by a combination of these irrational thoughts that I’d turned into realities.  The absolute worst-case scenario for me would be one of the following scenarios.  (of course I had worst-case scenarios, that’s what us anxious people do, we dwell on things that never happened/won’t happen.  I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had cancer, heart-attacks and strokes.  Several times daily, each time morning my “inevitable” death.  But more on that another time!)

Worst Case Panic Attack Driving Scenarios

Driving alone and being sandwiched in between cars at a stop light.

Same situation, but stuck in construction.

On an interstate where I can’t turn around and the next exit is greater than a 10 minute drive.

Breaking down.

I can’t tell you how much time and energy that I’ve put into these.  Over and over again, I’d go through them.  Wondering how I ever used to be able to drive in my car before, without having panic attacks.  I also suffer from low blood sugar, so not having food in my car was just simply something that I’d never go through again (I didn’t eat for an entire day once, and nearly passed out from low blood sugar.  I got food at a gas station (nice gas station) and was instantly ok, but in my mind…I almost died.)

Panic Attacks When Driving Alone

This is a hard one to overcome.  My mindset was like this, “Who will takeover for me when I can’t?”.  Obviously there are all kinds of bad things that happen to people when driving alone.  When I first started having driving anxiety, I decided to venture out for a drive by myself.  On this particular day, I was feeling massively stressed and overly anxious.  But, I ventured out.  I kept driving up the road.  I got about 10 minutes from my home.  I suddenly realized that I couldn’t do it anymore.  Exactly what, I’m not sure…But I needed to NOT BE WHERE I WAS…RIGHT NOW!  I had the panic attack of all panic attacks, with heart palpitations so intense that I thought I was having a heart attack.  Let me tell you….I was certain that death was easier than getting home.  I actually considered it for a minute, that’s how bad this panic attack was.  I turned around instantly and started home.  My arms were shaking so badly, I could barely drive my car.  Mind you, this is the first time that I had ventured out since I started having panic attacks while driving.  I started praying to God in the absolutely most frantic way possible.  Almost screaming my prayers in complete terror.  Looking back, it would have almost been somewhat comical to have watched, but at the time it was one of my worst panic attacks.  I felt completely vulnerable.  It really did me in.

Overcoming Driving Anxiety

Here’s how I overcame it.  First thing.  Before you start working on your panic attacks, you need to start taking Vitamin B-100 and Magnesium (I take 1,000 twice daily).  The Magnesium will eventually get rid of your heart palpitations and ALL anxious people are lacking B-100s (there’s at least two that you are low in [B6 and B12], but I’d suggest taking the B-100 for it all.  Give yourself two weeks, so that you start getting a buildup.  You’ll notice gradual changes in your mind and body.  These two supplements work like black-magic when it comes to curing panic attacks naturally (or at least making them more manageable).

Once you’ve been taking those vitamins for a few weeks, it’s time to start facing your fear head-on.  You need to get in your car and go up the road, but just a little bit.  Talk about what you are doing, where you are going.  Really go through it.  Here’s what I did.

I’m driving up the road.  This is easy.  Nothing is required of me.

I like to drive.  Look at that tree.  That’s a nice tree.

The sun, clouds and sky are nice, what a nice day.

Other people are doing this.  I can do this.  There’s no expectations.

The idea is to keep going through the simplicity and how nice it is to drive.  Always try to find something good in a situation that makes you uncomfortable.  In time, you will enjoy more and more of the uncomfortable situation.  My favorite thing to do used to be to go for a drive.  Ironically, it became the thing that I most feared.

Slowly ease your way into driving.  Don’t expect miracles.  If you get in the car and have a bad panic attack and you’ve barely went anywhere, remember…you DID try!  That’s huge!!!  Do NOT focus on your setbacks.  If you keep telling yourself how you can’t do it, you’ll get obsessed with the negativity and also negatively reinforcing yourself.  The goal is to do little things.  It’s practicing, it’s mental conditioning.  If you’ve been having panic attacks all day, don’t try driving that day (if you can).

The Cause of My Driving Anxiety

My driving anxiety was odd.  I’d been working from home for about 5 years.  Each time I would get in the car, my kids would fight.  The car TV would be on, they’d have their iPads.  My wife would turn on music and somehow expect me to be able to block everything out and have a conversation with her.  Time after time, it was the same situation.  One day, I was at a traffic light near my home.  That was it.  I HAD to get out of the car.  At first I just couldn’t handle red lights.  Then it was just being in the car.  I associated the car with my problems and it was an extension of the other issues going on in my life at the time (losing a job, no income, trying to keep my house, racking up credit card debt, no money to pay taxes, not being able to find another job, going through the worst depression that I’d ever been through).  I felt like I needed to be home to solve my problems (income in my case) and when I was away from home, it was wrong and I needed to get back to the safety of my house.  This may or may not make sense to you, you may relate or not…but this was my reality.

What I Did to Cure my Driving Anxiety

Every road that bothered me, I tried to take.  I would purposely drive roads with stop lights (when I felt “brave” enough).  I told myself that my car was my safe place and that my car was an extension of my home.  I would bring food with me in the car, just in case I would break down.  I’m not saying that I didn’t get panic attacks and heart palpitations at red lights, but I slowly started to accept them.  Depending on how rattled my brain was on a given day was how I felt about the red light, either I could take it or I couldn’t.  Ultimately, I had to fix my underlying issues before I felt ok in the car.

I started applying for jobs.  It gave me a sense of purpose, like I was doing something to help my family.  My background is in Computer Science, so working remotely was a real possibility.  Once I got things working out with my underlying issue, I was able to drive.  That’s the big thing that I learned about panic attacks and anxiety, you’ll get anxious about something that is completely unrelated to the root of your anxiety.  Why would driving anxiety be related to no income.  The two don’t have anything in common, but somewhere in my mind I put the two together.  You have to start clearing your mind to get to the root of your problems.  Sometimes it takes a long time to realize why you are having “generalized anxiety”, but once you can start facing it you WILL get better.

Remember, nothing lasts forever.  Even the bad eventually goes away.  If you can proactively work at it, you’ll get back to being able to drive.  I never thought I’d be able to even walk out of my house into my front yard.  I had BAD panic attacks all the time.  But here I am, I can even cross the road now (lol).  Don’t let you driving anxiety get the better of you, in time you’ll start looking at it differently and realize that you can actually enjoy driving instead of dreading it!