#i wonder if when she dies ill even be able to cry. i remember i cried everytime i had to leave her house when i was a child

[cupuasu]

My granny on dad's sad been getting easily sick lately and like i know shes was gonna die someday but i feel bad for not feeling sad about it

[zinkadear]

This is an angsty idea I've had for awhile that deals with Lorenzo's fear of Midas leaving him.

First off, I started playing the game several years late and don't know most of the lore before Chapter 4: Season 3. So if time travel was ever part of the story before Kado Thorne, I'm not sure and am ignoring it for my AU.

The angst starts after Kado's time machine was moved to Frenzy Fields and accessible to everyone. By this point, Midas and Lorenzo had been together awhile.

I've gone more in-depth about Midas's past before, but long story somewhat shorter, he was married to a woman who died a decade prior due to an illness. He got the Golden Touch because he needed money for a treatment, but part of the curse was that his wife wouldn't be able to get better. So she ended up dying soon after Midas got the power, and since he was unable to control the ability then, couldn't even hold his wife in her final days.

Jules blamed him for her mom's death, and Midas didn't feel fit to raise her, both because of guilt and not wanting to accidentally turn her to gold. She went to live with other relatives, and Midas became extremely depressed. He was alone for a long time, and it wasn't until years later after The Agency had been around for a bit that he was finally able to control the Golden Touch.

He eventually reunited with Jules, and had become best friends with Meowscles, so at that point he was much happier. But it wasn't until Lorenzo came around that he really became like his old self. He hadn't been in love with anyone other than his wife until then, and had been afraid of relationships after her death. But Lorenzo turned everything around, and they've been extremely happy together.

Once Kado's time machine was taken though, Lorenzo starts to worry. He knows how much trauma Midas has been through over losing his wife, and wonders if he might try to go back and change what happened. He loves Midas with all his heart and is terrified of the past being altered so that they'd never be together.

He's disgusted with himself for even thinking selfishly like this. Midas would have every right to go back and save his first love, and it was horrible for Lorenzo to want things to stay the way they were. He knew he wouldn't remember Midas if the timeline changed anyway, but he couldn't help it. He was scared and heartbroken, just absolutely certain that Midas would leave him to be with his wife in another reality.

Midas starts to notice that Lorenzo seems off, and he asks him about it. Lorenzo pretends like nothing is wrong for awhile, but eventually he breaks down and tells Midas everything. He apologizes for being so selfish and wants Midas to be happy, even if that's without him. He understands completely that this life wasn't what Midas wanted, and accepts that he'll never be his true love.

Midas is completely shocked when he hears all this. He starts to cry and practically knocks Lorenzo down as he lunges forward and wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly. He tells Lorenzo that he'd never change the past, and that he means everything to him. Years ago, he might have tried something dumb like messing with time, but he wouldn't even consider that now. Things happened the way they did, and while his wife will always have a special place in his heart, he wouldn't change a thing.

Lorenzo is his world, and he won't ever leave him. The two end up crying and holding each other for a long time. Midas repeatedly whispers sweet and comforting things to Lorenzo, kisses his cheeks and forehead, runs his fingers through his hair, and rubs his back soothingly. He just wants to cuddle with him and make him feel loved all night.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, and when they wake up, both are feeling so much better, and closer than ever.

[noxgold]

Fractured Moonlight on the Sea

For the @atlararepairmonth Week 1 prompt: Sick Fic/Disabilities Princess Yue x La - Rated M Available on AO3

The blessing was fading. It had started with a single black hair, stark against her pillow. A curiosity, but not a concern. It had been almost 20 years since her parents had first dipped Yue into the Oasis Pool as a baby, and she had finally begun to cry. Of course during that time, one of her hairs would grow in as it's natural black instead of the bleached white. Something to dismiss from her mind, a funny story to tell Father over dinner. Then she found another black strand but a few days later.

Visiting Master Yagoda was simply meant to assure her worries. Peeling off the layers of fur and woollen cloth that kept her warm, Yue relaxed back onto the padded mat as Yagoda and her assistant healers lent over her form with glowing hands. Monthly check-ups with the healers had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember; it hadn't been difficult to quietly request that this month's meeting simply be moved up by a week.

"You mentioned finding stray black hairs, Princess?"

"Mm-hmm. Only two so far but they were within days of each other. It's probably nothing but I just wanted to be sure." The illness of her birth had been soothed by Tui's light, but never fully cured. It was common for her to still feel weary after full nights of sleep, and to be exhausted for days after even the lightest amounts of physical exertion. It was the reason Father ordered for her to travel around Agna Qel'a via canoes in the canals, rather than take the leisurely strolls that her handmaids got to enjoy. It had also been a cause of concern when her betrothal to Hahn had been announced, both her father and the councilmen wondering if her body would be able to handle the stress of marriage and pregnancy.

Master Yagoda hummed in acknowledgement as she laid one palm against the skin of Yue's lower abdomen and the other over her forehead. The water was slightly cool to the touch but not shockingly so, a refreshing chill that always felt good against her skin. Yue let her eyes flutter shut as she let Master Yagoda do her inspection, taking the moment to quietly rest. She drifted below the gentle touch, allowing time to slowly slip away from her until the warm touch of Master Yagoda's hands pulled her back to her body.

The question shaping on her lips died a soft lonely death as Yue opened her eyes to meet Master Yagoda's gaze, grief already etching its lines along the curve of the older woman's eyes. Yue didn't even notice as the assistant healers slowly slipped out of the room as Master Yagoda helped her sit up, gently clasping Yue's hands in her own. "Princess, I- Your spiritual energy has begun to fade. I'm so sorry."

~*~

Yue had no memory of how she had gotten dressed or of leaving the healing hall to settle back into the canoe waiting outside for her. It was as if she was floating through a gentle fog, with only Master Yagoda's words echoing in her mind. There had always been something different about her spiritual energy, a fleeting glimpse of something else intertwined with hers. The priests had theorised that Tui had blessed Yue with a piece of their own lifeforce, and that was what had supported her all these years. And now that support was beginning to fade and taking her to pieces with it.

"Princess? Do you wish to return to the Palace?"

Yue dragged her attention back to the waterbender that had been assigned to steer the canoe today, gently shaking her head as she struggled to remember his name. "No, thank you. I- I will give you directions to where I wish to go." She had found the docks as a child, when she still had energy to run around and explore the city to her heart's content. It slept in the back south-east of the city, where it pressed up against the glaciers that surrounded them. Once, maybe the docks led to a fast flowing river that rushed under the ice, but now it had frozen over, leaving only a lonely pier to remember. Yue enjoyed going there when she wanted to be alone, to have silence to just sit and think.

Carefully climbing out of the canoe once they arrived, Yue bade that the bender wait here for her until her return as she turned towards the archway that led down between the ice. She had always found the gentle groans of ice shifting around her to be soothing, listening to the frozen giants settle in their sleep. Despite how few people now came this way, the ice stairs were smooth beneath the tread of her boots as Yue descended, no lingering frost crunching beneath her step. She might have thought it strange had it not been for the sound of quiet humming that caught her ear as she finally reached the bottom.

Even sitting down, the man was easily one of the largest people Yue had ever seen, a deep blue parka edged in seal fur clinging to broad shoulders as he sat perched on the edge of the pier, a bundle of torn nets thrown over his lap as weathered fingers carefully worked to repair the holes. His hair was braided back in an intricate wolftail, beads of sea glass and bone glinted in the low light between strands of dark locks. His voice was a deep rumble as it curled around her, like the winter storms as they rolled in off the ocean. 

"What's the name of that song?" Yue's voice sounded strange to her ears, the words slipping out like she wasn't the one who spoke them, almost too loud in the icy cavern.

The music cut off at the sound of her question, the man looking up from his nets to study her silently. He had a handsome face, strong and dark, with eyes such a deep blue they almost looked black. A trimmed beard curled around his jaw and mouth, framing it nicely in such a way it almost made Yue want to look away.

"The Jolly Unagi."

Somehow, his voice was almost as deep spoken as it was sung.

"I don't know that one." Her seal skin boots crunched slightly as Yue took a slight step forward, caught by the sudden strange urge to stay and talk to this man. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, like he didn't know or care who she was. Maybe it was the fact that now that she was alone and the fog had started to lift, she didn't want to dwell on the realisation that she was dying and had spirits only knew how much time left to live.

His fingers continued to mend the nets as he tilted his head slightly in thought, beads catching in the flickering light that trickled down through the ice above their head. "It's a Kyoshi song."

Kyoshi? Yue had never met anyone who had left the waters surrounding Agna Qel'a, let alone sailed all the way down towards their sister Tribe in the south. "You've been to Kyoshi?" Her voice couldn't hide the touch of excitement at the idea of seeing everything the world had to offer outside their walls. The food, the clothes, the music, the people. Even the sailing itself, facing the waves and the weather with just your skill and La's blessings to protect you.

The corner of his lips twitched up slightly in the face of her excitement. "Mh. I've been to a lot of places. Wherever the ocean can reach."

Wherever the ocean can reach. Oh, to be able to sail like that. Yue loved her people and her city, and knew her duty to them. But sometimes she hated the limits of her body and position, how fragile she truly was. A sudden thought brought a blush to her cheeks with the realisation of how rude she had been. In her excitement, Yue had completely forgotten even the basics of her manners. Taking another step forward, Yue clasped her hands in front of her chest to bow slightly to the sitting man. "Please forgive my poor manners. My name is Yue, may I ask yours?"

His eyes seemed to warm slightly as he inclined his head back at her, his face softening as he answered. "I am Tariuq. It's a pleasure to meet you, Yue." The words rang honestly, with no added title as if he didn't know or care that she was the princess of Agna Qel'a. But if he travelled as much as he claimed he did, maybe he wouldn't know much about her. Just that Chief Arnook had a daughter somewhere. No clue of her name or appearance. 

The bubble of delight at being so unknown made her answering smile so much wider. "The pleasure is mine." 

The greetings seemed to be the extent of socialising that Tariuq was willing to deal with, easily turning his attention back to the nets in his lap. Yue was left standing in silence, watching his fingers weave in and out of the rope until it was finally broken by a simple "would you like to sit?"

Yue started slightly at the question, shaking her head as she took a slight step back. "No, thank you. I shouldn't disturb you further." Master Yagoda had probably sent one of her assistants to the palace with the details of her checkup with Yue, and Father would be so worried when he received the news, especially if Yue wasn't home already. Bowing shallowly again, Yue turned on her heel to climb back up the icy stairs to where the canoe was waiting for her. As she left Tariuq to his work, her ears caught the sound of his humming starting up again, bringing a gentle smile to her lips. He really did have a lovely voice.

~*~

Time escaped her after her return to the palace. Her father's reaction was everything Yue had feared and worse, ordering her to bedrest as he fled to the Oasis to pray. Her space became a never-ending parade of priests and healers as the days passed, black leeching back into her hair as her body became weakened. Yue slept more as the cold seeped into her body to live between her bones, needing more and more energy to even sit up and eat. Hahn had visited her only once, awkwardly informing her that their fathers had broken their engagement. Some part of her had laughed hysterically at that, crowing that at least there had been some benefits to all of this.

Her dreams were strange when she slept, of great serpents swimming through the depths where no light reached that called her Mother. Broken ships crewed by the spirits of lost tribesmen that hummed while they worked. A giant seal too fat and lazy to reach the sea, that barked and barked until the waves finally came to him. The last one had left her in a fit of giggles when she woke, trying to explain through laughter to her handmaids about how round the poor seal was.

This dream was new though. The moon was gone outside her window when she opened her eyes, the sky as dark as the abyss despite how clearly she could see around her room. The air tasted like salt and brine, waves lapping at her windowsill like the sea had risen up to swallow the city whole. The sweetest thing though, was how nothing hurt. No aches or pain swelling under her skin, jabbing at her temples or churning in her gut. She felt as if she could leap out of bed, dive into the water, and swim forever.

Of course, what kept and held Yue's attention as she slowly sat up, relishing the flex of her muscles and how easily they held her up, was the man leaning against the far wall watching her. His face was sharper, hair longer and wild. Bone, driftwood, sea glass, and pearls beads all hung from tangled braids woven through ink hair. His eyes held no trace of white, black to black from one corner of the eye to the other. To stare into them was to be lost, drowning in the fathomless depths. Tattoos tangled up his bare arms, bound around his wrists and flowing up to curl around muscular shoulders.

Yue's voice was hushed as she stared at the man, wondering if it was one of those dreams that left her feeling warm and flustered in the morning when she woke. "Tariuq?"

The answering smile was sharp, his teeth all coming to a point like the sharks that the fishermen sometimes pulled in. "Not quite. You know me though." His voice carried the distant roar of waves crashing against rocks, wood breaking beneath the force of the storm, ice grinding against ice as the currents drove them together with unstoppable force. 

And he was right, she did know him. All of their people did. Ship Breaker, Tide Dweller, La of the Fathomless Depths. Yue swallowed as she stared at the Great Spirit, wondering if this really was a dream or if it even mattered. And if this was just a handsome face he had plucked from her memories, or if the net mender she had met all those weeks ago was really a Great Spirit walking the mortal world.

"You're dying. Your heart has begun to fail under the strain." His words were unkindly gentle, as patient as the water that eroded the stone. The sea took everything in the end. One day it would rise and swallow the whole world, and everything would return to his domain. And today, it seemed that La had come for her. Yue wet her lips as she watched him push away from the wall, slowly approaching her bed with silent footsteps. Frost spread beneath each step, ice crystals creeping along the floor to curl around the edges of her furniture and lap at the edges of the wall. "Your father kneels at the edges of my domain and begs for your life. My Tui has blessed you once with life, and now he pleads for my blessing as well." 

Yue couldn't stop the shiver that raced down her spine at his words. Tui and La were two halves of the same whole. Push and Pull, Light and Dark, Soft and Hard, Gentle and Cruel, Life and Death. It was by Tui who taught them how to turn their bending to healing, and La who showed them how to fight with it, to defend their people and homes. He was the sea, lifegiving and merciless. His blessing was something that had to be earned, with skill and hard work. Only the strong, the brave, and the wise survived the waves.

But Yue could be brave. She did not know if she was wise or strong, but she could be brave. Squaring her shoulders, she met La's eyes head-on, unwilling to flinch as she caught his gaze. "What would your blessing cost me?" There were whispers of his favour; men who survived weeks at sea after shipwrecks, scarred but sane, having eaten strange fish that glowed under the moon's light. Women who prayed for relief from cruel husbands, wandering down to the sea's edge and returning with a stomach full of babe after the ice gave way under their husband's feet while they hunted.

Was that what La would ask of her? A child? A part of her clenched at the idea, eyeing his broad shoulders and strong hands. It wouldn't be a hardship, surely he would be gentle with her. And father would believe her if she told him the parentage of the babe once her belly began to swell. La's smile grew dark with promise, as if he knew exactly where her mind had drifted. The bed creaked under his weight as he finally reached her side, one knee pressing into the mattress as he lent over to cup her face. "That is something for you to discover when you come find me, little moon."

His words were a rumble, trapped between them as his thumbs brushed against the delicate skin below her eyes, guiding her back down against her pillow as her eyelids fluttered shut as if dragged down by a great weight. La's lips were a frozen bite, so cold they burned as he pressed a kiss against each eyelid before finally stealing a sly kiss from her parted lips. "You will carry my mark like you once carried Tui's, along with the strength to bear it. Now I think it is time for you to wake." 

[worldofthechateau]

What Is The Chateau?

The Chateau, or the ChateauVerse, is an urban fantasy, or rather suburban fantasy, world created by me. I made this blog so I would have an easier time sticking to this world, as my ADHD brain tends to fly off randomly.

Anyway, let's start with the history of the universe's namesake, the Chateau itself.

You see, there used to be an old magical family called the Terwilligers. They were very proud of their mastery of magic and did not want to mingle with the magically-ignorant populace. As such, they took great measures to keep themselves hidden, mostly by using enchantments to hide their grand estates.

This desire to avoid dealing with The Plebians lead them to settle in the fictional town of Maple Creek, Massachusetts. Maple Creek, as the name implies, was known for its magnificent maple trees– trees tall enough to hide their Chateau with only a little help from plant magic.

In addition to mundane protections, such as its location and the giant stone wall surrounding the mansion, many enchantments were cast to hide the Chateau. One warped space around the property so it could only be entered from one direction. Another messed with perception so that the road to the Chateau looked as uninteresting as possible. A third altered memory, making it hard to remember the Chateau existed. The only way around these enchantments was to have Terwilliger blood or possess a certain rune.

However, the Terwilligers met their end just after the American Civil War when Bartholomew Terwilliger, a traveler, returned home carrying the Weeping Plague. It's a horrible magical illness that causes the infected to cry their own blood out. They slowly died one by one, for even with their pride and elitism, they did not want to risk exposing anyone else to the plague. The last Terwilliger, Cornelius, instructed Fortescue, the family golem, to cast a spell that would disintegrate the dead bodies after he died, in order to be absolutely sure the plague would spread no further.

Fortescue, not knowing what else to do, remained in the Chateau for many decades, hoping that someone would find him and give him a purpose again.

And eventually, that day came. A little girl named Mary Anne Eason had a Gift that made her ignore all forms of magical mind manipulation. Thus, along with her friend Jenny Garrand, she was able to discover the Chateau, Fortescue, and the supernatural world as a whole.

After reading the books in the Chateau's library and learning both the wonder and the danger of the world of magic, Mary Anne and Jenny decided to form a secret society dedicated to keeping an eye on anything magical. The girls had many friends from many walks of life due to their various little "adventures" so it wasn't hard to find people with the right skillsets for the job.

Thus, the Society of the Supernatural was born.

I think I'll leave it here for now, since this post is getting kind of long. Feel free to ask me any questions you have about this world!

[skippyv20]

The Storm has land fall.....

Good morning Mrs Skippy,

I can only imagine the many many people around the world scurrying to their screens to watch this much anticipated Netflix Series of the Dynamic Complaining Duo ... The Royal family tuning in to see what damage they now have to wage war against. The Markle family tuning in to see if they were included in the series somehow, maybe they can profit from it. The ex-friends of Harry's tuning in to see WTF happened to the Harry they used to know, and the rest of the world on the edge of their seats, panting breathlessly to see any glimpse of a 'bombshell' that might possibly be offered to make sense of the atrocious media blitz we've all been saturated with about these 3 for YEARS.  

Much thanks to Mrs Skippy, for this blog to have been educating people for 3 years on the truths all along, it comes as no surprise that there so far are no 'bombshells; to speak of. Wait what? Well, maybe Netflix won't reveal so we'll all have to buy "SPARE', maybe they'll be in there. People in general love drama, and this offers lots of entertainment. But I'd like for you watching to remember just a few side notes to keep top of mind as you grab your bowl of popcorn, cuddle up with your favorite blanket, and consume the Harkles role of a lifetime... 

1.  The agenda was set before the 2 even met. 

2.  This was all scripted.  There is no possible way under Heaven that so many of these private moments captured, JUST HAPPENED THERE WAS A CAMERA right in front of them. 

3.  All for MONEY.  Netflix did this for viewership, (MONEY).  Harkles did this for $100 M.  This was all created, plotted, planned and performed FOR MONEY.  The only POSSIBLE way for them to live the high life in which the Royal life offered, without being Royal, was a Netflix deal.  

4.  Yes, the world mourned your beloved mom, Princess Diana, when she died.  Yes Harry, we understand your pain... pretty sure we've had 25 years now to understand.  But Harry... many many many many people out there have lost their parents, or their children in horrible accidents or illnesses. Pretty sure there are many families still in therapy to deal with their grief. Pretty sure not one of these families gets a $100 M Netflix deal to talk about it.  

5. Lets not forget that Meghan Markle herself said one of her greatest talents was that she was able to "immediately start crying" when playing a part, This girl is playing the role of her lifetime right now. Remember that when the tears start, the camera is RIGHT THERE to capture it. Cringe!

6. Finally, Remember when you're watching this Planned-Plotted-Performance, that this is actually the agenda of the WOKE LEFT.  An agenda meant to destroy a 1200 Monarchy . Its worth knowing all the top celebrities and politicians who have detached themselves from this couple. For a reason!   

Furthermore,   Harry and Meghan , WE ALL KNOW YOU HAD MUCH OF THIS SERIES DELETED AFTER YOUR TRIP TO THE QUEENS FUNERAL.  And that you said you wanted to MEND FENCES WITH THE ROYAL FAMILY AFTER ALL THIS WAS RELEASED.  Why???? So you want the money, but then want back into the Royal fold?? 

i would advise anyone reading this , forget this merching, complaining, vindictive, spoiled, lying couple and their agenda... focus on CHRISTMAS.  Focus on your family. Focus on what's real. Focus on things that matter. God Bless.

Thank you! Wonderful post….and yes, let’s focus on Christmas!🙏🏻❤️

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

msr + world war ii

the way I could technically spin this to fit with the actual canon in-universe AU (6×03 Triangle) but like... I'm actually gonna do a twist on the 50s AU I started trying to write while I was brainfried from a cold this past week lol. this is so random and probably won't make any sense without reading my tags on this post lol

Binary Star

~2k words | WWII AU Pilot | pre-MSR | AO3

Dana Scully nearly lost her younger brother from violent illness when she was eight years old. What she did lose was the proper use of her left leg, but what she gained was an intense need for understanding of the human body. It's only intensified as she grows older, fights her way into medical school right as boys her brother's age are fighting their way through enemy lines in Europe.

Young men in the prime of their lives with the lives they planned to lead stolen from them see a young, pretty woman with a crippled leg using a cane coming to treat their injuries and they have one of two reactions: they either look sidelong at her with scorn, or they start crying. All the doctors are healthy, said one boy, her younger brother's age, and no one can understand each other. That's the moment Dana knows she chose the right profession.

Fox Mulder lost his little sister when he was twelve, and gained an intense need to understand why, and what happened. His father was a government contractor before the War, and got back in with the secret services as soon as the States decided to step in. Fox dodged the draft because of the familial privilege that couldn't save his kid sister, and because the FBI wanted him on the home front. Maybe his father couldn't bear to sacrifice another child to whatever happens behind the scenes in those smoke-filled government offices where they claim war plans are made, when really it's so much more than that.

Dana has seen things that she can't explain. Men with their flesh eaten away, that she can only treat with dangerous doses of painkillers; some who came home with fifty years added to their age after only being gone for a few months; a nurse who exhibited symptoms of radiation exposure despite never leaving the country and another who died painfully of a tumor that Dana has only ever seen in illustrations, eating through her sinus cavity into her brain. That last is the one that piques Dana's medical curiosity; the woman had insisted with a surprising gravity and calmness that she'd been abducted and experimented on. The vividness of her descriptions, of white light and fear she could never fully remember, was such that Dana has to doubt it was all contrived, or a symptom of the cancer. She's heard talk of conspiracies, the government conducting secret experiments in New Mexico or other unlikely places; her sister believes it all, but Dana questions. She wants to know.

Mulder isn't expecting the knock on the door of the basement office; he isn't even supposed to be down here. There are more important things to worry about and work on than the mysterious x-files, what with a war going on all around them. But there's a folder down here with his sister's name on it, because if any case can be considered unexplained, it's Samantha's abduction. His father had ordered an FBI investigation, but Mulder thinks it was all for show. He knows a little too much about what goes on down in Roswell, New Mexico; just enough that he keeps a lookout over his shoulder. No one knows he came down here again, so he pretends he doesn't know he's always putting himself in danger and he quips that there's no one down here, just the FBI's most unwanted.

Dana was told she might find the man she's looking for down here, in an unused office full of files. She wonders if her answers are down here, or if Fox Mulder is holding them in his hands. He pulls off a pair of reading glasses and looks at her with mild surprise. "Agent Mulder," she says, resting both hands primly on the buffed, comfortable handle of her cane, "I was told you might be able to help me."

He listens, absolutely intent, to the little doctor who limps into his office and rattles off a description that lines up with half the abductee stories he's heard. He has permission to take a case in Oregon, teenagers disappearing and coming back wrong or broken. It sounds a little too much like the boys who are sent home from the front lines, and a little too unearthly; they're sending him to make sure whatever facet of their conspiracy it is doesn't get out. So, on impulse, he invites Dana Scully to come along with him. He doesn't have a partner right now, he says — Diana was sent to a Naval base overseas — and he could use her medical expertise. Maybe they can help each other.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He asks when he hands her the file, and Dana scoffs. Her patients have told her some terrible, inexplicable tales, but no matter what she doesn't see behind the scenes of this war, she's never given credence to the notion.

"Logically," she replies, "I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far distances of space, the energy requirements would exceed any kind of craft's capabilities."

Mulder's eyes brighten and he smirks. "That, Dr. Scully, is conventional wisdom. What do we do when, in the case of these kids or your patient who died, convention and science don't offer us the answers we need?"

"The answers are there, you just have to know where to look." This is the tenet she has built her life on. Her search for knowledge began when she was eight years old, the first time she questioned God and the world she lives in, and has led her here. And when she's on a train the next day, sitting across from Mulder's sleeping form, she wonders if this is the right place to look.

Mulder squints one eye open, watching the little doctor, or maybe little spy, as she watches things he can't see pass by outside the window. She's got bright, curious eyes; he'd seen it in how intensely she argued with him about the existence of life beside their own, in the way she fixed him in her gaze like she was trying to figure him out. He's still doing the same; he's just as curious about her as she seems to be about the world around them.

He rolls onto his side, reaches across the space between them and carefully taps her left knee — the one she favors, pretty heavily by the worn look of the top of her cane. "A doctor with a gimp leg?" He asks, maybe a little bit teasingly just to see the reaction he'll elicit from her, when she looks at him.

Dana is used to the questions about her disability, but she's also used to the disapproval or doubt in her soundness as a physician that tends to come with it. Mulder, sprawled across the seat in front of her, seems purely curious. She blinks down at him, finding it strange because when they're standing, he's so much taller, and folds her hands on top of her knee.

"Polio," she explains. "When I was a girl. One of my brothers nearly died, I came up crippled. That's the reason I went into medicine, actually."

Mulder nods, like he understands. Later, in a dark hotel room, he'll tell her how the loss of his sister sent him running to solve mysteries that others wouldn't care about; they might just be more similar than either of them thinks. Their innate curiosity, longing for knowledge, to understand, draws them together. They both want to understand each other, as well.

Dana isn't an investigator, but Mulder is a mystery she wants to solve. He touches her gently, hesitantly, when she impulsively flies into his arms, he flinches at the flames when the hotel lights on fire and then turns angry. His entire face lights up in a tremendous, all-consuming grin when she starts laughing in disbelief in the cemetery and he catches her when her cane slips and she loses her footing on the wet terrain. He calls her by her last name, not her title or "Miss" like she's used to hearing; it reminds her of how people have always referred to her father.

For a moment, it's like there's no war; she forgets about Bill Jr. deployed with the Navy, forgets about Charlie deserting from boot camp and never calling. She forgets, for a second, that she is not and will never be normal or whole, and that she's caught up in a mystery that might put her in danger.

Scully argues with him, almost constantly. She's the skeptical daughter of a Navy captain who's spent her life fighting for a place in a profession that would have her be only a nurse, secondary to everyone else. She questions everything, won't believe a word of his theories. But she listens. She doesn't disregard him, doesn't tell him he'd be better off codebreaking or spying on the Axis; she wants to learn, wants scientific answers for unscientific questions, and when she's caught in a corner, barely staying upright because it's muddy out and she's staring down into an empty grave, she laughs. She doesn't rail against her own lack of knowledge, doesn't argue the way she's been since the moment they met. She looks up at him, something intense shining in her eyes, and she laughs. Mulder cannot comprehend her.

She loses her cane trying to keep up with him in the woods, trying to either hide from or find the source of the blinding lights hovering over the forest. He's not sure which it is; if she thinks they're in danger, or if she wants to know more. Billy Miles, comatose only hours before, is in the light, with Theresa Nemman in his arms. The wind picks up, the light blinds him, and he's not sure where Scully is or if she's seeing this; he hopes she is.

She shouts his name over the sound of the wind whipping through the branches, and he finds her limping through the undergrowth, shining her light toward the ground. He drops to his knees and digs around in the brush for a minute, counting the seconds. He wonders if his watch will have lost time again. Scully balances herself against his shoulder, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"It was incredible," he breathes, and she nods.

Her mind is playing air raid sirens, instincts shouting at her to get out of there, that the light came from a foreign plane or weaponry; nothing she's ever heard of can hover that way, though, and she knows Mulder is thinking of flying saucers. She can see it in his eyes, feels it mirrored in herself when she sees the sheriff's boy and the medical examiner's daughter, alive and whole. It's absolute wonder.

She came here looking for answers, but found something she cannot explain. No answer, just more questions. She's found a mystery, or maybe two. Maybe a friend. Maybe more.

He knows, as well as he knows the back of his own hand, that there are, in fact, more important things to worry about. Abductions by extraterrestrials, experiments done by the government or secret services, should be secondary to winning the war, but what if the two go hand in hand? What if the same is true of him and Scully; she's small and curious and determined enough to be a soldier herself, fits into the mysteries he's after like she was born to be there.

Neither of them expected to find each other in the midst of the tension wrought by the war. Maybe neither of them knew where to look.

[jessikahathaway]

Ambrosia - Prologue

Park Jimin (Aphrodite) X Reader

Genre: GreekGod!AU, Genderbent Aphrodite!AU, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn and Smut (Future)

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, Jimin in a SUIT, Namjoon being a lil nosy, profanity (if I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 3.1k (YA GIRL PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG AND DIDN'T GET THE FULL CHAPTER DONE SO WE'RE DOING A PROLOGUE. K? K.)

Summary: Cast out of Olympus with the task to find his one true love, Aphrodite is certain his match will come to him. But as the years drag on, what happens when the God of Love, gives up?

Days in a flower shop in the middle of a decent sized town can pass by fast or slow. There can be days with what feels like hundreds of orders coming through the tiny store, and then there are the days where the employees just wind up looking at their phones the whole time and not one soul passes through the door.

But on special days, all it takes is one person to walk through those doors and everything changes.

This is a story of one of those days.

--

Tuesdays could seriously go fuck off for all you cared. This particular Tuesday was proving to be a test on every ounce of your patience and every single time you heard that door bell ring as the gates of hell opened, your shoulders sagged a little more. Something about their flowers wasn’t right. The blue wasn’t like the sky but like the sea and that’s an issue. The flowers look wilted. Always something.

But, like you did every day you turned to the customer and gave them a huge smile, ready to help them with whatever they needed. Even if it meant losing your sanity little by little.

The day passed this way, going on and the clock didn’t seem to be moving at your desired pace. So, you sat on the chair behind the desk at the front and gazed out the window.

It was a warmer spring day.

The trees were budding and life was returning after a long winter. You loved this time of the year. Everything becoming new again, alive and welcoming. But, it also means more work for you. It’s never been a problem, but this past year has been particularly hard.

Your younger sister passed away.

She’d been fighting a long illness, one with a poor prognosis. At a young age you and Sana were placed in the foster system, living with a decent enough upbringing. The foster parents were never mean or cruel, but they weren’t your parents. Whom you barely remembered now. So when you turned eighteen you asked if you could become her legal guardian. Your foster parents had agreed, wishing you and her the best of luck...

But luck had never been on you or your sister’s side.

Her illness started to rapidly progress, causing more and more doctor’s visits and more money being pulled from your measly savings. It wasn’t enough. You were having to take out loans and everything just to keep the lights on in your apartment.

Sana, however, kept her spirits high no matter the situation. She was the positive one. The bright one that everyone gravitated towards in school. She was your light. And now your life is duller. Your sister loved to go through the streets in her wheelchair, looking at the budding leaves and flowers that were growing on the trees.

“Look Y/N!” she’d squeak. “They’re so beautiful. I want to open a flower shop, and I’m going to sell the most beautiful flowers to people.”

As her birthday present you decided to open the flower shop.

It was her last one.

Looking out at the spring blooming in front of you it was hard to be happy, knowing how much your sweet Sana would’ve loved it. Life often wasn’t fair, but you hadn’t expected it to be so. You weren’t a bad person, but bad things had happened. But you were alive, and had a life to keep living.

As much as the flower shop was Sana’s dream, you couldn’t sell it when she died. It had become your safe haven. A little place to call your own. Even if it was Sana’s dream, you had made it real. Real enough for the both of you, and now you gotta keep it going. Even if the loan to open it made your wallet want to cry, it was enough. Plenty.

Because it was yours.

A single tear fell down your cheek as you thought of your beloved sister, and her cute cheeks and beautiful eyes that never held an ounce of fear or regret. A few petals fell from the blossoming tree outside in the wind and fell to the ground in a swirl of pastel hues that made you smile.

More tears moved down your cheeks and you wiped them away in frustration. She wouldn’t want you to be upset, she’d want you to be happy and to continue with your life. Keep going and make something of yourself.

Sana used to say that you were always Y/N the big sister and never just... Y/N. And you knew it was true. You were supposed to take care of her, but now that she’s gone... T-There was no one to care for but yourself.

You’d have to be enough.

Suddenly, the bell above your door ran proudly, making your teary eyes refocus on the person entering the store. Those tears were quickly replaced with a look of wonder.

A man walked through the door, head held high and his eyes scanned the area like he was inspecting it. Wiping your already sweaty palms on your apron you approached him with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Sana’s flowers, how can I assist you?” you asked, coming towards him. The man took in your appearance and a calm expression steeled over his face.

“Hi, are you Sana?” he asked, referring to the name.

“No, Sana was my sister,” you said, swallowing hard. The man seemed to understand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to impose,” he said, bowing lightly.

“You’re fine, no worries. How can I help you?” you asked, looking at his apparel.

He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored to his every inch, must’ve been expensive as hell. You could probably open a whole new section of your shop with the money he was dripping in.

You weren’t known for having an upper class clientele, not that the occasional businessman came in and asked for a bouquet of your finest flowers. Sometimes two... Shaking your head you focused on the man in front of you as best as you could. But, his features were so striking it was hard to keep your eyes from wander...

“Park Jimin,” he introduced, holding his hand out politely.

“Y/N,” you said, extending your own hand and taking his in yours. Shaking gently he gave a smile that could rival the very stars in the sky. This man was more breathtaking the longer you looked, making your palms start to sweat even more.

“A pleasure, Y/N,” he said. “I’m having an event to celebrate my family's company. It’s the 125 year of it’s business and we are looking to source from the local populace instead of corporations to provide a more intimate setting for the investors and other members of the company,” Jimin said, rambling off a lot of information for your sleep deprived brain.

“I see, so you’re looking for floral arrangements?” You asked, heading towards your book of options. Jimin followed you over, leaning towards you so close you could smell his cologne. A spicy scent that wasn’t overpowering but more... alluring? Inviting?

Shaking your head you pulled up your options of centerpieces and the like, showing him what styles you had available and Jimin paid close attention to each set. Asking questions about what flowers would look good in what vases and if they did better in foam or water.

“For events I prefer the foam personally. Less likelihood of someone knocking a vase over and water getting everywhere. But the flowers are more mobile in the water, so it’s about what you’re looking for in regards to the feel,” you said.

Jimin seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “I like the traditional styles you showed me. The simple little flowers decorating around the larger arrangements, it looks classy and provides the color I’m looking for,” he said, nodding.

Making a note you grabbed a notepad to start writing all the information down.

“So when is your event? A month, two?” You said, throwing out a few different times.

“Two weeks,” he said. You froze, swallowing hard.

“Ah, I see,” you said, biting your lip.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, looking up at your pained expression.

“It’s just, the flowers might take a minute to get here. And I arrange everything by hand, so it takes me a little longer. How many tables were you going to have and the garlands for the stairways as well?” You asked.

“Well as for tables I have 150 dinner tables, 50 cocktail tables and 8 large banquet tables. There are two main stairwells that wrap around to the main area so there will be about 400ft worth of garland necessary,” he calculated slowly.

“Okay,” you said, rubbing your temples slowly.

“How many people do you have on your payroll?” He asked, looking around and noticing the empty space.

“Just me. My friend Namjoon likes to come and help sometimes but he’s a full time nurse so,” you shrugged.

“Would you be able to do this in two weeks with just by yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I can always try,” you said, giving a gentle smile.

“How much would it cost?” He asked.

“Depends on the flowers you want, you already picked the style so one second,” you said, grabbing your calculator and running the numbers really quick. “I can do expedited shipping on the flowers to get them here faster but then you run the risk of stems getting broken and not having enough. But I can order more to compensate but then that’s more money,” you said.

Finally you had a total and you frowned.

“It would be around $2,156 if we did the expedited shipping and ordered more flowers to compensate for the potential broken ones,” you said, biting your lip. That was a lot of money to spend on flowers for a simple dinner event. You knew it, but with everything he wanted and the time frame it was the best you could do... You didn’t even charge him for the probability of Namjoon helping. Because then it would jump up to the 3,000 dollar mark and you weren’t going to push your luck.

After a few moments, Jimin pulled out his checkbook and started writing the check out. Your eyes bulged when he pushed the piece of paper towards you, his pen clicking with a sense of finality.

“What kind of flowers should we get?” He said, a smile on his face. You looked down and almost flung the check right back at him.

$5,500

This man had just dropped over five thousand dollars without blinking.

“Th-This is too much,” you said, trying to push it back towards him.

“You charged me for base flowers, and it’s super short notice. Take the extra as a tip,” he smiled.

“I-I can’t accept over two thousand dollars as a tip. If I get audited I’ll be screwed,” you said.

“No you won’t, it’ll be fine. Please, take it,” he encouraged, placing the check back in front of you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep yourself from panicking. You did have a large loan payment coming up, and this would lessen that blow significantly...

But wasn’t it wrong?

“Alright...” you trailed off, taking the check and stamping it before putting it in your deposit bag.

“What type of flowers do you recommend using?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gleam in his bright eyes.

“Peonies and hydrangeas are a great combo with complementary color palettes. I always love doing grass pieces as a nice natural moment but, baby's breath is a classic and more traditional if that’s what you’re looking for,” you said.

“Can we do the soft blue hydrangeas and white peonies?” He asked, looking at the sample photos you had.

“Yes, the white peonies would bring a nice fullness and the hydrangeas can add the color,” you explained.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” he said, nodding.

“Okay! I’ll get the order to go in and get the expedited shipping and we should get them by the end of the week. They’ll go into the fridge and that should help keep them fresh,” you said.

“Here.”

You turned around to see a small card placed on the table in front of you.

“What’s this?” You asked, lifting the small thing to your eyes.

“My number,” he said, grinning. “Message me when the flowers come in.”

“O-Okay, absolutely!”

Jimin smiled then, a bright dazzle expression that had your mouth drying in longing.

“I look forward to hearing from you, Y/N,” he said.

“I look forward to it as well, Mr. Park,” you said politely. Jimin tutted and shook his head.

“No, Jimin will do just fine. Have a great day Y/N,” he waved, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

You looked at the numbers and sighed.

God you were so fucked.

—

“So, let me get this straight,” Namjoon said over the phone. “Hot guy in a suit comes in and orders a fuck ton of flowers you know you can’t do yourself and you agree because he dropped an extra few grand in the check? Y/N! You can’t do that, I’ll only be able to help you arrange the bouquets the day of. So you’ll have to put them all together yourself! When will you sleep? Eat? Poop!?!” He yelped.

“Firstly, my bowel movements are none of your concern,” you stated. “And second of all, I can’t refuse that kind of money! The next loan payment is going to fuck me over if I don’t have this padding. Please Joonie, tell me you can help me at least the night before,” you pleaded.

“I really can't Y/N, I’m working night rotation. So, I could maybe stop by in the morning but then the flowers have to sit longer,” he reasoned.

“Yeah I know... Can you switch?” You said, a soft voice replacing your whining.

“I wish I could, but there’s hardly any staff that night as it is. And we’re all pulling hours we don’t like. I can’t ask them to do more. Poor Taehyung has already covered me this month and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than ask again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and I’m desperate, but... I’ll figure it out,” you said, rubbing your face in exhaustion.

“What kind of asshat doesn’t come in until last minute to order a huge ass amount of floral arrangements?” Namjoon asked.

“An asshat named Park Jimin apparently,” you said, twisting the stem of a flower in front of you.

“You-You mean the Park Jimin?” Namjoon stuttered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are, Namjoon. I just know what this one looked like,” you said.

“Doesn’t he have like, neon pink hair or something?” He asked.

“Um, no? It was blonde-ish when he was in here,” you said.

“Plump lips?”

“Yeah?”

“Eyes that command the panties of women to drop?” He asked.

“Sir, my panties stayed firmly in place so I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” you huffed.

“For now, Y/N, for now. Anyways,” he said dismissively. “If this is the Park Jimin we’re talking about you need to be very careful.”

“What? What are you talking about,” you whispered.

“He’s like a sex God or something. He’s got game better than Jordan, okay? But he never commits to anyone,” he said, seriously.

You rolled your eyes, even though the man couldn’t see you.

“My heart isn’t in danger here, Namjoon. We’ll be fine. I can handle an attractive businessman,” you said.

“Yeah, but can your cum thirsty twat handle it?”

“Sir, I’m gonna hang up,” you warned.

“As a nurse I demand to know the last time you got laid,” he said. “It’s for you health of course.”

“That should be a HIPPA violation,” you complained.

“Yeah, not a friendship violation though. Tell me when was the last time you were left boneless between the sheets my guy,” he said.

“I don’t see how this has to do with floral arrangements,” you sighed. “But since your bitch ass needs to know it was about a year ago.”

“Well, maybe it is time to get back in the ring,” he reasoned.

“Namjoon, there’s no need to get me a suitor. You’re not my dad trying to get another cow on the farm or something,” you joked.

“Do you think Park Jimin would give me a cow if I gave him you?” He asked, sounding too serious for your liking.

“I’m really gonna hang up now,” you said, pulling your phone away from your face.

“Just, be safe Y/N! Don’t work too hard, I love you!” You heard screamed from the receiver.

“Yeah love you too Joonbug,” you said, hanging up and looking at the clock. The numbers glared back at you like they were judging you for being up this late. But you simply shrugged and went and took a much needed shower.

That man had you sweating like a sinner in church.

As you bathed you tried to think of your next plan of attack, but the water was too warm and soon you found yourself relaxing into the stream happily. Once you were done you cracked open a can of beer and sat down in your living room ready to start the night right, when a message floated across your screen.

Joonbug: IS THIS THE CULPRIT?!? Jpg.1013

You stared at the screen with an unamused face, but picked up your device anyway. Namjoon had sent you the picture and you could tell the fucker picked the first one off of google images like the lame hoe he was, but you looked regardless.

And, surprisingly, it was him.

The cherubic cheeks and wide smile, bright eyes and an alluring body. You sighed and texted him back.

Y/N: Yea, that’s him.

Joonbug: OH REAAALLLLYYYY???

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Joonbug: You can’t resist. THIS.

Y/N: I’ve resisted your rat poison for years, I think I got it.

Joonbug: EXcUSE MEEEE??? I am at least some kind of like, sexy poison???

Y/N: I’m dying either way, why do I care if it’s sexy or not?

Joonbug: :((((((

You left the conversation at that, but your mind began to wander. How were you going to finish this order and not embarrass yourself in front of a multimillionaire?

Maybe you bit off more than you can chew...

[rextasywrites]

Look At Me -Donna Beneviento x reader

Years had passed since then, and whenever you asked Mother Miranda about Donna, she just told you that Donna didn’t want anyone close to her, and that you should stop putting your nose into things that weren’t your business. But she was your best friend after all!

The reader misses their best friend Donna so much...how will their reunion go?

If there is more demand for Donna x reader content, I’d be more than happy to write more for her! I do have a soft spot for her!

Warnings: bit spoilerish, angst, crying

“Look at me.”, you cupped Donna’s cheeks through the veil she was wearing, the lace feeling rough under your fingers. It’s been years since you last saw her face, since she last let anyone come close to her. What had happened to her?

You two grew up together. You clearly remembered how much she always loved the dolls her parents made. They were a fairly well known puppet maker family after all. From a young age, she knew she’d step into her parents' footprints, them teaching her things as soon as she could hold a hammer and sandpaper. Her only friend was you as you didn’t taunt her about the scar in her face she had gotten very young. You loved watching her make new dolls and gave her suggestions what she could do differently. The first doll she ever made was gifted to you, and you have kept it on your nightstand ever since.

But then, her parents fell ill. Nobody knew what was happening to them, and they died only several minutes apart, leaving Donna as an orphan. For the first few weeks, their gardener looked after her, cooking her meals and holding her when she cried over her parent’s deaths. How they held hands as they drifted into their forever sleep, how she had to watch her parents go from healthy and strong to barely able to hold down a simple soup.

That’s when Mother Miranda came into the game. She felt pity for the girl and took her under her wing. The house of the Beneviento family was far outside of the village and only a dangerous walk across a rope bridge connected her to the village. Mother Miranda made sure the girl got enough food and some time in, she adopted her. Now, Donna spent most of the time with Mother Miranda, and after some time, the gardener disappeared. Nobody knew what happened to him, Mother Miranda suggested that he might have drunkenly fell off the rope bridge.

Mother Miranda taught Donna everything she needed to know when it came to school things, but she also gave her the Cadou. The day before she got the Cadou was the last time you ever saw her.

Years had passed since then, and whenever you asked Mother Miranda about Donna, she just told you that Donna didn’t want anyone close to her, and that you should stop putting your nose into things that weren’t your business. But she was your best friend after all!

That’s when you decided to take matters in your own hands. The rope bridge was ways more terrifying than back in the day when you were kids, laughing and throwing stones into the river beneath it. With wobbly legs you made your way towards the house, a good march away still. Only when the house was already visible you realized that the birds had stopped singing their songs.

The house looked just how you remembered it - the waterfall crashing down behind the cliff, muting every possible sound. You knocked on the door in a certain manner. Back in the day, to show it was you and that you wanted Donna to come play with you, you knocked two times quickly, a short break, one quick knock and one last long one.

Memories flooded your mind but before you could lose yourself in them, the door was opened. To your surprise, it was Angie opening the door. She had always been Donna’s favourite doll, the second doll she ever made. “Welcome here, (Y/N)!”, Angie crackled and opened the door more for you to step into the house.

“Where is Donna?”, you asked as you looked around. The interior hadn’t changed at all. Everything was looking like the day you had last entered the house so many years ago.

“Donna? Oh Donna is in her room! She isn’t doing well!”, Angie said and pointed you towards the staircase leading to Donna’s room. Well, you didn’t need that reminder, you still knew where it was. “Go to her! You know her so well!”

You nodded at Angie and patted her head, the doll jumping with happiness. She kinda liked it that you weren’t scared by her at all. Together you headed towards Donna’s room and you knocked on the door.

“Mother Miranda?”, Donna called out. Her voice was muffled, maybe she was hiding under a blanket or had her head under her pillow.

“No, it’s me, (Y/N)!”, you replied.

“(Y/N)?! You shouldn’t be here!”, Donna called out, her voice clearer than before. Angie looked at you and you looked at her. You two nodded at each other and you opened the door to Donna’s room. For sure she was in her bed, blanket up to her chin. Her face was hidden by the veil even now that she was alone. “Does Mother Miranda know you are here.”

“No, why should she?”, you asked and sat down on the bed next to Donna, who was still laying down. “I am here because of you and not because of her.”

Donna nodded, avoiding your gaze by looking at Angie, “May you please leave us alone for a bit, Angie?”, and the doll nodded, heading out of the door and closing it. “(Y/N), why are you here?”

“I missed you, Donna.”, you instantly confessed, didn’t want to beat around the bush. “I haven’t seen you in years, Mother Miranda keeps me from seeing you...and I just couldn’t stand it anymore!”, the word vomit out of your mouth didn’t stop, and Donna felt her heart opening up.

“Oh…”, she muttered. Had it really been years? At some point, she lost track of time passing.

“You are my best friend, Donna, and I missed you so much over those past years…”, you continued to talk, letting out all these feelings that had built up over time. “I just wanted to see my best friend again.”

To your surprise, you heard a soft sob coming from Donna, and by the way her body shook, it was clear that she was crying. Tears of years of built up loneliness, anger and sadness spilling over. “Oh Donna...look at me…”, you whispered not to scare her, but Donna moved her head away.

“No! Don’t look at me! I’m ugly!”, she cried out, grabbing the veil and pulling it tighter over her face. Her body was shaking even more and tears stained the veil.

“But Donna...I know your scar, and it doesn’t make you ugly.”, you added in confusion. When you last saw her, she wasn’t happy about the scar but she learnt to live with it. Why now…?

“No, no, you don’t understand.”, Donna shook her head even harder, making you fear that she’d give herself whiplash. She loosened her grip on the veil once it was covered in tears and snot.

“I do understand. Donna, I am your best friend, please, let me see. And let me help you.”

Those simple words, the simple encouragement from you, broke Donna’s heart even more. It had been years since she last heard your voice, and it only just now dawned to her how much she had missed you too. With shaking hands, she slowly lifted the veil, revealing her ‘ugly’ face.

The Cadou was visible on the right side of her face where her scar used to be. You didn’t flinch or showed any kind of disgust. It was Donna after all. And she was still your best friend, no matter what that thing on her face was.

“I am so ugly.”, Donna cried out and threw her arms around your body, her head in your lap as she wailed even harder, the self disgust so evident it hurt.

“You are not. Who the fuck is telling you this bullshit?”, you asked and shook your head. Yes, she looked different, but why did it even matter? What mattered was the friend you finally reconnected with after all this time.

“I am! Just look at me! What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see my best friend and a wonderful woman. A talented doll maker and mother of Angie. You are amazing Donna.”, you whispered, making Donna look up to you in confusion.

“You don’t think…?”

“No, I absolutely do not think so. With scar, without scar, or whatever that thing is...you are still Donna.”, you smiled.

And for a short second, you saw that Donna was smiling too. Oh, how you missed her pretty smile. Your heart grew ten times at her happy expression, and you dared to wipe a tear off her cheek with your thumb. “I am so glad you are back in my life.”, Donna muttered, the crying clearly exhausting for her. “Just...don’t let Mother Miranda know. She won’t be happy about this....”

“I don’t care about Mother Miranda. All I care about is you, Donna. How about we go into the kitchen and make some tea? Catch up with everything that happened in the past few years?”

“Sounds good. Come with me.”

[drwcn]

ok but for fem!wwx au does lan zhan believe the rumours? and if so what does that mean for the whole 'i birthed him with my own body!' cause lan zhan did the maths and was like 'no it was just the once and this child is too old' but if he thinks he was just one in a line does he go back to bm after nightless city to rescue a kid he thinks is wei ying's but with another man? does he spend the three years in seclusion cursing every jin whose name he remembers as cowards only to step out, take one look at sizhui, and have an 'oh. i know why wei ying was so determined to save wen qionglin' moment???

Answer:  Haha, nah, Lan Wangji was fairly sure Sizhui wasn’t Wei Ying’s, for several reasons. One, Wen Yuan was born before the wen remnants even went to the Burial Mount. Lan Wangji saw the small child amongst the escape party that rainy night at the  concentration camp. Also, Wen Ning was several years younger than them, which would make it kind of weird if he were the dad. Before Wen Ning became the Ghost General, everyone just knew him as Wen Qing’s kid brother.  Lan Wangji, however, absolutely believed Jiang Yan to be Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s child even before Wei Wuxian was resurrected... 

《the midnight sun》 — 

[original], snippets [x] [x] [x] [x], other posts found under #lanyan or #midnight sun

midnight sun [snippet 7]

When Yan’er turned ten, Jiang Cheng decided it was time for her to accompany him to Cultivation Conferences. Most sect heirs began their training this way; Jiang Cheng still remembered his first time, trailing nervously in Jiang Fengmian’s wake. 

Heiresses, in comparison, were few and far between. Even head disciples were rarely girls. Jiang Wanyin had no children. His head disciple was his heiress, and his heiress was Jiang Yueqian (江月千). 

长烟一空 - when the smoke clears; 皓月千里 - the moon casts a thousand miles of light 浮光跃金 - which dances upon the water, golden 静影沉壁 - the shadow of the moon itself like jade underwater*

A jade underwater indeed.

“Shifu.”

Speaking of the devil, here she comes, walking measuredly down the long stairs of Jinlintai towards Jiang Cheng, the epitome of an obedient, filial disciple. It had only been a day and Jiang Yan already had the world fooled. Only Jiang Cheng knew how impossibly obstinate and utterly uncontrollable she was when her mind was fixed.

"Ah, Jiang-zongzhu, this is..." Spotting her, Lan Xichen glanced beyond his shoulder, the question dangling in the sentence he did not deem necessary to finish.

Unbeknownst to Lan Xichen, the child that made her way over was his niece by blood. Jiang Cheng was acutely aware that Yan'er actually resembled Lan Wangji a great deal, and despite having weighed the risks and gains against each other repeatedly before deciding to bring Jiang Yan along, now he was no longer so certain in his calculations. Lan Xichen was not a simple peasant; what if he detected a trace or a hint of her heritage between the furrow of her brows or the curve of her eyes? What if...

Jiang Cheng turned, raising an arm towards Jiang Yan, an introduction ready, but whatever words he had prepared in advance died on on his tongue when he laid eyes on the girl. Suddenly, he was no longer worried that others would suspect her to be Lan Wangji's child.

There was a red ribbon in her hair.

Yan'er stopped at a polite distance from the two older men and bowed in perfect form.

Jiang Cheng's heart stuttered violently in his chest at the sight of that red ribbon falling sideway over her small shoulder. If souls could travel, his would have left him in an instant. He stood in disincorporated panic, wrestling with the nauseating sensation of being ripped from his reality and tossed so far into the distant past that he felt whole again.

"Shifu, Lan-zongzhu." Yan'er greeted.

Shifu. Lan-zongzhu. In another world, another life, she would not need to be so formal. She could easily bound up to them, carefree, cooing jiujiu and bobo and ask to be bailed out from whatever trouble she caused.

Instead, he was only her shifu, and Lan Xichen, a stranger in her life. It would be laughable, if fate had not dealt them each such a wretched hand.

Jiang Cheng stepped towards her. “Where did you get this?” 

Jiang Yan looked up in surprise, her hand reaching up and making an aborted motion to touch the red ribbon in her hair.

“Qin-shenshen gave it to me. Is it not nice?” 

Qin Su. Jiang swallowed down a sigh of relief. Earlier, the Jin servants had sent word that Jin-fu'ren had baked treats for Jin Ling, and the boy had wasted no time dragging his favourite person - his Yan'er jiejie - to his aunt's place with him. Clearly, Qin Su had seized the opportunity to dote on the girl in place of the daughter she never had. Qin Su meant well. She couldn't have known. She's never even met Wei Wuxian.

In this state, Jiang Cheng could barely bring himself to look at his disciple, but he forced himself nonetheless to kneel and tuck an errant strand of baby hair behind her ear. “Very pretty.” 

Yan'er smiled.

Jiang Cheng could cry.

They'd been lucky thus far. Yunmeng's Jiang-xiao-guniang was born a taciturn girl who did not like to smile or laugh, not even when she was expected to for polite society. Whether she was happy or sad, one would be hard pressed to tell. Only in front of her master Jiang Cheng or her Jin Ling-didi did she elect to reveal the full expanse of her emotions. Yet, whenever Jiang Cheng bore witness to that smile as warm and incandescent as sunlight, he could not help but shudder somewhere deep. Recalling the radiant days of years gone by, he could still see - every time he closed his eyes - his er-shijie smiling at him in the very same fashion.

Aiyo, Jiang Cheng ~

So...they'd been very lucky thus far, that Yan'er was not so like her mother in that way, not so free and generous with her smiles. Or else this devastating secret —Wei Wuxian's only wish — would not be able to withstand the test of time.

"Very pretty, Yan'er." He reaffirmed. "Did you thank Jin-furen?"

"I did."

Jiang Cheng stood and turned back to face Lan Xichen, and realized they were being joined by two others: Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji. The latter of two stared directly down at Jiang Yan, visibly stricken and unblinking, as though he'd just seen a ghost. After all, he had often been on the receiving end of that signature smile once upon a time. It was probably not a smile he'd ever expected to see again in this life.

In hindsight, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have made Yan'er wear her uniform like all the other disciples instead of her favourite indigo robes.

“Ah, Wangji, shufu -” Lan Xichen was quick to react, sensing animosity brewing in the disquiet that stretched taut between his younger brother and his fellow sect master. "Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps you would introduce us?"

The First Jade smiled kindly down at Yan'er. She returned his kindness with a polite nod.

Lan Wangji finally dragged his gaze up to meet Jiang Cheng's, a rarity since their violent parting at Nevernight. The venerated Hanguang-jun had developed a habit of pretending that Jiang Wanyin of Lotus Pier did not exist at all. He probably preferred, dreamed of it even, if Jiang Cheng had been one to fall of the cliff that day. He probably hated himself for not shoving him into the molten abyss when he could to avenge the love of his life.

Love. What did Lan Wangji know of love? Jiang Cheng sneered inwardly. One did not compromise one's love and abandon her, ill and with child, to bleed out alone in a cave tainted by demonic spirits.

One did not watch idly as one's love and her people are reduced to ashes for the power and greed of men either....

Jiang Cheng buried the offending thought, too familiar with Wen Qing's ghost that still haunted him in his moments of weakness. Without breaking gaze, he laid a hand on the crown of Jiang Yan's head and said, "This is my first disciple, Jiang Yan, Jiang Yueqian."

"Yueqian greets Zewu-jun, Lan-lao-xiansheng, Hanguang-jun."

Jiang Cheng watched as the icy fire within Lan Wangji's eyes flicker, fizzle, and extinguish entirely. Jiang Cheng's vague silence had allowed him the space to make his assumptions, and he had assumed the most insane explanation.

Is it so difficult for you, wondered Jiang Cheng. To believe that she could be yours? So impossible, that you would choose to doubt Wei Wuxian instead?

Fine.

Hanguang-jun. The venerated Second Jade of Gusu. That's all you'll ever be. Yan'er will never call you Father.

Jiang Cheng decided he had spent enough time today making nice. "Zewu-jun, it's getting late. If nothing else, I will be taking my leave. The conference continues tomorrow. I will see you then. Yan'er, come."

Yan'er bowed again to the senior cultivators, perfectly well-mannered. A dash of surprise crossed those bright eyes, however, when Jiang Cheng took her hand to lead her away. She followed wordlessly, trusting him, and did not look back once at the Lans she left behind.

Now that Yan'er was out in society, there would surely be rumours. No matter. Rumours were nothing Jiang Wanyin could not withstand. How ironic, indeed, that this was to be his lot in life.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt he could understand his father.

Note:

The poem is from the Song dynasty, by poet 范仲淹 from his work 《岳阳楼记》

Jiang Cheng of course is also working off a lot of assumptions about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's relationship. He has his reasons for hating and blaming Lan Wangji, but not all the blame is deserved.

[mitsungo]

Oh lord help me.

I was just imagining things in my head, when suddenly, I had an urge to write a part two of the first fic I wrote. So, here we are. Except, Akaza is here now.

☆*:.｡. o❄️o .｡.:*☆

It had been over a week since Akaza had killed the flame hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku. Though he succeeded in killing the hashira, his master was deeply, upset with him for not finding anything about the flower that he was sent to search for. It frustrated Akaza that he had failed his mission in someway. As he recalled his battle with Kyojuro, he remembered that he had seen a photo fall out of the hashira’s pocket. Akaza wasn’t able to see much of it, but he did see a glimpse of a woman. He also remembered that as he ran away from the sun, the weakling that had called him a coward say that he had taken Kyojuro from his fiancée.

“So you were going to get married huh?” He quietly spoke to himself in the middle of a forest. Akaza snickered at the thought of Kyojuro’s fiancée hearing the news of her future husband’s death. “If only he had become a demon then he wouldn’t have died. Though I doubt he would control himself from devouring you.” Akaza said, he shut his eyes and pondered wether or not to go and find this fiancée of the man he killed. He was curious about the woman Kyojuro was going to marry for some reason. Sighing, Akaza stood up, finally making his decision. He was going to find that woman, just to satisfy his curiosity.

He didn’t really have much of a lead at first, but as he remembered certain parts of the fight, some of the memories of that night helped him start off with something. There was a certain piece of cloth that Kyojuro clung onto during the fight, it was a beautiful piece too if he was honest, with two cranes, some flowers and a crest. That must have been the family crest of the girl’s family. Now, you may ask, how on earth is that even a clue? Well duh, it’s a crest, someone must know of it, he had to unfortunately go around in his spare time asking random strangers if they knew about the crest. And so far, no one he asked knew about it. Pity.

And so now it was two weeks since he had killed kyojuro, and still no fiancée. Akaza was ready to give up on the task of finding the girl, until he ran into a lowly demon that he happened to cross paths with frequently in a village.

“Oh yes! I know that crest! It belongs to a kimono shop in the village next over to this one! I don’t get so close to the shop itself since the place is littered with Wisteria and I hear the seamstress herself is an extremely talented young beautiful woman who recently lost her fiancé!” The demon said to Akaza. Akaza felt relief about the information for some weird reason. The demon continued, “I’m sure the house of the tailor has the crest on their home so it won’t be hard to find either!” “I see. Thank you. I’ll let you be now then.” And with that, Akaza made his way to where the demon had said.

When he arrived at the village, he decided to eat first before going to find the house of the tailor. Once he found his victim of the night, he asked them about the seamstress and if they knew where she lived. After they told him the information (barley), he proceeded to devour them. Akaza wiped his mouth and stretched, he grinned with delight and made his way to the house of the girl he had been searching for. He arrived at a mansion not far from the forest where he had just eaten, the mansion itself was fairly big and wisteria flowers were hanging from wooded fences at the front of mansion and the main door. Akaza decided to look around first before doing anything else, he made his way to the back of the house and saw that there was a woman standing in the garden of the home. She was breath taking for sure, her eyes were puffy and red from crying, this must be her. The fiancée of Rengoku Kyojuro. Did she know he was the one that killed him? Did they tell her? Guess he’d have to find out himself. He jumped on top of the fence and looked down at her. How come there wasn’t any wisteria flowers here? Akaza had finally made his presence known to the girl as she slowly looked his way, her eyes making contact with his own.

“Who might you be? Are you perhaps a demon? Have you come to eat me? If so, please do it quickly. I’d rather not keep my husband waiting for me in the afterlife.” She told him stoically. Akaza was taken back by her words. “I am not here to eat you. I do not eat women. I just,” he had to think of a good excuse. “…heard from some townsfolk over in the last village that you are an extraordinary talented seamstress. I wanted to see for myself.” The girl looked at him with a small gentle smile, she looked back to where she was looking and said nothing. A minute passed by and she finally spoke again, “I do not make kimonos anymore. I have given up that passion to instead drown myself in pain and tears. I am sorry to disappoint you, but you have come here for nothing.” “Is that so? Why may that be?” He asked, tilting his head. Here it comes. “I recently lost my husband to an illness and he dearly loved when I would craft kimonos. Since he died, I have not made a single kimono.” She smiled softly, her smile beaming like the moonlight. Liar. She lied. Kyojuro didn’t die from illness. “Really? How tragic. And what was his name if I may ask?” The girl hummed, pausing for a second. “Rengoku Kyojuro.” Akaza wanted to giggle at that moment, but he had to resist the urge to do so. Though the part of kyojuro dying from a sickness bothered him, he still felt joy. “What is your name demon?” The girl asked, her head tilting, as if she was mimicking the gesture he had just done a few minutes ago. “Akaza.” “L/n Y/n.” “That’s a beautiful name you have there Y/n.” She didn’t reply, her eyes fixated on his. He was starting to get uncomfortable by the look in her eyes, as if she could see right through him. “You are a tragic as I am. Please. Indulge me with small talk. To relief my pain.” Y/n softly said, walking over to where he was and stretching her hand out for him to take. Akaza felt a vain pop out from irritation. She really creeped him out. “Alright. I will then.” He replied, taking her tiny hand and jumping down from his spot. “Just so I can see you make those beautiful kimonos that they say you make.”

And so now, four weeks have passed since he had killed kyojuro and met Y/n. He had come to take a liking to y/n, she was gentle and patient. She would listen to Akaza and speak very little as she wasn’t a talker. He really enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. He had also been able to convince her to start crafting kimonos again, he felt really happy when he would come over and she would be waiting for him, a kimono in her lap, ready to start working on it. Sometimes he would talk and she would do what she did, other times he would just watch in awe as she quickly finished detailed patterns and sceneries. Those were his favorite, when she would sew landscapes of winter or spring, they were just beautiful to look at once she was done. Another thing that had made their relationship closer, wait. Relationship? He didn’t want to admit it, but they had some relationship going on, perhaps on the surface it seemed like comfort for both of them, but the more he thought of it, they had both gotten intimate on the third day he visited. Akaza knew she was just sexually frustrated, who could blame her? So he just let it happen, he was also glad she acted as if those moments didn’t happen but he kinda wished she acted like they did. Still, he was happy to just be with her. No wonder kyojuro loved this woman so much, she was perfect in every way. As his visit was coming to and end, he bid Y/n goodnight and jumped on the fence of the mansion, turning to face her before he left. Y/n waved him goodbye though her eyes widened in shock, tears spilling from her eyes when his last words for the night slipped from his mouth,

“I’ll see you when I come back tomorrow! And then, you, y/n, can show me how to sew such beautiful details in those kimonos you make!”

[heyyyharry]

Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

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“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

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“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

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Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

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Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

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Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

.

.

.

Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

.

.

.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

[jayisgay]

Camp Here and There finale time!!! Wooo!!!

mmm don't like this. Does Elijah just have Sydney like. Tied to the top of the tower

Jedediah knows Elijah??? I mean we knew that Elijah knew Sydney, but ????

"architect" hmmm

ok i hate Elijah with every cell in my body but like. i understand the simps in this moment. "Fighting words. Let's check your claims against those of the gospel, hmmm?" "And what constitutes the gospel?" "My word." like ok sir 0///0

"in that moment he was perfect, our muse. Prone as he was upon the forest floor" ok thats fucking creepy

What's Elijah talking about?? Is the 'Sydney dies and it's a time loop' theory correct???

"You MOTHERFUCKER!" *gasp* "Language!" fjksdlfjlsfjs

That's right Elijah go fuck yourself

Enjoying Angry Jedediah quite a bit this time. Love it when his anger is directed at the right people :)

Oh crap. The journals

Elijah was Sydney's nurse? Or was it another tall thin blond man

Ok nope that's def Elijah

So Elijah was a fucking creep even back then. wonderful -_-

COMA???

The journals are having an Effect I do not like this

Assuming the limn happens after the events in these first few journal entries, Sydney was engaging in magic even before the world ended. Huh.

So Jedediah was trying to cure Sydney's illness hmm

YOU TURN IT OFF AND BACK ON AGAIN??? I'M SORRY SIR COULD YOU RUN THAT BY ME ONE MORE TIME

Sydney!! Yes beat his ass

ominous clock chiming 0.o

Hell yes!!! Elijah get got

So uh. To the first music break. Jamming out and. Thank God but What The Fuck Just Happened

Oh my fucking god Lucille she couldn't even do this one thing??? god fucking dammit

well at LEAst Elijah doesn't have the journals

HMmm time loop theory real? Sydney IS dead? or wait no??? ???? WHat

He died and then Jedediah brought him back ok ok

holy shit 0.o

Jedidah actually communicating? Holy shit wow

Ough my heart. This isn't entirely healthy but GOD is it tender

the pyre was LIT??? okay did NOT realize that holy crap

I'm sorry SEXY??? SIR??? FJFSLKDJLFJSLDKFSJL BAHAHDAHAHHAHAHHA

talking about their feelings for once. ough <3333

FJSKDFJLDJLKSLDKJF after all that's happened i think Jedediah deserves to be made fun of. and its funny so

"I have to work on my... project. I have to cry over a picture of you in my office, alone. My- my sobs are synced up with the ticking of my... many beautiful clocks." I am LOSING MY MIND BAHAHAHAHH

HONEY <333333 in TEARS

I wish I was able to keep the other counselor's names straight because I have no idea who these people are. I know there's a british dude, a gamer person, and someone who Sydney hates for no discernable reason. And an alpha male guy, but that might be the same as the previous dude idk. Anyway I wish i could keep the side characters straight

soop <33333

uGH Lucille. hhhhhhhhh. just get to the POINT

He's still working on shit hmmm. It's not over

this is a FAST game of chess holy shit wow

what kind of chess board is this??? X? Q? this is not how chess notation works as far as I remember

Lucille that's really rude to say about how Sydney talks. :(

"Adrenaline Wizard" lmaooo

Wait crap. Lucille... what's going on

shit what hold on what's going on crap crap crap

DID she let him know??? ok good. she didn't do that at least.

"he was a blonde with a big knife" lol

What could you have done, Lucille? You could have TRIED. You could have TRIED to help. god

Ok final thoughts:

- Elijah knew Sydney as his nurse, but how did he become so obsessed with him? I think there's more there.

- This proves the Sydney Died theory but I still think the Time Loop theory holds some weight. Jedediah obviously COULDN'T tell Sydney the full truth, and he has all those clocks and shit; we definitely don't know the full story so at the very least that theory isn't DISproven.

Uh, yeah I don't have many other thoughts. I'm not good at piecing shit together. Anyway that was amazing!!!

[pokemoncreepypasta]

Forever Mine

[STORY SOURCE]

I live in one of those small towns with a big community. It feels like everyone knows each other, and parents would visit their friends and leave their kids to mess around with each other. Classes in school weren’t very large.

So when there’s news about a kid dying, it travels at god-speed. 

Everyone at school kept talking about the death of this girl who was probably a year behind me.

I didn’t know her personally. I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you her name if everyone wasn’t talking about her.

I didn’t want to pick up gossip about how she died. I decided to attend her funeral myself. Not because we were friends or anything, but I did want to show my respect for this girl and her family.

The local funeral home was within biking range of my house, so I set off.

I sat awkwardly as I noticed her parents. I’m not usually very good at picking up feelings from people, but I could tell that beyond their grief was disappointment and maybe even hostility.

They made me wonder what she was thinking about before she died.

After she was buried, I hung around the cemetery. I’d wished I brought flowers with me, but decided I’d give her some the next time I stopped by.

Around this time, I had been aiming to get a Sky Forme Shaymin, since it was one of my favorite Pokémon back then.

I had caught a wild Shaymin using the "Pokémon Modifier" cheat code. I was terrible at coming up with creative names. But then, I remembered the name of the girl and thought it would suit a Shaymin rather well.

“Skye.”

Little did I know that this would invite strange things to start happening to my game.

I wanted to keep this Shaymin in its Sky Forme whenever possible, so I planned on keeping it in my team 24/7, only playing during daytime, etc. I was a dirty cheater who liked putting illegal moves on my Pokémon, so I taught Skye to use Fly.

At the time, I didn’t know you needed to catch the Shaymin in Flower Paradise to receive the Gracidea Flower, so when I talked to the blonde girl NPC in Floaroma Town, I had no idea why she wouldn’t give it to me.

So I was stuck with a Shaymin that knew Fly. It was weird, and I never really grew all that attached to it. Eventually I boxed it, forgot I had it, and released it without thinking.

The next time I booted up the game, I got this message.

“The save file is corrupted. The previous save file will be loaded.”

My first instinct was panic. I didn’t have any time to think or process the initial message, because all my hours were gone. With nervous anticipation, I started up the save file to see what the damage was.

To my surprise, I found myself on an incomplete Seabreak Path. The south path to Route 224 was cut off, with a featureless Shaymin staring vacantly over the edge.

I checked my party, and found none of my team members.

Only a level 100 Dusknoir with the move Follow Me.

Very useful, I thought. I’d have to boot up my Action Replay to teach this thing Fly in order to get off the island later.

Checking my items, I noticed everything was gone, save for a single PokéBall and an Escape Rope. Neither of which seemed particularly helpful for getting me off this island.

Out of curiosity though, I decided to see if Shaymin would be at Flower Paradise. I started my trek north, lamenting the loss of my bike.

To my surprise, Shaymin was there, despite never having Oak’s Letter or triggering the cutscene with it. Its face was obstructed by flowers, but it seemed like its pink flowers were missing just like the one I saw before.

I spoke to the Shaymin, and a message appeared.

“I remember you.”

“But… You don’t remember me, do you?”

The wild Shaymin attacked, and my heart stopped at its name.

“Skye appeared!”

Featureless, like before.

I felt a knot in my stomach, not even caring about the game. Something was very clearly wrong with it, and I wanted to stop playing. But I decided I was already taking pictures of the weird stuff that was happening, and I wanted to document it in full.

Steeling my resolve, I went about my options.

Dusknoir only knew Follow Me, so it was useless to weaken the Shaymin.

Remembering the PokéBall I had, I tossed it at the Shaymin.

Most people would be ecstatic to catch a Shaymin with full HP in a PokéBall on their first try, but I got the feeling that the game was rigged. There wasn’t any triumphant music playing either, which didn’t help my feelings about it.

I tried checking my newly caught Shaymin, but my game froze upon checking my party.

Upon restarting the system and starting the game up, this message appeared.

“My heart is corrupted. Please save me.”

My save file was gone for real this time. The trainer’s name was “SINNER”.

I live in a pretty religious community, so reading this made me ill at ease.

Starting up the game again, I found myself in the Lost Tower, playing as a featureless Shaymin.

My only Pokémon was the same Shaymin, named SINNER, knowing Fly, Scary Face, Fake Tears, and Spite.

A text box appeared when I tried to leave the tower.

“Today’s the day.”

It pushed me back, preventing my exit. The only option I had was to ascend.

No random encounters happened, and all the trainers wouldn’t interact with me.

It went this way until I went to the top floor. I’m pretty sure there isn’t supposed to be a man and woman NPC standing in this spot.

"There’s nothing left to say.”

Interacting with them just prompted this text.

It was here that I noticed a staircase that wasn’t supposed to be there.

I found myself on the top of the tower. I stepped into a scripted event, and the Shaymin faced the edge without my prompt.

"It's a long way down... Are you ready?"

Hoping for some way out of this, I wanted to say “no”, so I could cheat my way out of the tower and get my game back to normal. However, upon selecting it, this text appeared.

"You've held back for long enough. It's time to go."

“SINNER used the Escape Rope.”

A battle started against the same Dusknoir as before. I was intimidated to go against a level 100 Dusknoir, but then I remembered its only move was Follow Me, so it was harmless.

I realized that if I let SINNER faint, I could go to the last Pokémon Center and escape the tower.

I used Spite, thinking that if I reduced Follow Me’s PP, the Dusknoir would use Struggle and OHKO my Shaymin.

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER used Spite!”

“But there was no target...”

Dang it.

Deciding to experiment, I came to the conclusion that there was no harm in screwing around with SINNER’s attacks until DUSKNOIR ran out of PP. I chose Fly.

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER used Fly!”

“The wild DUSKNOIR used Follow Me!”

“SINNER kept going and crashed!”

Not the KO I was expecting, but I took it nonetheless.

The game, of course, crashed as soon as my Shaymin’s cry played, leaving nothing but pleasantly ear-grating screeching sounds.

I decided to take a break from playing for a moment to process what I just witnessed. I had a lot to digest.

The only conclusion I came to was that ghosts are real and this was the same Skye as the girl who died. Which would sound insane if I didn’t have the pictures to prove it.

I choked back tears. I was afraid. Why did Skye want me to see this?

I wanted to put the game down and be done with it. But if she had a message to give me, then I felt like I had to see it through to the end.

I guess I vainly hoped she’d pass on and find peace if I listened to what she was trying to say.

Another message when I started the game up again.

“I can’t fly. I tried to.”

I found myself at Spear Pillar. The staircase to the Hall of Origin was in front of me.

My exit was gone, so I just went straight to Arceus.

A level 100 Arceus stood before me.  

Instead of sending out my Shaymin, it stayed in the field. It was now bleeding. Its status said it was fainted, but it was still able to battle somehow.

I felt cornered. There was no way a level 14 Shaymin could take on something like this. I tried to use Fly, hoping it would give me the same result as before.

“Can’t use that here.”

It wouldn’t let me use the move. Instead, I just outright try to flee.

“Can’t escape!”

“ARCEUS used Judgment!”

I braced for impact...

“The wild ARCEUS’s attack missed!”

...But was pleasantly surprised to see it miss.

“I’m not ready yet.”

The game made me flee automatically.

The screen faded to black.

“I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

“I’m scared.”

When the screen faded back to the overworld, I found myself in the Distortion World. The portal that takes you back to the main world was gone, so the only thing I could do was explore.

I found another Escape Rope while looking around.

It was the only thing noteworthy I could find, so I started trying to think of ways to get out of here.

I tried using Fly, since SINNER still knew it.

“There’s nowhere to fly to.”

Figures.

Trying to test my other options, I went to my bag and tried using the Escape Rope.

Of course, the “There’s a time and place for everything” message still appeared.

Deciding to mess around until I got results, I went to give the Escape Rope to SINNER.

“Don’t suppose you know what to do with this?” I muttered.

The game crashed again, and it assaulted my eardrums once more. I sharply inhaled, wondering if I touched a nerve.

I took a deep breath and started the game again.

My character’s name was now Skye.

I started in Floaroma Town. The first thing I did was rush to the Pokémon Center to check on my Pokémon in the PC. Of course, they were all gone.

I’d grieve for them later, though. Maybe Skye would be nice to me and give them back.

While I was in the center, I figured it might’ve been good to heal the faint status off of the Shaymin.

Sure it is. Glad you can tell when something is suffering, nurse.

Heading outside, I talked to the blonde NPC.

“You should always give flowers to someone who has passed away.”

“It’s rude not to.”

“You got the Gracidea!”

I was suddenly feeling very guilty for not leaving flowers before.

Wondering if I could fix the poor Shaymin in my party if I used the flower on her, I went to try it.

“It won’t have any effect.” 

Of course not.

The blonde NPC turned into my Shaymin. I spoke to her.

“That won’t help me.” 

Yeah, I thought not.

At a loss of ideas on what to do next, I absentmindedly made my way to Valley Windworks and walked around in the grass.

A wild Sky Forme Shaymin appeared.

I sent out Skye, of course.

I chose the fight option, and the battle continued without me selecting a move.

“The wild SHAYMIN used Reflect!”

“Skye’s rage is building!”

“Skye used Cut!”

“She hurt herself in her confusion!”

The Sky Form Shaymin was knocked out in one hit, despite the game telling me Skye had hurt herself.

Back on the overworld, I found the mangled parts of the Sky Forme Shaymin lying in the grass. I inspected them.

“Please put me back together.”

It gave me another prompt, and I chose yes.

The screen faded to black.

And then Skye appeared again in a black abyss, with Skymin ears and flower. My trainer was nowhere to be seen.

I checked my party to see that Skye had changed again. Her cry sounded like a distorted mix of Shaymin’s two forms.

I went back to the overworld and was unable to move. Instead, a dialogue box appeared.

“Can you hear me?”

"Thank you for caring about me.”

"I can fly now.”

“Because...”

“I love you.”

My heart skipped a beat. My hands began to shake.

“You must care about me too, right?”

“So... I’m going to stay with you.”

“I won’t leave, not without someone who loves me.”

“Will you fly away with me?”

My shaky hands went to say no. I didn’t want to be like her.

"...”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ll change your mind.”

“You’re mine now.”

“You’re mine forever.”

With that last line, the game froze.

The first thing I did was take the game out of the system. I decided to drop off all my Pokémon games at the nearest GameStop. I didn’t want her talking to me anymore.

So why do I feel like she’s still here?

[nicoliharu]

Happy birthday Agatha!!!💕

Option: Happy birthday.

Agatha: Thanks so much...Oh heavens i'm still so surprised >w<

Agatha: To be honest didn't expect a party like this, i still wonder how they found day of my birthday.

Agatha: Although was able to jot down everyone's birthday, i like to make presents.

Agatha: I remember in school i liked to write little notes on bottles and give them to my classmates, it was fun.

Option: Did you have a good relationship with your classmates at old high school? You miss them?

Agatha: Ah yes i miss them, but each one followed a different path and naturally we separated from each other imean, that's normal.

Agatha: I enjoyed playing baseball with a bunch of persistent guys, they said '' you're weak '' but i won every high school baseball and runne championship...They were very stubborn and proud, maybe because i spent so much time with them, it's easy spending time here in NRC, i can handle so many guys without be afraid. Well i don't get intimidated easy!!! UWU

Option: And your family?

Agatha: Ahh...I miss my parents so much, i spent a short time with my father, he was a surgeon but unfortunately he died due to an accident when i was younger...i remember too when i was a child we took a lot of milkshakes together...it was good to see them both smiling.

Agatha: My mother was a teacher, she was amazing and strong... I have many good memories with her, if i could go back in time, i would like to live again the same way with her... I lost her to an illness but despite everything as she taught me, the two will always be with me.

Agatha: You needed to taste her cupcakes!!! IT’S SO GOOD <3

Option: Oh my feelings.

Agatha: Don't worry this happened 5 years ago, i'm fine now!

Option: You have any favorite food?

Agatha: YUP! Milkshakes and cupcakes, remind me my parents.

Agatha: One day, i asked Trey to help me make the same cupcakes my mom was make. And as soon as we finished and i could taste them, i cried with hapinnes to taste my mum's cupcakes, but was a mess because they thought Trey had upset  me because they saw me crying, but thanks to Grim everything was cleared up.

Agatha: Sorry again Trey-san XD

Part 2

Option: What's more important to you?

Agatha: Fellowship. Even though we must be independent deep down we must not share things alone.

Agatha: Be it feelings or situations, we shouldn't mainly carry heavy burdens alone. Even happy times with the right company can be even better, whether with friends or a partner.

Agatha: I like spending time with Jack exercising, with Riddle at the club or Bucchi!

Option: I hear you spend a lot of time with Ruggie, how do you feel about him?

Agatha: Hummm...Many good feelings...I mean! This conversation will stay between us right? O////O 

Agatha: When met him i didn't like him for some reasons, but we soon worked together at Mostro Lounge and became good friends.

Agatha: So we shared a lot of things and spent more time together... We declared ourselves to each other and... and....>///<

Agatha: Y-you know!!! But he's a hardworking, smart, nimble and kind guy, I really admire him.

Agatha: I would love to be skilled like him, i can't understand why he ''complains'' about not having muscles or being tall like the other Savanaclaw students, he's amazing and doesn't understand clearly.

Agatha: He taught me a lot of things and animal language too, i'm delighted to be able to talk to some birds sometimes.

Agatha: I usually help him with some chores, but i always end up getting stressed with Leona, he never lets Bucchi rest but after a while i could understand the situation better.

Agatha: I admit I love watching the sunset with him in Savanaclaw...Oh please I've already told you enough U///U

Option: Oh right, you really want to go home?

Agatha: To be honest no, i want to be with Grim and the friends I was able to make here.

Agatha: If it's possible, i want to stay, i can start over and learn many things... Not to mention that there's someone i don't want to let go...hmmm YOU KNOW WHO DON'T ASK ME AGAIN!!!

Option: Oh thanks for giving us the scoop. Again, happy birthday.

Agatha: Hihi <3

Vil: Agatha come, you need to touch up your makeup!

Agatha: Yup!

[fakecrfan]

POV: You wake up in the TMA universe at the start of season 1.

You find yourself on the streets of London, cold and confused.

You try to figure out what happened and get home. You discover the place you lived no longer exists. The place you worked no longer exists.

You try to call the numbers of family, friends, anyone you knew. Baffled voices that you don’t recognize answer you, and then hang up.

As you're wandering around the streets getting increasingly terrified, you pass by the Magnus Institute. Then, everything makes sense.

You hurry in and blurt out: "I would like to make a statement"

Rosie smiles politely.

“Alright, let’s get you the proper forms then.”

She tells you that the Archivist, Jonathan Sims, will see you in a moment. As you are waiting for him, you recall what happens to people who give statements to Jonathan Sims. Unceasing bad dreams. Unrelenting panic attacks. Enough that Jess Tyrell stopped being able to go out in public.

"Ah," you think. "I will not do that then."

You leave in a hurry. Outside, you realize:

oh, I'm the only one who can stop the apocalypse now, aren't i

You shiver. That thought can wait, you think. For now you need to find... somewhere to stay. You are effectively homeless. No, not effectively. You are straight up homeless.

You pull out your wallet to pay for food. Your card is declined. You try to use cash, only to be told it’s counterfeit. Everything is just a little too much to the left of your reality for you to navigate.

Finally you find social services of some kind. They ask for your information, including your NIN. you aren't surprised when they say the info they have on file for that number is.... not you. You are disappointed though.

They help you to a homeless shelter. You sit on your cot and cry self-pityingly for a bit, and then that pressure comes back to your mind:

The world is going to end. You know the world is going to end. You're the only one who can do anything about it.

You turn over and decide that's something you can deal with in the morning.

----

The next day, you think about it again.

"That's something I can deal with when I have an apartment," is what you think then.

So that becomes your next project. Finding your footing as a displaced person. Social services helps but it's... sporadic. It takes months for you to get more stable housing.

When you lie down on the couch of the new, well, new associate you've made, you once again remember that the world is going to end. That you are the only one who can do anything about it.

"I'll think about that when I get a job"

-----

Time continues to pass. As you are trying to get on your feet, you make feeble attempts to... start something.

You go to the Magnus Institute a few times. But it's hard. You've always had terrible social anxiety,. And everyone there seems so cold. You can feel eyes on your back: staring, watching your every move. Normally that alone is enough to make you quit for the day.

A lot of times, the main cast you remember is out doing research. When they are there, you are about to walk up and speak to them when the anxiety hits you again.

What if Elias sees you talking to them? What if he kills you?

You decide to retreat for a little while, then. Just to think of a better plan.

You spend the next month getting your first job in this new world. You start a timeline of when you think the apocalypse is going to happen, but remembering the canon dates is hard. It's not a very helpful timeline, and so you give it up.

Eventually you think the best thing to do is to wait until Elias has been arrested and then talk to the others. When Elias is in prison, he can't murder you for revealing your plans.

This means Sasha and Tim will die. But--they might have died anyway, even with your intervention. Who’s to say? Anyway, you’re not the one who will kill them. It’s not your fault.

You scan the news every day for things about the Magnus Institute, particularly the head of it getting arrested.

During this time, you do a little better. You have a nice apartment now, you think. Nice by your own standards, at least. You decorate the place a little. Get some video games that you like--or well, they aren't the same ones as in your world, but close enough you think?

Months pass.

One day it hits you that maybe the papers would never actually report on Elias being arrested.

Oh shit, you think.

You go back to the Magnus Institute then. By this point, Rosie recognizes you. She grants you the same expression one grants a wayward alley cat. You ask who the current head is. You are told "Peter Lukas."

Shit.

"Can I make a statement?"

Rosie looks nervous. "Um, the Archivist is on medical leave."

"Okay can I talk to one of his assistants?"

Rosie gets this very tired look in her eyes.

"I'll... ask."

Rosie phones the archives extension

it rings

it rings

it rings

"They've all really been through it recently," Rosie tells you. "They don't--like to talk to anyone else, now."

"I have to talk to them," you say. "Um, can you--can you tell Martin Blackwood specifically that I need to talk to him? That it's about Jon?"

Martin is--you like Martin. Martin will be nice and safe. He'll be easier to talk to than Melanie at this point, or Basira. Still, Rosie looks tired again.

"I'll have a chat with him," Rosie says. "How about you go home for now, and I'll call you when I've talked to him."

"But--"

You're bad at this. You were always bad at this. You can barely sign up for anything on your own. Your mother has done so many calls and filled out so many forms for you.

You never cultivated the skill of standing in a lobby and insisting to talk to someone. Maybe you'll just irritate Rosie and she'll blacklist you if you dig in your heels now. Anyway, you're already so tired from this. You think about going home, and playing some Medal of Honour IV.

"Fine," you say.

You go home. You play the game. You sleep.

You're not giving up, you say to yourself. You're just--biding your time.

Rosie does not call you.

It pains you, but you realize you have to go back in and ask to speak to someone again. You'll go today after work, you decide.

No, wait, you're too tired from work today. You'll go tomorrow.

Maybe on the weekend.

----

You finally go back

Rosie tells you she just--hasn't been able to get a hold of Martin.

"Fine," you say. "Any of the other assistants."

Rosie actually looks a bit worried for you. "Um, they're not--they don't take well to unexpected visitors. Let me wait and chat them up about it."

You do not listen this time.

You march down into the basement level where the archives are. The door is--well. Shit. It's barricaded? You knock. You keep knocking.

"Melanie! Basira!" you say. "I have to talk!"

The door opens too quickly. You barely get a glimpse of Melanie's snarl before she strikes and your vision goes white.

She hits you a few times. No knives, just fists. You hear Basira in the backround, barking for Melanie to stand down. Once there is an opening and you can blearily see again, you run away in terror.

It's not--you didn't intend to run. You were just afraid.

----

You go home, and realize that Melanie didn't even really hit you in a super serious way. Nothing that would warrant a hospital trip, at least. Nothing that has left you with a lot of pain, outside of the immediate terror of physical violence.

You probably could have stuck it out there. You should have.

You think about all the months--no, years now--that have passed without you making any progress.

"But that’s not my fault,” you say.

"I was having a really hard time. I was homeless. I've been struggling with my mental health. I still have to keep the rent paid and feed myself."

"It's not my fault. It's not."

"I will do something. Just--I need some more time."

You sleep.

You decide to wait a bit for your bruises to heal up before going back.

When you do drag yourself back to the Institute, now there is a PTSD reaction to going into the Institute on top of the social anxiety.

You leave quickly. Rosie looks so sad for you.

You do try to go back. You do try to get back in contact with the Archives, or go back when Jon is back up. But there's always something. Not something directly stopping you. Just--

Tiredness. Work. Illness. Doctor's appointments. Panic attacks. The Archives staff being unreachable.

The world is going to end. You're the only one who can stop it.

"That's not true though," you think. "I mean, technically anyone could. I just have a little more information that could help."

"It's never one person's fault," you tell yourself as you crawl into bed after another flight of anxiety struck you as you were about to cross the street to the Institute. "It's everything. It's--a whole system. It's Jonah's fault really. If I don't--I'm not to blame."

“I’m not to blame.”

----

You are playing Medal of Honour V when your phone lights up with a notification that there was an outburst of violence at a place known as the Magnus Institute, and billionaire Peter Lukas has disappeared in the confusion.

You should get up. It’s going to happen, and happen soon. You hand twitches on the controller.

You remember a quote you saw before you ended up here, on Facebook of all things.

"Don't wonder what you'd be doing in Nazi Germany. Whatever you're doing now, is what you would have been doing then."

Because bad things were happening in the world all the time, your preachy Facebook aunt said. There is always genocide, and famine, and war. It’s not some movie fantasy from the past.

You think about that. About the horrors in your world. Those movements that you retweeted support for and occasionally donated $5 to. The protests you awkwardly passed by on your way to work.

You quietly realize what kind of person you are. What you would have been doing in Nazi Germany, or the civil rights era in the U.S., or during the catastrophes in your own world, or right now.

It's what you were always going to do.

And so you get back to Medal of Honour V.

----

You're still dreading the apocalypse of course. It won’t be easy.  It will be around six months to a year of full on torture, specifically designed to be the worst you have ever felt. Something about that soothes you. Something about knowing you are a victim too, or maybe knowing that you’ll be punished.

But--it will end, and then you'll be alright. Everything will return to normal, and you can go back to your apartment and your job and your games. It’s not all that bad.

You feel a twinge of guilt for Martin and Jon, who you could ave intervened for. You feel more than a twinge for the worlds the Entities will infect after. But--maybe it will all work out okay. Maybe the universe is a kind place. Maybe other worlds will be able to handle the fears better.

Who knows! There is always hope!

----

[When the sky turns red and the great Eye opens, when you start to hear the howls of your apartment neighbors through the wall--

Nothing happens to you. You are fine. It does not touch you.

Oh.]

[moonlightchild-otome]

the real story of amélie from arthur’s route

hey hey! it’s been a long time! i have been quite busy these past weeks with finals and the summer break.

i also want to start writing hcs, so if you have any requests don’t hesitate to send them to me!

today i wanted to write about a story that i read not too long ago that really coincides with the evil character of amelie in arthur’s route.

a lot of people might have actually already heard of it, she is known as history’s most cruel murderer.

the person we are going to talk about lived in the period of victorian england and was sometimes suspected to have a link with jack the ripper, the serial killer who terrorized the inhabitants of whitechapel.

in other words, she is called the ogress of reading or the victorian ogress and the trial of these murders has been the subject of much attention, especially because she preyed on very young children. Let me tell you the terrifying story of a monster who disguised herself as a warm and loving mother figure

the story of the infamous amelia elisabeth dyer

an ordinary family

our story begins in 1836 in the port city of bristol in england. the hobley family welcomes the arrival of a fifth child, a lovely little girl called amelia elisabeth. the little amelia is very lucky, in a time when poverty reigns in the united kingdom she knows a respectable education, learns to read and to love poetry. however the luck ends quickly as amelia’ mother caught typhus, an illness that showed her a lot of psychological problems. amelia had to take care of her mother until she passes away from her illness. after her mother’s death, the girl loses contact with most of her family members. meanwhile, amelia starts seeing george thomas, a 59 year old man, much older than her, who was only 25 at the time (long live the sugar daddies!). they planned to get married and to avoid gossip, they both lied about their date of birth on the day of the ceremony. (amelia pretended that she was 32 and george 48)

during her marriage, amelia learned to be a nurse but she doesn't have time to forge a real career as her husband dies leaving her alone with their children who are still very young. it's already not easy to raise a child alone nowadays but imagine what it was like at that time when england was in the middle of the victorian period, the industrial revolution changed the shape of the cities and saw the emergence of new social classes. in london and other major british cities, poverty has invaded the neighborhoods and the poor have few options to get by. some live in workhouses which reduce them more or less in slavery for a mouthful of bread while others choose criminality to support themselves.

however, amelia remembers ellen dane, a midwife in her building with whom she got along quite. she had told her that to earn more money she had become a baby farmer.

it is a profession which does not exist any more today but was rather widespread in the 19th century. now, it should not be forgotten that this england inherited puritanism and considered that to have a child out of marriage was a horrible sin. if that came to be known, the young women concerned risked big and could lose their reputation and their work. especially that, at that time, one did not consider that the father had a role to play in the event of unwanted pregnancy. also, it was obviously out of question to abort except clandestinely which was at the same time illegal and very dangerous. all that to say that when an unwanted child came to the world most women preferred to give it up rather than risk public humiliation. but abandonment was also illegal, and none of them wanted to risk the death penalty if their actions came public. this is precisely where the baby farmers intervene. when a woman fell pregnant and did not want to keep the child, she had to put an ad in the newspapers and leave her child to a farmer.the baby would be taken care of and fed until the farm finds a new family. it was a sort of clandestine human trafficking, and sometimes the farmers even housed the mothers in their homes during their pregnancy in order to hide their big bellies.

the birth of the monster

soon, the ogress settles in reading close to london and publishes advertisements where she presents herself as a respectable woman to marry, capable of providing a healthy environment and filled with affection to the children that she intends to collect like the other farmers. she asks for money to be able to look after them. amelia quickly realizes that it is much more profitable to keep the money rather than to use it for feeding and educating the children. and so little by little the treatments that she inflicts on the children become more and more dire (spoiler: she doesn’t take care of them anymore). and even worse, she even drugs the children to prevent them from crying because of hunger. the kids often die of malnutrition and infantile diseases. it is absolutely terrible and yet it is far from being unusual, in fact orphans were very often victims of abuse and many of the baby farmers were far from being trustworthy people. a lot took advantage of the distress of the mothers ready to do anything to keep their secret and these so-called “baby farmers” would leave the children to die in order to pocket the money without any effort. when the mothers asked for news of their children, they often got no answer and when a family wanted to get a child back, the farmer gave them another one instead.

amelia very quickly became addicted to the drugs she used on the children as she couldn’t stand the crying and the presence of the orphans anymore. she decides to move on to a more radical option: directly eliminating the children she is entrusted with.

at first, she will choose to poison them and claim an infantile disease, but the doctor who came to attest the death of the infants shows himself a little suspicious (at the same time, she gives him a case every week or so :/). in short, the guy warned the authorities so that they could investigate on amelia. but no luck, she manages to get away with negligence with a simple sentence of forced labor. and moreover, she decided to opt for a more brutal method for her future murders. that is to say, she was going to strangle them as soon as she was allowed to keep them, pocket the money and look for a new child to start all over again. and this will go on for years, sometimes at the rate of six babies a day, no need to declare the deaths, she got rid of them herself, wrapping them in cloth or old clothes, and then she left to burn them in an isolated place to hide them or throw them in the thames. and when she felt that the authorities could trace the dead children back to her, she simulates a nervous breakdown and suicidal desires and runs off to a psychiatric hospital. she even tried to kill herself once by overdosing to escape an overly suspicious mother who was asking for her child. except that by consuming opiates she had become hyper resistant and the dose that she took was not enough to kill her. she then moved often and took on different identities to prevent the police from finding her and understanding who she really was and this little merry-go-round worked for a long time, a very long time, even, but not indefinitely...

ambush and arrest

in january 1896, a waitress named evelyna marmon gave birth to an illegitimate daughter named doris. she was looking for someone to take care of her and very soon she came across the ad of a certain mrs. harding who wrote "married couple, without children, want to adopt a child in good health in a beautiful country house, price: 10£”. necessarily for this young mother, it is a godsend and the two women contact each other. and here is what mrs. harding replied, "I would be happy to have a dear little girl, one that I will be able to raise like my own. we are a united couple of fairly good conditions. I do not want a child for the lure of gain but to accompany the comfort of the house. my husband and I love children but we do not have any. with me, this child will have a good house as well as all the love of a mother". at this stage you can guess that mrs. harding is in fact amelia dyer who took a false name and who continued with her macabre activities. doris gets taken from the waitress by “mrs. harding” who confirms by letter that the child is doing well, after that she doesn’t give any more news. spoiler: the child did not have more than a few hours to live. once the crime is committed, because yes, it’s done already. amelia covers the body of doris with another child in fabric and travels to the edge of the thames to throw them under the eyes of a man who seemed to observe her but who didn’t address a word to her.

in this kind of case, one wonders “where tf is the police??” well they were on the point of starting a very interesting investigation... on march 30th 1896, the police force finds the lifeless body of helena fry, a baby of hardly 15 months who floated on the waters of the river wrapped in a brown cloth. for the authorities, it is obviously a murder since the child was strangled. they later found on the cloth, a half erased writing which resembles an address. this address is amélia’s, who is now 58 years old; the police then trace her and set up a trap.

basically what they did was to use a young woman as a cover, she pretended to need a farmer to look after her child and as expected it was amelia who answered her directly. so that's how the police organized an ambush at the murderer's house. what first shocked the policemen was especially the unbearable smell which reigned in the house because of the decomposition of certain corpses, they also found meters of edging tape which she used to strangle her victims, and also telegrams testifying of all the adoptions made as well as letters of mothers who asked for news of their children. so yes, there is a lot of evidence to charge her for, especially as they found at least seven more bodies by dredging the thames after her arrest. the bodies clearly had a white mark around their neck probably because of the tape she used to kill the children with. we also know that about twenty children under her care at that time were missing but for the rest it's impossible to know the exact number of amelia's victims. in fact, it is estimated that in 20 years she would have killed between 200 and 400 newborn babies, that's why she is said to be the most prolific serial killer in history.

her sentence and death

in spite of this very important number of victims amelia will be accused for only one crime, the one of the little doris. except that she very quickly confessed a quantity of other murders and tried to commit suicide twice while she was incarcerated. the defense pleaded madness and because she had spent time in asylum the doctors that she had managed to manipulate were able to confirm that was unstable. she herself said that the children she had killed died peacefully; that they were called back by God who was someone who could love them more than anyone on this earth, she said that she had simply made angels and that one day she would sit beside the Lord Almighty. her breakdowns of madness always coincided strangely with the moment when the police approached, so we can think that it was more of simulation and calculation than true dementia. the jury took hardly five minutes to return its verdict, the crimes were so horrible that her mental state could not do much anyways.

amelia was thus condemned to the death penalty. on june 10th 1896, amelia dyer walks towards the scaffold, she decided not to appeal by hearing her verdict and wrote herself five notebooks of confession before her execution that she entrusted to a priest. she tells inside them to have taken pleasure in seeing her victims dying. before her execution, one asked her if she had any last words to pronounce but she answered that she did not have anything to add. at 9 o’clock sharp, the woman who was called the ogresse of reading was hanged. following these tragic events the controls of the adoptions and the activities of the baby farmers were reinforced, new laws were also put in place to protect the children and the mothers and the advertisements in the newspapers were supervised. that said, it still took a certain number of years before child trafficking was seriously supervised…

that’s all for the story! it is a very horrific case and i can’t even imagine what the children must have gone through. i also think we can all agree with the similarities with the character of amélie in arthur’s route.