#not sure which book i should do next cause all the ones except like two lol on my current to read shelf ive already started...

[evandore]

ok cant really do any more until the trunk is clear to use so now im just gonna go back to my projects i was supposed to be doing all day lol...

[he4dliner]

A Battle in the Sky- jason todd x reader

cw: (778) no warnings except for imagery of shel silverstein's face on a book

a/n: did anyone else get scared by the giant photo of his (silverstein's) face on the back of books? i would genuinely be unsettled as i child lol

© HE4DLINER on tumblr. Do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission. Do not use my ideas without credit.

you’d only been doom scrolling in bed for a bit tonight (like three hours), waiting for your boyfriend to get home. and finally. 

“hey, baby,” came a murmured voice, followed by rough but gentle fingers stroking your head, “why���re you still up?” 

“it’s only 1.” you replied, turning over in your shared bed. “and I was waiting for you to get home.” you smiled sleepily at the large figure above you who sighed at the response. “yeah, it's one in the morning,” he snorted.

“you should be getting a full night's sleep, baby.” jason added, glancing over his shoulder as he turned to his dresser, changing into a pair of fuzzy Robin pants. (ones that you bought him and wouldn’t stop cackling about when he’d opened their box).

you retorted, “says you,” as he removed an earring, eyes scanning over his bare torso. 

“don’t start.”

“…okay.”

you watched as he roved through the giant full-wall bookshelf the two of you had. after a minute, he picked up a book and crawled back on the bed beside you. 

“scoot, baby.”

you did, letting out a tiny grunt at having to move, but settled easily into his burly arms that quickly found themselves wrapped around your waist. 

he gently kissed your shoulder. “bedtime story for the princess,” he murmured with a low chuckle, sending a small vibration down your back as you leaned into his chest. 

“ooh. jane eyre?” you hummed, looking up at him instead of at the book in question. “nah.”

his response prompted you to direct your eyes to the book, and you maybe you jumped slightly at the black and white photo of shel silverstein’s face printed on the back cover of it. “gonna read you my favorite poem from this one,” jason pressed another kiss to your head, nose staying in your hair for a beat. “then it’s bedtime.”

you yawned without meaning to. “…alright.” 

“you comfy, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning back a bit more, setting the book on the fluffy comforter for a moment to reach to the side and dim the lamp on the night table. 

“mhm,” came your response, cheek smushed against his bare chest. “…you’re so warm, jay.”

“i know, honey, i know.” 

jason smiled at your sudden drowsiness. “you’re all sleepy now, huh? you can’t sleep without me, baby?”

he felt the small nod you gave. “can’t sleep without you.” you reaffirmed, smiling into his chest. “bed’s too cold.”

“… i am flattered to be your bed warmer.”

you poked his firm bicep with a finger. “you should be. it’s a highly sought-after position.”

he laughed quietly, sending a soft breath down your neck. “okay, okay, hush, it’s almost 2.”

you just hummed in response, watching jason open the book to a poem near the end. 

“a battle in the sky.” he murmured into your hair, letting the words float through the air for a moment before reading. 

“it wasn’t quite day and it wasn’t quite night, cause the sun and the moon were both in sight. a situation quite alright with everyone else but them.” jason made sure to speak softly, stroking your cheek with a free finger. “so they both made remarks about who gave more light, and who was the brightest and prettiest sight.”

already your eyes were drooping, a side effect of being held by your heater of a boyfriend. he noticed this too, and while whispering the next verse, shut the book and clicked off the lamp completely. 

“and the sun gave a bump and the moon gave a bite and the terrible sky fight began.”

“you have this memorized?” You asked softly, (you really asked “you’av is semoriye?”) to which jason nodded, stroking your temple. “shh, baby.” you easily obliged, letting your eyes shut. 

“with a scorch and a sizzle, a screech and a shout, across the great heavens they tumbled about…” 

you didn’t notice when you fell asleep, as one tends not to. but jason did, a gentle smile at his lips when he felt you grow heavy in his arms, heard your breathing grow slow and rhythmic. he gave a final kiss on your forehead, “goodnight, baby,” pulled you in closer, and fell asleep with you tucked under his chin. 

bonus : in the morning, jason slipped out of bed to pee, which had woken you up- not a problem really, but you decided to quietly pad over to the bathroom and stand in the doorway behind him. 

“will you finish the poem from last night?” “a- jesus!” he groaned. “i thought you were asleep.” 

you giggled. “don’t pee on the floor.” 

“gee thanks,” he muttered, “get back in bed, baby.” 

“‘kay.” 

okay…. so I may have written this because I couldn’t sleep but I was genuinely cackling at remembering shel silverstein’s face in greyscale…. just as the back cover of a book… thank you for reading <333

and as always, reblogs and feedback are so super appreciated <3

[traincat]

Wait, what IS Moleman’s problem slash obsession with Johnny???

Honestly I wish I knew. I feel like it's one of those things that comes up enough that there's a definite pattern here, but one that Fantastic Four doesn't really explore outside of the immediate instances in which it happens. The exception being Unstable Molecules, which reframes Johnny and the Mole Man as two teenage friends, both heckled with homophobic comments by the popular boys, with the Mole Man yearning to retain a stagnant situation where Johnny is all his in face of Johnny's burgeoning sexuality and yearning to escape their small town.

Unstable Molecules is not 616 canon, for the record. It's an extremely good, extremely meta comic about the fictional "real people" who inspired the Fantastic Four.

For an actual 616 example, let's look at one of the most Comics comics of all time: Fantastic Four #296.

This is an extreme transitional period in the Fantastic Four. John Byrne just left the book at a critical moment right before the 300th issue. Sue and Johnny are in their matching hairstyles era. Johnny's just proposed to "Alicia," who will be retconned as Lyja in like 60 issues. And Ben is handling it SUPER normally by joining the Mole Man's underground kingdom of freaks.

Fashion icon. I'm obsessed with the little moloid butler.

The Mole Man decides that, since Johnny is the cause of Ben's suffering, he should get revenge on Johnny, a thing that will definitely make Ben feel better.

Also Alilyja is here in another stunning example of how they pulled the "Alicia was a Skrull all along" retcon off perfectly by not writing Alicia remotely in character for about a hundred issues. Go girl give us nothing.

So anyway the Mole Man kidnaps Johnny and disfigures him and this is totally about Ben and not at all about the Mole Man and Johnny's beauty. Fascinating stuff going on here viz a viz goodness = physical beauty in superhero comics, but eh. I'm just here for the Johnny whump.

This of course snaps Ben out of his "Johnny's marrying my girl (who I dumped) (and was about to dump again)" funk and straight back into "I love Johnny" territory. Classic. I'm sure he'll be normal about the Alicia stuff now.

No. See the cover of the very next issue:

Buddy, again, you dumped her.

Anyway, Ben stays behind to use one of the Mole Man's machines to restore Johnny's beautiful face.

What's the Mole Man doing while his kingdom is collapsing? Oh, nothing. Normal stuff. Partying in his secret room filled with holographic beautiful men and women. Like I said. Normal. No reason to connect that with wanting to punish Johnny by stripping away his beauty at all.

Another example, and one I find less interesting, but I may as well include it.

Fantastic Four: 1, 2, 3, 4 -- YMMV with this one in general. Gorgeous art. The writing, well. It's one of those books that I find tangentially interesting but don't really incorporate into my personal characterization because it's not great at it. Readers be warned about an extremely 2002 comment on autism with regards to Reed. In it, the Mole Man captures Alicia (the real one this time) and Johnny and tries to get Alicia to maim Johnny with a pair of scissors.

Again, it's just interesting thematically to think about this, especially when Unstable Molecules reframed it the way it did.

[strikethematch18]

Of Sleep, Humanity, and Tainted Sorrow

Instead Of Sleep Universe (IOSU)

Dazai x F! Reader, Dazai x Chuuya, Dazai x F! Reader x Chuuya

Word Count: 2,696

This is an offshoot of my Bungou Stray Dogs oneshot Instead of sleep, I like to call this the Instead of Sleep Universe. While this could probably be read as a standalone, I would not recommend it. I’ll make sure to link the original. Instead of Sleep

To recap: Reader is a member of the ADA with an ability called Instead of Sleep which allows her hot project her current exhaustion onto someone else and enter their dreamscape, or subconscious. Her ability only works if she is tired beforehand and suffers from extreme insomnia because of this. “Instead of Sleep” ability is loosely based on the Ao3 tag “I wrote this instead of sleeping”

The original ship was just Dazai x Reader, but I’m a greedy indulgent little shit with a love for why choose books so this installment is Dazai and Chuuya with Reader.

This has not been proofed or edited. I am also considering writing a second part.

m.list

The relationship started with just you and Dazai, you thought it was monogamous, you thought it was just the two of you, faithful to each other. So, when you found out you were "the other woman" you were actually heartbroken beyond belief. Not only were you unable to sleep because of your ability, but you were unable to eat, you took up cases left and right and going home to change and stare at your ceiling most nights; sometimes your coworkers would come into the office the next morning to find you in the same position you were in when they left, at your desk doing your work but also nearly everyone else's too.

Every member of the agency tried in their own way to get you to settle, relax, eat at least a little something, or take a small nap. Well, all except for Dazai, he had tried in the beginning but your kept your distance as much as possible. Ranpo would leave snacks or force them into your hand. Yosano would drag you to the infirmary after a laborious case under the guise of a checkup but would make you lay there for a minimum of 30 minutes if you didn't manage to fall asleep for at least some rest. Junichiro and Kenji both trying to brighten your mood with jokes or tales from home. Kyouka would place the stuffed bunny she kept on her desk in your lap if she noticed you were fiddling with your hands more than usual and seemed anxious. Atsushi even guided you to an open section of the office a few times where he arranged the futon kept in the office for just in case scenarios, would force you down, and would turn into Byakko for you to contently sigh and curl into the tiger and at least run your fingers through the fur and let the tension slip from your shoulders and occasionally your eyes droop until you'd fall into a small slumber, that was about as much sleep as you would get. The president on more than one occasion would try to send you home and to not come back until you rested, but you both knew it was fruitless cause.

This carried on until eventually you had passed out from the lack of care your body was receiving on top of falling sick and found yourself in the hospital for a week and a half. When you woke up early in your stay there was Dazai in a chair pulled up next to your bed with his head in his hands and a certain redhead mafia executive leaning in the doorway to your room.

Come to find out, Dazai was bisexual and was interested in a polyamorous relationship and was working up the nerve to tell you about it and his relationship with Chuuya. He knew he never should have entered that relationship with you without you explicitly knowing. And was he ever sorry, seeing your weakened state and how much smaller you looked in that hospital bed amplified that. He stayed away because it's what he thought you wanted, that you were disgusted, never did he think you were going to find yourself sick in the hospital.

And well, Chuuya at the time was indifferent. Sure, the Mackeral should have done a lot different, but he didn't know you as well as he did Dazai. He did know you through Osamu, he knew details about you; hell he kept pestering Dazai to tell you early on so save both of you from the pain; he didn’t know things had gotten this bad. He didn't know you, but he wanted to, especially after he saw your smile and heard your laugh for the first time, even more so when it was over a piece of commentary regarding something dumb his ever so smart partner had just said.

Over time, your relationship with Dazai repaired and grew with Chuuya. Eventually, you found yourself in the best relationship you could ever hope to be in. Sincerely loved by both men and spoiled beyond belief, you didn't think you deserved it but were grateful you did. Most nights you spent in-between the two, curled into Dazai with Chuuya wrapped behind you; in fact most nights you actually got at least a few hours of peaceful sleep - this was the most rested you had been in years.

That's part of why you were worried when a joint mission with the ADA and Port mafia required the once double black to team up for a mission that was going to take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. Despite the usual efficiency between the two on missions, this was week three without them. You had managed to sleep maybe a collected 8 hours during that time. The three of you called regularly, sometimes it was enough to lull you into a light sleep but it never lasted a full hour. You would try to assure them that, yes you were getting some rest, but both men could hear the exhaustion in your tone as you tried to pretend for their sake.

So, when during one of your calls during a day you had off and you were sniffling and your voice sounded just a bit off, Dazai and Chuuya knew they had to finish this mission and finish it now. Of course they asked what was wrong and if anything happened just to make sure that wasn't the problem and you said you were sure it was just allergies despite it raining, it became clear to them your immune system had taken a hit. Which per past events, a simple cold had the high probability of moving downhill quickly.

You never had a particularly strong immune system, lack of proper rest tends to weaken its defense and ability to recover. By the end of the call you had let the coughs you were trying to hide slip and your voice was rougher than when the conversation started and you sounded absolutely exhausted. Keeping up the facade proved to be hard as the time went on.

This was more than enough to get double black to act quickly and end this. They had more than enough to report and act on. If their new plan went the way it was supposed to they would be back to you by tomorrow morning. By the evening hours the mission was completed, their bags were packed and Dazai and Chuuya were on a train back to Yokohama. Paperwork was done on the journey back and dropped off at its respected location before they made the trip back to mafia executives apartment where all three of you have been living. Dazai had made sure to tell shachou both of you wouldn't be in today or tomorrow, longer depending on how sick you were. Fukuzawa's eyes widened when he heard you were sick and told the brunette to not worry about coming back until you were in peak health, either of you. He knew Dazai was imperative to your recovery, sleep is a powerful medicine and you rarely got any without the detective.

After completing those quick tasks they met each other at the red heads building simultaneously and and hurried up the floors to reach the apartment. Getting ready to put the key into unlock the door both could hear a chesty cough and both looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Honey, we're ho-ome~!" Dazai announced sing songedly.

"Welcome back you two," you replied hoarsely before falling into the fit of coughs and slight wheezes.

Spotting you sat huddled in the corner of the sectional couch wrapped in the largest and fluffiest blanket they owned, Chuuya dropped his bag where he stood and made his way over to you. Watching you try to catch your breath worried him beyond belief as it reminded him of when you first officially met in that hospital room.

Placing his hand your forehead his frown deepened, "Oh lovebug."

Coughing a few more times you replied, "Sorry Chu."

"It's not your fault lovebug, let's get some medicine in you and get you in bed, okay?" Without giving you a choice he tugged you towards him before slipping an arm under your knees and the other on your back and lifting you up blanket and all. Dazai didn't miss the soft smile creeping onto his partners face as you nuzzled into Chuuya, relishing in the affection you've been deprived of the last few weeks. Wordlessly he made his way to the bathroom medicine cabinet and grabbed everything needed before walking into the shared bedroom and setting them down before preparing to change clothes. Osamu knew Chuuya was going to hold you and keep you to himself for a few minutes so you knew he was really there and to assure himself you were safe, so it gave him ample time to get things together. Taking off his typical ensemble and putting on a pair of charcoal sweatpants and pulling the navy t-shirt on just as Chuuya brought you into room, he got his first actual look at how exhausted and sick you looked. You seemed miserable and in more pain than he originally thought, but most importantly, you were so tired. And he knew better than to touch you until medicine has been taken.

That was the next action of business. Get you to take the multitude of medications he procured from the cabinet. He knew you were weak and feeling horrible but you never liked taking things, so often it was a fight. Nonetheless he proceeded to place each pill in a small cup for the pass off. If he so much as brushed your hand he knew you would be asleep almost instantly. And while sleep would help, it wouldn't be enough to get you back to peak health, not without the medicine. In the cup was a few vitamins, a decongestant, a cough reducer and something to hopefully bring your fever down. Currently placed in his pocket was your emergency inhaler left over from when you were able to come home from the hospital from before you had reconciled with him and your other lover.

Seeing the pills in a cup and small glass of water in his partners hand waiting to be handed to you Chuuya took the liberty of sitting on the side of the bed leaving you in his lap. Surprisingly but also unsurprisingly, you gingerly and gratefully took the cups into your slightly shaking hands to take the medicines. At least Dazai had the foresight to start off with the pills rather than any liquids, he knew you hated taking medicine in liquid form.

Noticing a slight bulge in Dazais pants pocket he asked, "Is that the inhaler?"

Glad his partner got the hint he confirmed it was before Chuuya took it upon himself to reach in and take it out while Dazai took the empty cups from your hands, longing to touch you but restraining. After looking at you Chuuya couldn't help but see how much these simple actions took out of you, exhaustion wearing you thin. Even keeping your head up was a struggle. He knew the inhaler could help, anything to help your lungs breathe better and decrease your wheezes. But he also knew you had very little strength left.

"Okay lovebug, we're going to tag team this, you know the drill," After getting the inhaler placed he counted down from 3 and pressed down to release the medicine.

You couldn't hold it in for long, forced to release a painful cough into your lovers chest, "Sorry Chuu," your hoarse voice rang out quietly.

"Bug its okay, you're sick and that was inevitable."

"I know. Just don't want you to get sick."

Coming back into the room after exiting the en suite bathroom Dazai chimed in, "We've got immune systems of steel we'll be fine. And if we're not we'll have the cutest nurse to take care of us."

Too tired to let out even a small laugh you smiled and responded, "yeah, I guess you're right.”

Chuuya went ahead and did a second dose of the inhaler, much like a similar response to before. After taking a coughing fit that had both men concerned for you wellbeing, they looked at each other reading each others minds as to whether or not they should take you to the hospital.

Half lidded, you looked at both of their faces and knew immediately what was on their minds, “I know what you two are thinking, and no, I’m not going to the hospital.”

”But love, you’re really sick, we’re just worried,” Dazai expressed wanting nothing more than to cup your cheek in his hand

”If-,” you began before coughing again, “If I get worse then you can take me. But I really just want to sleep first.”

Both men collectively sighed, in sync with each other after years of partnership. They knew any further arguing would be fruitless, also aware that they would have a hard time saying no to you when you were this sick and they had been away for the last few weeks.

Noticing the silence and your boys downtrodden faces you decided to break the silence, “So how was the mission, any issues? Take names? Kick ass?”

They knew what you were doing, and any other time they would have enlightened your antics, but chuuya could feel some of the fight leave your body as fatigue set in from the exhaustion and unconsciously knowing you were in a safe position. And so he gave you a small response to motivate you for later.

”You know I don’t kick any asses but yours and the shitty fish over here,” he smirked, “But I did kick some other things if you catch my drift.”

Before you had the time to continue your stalling tactic, wanting to spend time with Dazai and Chuuya that you had missed over the last few weeks, the later placed you in the middle of the bed so you would be between the both of you, as you were most nights. Dazai carefully pulled the blankets up so all either man had to do before crawling in to cuddle you from either side was pull their side of the corner back enough. While he did that, Chuuya changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of pajama pants, and a silly t-shirt you had gotten him early into your relationship that he was too proud to admit out loud that it was his favorite thing in his closet next to his signature hat. After his quick change, the redhead crawled in behind you, not quite around your body like the koala he is just yet- he was waiting for you to settle yourself with Dazai who was turning out lights around the apartment.

Looking at both his lovers waiting for him expectantly, one smiling with a dopey grin, and the other with flushed cheeks and glossy, tired eyes, he couldn’t help but want to relish in the moment but run to both of them for some well deserved rest at the same time. He sauntered over to his side of the bed, gently pulling back the covers and climbing in. Wiggling his eye brows, opening his arms to welcome you, you giggled lightly and rolled your eyes before you inched your way into them. He became inpatient and proceeded to pull you closer against him, not missing the small pout from the man on the other side of your now aware of the gap between the two of you causing the brunette to smirk.

Sighing in contentment at finally having you in his arms, your head to his chest, Dazai smiled down at your face, admiring your beauty even when you were so sick. He waited for Chuuya to settle around you before he expressed ‘love yous’ to both of you. Osamu could tell you were seconds away from sleep as he kissed your forehead, officially activating his ability, as you begun some of the best sleep you swear was the best in your entire life.

[crystalandparrot]

RC9GN x Reader

Part 1, Part 2

“Hey, (Y/n),” Bucky spoke, spooking said girl out of her stupor as the two walked to school.

"Huh?" (Y/n) question.

"How come you only ever talk to me? I'm sure other students would love to hear your ideas." Bucky said optimistically.

"You really think so?" (Y/n) asked, eyes shining.

"Maybe not, all of them-"

(Y/n) deflated, causing Bucky to wave his hands frantically.

"But that's because they're not for high schoolers! I mean the home alarm, your staff, those goggles on your head—"

"Hey, these goggles help me log important information and — okay, I see your point." (Y/n) deflated again.

"What if you made something to impress them?" Bucky asked with a snap of his fingers.

"Something to impress them..." (Y/n) thought out loud. "Oh! What about my mechanical spider limbs?" With that, eight mechanical limbs popped out of (Y/n)'s hoodie, lifting her off the ground and flipping her upside down.

"You look like Invader Zim," Bucky chuckled, walking past the, once again, deflated girl. The arms retracted suddenly. With quick thinking, (Y/n) flipped and landed on her feet, surprising Bucky. "Do you know any more cool moves like that?" He asked.

"I prefer to show off my intelligence rather than physical prowess. Sure it's nice to have the ability, but my superpower relies solely on my brain!" (Y/n) said as she pushed open the doors to the school.

"Then you should put that brain to good use," Bucky held out his hand for a fist bump.

(Y/n) reciprocated the fist bump and the two parted ways. (Y/n) walked to her science class, which she always had for 1st period on Mondays. Mrs. Driscoll greeted her with a grin.

"(Y/n)! Any new inventions?" Mrs. Driscoll asked with stars in her eyes. She puppeteered her late husband's skeleton to 'talk', "Your inventions are positively humorous!" Mrs. Driscoll laughed and smacked Jerry's chest.

(Y/n) smiled and placed her satchel on Mrs. Driscoll's desk. As she did so, Randy Cunningham and Howard Weinerman happened to walk in. "Mrs. Driscoll, I present to you," (Y/n) held up a small box with a crescent-moon-shaped attachment, "the, still in Beta, the C.R.A.V.E.S, a system that, when placed against the user's teeth," (Y/n) put the device against Jerry's teeth. The machine beeped, "it tells you exactly what they were craving! For example, your husband was craving...scallops?" (Y/n) looked at the device in question.

Mrs. Driscoll sighed lovingly, "That was my Jerry."

(Y/n) shivered, she tucked her device away and walked to her seat at the back of the room.

"Who's that shoob?" Howard whispered to Randy.

More students began trickling in when Randy leaned close to Howard, "I have no idea, but she's pretty smart."

"A smart shoob is still a shoob," Howard said, pointing his pencil at Randy. Inside Randy's bag, the Nomicon quietly blinked red from behind its Math book cover, facing the direction of (Y/n).

As the final student, Bash (fashionably late as always), trickled in, Mrs. Driscoll began writing in the blackboard. "Welcome back, students!” She puppeteers her husband once more, “I hope your Spring Break was a bone-afide success!”

“Ha! Word play.” (Y/n) chuckled to herself. She sat at the back of the class, the two seats next to her empty while all the other seats were taken.

“And as a Welcome Back, I’m assigning your first projects of the next semester!” Mrs. Driscoll announced.

The students all groaned with the exception of (Y/n), “Oh, goody!”

“And since the school board has cut funding for the science department…again…this time you’ll be working in groups of three.” The words seemed to echo around the room. None of the students (with one exception) listened to the rest, as they were too busy deciding who to add to their group. Friends will be split, enemies made, alliances formed in blood… “You can now find your partners-“ with that, hell broke loose. Kids jumping over tables, holding back their friends to prevent a steal, throwing dangerous objects. It got to a point that Mrs. Driscoll hid herself and her husband under the desk.

“Cunningham! Save me!” Howard screamed as he was pulled into the wave of students.

“Hold oh, Big H!” Randy, without hesitation, jumped into the sea. His leg caught the strap of his backpack as he jumped, forcing the contents to be spilled all over the floor. The Nomicon hummed and blinked as students stepped and kicked it to the back of the room, the mask caught in its pages. With all of the abuse, the cover even came off, revealing its true cover to the world.

With a metallic THUD, the Nomicon hit the metal cabinet next to (Y/n). The girl let out a noise of surprise and looked up from her notebook. The Nomicon blinked softly as (Y/n) picked it up. Her hands traced the delicate patterns on the hard leather book, the feeling not uncomfortable to her hands like she imagined it would be. With a bit of remorse (Y/n) held the book away from her, “Oh, exotic book, what secrets you must hide—but alas! It is my code of honor to not open a book that does not belong to me…unless of course bought or received from a trusted source.”

The Nomicon flashed red, humming loudly.

(Y/n)’s eyes shone, “Maybe there’s an exception for glowing mystic books,” (Y/n) ran her fingers over the pages that begged to be opened. The Nomicon’s flashes got faster and louder, its pages flittering as they waited to be opened.

“Has everyone found their partners?” Mrs. Driscoll asked.

(Y/n)’s head shot up and with a sigh, she tucked the Nomicon into her satchel, the flap open to make for an easier grab. “Soon, my precious.”

In the middle of the room, Randy and Howard sat, rubbing their heads in pain. “Oh, good. Randy and Howard, you’ll be joining (Y/n).” Mrs. Driscoll announced once she saw they the three were, in fact, without partners. “(Y/n) has the highest grade in the class, so even you two should get a decent grade.” She chuckled.

“What?! But she’s a shoob!” Howard moaned.

“A shoob with the highest grade in the class! Howard, we can use this!” Randy whispered, excitedly. Both of the friends grabbed their bags and walked to (Y/n) at the back of the class.

“I don’t follow.” Howard whispered.

“We’ll act like total shoob’s, say we don’t know how to do the project, she’ll get annoyed with us, do the project and — BOOM, automatic A.” Randy smirked. The two sat down and a sudden flash of red distracted Randy. He looked down, spotting his Nomicon in (Y/n)’s bag. He nervously chuckled, “I-is, is that my book?” Randy asked, pointing at (Y/n)’s satchel.

“Huh?” (Y/n) looked down, at her bag. “Oh, it flew to the back, I didn’t know who it belonged to.” (Y/n) gently took the book out and traced the cover again. Shaking her head, she handed it back to Randy, “Where did you get it? I’d love to read it sometime, I’ve never seen anything like it.” (Y/n) spoke quickly, enamored by the book.

“Oh, it’s nothing just a little family history book. Old baby pictures, family trees—Really boring stuff, I’ll just take it off your hands.” Randy hurriedly took the book back, and shoved it in his own satchel. The Nomicon flashed brightly and loudly, angry at the turn of events.

“You bring family history books to school?” (Y/n) asked flatly.

“I-it’s for our History class! Some extra credit thing that you definitely don’t need!” Howard back his friend up, grinning awkwardly.

(Y/n) looked between the two skeptically, “Right…” with a quick hand, she opened her notebook to a fresh page and began writing, “So, ideas for our project?”

“Yes! Our project!” Randy grinned, winking at Howard.

“Totally love that project! I can’t wait to…do our project!” Howard added in a fake excited voice.

(Y/n) sighed out of annoyance, “You don’t know what the project is, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Not. A. Clue.”

(Y/n) gripped the bridge of her nose, “Super,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “Cool, cool, cool. Cool, cool, cool.” She angrily closed the notebook and stood. “Why don’t I work on the project and you two do the report? All you have to do is write what the robot does AFTER I give it to you.” (Y/n) commanded as she pointed to Randy and Howard.

“But what do we—“

“You write down what it does!” (Y/n) took a deep breath, “I will give you a list of what it does. All you have to do is write a well written report.” (Y/n) began walking out of the room, “Even though my robot will be A plus guaranteed,” she whispered cockily.

“Those who are building, go to Mr. Smith’s metal shop for your basic design! Everyone’s who’s writing a report please go to the library!” Mrs. Driscoll announced after seeing (Y/n) leave.

“Automatic A—“ Howard started, raising his hand.

“Here. We. Come!” Randy punctuated each word with the next step in their secret handshake. They ended with their signature turn and pose.

The Nomicon angrily blinked, catching Randy’s attention. Picking up his bag, Randy held up a finger to Howard, “Give me just one second,” he whispered. He ran out of the room and into a Janitor’s closet. “Alright, Nomicon, I only got a few minutes before Driscoll realizes I’m not in the library, so be quick about it—“ the Nomicon flew open suddenly, causing Randy to lose consciousness and ‘Vloomp’ into the Nomicon.

Randy screamed as he fell through the artistic clouds and through the painted leaves on the two dimensional tress. With a couple of bounces, Randy finally landed against a tree trunk. “What the juice, Nomicon?!”

A painted scholar walked through the trees, smiling at Randy. Or at least, to the person behind him.

A painted ninja stepped through the trees behind Randy and walked up to the scholar. The ninja gave the scholar a piece of paper, and folded his arms. The scholar read the paper and nodded at the ninja. The trees fell backwards, blending into the floor as more of scene became exposed. The scholar walked to his small house. The sun rose and fell in flashes, showing how long the scholar was in his house. The sun rose once more, staying in the air as the scholar left the house, this time with a small box. He presented it to the ninja and began talking. No words or letters left his mouth, the only thing Randy could hear was soft flutes as the scholar spoke.

The ninja waved his hand and took the box, smokebombing away. The trees on the other side of Randy fell, blending into the floor, further increasing the scene. There was a small town with a large flying serpent terrorizing the village. With a puff of smoke, the ninja stood in front of the serpent. He opened the box and pulled out a smaller box with a button. The ninja looked at the box in question then pressed the button…nothing happened. He pressed it again and again…still nothing. The serpent AND the townsfolk all laughed at the ninja as he sulked. Colorful words flew out of the box and presented themselves over the ninja’s head.

“Neglect the brain and the heart becomes vulnerable.” Randy read aloud. “Uh, that scholar clearly sabotaged the ninja! I mean, who gives someone a box that doesn’t do anything?” Randy asked.

The ninja and scholar looked at each other unimpressed. The ninja pulled out his sword and the scholar…why is he holding a Bō staff? The two quickly ran to Randy and simultaneously attacked him.

With a gasp and a bump to the head, Randy left the Nomicon. He rubbed his head and looked behind him to see the shelf he bumped his head on.

Randy peeked his head out of the Janitors closet and rushed out before anyone could see him, bag in hand.

“AHHHHH!!”

“Someone get the Ninja!”

“Help!”

Randy gasped at the sudden cries for help. With no one in the hall, this was the perfect time to put his Ninja suit on.

“Looks like it’s Ninja o’clock!” Randy reached into his bag…except…

Randy’s heart fell into his stomach as his hand missed the soft fabric of the mask. He glared down at the bag, and upon not seeing the mask immediately, Randy overturned his bag and emptied the contents. The only object that was matching to the mask in color was the Nomicon.

“Sweet cheese, I lost the Ninja mask!”

————————

I swear I can hear the music starting and cutting out at the end. Also if you saw the lesson in the first chapter before I edited it, no you didn’t.

[souliescorner]

Time Blindness - CHAPTER ONE

In this world there are always some truisms which don’t even need to be spoken aloud, because doing so  would be a clear waste of air. Such truism, for instance, is that no matter how much you like horror movies, or the Hunger Games universe, you don’t wish to live in either of them. Ever.

Except in Ophelia’s case, that wasn’t much of a choice—certainly not hers, if we are being honest here. She was quite frankly deceived, and on top of that deceived rather well by a walking cringefest, a blondie TikTok star with mommy issues and a stolen spellbook—or as the others called her - Riley Monroe. Shame, ‘cause the girl apparently had no idea what she was doing anymore.

“I’m telling you, it will work this time!”

That’s what he said. Ophelia thought. Evidently, the Office references were powerful enough to be genderswapped in 2024.

She shook her head, trying to come back to reality for the 1000th time this week and exchanged quick glances with Ghost - a tall young man wearing a black hoodie and a fox mask, grinning at the sight. 

One more look of disapproval at the witch wannabe currently frantically going through the old book’s pages would do the trick.

“You know what, Riley? Forget it. You clearly don’t know how to handle this bullshit..”

“Shut up, you walking goth girl stereotype!” The blonde woman raised her glare from the book’s page  and stared at the raven- black- haired one, her pale visage struck by a furious grimace.  “Get off me and go somewhere else to listen to some Depeche Mode or  some other shit!”

Truth to be told, Ophelia loved Depeche Mode very much—who doesn’t, right?—but the group was placed on her long list of favorites, among many different bands and vocalists - to be reduced as such was almost an unforgivable act. Lately however, being the slashers’ plushie took the cake of both annoyance and unforgiving, and shoved it to the goth's face. 

To even think becoming a counselor at the Nevermoor Camp, after all the tragedies she had suffered before -   like the burning of her family home years ago and the death of her parents, her older brother, Aaron and Anastacia,  and one of the worsts break ups ever, would be a child’s play…It was a grave mistake. A scenario worth either a horror movie or a dark comedy—the woman wasn’t so sure anymore which one exactly.

The air grew heavier with each passing second. Finally, Riley managed to break it.

“I got it! This should work for the both of you!” The blondie glanced at Ophelia and Ghost, biting her bottom lip.

“Will you…?”

“No.” Riley interrupted,  slightly raising her voice annoyed. “No, Ophelia. It won’t send you to the Middle Ages. Just Ghostie’s past.”

“For your generation it’s pretty much the same, right?” The masked man laughed at his own lame joke and winked at the woman standing next to him.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Ghost! I need to focus!” Monroe took the yellow page between her slim fingers. “ Reversae possibilitates, elige unum aut alterum, et praeteritum cum praesenti adversus se faciant."

And suddenly the world around the two of them spinned as if at the speed of light.

***

When it stopped, the pair found themselves in what seemed like  typical American suburbs, late at night. Only the houses glared at them with eerie calmness as they were the only ones basking in the moon’s light, leaving the rest of the area almost completely in darkness.

Except they weren’t alone.

“What the actual hell?! Why am I here with you two?!” Riley screamed in anger, as she fell on the ground behind them.

“Quiet!” Ophelia whispered to her. “Somebody could have hea—”

The last syllable disappeared, as the trio watched lights turning on in the house before them.

Something told them to freeze in place, hoping not to get noticed.  That however, proved to be a rather foolish idea because not even ten minutes later, the house’s front doors opened, revealing a couple - a tall adult man and a woman covered in black - dressed casually,  staring  straight at them.

“Wait, love, lock the door, I’ll go check.” the man said.

“Joey, wait! Maybe we should call the police. Two of them are masked… Actually that fox mask brings back memories.”

“They are teenagers, I think we will be fine.”

“They could have guns, Jo.”

“My love, I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to handle a little devil — a witch— like you anyway.”

Hang on, isn’t that voice kinda familiar? Ophelia glimpsed at Ghost and Riley - both holding their breaths in evident surprise.

Counting in her mind, she watched the couple approaching. 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing,  while observing their steps carefully. That walk, which resembled almost floating on the ground — she had seen that style before— it kinda reminded her of…

“Mommy!” Ghost blurted out.

The goth’s jaw dropped on the floor. As the couple got closer, she realised she was staring into her own greyish blue eyes. An exact copy of her, only about two decades older, without a signature make up and the raven- black hair touched by a one dyed  ivory white strand.

“I would have preferred if only my children called me that, to be honest.” The older Ophelia laughed with amusement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Yes, I stumbled upon a post discussing the "what if" scenarios for the slashers and got inspired. No, I'm still not sure about whether I should publish it on ao3.

All credits are due, there's more to come, I guess ;))

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 14

Synopsis: The Reader gets a potential glimpse into her future. She also makes an enemy.

A/n: yeaaayyyy. More fun. Fuckery world building. Thanks to all my readers. I should probably do a tag list instead of zapping ur inboxes. Uhhh....yeah. to my mutuals who have to deal with me and aren't attached to this, I am sorry. I love you and I would donate my organs to you.

Grades were posted. Most were good, nothing to really write home about. You did far better than you expecting. The self-doubt really was deep-rooted, wasn’t it?

Except one. That stupid alien gave you a near-perfect. Just one point shy of an absolutely perfect one-hundred percent.

So much for no favoritism…

You’d take it anyways. And not bring it up…

Work was slow but it was steady.

He even met you between shifts at your park.

You started feeling a tad insane without him. Did love feel like this? You admitted you had little experience with love. Just what you attempted to create in the past. And trashy books and television shows and movies and songs…

You needed him like you needed a cigarette and a stiff drink after a long day.

Bella Swan would be so proud of you, you degraded yourself in your mind.

“How is work going?” The Doctor asked with genuine shine of curiosity in his tone and face.

“The amount of professors in now…I have to dodge them! I do think the statistics professor I had two terms ago recognized me!” You spoke in a shocked, scared tone. You didn’t need that getting out. Could ruin your future plans.

“Oh no!” He chuckled, as he handed you a bit of sandwich.

“You aren’t forgettable.”

You skeptically glared over at him.

“Any who. How was your gig at the student union?”

“No one appreciated the irony of Pink Floyd.”

“And?”

“Everyone loves Doctor Disco!” He flourished then played air guitar.

You burst out laughing. With a quick roll of your eyes, you shook your head.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I invented the concept!”

“Probably true!” You let yourself think of his time on Earth. Who knew what funk he has spread? You weren’t going to delve into it much more.

Yet.

One day, when you felt brave enough.

“I have to go to London for a while in two weeks. Just maintenance of the Black Archives…I need to streamline some stuff for making it easier for my next few regenerations. And update some things about a plan for proxy since another organization is down to a woman named Gwen and her husband and she’s thinking of retiring the entire engagement. Her…leader hasn’t returned to the planet in ages. I doubt he ever will. This planet has caused him too much pain. Which, ironic, since his ancestors came from here. Talk about mother wounds! Just upload all the databases for UNIT to deal with.”

“Inviting me?” You clarified.

“Yeah…I think it’ll take a week. Especially with the layers of bureaucracy that is in place these days.” He looked over, his hair caught in the wind. “Could you spare a week? No TARDIS, no time travel. Just hop to, hop out, the slow way around.”

You licked your top row of teeth and scraped it back into place.

“Sure?”

“Perfect. I’ll have them ready a room, a better room for us.”

“One with a window?”

“If they do have those.”

You nodded.

“It’s a date!”

“Fantastic.” He smiled but seemed to flash in his eyes some hidden response from just the one word…

You chewed your shared sandwich and sipped your can of Coke Zero. The weather was getting warmer and the sun was actually shining in one of those perfect, photo-ready days.

“The vitamin D feels good, doesn’t it?” You turned your head to face the sun. The heat felt too good on your skin. You let a little moan slip through your lips.

“Perhaps. I might need a sun crème soon.” He replied.

You snorted. He was bone pale, but you didn’t know how alien skin worked yet.

“Yeah, you are pretty pale.”

Your alarm went off and you had to go.

Final good-byes said and you stalked off.

You had to plan out your little London escape. If it was hard work for him, you wanted to kill time in comfort. Do some sightseeing. Nothing major. London had tons of viral cafés and pop-ups.

The time flew by…

And suddenly you were off and away in another fancy armored Range Rover with armed escorts.

He did do you a bit of justice and got you a room with a view. Just not a particularly stunning one…

He went off, rather rapidly if you did say so yourself, because something needed him to submit his DNA and he couldn’t have any radiant interference. Petronella needed to be with him to get her DNA analyzed or something. You were not going to try to comprehend.

Fine by you, you’d nose around. There were so many floor and he gave you some sort of weird blank paper he said would get you through anything you needed.

“It’s psychic paper!” He said, smile up to his ears.

“Looks like a piece of printer paper shoved into an old wallet to me.” You replied as you regarded the object.

Fine by you, you stuffed it in your jean’s pocket.

You found yourself on the first floor, and saw a door open. There was a sign posted on an easel. ‘Companions and Surviving Family Support Group’, it proclaimed.

You put two and two together. It was probably in reference to the man doing who-knows-what.

You weren’t a companion per say. The Doctor assured you as much.

Did you invade? Did you go look at your future? Or a potential future? It mentioned family members…

Your curiosity got the best of you. Like that damn cat!

You walked in, it was set up like a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Coffee, sweet treats, chairs all in a circle.

There were already a crowd of people.

And your entrance wasn’t exactly planned.

You slid onto the chair that was closest to the door. An east exit if this was too much.

“Oh! A new face!” A woman with a lot of life etched into her face with a kind smile and a mop of white-shock hair, her lips as red as blood.

“Does, is…am I late?” Was the best you could choke out. You could feel your eyes start to bulge. You swallowed hard. All eyes were on you. You didn’t like it. You preferred anonymity.

The mistake was already clear in your mind.

“No, dove. Right on time! We’re still waiting on Ian! I’m Jo!” She scooted her chair closer to you.

You thrust your tongue out and bit it’s side.

“I’m (y/n).”

A short woman with a leather jacket and all the authoritarian air of something that placed your hairs on the back of your neck at attention glared at you and Jo. “Why don’t we save it all for introductions…”

You got up and grabbed a bottle of water and sat back down.

An ancient man wandered in and sat down.

“Oh! Ian, love! We got a new straggler!” Jo said to him and gave him a hug that seemed too strong for her aged body.

The bossy girl cleared her throat. “Now we can start.”

You hated her already. She clearly ran this group with an iron fist.

There was Jo, Ian, the bitch’s name was Yaz, Martha, a woman who called herself Ace, a married couple named Nyssa and Tegan, a grandmother and grandson duo named Graham and Ryan, a Mel, and some young man named Luke…

Quite a big group.

It came down to you, you introduced yourself. And were supposed to give some brief synopsis of your relationship with the Doctor.

You stared off into space.

“Yeah, he’s here…doing something. I don’t know. I’m his…girlfriend. He’s also a professor at my university.” You stared at your left palm and gauged the reaction. “Nothing major. I’ve got his promise that he’s not going to get me in the way of death.” You finished with a shrug. “He introduced me to his…ex recently. Some milf named Missy. Have you lot met her?”

Yaz’s eyes could have make entrails out of you…

“What? Did I not brush my teeth correctly?” You pointed that faux-question towards her.

“She told me she didn’t do relationships.” She spoke in a tiny voice eventually.

“Well, maybe I’m special.” You shot Yaz a shit-eating grin masked as an innocent smile.

“Oh! I heard the Master went female!” Jo broke up your brewing tiff. “He was such a softie towards me! I enjoyed our little battles.”

You laughed and covered up your palm.

The conversations went on. Mainly centered around Missy now. Apparently she was the prime minister and tortured Martha and her family. Also, body-snatched Nyssa’s father. And became a cat. She’d certainly done her fair share of damage. No wonder she was chained up in a basement in Bristol of all places.

That explained her feline nature.

“Which Doctor are you with?”

“I don’t know. Tall? Thin? Scottish? Severe face? Plays guitar? Wild grey hair. Dark roots, too handsome…yeah.” You didn’t know how many or what the Doctor looked like previously.

“Oh. So the one before Yaz and Graham and me!” Ryan piped up. “She mentioned being a grey-haired Scot right before we met her.”

“Oh, so he got his wish of being a chick next.” You affirmed.

“Wonder what happened to you!” Yaz said, venom starting to leak into her voice.

“Nothing I need to know about, okay?” You pressured back. Two could play this game.

She clearly had sour grapes over you getting chosen and not her.

More conversations broke out, more story-swapping. You started to feel beyond way out just out of your depths. You had to keep your calm. Especially in front of your new foe. Any weakness and you were going to be either throwing down with her or she’d do something unspeakable.

She was apparently a police officer, after all!

“So you’ve never gone on an adventure? To space? Not even back in time? Or forward?” Ace spoke incredulously.

“No, I’m not going to put my life at risk. I made him promise to not. He’s retired. He just needs to help UNIT and rehabilitate Missy.”

“She doesn’t stay good!” Yaz spit out. She then told her tale of him and how the only way to break free from him, the Doctor had to hand Missy over to the Nazis.

“Not my problem.” You said, after finally scraping your jaw off the floor.

“And wow, what the fuck happened between now and when? Handing over someone to the literal Nazis?” You shot up an errant hand and glared. “And hanging around cops. No offense. It’s like historical Jesus versus American Jesus.” You made the decision to bite your middle finger nail in a covert attempt to flip her off.

“Maybe you had something to do with it.” She accused.

“Oh, yeah. Blame me.” You said.

Others attempted civility between the two of you.

Martha seemed between two minds here.

“Just remember how powerful your emotions are!” Ian called out. “Especially how deeply the Doctor evokes them in us!”

It dawned on you, and you decided to take the highest of roads. “Yeah, were dealing with some alien. Like…damn. We really are out here getting….cut up over an alien. He’s our weird alien. But yeah.” He was your alien. And you were going to defend your man, but you didn’t want Yaz and her feelings to make you any less powerful. “His body count has got to be in the millions.” You used the term in a way to dig in that the Doctor picked you for the mainstream meaning and not Yaz. But it worked for companions too!

“Who knows how many of us he’s taken a shine to!” Suddenly you felt yourself heart plummet. You knew you weren’t special as part of a group, but you decided to soothe yourself with your marked differences. No magical abduction story. Just a normal, morally-grey student and teacher relationship. Only it was your luck to end up with the most ran-through alien.

And, it did suit you. You too were ‘ran-through’.

You wished he was free and you could get some comfort here…

You felt yourself return to normal, and decided to pass the ultimate catch.

“Sorry for getting heated. The past month or so since he’s revealed his double life to me, has been…shattering. I’ve only recently discovered that he was…you know, not some man I hang out with. I only recently started calling him Doctor. Not Professor Smith.”

The though of him not taking anyone else as a lover after you did fill you with a sense of pride. Whatever impact you had, that was a mark in your favor. Loyal to you…even if you were dead or broken-up or whatever your fate was to mess around with anyone else.

A permanent (y/n)-shaped hole no one could even get close enough to fill.

When he was done with his task you’d have to slap him and then suck him off.

Martha finally put in her two cents.

“Just don’t get hurt. The last time he was in love when I was with him…so bad. The ending was enough to destroy me.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation went back to normal. You really enjoyed Jo’s stories. Apparently he was a white-haired debonair sort for her. You were curious to see what that had looked like. You doubted it could compare to your particular Doctor, but it was probably very close.

You found yourself laughing and getting along with most. Except for Yaz. You both kept finding yourselves shooting daggers at each other.

You tried to rise above it.

However. You were only human…

You heard a sharp rap at the door and turned at the noise.

It was your Doctor.

“Sorry. I was going to the toilets. Heard some nice familiar voices. Smelt the coffee! I love a cup of coffee after genetic sequencing…Hello!”

There were nary a word as he strode over and made a cup, dumping about a dozen sugar packets in.

“I’ll let you all talk amongst yourselves. Oh, and (y/n), I have tickets to walk through the Chelsea Physic Garden at three. Will you join me? And Martha, I am so deeply sorry for all I’ve done to you. It’s weighed on my conscience since I was a young man in a bow-tie. Truly. From the bottoms of both my hearts. And, oh, faces I don’t know yet, catch your laters.” He shot a quick peace sign.

He breezed out with the same ease that he came in with…

You flushed hard and felt yourself wanting to kick your legs hard. The smile that crept up around your face was probably very goofy. You felt suddenly very giddy and lovesick. And embarrassed.

You swore you heard Yaz mutter something about “Daddy issues”.

You wanted to snap and fight her on the floor.

Jo and Ace heckled. “Oh, he’s back to being a groovy gentleman.” Jo said. “I recognize that red jacket!”

After a while, everyone seemed to wrap it up.

You received quite a few warnings about how passionate a relationship with the Doctor is, and how it would eventually run it’s course.

You didn’t know whether to heed it, or believe him. You were airing on the side of him. After all, he could have popped down here in his TARDIS, but he was following your regulations down to the letter. Changed behaviors, and for whatever reason, when you were long gone, and he was a she, the Doctor didn’t take Yaz up on her romantic offerings.

You felt ashamed of your ‘I can fix him’/’I am the only exception’ mindset. You were a rebel to the idea of monogamy usually. You also didn’t believe in true love. Not after all that you’d seen at work and even experienced in your personal life. However, the beating of your heart and the ache in your soul and the throb of your cunt interfered…

You felt like you were his favorite.

Maybe you were.

You were delusional enough, you decided.

With final hugs and you swore you’d get down and learn more about your shared alien, you’d exited to go and text him that you were out front, smoking.

“You know, maybe you died from lung cancer.” Yaz materialized, carrying some stuff to her car. “Or emphysema.”

You blew out a puff in her general direction.

“I don’t need a lecture. He’s already on my ass enough to get me to quit.” You played back.

“So, lady Doctor. What does she look like?” You asked. Curious. You tried a friendly route. “Still Scottish?” The two incarnations of Time Lords you had met had been. It was an honest question. You even tried a cordial laugh.

“No, definitely not Scottish.”

You nodded.

“She’s blonde and has the most amazing eyes! I took her to get her ears pierced. She’s the most incredible and infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“Apparently that’s par for the course.” You agreed.

She gave you some agreement.

“Does she still play guitar?” You offered an opportunity to bond, girl to girl. You may have hated her, but a cop on your side may come in handy. One day. And you both were tied to each other now.

So…you had to act your age or whatever.

She was a little younger than you. You could remember being her age. Empathy.

“No, she can’t even carry a tune. She sings all the time.”

You had to let a small snort escape.

“He can sing really well.” You cupped a palm to your mouth. “It’s a bit annoying at times, you know. He frequently does during his lectures.”

“So…that hadn’t changed.” You could see the gears in her brain turning.

“Wait, he’s your professor?” She exclaimed.

“Not currently.” You shrugged, as his text saying that he was coming down popped up, absolved of guilt.

“That’s so wrong!”

“Honey, the Doctor abducts barely legal girls with a degree of regularity. I think a tame affair with a student who started uni later than most is the best-case scenario. You included.” You flicked a bit of ash off your cigarettes end. “No offense.”

“Yeah…” You clearly won.

He swanned into the little front garden at the entrance of UNIT. He changed to a hoodie and simple black blazer and a relaxed pair of checked trousers.

It made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey. I was thinking Italian for dinner. Or Thai. In the fifty-second century there’s a great collision of their flight colonies.”

You smacked your teeth together and let out the final puff of smoke.

“You’re the Doctor before my Doctor.” Yaz gazed up, a look of pre-mourning in her eyes.

“As my wife, River, would say, ‘Spoilers, sweetie.’ It’s nice to meet you early. I’ll try to wipe you from my memory to make it easier for my future self.” He gave Yaz’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah, good luck. See you soon?” You called out as you let yourself be swept off your feet by your particular Doctor.

“Sure?” You heard her say.

A few blocks later and going on the Underground, you pulled him close by the lapels. You gave him a firm kiss and slapped his ass. It was a ‘thank-you’ in a small, simple way. You’d never end up, all things go as planned, like any of those perfect victims. Who knew, maybe you’d dump him. It was all open-ended.

You had your entire life ahead of you. More or less.

For now, it was just you, the Doctor, and a walk in a garden with a fabulous dinner date.

“What was that for?” He looked at you quizzically.

“You’ll never know…” You grinned immensely and a little psychotically. You felt your nose crinkle a bit.

“Oh?” He replied back, skeptical in tone.

It was a start.

“Yeah…” You breathed, inhaling this moment. Inhaling the scent of him, you felt sane, safe, stable and most importantly- in love and loved back.

The train pulled up.

A perfect start to a perfect week.

He snaked out the psychic paper and tapped it like it was an oyster card. You entered the platform and smiled up at him...

Yeah, life was beyond awesome.

[katrani]

2025 Books: Arcanum Unbounded

Another anthology! This one was.... much worse to get through, unfortunately. Started strong with Emperor's Soul, but after that....

So I love strong world-building. I love Mistborn's characters, I'll rotate half of the Stormlight characters in my mind so often. With the asterisk of it being a first book from someone of Sanderson's background, I find Elantris fairly charming; that is I see the problems, but I can roll with them based on latent strengths on display. I should have liked this book as a whole!

I really found most of it a chore.

Emperor's Soul is fucking great, I adore stories about how people are affected by those around them, and what determines personhood, it's just. Free buy-in from me. On top of that, Shai is super compelling, love her dilemma over her personal stamps. And the whole thing is based around theft/conning? Fuck yeah fuck yeah.

Hope of Elantris left me feeling that I should've revisited Elantris before picking this up, I'll chalk any weirdness about that one to my lack of memory.

The first two Mistborn stories are fine, I did laugh at the gimmick of Allomancer Jak.

And then there's Secret History. Fucking hell, Secret History. I should have liked this! More context for what was happening in the background of Mistborn's second and third books, some time with Kelsier again, both great. Except. Except!!!!!!! Kelsier's a con man. He can fight sure, but most of his oomph comes from being able to manipulate people and be a leader. So Sanderson writes a like 100+ page story where 90% of the time Kelsier's on his own??? what the fuck I was so bored. SO BORED. The characters he does get to interact with feel like a lot of the "visitor" interludes in Stormlight, where it's just. The author going "here's stuff I know that you don't, hope you keep with me for the next 20 years" (I like when Stormlight has the interludes with other characters for the setting, it really does make it feel properly apocalyptic, I like seeing some cameos doing silly stuff like hiring some dudes to yoink artifacts. I do not like the sense of cameos being built up to be a major piece in the ongoing story, either make room for them to be proper PoVs or cut them)

I really hope White Sand works better as a full graphic novel cause I could not get into either the except for the written portion/"script". Shadows for Silence in the Forests of Hell was fine, a little too edgy of a setting for my liking but Silence is amazing, love her, loved her PoV, loved the reveal at the end and how it tied into both the rumors around her place and the grief she's got. However.... Both Shadows... and Sixth of Dusk feel very appropriative to me. LIke, you're gonna run into some in diverse settings by majority/prominent/hegemonic demographic writers, just by incident and because appropriation vs diverse influences can be slightly grey. But Shadows..., with the author's note saying where he got the rules from, and Sixth are just... you didn't even try to work these into being influences, you're just grabbing stuff and using it whole and using it with other details that make it feel stereotyped and it felt kinda gross to people named Kat who are me.

Which already had me in a bad mood about the whole thing and then we get to Edgedancer and W O W do I want to like Lift but she feels like she's written to be a Manic Pixie Dream Girl type, and that did not get better with the note of "she'll have had some development by the time she's in the main series, so I wanted to show where she started". Like. Why. She's absolutely gonna show up and be the weird quirky one that someone latches onto because she's just so weird you guys and I am not here for it. At all. Did like Stump and the guard captain and the scribes tho, give me their perspectives on all this world shattering. Also like the city itself, this sense that there are a few places that could weather the nonsense, it'll just be a question of logistics for the people there.

Overall just. A rough set of stuff, made less enjoyable by the fact that it's a few longer pieces instead of shorter snippets so I had to stick with the things I didn't like, it seemed. Also made it clear that there's a sweet spot for Sanderson's writing for me, where we've got time with both the story and the character. Dropping into a middle (Secret History) or needing to get it done in 50-75 pages (Sixth of Dusk) just don't work.

[nowiamcoveredinyou]

Summertime

BBC Sherlock

Fluff

"hey honey do you know where my ... Oh got it" I picked my favourite fountain pen from my desk that was hidden in all his stuffs, I mean our stuffs. Then I sat down with my notebook. This beautiful summer day made me wanna write a poem.

"is someone busy with poetry again?" Asked my husband as he came with my cup of team. Which surprised me as I didn't expect him to make tea this early in the morning. He sat , bringing another chair close to mine.

"one," I said taking my cup and placing in front of me, "you must know to wear clothes. You're literally wrapped up in bedsheet which doesn't hide much".

He knitted his eyebrows at me as he said, "excuse me everything is covered - oh!" As he scrutinized himself he found the bedsheet revealing exactly what should be hidden. He adjusted the sheet and cleared his throat.

"and two, when did you started making tea?" I asked cause every morning Mrs Hudson brings us tea, STILL.

"I didn't, I brought it from Mrs Hudson" obvious reply, shouldn't be offended.

"writing poetry again?" He asked raising his cup to his lips.

"no, I'm writing a poem, poetry and poems are different" I clarified and didn't have to look at him to know if he rolled his eyes at me or not. Because he did.

"you write both" he said after sipping his tea.

"quite right, I right both" saying so I started to doodle in the corner of my very artistic handmade journal which was so expensive that my mum couldn't answer me when she heard the price.

I let my pen flow, sometimes when writing doesn't comes, an art surely does and eventually end up making a line art of a peony. Sherlock sat and stared, he doesn't get much opportunities to spend a tranquil morning that often. Today was an exception.

I looked outside for inspiration. And the summer sun, the very bright pleasant summer sun of London, washing over the houses and rejuvenating us after a dull and gloomy winter was filled with imageries to write in a poem.

"have you ever wondered?" I asked, in a state of being mesmerized by the beauty outside, "what would the joy that the summer brings would look like?"

I heard him chuckle, his heavy voice filled the sitting room with a sultry air.

"I have" he replied, "I have seen what a bright joy looks like actually".

I turned to face him immediately, "you have? And what is it like?"

His eyes were fixated on mine with a warm smile on his lips as he replied, "exactly like you".

I knew the answer would be something like this, that took me back to the summer that was three years ago, when he handed me a book and disappeared into the crowded streets of London.

I opened the book after seeing it's cover, it was brida by Paulo Coelho. The book that was next on my tbr. And as I opened it I received a note, written by him that said, "all my happiness came wrapped in you".

Summer! Some Summers destroyed me, some made me happy. Alot of things came with summer. Like this aloof detective.

So with a sigh I finally penned the title of my poem that I was about to write, "Summer time".

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 7 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

AO3 Link is here, my dear.

Word Count: 2584

------------------------------------

Act I, Chapter 7 - The Party

The next morning, the companions went to the druid grove, leaving you alone with Scratch and Withers once more. They figured with the goblin leaders dead, the rest would have fled, and camp was safely tucked away. Halsin had left before dawn, probably to get an early start dealing with whatever had happened in the grove while he was gone.

You were surprised when the companions returned mid-afternoon.

“Back so soon? Are we packing up?”

Karlach grinned. “The tieflings are comin’ here to celebrate before they head out!”

You couldn’t hide your surprised reaction quickly enough.

“Don’t worry, that’s why we came back early,” Wyll said. “To help you prepare.”

You weren’t worried; you just liked having a bit more advance notice than, say, a few hours. You could handle a big party, but you preferred smaller, quieter settings.

You immediately went into project manager mode, directing everyone to complete certain chores. By the time your first visitors began to trickle in, you had several game birds and a large boar roasting over a large fire pit. A rabbit stew was bubbling in a pot over the campfire. A second makeshift fire had a berry cobbler, and there was an array of wine and spirits set up on a flat rock nearby. Apparently the goblin camp had plenty of liquor to loot.

Fortunately, the tieflings brought some food as well, and everyone had a merry time. You flitted around, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink. Everyone seemed nice enough, and even the kids were well behaved. You kept your gloves on, which had been the right decision, since a lot of people shook your hand, thanking you for the food.

You spoke with your companions too, just to make sure they were also doing well. And they seemed to be.

All except one.

You couldn’t quite tell what was causing his grumpy countenance, so you asked him how he was doing. You quietly listened as Astarion vented about not wanting to be a hero and having vinegar for wine.

You took his bottle away and took a swig. You immediately grimaced; this particular bottle had a heavy red wine, dry and sharp. “Yeah, this red is not… to my tastes.”

“See? Awful.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant,” he countered.

You gathered two things from this conversation: one, he needed to have the last word, and two, he was probably hungry. “You’re being grumpy. Should I feed you and tuck you in?”

He glared at you for a moment, before his eyes lit up, as if he suddenly had a great idea. 

Oh gods, what now.

“Are you suggesting we steal away together? Privately?”

“I, erm—”

“We could make our own fun. Get a little closer, so to speak.”

Let me finish my damn sentence. “That’s not—”

“—what you meant?” he finished for you.

You glared at him.

He took a step closer to you. “All teasing aside, I am feeling a bit peckish.” He glanced at your scarf, which you had put on just in case of accidental contact. “Does your offer still stand?"

"I suppose," you replied, but you were wary of the suggestive smirk he was giving you now. 

"Excellent. Come to my tent when everyone is gone, so we can have some… privacy."

You nodded, but part of you was already dreading it. 

***

The party went on into the night, but some time before the witching hour, you bid farewell to the last of the guests and shooed the companions into their tents, insisting that clean up could wait until morning. 

You waited thirty minutes before sneaking into Astarion's tent. 

He was lying on his side, his shirt off, casually reading The Quarta Sune, the book open to a very explicit diagram. He closed the book as you stepped inside and knelt down beside his bedroll. 

"I was waiting for you," he murmured as he sat up. 

Then he glanced at your neck. Without him asking, you tipped your head to the side. 

"Can’t get enough of my bite, can you?"

"Just shut up and drink," you said without any real venom.

He got onto his knees and leaned forward. His hands held your shoulders, and through his touch you felt… almost nothing at all. As if he had built a wall around his heart and was hiding desperately behind it.

Something’s wrong.

He breathed in the scent of your neck before biting down. You braced yourself against the physical pain of the bite, but you didn’t need to steel yourself mentally. His usual emotions were barely there. After a few deep draws, he released you, languidly licking the blood from the wound before kissing it lightly. You should have felt something, even a flicker of fondness. But you felt nothing from his touch.

He’s disassociating. 

“There, all better,” he said, giving you a sensuous smile. A light smear of your blood remained on his lips, and his eyes glimmered with new strength. He really did look like something out of a romance novel, and your eyes followed the movements of his tongue as he licked the blood away. If you hadn’t known that his actions were purely performative, you might have fallen for it.

You reached up to your shoulder and touched his hand. “You’re not actually attracted to me, Astarion.”

His eyebrows rose, his mask cracking for a moment before it reformed in the blink of an eye. “Of course I’m attracted, darling.” His free hand cupped your chin. “How could I not be when you feed me such a delicious snack in the middle of the night?”

You took his hand and gently moved it away from your chin. Holding both his hands in yours, you stared into his eyes to make sure he was listening, truly hearing you. “And I’ll always feed you. So you don’t have to put on a show for me. Just be yourself.”

…confusion…

You let go of him. Your hunch was right. It was as if no one had ever done anything for him without a price. Your heart broke for him.

Holding back your own emotions when they threatened to push you to tears, you instead smiled softly at him. “Now, if you’re feeling better, I need to rest.” 

On a whim, you leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his. “Sweet dreams, Astarion.”

You quickly left his tent, but you glanced back to see him watching you, a puzzled look on his face as the tent flap closed behind you.

***

Just as you were about to crawl back into your bedroll, you heard a rustling in the bushes. Slowly walking towards the sound, you stopped short when you saw the owlbear cub limping towards you, blood on its front paw that it was favoring with each step.

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured. “Wait here a moment,” you told it, hoping it would understand. You went to the party’s traveling chest and pulled out a couple of potions and some cured meat. Returning to the creature, you were relieved to see it had plopped down on its hindquarters, watching as you knelt down in front of it.

You lay down the cured meat, and though the creature looked at it warily at first, it eventually began to eat. Meanwhile, you uncorked the teal colored bottle and smelled it. Yup, this was the one you were looking for; it was hard to mistake the smell of hay, musk, and manure for any other potion. Holding your nose, you chugged the potion as quickly as possible. You resisted gagging as you waited for the potion’s effects to take hold.

Seconds later, you could feel that your hearing had become a bit sharper, as if there was a layer of sound in the world that suddenly became audible. You could feel the path of communication widening in your head, and it gave you a slight headache.

“Can you understand me?” you asked as a test.

The owlbear looked up, wide-eyed in surprise. “You talk?” The voice sounded like a young boy in your ears.

You smiled. “Yes, I can talk.” You held up the red bottle. “Are you hurt?”

He held up his injured leg. Taking his little paw in hand, you uncorked the healing potion and poured a few drops on the wound. The cut closed up a little, so you slowly poured a bit at a time until he was fully healed.

“There, all better,” you murmured, realizing belatedly that Astarion had said the same thing to you earlier. Shaking your head of the memory, you brought yourself back to the present and began a conversation with the cub. Chatting to the little guy was intriguing. You were charmed by his wish to be stronger, to fight bigger opponents and grow strong.

“So, will you stay in my camp?” you asked.

“Yes. Smells nice here. You have food.”

Simple desires. You already loved this cub. You would kill anyone who tried to hurt him.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Scratch slowly approaching.

“If you stay, you will need to be friends with Scratch,” you told the cub.

The cub looked over at the dog. You beckoned him over, and he loped closer.

“Is this a new friend?” Scratch said. He sounded a bit like a young man.

“Yes, a new friend.” You pet both of their heads. “Let’s all get along, shall we?”

Scratch made a soft chuffle in agreement before looking at the cub. “I’ll show you around. The best sleeping spot is…”

Their voices trailed off as they wandered away together. You couldn't help but smile, even as your head continued to pound. The effects of the potion would wear off soon enough, so until then, you’d have to just deal with the headache.

But it was worth it.

***

Morning came far too soon. You were exhausted, but as much as you wanted to sleep in, you had to get up and start breaking down the camp. It was time to head towards the githyanki creche. Lae'zel had been insistent that it would hold the key to solving their tadpole problem, and the rest of the group figured it couldn't hurt to check it out for now, before heading to the Moonrise Towers that Halsin had mentioned. In fact, the large druid was now accompanying your party, as a thanks for helping him escape from the goblin camp.

As you followed the group towards the mountain trail, the base of your spine tingled.

Godsdammit.

You opened your mouth to tell your group that you had a weird feeling about all this, but you thought better of it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just being paranoid.

While you were debating whether or not you should say something, you could hear everyone exerting themselves. Looking up, you watched everyone jump over the broken stone bridge with ease.

Gods DAMN it.

“I’ve got you,” Gale said as he waved his hands and gestured in your direction. You suddenly felt light as a feather.

Karlach waved you over encouragingly. “C’mon, jump!”

You peered over the side of the bridge and felt your heart leap into your throat. Backing away from the edge, you shook your head. Maybe you could find another way around and catch up to them later.

“Come now, no time like the present,” Astarion said from beside you. He leapt over the chasm gracefully, landing like a cat and spinning around to give you an arrogant sneer.

You snide son of a—

“We’re waiting,” he mocked.

Gritting your teeth, you took a few steps backwards, ran, and leapt right at him out of pure spite. However, the spell had made you much lighter, which threw off your sense of gravity. You floundered in the air as you practically floated over the chasm.

Astarion smoothly stepped out of the way as you landed and stumbled, nearly falling over until Gale gripped your upper arm to keep you steady.

“Right, up you get,” he said. Once you had your feet properly under you, he let you go and brushed your sleeve where he had grabbed you. “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice a pitch higher than normal. He smiled, nodded, and quickly turned back to the path along with the others. 

You carried on behind them, watching their backs. So strong, so able. You felt a little helpless compared to them. Even Scratch and the cub were able to easily leap across the bridge without assistance.

Am I holding them back? Perhaps I should have parted ways with them at the grove.

Shaking your head of your negative thoughts, you traveled north, through rather pretty mountain pathways, with the occasional wraith coming to harass your party. You were quite impressed by how your companions would quickly trounce their enemies, so you felt safe. Gale would always stay behind with you and sling spells from a safe distance while the others charged ahead.

As you carried on along the trail, the base of your spine tingled again. This time, you couldn’t ignore it.

“Hey, I think—”

Shouts interrupted you. As the path crested over a hill, you could see in the distance a group of githyanki facing off against some mercenaries.

Lae’zel dropped her backpack and ran off. The others immediately followed suit.

“Stay back here and hide,” Gale called out to you over his shoulder as he ran with the others.

You quickly grabbed everyone’s packs, dragged them off the road, and hid in a copse of trees. Your spine kept tingling, non-stop.

What in the hells…

A large shadow flew overhead, drawing your attention skyward.

What in the hells, indeed. 

A red dragon, majestic and terrifying, with a rider on its back, glided past. You saw everything from a distance: the bridge burning, bodies flying, the dragon soaring away. The smell of burnt flesh and unintelligible angry voices floated towards you. You trembled as you realized that whatever you had gotten yourself into, it would probably only get more dangerous from here.

I should bail. They don’t need me. They can handle themselves.

As the group came back from the wreckage to get their packs, you had resolved yourself. Clearing your throat, you mentally prepared yourself to speak.

“Lae’zel scouted ahead,” Wyll said before you could say a word. He picked up her pack as well as his own. “We should catch up to her.”

Without giving you a chance to say anything, the others began to walk towards the mountain path. You followed, wondering if they would even notice if you turned around and left now. Then you shook your head of the notion. Of course they would notice, because then they’d have to cook their own food and put up their own tents.

And you hadn’t collected this week’s wages yet.

Though if you were being honest, you weren’t staying just for the job anymore. You were staying for the people. You had grown attached to them, begun to care for them not just as people who were paying you a wage to take care of their camp, but as actual friends. And friends didn’t leave without a damn good reason.

Like my life being in danger.

All of their faces came up in your mind. Small moments, smiles, and words of gratitude. A certain someone’s face tended to show up more than the others in your memories.

You sighed.

Perhaps I should decide later.

----------------------------------

Chapter End Notes: A little peek behind the scenes - I’ve written through chapter 10, and going back and editing and making sure that continuity remains intact. Please let me know what you think of the story so far! Thank you for continuing to follow our Hearth Witch on her adventure!

[motions1ckness]

hi 🙂 can you do roman roy x asexual fem reader where reader has a crush on roman (shaky hands blushy cheeks when he is close) and gardener in logan's house, so one day roman is walking in garden and hears her talking on the phone with her friend about how she doesnt want to have sex with anyone, and will never have children etc. And realizes she is just like him. Aaaand He starts talking to her...

ofc and i hope you enjoy!

content: ace!reader, f!reader, pining, fluff, mention of sex

Your mornings started with a 20-minute commute to manage Logan Roy’s garden. What the fuck does he know about flowers? To your surprise, a lot. Marica hired you as a gift for Logan. She told you his mother used to bring discounted bouquets home when he was a kid, so no pressure.

Today went on like the others, showing up at nine, and doing your job, except for the part where his kids stopped by. Fuck.

His youngest, Roman always caught your eye. Usually, you would be there for a few hours and be gone by noon, but now Roman was here. You tried prolonging your stay, now glad you began wearing summer dresses to combat the warmth.

Frankly, you've never spoken to any of Logan’s kids. They'd sometimes call out to you, or Roman would comment on Logan, “only hiring hot people.”

Before heading out, you phoned your roommate, who teases you because you casually walk into a billionaire's home every day.

They picked up within two rings “Hey, what’s up are you almost off yet? Or does the old man want you to be human furniture?” They say with a sarcastic tone. You laugh but also don't put it past the family.

“I’m about to go, it's just, you know his son? Roman, the one I keep telling you about?” You were slightly pacing, turning to peer inside, but it’s not like you could look in if you want to. Logan made it impossible for anyone to peek in.

The call caused Logan to notice you chatting and not working. He sent Roman to check on you, which caused him to feel Logan was punishing him by sending him outside. With a soft exhale, mixed with a groan, Roman headed towards the terrace.

“Oh? Should I break out candles? Pre-order a new mattress?” The other line egged on. You rolled your eyes at the comment, completely forgetting you were at work. The terrace was rather big. It wrapped around half the suite. Making Roman’s entrance undetected.

“Yeah, sure. But for real, It’s not like a sex thing. You know I’m not into that,” you slightly clear your throat, embarrassed by the thought someone would hear you from inside. Unbeknownst to you, Roman was listening to the conversation. When he heard you talking about sex, he panicked and moved toward the wall so you couldn’t see him. He thought it would be worse if you found out someone heard you. “It’s already bad enough it’s my boss's son.” That caught Roman’s attention, apart from him fearing you were talking about Kendall, but he couldn’t stop listening. Like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I think that makes it more fun. You know, sneaking around. But without the sex. Anyway, what was he wearing? I need more details than just his name and what the press says. C’mon, tell me who is the Roman Roy.” You liked how engaged your friend was, fearing opening up about your crush would end in humiliation.

“I don’t know what he’s wearing, I can’t see through the glass. But uh, I don’t know ‘the real Roman Roy'. I don’t interact with any of them. They’re all scary as shit, but I think it's time to head out. It’s fucking scalding.” Followed by exchanging goodbyes and looking up when the next train was going out.

Roman knew that conversation was about him, which made him nervous talking to you. It wasn't the first time you piqued his interest, how your wardrobe changed according to the weather, and how meticulous you get about the garden's appearance. You fascinated him. He also felt relief hearing you didn't want to sleep with him. Intimacy was his grey area, and he loved not feeling pressure to do it.

Roman waited a few seconds before emerging and speaking up, “Uh, my dad um, just wanted to know what you were doing out here,” Oh my god. He undoubtedly heard you. You wanted to curl up and die or resign out of embarrassment. Maybe he JUST got here, let's hope.

You turned to face him, feeling your face flush, “Oh, just heading out, looking when the next train is going out,” You put on a smile, hoping it makes you seem coy. It didn’t. Even if he didn’t overhear you, your face was beet red and your hands were slightly shaking.

“Well, I was about to head out, maybe, I can give you a ride? Or get a drink somewhere?” You could've sworn your face turned scarlet. Holy Shit. You stood in awe for a second, unable to fathom the words he spat out. “Um, y/n? Are you having a heat stroke or something?” He shields his eyes, feeling the heat against his skin, “He is a piece of shit for making you work out here, wow.”

You finally grasped what he said, “Y-yeah it’s actual hell out here, but going out sounds fun yeah.” You tried your best to sound easygoing after facing the worst embarrassment you've ever endured.

“Cool, uh, my driver is downstairs already,” he said in a merciful tone, gesturing for you to exit first.

The car ride was mostly silent. A few questions got thrown out asking about your job to ease the drive. The bar was incredibly upscale, feeling out of place arriving in your work clothes. Roman did his best to make you feel comfortable, he paid for the tab, and reserved a quiet area; he was trying to impress you. He asked about your life while you tried your best to pry about his.

“C’mon, tell me about something not so surface,” you paw at him, the two of you facing each other. You scanned his face as he took a sip of his drink, patiently waiting for his response.

He set the drink down, slightly smiling to himself because of the comeback he came up with, “So you could know ‘the real Roman Roy?’"

[littencloud9]

jun'ichirou & steinbeck + you have one week to steal a tractor

kunikida & ranpo + PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE

nathaniel & kajii + alexa… initiate self-destruction…

poe & gin + it wasn't very nice... but i did it anyway

hope some of these spark some inspiration <333

corey your prompts are the funniest things ever ily

jun’ichirou & steinbeck + you have one week to steal a tractor

“And so,” Lucy sighs. “you have one week to steal a tractor. Any questions?”

Jun’ichirou glances at the people beside him. He’s had the unfortunate opportunity to sit right in between the two organisations, the Agency and the Guild. Technically, only the teenagers from both sides are here, so it’s slightly less intimidating, but still.

Except for the guy next to him who is taking bites out of a raw, unpeeled potato.

Steinbeck catches his eye and smiles, offering up the half-eaten potato. “Want a bite?”

“…No thanks.”

“Shame. You know, we don’t have to steal a tractor. I’ve got tons back home.”

Jun’ichirou blinks. “Isn’t your home, like, half the globe away?”

“Yeah. I could get Herman to fly us there really fast though.” Steinbeck decides he doesn’t want his potato anymore and sets it down on the table. “Want to come with?”

Jun’ichirou would actually much prefer to steal. But Steinbeck is beaming, punching him in the shoulder. “Awesome, man! I’d love some company. Louisa won’t come cause she’s scared of my sister.”

“Oh,” Jun’ichirou says, for he does not know what else he can say. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah!”

—

kunikida & ranpo + PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE

“PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE.”

Kunikida slams his head on the table. He wonders if that gave him a concussion. He hopes it did.

“AND I WANT A MILKSHAKE!”

He flinches at the booming voice from behind him. Ranpo has their hands cupped around their mouth as they yell, and when Kunikida looks at them, they grin.

“LET’S GO GET OUR DRINKS!”

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING?!” Kunikida wails. He knows he yelled first. But still.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Ranpo leaps off their chair, heading towards him. They grab Kunikida’s arm and drag him out the office, humming to themself.

“Wait,” Kunikida blurts, stumbling down the stairs. “I wasn’t that serious. I still have work to do—”

“I wonder how many espresso shots will kill you,” Ranpo says, ignoring him. “Let’s go find out.”

“…Yeah, okay.”

—

nathaniel & kajii + alexa… initiate self-destruction…

Nathaniel has no clue how he ended up here.

This is all Mark’s damn fault. If they didn’t insist on dragging him to a bar, specifically a gay bar (how horrendous), then he wouldn’t be stuck in this position, entertaining a drunk lunatic who also happens to be a mafia bomber.

Kajii fawns over his phone, speaking to Alexa through it and gasping whenever the AI replies. Nathaniel does not want to be here.

“You know, it’d be cool if I could attach something like this to my bombs!”

“Really,” Nathaniel deadpans.

“Yes! It would be a final, powerful command. Like… Alexa, initiate self-destruction! And bam!”

Maybe if Kajii bombs this entire place up, Nathaniel would finally know peace. He nods in agreement. “You should definitely try that.”

“Ay, really? Man, I don’t know who you are, but you’re awesome!”

“I told you my name three times already,” Nathaniel grumbles. “Though I’m not exactly sure why,” he adds under his breath.

Kajii either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, for he cackles, slapping his back.

—

poe & gin + it wasn’t very nice… but I did it anyway

“It wasn’t very nice… but I did it anyway,” Poe admits.

Gin laughs under their breath. It’s hard to picture Chuuya stuck in a book, losing his cool and coming out completely disheveled, but Poe doesn’t seem like he’s lying.

“That’s okay. You have a cool ability.”

Poe’s fingers, which were running through Karl’s fur, stop and twitch. “R-really?”

They nod. Though they’ve gotten used to being surrounded by powerful ability users, they still find themself awed over the more unique ones.

Gin doesn’t need an ability to protect themself, but there’s no denying that ability users like Ryuunosuke are on a different level. It’s nice to meet someone so, well—

Humble, maybe?

Gin wonders if they could get out of the book on their own. They voice this question out to Poe, whose eyes widen.

“I’m not sure I want to let you try that…”

They huff. Whatever. They definitely could.

[mncxbe]

Just an Ango thingy I decided to write because I miss Paris !! season 2 spoilers

5:40♧

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: slight angst/ happy ending

The rattle of the rails reverberated through the entire tunnel, announcing the arrival of the midnight subway. It was a chilly autumn night and you were heading home from work. Just like every night, you were going to take line 14 from Châtelet to Saint-Lazare, then switch to line 13 to get to Saint-Denis, a total of 12 stops. This half hour trip to your crappy apartment was usually spent listening to music or reading the awfully long book you started the day you arrived in Paris two months ago; but not today.

As soon as the automatic doors of the subway closed behind you, your eyes landed on the poster glued to the tube's metal wall. It was a picture of the Ookagawa river in Yokohama, its banks lined with blossomed cherry trees. A sudden wave of nostalgia took over you and the memories came flooding in, echoes of the life you left behind.

You usually avoided thinking about your hometown and the people there; the memories were so fresh, the pain so vivid.

Only four months prior you were sitting on one of the high, rotating chairs at Lupin, celebrating Dazai's birthday with Oda and Ango, the people you considered your closest friends; your family. The drinks came one after another and except for Ango, who had his usual tomato juice, you were all tipsy.

"Ey Dazai. You've got enough to cover the bill, right?" you half laughed as you heard Dazai whine.

"But it's my birthday. Why should I be the one to pay?"

"Don't worry, birthday boy. I got you." said Oda in his usual calm voice.

You gently nudged Ango's arm, causing him to tense "You sure you don't want anything to drink?"

"No. Someone has to drive you home anyway." he replied without taking his eyes off of the glass in front of him.

Ango was the newest addition to your group; quite a reserved and stoic guy but you still liked him. He would often give you a lift after you had a few glasses at the bar.

"Alright. Suit yourself then."

That evening you parted ways, promising eachother to meet more often. Dazai left with Oda and you with Ango; the latter opening the passenger door for you.

"Angoo" you whined as you dropped onto the cushioned seat "My head hurts"

"Of course it hurts. You've had a lot to drink" he said in a slightly amused voice.

You noticed a few weeks prior that Ango would often let his guard down when it was only the two of you. It was a subtle change but you still noticed it: his shoulders were less tense, the line between his eyebrows would almost completely fade and he'd laugh more often.

During the ride home you looked at his profile. You were mesmerized by the way the city lights reflected in his glasses.

Without thinking, you reached for his glasses and snatched them, causing the man to almost crash into a nearby car. He managed to pull over in an empty parking space.

"Jesus, Y/N. I almost hit someone what are you doing?" he questioned in a harsh voice; but all his anger dissipated when he saw you propped against the door, adjusting his glasses on your face.

"Looook Ango. I'm pretty just like you now" you blurted out while smiling from ear to ear. A slight blush tinted his cheeks as he seized his glasses, earning another whine from you.

You were both quiet for the rest of the ride and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of your building you were almost asleep.

"Wake up, we're here" he spoke, gently shaking your shoulder but you only shurgged.

"Don't wanna go"

Ango looked at you for a few minutes, debating his next actions. He could let you sleep in his car, but that meant he'd have to spend the night in the parking lot. Or he could carry you to your apartment, which is exactly what he ended up doing.

Luckily the building had a functional elevator so he needn't walk you up the stairs to the 16th floor. He unlocked your door and walked inside your flat, placing you on the bed. Even in this drunked state you were pretty; laying on your side, your flushed cheeks like ripe apricots.

Just as he was about to leave you opened your eyes, calling out his name.

"Stay Ango please. Need to tell you s'mthing" you uttered while patting the bed. He cautiously took a seat and you pulled him down next to you, your arms wrapping around his torso.

He tried to protest but to no avail; you wouldn't let him go. Instead, you shifted closer to him, your face finding its way to the crook of his neck as you whispered a soft "I like you Ango" before drifting to sleep.

From then on you started seeing the man more and more often, the relationship between you growing by the day. It was still complicated; Ango was secretive and distant but you compensated with patience and trust. He eventually gave in and in three weeks time you started dating. It was one of the happiest months of your life; the usual missions were followed not by lonely nights, but by wonderful evenings spent in the comforting embrace of your boyfriend. "You did great today", "I'm really proud of you" he'd praise you, his fingers tracing random shapes along your thigh.

You'd often go on small dates: walks in the rain, late night talks under the starry sky on the top of his apartment building, a glass of wine in your hand, quick runs to the bookstore and occasional visits to different art museums; other times you'd simply join Dazai and Oda for drinks at Lupin.

But regardless of what you did in your free time, you did it together, your lives and routines slowly bleeding into eachother.

Your relationship ended abruptly on the day Oda died. When you found out about his involvement in your friend's death you fell to pieces. Although Ango begged you to stay, claiming that he never knew what would happen, that he didn't mean to hurt anyone, you couldn't be with him any longer. At least not now. No, you didn't blame him for Oda's death but he still lied to you and you felt betrayed.

The decisive factor in your resolve to flee the country was Dazai's disappearance. When you received his note saying that he'd left the Mafia and was going under the radar for a while, you booked a one-way flight to Paris, packed your few belongings and left.

Your recollection was interrupted by a loud chime that echoed through the subway, followed by the familiar mechanic voice that announced your arrival at the last station.

You quickly stepped out of the tube and navigated through the maze of tunnels until you reached the surface. A light drizzle had started while you were underground so you hurried home, eager to be confined in the comfort of your apartment.

When you opened the front door, the unopened envelope that lay on the ground caught your eyes. You picked it up and immediately recognized the handwriting. Without wasting a minute you tore the cover and procured the letter inside, your eyes scanning the paper.

Dear Y/N

I thought about whether I should reach out to you or not but I think it's time I did. Since you haven't been returning my calls I decided to write you a letter. It's been two months since Oda died and things are rough here; I just want to know if you're okay and safe. Please come home soon, I miss you.

Ango

You stared at the written piece of papern, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, clouding your vision. A few minutes later you neatly folded the letter, placing it on the countertop.

Maybe you were going to answer him, maybe you were going to go back to Yokohama, to him, but maybe you should think about these things tomorrow. But...

By the time you fell asleep, the night sky was already giving way to the rosy colours of the sunrise. The warm rays that entered the room through your large window fell onto your sleeping figure, illuminating the screen of your phone.

Suddenly, its display lit up and a blip announced that you had a new message:

I see my letter got to you, thanks for texting me. I'm really glad you're doing okay. Whenever you decide to come back I'll be here for you. ~Ango

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Serializing the opening of “The Lost Cause”

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful tale of the climate emergency, which comes out on November 14. Kim Stanley Robinson called it "an unforgettable vision of what could be":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

I'm currently running a Kickstarter campaign to pre-sell the audiobook, which I produced and narrated myself (for complex and awful reasons, Amazon won't carry my audiobooks, see the Kickstarter campaign page for details). You can also pre-order the ebook and hardcovers, including signed and personalized copies:

http://lost-cause.org

For the next week or so, I'm going to be serializing the prologue of the book, which gets it off to quite a spicy start. Here's part one!

I thought that I was being so smart I signed up for the over nightwhen pager duty for the solar array at Burroughs High. Solar arrays don’t do anything at night. Because it’s dark. They’re not lunar arrays.

Turns out I outsmarted myself.

My pager app went off at 1:58 a.m., making a sound that I hadn’t heard since the training session, GNAAP GNAAP GNAAP, with those low notes that loosened your bowels offset by high notes that tightened your sphincter. I slapped around my bed for my screen and found the lights and found my underwear and a tee and then the cargo pants I wore on work duty and blinked hard and rubbed my eyes until I could think clearly enough to confirm that I was dressed, had everything that I needed, and then double-­checked the pager app to make sure that I really, actually needed to go do something about the school’s solar array at, I checked, 2:07 a.m.

2:07 a.m.! Brooks, you really outsmarted yourself.

Gramps’s house had started out as a two bed/one bath, like most of the houses in Burbank, but it had been expanded with a weird addition at the back—­again, like most of the houses in Burbank—­giving it a third bedroom and a second bath. That was my room, and it had its own sliding door to the backyard, so I let myself out without waking Gramps.

It was warm enough that I didn’t need a jacket, which was good because I’d forgotten to put one on. Still, there was just enough of a nip in the air that I jogged a little to get my blood going. Burbank was quiet, just the sound of the wind in the big, mature trees that lined Fairview Street, a distant freight train whistle, a car zooming down Verdugo. My breath was louder than any of them. A dog barked at me and startled me as I turned onto Verdugo, streetlit and wide and empty, too.

Two minutes later, I was at Burroughs, using my student app to buzz myself into the school’s gate, then the side entrance, then the utility stairs, and then I jogged up the stairs. I was only supposed to get paged if the solar array had an error it couldn’t diagnose for itself, and that the manufacturer’s techs couldn’t diagnose from its camera feeds and other telemetry. Basically, never. Not at 2:00 a.m. 2:17 a.m. now. I wondered what the hell it could be. I opened the roof access door just in time to hear a glassy crashing sound, like a window breaking, and I froze.

Someone was on the roof with me. A person, glimpsed in the corner of my eye and then lost in the darkness. Too big to be a raccoon. A person. On the roof.

“Hello?” Gramps’s friends sometimes made fun of my voice. I’d hated how high-­pitched it was when I was a freshman and had dreamed of it getting deeper someday, but now I was a senior, weeks away from graduation, and I still got mistaken for a girl on gamer voice-­chats. I’d made my peace with it, except that I hadn’t entirely because I was not happy at all with how it squeaked out over that roof. “Hello?” I tried for deeper. “Someone there?” No one answered, so I took a step out onto the roof. Glass crunched under my feet. It was dark and it stayed dark when I slapped at the work-­lights switch next to the door—­they should have been tripped by the motion anyway. I found my flashlight and twisted it to wide beam and checked my feet. Smashed glass, all right, and when I swung the light around to the nearest solar bank, I saw that each panel had been methodically shattered. I took a step back toward the door, and the light beam swung up and caught the man.

He was wearing a head-­to-­toe suit—­a ghillie suit, Gramps’s friends called them—­and holding a short four-­pound sledgehammer with a handle and head painted in nonreflective black that swallowed my light beam. He was coming toward me. I reflexively hit the bodycam 911 emergency switch on my screen and it sounded its “Warning, bodycam recording” alert in a warm woman’s voice that I’d chosen for its nonthreatening tone. Mostly I bodycammed when I was having an argument with someone and the calm voice was a good balance between cooling things out and satisfying California’s two-­party consent rules for recording.

As he raised the hammer, I wished that I’d chosen the cop voice instead.

“Wait,” I said, taking a step back. The roof access door had closed behind me. “Please.”

“Shit,” the man said. He was using a voice-­shifter, either a separate unit or part of the ghillie suit. His voice was deep as a diesel engine. “Dammit, you’re just a kid.” He used the hand that wasn’t holding the hammer to flip up his nightscope goggles and peer at me. His eyes, visible in the ghillie suit’s slit, were bloodshot and wrinkled and blue. He squinted at my light and brandished the hammer. “Shit,” he said again. “Get that out of my eyes, dammit.”

“Sorry,” I squeaked, and lowered the beam, casting it around.

It seemed like 80 percent of the panels were ruined. Why had I said sorry? Force of habit. “Shit.” If he could say it, I could too.

“Shit. What the hell are you doing, man?”

“You’re recording this, kid?”

“Yes. Livestreaming.”

“Good, then I’ll explain. You just stay there and we won’t have a problem. I was gonna have to make a video when this was done, you’re just saving me the trouble.” He lowered the hammer and let it dangle. I thought about rushing him, but I’m not a fighter, and he was still holding the hammer. Same for turning and trying to get out the door before he could catch up with me.

“Kay, listen up. This world we’re in, it’s debased. America’s been rotted from the inside. First it was immigrants. You might think I’m a racist, but I’m not. It’s not immigrants I object to. It’s illegals. You want to come to America, you come in the front door, on the terms your gracious hosts here are offering. You don’t skip the line or break in through the window. That’s what a criminal does. You let in a criminal, let ’em become citizens, soon enough they’re voting for other criminals.

“You know just what I’m talking about, don’t kid yourself. The money we’re spending now? This Green New Deal? This Jobs Guarantee? These fuckin’ solar panels? Bill’s gonna come due on this. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Chinese hoaxed us into believing in this climate garbage, then they got us to go into hock to them up to our eyeballs to buy their shiny crap, and then they’re gonna charge us interest, and our kids, and their kids, and their kids. Mortgaging their future? Shit, what future? They’re headed for debt bondage for eternity. Biblical. It’s Biblical.

“All this mumbo jumbo about ‘money users’ and ‘money creators’—­it’s just word games. There’s two kinds of people in this world, and it’s not ‘money users’ and ‘money creators’—­it’s ‘makers’ and ‘takers.’ The makers create all the wealth, the takers elect politicians who confiscate it and redistribute it.” “Redistribute” came out like another f-­bomb.

This was crazy, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. I’d heard versions of this conversation around Gramps’s place ever since I came to live with him, back when I was eight. More, I’d heard these specific words before. I pressed my recollections, tried to put a face to the words. All the faces in Gramps’s living room had a sameness, a whiteness, matching haircuts and the same Maga hats, faded and frayed. Who had said those words? I could bring the face to mind now, the rest of the face that went with those blue watery eyes peering out of the ghillie suit.

Now, the name. Mark. Not Mark. Mike. Mike! Mike, uh.

“Mike Kennedy?”

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[an-aura-about-you]

am I really gonna move on with another chapter of Handbook for Mortals right now?

why yes, yes I am. because I know what comes next in this chapter, too, and I have no idea what this recap is gonna look like.

Chapter 15:

when we last left our hero, Scheherazade's relationship is on the rocks due to a make out with tongue misunderstanding that she decided not to clear up the easiest way possible and now Mac has left the show.

Chapter 15: The Tower

-the card chosen for the chapter title is actually relevant for once.

-staying true to the rest of the book so far, we skip over the entire show and go straight to the finale. we're finally gonna see a magic trick Zade performs for her job besides the high dive trick she auditioned with.

-Zade has decided to use "complex deep chaos-based magick" for this trick, which is dangerous because it can backfire if not done correctly. she does this because..... why does she do this?

once again all of Zeb's concern is 100% warranted.

-Zade has never done anything this hard or complex before, which means now is clearly a great time to start.

-Sofia got her singing job. good for her. glad to see she's living the dream. <3

-we've already started on the Incredibly Dangerous Illusion and Zade's mind is wandering to Mac. good start!

-she is, for some reason, conflicted about what she should say to Mac about who Charles is to her.

-ok so we've got the first bit of what this illusion does: generates a storm indoors. okay. neat.

-Zade reminds us twice in two back to back paragraphs that the power she's messing with is both strong and volatile AND that she hasn't quite mastered it yet. again, solid plan here. can't see how it might go wrong. definitely something you should do for Knockoff David Daddy Copperfield.

-"...it can all go to H-E-double-hockey-sticks real quick."

this book is supposedly not a YA book.

-Charles has been narrating her illusion, and she says he's a gifted storyteller like all magicians should be, but the whole purpose of magician patter is misdirection! something Charles doesn't need to provide in an illusion using Real Fucking Magic.

-next part of the illusion: the storm makes a wave crash over Zade, causing her to disappear.

-next part: rain from the storm turns to sand as it hits the stage and piles up only to be struck by lightning, leaving a glass sculpture of Zade. I feel like I'm watching a knockoff Salvador Dali painting come to life.

-we get a warning that Zade is Not Feeling So Great at this stage of the illusion.

-next part: another lighting strike, this one producing a rapidly growing apple tree complete with full grown man that falls out of it.

-"I could actually feel the wonder in the audience." really? because I kinda feel the way I would had someone put on a tame knockoff of a Lynch movie at a planetarium. I would think it's a nice visual thing with some obvious human parts working in it, but my own guess as an audience member would be this was some kind of shadowcast projection thing. all of it is impossible to such a degree that no sleight of hand is feasible for it. so without the explanation that it's all Real Actual Magic, the obvious fill in is this is some really good special effects and Zade actually isn't doing anything except acting against a projection. kinda like the Liam Neeson stuff in Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds.

she is, by all appearances, doing less than an actual magician's assistant would since I learned from the Breaking the Magician's Code specials that a lot of magic tricks rely on the skills of a well trained assistant or assistants.

-they throw some apples from the apple tree as a proof that it's real, which is the first thing that could possibly have a sleight of hand counterpart and thus is the first thing I as an audience member would consider a magic trick in all this.

-also are we sure chaos-magick apples are safe to eat?

-let's see, the man chops the apple tree down, wood chips fly into the audience. again, I would consider this bit a possible trick, but all of it feels like I'm just in some kind of interactive show? you know like the ones where you're like on the river rapids and it sprays water on you? this just doesn't feel like a magic trick overall, it feels like watching a short story.

-"If anyone had doubted it was a real tree they would have had to believe it at this point." no they wouldn't because it's not difficult to project the image of a falling tree, make the sound of a tree crashing into a stage, and throwing wood chips into the audience. also, why would you WANT them to think it's a real tree when you are trying to keep your magic SECRET?

-tree catches fire somehow (it is not specified as an explosion, but even then I don't know if any apple trees are also explody trees?) and a wind blows the sand up, blocking this from view.

-sand settles, fire and tree are gone, replaced by a wardrobe. the man opens the wardrobe to show it's empty, closes it, opens it again to take out a guitar and start playing. again, all things that are simple to do with projection and a sound system.

-he also puts the glass sculpture of Zade in the wardrobe

-Zade is feeling even worse and tells us she has to hold it together for just a bit longer because the illusion is almost done. good.

-wardrobe is struck by lightning, splits in two, and Zade is revealed. she then pulls an apple from her pocket, takes a bite, and faints. the man catches her, kisses her, and she wakes up. she gives him a bite of the apple, he disappears. so the man appearing and disappearing could be an illusion. that makes like 2-3 disappearing/reappearing tricks all in one with a whole bunch of special effects around them that I don't care about.

you know what's more impressive to me? the simple illusions. in fact, one of the ones that still gets me every time I see it is how the Phantom disappears at the end of The Phantom of the Opera as performed at the Royal Albert Hall. it's a simple but effective execution and stands out even more since it's not a magic show but a musical.

but this, this is SUPPOSED to be a magic show! there should be a LOT of magic! and it can be impressive to see multiple displays of the same kind of trick, especially with a specialist in it, but the thing about disappearing/reappearing act is it's the same visuals over and over again! idk maybe that's my bias since I tend to not care as much for disappearing acts, but I literally just cited a disappearing illusion as a favorite!

here, let's look at a simpler display I find more impressive than whatever the fuck Zade is doing with chaos magick. this is Francis Tabary, a magician who specializes in rope illusions:

I first saw a variation of this routine in the mid-90s on The World's Greatest Magic and I still enjoy seeing it. every single trick is just done with a rope, but it is visually varied and interesting. I get the feeling I could be sitting less than three feet away from him and I still wouldn't be able to fully see how he does it.

(also I love when he has to do his patter in English because he says, "I hope you will understand what I say and not what I do.")

-that was a nice detour and now I'm gonna go back to the book.

-Charles puts the cloak on Zade, who feels like she's dying inside. Me Too, Girl.

-lightning strikes Zade and she disappears. apparently with the magic going wrong she actually felt the lighting. why would you subject yourself to this when you didn't have to? literally you didn't have to. there was no reason to do a trick like this. why did you build the trick like this?

-Charles then picks up an apple, takes a bite, and disappears. that's it, the trick is finally over after 10 pages of description. this is the thing Zade has been working on with Charles that merited a big red carpet premiere. I want my $2 for the children's admission ticket for the planetarium field trip back.

-pfffff piece of shit dad out there taking his bows not even noticing that Zade's not out there to bow with him because she's suffering from magic internal bleeding.

-also, damn, gotta say Cam's doing a good job running this show on the fly. not one missed cue! that we know about, anyway. let's be real, that does seem like even odds on this being either a detail Sarem would ignore completely or would spend a solid 2/5ths of the chapter going over.

-the cat is sitting on the book again. also me, he is sitting on me.

-Zade manages to collapse in Zeb's arms, which wouldn't have been her first choice because she'd much rather do that with Jackson. but Zeb is like one of the few people who's gonna know what's going on! this is like the ideal situation once shit's fucked!

-Zade tells the gang backstage to call her mother before things go black.

then we get this:

That's the last thing I personally remembered from that day. Later, after I'd had some time to rest, I pulled out the memories of what everyone else saw and what happened.

so good news, we know Zade is gonna be perfectly fine! no need to worry about pesky things like tension!

-apparently fucking the magic up enough has left Zade in a state where she's practically choking on her own blood.

-Mac came back in time for all this btw. and instead of anyone trying to put Zade down in the recovery position (which idk if that's even appropriate for this but that seems moot since magic malady) or listen to the 911 dispatcher that Tad had Riley call, they just let Mac take over holding Zade.

-oh my god, even with all this going on, Zade notices in the memories that Zeb looks somewhat upset and thinks, "Maybe he didn't hate me after all." priorities.

-Charles says he's going with Mac to the hospital, and Mac is burned by this but at least has the good sense not to argue right now.

-omg Zade has to tell us the memories are painful to see because all of the people who love her are hurting soooooo much to see her suffering~

-Mac has enough of himself put together to be pissed at having to drive Charles and Charles is too upset to notice.

-Zade is actually getting care from a doctor that is implied to be the head doctor of the hospital. nothing but the finest for our mary sue.

-oh boy here we fucking go guys: the doctor asks for a member of the family since Zade is unconscious and can't consent. after being pressed, Charles reveals that he's Zade's father.

was it worth it?

-Mac then says he saw Charles and Zade kiss, which clearly grosses Charles out. also a lie since remember he couldn't bare [sic] to watch Zade and Spellman kiss.

-I don't know why Mac needs to talk about this now when the doctor obviously needs somebody to give the go-ahead on something. which also doesn't make sense to me because it seems like they could still do something to at least stabilize Zade, but maybe they're at that point and it's just not specified.

-omg Mac asks Charles if Zade knew this and he said yes. the book is right here confirming that Zade has known that Charles is her father. 0 excuses for any of the bullshit she's been pulling.

-apparently Zade found out recently, but by "recently" we mean "since basically the start of the book and that's when she came to work for him," which still means "the whole time," for our purposes.

ok to be fair it is not made clear if she knew before or after she actually got the job. it's possible this reveal happened during the conversation we were not made privy to in chapter 2. but it's ambiguous enough that it's possible Zade has known since chapter 0.

-Mac rethinks everything and considers how it makes sense now, but I still thing Zade's behavior has incestuous tones, like how she tried to reassure Mac about Spellman taking her to dinner with, "A girl's gotta eat." Zade obfuscated everything in the worst possible way when she could have used other tactics.

-also as far as why Charles hasn't said anything until now, he said he was abiding by Dela's wish to keep it secret. it is not made clear if this is some kind of binding magic taboo or not. it's certainly implied to be, but so far we haven't been made aware of the terms of this taboo. which seems pretty important since not only has he just broken it by telling the doctor, it seems possible that he ALSO broke it by telling Zade!

this also puts chapter 0 in a different light if the catalyst for Zade leaving home was finding out Spellman is her father, which would actually make sense. but again, if that's the case, then that means Zade knew the entire time and has been emotionally tormenting Mac for no good reason.

-I Would Like It If This Book Stopped Talking About The Concept Of Zade And Her Dad Making Out.

-Charles then tells Mac that Zade kissed him on the cheek, making the make out with tongue paragraph from the last chapter even worse since we were just gonna see the same thing in THIS chapter!

-Mac said Zade wasn't lying, but she was!! it's called lying by omission! she was intentionally leaving important information out!

That!

Is!

Lying!!!!!!

-oh hey Lambo Girl is here! she's here just to be seen for some reason. who knows why.

-the doctor makes an offhand mention of Dr. House and the book grinds to a halt for a full page to explain who House is because Charles didn't get the reference.

-man, it's so sad seeing Zade in her ICU hospital bed all covered in IV lines and tubes knowing full well she's gonna be perfectly fine by the end of the book.

-Dela calls Charles right after they all get settled in the room. damn, this is what you're using your magic for?

-Dela knows what's wrong. Charles suggests she come to Las Vegas. Dela insists they have to bring Zade to Tennessee. WHY? doesn't this sound like the more dangerous thing to do?

-Dela's explanation is that she needs her tools and her altar. I'm calling bullshit. you can bring your tools and build an altar where you need to. even if it needs like a special altar, you don't think you can find one in Vegas? we already know there are other people who know magic here; if it's like a church thing where it doesn't have to be an altar you build yourself, why not use one there? and if it has to be one you made, why not make one? this just sounds like putting your daughter through needless risk.

-"She could die. Couldn't she?" but she won't because she's telling the story.

-Dela is laying out tarot cards during this conversation. "She examined the cards carefully as if she were deciphering a code. That's kind of how reading cards goes." the narration says that like it hasn't shown us Zade doing the most incompetent card reading I have ever seen.

-why is Zade giving us a tarot card lesson while recounting her near-death experience?

-"Only sometimes can you change your destiny but that is hard and is a subject for another time and a later book." are you seriously giving me your discount knockoff May Those Who Accept Their Fate Be Granted Happiness, May Those Who Defy Their Fate Be Granted Glory speech, Miss "The Cards Haven't Told Me Which Boy I Should Marry"? not to mention a Michael Ende-esque hint to tantalize at another book.

-we get a full paragraph to explain the waxing and waning moon. not just the significance of those times in witchcraft, which even that's dumbed down, but what waxing and waning themselves mean.

you've literally covered this book with the triple moon symbol.

also Dela mentions the moon is waning. this could have been the opening to give the context that would explain it without having to go all baby dictionary on us, like saying the spell will have to be done on the night of the new moon.

-I'm glad the doctor likewise thinks letting Zade fly to Tennessee in her condition is nutso bananas.

-oof, the doctor's gonna make Charles sign a release that he understands that Zade is now his responsibility and that this may kill her. his priority, according to the narration, is avoiding a lawsuit. good god, does ANYONE in this book have even a shred of compassion? possibly not considering Sarem's callousness.

and the chapter ends with Charles telling Mac the two of them need to take Zade to Tennessee and reaffirming everything we had just learned from Dela.

just to rephrase this, the chapter ends with our big strong powerful honest to goodness magic using not like other girls protagonist at death's door for reasons that are pretty much her fault and needing to be rescued by her mother, her father, and the guy she's been kissing but they have not defined their relationship and parted on bad terms when they last saw each other and also she's been lying by omission to him. I think that covers everything.

[whyshouldelisabesad]

I could’ve died right there, ‘cause he was right beside me | Chapter V

i don’t want to jinx it but i think i might actually get to the end of this fic before wednesday :) and also i’m currently unsure about how i want this fic to end. should it be a dark/horror ending where you get completely lobotomized? or should it be a dubious ending where you can still think and aren’t hurt that badly? if there’s anyone out there please respond :-) and i really wanted to add chris in this chapter since it was part of the original skeleton for this fic which I made up when sleep deprived (and there is a valid reason why you can’t just hire a hitman) and yes the dad is the worst character literally ever

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters here, except my original ones

Synopsis: You married Jeremy Armitage on whim, but you had no clue what you were in for. Now, all you want is to get out — or die trying

TWs: Emotional Abuse

AO3 link

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On your wedding night, Jeremy had confided in you on how his parents actually died. It wasn’t in a fire, like everyone said, but in actuality a photographer named Chris Washington had caused the house to burn down, killed Dean and Missy, almost killed Jeremy by stomping him to death, and shot Rose in the stomach before escaping. That also required him to tell you that the Armitages and your father were a part of a body-snatching cult called the Order of the Coagula, which tried to achieve immortality through transplanting their brains into healthy black bodies, typically Rose’s partners, which Jeremy and Rose had taken over after Dean died. But Jeremy assured you he and Rose made it much more difficult to escape for a patient, such as removing everything Chris used to get out, and replacing the chair Chris had made his earplugs out of with a wooden one. Thanks to your lack of moral compass, you didn’t really care about the suffering of any of the Armitages’ victims, and you only thought, Oh, so that’s what Dean and dad’s conversations meant. And that’s why mom told me to stay away from them, and promptly forgot about the story.

However, out of morbid curiosity, you did look him up once, and you found out he was, by some miracle, still alive, and working as a photographer, almost 8 years later. You asked Jeremy about that, who told you to ask Rose, who explained to you that there was an unspoken truce between Chris and the Order, so that as long as Chris doesn’t go to the police, the Order won’t try to track him down and shit. You then put him out of your mind, but after your most recent fight with Jeremy, you thought back to him. Here he was, someone who almost succeeded in killing your husband, someone who did succeed in orphaning him, and someone who managed to get away with it. Hiring a hitman would be easier, but either your dad or Jeremy would find out and you’d be fucked, be it through your dad’s secretary or their bank statements, and besides, Jeremy had tormented you for the past few months. You wanted to be the one to kill him.

You could learn a thing or two from this Chris Washington, you thought, and so you booked a ticket to his latest exhibit. You booked it under another name, of course, he’d never talk to an Armitage, and you concocted a story about a “friend of yours” being married to Jeremy and how you were afraid for her. To make things safer, you spent a few days emailing him and asking him about his photography beforehand, just to be sure. A little donation of $1000 didn’t hurt either. 

The exhibit was on a Friday, which was inconvenient for you, since it meant that you had to deal with Jeremy’s hyper-attentive bullshit for the whole of Saturday. You’d prefer it if you could find out what Chris did, do it, and free whichever poor schmuck Rose caught and let them loose on Rose, before going back to New York or to Southeast Asia for a vacation right after, in the span of one day. But, unfortunately for you, the exhibit was closed that weekend, so you waited until Jeremy left New York for Lake Pontaco that morning, since he had to be there for the day before the party, and you changed into something decent, had lunch, and took the chauffeur to that gallery. Would Jeremy know? Probably. But he’d be dead in 48 hours, so that won’t matter.

You blended in perfectly there, when you spotted Chris out of the corner of your eye. He looked you over for a moment before asking you, “Margot Ashwell, right?” and you nodded, raising a perfectly manicured hand to meet his sweaty one. He shook it, then said, “Thank you for your donation and questions. If you need anything, I’m happy to help.” You did need his help, but since he was being surrounded by a bunch of art hoes, you instead talked to him about how his photography was particularly “brutal” or some other bullshit. Once the others dispersed, you told him,

“Chris, I love your photography, but that wasn’t the only reason I came here today?”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Were you, by any chance, acquainted with Rose Armitage?”

The color drained out of Chris’s face. He kept saying, “No, no, no,” whilst walking away from you at an increasingly fast pace.

“Please, I, I think I need your help.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t want any trouble. I did my time with her, I don’t ever want to hear her or her family’s name again-”

“A friend of mine married her freaky ass brother. He doesn’t let her talk to people, he doesn’t let her go outside, he’s essentially holding her prisoner. And she tells me that he keeps on rambling about this photographer named Chris Washington on and on and,”

Chris came to a stop, as to not attract any unwanted attention. He took a long sigh, took out a cigarette, and you knew then that you managed to convince him. You appealed to his hatred for the Armitage family, one which you shared.

“Are they still doing that freaky ass shit?”

“The last I heard, yes.”

Chris lighted his cigarette, took a long swig and told you,

“Look, if it’s really bad, tell her to find what she can use and don’t let that family fuck with her head. But, again, I don’t know what happened here, I don’t want no trouble-”

“Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

You shook his hand again, and handed him another envelope. This was vague advice, yes, but at least you knew where to start. You thought back to the Armitage house, which you’d visited several times before as Jeremy’s wife. There were a myriad of potential weapons there, like the bocce balls and deer head in the games room, the lamp by the desks, or even the random letter openers. 

When you got back to the apartment, you tried to do everything in your power to avoid going to Lake Pontaco for that first night, before the party. Jeremy wouldn’t be distracted enough, the timing wouldn’t be right, and he’d fuck everything up, so you messaged him,

“Hey, J, is it ok if I go out tomorrow?”

“Why? Are you ok?”

“No, I’m too tired to go on a 5 hour drive”

“I asked your dad to let you borrow the helicopter.”

“Fine I don’t want to go tonight. It’s boring and you don’t do anything yet”

Jeremy tried calling you, but you just hung up. Were you getting him more pissed? Probably. But it would just give you more incentive to kill him. 

Around 30 minutes later, your dad called you. This time, you couldn’t hang up.

“Why aren’t you on the helicopter yet?”

“I don’t want to go. It’s boring today!”

“Bullshit. He’s your husband, you join him.”

His voice sounded unusually stern, unusually harsh, which took you aback. So did the swearing. You’d never heard him swear before.

“Why?!”

“I’m going there tomorrow too. I I promised everyone you’d be there. Do you want to embarrass me, embarrass yourself, and make yourself look like a lying whore? Either you go, or I stop paying for your credit card.”

You hated it that this threat still worked on you. It always worked on you, from when you were a child. Yes, you had your CEO’s salary, but your dad paid his executives the bare minimum and most of their wealth came from stocks, and you could always make a life for yourself, but there were probably 100,000 MBAs in New York, all vying for highly competitive positions, which wouldn’t give you the luxury you’d grown up in. You groaned, said you’d go pack your things, and hung up, cursing your father under your breath.

You killed a few hours in New York by buying things for your post-widowhood trip, and also because you didn’t want to deal with a still-awake Jeremy. It wasn’t until your dad called you a second time that you were finally forced on that helicopter, and 1 hour later, close to midnight, you landed at the Armitage Estate’s helipad. You went inside through the back door and back to the stairs, thinking everyone would be asleep, when you saw Jeremy sprawled out in Missy’s old armchair, his old Lacrosse stick leaning next to him. You didn’t see Rose, and you had a premonition that something went terribly wrong.

“Where’s Rose’s boyfriend?”

“Upstairs. Asleep. We had dinner without you.”

“Oh, ok,” you said lazily, then began to head up the stairs.

“Why don’t you come here and sit with me?”

“Why?”

Jeremy snapped.

“You can cut the bullshit now. I know what you did.”

Fuck. FUCK. Ok. Play it cool. “And what would that be?”

Jeremy laughed, “You think I didn’t see you transfer $1000 to that art gallery? And withdraw another $500? You think I didn’t see who had an exhibit there? Chris fuckin’ Washington, baby. I can’t believe you.”

“You’re being irrational, Jeremy, let’s talk about this in the morning.” You eyed the door.

Jeremy stood up, got his Lacrosse stick, and blocked your exit. He looked down at you, panting, “You wanted to ask him to kill me? Right? Admit it. Fuckin’ admit it!” He punched the wood.

You looked at the door. Yes, you could still manage an escape. And you’d take his Porsche, go to the next town over, go to a bank and get the trust fund your bio-mom set up, and go to Vietnam and never see him again.

Jeremy began breaking down in sobs, all the while smiling sadistically. “You fuckin’ bitch. You actually wanted to kill me.”

You tried to open the door pretty desperately now, putting a shoulder against it. Jeremy swung his Lacrosse stick dangerously close at you, and you flinched. He still laughed, psychotically, whilst teary-eyed,

“You know what me and your dad talked about that night? He didn’t believe your story, he didn’t believe any of it, and you know what he told me? He told me: I don’t care if you force brain surgery on her, in fact, I support it, I just need you to fix whatever’s fucked in her head.”

That gave you the motivation to reach for the lock and get it open. You did.

The last thing you felt was the cold night air brushing your face.

You weren’t fast enough. Jeremy was faster. He slammed the door with his foot, whilst you heard a teacup being stirred from behind. You tried to scream to alert Rose’s victim. Silence. You were back in the sunken place.

The last thing you remember was Jeremy carrying you down to the basement.