#or never questioned influences growing up before it spirals out of control

[eclaire-went-bam]

hey, what happened to the left believing in second chances? what happened to the belief that if somebody's tangibly doing better, they deserve that chance? you guys realise how common problematic beliefs were when the internet was younger? like, when gamergate was a thing? not that long ago? you guys realise most people on the internet are not from the same moral background as you? you guys realise keeping people out who have changed their beliefs, is only going to discourage more people from doing better? are you guys crazy? why are y'all bringing moral purity into this? it's a powerful thing to recognise things you've been taught were wrong & to then move away from it, especially when you're in a community around it either irl or online. being in a community is such a powerful force in most people's lives. not everyone had the perfect background & not everyone had access to being as educated on social issues as you did. it's fine to personally not forgive someone's problematic history & not interact with them, but to actively exclude them from the cause? get off your high horse, you're harming the movement by gatekeeping it to those with a perfect moral background.

[neocatharsis]

Ten on his new Represent capsule, grappling with creativity, and evading genre lines.

As Ten Lee - a vocalist and dancer in K-pop groups NCT (with whom he debuted in 2016) and Super M, and Chinese group WayV - is musing over his proclivity for partnering music or visual styles in a way that others deem strange, he veers off on a tangent. “Anything can be matched… except juice and coffee,” he says, suddenly. “Those two should never be.” Ten is infamously anti-fruit. It stems from a mistaken process of association in childhood where “I had the image of a spider and the image of fruit mixed up,” he laughs awkwardly, “so now whenever I put fruit in my mouth, I think there’s spiders in my mouth.”

Random abstractions such as this pepper his rapid-fire conversation, like small fireworks fizzing through the dark. Excitable, enthused and sharply alert, if Ten’s energy was visible it would be a shimmering mantle of gold and silver dust. As a dancer, he moves with a sinuous, controlled power that can shift from elegant to explosive on a single beat. As a visual artist, the Bangkok-born, multilingual 25-year-old recently added the title of designer to his growing list of achievements, launching an already sold out collaboration with the bespoke merch platform Represent.

Aptly, he named his collaboration “What is ??? THE ANSWERS”, for although being a chameleonic artist is one of Ten’s greatest strengths, the personality traits that enable this created within him question marks around how he saw himself fitting into the world. “People ask me, ‘What kind of music do you like?’ And I say, ‘I like R&B but hope it sounds rock’. And they’re like, ‘That doesn’t make sense’.” It was troubling to Ten that people began telling him who he was and how he should be, instead of accepting him as is.

In a recent Instagram Live, the myriad of Ten’s contrasts tumble forthwith. He’s the doting cat-dad. His inner emo, who loves rock music, shows off dried roses, with the stern, black, geometric lines of the large tattoo on his inner right arm sometimes visible. But he’s also delicate in a way, with his butterfly tattoo and hair lightly permed, who names daisies as his other favourite flower, and plays Fousheé’s breathy TikTok hit, 'Deep End'.

“Have you seen the image where I have my name in a cross in lots of different languages?” He pulls the image up on his phone. The design sits on his Represent long sleeve tee. “I was thinking [about this], like, what you’re saying... Ten has this luvvie flower side and a very ‘rawwrr!’ side. I’m always like, ‘Ten, what kind of person are you?’ I do ask myself that, too, because everything I like is so different [to the other].” He could have conceded, and reined himself in. He’s pushed back instead. “I thought, ‘I can be anything I want, I can be this in the morning and this at night. I can be any person I want to be’. And that’s what makes me comfortable and happy.”

On his Instagram, Polaroids feature scrawled messages, like “Don’t tell me what to do!” and “Whatever! I’ll do it my way”. The designs of his collaboration seek to challenge being boxed in by other people’s standards, thus limiting ourselves. The recurring symbol of a cross tipped with arrows is a nod to the Chinese letter for 10, but doubles as a plus sign. He’s added it to his Instagram, writing “TEN_+•10” in his bio. “A plus sign can mean that you’re adding on and growing.” He points to another version of the arrow-cross, one with short diagonal dashes between its points that symbolise light. It means, he says, “that I’m radiating. I’m burning, I’m active, I’m doubling myself.” He touches his forearm, where crowning his geometric tattoo is a blazing sun. “I have this, like, if you want to be the light, you have to burn. I relate to that.”

This isn’t to say Ten’s self-exploration is complete. While celebrating his strengths, the artwork also portrays parts of himself not yet conquered. He admits to being a chronic overthinker: “Even very small things that happen to me, I rethink a thousand times, and I get stressed out because of the things I do. Like, the main theme [here] is me overthinking but trying to find an answer even though it doesn’t have any answer.” Fittingly, spiral shapes dominate his designs, looming large amongst bright, bold shapes that evoke 80s Pop Art and graffiti, though Ten shies away from defining himself as “fully an artist, I’m not in the position to say things like that yet.”

“I’m still learning and trying new things. You learn by getting different elements from different people and I’m in that stage now.” He enjoys wandering the infinite halls of Instagram and Pinterest where he screenshots art that he likes, lost in the images, often for hours. He explains that he’s mostly influenced by whatever his current visual obsession is. “I’m interested in tattoos lately so my paintings look like tattoo designs. I’m that person who, when they see stuff, it goes into my brain and instantly comes out from my hands,” he laughs.

Ten’s introduction to art and design was through his mother, who believed music, art and sport were more important in a child’s development than traditional academia. “She didn’t care if I got an A* or not, just don’t get an F or a D,” he grins. Like any kid forced to do something, Ten railed against spending his weekends at art school. He attended but he didn’t draw. He befriended his teacher and other pupils and, as they worked, he chatted. “I was a very talkative kid! When I came to SM Entertainment (in 2013), I had a lot of my own time because my parents were in Thailand and I was alone. I had to absorb all the new culture and adapt to a new environment.’” When he felt surrounded by “negative energy”, he began drawing, enamoured with the space and freedom it offered because in art, as he often says, “there’s no right answer.”

There is, however, sometimes a middle ground. His goal was to make the Represent collection accessible to his diverse fanbase. “I wanted to make things that people can easily wear because it was my first project to make something with clothes and it’s a collab. If you go too far out, no one will get it. If you go too far back, people won’t reach for it. So finding the middle ground is important but that’s the hardest thing to do. If it’s my own project, I’ll be like, ‘I’m the president of this brand, I’m gonna make all the weird clothes that I can imagine!’”

He sought second opinions to ensure his designs landed the way he hoped. “I have a lot of good friends around me - my choreographer, (SHINee and Super M member) Taemin hyung, my manager. I randomly ask people I’m comfortable with and have known for a long time, like Mark (Lee, of NCT and Super M). Mark has the same kind of perspective as me, but I’m a person who is arrghhh!” He waves his hands in the air. “And he’s very calm. I need a person who is opposite of me because when I’m in a mood, I talk nonsense - ‘I wanna do this, I wanna do that, I wanna make this!’ - and Mark’s like,’Bro, calm down’,” he says in a rather uncanny impression of the Canadian-Korean.

Ten works fast when he’s drawing. He has to. He describes his personality as someone who can't wait until the next day to do something. “I’m very impatient,” he smiles. “If I’m going to paint or draw, I’m going to finish it in, like, two hours. I can’t sit down for three hours.” When inspiration hits him, it’s off the back of deep contemplation, sometimes about the mundane - “Like, why do the cats come to me when they’re hungry only? Is it selfish or instinct? - at other times, something affecting him emotionally.

But whereas his job as a singer and dancer sees him project his energy outwards, art offers the opposite. He’s often alone in his room when he works. As is for many artists, the right mood is fundamental. “When I’m in a good mood, I can’t draw,” he half-sighs. It’s also a multi-sensory process. “Smell or the temperature of the room, that really helps me draw. I light three or four candles. And when I draw, it’s kind of heavy, the feeling,” he explains. “It feels like you’re sinking into something, into yourself, and everything seems so small. Everything narrows down into me, my pencil, the paper.”

The more work he does in different creative mediums, the less Ten’s desire is to keep them separate. His art, dance and music influence each other, whether it’s customising his own collaboration pieces, a choreography video in an art gallery or dancing underwater with a film crew. When someone tells him that something won’t work or match up well, he refuses to let the idea go until he’s attempted it.

“I’ve had that since I was young. I think everything is possible. If you don’t try, you don’t know. When people say it’s impossible, like dancing in water for three minutes, I’m like, then let’s make it possible. You don’t need to walk a straight line [in life], you can walk this way,” Ten says, pointing along an invisible line before switching sharply in direction. “Then go back on track, go that way, come back. No one should tell you to walk in a line, I don’t see the point of that.”

© Clash Magazine

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi...how are you? If you don't mind me asking who are your favorite siblings' relationship in anime/movies/tv series? Sorry if you've answered this question before......

Hello!

Here is my list in no particular order.

1) Nina and Johan (Monster)

Their relationship is very interesting and complicated and it basically deconstructs the bond between twins and the trope of the good twin and evil twin (which is what makes it acceptable for my friend @hamliet <3<3<3).

The two twins were never treated as children and as a result they developed an extremely frail sense of self and kind of a symbiotic relationship. In particular, Johan decided to become Nina’s coping mechanism, a sort of living Jungian Shadow of her. The result is a disaster and the two siblings ended up hurting each other.

Still, their recovery goes through uncovering their shared past and the past they do not share. It is a path of self-discovery and forgiveness.

2) Zuko and Azula (ATLA)

Theirs is a tragic bond. They are two abused children who turn into two troubled teenagers. They are pitted one against the other by their abuser and in the end they are not able to overcome how their upgringing has shaped their relationship (at least in the show proper).

They are also two different answers to abuse and even if just Zuko is able to change for the better, Azula is still shown empathy.

In particular, they have opposite problems when it comes to their feelings. Zuko’s feelings explode and this is why he lacks control of his fire. Azula instead represses all her feelings to have perfect control. However, in the end it is necessary to aknowledge one’s emotions and to face them to truly reach harmony.

3) Soren and Claudia (The Dragon Prince)

In my opinion, Soren and Claudia (together with their father Viren) are the two best written characters in the series (as for now) and the main reason I got invested in it.

Soren and Claudia’s bond is one of mutual affection and trust. However, it is being challenged by the toxic influence their father has on both. They both risk to lose themselves to the flaws they very clearly inherited from Viren. Moreover, their different reactions to their father’s spiral has created a rift between them.

I love how they are both shown at their best and at their lowest points because of that same trait that, if well balanced can save them. Soren risks to lose himself to the desire to prove he is a good royal guard. Still, later on is that same desire that leads him to make the right thing. Claudia is his inversion. She is shown doing the right thing out of love, but then she spirals for that same love.

Still, I think that in the end they will be there for each other.

4) Krel and Aja (Tales of Arcadia)

Krel and Aja’s arcs are powerful and complementary. They both start thinking they are meant to be what the other will become in the end.

Krel starts as more responsible towards his role as Prince and shows disdain and discrimination towards Earthlings.

Aja initially wants to run away from her role and enjoys her normal life on Earth.

However, by the end Krel is the one who discovers himself through his relationships on Earth, while Aja finds herself a queen.

It is this paralleled and inverted structure together with the siblings’ complementarity and the strong bond they share that make them such good protagonists.

5) Hargreeves siblings (The Umbrella Academy)

They are all disasters and this is why their family is the best.

I love how after years spent avoiding each other, they still very clearly love each other and see each other as family. Despite being already adults, they are all still children when the story begins and they need to face each other to heal and truly grow.

I also like how each sibling has their own well defined personality and how each bond is different.

Luther and Diego have a rivalry.

Allison is everyone’s big sis and Luther’s love interest.

Vanya is estranged from everyone, but she develops a strong bond with Allison and is shown to get along with Five.

Five adores all his siblings, but often does not care for their individual needs.

Klaus is loved, but also underestimated by the others and he shares a special bond with Ben.

All in all, the family dynamic is very well flashed out and I think this is why the show works so well.

6) Zoldyck siiblings (HxH)

I love love love the Zoldyck Family and I love how all the other four siblings clearly foil Killua aka one of the MC. His two older brothers are who Killua must not become (an assassin like Illumi or dependent and unable to leave home like Milluki). Kalluto and Alluka are instead who Killua needs to save from the family. At the same time, Alluka, Kalluto, Milluki and Illumi all foil each other or have the potential to do so. They are all pretty different people and their dynamics are dysfunctional, but also entertaining to watch.

7) Schneeblings (RWBY)

This trio’s dynamic might be less central to their series than the other examples. Still, they are all pretty flashed out and their interactions are funny to watch.

The Schnee siblings have all reacted differently to their abusive environment. Still, they all share a warm heart behind a cold exterior. It is telling that they all work together to save Atlas and it is telling they all break free from their abusive home life also because of the others.

Winter inspires Weiss to leave and Weiss inspires Whitley to use his power for good. They make a virtuous chain of sibling love.

8) Kirishima siblings (TG)

Ayato and Touka’s backstory is one of my favourite parts of TG. It is interesting to see how they both changed in ways that turned them into their antithesis, but that are also consistent with the personalities they show as small children.

It is heartbreaking to see how close they were as children and how much they have grown apart as teenagers. Still, their bond remains strong and they still clearly love each other. Touka used to protect Ayato as a child and Ayato is trying to protect Touka now that he has grown. Still, he goes at it in the worst way possible.

SPECIAL MENTION: The Gandor brothers (Claire included) from Baccano! I just love how surreal their interactions are!

Thank you for the ask!

[maruzzewrites]

Every breath you take. - 10

cw for a bit of gore in this one.

Driving with tension in your arms and legs proved to be dreadful, the anxiety of not knowing what was happening to your darling felt like a sharp pain that disappeared at intervals, only to return more intense and barbed a few seconds later.

It was always a possibility, but never a reality, the fact that one of them would have enough of your obvious love for someone else, someone better than them and that they couldn’t beat with simple courting or vile obsession. Your fiance was an obstacle, even when not in the picture as your husband-to-be, and you wanted to vomit at the mere thought of being the cause of his problems with them.

Your drive, while filled with the desire to be short and quick, was slower than usual. No cars passed you on your way home, no one directed towards the city from the same direction of the house. Even when someone was behind you, you would check through the rear-view mirror to see who was driving. Men, women, old and young, with families or friends, alone or someone in the backseat; no one seemed to match the physiognomy of those men.

At some point, the anxiety grew to the point of being unable to even take gulps of breath. You were driving exceptionally slow, slower than needed, and cars upon cars would honk at you or yell at you from open windows. But you didn’t care, you wanted this. You waited for them to surpass you and give you a better view inside their cars to check thoroughly, methodically, and then switch to the next vehicle in line.

At some point, the terrible strain on your body and mind of hypervigilance made you almost steer to the side of the road. And you had to stop, pull over, and let your limbs tremble and shake with more violence than they ever did in your life. Despite your need to relax, you found it impossible to control your eyes, raising every time a car passed by.

The answer was always the same, no one was following you. Nowhere those men could be seen. Yet, it didn’t help the hollowing fear enveloping your actions, making you lean into the window to watch closer, and closer. You spent like that a good hour, you assumed, but you couldn’t estimate an exact time because you didn’t check the clock of your car when you stopped. The sun shifted, so did the shadows, so you could only presume.

You wondered if you could try again. You picked up your phone from the seat, gripping it with more force than necessary, and you could imagine it breaking between your tense fingers. Cancelling any possibility to call for help, but getting rid of their torment at home. The way your entire life was a puzzle of choices that carried both good and bad consequences, always walking hand in hand, always ready to hit you when you least expect it.

If there was the probability to have something your way, there was also something ready to push you back into the dark corner and keep you there, one inch closer to the wall than before. The negatives were always too great to even be brightened by the vague light of positivity an action could bring. So you stopped holding the phone so strongly, felt your hand ache less as tension left the muscles, traveling back up your arm, in your shoulder, all over your body. Settled in your chest, and you felt almost like your lungs couldn’t contract properly.

You dialed your darling’s number slowly, keeping an eye on the road and any direction that could provide them with easy access to you. The ring in your ear came once, twice, then you heard his voice confirming he was listening. Cordialities, but immediately he questioned if you needed help somehow, and it was implicit he would run to help you however he could.

And he did. Even if he was still away from you, still waiting for your answer, he really did ease your mind. It was only temporary relief, you knew, but your mind held the possibility to feel at peace for once for dear life. Because it really felt like you needed it to keep going, or everything would come down crumbling around you. Having blood on your hands, on your conscience.

You could hear your own voice shake, struggling to crawl out of your throat, but you managed to let him know you were well and you just needed to hear a familiar voice, that you were glad to be talking to him. He didn’t question you, but you could detect a hint of wonder and worry in his next words.

He was in class, he was doing his last bits of project before the exam session. And that made you understand how much you lost in those months, when you would face this part of the year with a bit of loneliness because of his attention to studying. Soon enough, he would have a degree and maybe, just maybe, you could ask him to move away from this city. Move as up north as possible, maybe even leave Italy altogether.

There, you could be happy and shielded by those monsters. In a cozy little cabin, without anyone bothering or threatening you both, ready to pick up your life where you left it. The fantasy in your head only made the return to reality even worse, a drop from a high too sweet. That was how you were reduced, to exorcize and refuse any attempt at happiness only because the cold feeling growing in your chest was crushing to bear.

You made small talk with your former fiance, but he figured soon enough you weren’t in the mood to speak too much. You were really forcing yourself, not wanting to bother him more than necessary, but he reassured you that he would pick up the phone later. He was about to go to another class anyway, the last for the day. By the time he would be on his walk back home, you would have probably been in your room for a while.

You said your goodbye, and then there was only silence. Before your brain could regress into the compulsive inspection of whoever passed by, you started the engine again and drove off into Naples. You were uncharacteristically slow, and drivers would continue to honk and yell at you to do faster, but you wouldn’t dare when your mind was as fogged and overworked as that moment.

When you arrived under your apartment building, you turned off the car and waited in the new stillness. You slumped down, curled up almost, as much as the narrow space in the vehicle would allow. Despite taking this defensive stance, your ears and your eyes were on guard; to notice anything, a step or a voice, a figure or an outfit, anything out of the ordinary that could signal their presence around you.

When enough time passed and you were feeling yourself spiral into darker and darker places, you stumbled out of the car and were careful, like you often did now when returning home, to check every corner of the shared inner space. Not as obviously and thoroughly as you wanted, because otherwise you would seem suspicious and, in the eventuality they were actually observing you, they wouldn’t be as convinced about your changed feelings.

Everything in your life had to be orchestrated around their actions, their thoughts and the possibility of both of those things, because at this point your very existence was put on hold. It didn’t belong to you until you could shake off those chains for good, and you couldn’t wait for the moment they would turn on each other or spit you out after chewing you into dust.

Even as you climbed the stairs, you were jittery. You had to take several attempts at opening the door between them slipping from your fingers or you would miss the keyhole due to the shaking of your hands, still too tense. You even let the door slam with how clumsy you became with the electricity shooting from one end to the other of your brain, too many emotions and information traveling your exhausted head.

Rest called upon you, the sweet embrace of your bed and the secure bubble of sleep, where you could be absent from the world, simulate a reality where nothing ever happened. But you couldn’t retire in your room just yet, you had to go through the motions of a simple and normal life: shower, talk to your family, have dinner, and some downtime. A perfectly average evening for the least average of lives, you assumed.

When your mother was busy watching frivolous programs filled with mundanity and pettiness, you declared how tired you were and wished her a goodnight. It was bitter how seeing those examples of ordinary events, for how much everyone acted as if their problems were so much bigger than reality, would leave an ache inside of you. You were turning into something you didn’t want to be, something filled with resentment and antipathy for anyone suffering less than you.

The ways those men’s influence snaked into your life to poison any aspect of it, how they managed to leave an indelible mark on your psyche and your mentality to the point you couldn’t even imagine how you were before; it hurt, it stung worse than you could put into words and thoughts.

They refined the smooth marble surface with sandpaper until it left nothing but edges and ruined colors, dull without possibility to restore it. You wanted to hope that you could come back from it all, repaint your skin with colors even brighter and even more beautiful, but the muted doom hanging over your head prevented you from keeping up those thoughts for long. The only positive note in the drone that became your life was the plan you were hatching, even if it would take you long enough for everyone else to forget about you and abandon you to fight for yourself.

And even then, what were you to do after? Beaten into a broken shell, ready to release the waste boiling inside and corroding the feet of those around you. If they wouldn’t leave you before those men were gone, they would after the fact: because you would shatter and have to put the pieces together, for no apparent reason to those outside.

Yet, you persevered. You had to, because the alternative was losing yourself. Losing friends and family could burn your soul, but not having one to begin with couldn’t allow you to build your life again. If they’re gone, one day, you would be free. And that meant the freedom to collapse, to be torn apart, to wail and cry until your throat was dry, but it would be your freedom.

You closed the door behind you as you thought. You had been in your mind so long those past months, you built a world made of horror and left everything else outside to be picked up on your way back, when everything would be alright. You laid on the bed with exhaustion cold on your skin, crushingly heavy on your bones.

You didn’t know the exact moment when you fell asleep, but you could swear you rested awake for several hours into the darkness and the silence. But for all you knew, you could have been dead to the world the moment your head touched the pillow, into something dull and aphonic that parodied the ease of sleep.

All you knew was that you were awakened by the filtering light pouring inside, warming you up into the spring air and the early summer notes it carried. You had a week of masks ahead of you, dense, impenetrable, but to endure to the best of your capabilities.

One day it was shopping with your mother, the other talking to friends. One evening it was going to meet family members you had neglected to visit, and the following morning you would walk around the beach to experience something long gone from your life. And every night, it was talking to your fiance and listening to him talk about his studies, forgetting about what your existence was and being everything you wanted to be again.

“What do you want to study?” He asked, once. And you stayed silent for a long time, indifferent to the way your mind couldn’t work on thinking about yourself as someone in a future that belonged to you. You could conjure the hope for it, overwork your spirit until you could put on a façade for everyone, but the concrete result of your plan and all its consequences were alien, distant, and nothing but the damned apple in the coils of a snake.

Your fiance asked again, you blinked the disbelief away. Or so you thought, because the words still wouldn’t come and your brain was failing you with violent rapidity. He wouldn’t suggest anything else, just wait and wait, and your head was a blank slate void of ideas in those seconds. When he assumed enough time had passed, he came to fix the situation a bit, “You remember when we talked about you going to university?”

You did remember, suddenly. You confirmed your memory and felt relief in his voice when he continued with his thought, “I wanted to know what you would like to study.”

You had to think about something, yet you couldn’t find a single spark of life that could guide you. You lost so much time to demented tormentors that you couldn’t even consider the possibility of pondering on that question. Your fiance did propose, long ago, to support you through school, and you remembered dreamingly waiting for him as you admired the building where he took classes.

When you still felt a bit more control, when autonomy wasn’t something so foreign and unfamiliar yet. Maybe that was the start of the end for you, when their presence started to spill even more into your mundanity that it replaced it. When you started to think about them from morning to evening, even when you were far away from their cove.

You stammered, he noticed. He didn’t fault you for the indecisiveness, as he explained, because he was nervous the months before his enrollment as well, unsure if he would pick the right path for himself. However, he didn’t care if you would change your mind once, twice, three times in your first year; you would need time to settle into a future, because it had to fit you as you wanted, not as others demanded.

And despite the desire to have everyone else shut up about their normalcy, so that you wouldn’t be reminded of your plight, you accepted what came from him. Maybe it was because he knew what he was saying and he was choosing his words with attention, with all the concern of someone intent on staying. He was taking an oath, with light words and solemn intent, and you were conflicted between your desire to cave to your need for comfort and your crave for his safety.

But what was the point in demanding from him to forget you along with everyone else? Loneliness and lack of options were deadly in this battle, and even if he was merely a man with no connections and no power, it was still soothing the way his voice could mend your soul and calm your mind. It made you hold that mask with less belligerence, cracking it less between your fingers.

You spent the hours of that evening talking about faculties, classes and possibilities, and your heart could beat again in that atmosphere. Made of risk, opportunity and the allure of everyday that you lost like sand between the fissures open along your body.

It was corrosive, scraping along the burning flesh and leaving tears in its wake, but you wanted it. You wanted that ache, you wanted to feel the white-hot anger along with the fear. You wanted to hate them for what they were stealing from you, or you may end up forgetting how to feel that resentment. There were times when it melted, escaped the confines of your brain, and you were left numb to their actions; and you didn’t want that, you desired the depths of hatred in your soul, the disgust and the anxiety, the pit under your feet as you walked.

And thinking about that lost future with your beloved, drawing the lines smudged by the side of your hand, it served you well in that intent. Because when he handed you a brink, it would fall, and leave the wall incomplete. Because when you were about to rebuild it, they were there to stomp on your hard work and tear down anything else.

Menaces, menaces, there on Earth to torment you until your mind would break and your muscles would give in. And even the soothing sound of your darling’s voice wouldn’t shoo away the whispering enveloping your being, their voices echoing, thundering, bouncing on a wall, on another, splattering on the floor and leaving behind a mess.

It was as if something cracked, letting everything pour and flood the husk left behind by their attentive, meticulous carving. If you had to carry their scars, their markings, may they be reclaimed with the bile and the scalding blood levigating them. Until those men’s passage was nothing but a memory, and then nothing anymore.

You closed the call with the flames of rage licking at the edges of your body, burning you, burning their images. It sealed the pact you made with yourself, of enduring whatever stretch of torture you were left ahead of you. Freedom was your goal, however you would obtain it – be it death, be it abandonment.

That night, the first one in a while in which you wanted to be awake, you observed the sky with new eyes. Not hopeful, not resigned, but incensed and mad. And your quest may be doomed, you may be the pitiful man screaming to the heavens and challenging those impossible to fight, but you needed it. You needed to find the motivation, the motion in your steps, and the force inside your performance.

Your workday came, the usual routine: get ready, take your car, drive to the house. Each moment was a bucket of gelid water over the fire you tried to preserve, with your own breath as fuel, the oxygen alimenting it to height you couldn’t even imagine before.

Your weapons were lousy, meager, worthless, and you hoped they would stay like that – because they weren’t to be used. But until you could, until that flame roared, you begged yourself to resist and fight with what you were given. If you did, you could return.

The day morphed between morning and afternoon, the men around you buzzed and pried. A request, a demand, nothing new and nothing odd. They continued to bother you for your entire stay, and you were ready to jump to attention. There was still rigidity in your steps, you had to summon all your willpower to even look them in the eyes, be cordial, act like you cared or like you even considered them.

Your fervor dimmed in their presence, returned to its glory in the few moments of calm you could make for yourself between one order and the other. Constant, always on your feet and never thinking too long, or you would lose your nerve and let it all slip away.

Your triumph was close, though. The door was a promise made by the end of the day, by the pink hues of the evening waiting beyond the threshold and down the road to your house. You survived another day, you survived with your spirit intact and still burning, even if it was but the minute sparkle of a match struggling to keep alive.

Only a handful of steps separated you from the first victory you could consider your own, the first drop in the vase after the drought. An outcome to keep close to your chest, let it warm your poor limbs, guard and shield with jealous frenzy from the tendril of those jackals. Yours, and only yours, digged up between your hands withered down to the naked bone.

But to that light, there was a shadow imposing itself from behind. It didn’t touch you, it didn’t demand, but you knew you had to stop when you acknowledged it; and it was aware of you knowing, because when your movements stopped, his started.

It was as if everything else fell down, into a void. It was you and it was Risotto, the only two being who ever existed. You breathed in, deep but controlled, to not alarm him and to feed that dying flame, those last ribbons of warmth deep inside your stomach. Air in, air out, slow as you could as Risotto arrived right in front of you.

Despite your knowledge about his involvement with the entire plot and obsession they had with you, you could hardly picture Risotto curved on his desk to watch picture after picture of you, listening to every hushed secret of yours the others were to confide him, scheming the next move and the future he wanted with you. But when those hollow eyes stared down at you like judgment was nigh, you could at least believe the demented corruption that mind held.

He bowed his head in pretend gratitude, in mocking politeness. Yet he was imperturbable, and cold, a glacier on your way to the sun on the horizon. His mouth was bringer of nothing, but misery; in that moment too, he could report nothing but foreboding omens, “Thank you. For everything, today.”

Each word was a pause, each syllable a meaning. Spoken with caution and with perfect delivery, an old actor basking into the applause of the public for his last exhibition. And like the bow to finally depart, Risotto’s arms raised and reached for you. Fangs ready to bite and tear the tender meat, leave it raw against the air.

He held you, more than a hug. It was a famished, desperate clawing at your soul to make it bleed, and bleed, and bleed dry. Head against his chest, calm heartbeat in your ears, drumming away against the membrane until it was as symbiotic as that of your mother the day you were born.

Your blood rushed to that rhythm, and the tide extinguished the last attempt to live on of that match. As if Risotto reached into the depths of your soul, and his fingertips closed around the head until the flame was suffocating around the lack of oxygen.

It ended there. Like every other time, you were left boneless and without yourself, between the arms of a man you didn’t want to see as human. Warm, and you hated it, that he was flesh and blood and brains and bones, that he was there and that he was breathing what you couldn’t gulp down as you were suspended between life and hell.

He left you shattering on the ground, wished you a good evening, and pushed you towards the door. The fragments breaking, hitting the floor, you on the carpets of that house. You looked behind into the hall, some of them there to watch the scene like critics, like judges, like birds of prey ready to hoard what you were leaving behind. You hoped with everything in you that those shards left cuts on their hands.

The drive back home started as badly as you could imagine: halfway, you had to pull over and double down to dry heave at the side of the road. Your throat contracting, releasing, tight and bound as your ribs felt like they were closing in to shield you further. On hands and knees on the dirty, long enough that someone stopped near your car to help you.

What could you do? How did you end up sobbing and step back from a stranger with concern deep inside their eyes, a hand on their phone ready to call for help? You begged, begged, down where you were. It was a simple, sudden illness that would disappear as soon as it came; you staggered on your feet, let them hold you up and leave you on your car seat.

After countless questions, to be sure you would be fine, they drove away. You watched the rear of their car pass, not before they slowed down near your position to check on you. Then silence that came after the asphalt was grinding under the wheels, cracking in the emptiness.

Only then, only in solitude, you fell apart piece by piece. Your head between your hands, between your knees, fingers tense and red for the strain to pull at your hair. The stress against your hairline, tugging once then twice, just to feel something else than the humiliating frustration and bottomless despair brought by that one, single embrace.

It took so little, so very little, and they could destroy any prospect or plan you wanted to build. For days took out of your life to pose as a monument, they came and raided and pillaged, left beaten earth under their feet and you to rebuild the incomplete ruins of what was left. Nothing, as usual, and each time the houses were a bit more crooked, a bit more bare, a bit more empty and useless against their attacks.

The problem was that, was it not? That you invited those barbaric acts inside your life, you didn’t stop and you couldn’t stop. You would have to endure invasion after invasion, in a lone effort of rebellion, unheard and unseen. You could do nothing to stop them efficiently, so you had to simply deal with the consequences and hope they found greener pastures.

However, you hated it with all your might. Because it was easy for them, it was impossible for you, and you deceived yourself in an everlasting instinct of seeking hope and reason to that chaos made of fear, impotence and resignation. An eternal struggle between wanting to keep that nature, that humanity behind a lock, but wanting to get rid of it to feel it pass and go, so that you would not be drowned anymore.

In your desperation, you truly wanted help once more. Who else could do so, if not the man who was there with you for the entire way. Sharing your pling, feeling it with you, your former fiance was a few keys away from you, in the palm of your hand. You dialed his number without thinking, with all the intention, as a second nature now that you could count on no one but him, and yourself, and whoever is beyond you looking down.

The line is hooked, it rings. You never noticed how long, resounding and echoing those sounds are, atonic and dragged to travel from one end of your mind to the other. Finally, the sound of the phone being picked up and your beloved’s voice greeting you with a yawn and a sigh.

It anchored you slowly, the exchange you had with him was calm and measured. You never vented or let your emotions take over when you were talking to him, but he was aware of the heavy note behind your words. He was aware of what you were carrying on your shoulders, but somehow he knew not to push a conversation about the topic, to just talk to you normally as he did months and months ago, before everything.

It was selfish to demand anything out of him, you should have done the most graceful act of care towards him and let him go towards a brighter future, but you craved so much the only feeble light like in that void. If you couldn’t ignite those flames inside of you for long or ever again, at least you wanted to rely on the external source of guidance. No matter how lost he was too, at least he was with you.

As your mind returned to progressive stability, you heard the weariness in his voice. He talked about projects and groups of students awake until the early hours of the morning to complete assignments and study. It wasn’t the substance that interested you, as much as the simple thought that he was fine and well, still living and still growing.

He would be there with you, in that growth. It wasn’t like the others, because he stuck around and he would share it. It wasn’t like those who simply flaunted normalcy, who craved abnormality and would remind you of the spiral of events, of circumstances and complete, utter, all-consuming horror you were in. He was different, he would lull you back into everyday life when everything ended; one in the arms of the other, ready to rebuild or renovate as you both changed, and grew, and matured – with this tragedy too.

“I have to go,” the conversation ended there, with a soft departure. You blinked exhaustion and daydreams away, just to listen once more to that calming voice, “I’m tired, sorry. I don’t think I can talk more tonight. Can we meet tomorrow to catch up?”

Your heart was beating in your throat, suddenly aware and awake. It had been a while since you met up with him, since you allowed that piece of your life back in its rightful place. Were you truly so egotistical to indulge that request of his, put him in grave danger only to satisfy your own need for reassurance? But then, who were you to deny it, who made you decisor of everything and anything?

You accepted, told him you would meet him in front of his house. He giggled with the tune of your early days, when you were still young and only starting to know each other. When you were naive, and happy, and unaware of anything that would come – be it a prosperous relationship or a declining situation.

With the promise hanging over your heads, you both said your goodbyes.

Despite the call, it took more time to recollect your complete calm, reconnect the wires. You couldn’t allow yourself the recklessness of driving without paying attention to the road and the other drivers. When you were ready, you adjusted your place inside your car and drove off.

That evening, you didn’t force yourself into any type of conversation and your mother understood you were more tired than usual. She didn’t insist, leaving you to sink into a deep sleep as soon as you were done with dinner. As always, your rest was devoid of anything.

You woke up unrefreshed, but pushed forward so that you could see your sweetheart. There was no special effort in your preparation, but each brush of your hair and each step closer to his home brought a sense of freedom and apprehension together to weigh down your soul. Even when you called to make sure he was still willing to meet you, you could feel something gripping your airpipe until you weren’t conscious.

It was ringing. Ringing, ringing, still ringing, and he didn’t pick up. You assumed he was showering or getting ready, maybe having breakfast and forgetting all about his phone for the time being. You retried a few times before deciding that it wouldn’t matter anyway, he was a man of his words.

You walked with somber silence, despite the rumble of the city all around you. You knew where he lived, he knew who you were looking for, yet your brain didn’t register much when you arrived at the right place, seeing the right man.

You moved as if everything was slowed to an almost-alt, just like those past few months felt. You unable to make sense of it all, struggling to even twitch, while the world moved on around you and without you. And despite it all, there was someone right behind you to walk in your steps and reach out to you.

A man, with a skull cracked open against a wall, a few steps right of the door to his apartment building. A man, with vacuous eyes staring ahead of him into the mob all around him. A man, cold to the world and stiff on the ground as he fell ungracefully on the floor with his brains spilling.

Someone was moving to cover him up, so that the public wouldn’t see the spectacle of macabre. But  you continued walking over the scene, until a policeman stopped you in your tracks. He was young, evidently so, but he already carried hair white as snow. Besides that, you couldn’t catch any other detail of his appearance.

You raised your eyes to his face, then dropped them back down to the mass under the cover. You moved slowly, your hands holding onto the uniform of the person right in front of you, your knees giving out right under you.

You didn’t cry or wail, just vomited all over his shoes, on the floor and under the eyes of everyone present. You were sure some reached the corpse mere feet away from you. The policeman was not as concerned at the mess as he was at your weakened body collapsing right in his arms.

You didn’t know what to feel for a while, despite the questioning around you. You felt like you were walking under the rain, torrential, frustrated and furious about ruining your clothes and your hair and your bag and everything else that could be ruined. And you wanted to seek nothing but shelter, a place where you could feel the rain growl and rage, then dim and fade.

And you reached it, a shelter. Under it, you stopped for solace, only to find a gelid wind outside that fuming rage and that sustaining energy. Cold, unforgiving, aided by the roar of the thunder and the flash of the lighting, the rain progressively louder and stronger.

You felt cold for the first time since your climb towards a solution. It was always a possibility, it now became a reality. They had to eliminate him, and they put in your mind that dread of the potential – the potential to hurt those around you, for real and without remorse.

And when it clicked, you were aware of how to feel. You screamed enough to empty your lungs of air, until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

[domina-noctisim-archive]

She asked him why he was acting this way, and he felt this to be the hardest question of all.

The youkai couldn’t blame Ai for being confused. Ever since meeting that fateful night at the debutante ball, dancing together merely out of convenience, things had been spiraling more and more and out of control. For their families, but most of all for his feelings. Feelings he hadn’t even been aware to be possible for someone like him, and most of all for another living being.

And so he had clammed up, avoiding her, pretending he did not see her when they crossed paths in the halls of her family’s Palace, acting like he had never known her, nor shared secrets and moments so eerie and enchanting they all felt like distant but extremely vivid dreams to this day.

All this from the moment he had known it was time for him and his sire to return home, their duty done. His father seeked to get away from the other aristocrats before tensions got beyond salvage.

Today was the final day he’d spend in this garden that had watched him grow so deeply in such a short time. And here she was, asking him her question. He knew he couldn’t brush it off. He owed her the truth, if only in part. Even if it hurt to say.

“... because the hardest part of this is leaving you.” @roleplay-abiogenesis2

▌┊    ⸻    Everything    that    begins    has    an    end.    The    cycle    of    life    is    just    like    that,    attachments    are    composed    and    replaced    for    the    sake    of    the    EQUILIBRIUM    of    an    empire    without    even    considering    the    sentiments    formed    between    the    parties    entangled.    EPHEMERAL    moments    become    intense,    meaningful    and    leave    marks    for    all    immortality,    a    PERENNIAL    insignia.    Everyone    is    concerned    about    tranquillity    between    nations,    prosperity,    laurels,    dominion,    influence    in    the    world    but    who    cares    about    her    fragile    core?    ❝Leaving    me?    You    don’t    want    to    leave    me?❞    She    interrogates    rhetorically.    Sesshoumaru    has    been    explicit    in    his    words.    Now    it    makes    sense    why    he    neglected    her.    ❝Demo,    we    knew    that    sooner    or    later    you    would    have    to    go.❞    Articulates,    ashen    digits    fondling    a    rose’s    petals.    ❝Fleeting    moments⸻I’m    used    to    them.    Demo,    for    the    first    time    I    want    them    to    last.❞    Many    hail    her    name,    bow    before    her    graceful    silhouette,    kiss    her    hand,    pledge    their    perpetual    allegiance    in    exchange    for    authority,    DEVOTION,    but    no    one    has    ever    made    such    an    impact    as    he    did.    ❝I    don’t    want    you    to    go.    ⸻    But    we    can’t    contradict    them.    Maybe    we’re    fated    to    see    each    other    again.    No    one    knows    the    future,    Sesshoumaru-sama.❞    

LIVING    IN    YOUR    PRECIOUS    MEMORIES.

[palaceofpassion]

Sucrose "accidently" added aphrodisiacs into a potion that her crush, Albedo, was about to test on himself. Unfortunately, Sucrose miscalculated the dosage and instead of making Albedo more susceptible to Sucrose's flirting, it made him push Sucrose down on the table and fuck her pussy with no regard for how Sucrose feels.

This turned into a fullish fic!

"If everything goes well, then I should be able to get a better idea on how to move forward with our experiment."

"Of course."

Sucrose was nervous... more so than she normally was and considering she was nervous all the time, well that just meant she was trying her best not to sweat bullets. "E...Everything should go fine." Despite her words being directed at Albedo, she really meant them for herself.

She had a plan you see, one that was very unlike her but one that she wanted no one that she HAD to do. For the longest time, she'd had feelings for Sir Albedo for quite some time now, what originally started as simple admiration for his talents in Alchemy and his over all demeanor had simply blossomed. And yet, she'd made no headway.

But with Lisa's help she knew just what needed to be done! The Librarian was well versed in all bouts of life including the romantic side of things! So when Sucrose came to her for advise, she had given her just the thing she needed. A love potion... now, Sucrose under most circumstances would have never resorted to using such... method!

But, according to Lisa it wasn't anything like she had heard about in fairy tales and other stories. It was much simpler than that, it would help loosen Albedo's natural guard, allow him to be a bit more susceptible to flirting. And well... Sucrose was getting desperate. Like, really desperate. So... so she needed to take extra measures. She knew the dangers, and knew things COULD go wrong, but she'd planned everything to the T.

"The vial please."

"O...of course Master Albedo."

Albedo let out a non-committal mummer as he took the strangely heavy vial from Sucrose. Before he started the procedures, he made sure to give his assistant one last side glance. He dearly wished she'd be less formal with him. In the years he'd gotten to known her, she'd taken a rather dear place in his heart. And, while things had gone well as far as their relationship had gone.

They hadn't gotten as close as he would have wished. Of course, he was never good at uttering his feelings, he always felt... somewhat stunted in his responses. Even if it wasn't intentional. Nonetheless he still dearly wished they would grow just a tad closer.

And yet despite her normally bashful and shy nature, he could pick up on something... she was acting differently. He was sure that if it had been anyone else she'd spoken with, they would surely have not noticed the subtle changes. But he knew her almost as well as he knew himself, or Klee for that matter.

And, as he weighed the vial in his hands he realized something. It was heavier than it should have been. He chose not to say anything, not wanting to give up the goose as the saying goes. Besides, he figured there would be little harm of her trying to harm him. So he downed it. And the first thing he noticed upon the concoction touching his tongue?

The chemical compounds were off. "Hmm... there was not supposed to be any Calla Lily in this..." For a brief moment he let his glance fall back onto Sucrose, and only for a split second did he notice just how interested in the results she was. It wasn't the usual flavor of interest either... no something was off here. As he let the fluid swish within his tongue he came to a conclusion. "This has the makings of a love potion... though the dosage is incorrect."

He had heard the tales of this set up before. However, after various forms of research he had long concluded that it was nothing but a folks tale. Though, that did bring up the question... why had Sucrose brought this to him?

Bringing his attention back to the drink he decided on something then and there. Allowing the cool liquid to slowly ride down his throat he swallowed. If she wanted to use a love potion on him, he would have to teach her a lesson… and well… he WAS always afraid of losing control of himself. Perhaps this would be a good time to experiment on just how loose he could get.

“M...Master Albedo?”

He stopped moving, something that Sucrose had caught note of almost instantly. That's when the worry settled in. Had she messed up? She was sure that she had done everything according to the instructions provided. Perhaps Lisa had given her the wrong ingredients? Mayhaps she had provided an incorrect dosage?

Regardless, Sucrose was starting to worry as Master Albedo simply… stopped. And not in the way that someone just stopped when they wanted to catch a break… no he was perfectly still. His eyes were open, if not a little glazed, and his focus was completely in front of him. The worry didn’t get any better as she drew closer, slowly she rose her hand to touch his face, hoping to get his attention.

WAP

His hand shot out, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her towards him. Before she had the chance to even begin to struggle his lips met hers. Surprise and shock took over, putting her into a moment of weakness, one he made sure to take advantage of.

Albedo figured he may as well make the best of this moment, so the moment their lips met, something he’d found oddly surprising of himself. He’d pushed his tongue in, her resistance was futile as he parted her mouth and then he pushed.

Sucrose stilled, any attempt at push back halting the moment she FELT the warm liquid enter her mouth. The flavors were instantly noticeable, it was the concoction she’d put together! Her eyes began to glaze and her focus became unsteady. And yet, even as she started to fall into a strange lull, Master Albedo refused to pull away.

His free hand reached behind her, pressing itself against the small of her back and holding her close. An intense heat formed inside of her as her body began to betray her. Her legs grew weak and her core began to BURN, heat! She felt so HOT! Like the Pyro Archon had suddenly bestowed upon her a second vision.

Her mind began to spiral out of control as her thoughts shifted into disarray. She could hardly remember what happened in the following minutes. But… by the time she had come back to consciousness she’d found herself bent over Albedo’s desk, his paperwork and notes all hastily scattered on the flower below.

It took a cool breeze, and a hot touch later to realize that she no longer wore clothing. Her outfit, turn from her body lay in shambles not too far from her. Her eyes bobbled wide as she felt something burning hot touchdown against her bottom.

And yet she couldn’t turn around to see what it was, her body refusing to listen to her instead reacting completely on instinct. Her legs slowly parted forth, allowing whatever it was touching against her bare skin to wedge in between her thighs. It was nearly impossible to distinguish between the heat of her slippery wet sex, and the throbbing inferno radiating off of the thick and meaty object pressing against her soft lips.

“Wh...what’s going on?”

She received no response, instead only pain ran through her body as something LARGE shoved itself inside of her. She felt her secret little passage pry open as a thick, hot, pulsing rod plunged itself within her depths. The table shaking violently as the battering Ram only stopped upon making contact with her cervix.

She barely had the time to cry out in pain as her hymen was ripped to shreds. Then she felt a hand grasp onto her head winding itself between her blonde locks and tightening its hold on her.

Her body moved back by its will, pulled by the unknown assailant. She found herself unable, or perhaps unwilling to close her eyes as they began to shift inside of her. Their hips rolled against her bottom, shifting what she now understood as the assailant's penis, inside of her. “MmMNnn~” She bit her lip, unwilling to give her assaulter the pleasure that they must have wished for. But, as her eyes came across a mirror in the distance she soon realized who it was.

Behind her, in the bare, was Master Albedo, his eyes foggy and his body dripping with sweat. She realized, perhaps a little too late, that she had given him too much. And now her body which refused to listen to her, was also under the influence of the so called love potion.

What should have been a terrifying moment suddenly became so much more pleasurable. His hips moved back and then with a powerful THUD he slammed himself back into her. “Ah!” She let out a soft moan as he pushed against her cervix again.

The crooked slightly uptilted shape of his DICK caused him to scrape against her, giving her a surprisingly pleasant sensation. SMACK “Ah!” She gasped as his free hand met her creamy white bottom. SMACK And again it struck, and then again SMACK and SMACK again! Over and over, with each passing second he would strike her ass while holding her head back. Everytime he did so she could feel her buttox bruise, a burning heat rising off of it as he struck her over and over.

And yet, she could barely concentrate on the pain, instead being overcome by the pleasurable strikes against her insides. She wasn’t sure if he’d been experienced up till now, but he never went at her the same way. Oftentimes he would shift his position so that he would strike against a different part of her insides.

Albedo let lose another powerful SMACK against Sucrose’s now red ass. He couldn’t help himself, as he allowed himself to let loose just a bit more with each passing moment, he found himself completely entranced with the bouncing bottom. He’d LONGED to smack that ass, as they say nowadays. But he’d always held back, and now that he didn’t have to? Well he couldn’t help himself, Sucrose had such a wonderfully round bottom, and seeing as how she always wore tight spandex shorts… she’d always given him quite the view.

He wondered now, if that was all intentional? Perhaps, but for now it didn’t matter, instead he would simply concentrate as he PLOWED his seed inside of her. SQUELCH Her insides tightened as she came back into consciousness, her young ripe body wrapping itself around him. When he tried to pull out, her pussy would wind itself smothering his dick with her soft velvety folds. He could practically feel himself pulling her inside out as he tried to pull back. She, like him, found it hard to say their minds… but as it would seem their bodies were FAR more honest with one another.

“Sucrose.”

Though he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she was burning red at this point, her ears suddenly perking up as she stilled. “You’re a bad girl.”

She didn’t say anything, “I could tell what you were trying to do.”

Once more she didn’t say anything. “You wanted this didn’t you?” SMACK Her small form shook as he struck her ass once more. “You wanted this treatment, correct?”

And still she didn’t speak, “You wanted my… my cock inside of you. You wanted nothing more than to be my breeding sow, isn’t that right?” These words were very unlike him, but the more he let loose the more he found himself enticed to say them.

“...Ye...Yes…”

Her cute adorable voice finally squeaked out.

“Good. You’re mine after all.”

“Yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Yes Master Albedo.”

He’d never been so PLEASED to hear her call him master before.

“Good girl. You’re a good girl after all.”

“Y… Ye...yes Master!” She cried out as he pulled on her hair forcing her head to lunge backwards as he held her close to him. Letting her locks of hair go he wrapped his fingers around her throat, tilting her chin upwards to force her to look up upon him. He took the moment to let a trail of spit run down his tongue, and without having to say anything the docile beauty simply responded by parting her lips and taking his saliva in.

“Good girls get rewards.”

And so he rewarded her, forcing himself down he pulled her into a kiss. Her tongue latched out first to meet his, their pink muscles began to wrestle with one another as they shared the heat radiating between their bodies. His desk quaked while they continued to rutt, her tight hole convulsing as he relentlessly pushed inside of her.

Their bodies refused to stop, Sucrose herself giving into the desires of temptation as she allowed her MASTER to have his way with her. Her nubile body proved to be just what he needed to relieve stress. Her mind, no longer capable of forming clear thoughts, allowed him to release and unleash wave after torrent of his much desired seed. She could feel her body begin to ovulate. She could feel her womb started to prepare. And as he relentlessly filled her with what she so very desired. She couldn’t help but feel she should thank Lisa. After all, today had turned out to be far more splendid that she had originally hoped.

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. A bit of an emotional chapter this time, but Bickslow is involved so there’s also some relief. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Nine - Some Time Later

One Week Later

Before the memories hit him, Freed felt a horrible sense of deja vu.

He was in the guildhall infirmary, with almost all of his energy sapped away from him, just as he had when he had first been taken to Fairy Tail. He had a feeling that there was something changed inside of him that would shape the rest of his life, just as he had after the demon had invaded his soul. He had a feeling of yearning, hoping to see someone who was destined to be a part of his life, only to be disappointed to see he was alone again. Everything was so reflective of how it had been when he'd first woken up after his first instance of possession, and it was horrible.

Of course, the memories did eventually come to him. The tournament. The twisted feeling of power that had slowly been seeping into him through the day. The lack of control that had overwhelmed him. The sudden inability to control his body. The feeling of trying to pour his magic into the demon to overwhelm it.

And then, there was Gajeel.

Gajeel had broken down every wall of defence that the demon had in place as if it were nothing. Even with the overwhelming power emanating from the fully unleashed demon, Gajeel had been able to walk towards him, and reach out to Freed. Like a light in the darkness, Gajeel had managed to drag him out of the demon's control and allowed him his autonomy again. He had managed to do something Freed had thought impossible.

The demon was gone. Gajeel had somehow burned the thing from his soul, removing it entirely. They had killed what remained of the demon together in a unison raid moments before Freed had passed out in his arms.

But, despite the importance of it all, that wasn't what Freed was thinking about.

I'm yours and yer mine.

That demon aint got a fucking claim on you.

Yer fuckin' mine.

It ain't ever hurtin' you again, y'hear me. Never

The words weren't subtle. They weren't something you could misunderstand. They weren't anything but a claim on Freed. Gajeel was stating loudly, in front of everybody in the guild - everyone that mattered to them both - that he and Freed belonged to one another.

Perhaps if it was coming from any other man than Gajeel, Freed might have felt fury. He might have felt some level of anger that Gajeel had proclaimed such a thing so publicly without so much as asking Freed, but he only felt a sense of rightness at what Gajeel had said. Of course he and Gajeel belonged to each other. How had that been in any doubt? The moment they had first laid eyes on each other, the motions were put in place to bring them into each other's arms. It was destiny.

Had Freed always been so romantic? Perhaps he had needed the right man to bring it out of him.

"Ah, you're awake," A grouchy, haggard voice cut through the silence. "You certainly took your time, didn't you?"

Freed looked towards the door of the infirmary, to see Porlyusica walking towards him. This too was how he remembered his first experience of living in Magnolia, with the impatient and impetuous woman acting as though his life was an inconvenience for her to deal with. That was something that was familiar, if nothing else.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Freed asked, and found his voice hoarse.

"Nine days," Porlyusica said, picking something up from the small table beside Freed's bed. He didn't know what it was, but it began to glow with healing magic. She turned to Freed and sighed. "Lower your covers and hold still."

Doing as instructed, Freed blushed a little when he realised he was without any clothing. The woman didn't seem bothered, and slowly began to lower the magical item over his body. It was scanning him, and he let out a gasp when the device passed over his heart. There was a sudden flood of warmth through his body, unlike anything he could ever remember feeling before. It was pleasant, but so foreign to him that he didn't know what to feel.

"Ah, good," Porlyusica said, placing the device down again.

"What was that," Freed demanded, pulling up the sheets to protect his modesty.

"I stimulated you, that magic was intended to induce a feeling of comfort and delight," She shrugged, picking up a small piece of paper that Freed assumed had his details on. "You've had that demon eating away at you from the inside for years, so you probably grew used to its influence. It has been slowly dulling your emotions for ten years. You just felt joy like the rest of us do for the first time since your possession."

What?

His emotions had been dulled?

Surely he would have noticed that. The ability to feel how he felt was something that he had always taken for granted, and he never expected it could leave him. Perhaps he had become jaded, but he had dismissed that as growing up and working in a profession where you often saw the worst of people. The demon had been responsible for that, too?

Fuck. Fuck his damn parents and the damn demon and the damn priest who had gotten him into this position. How the hell had he lost so much control of who he was without knowing it? Why had the people he loved allowed this to happen to him. His parents were meant to protect him, not to allow this.

Was this what anger felt like when not influenced by a demon? Uneducated and bitter?

"You'll acclimate," Porlyusica said, as if knowing what he was feeling. "Those friends of yours have wanted to see you since the incident. Annoying brats. I'm going to put you to sleep again, they'll no doubt be here before you wake."

"What?" Freed asked. "No, I don't intended to-"

"Quiet," Porlusica said firmly, and tapped her cane on the floor. "Sleep."

And Freed slipped away before he could protest.

——

"Hey baby," Bickslow's voice woke Freed up before his eyes were open. "Are you feeling okay?"

He didn't know how long it had been since Porlyuscia had put him to sleep, but he woke up in the same bed with the sun higher in the sky. He blinked away the light and saw that Bickslow, Evergreen and Laxus were all sitting around his bed, looking at him with expressions of mingled happiness and concern. He pushed himself off the mattress so he could sit up, wincing at the feeling of aching muscles.

With a quick glance around, he saw that Gajeel wasn't there. That didn't feel good.

"Erm, yes," Freed said in answer to Bickslow's question, his mind not working as fast as he would have liked. "I believe I am. Are you three unharmed?"

"We're not the priority, Freed," Evergreen scoffed a little at the thought, but her expression turned to one of sympathy. It was almost motherly, which was a concern coming from her. Even worse, she took his hand and squoze it as if he needed consoling. "We all saw what happened, now be honest and tell us how you're feeling."

Freed hadn't thought of that. Everyone had seen him weakened and out of control. On the brink of death…

Fairy Tail maged had seen a lot of bad things - it came with the job - but he knew that they always were more affected when it was one of their own being hurt. This could have been terrifying to watch, and he supposed that he owed them some honesty.

"I feel… drained," Freed admitted. "As if I got into the worst fight of my life. Everything is aching, my flesh feels like it's burning from the inside, but no more than normal after a difficult mission," He thought for a moment, moving his arm as if testing that he still could. Of course he could, and the feeling spread warmth though him. It reminded him of what Porlyusica said to him, and he smiled a little. "I'm lighter now. As if a burden has been lifted."

"Well that's good," Evergreen smiled. "And you're not hiding anything from us?"

"Not knowingly," Freed assured them.

"So we can start teasing you about the fact your demon ripped off your clothes and when you transformed back we all saw you naked," Bickslow grinned, and it was a clear attempt to lighten the mood. Evergreen whacked him on the arm, but he just laughed. "Because we all saw your dick, and I gotta say baby, I'm impressed with what you've got going on down there. Don't know how I went so long without seeing it."

Freed chuckled, slightly weakly. "I'd rather not be teased about it, if possible. And I was under the impression that you've started seeing someone."

"I am," Bickslow sighed dreamily, in an overly exaggerated sense of course. "And he's the most handsome man in the world. And he's better than you because he's always getting naked in public and I love it."

Freed laughed. It was good to have Bickslow in moments like this.

Evergreen and Bickslow, as they so often did, started to playfully squabble between themselves. Evergreen had said something about how the PDA between Bickslow and Gray was revolting and far too graphic for the guildhall, and Bickslow argued back saying that Ever only thought that because she didn't have the chance to do it with Elfman because they were still being secretive about their very obvious relationship. The arguments spiralled from there, and Freed watched with amusement.

His gaze drifted from the two squabbling idiots to Laxus, who was looking at him with a quiet expression of concern. When he noticed Freed looking, he curled an eyebrow as if asking if he really was feeling okay. Freed nodded, with a small smile, and Laxus seemed to deflate a little.

"Really gone, huh?" Laxus murmured.

"It seems so," Freed nodded, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter of the demon. For a moment, Freed remained quiet, but there was one thing he needed to know. "Where is he?"

Laxus sighed, ran a hand over his face, and spoke. "You not waking up was getting to him."

"That's not an answer to my question," Freed said firmly. "Where is he?"

"He needed some time away, to deal with everything," Laxus explained. "I'll find him, he'll wanna know you're okay."

"Thank you," Freed whispered, smiling a little.

"No problem," Laxus nodded, standing up.

He walked out of the infirmary without speaking to Bickslow or Evergreen, who clearly hadn't been following their conversation as they both looked perplexed. When Laxus was outside of the building, they could all see an explosion of lightning as Laxus shot off into the sky, apparently having a good idea as to where Gajeel was. Freed certainly hoped so, he needed to see Gajeel as soon as he could.

What was he going to say to him, though? Thank you for ridding me of my curse? Everything you said about belonging together I fully agree with? When you weren't here when I woke up, I realised I always want to wake up beside you?

"Wonder what that was about?" Evergreen commented, speaking about Laxus' departure and bringing Freed's focus back to the room.

"Maybe he's still pissy becuase he and Loke were the losers of the tournament," Bickslow grinned, again trying to keep the mood light. Freed looked at him with a raised eyebrow, because that was something that would certainly distract him. "Shit, you didn't know, huh? Yeah, they didn't work well together at all. It was funny. Lost by a landslide. Laxus wasn't happy about it when I reminded him he has to do a forfeit."

"I expect so," Freed smiled. "Who will be giving him the forfeit, might I ask. I assume you, since I passed out during the fight."

"Me and Gray were deemed the winners, after we were sure you were okay of course," Bickslow assured him. "But we felt it was kinda bullshit. So we thought you and Gajeel could take the money from the prize, and me and Gray get to have fun with the forfeit. That okay?"

"I suppose," Freed chuckled slightly, because almost any other person would want the money. "What have you planned for them?"

Maybe it wasn't the most relevant thing to think about at the time, but Freed wanted the distraction. The lightness of his soul, the revelation that he could truly feel his emotions to their fullness again, and the fact that Gajeel hadn't been there when he woke were all starting to pile up on top of him. A distraction, even a ridiculous one like this, was exactly what he needed. Bickslow seemed to sense this, as he spoke with gusto and joy.

"Well, I wanna have them dress up like old-timey jesters and perform shows every night of a week where they make total asses out of themselves in front of everyone," Bickslow grinned. "And my darling baby wants them to be our butlers for a week and then they have to do everything we say. We haven't decided yet."

"Surely, if you have them as your butlers, you could make them dress like jesters and perform shows as well as anything else you wish," Freed suggested, and Bickslow grinned.

"You're a genius," He exclaimed. "And instead of suits, I'll make sure they're only wearing really tight black briefs and bowties. Really give me something to look at."

Freed chuckled. This was normal, at least.

——

Gajeel needed to keep moving. He needed to keep himself moving and active and his mind away from Freed because the moment his mind did fall onto Freed it would inevitably linger on the fact that Freed wasn't awake and that Freed might not wake up and that something Gajeel had done might have ended up killing the man that had so quickly intertwined their lives together. That was a thought too awful to even consider, so Gajeel had to keep moving.

After three days of waiting for Freed to wake, Gajeel had left Magnolia. Maybe he was a coward to do so, but he didn't care. He found himself walking, and hours later he was in the forest where he trained. The same forest where he had first gotten to know Freed.

It hadn't been a good idea.

He'd been sleeping under the stars ever since. He had exercised and forced his body to the brink of exhaustion every night, because the idea of lying down and letting sleep overcome him was nauseating. He couldn't let his mind wonder because that would mean letting himself think about Freed and he couldn't do that.

Every day, his body ached. He had pushed himself further than he ever had before. He'd ran more laps of the forest than ever, swam across the lake faster and with more purpose than he could remember doing, and he had pushed the dead tree trunk further up the hill than he thought he ever could. It was all in vain, because even in the split seconds his mind might wander from the exercise to Freed, it felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and horror flowed through him.

He couldn't take any more. Today, his body was beyond moving more than necessary, protesting against the slightest attempt to exercise. That was how he found himself sitting in the shallowest part of the river, cross legged, with his hand turned to a small blade as he whittled away at a piece of wood.

His intention had been to meditate, something he often did. But today, confronting his mind has not been possible, because they made him feel sick to his damn stomach. And so he'd reached for a nearby bit of wood, and started to carve away at it. First it had been to occupy his hands with something to stop himself from fidgeting, but the more he carved the more he got into the rhythm of it, and he quickly realised that he was carving it into something. Something for a very specific person.

A crown. A crown fit for a prince.

And fuck it, when Freed woke up - becuase he would wake up dammit - Gajeel was gonna treat him like a prince. Two weeks ago he'd given Freed shit for being pampered, but now Gajeel would give anything to be the person pampering his spoiled ass that moment. He'd bring him hot tea, make him dinner, massage his damn feet if he had to. Anything to get his prince back to him.

But for now, he had to make the crown. Because once the crown was complete, then Freed would be awake and everything would be fine. It just had to be fine. Yes, it was a ridiculous claim to make, but he had to cling onto something for hope.

He'd make Freed a real crown one day. Metal, infused with gemstones.

Freed would like that. He'd call Gajeel an idiot, but he'd enjoy it really.

Gods dammit, this was so stupid. Gajeel growled and stood up, but kept the half-made wooden crown in his hand. His body protested from the small amount of movement, but he stormed towards a nearby upturned tree that he had been resting on and slammed his fist into the bark. He did it again, and again, not turning his skin to iron so that he could feel the coarseness of the wood grazing his knuckles. He needed to feel something dammit!

"That helping you?" Laxus' voice came from behind him, and Gajeel nearly jumped at the sudden sound as he turned. Fuck, how had he missed the man approaching. "It doesn't look healthy."

"The hell are you doin' here?" Gajeel grunted. He wasn't in the mood for company. "Needed to think."

"I get that, I've been there," Laxus shrugged, leaning against the tree that Gajeel had punched and looking unwilling to move. "But he woke up, asked where you were. Thought you might get pissed off if someone didn't tell ya."

Gajeel paused.

Freed was awake.

Awake, and asking for him.

For a week, Gajeel hadn't allowed himself to think about Freed at all, and the few moments that resolve had slipped he had gone to the worst case scenario. Maybe it was some kind of bullshit defence mechanism, where if he thought only about the bad outcome then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when it happened, but he suddenly realised that he hadn't entertained the possibility that it might be okay.

He wanted to storm back to Magnolia as quickly as he could, but stumbled a little under his feet. His legs were aching and his body objecting to any movement whatsoever. He tried to fight through it, because dammit he could make it through some pain if he got to see Freed, but he nearly fell to the ground. The only thing stopping him was Laxus.

"He's not gonna be happy if you nearly kill yourself getting to him," Laxus said, hooking Gajeel's arm over his shoulder. "The two of you are fucking idiots, you know that. You love each other to the point of self destruction."

"Love?" Gajeel muttered. "He said that?"

"He looked pretty damn heartbroken when he realised you weren't there," Laxus said, slowly walking while helping Gajeel. "It means he loves you."

"Y' think so?" Gajeel asked.

"Of course," Laxus scoffed, helping the aching man traverse the woodlands. "He's not gonna admit it yet, probably convinced himself it's too soon to say it, but it's pretty damn clear. He doesn't show his emotions very well, so the fact he's showing them about you is a big deal. And if any guy could affect him so much to make him fall in love within a week, it's you."

"Really?"

"In a week, you managed to turn hatred into a special bond, you managed to nail a unison raide, you got rid of the fucking demon that's been ruining his life," Laxus laughed. "You're it for Freed. You're the last guy he's ever gonna love because who the fuck could compare to that?"

Gajeel blushed a little. Was Sparky always this complimentary?

"Aint this the point where you say yer gonna kick my ass if I fuck around with him?" Gajeel asked, because he wasn't particularly good with his feelings and Laxus had just said a lot of things that could overwhelm Gajeel if he lingered on them for too long. "Give me the shovel talk or whatever?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Laxus asked. "I saw how you look at him, I know you're not gonna be a dick or hurt him. And if you do, he'd deal with you himself."

Gajeel certainly agreed with that, his prince by no means needed anyone to fight his battles for him.

He found himself a little happy that he had gotten Laxus' blessing, even if he didn't think he particularly needed it. Laxus was an important part of Freed's life, and Gajeel didn't want to be the reason for any kind of rift between them. He also wouldn't have been surprised if Freed was firmly the type of man who might choose his friends over a new lover, and Gajeel respected that. So to have Laxus approve of them felt good.

"Just be good to him, okay?" Laxus said quietly, helping Gajeel pass over a branch that had fallen. "A lot of people have been shitty to him - more than he realsies - so be in his corner, okay?"

"Of course," Gajeel nodded, because he didn't need to be told that.

"But don't take any shit from him either," Laxus said with renewed volume, and apparently the seriousness of their conversation was over. "He's a cocky son of a bitch and he can pull some shit when you least expect it. If you're gonna be his boyfriend then it's your responsibility to knock him down a peg when he's being an ass."

"Kinda contradictory, don't y' think," Gajeel laughed a little.

"Trust me, you'll see just how much of an ass he can be, and you'll see what I mean," Laxus grinned at Gajeel, and Gajeel felt as though this was Laxus' way of offering Gajeel a way into his life, as well as Freed's. Gajeel grinned back, and they continued walking. After a little while, Laxus spoke again. "Now, you're gonna have to test how much you care for him now. We can either walk back like this, and get there past midnight, or go to the train station and risk a fucking train without his runes to settle our stomachs? It'll be faster, but feel shitty as hell."

"Train," Gajeel said immediately, despite his stomach groaning at the thought. "He's worth it."

——

When Gajeel saw Freed, he almost wanted to cry.

He stormed across the infirmary, and Freed looked towards him with an expression just as relieved as Gajeel was feeling. He didn't stop moving, and wrapped his arms around Freed as tightly as he could in a hug. Freed did the same, apparently his body recovered enough to deal with Gajeel's full strength. For a moment, they both clung to each other as tightly as they could, and Gajeel found solace in the scent of his lover's embrace.

Freed was alive, awake, and here. Everything was okay.

"I'm sorry," Gajeel mumbled into the crook of Freed's neck. "I should've been here when you woke up. I'm sorry."

"You're here now, that's all that matters," Freed whispered, and the hoarseness of his voice made Gajeel feel like shit. Freed seemed to notice, as he pulled away and cupped Gajeel's chin firmly. "I've been tortured by a demon for all of my adult life, and you have gotten rid of that. Not being at my side the moment I woke up is entirely forgivable."

"Should've been here," Gajeel argued, pressing his forehead against Freed's.

"I don't mind," Freed whispered again, leaning up and pressing his lips against Gajeel's in a chaste kiss. "So long as you're here now, I don't mind."

Gajeel leant down further, and pressed their lips together again. He pushed into Freed slightly to deepen the kiss, and his inner dragon purred at the feeling of Freed kissing him again. One night with the man had been enough for Gajeel to know that Freed was special, and that no kiss would be as good as a kiss from Freed. He had been wanting nothing but to feel the man against him again, and to have it finally happen was euphoria.

When they pulled apart, Freed was smiling at Gajeel with a lovestruck expression that looked so good on him. Gajeel would have loved to keep Freed in that moment, because such an expression could only be achieved when someone was feeling bliss. Freed was blissful looking at Gajeel!

"Lie with me," Freed requested. Gajeel didn't need to be told twice.

He maneuvered his tired body into the bed - resisting the urge to make a comment about Freed's nude state - and rested against the headboard. Freed shifted slightly, and leant against Gajeel, nuzzling into his chest with a yawn. So fucking cute.

For what seemed like forever, they stayed like this. Just the two of them, together again and breathing and alive and happy. Gajeel would happily live the rest of his life in that moment, with Freed in his arms and with comfort filling his soul. This was a level of contentment that Gajeel had never felt before, and he was unwilling to let it go. Freed was going to be his for as long as Gajeel could fight for him.

"I meant it, y'know," Gajeel murmured, pressing his lips to Freed's ear. "I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. I meant everything I said."

"I know you did," Freed smiled, looking up. "I want to be yours too. I want to wake up beside you every morning, and kiss you goodnight every night."

Gajeel couldn't help but grin, lean forward and press their lips together again. Freed was his. He was Freed. In each other's arms, they fell asleep. Content, happy, and in love.

[ca311ach]

Mistake

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk

Warning: Major Character Death (?)

(Note: I hate sad endings. Keep that in mind.)

They were so close in the beginning...

Deku and katsuki have been growing apart. Deku’s working all the time, katsuki never sees him anymore— it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be there. They never talk, never eat together, never go anywhere together, it’s all just work—they don’t even sleep together, Deku crashes at the office more often than not. Deku brushes it all off, says he really doesn’t have time for this conversation, they’ll talk later—

“Oh, will we? ‘Cause-“

“Yeah, sure, Kacchan, look, I really have to go-“

“Then maybe you shouldn’t fucking come back.” Katsuki’s angry, not really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He regrets saying it almost immediately, clenches his jaw against the apology balanced on the edge of his tongue-

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” -only for it to dissipate and coat his throat in ashes. Deku’s still shoving clothes into his go bag, hasn’t looked up even once during the conversation. Like it doesn’t matter. Like their relationship and it’s impending end mean absolutely nothing to him. Katsuki stares, sinuses prickling, the room blurring just a little at the edges.

“do you... do you even love me anymore?” The question slips out before he can stop it. Dread drops heavily into his stomach, debris from the beating, breaking thing in his chest.

“...I’ll come by in the morning. Get my things.” Deku pauses, hesitates. Katsuki wants him to look up, to look at him. Just once. They’ve both always been so damn bad with words but they wear their hearts on their sleeves. If Deku would just look at him- “Bye.” Katsuki’s body goes cold. When Deku pushes past him, he does nothing. Stands on numb, shaky legs as the front door opens, shuts. No particular force behind it. No anger, no hesitation, just open and shut. It feels like a dismissal.

Suddenly, katsuki can’t be here anymore, in their shared space with the dozens of photos on the walls, the old worn out sofa with that weirdly shaped stain on the rightmost cushion, the out-of-place poster in the kitchen because katsuki isn’t good with surprises. The all might curtains in the living room because they’re both nerds, the football-sized Pomeranian plushy Deku got him because ‘it looks just like you’. That soap dispenser in the bathroom that looks kinda like a dick but Deku always says is an abstract cat. Their bed.

He stands in the door of their bedroom for a while, itching to leave but not wanting to run into Deku on his way out. What feels like hours later, he throws on a coat, grabs his keys, and rushes from the apartment like a culprit from a grisly crime scene.

He goes to Eijirou and Mina for the night. Their house is always open to him, a haven away from his empty home. He tries not to utilize it much, stubbornly denying his loneliness until the sleep deprivation starts to affect his work.

There’s a large scale villain attack the next day.

Number one hero Deku’s not there to answer the call. He and pro hero Shouto had left the country just that morning for a mission.

The villain has a metallurgy quirk that allows them to control and warp any magnetic metal within their vicinity. The greater the magnetism, the more control they have. They’ve been souped up on an unstable trigger knockoff, developed by an underground lab syndicate. As a result, their influence has expanded to a larger radius and to metals they wouldn’t typically be able to work with. Driven insane by the power, the villain is tearing apart the city of Fukuoka indiscriminately, tearing pipes up through the ground, supports from buildings, smashing cars into groups of civilians and using lampposts as oversized baseball bats. Smaller pieces of metal have become cannon balls, bullets. The civilian death toll is climbing, at least three heroes have been killed; the situation is horrific. Heroes from across Japan are called in to help.

Lemillion and his partner, Suneater, had been first to the scene, there when the perpetrator’s quirk spiraled out of control. They were rushed to the hospital before the roads had filled with flying debris and fleeing civilians. Gale is down for the count— the villain had used his quirk against him, sent hundreds of tiny projectiles to ride his wind and penetrate his skin. Creati managed to slow the villain’s trek across Fukuoka, distracting her with any number of non-metallic obstacles and distance-based weaponry. Unfortunately, the swirl of metal constantly rotating the villain thwarted any attempts at getting close. Plastic sedation bullets ricocheted off flying mufflers and mopeds. Ingenium had to rush in and grab her when she collapsed from exhaustion, narrowly avoiding a sharp piece of sheet metal, poised to slice them in half.

Dynamite arrives late alongside Pinky and Red Riot. He’d called in sick for the day, tired and numb, having spent the night staring at the wall of the Kirishimas’ guest bedroom. The couple had taken the day off, too, to keep an eye on Katsuki. None of them expected the urgent call from their superior, ordering them to Fukuoka /immediately/ to assist in taking down a level nine threat.

Dynamite goes into the fight determined to do the best he can, exhausted as he is, heartbroken and puffy eyed. He’s sloppy, reckless, pushes himself past his limits and then some. He’s shot with makeshift bullets, impaled with scraps, maimed by debris. He’s torn apart.

In the end, Dynamite wins the fight but Katsuki loses his life.

Izuku is watching the fight from Europe where he and Shouto have been temporarily commissioned. He feels helpless, guilty, even before Dynamite turns up on screen. Hasn’t been able to shake the heaviness in his chest since that morning, when he’d rushed to grab more of his things from their shared apartment before heading to the airport. The feeling only multiples when his husband appears on screen, builds from his stomach up to his throat. His chest hurts. He wishes he was there, he wishes he hadn’t left Kacchan like he had, with their relationship up in the air. They were going through a rough patch, and it’s not like he’d been trying to smooth it over at all. Katsuki was perfectly in his right to be angry, especially when Izuku repeatedly dismissed his concerns for the sake of work.

The Dynamite on screen was a mess, though it might not look like it to anyone else. Izuku knew his Kacchan, knew Dynamite, how he moved, how his attacks worked, the explicit precision behind his every maneuver. The Dynamite on screen was reckless and sloppy, throwing himself at the villain again and again. Izuku would swear that he could hear a sharp crunch the next time the villain grabs Dynamite with claws of sharp scrap metal and slams him into the ground.

Still, he blasts himself out of that crushing clutch, propels himself into the air, bleeding and bruised and so obviously broken despite the distance between the fight and the helicopter’s camera. Izuku wishes he could grab him, hold him down, tell him to ‘stop, already, dammit, you’re gonna die if you keep this up.’ But all he can do is watch as Dynamite once again throws himself at the villain, narrowly dodging her reaching, grabbing metal hands, to propel himself into the whirl of torn and splintered metal rotating around her.

He makes it through, disappears into the artificial twister. The circumference of the area he entered is dyed red, a skirt of blood and gore and proof that all the world watching may have just witnessed Dynamite getting shredded into bloody pulp. Izuku’s eyes water, the guilt and the helplessness and the love for his husband that could never fade, never in a million lifetimes, finally clog his throat. He can’t help it, though, the hope in his chest. He’s not dead. Katsuki is not dead.

The whirl of metal stops, suddenly. The scene on the television is completely still; he’d almost think the thing had frozen if not for the exclamations of the live reporter. And then it all falls, loudly, dramatically, a veritable ruckus that has almost everyone in the foreign office around him hurriedly blocking their ears. Izuku can’t move. Can’t breath. The camera zooms.

Dynamite stands over the prone body of the villain. He looks... horrific. Nightmarish. More blood and gore than body. The reporter gasps. The office around Izuku is silent.

Dynamite falls.

And Izuku goes cold.

No.

A winged hero, Blue Jay some part of him interjects, flies over, drops down to let the two medics they have in their arms tend to Dynamite. Uravity follows, hurriedly floating debris and pushing it to the side, making way for more medical personnel. Her movements are frantic.

Not like this.

They finally get the ambulance through, load dynamite in with practiced speed and, sirens wailing, take off across the screen. Blue jay kneels beside the still unconscious villain, grabs at Uravity’s arm to draw her distracted eyes away from a cause she can no longer do anything for.

Not like this, please.

Izuku takes the first flight he can find back to Japan, Shouto at his back. They’re off the flight the second it touches down, in a car not long after.

The hospital is a mess, handling an overload of casualties from the fight. So many civilians injured, so many heroes, too. It’s a struggle to break through bustling nurses and doctors and weeping families, but Izuku and Shouto get to the desk, are promptly sent back to the ER waiting room.

Hours pass, no one comes to talk to them. He and Shouto watch people come and go, watch doctors deliver the good, the bad, and the horrible. Finally, someone comes. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes wide but shuttered. She stares at them for a moment, Izuku and Shouto, and they stare back at her. When the tension reaches a boiling point, she takes a deep shuddering breath and, with a voice choked by grief, she says,

“I’m sorry.”

And Izuku’s world /shatters/.

[passionate-reply]

Passionate Reply is back, and taking a look at one of the best known and most influential albums in industrial history: Nine Inch Nails’ Pretty Hate Machine! Transcript of the video below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, it’s finally time to discuss arguably the best known industrial musician of all time, and his debut album: this is Pretty Hate Machine, by Nine Inch Nails. Released in 1989, it is, technically, an “80s album,” but given how stylistically influential it would become on the music of the 1990s, it’s hard to think of it as a product of the preceding decade. Still, it’s worth remembering that this album came out almost fifteen years into the history of industrial, and Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor has never denied his indebtedness to, and appreciation of, the genre’s 80s pioneers, like Coil and Skinny Puppy. Pretty Hate Machine didn’t go down in history for being the very first industrial album, but rather for being the first one that most people actually heard--particularly, in Reznor’s native America. What really set Nine Inch Nails apart, then and now, is Reznor’s ability to marry those harsh textures and machine beats with a real knack for that most elusive of songwriting goals: the pop hook.

Music: “Head Like a Hole”

Pretty Hate Machine’s unforgettable opener, “Head Like a Hole,” is the track on the album that you’re most likely to have encountered before, and sits just behind “Hurt” and “Closer” in the ranking of the best-known Nine Inch Nails songs. There’s not a whole lot to say about it, musically, that hasn’t already been said--each of its three parts have that devilishly catchy quality about them, and despite its underlying electronic structure, inspired by European EBM, it’s got just enough rock credibility to appeal to American audiences. It wasn’t a huge pop hit, of course, but I think it’s easy to hear how and why it earned its acclaim, and high rotation on MTV.

As far as the lyrics are concerned, I’m always happy to listen to an anti-capitalist jam, especially when it comes to industrial, but I feel like that lends a weird tension to “Head Like a Hole.” Reznor wants to sell us his denouncement of “God Money” and the relentless hunger of capital, but using such an approachable, or marketable, pop formula forces us to question its sincerity. Despite industrial music’s deep roots in counter-cultural values, the sociopolitical commentary of the album doesn’t dig any deeper than “Head Like a Hole”’s vague indignance at being controlled by something-or-other. While I won’t argue that artists ever “owe” anybody more political art, Trent Reznor popularized a style of music that began as an expression of working-class struggles on another continent, partly by stripping away most of the truly subversive commentary, so I can’t say I don’t understand why many die-hard industrial listeners see him as something of a profiteering poseur. So, if Pretty Hate Machine isn’t about class struggle, what is it about? The short answer is, atomized personal struggles, particularly in unhealthy relationships.

Music: “Sanctified”

While a track like “Sanctified” isn’t quite as explosively hooky as “Head Like a Hole,” it’s made of the same basic stuff: tight mechanical rhythms, shouty vocals, and distorted guitars that offer just the right amount of edge. As the title implies, it deals with themes of religious purity, darkly inverted--a common enough subject for traditional goth music, though a bit less so for industrial. Still, it’s not unheard of, and seems like a good fit for this particularly American take on industrial. The sort of push-and-pull, love-and-hate dynamic on display here is a consistent one throughout the album, though at times, it feels a bit more low-brow.

Music: “Kinda I Want To”

“Kinda I Want To” is certainly a catchy song, which is once again cut from that same dominant songwriting formula, but I find it’s one that I have my own love-hate relationship with. Whether or not I like a given song is rarely determined chiefly by its lyricism, but in this case, I find “Kinda I Want To” to be almost insufferably puerile and crass. For as much as the critical consensus has really turned around on Nine Inch Nails, with Oscars, Emmys, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame smiling at Reznor’s artistic achievements, I still remember growing up in a world where this was panned as music for angsty teenage boys. While I obviously think *Pretty Hate Machine* has more value than that, it’s moments like “Kinda I Want To” that make me see the argument. It’s always struck me as a track that takes itself very seriously, and yet fails to convince me. On the other hand, you’ve got a track like “Down In It,” which feels unashamed of being slightly lighter fare.

Music: “Down In It”

In fairness, “Down In It” isn’t entirely “light” material, with its lyrical theme of addiction and its delightfully scratchy soundscape, but it’s danceable and club-friendly in a way that really sets it apart from the rest of *Pretty Hate Machine.* It’s even got a bit of hip-hop influence, with its pseudo-rap verses, and that distortion that sounds vaguely like record scratching--calling back to the early days of hip-hop when it was chiefly employed as party music. Reznor and company famously mimed “Down In It” on the TV program *Dance Party USA,* which a lot of Nine Inch Nails fans see as incongruously absurd, but I think this track genuinely does fit in just fine in that milieu. I don’t look down upon dance music, and I don’t think it’s insulting to suggest that “Down In It” is some great dance music. It was actually the album’s lead single, and a fairly successful one in its own time, so clearly, people were moving to it.

Pretty Hate Machine’s iconic cover is somewhat abstract, featuring this tightly framed streak of lurid magenta and teal that’s boxed in by oppressive walls of black. While that artificial colour palette makes it difficult to ascertain exactly what we’re looking at, it appears to be some sort of large machine with a symmetrical row of spokes, though it’s possible to interpret it as something more organic as well--perhaps a ribcage, or a row of teeth.

The album title “Pretty Hate Machine” strikes me as almost pithy with how straightforward it is. Yes, you can put this album on and expect to find some electronic, machine music, with a fair amount of spite and vitriol, but covered over in that “pretty” pop sheen. Like a lot of the album, it’s on the nose, and perhaps a bit simplistic, but functional enough that I don’t overtly dislike it, even if it isn’t exactly clever.

Reznor’s follow-up to Pretty Hate Machine, 1994’s The Downward Spiral, would go on to even greater acclaim than his debut, and it’s considered by many to be his magnum opus.

Music: “Reptile”

Given its greater emphasis on guitar-driven noise-scapes, and its concept album style narrative, chronicling its protagonist’s descent into madness, I completely understand why the rock criticism establishment is high on this album. In what will probably go down as one of my most controversial opinions, I really don’t care for The Downward Spiral very much at all, precisely because it fits the “rock album” mould so much more than albums like Pretty Hate Machine. Give me the EBM beats any day of the week.

My favourite track on Pretty Hate Machine is its closing track, “Ringfinger.” While “Ringfinger” is yet another toxic relationship-themed number, I like the emphasis on work or labour in its lyrics. The context is quite different, but I’d like to think it has a hint of that working-class consciousness of industrial’s European forebears. Musically, I think this song’s outro is to die for. It closes out the album with some impressively cacophonous rhythm, almost ridiculous in the density of how many loops are playing at once--and yet it works! Overall, I think the percussion tracks throughout the whole album are really remarkable, despite often being overlooked by critics. That’s all I have for today--thanks for watching!

Music: “Ringfinger”

[houseof-harry]

What Happened in Jersey Pt. 3 | G.D.

A/N - YALL! Buckle up, I’ve been working on this part for legit a week and I’m proud of how it came out. It’s a little long, but so much happens so get excited! Let me know what you think! Read Part 2 here!!!

Word Count - 7.6K

Warnings - mentions of smut

***

Recap:

“Don’t freak yourself out, though. He’s a good guy,” Jessie sighs. You rub your hands over your stomach, getting lost in your thoughts. That’s when you remember something very important that you don’t know about Grayson.

“What’s his number?”

“Grayson’s?” Jessie laughs out.

“No, my other baby daddy,” you joke.

“I’ll give it to you and then we’ll head to breakfast?” You sit up and nod.

“Thank god that’s over. Things can only get better from here, right?”

***

The next couple of weeks were pretty nice and uneventful. You got Grayson’s number and, as he said, you texted every day. You’d actually Facetime a lot, too. He says it’s because he wants to see the baby bump once it starts to come in.

You would tell him about your day, related to the pregnancy and not, and he would tell you about his adventures with Ethan and all the things he found doing his research on the internet. He keeps you updated on the fruit or vegetable that’s continuing to grow inside you as the time passes. He tried to find any solution he can to your morning sickness that has persisted. He even sent you a couple care packages with the things you said you craved, but it usually would come too late for you to enjoy. The look of the foods would make you nauseous, but your roommates loved the free treats.

The great part of all of this is that you have a relationship forming with your baby daddy, who will inevitably be in your life forever.

The bad part of all of this is that you are definitely falling for him.

You had a crush on him, and to be quite frank who wouldn’t. This hot guy has not only been talking to you every day, checking in with you and making sure you’re okay, but you’re literally pregnant with his baby. From having hot ass sex in the bathroom at New Year’s.

So it was safe to say you were into him. Which terrified you. Because there was no way he was into you. You were constantly ready for him to just never respond again, or for him to totally drop you and your baby for someone else, someone else with way less baggage. So you would do your best to keep it friendly and push him away whenever you felt like things were getting past friendly. You know, the healthy way to deal with your emotions.

Little to your knowledge, Grayson definitely had it worse than you. A part of him believed this was the universe giving him a huge ass sign that this was his future. You and your baby together were the beginning of your future as a family. But, he also recognizes that he is a hopeless romantic and has done this many times before. However, never with a baby involved and he was terrified of scaring you away. So he would try his best to keep everything friendly. Of course, he always miserably failed.

Your roommates and friends were definitely catching on to what was happening. They knew you were talking to the guy you met over winter break. However, you still managed to keep the news of the pregnancy to yourself. Given, you used bribery as your main mode of keeping their excited minds at bay, but if it works then it works. If they brought up your sickness or any of your other odd behavior, you’d remind them of the free food from the care packages you would give them and if they wanted it to continue, they should be minding their business. A bit harsh, but they wouldn’t let up otherwise.

You managed to get to spring break without anyone asking the big question, and you were grateful for it. You weren’t sure how you’d lie to them.

Your best friend’s house would be a different story. Anna will notice every little change in you that’s happened since you last saw her in December, and you definitely would not be able to come up with a lie to explain it all away. So you decide that as soon as she asks, you’d spill.

That actually went pretty smoothly. She was supportive and excited for you. However, she didn’t trust Grayson one bit and had even found his Instagram (despite you withholding his last name) and showed you his 9 million followers. This made you spiral a bit. Were you ruining his career? Did he have a life in LA he could never leave for your baby? Is he going to bring all these influencers around your baby?

Before you can control your actions, you’re facetiming Grayson.

His bright smile pops up on your screen. “Hey sweet girl, what’s up?” Every time he calls you that it makes you feel warm inside. It terrifies you because you don’t want to get to attached to him when you’re just friends. Who are having a baby together. Just friends who are having a baby together.

When he notices your furrowed brow and your lack of a smile, his happiness vanishes and is replaced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Anna showed me your Instagram,” you mumble. You’re almost embarrassed. You sound like a child. You instantly regret calling him.

“Anna did what?” He brings the phone closer to him so he can hear better.

“Anna found your Instagram and showed it to me.” “Oh.” You nod. “What…what did you think? Pretty douchy?” This makes you giggle as you shake your head. He lets out a breath once he sees your small smile.

“No. Just a lot of followers and stuff. I didn’t know you guys were that well known or anything.”

He coughs awkwardly and nods. “Uh, yeah. Is that okay?”

You sigh and frown. Your intention was never to make him feel bad about it.

“Of course. It’s your job, and your passion. I love watching you edit and stuff. You never have to be scared of what I think, I’ll always support you. Just intimidates me a bit, knowing that eventually 9 million people are going to be involved in my life.”

“We will do everything we can to keep you and our strawberry safe and off social media for as long as you want. Ethan already knows that’s the plan too and we’ve been filming some random videos for if we are ever out of commission for a little while for you guys.”

Thinks makes you smile while your features soften. You bite your lip, deciding on whether or not you should share all of your concerns.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Grayson has gotten really good at reading you, even over the phone. You’d like to think it’s the emotions of the pregnancy that give you away, but he’ll catch you even when you think you’re hiding it well.

“I dunno.” You shrug and look away, bringing your knees to your body.

“Liar. Come on, what’s going on? I can’t help make you feel better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your best to stop the tears from clouding your vision. He was always so nice to you, and it made you wanna cry every time.

“I don’t know. It just got me thinking about how your life is in LA and eventually you’ll meet someone out there and then I’ll be here just figuring things out alone. I don’t know, scares me sometimes to think about it.” You refuse to look at him while you speak and you’re met with silence at first.

“Y/N, why are you always waiting for something to go wrong? I’m dedicated to our baby for the rest of forever, and I’m dedicated to you too,” he sighs. He looks like he’s about to say something else but decides against it.

“Sorry. It’s hard for me to trust people easily. Not that you’ve done anything wrong, you’ve actually done everything you could. I just-“ you bite your lip, hesitant to continue. Maybe you shouldn’t be loading your trauma onto him right before bed.

“Hey, I get it. It’s okay. Every time you’re scared of any of that, remember you’re not in it alone and we’re going to do everything together, good and bad. Plus, we get to finally see each other again in a couple of days. And, we get to see baby on the screen.” He smiles, rubbing his chest. His reminder makes you wipe under your eyes as you nod. “Plus, I’ve planned a day in the city for us and Ethan to do some fun shit.  It’s gonna be a good week, sweet girl. Can I see your smile?” This instantly makes you smile and he can’t stop cheesing either.  “It’s late there. You should be sleeping. Are you good to sleep? Or do you wanna stay on the phone a bit longer?”

You look at the clock and see it’s 1 am. Your eyes widen as you take a big breath in. “Uh, yeah I should go to bed. You don’t have to stay on with me, I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do.” You start to get under your covers, laying back.

“I’m gonna get in bed, too. We can stay on for a bit until you fall asleep. Gotta rest up for our strawberry.”

You breathe deeply through your nose to calm your emotions before agreeing. Maybe having his presence there, even over the phone, will make you feel better.

You get under your covers and settle in, putting your phone on the pillow next to you. It was nice hearing his breathing, and you closed your eyes.

“Thank you,” you mumble, barely audible. You assume he doesn’t even hear it. Hell, he might be asleep already.

“Anything for my sweet girl.” You hear him breathe out.

Your body instantly relaxes, and you’re finally able to fall asleep.

***

Wednesday quickly rolls around and before you know it, you’re on the road to your appointment.

Grayson would be meeting you at the office. You had sent him the address yesterday after his flight got in. You felt bad for having a morning appointment because he’s three hours behind coming from California on top of the fact that he had a farther drive. That was the only appointment you could get for that week, though.

You get a call from him when you’re five minutes away.

“Hey Gray.” You know you sound nervous, but you hope he ignores it.

“Hey. I’m here. Want me to wait in the parking lot or should I go in?” You can hear the roughness of his voice, he must be exhausted.

“Uh, wait in the parking lot. It’s a big building, kinda hard to navigate. I’m only five minutes away.”

“Perfect, I’m in the orange truck. See you soon”

You smile, but remember he can’t see you. “Okay, see you soon.” You hang up and the butterflies instantly begin in your tummy.

The last time you were with Grayson in person he was making you pregnant. You hoped that the last month and a half of talking will make it easy to be in person with him, but you never know. What if it’s awkward and uncomfortable?

You pull into the parking lot and you see his truck instantly. Not many people have orange pickups in your area. Or in general, you’d assume. You pull into the spot next to his passenger side door. He looks up when your car pulls in, and his bright smile is painted across his face. He’s jumping out of his car before you’ve even stopped yours. You grab your purse and get out, closing the door and looking up. He’s antsy on his feet waiting at the back of the cars for you to walk to him.

“Hi sweet girl.” He opens his arms as you walk towards him and you allow your body to collide with his. His arms are around you in an instant and you hold him close to you by his torso. It feels like the world has stopped. He smells clean and fresh, just like he did the last time and it overwhelms your senses.

He rubs your back, not moving away from you and you definitely don’t complain. Hugging him has made you feel calmer than you had felt since you first found out you were pregnant. He was a safe haven while the rest of the world continued to go on.

Eventually, you turn your head to look up at him, keeping him in your arms, your chin resting on his chest with a wide smile plastered on your face. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling? Excited?” He smooths one of his hands over your hair before cupping your cheek.

You nod. “Yeah. It’ll be the first appointment where I can hear the heartbeat. I’m just excited to see our baby.”

He smiles. “Our baby, yeah. God, it’s so good to be here with you. Good to hold you.” He squats down and holds your stomach, his face coming close to your slightly pudgy belly. Your hands rest on his shoulders while your cheeks heat up.

“Hi, baby. It’s nice to finally meet you. Thanks for watching out for your mama, she doesn’t actually like being alone as much as she says she does.” You laugh at this, rubbing your hand over the spot he’s talking to.

“We need to go in if we wanna be on time.” You grab his wrists and pull him back up. He puts a hand on your lower back as you start to walk.

You make it into the building, check in, and are called back. The nurse gets everything she needs from you and leaves you and Grayson alone in the exam room.

He’s pacing around as you sit on the exam table, refusing to look.

“What’s up?” You interrupt his thoughts, a concerned look on your face.

“Huh? Oh. It’s just crazy that I’m meeting our baby for the first time today. Really wild. In a good way though.” He smiles and walks next to you. Before you can respond, there’s a knock and then your doctor is walking in.

“Hey, Y/N.” He smiles at you.

“Hi Dr. Jordan.” You wave.

“And you must be the father. Dr. Jordan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out to Grayson and he shakes it.

“Grayson,” is all he says.

“So, we’re having a baby?” His smile widens as you and Grayson both nod back.

“Yeah, we are,” you respond.

“Let’s cut to the chase then and check up on ‘em. How does that sound?” He moves around, getting the ultrasound machine ready to go.

“Really good.” You smile at Grayson and he gives you a small one back. You can see he’s really nervous, so once you lay back and lift your shirt to just below your boobs, you’re grabbing his hand in yours. This appears to ground him a bit as he starts breathing normally again.

The doctor moves your pants down a bit so they’re out of the way before grabbing the gel.

“It’s going to be a bit cold.” You nod and gasp when the gel hits your skin, gripping Grayson a bit harder, a shiver running up your spine. Grayson squeezes you back and you look at him. He’s watching the screen as the doctor moves the wand around.

Dr. Jordan is quiet for a little while you watch him. All of a sudden, you hear a thumping from the machine and Dr. Jordan smiles.

“That’s a heartbeat, guys.” Your free hand goes over your heart, your eyes filling with tears. Grayson looks close to crying too. He lifts your hand to kiss the back of it.

“Baby looks nice and healthy, growing at the right rate. Y/N, I’m gonna ask you to get a blood draw and to leave a urine sample, but otherwise you guys are good to go. Any questions?” Dr. Jordan asks while he wipes the gel off your stomach.

You and Grayson both look at each other, tears still threatening to spill and smiles on your face. You shake your head, unwillingly looking away and back at Dr. Jordan. “No, I think we’re good.”

Dr. Jordan smiles at the both of you. “Sounds good. Call us if you ever have any questions, okay? And congratulations, I’m excited for you both.” He stands and leaves.

You let go of Grayson’s hand to sit up and adjust your clothes. He continues to stand there just watching you. When you hop off and look up at him, a tear has rolled down his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Your brows pull together in concern and you grab his biceps lightly, rubbing up and down. This seems to snap him out of his trance a bit.

“Uh, yeah. That was just really incredible. We met our baby today. You’re growing our baby in here,” he puts both hands on your stomach and you giggle.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Thank you.” He looks so sincerely into your eyes, making you blush.

“You ready to go?” You ask, walking away from him to grab your purse. This man is way too powerful to be making you feel a certain type of way. You are two friends having a baby. A friend baby.

He looks a bit hurt for a moment but quickly recovers. “Uh, yeah.” He walks to the door and opens it for you.

You get your tests all done and figured out, and schedule your next appointment for around Easter so that you’d have an excuse to be home from school. Before you know it, you and Grayson are walking out of the doctor’s office. He’s got an arm around your shoulder as you approach your cars.

“Can I bring you and strawberry to lunch? I don’t wanna leave you guys yet,” he says sheepishly, almost like he was nervous to ask you.

“Sure,” you smile up at him and wrap your arm around his waist. He lets out a breath of air he had been holding in and relaxes a bit.

“Cool. I’ll drive us and bring you back here after. Don’t need you woozy behind the wheel after your blood draw.” He rubs your shoulder.

“How is it that we are literally having a baby together and you somehow treat me like I’m the baby?” You laugh.

“One day you’ll let me take care of you,” he chuckles, shaking his head as you part ways to get into his truck.

You get into the passenger seat, buckling in. You were floating on cloud nine, it felt like you and Grayson were actually a little family.

Your thoughts are interrupted when he gets into his seat and adjusts.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks while he buckles.

“Of course.”

“Do you think we could, like, record a little video update or something?” You raise your brows, a bit confused.

“Of what?”

“Just like our thoughts and reactions and stuff. I was thinking I could put a video together at the end of all this for us and our baby when we’re all older and wanna remember. It wouldn’t go on YouTube or anything, not unless you wanted it to. And you probably don’t know a better video editor to do this project,” he bites his lip and raises his eyebrows while trying to gauge your reaction.

Your eyes are suddenly filled with tears again, thinking about how much Grayson really loves this baby. You nod and wipe under your eyes. “Yeah, that’d be cute,” you squeak out, not trying to let on how affected you are buy his words.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He moves his hand to rub your thigh. “Only good things, sweet girl.”

You nod and laugh. “I know. Everything makes me cry now.” You sniffle and breath in, collecting yourself a bit. “I’m ready, let’s do it.”

He reaches into his pocket and brings his phone out, holding it up so that you’re both in the frame. He starts to record and you watch the both of you on the screen. “Hello to whoever is lucky enough to be shown this video.” This makes you giggle, and he smiles. “We just got out of our first appointment together and saw our little baby for the first time.” He instinctively puts his hand on your stomach and your hand goes on top of his. “If you’re our precious baby watching this, we are so excited to meet you. Your mama and I already love you so much.” This makes you squeeze his hand and he looks over to you. “Anything you wanna say?”

“I dunno. What do you think I should say?” You giggle, your cheeks flushing when you meet his eyes.

“Anything you’ll wanna remember in a couple years. I know it’s weird talking to a camera at first, but I’ll cut this all out.” His gaze is kind and patient while you think of what you want to say.

“It’s still so surreal that I’m even pregnant, but hearing our baby’s heartbeat today has made me so grateful I’m able to be in this position. I’ve been so excited to be a mom my whole life, so if you’re my beautiful baby watching, thank you for making my dreams come true.” You smile at the camera and Grayson keeps his eyes on you. You look to him expectantly.

He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts before turning to look at the camera.

“We’re about to go feed mama and baby now, as long as they’re feeling good of course. If baby is watching this still, thank your mom for all she went through for you when she was growing you, she’s working hard,” he chuckles and you laugh.

“I’m feeling good right now. Want a turkey BLT, actually.”

“What the woman wants, she gets. We’ll see you whenever the next exciting thing happens.” He turns the recording off and puts his phone away, starting the car.

“That’s gonna be really cute,” you sigh, the smile still sitting on your face.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be nice to have when we want to look back on all of this,” he pauses. “Do you know somewhere nearby with good sandwiches?”

“Yeah, there’s a deli like five minutes from here.”

You and Grayson head to the deli and have a nice lunch. Well, you do. Grayson eats a plain roll and pickles because all of the sandwiches had meat on them. You felt really bad, but he assured you it was okay because your little strawberry was craving a BLT.

Once you finish your sandwich, you notice he’s kind of zoned out.

“Grayson?” You look at him, folding your trash up while he just stares at you.

“Come stay with me for the rest of your break,” he blurts out all of a sudden. Your eyes widen.

“What?”

“Come stay for the next few days. We’re not going to get a lot of time together until you’re already halfway through everything.”

You start laughing awkwardly. “Grayson, I can’t just live with your family for a few days, they don’t know me. We don’t really know each other. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

He opens his mouth to rebuttal, but closes it again to think for a moment.

“It’s okay, Grayson. We don’t have to act like any of this is normal, we don’t have to force anything. Everything you’ve done for me has really been for strawberry. Don’t feel like you have any obligation to me.”

Grayson looks a bit hurt by your words, but nods. “Ready to go?” He stands up.

You sigh and nod, getting up with him. You throw your trash out and walk out with him. His hand doesn’t reach for you.

When you’re both settled back into his car, he sighs out your name so that you’ll look at him.

“I know this is all weird and stuff, but we’re going to have to be friends to raise this baby together. And my friends have come to stay with me at this house before. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Nine months isn’t a long time to start, never mind the fact that we won’t really see each other until you graduate, and I want us to be in the best place possible for our baby.” He starts the car, not looking at you while he finishes speaking.

“I’m sorry I got weird. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me.” You cross your arms, trying to shrink into the cushions of your seat.

“You’re right, technically I don’t. But I’m not a piece of shit and I plan on being a good dad. Plus, any friend of Jessie’s is a friend of mine, so even if you hadn’t gotten pregnant, we still would have hung out whenever you were in Jersey. I do what I want, and this is what I want to do.” He stops at a red light and looks at you for a second to see a pout on your lips. “And I hate being the reason you don’t smile. So, if you wanna, come stay with me for the next few days let’s do it, but if that makes you uncomfortable you should stay with Anna. We’re in the same boat, we both don’t have do anything we don’t want to.”

You sit there silently, pondering for a moment. A part of you dwells on the fact that he said you guys are friends, but friends don’t have other friend’s babies and then have them stay at their house with their family. The other part of you wants to throw caution to the wind and just enjoy your time with him before he moves on to start a life with someone for real.

“I’ll come,” you mumble. It almost surprises you more than Grayson that that’s your answer. You’re gonna blame the hormones for making you so impulsive.

“Okay.” His smile grows across his face. “Do you wanna come tomorrow morning so that you can have one more night with Anna?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna want to have dinner with me tonight if I’m not going to see them for a while.”

You guys pull back into the doctor’s office parking lot and he brings you back to your car. He parks and turns to you.

“I’m really excited to spend time with you, Y/N. Besides the fact you’re pregnant with my kid, you’re pretty funny sometimes,” he laughs. You scoff jokingly, biting your lip as you look at him.

“Sometimes? Well I think your jokes are cheesy.”

“Oh, do you now? Is that why you laugh every time?”

“Shut up,” you laugh with him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And don’t freak yourself out about meeting my mom, she’s excited to meet you. She’s really excited to meet the amazing woman giving her a grandchild.”

Your eyes widen a bit. “I forgot I was going to meet her. Now I’m more freaked out than before.” You wondered how you’d even introduce yourself to her. Hi I’m Y/N, your son and I hooked up literally once and are now having a baby.

“Hey, get out of your head, sweet girl. I told you, she’s excited. You’ll get along well, anyways. You’re pretty similar people.” He leans over to rub your thigh.

“Okay, I trust you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You squeeze his hand and open the door to get out. You turn to close the door and it looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. You wave and shut the door before getting back in your car.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

***

Grayson walks back into his house, almost body slamming Ethan by accident.

“Dude, watch out. Were you sitting here waiting for me the whole time?” He jokes, an annoyed Ethan rubbing his chest where Grayson’s shoulder hit him.

“No, stupid. I was going to take the quad for a ride. How’d the appointment go?” He watches Grayson put his keys down.

“Good. We heard the heartbeat and stuff, everyone’s healthy.” Grayson smiles to himself just thinking about it.

“It took, like, three hours for the doctor just to tell you that? Ma and I were scared something bad happened.”

“Nah, I took Y/N to lunch after because she really wanted a sandwich and it’s usually hard for her to even eat anything that early.”

“Oh, a date?” Ethan raises his brow as Grayson turns to him. Grayson rolls his eyes.

“No. A ‘you’re pregnant with my baby thanks for growing it’ lunch.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re gonna lie and tell me you’re not already in love with her or some shit?”

“E,” Grayson groans.

“No dude, you have to be careful. She’s going to be a part of your life forever now. Don’t fuck it up by falling too fast and then moving on. She’s not one of your ‘soulmates.’ She’s the mother of your kid. Just be smart.” Ethan opens the door and goes outside.

Grayson stands there for a minute, considering what Ethan said. He’s right, he can’t get caught up in any feelings he has for you because whatever relationship you have, it has to last forever. He knows he has the tendency to fall fast and then move on fast, too. He can’t do that with you.

***

You say your goodbye’s to Anna and her family before you head off to Jersey. You decide to call Grayson instead of texting him to let him know you’ve left. He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”

This makes you laugh. “Yeah, the only time something is wrong is when I call you and something is wrong is at night. I just wanted to let you know I left so I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Oh, good. Okay. Can I make any breakfast for you?”

“Absolutely not. Can’t eat right now.”

“I’m sorry.” He pauses. “I’m gonna go to the store right now, tell me what you need.” You hear him shuffle around on the other end.

“What I need? Nothing,” you giggle.

“Oh my god my baby mama doesn’t even use shampoo I think I’m the one who has morning sickness now,” you hear him fake gag which makes you laugh harder.

“Grayson, I’ve got little toiletries and stuff. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want you to be fine, I want you to be comfortable. Now tell me what I’m buying you because I’m already in the car.”

You list off all the products you use, the snacks have been your favorites, and he even says he’s going to get facemasks for you all to do.

When you pull into the long driveway, the butterflies erupt in your stomach. You had absolutely no clue how this would go, but there was no turning back now. You couldn’t, the driveway was too narrow to do that.

You reach the house and pull up next to the other cars in the driveway. You see Grayson sitting on the porch, which makes you laugh.

You turn the car off and go to gather your things when you hear your door open. You turn and see a giddy Grayson standing there.

“Hey.”

You laugh. “Hi there.”

“Where’s your stuff?”

“My bag is in the back seat.” He moves to grab your bag as you get your purse and hop out of the car, closing your door. He does the same once he’s got your bag on his shoulder.

“Welcome to the humble abode,” he says as he leads you by putting his hand on your back. You walk to the door and he opens it, letting you step in first.

“It is so nice in here.”

“My mom is super into décor and stuff. Wanna see where you’re staying?” You nod and he leads you to a closed door. When you look inside you see a bed next to… the washing and drier machine? You give him a questioning look.

“So we don’t have a guest room and I moved my bed into here because Ethan is annoying and I can’t share a room with him anymore. I’ll sleep on the couch.” You nod, walking inside. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not ideal. Ethan and I are gonna look for our own place when we’re back for the summer.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve slept in way worse place,” you giggle and he raises his brow.

“Alright, won’t ask. Ethan’s been low key dying to see you, even if he won’t admit it. He’s excited to meet his little niece or nephew.”

“Well I can’t deny him of that, can I? Where is he?”

Grayson leads you out into the main area. Ethan’s sitting at the dining table on his computer when he looks up and sees you. He’s immediately jumping up out of his seat.

“Y/N!” He runs over, but is stopped short by Grayson’s hand on his chest.

“Chill, bro. She’s pregnant. Don’t tackle her.”

Ethan rolls his eyes, ignoring him and keeping eye contact with you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you giggle. He looks at you expectantly. You’re fully laughing now as you grab his hand and put it on your stomach. He’s falling to his knees instantly, his other hand going to the other side of your tummy.

“Hey baby. I know you don’t have ears or anything yet, but this is Uncle E talking to you. You have a whole bunch of people out here waiting for your arrival, but I’m definitely the most excited.” Grayson slaps the back of his head. “Ow. Okay, most excited besides your parents. I’ll be the cool uncle and all that.” He stands back up, looking at you again. “Sorry. Hi, how are you?” He laughs.

“I’m good, how are you?” You giggle.

“Good, yeah,” he nods. You all just stand there for a second looking at one another.

“Okay, we’re getting all the awkward out now because I refuse to be treated like the random hookup who got pregnant. Okay?” You look at the both of them and they look a bit surprised by your boldness. “Sorry, I’ve lost the little filter I had before.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Awkward is all gone now. Let’s give you a tour.” Ethan puts an arm around your shoulder and brings you into the kitchen, leaving Grayson where he’s standing. He follows behind you, his hands in his pockets while he watches the both of you interact.

You and Ethan get along really well. After your initial moment, it seems like you’d actually be really good friends. You felt bad for not talking to him more over winter break.

Grayson is not a huge fan. He’s sitting on the sidelines watching you talk and laugh while Ethan tells you all about the new video they’re editing right now. Before Grayson can cut in, Lisa walks in.

She smiles. “You must be Y/N.”

You stand from your chair, giving a soft smile as you wipe your sweaty hands on your leggings. “Hi, Mrs. Dolan. It’s really nice to meet you.” You hold your hand out to her and she laughs, pulling you into a hug.

“Honey, call me Lisa.” She rubs your back before pulling away and holding your elbows to look you in the eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good!”

“Really? That’s good! These two put me through hell when I was pregnant with them. Can I get you anything?” You shake your head.

“No, I’m okay for now.”

“Just trying not to puke?” You laugh and nod. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’d know that face anywhere. Your first trimester is almost over, so you should be feeling better soon. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” She squeezes your arms before stepping back.

“Of course. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“This home is as much yours as it is Grayson’s now. You’re welcome here any time.” You smile and nod.

“Alright, you’re all gonna scare her away. Y/N, come see upstairs?” Grayson interjects and a part of you is relieved. Even though things were going really well, you were still on edge. You nod and go to follow him upstairs.

“I’m sorry about that, they just want you to feel comfortable here.” He leads you into a bathroom and shuts the door, making you laugh. “What?”

“The last time we were in this situation I got pregnant.” He starts laughing with you and you let your hand fall onto his shoulder.

Once you calm down, you smile widely at him. “They’re good people. Nice people. I’m sorry if I seem rude or off, I was just so anxious.”

He nods and pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back. You melt into him snuggling into his warm chest.

“It’s okay, they definitely understand. Plus, you didn’t seem anything but positive and happy. I couldn’t even tell you were trying not to puke.” You can feel his laugh rumble up through his chest.

“I’m still trying not to,” you laugh with him and he pulls back holding your shoulders to inspect your face. “I’m not gonna. Probably.” He raises his eyebrow. “Okay, if I do I’ll tell you so you can leave.” His face falls at that.

“No, I’ll sit with you and rub your back and all that. Get you water and stuff.” You’re shaking your head immediately.

“I hate puking in front of people. It’s okay, I’ve been doing it for weeks now. I’ve got a routine.” He pouts and pulls you back into a hug.

“I’m sorry. Please tell me if I can do literally anything for you.”

“You do enough, Gray. Don’t worry about it,” you mumble into his chest.

“What do you usually do to feel better?”

“Anything to distract myself. I just need to not think about it.”

“Challenge accepted.” He removes himself completely from you, opening the door. “Let’s go.”

The rest of the day with the Dolans is great. Grayson was right, you and Lisa are very similar and get along almost as well as you and Ethan do. You’re grateful they’re being so kind to you. Grayson is happy you’re getting along with his family, but it also makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a while. Jealousy. He doesn’t want to admit that he likes having all of your attention, but he can’t act like he doesn’t want it all the time. When you’re on the phone with him, you’re usually alone. He liked when he got to hear about your day and then he got to open up to you. What can he say, he’s a selfish man.

That’s why when the night is winding down, he asks his family if you guys can watch a movie alone. Lisa goes up to her room for the night, but Ethan isn’t so kind at first.

“What, you don’t want me to crash your date?” He sits beside you on the couch where you’re right next to Grayson. Your cheeks blush and Grayson rolls his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, E. Go away, you’ve harassed her all day.”

You open your mouth to say something but Ethan beats you to it.

“What if she likes spending time with me? After all, I am the better twin.”

“Bro if you don’t stop talking, I’ll fucking hit you.” “Yeah Gray? Doubt it. Y/N, I don’t blame you for-“ Ethan can’t finish his sentence before Grayson is up and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to get him to stand up.

“Out. Now.” Ethan holds his hands up in mock surrender as he backs away.

“Fine. I’m out. But, you know. Have a good date. Use protection.” He laughs as he walks up the stairs. You chuckle as Grayson huffs and plops down next to you.

“I fucking hate him sometimes. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, that shit was kind of funny.”

Grayson settles in, remote in one hand and your thigh in the other. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Anything’s fine, I’m pretty tired anyways.” He nods and puts on Someone Great. You’d already seen it, but you didn’t say anything. You’d probably be asleep within ten minutes, anyway.

You were right. You don’t even remember seeing the first five minutes of the movie. You’re slumped on Grayson’s shoulder, snoring softly.

Grayson does everything in his power not to move, not wanting to disturb you. He thought you were cute when you slept.

You’re woken up when you feel Grayson shifting underneath you. You’d moved to be half on top of him in your sleep. You decide to ignore it, hoping you’d just fall back asleep. But, he’s moving under you again.

“Gray?” You mumble, barely audible.

“Sorry, sweet girl. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. Stop moving.”

“Yeah, okay.” He puts his hands on your torso, shifting you a bit before he stills. That’s when you realize what you hear. There are moans coming from the tv. You open one eye, looking at the screen and sure enough they’re having sex. You giggle a bit.

“Hmm?” Grayson hums, running a hand over your back.

“Did the sex scene make you uncomfy?” This makes him laugh, shaking your body with his.

“No. Not uncomfy.” You suck in a breath at the implication of his words. You think back to what Anna said. Pregnant sex would probably be really hot. But you have no idea if he’d even be interested in that.

“Missing your girls from LA?” You’re asking before you can control your tongue. Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve said. You might just chop your tongue off completely.

“What?”

“Nothing, was a joke. Let me sleep.” You breathe out, hoping he didn’t hear you.

“Y/N.” He pats your back and then pushing your shoulder to roll you over. He grabs your chin so you have to look at him. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were missing your LA girls. It was a joke, because of the whole sex scene. Didn’t mean anything by it.” His face looks stone cold, like you’ve made him mad. “I’m sorry.”

“There are no LA girls,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. You raise your eyebrows. “What, do you think I’m a fuck boy or some shit?”

“Well, kinda.”

He looks genuinely shocked at your words, shaking his head. “Y/N, no. Hell no. Even if I was before, not now. There’s no LA girls, and there never have been.” He crosses his arms, completely retracting from you. You sit up.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know it’s a shitty assumption, but I mean what were we doing? I just thought you did that with everyone.”

He bites his lip, thinking carefully about what he wants to say next.

“I know what we did was only once, but I thought you were a good person. After we left, I kinda looked forward to when I’d see you over the summer whenever Jessie would bring you around. I don’t know what I was thinking or expecting, but it wasn’t a one and done deal. Ethan just really didn’t feel good that morning and made me leave before I could see you.”

You nod, taking this new information in. Of all the things he was going to say, you didn’t expect that. Although, he seems to always be filled with surprises.

“I’m sorry. It was a stupid comment, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Have there been any college guys?” He raises a brow.

“What? No. Even if I didn’t feel like a chubby marshmallow or some shit, no. I was…affected by our night together. And not just in the pregnant way.” You lean back next to him, mirror his posture.

“Oh, so you couldn’t stop thinking about my dick?” He smirks at you. You hit his arm and laugh.

“Shut up, that makes it sound so…dirty.”

“If it’s not dirty, then how were you thinking about it?”

“I don’t know. Just knew no one would really meet my expectations like you did.” Your voice is getting quieter and quieter as you feel like you want the couch to swallow you up.

“Yeah? How so?”

“You’re the first guy to make me finish.”

He gasps. “Y/N, no. Liar.”

You shake your head slowly, biting your lip.

“Wow. First guy to make you cum, first guy to impregnate you. I’m on a roll.” He puts his arm around your shoulder as you laugh.

“Oh god, I’m feeding his ego more and more.” You throw your arms up in defeat and he laughs.

“Well, the thought of you getting off to the thought of me this whole time definitely feeds my ego.”

Your cheeks blush as you roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

He laughs harder, pulling you closer to his body. “Nothing to be ashamed of, baby. Your hormones are raging. I’ve heard through the grapevine that pregnant women are horny all the time.”

“The grapevine? Who’s that?” “…Movies.”

“Alright well if you’ve got no LA girls, then you’ve been jerking off to the thought of me, too so I don’t appreciate the mockery.” You finally look at him, pointing your finger at him.

He bites his lips, his cheeks also becoming a dark shade of red. “You’ve caught me red handed.”

You giggle and poke his cheek. “That’s what I thought. Bet your fantasy is all ruined now that I’m getting bigger, though.”

He looks at you genuinely confused. “What?” You look at him with the same look of confusion. “Pregnancy isn’t sexy.”

He laughs. Like genuine, whole hearted laughter. “What are you talking about?” “What are you talking about?” You fire back.

“The fact that you’re pregnant with my baby is the hottest shit ever. I did that shit. We did that shit. It’s hot.”

“We can agree to disagree, then.”

So much for trying to keep things simple, Grayson thinks to himself.

“Let me prove it.”

***

Read the next part here

[98prilla]

Falling Apart: Part 1

Part 5 of the Dark Side Logan series. 

Roman goes for a walk in the imagination to try and clear his head. Things do not go well. 

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Ao3

He's in the imagination. Where else would he be, after all?

 Not his room, where his thoughts spiral out into fantasies and daydreams, not the commons, waiting for a splash of blue that's never coming, not even his own side of the imagination, where everything is too bright and cheery.

 No. It's darkness and quiet and solitude he needs, so he's crossed the boundary lines into Remus's territory.

 The trees’ spindly limbs stretch up and up, tangling together in the canopy. Dark eyes seem to glow, staring from hollows and underbrush, soft cackles and rustles echoing from nowhere in particular. An owl hoots ominously, and he shakes his head with a fond smile.

 If the others think he is one for clichés and exaggerations, then they don’t know Remus. He prides himself on his work, maybe more than he himself does, every detail must be perfect down to a T. He wonders how long was spent writing his song, how many times did he rehearse it, perform it, force Deceit to listen to it, until he was sure it was ready?

 Oh, Remus may be darker than him, sure, and much more impulsive, with much more dangerous ideas, but he is still Creativity, still takes pride in every being and mote of dust he conjures, still thrives on other's approval.

 Something he was guilty of denying him far too many times. How long has it been, since Remus barged into his room, face aglow, hands gesturing wildly as he spouted off his newest genius idea, because he just had to share it, right that instant? When did he stop smiling fondly, asking questions, instead of being cold and dismissive? And why? Why did he change in the first place?

 Just another crime to add to his list, he supposes, wincing.

 It's his own ego, or rather, lack of one, he supposes. All flaunt and flounce, no actual substance. Always afraid, of being disliked, of being unneeded, of being unwanted, of not being good enough. His own insecurities making him lash out at Remus, for fear of being replaced.

 Lash out at Logan. For fear of being found irrelevant.

 He winces again, replaying every snide remark, every mocking nickname, every time he shut Logan down or pushed him out, or pushed him away.

 They had moments, sure, good memories, among the bad, discussing poetry, the rap battle, their shared appreciation of literature. But even he wasn’t fool enough to think the good outweighed the bad.

 And that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?

 He knows the dark sides aren’t bad, or evil. He knows this intimately, because of Remus. Because Remus isn’t bad, and Remus had told him how Deceit takes care of him when he’s overwhelmed, how he used to soothe Virgil, kept the emo sane at all, when he was new and barely in control. And he knows Ambition is so far from evil, is so far in the right that he could never be bad.

 If anyone is bad, it is him. He's been a bad brother, a bad friend, a bad family member. A bad person.

His shoulders drop even more at that thought, because it's true, and he deserves to be left behind, left alone, with his grief. It should be Remus's turn in the spotlight, he can imagine how his twin would thrive and glow off being center stage. It's not like Remus would be able to fuck up any harder than he already had.

 He hears a hiss, and he freezes. He hasn’t been watching where he was going, merely wandering absently. Usually, creatures in the imagination left him alone unless he was actively questing. But this wasn’t his side, and it was the outskirts of Remus's. Any creatures here would be impossible for him to control, and nearly as hard for Remus to influence.

 He steels himself and slowly reaches for his sword, pretending to be looking at his shoe. In one fluid motion, he draws his sword, holding it before him in a ready stance, eyes flashing with his blade as he looks up, assessing his foe.

 And that is his first and only mistake he needs to make for his foe to hold all the cards.

 Instantly, he is frozen in paralysis, ruby glimmering eyes all he can see, filling his entire world. His grip on his sword tightens, his knuckles going white with the effort of keeping it raised, keeping his stance, it takes all his will not to break under those eyes.

 It is a Cockatrice. A feathered serpent. It trails poison in its wake, in its breath, in its being. Its eyes are hypnotizing, deadly, in some cases. This one appears to have a pointed stinger on its tail, venom dripping from its talons, its bright plumage screaming of danger, as it snaps its beak at him, hissing and stretching its wings.

 They are a mesmerizing rainbow of color. They shimmer, flowing from fiery reds to deep ocean blues, enchanting and enticing, somehow promising everything he's ever wanted. He can see himself being lauded, being loved, Thomas being a star, and it brings tears to his eyes, how much it aches, stings, hurts, inside.

 His sword has fallen from his hand, thumping softly into the underbrush. Distantly, he knows this is a mistake, he knows he should be fighting, but this warmth, this… hope is something he hasn’t felt in so, so, long.

 Faster than his groggy mind can decipher, the wings flare shut. He stumbles, tries to dodge, but the beast is faster as the tail nicks his cheek.

 He rolls, grabbing his sword, eyes averted as he swings, but is balance is wrong, his grip sweaty, and the beast screeches, making him clap his hands over his ears, it is deafening, echoing in his skull, staggering. Then there are talons pinning him to the ground, puncturing through his body, and he hisses, wriggles, but they just push him harder into the ground.

 He gasps, vision flaring white, spasming as fire flares through his veins, burning him alive, from the inside out. He reaches up, scratching the talons, tearing at the feathers, at anything he can reach, feeling his own hands tearing into his skin, trying anything, everything, to get away, to get out, to make it stop, stop, STOP!

 How funny, how silly, how utterly perfect, that he can’t do anything right, including saving himself from dying now. Maybe it’s better off this way, maybe they’ll all be better off this way. He can’t breathe, can’t even flail anymore, as he feels the cockatrice bite into his shoulder. His vision goes black and he screams, writhing and fighting and choking on bile before his throat closes up and everything stops.

 …

 Remus nearly screams, crumpling in two, hands clutching at his hair, the wash of agony is like nothing he’s ever felt, and it doesn’t take him even a second to know where it’s coming from. It vanishes as quick as it came, leaving nothing but a phantom ache behind.

 “Remus.” Deceit is supporting him, keeping him from face planting on the ground as he regains his balance. He lurches to his feet, barely aware of Deceit asking him what’s wrong, of Cygnus placing a hand on his shoulder, having come in from the living room at the commotion he’d made nearly falling.

 Instead he shoves past the two of them, sprinting to his room. He throws the door open hard enough it must dent the wall behind it, add a new crack to the wood, and he doesn’t even blink as he runs through the mirror that leads to his side of the imagination.

 It’s stronger here, and he nearly keels over again, it staggers him, and he can barely breathe for a moment, before his vision clears. His mirror leads to his bedroom in his castle, and he runs, throwing open the balcony door. He’s not surprised to see her waiting.

 “Hyacinth.” He gasps out, looking into the eyes of one of his closest friends, Roman’s favorite sparring partner, the Dragon Witch. Her eyes glitter like emeralds, two sets of leathery wings sprouting from her back, wearing a dark dress of glittering scales, knee high black boots.

 “You feel it, too.” She states, and he nods, panic welling in his throat, any second he is going to scream, it is going to overwhelm him, it is going to crush him, because Roman is in trouble, Roman is hurt, Roman is hurt very badly and he cannot, will not, lose him.

 “Find him. Please, we need to find him, I need to find him, I need to, have to…” He trails off, words becoming choked, vision becoming blurry, tears stinging his eyes.

 “I know. All my dragons are out searching. Both your kingdom and his. As soon as they find anything-“ Her words are cut off by a distant roar. Her head snaps up, and she grabs his hand, vaulting over the balcony with him, onto the back of a dragon. He doesn’t protest, just holds tight to the spine spikes of the silver beast, almost numb, at this point, with fear.

 They touch down what could be minutes or hours later, time has lost all meaning. He’s focusing too hard on his bond to Roman, which he can feel slowly growing weaker, which is bad, bad, bad. He’s begging him, pleading with him, bargaining with him, to hold on, keep holding on, please.

 He’s across the space in moments, freezing as his heart leaps to his throat.

 In the clearing is an orange ombre dragon, curled protectively around something on the ground. A bloodied, feathery mess is flung across, into the trees, barely recognizable as a cockatrice and his heart sinks to his feet.

 “roman.” He gasps out, lurching into motion once again, the dragon uncurling slightly, allowing him entry, and he falls to his knees as he pulls Roman onto his lap, eyes roving over every inch of his twin, there’s blood, so much blood, too much blood, to be coming from Roman.

 He can see where the beast pierced its talons deep into his flesh, can see the deep gashes across his chest where the creature must have raked him, there’s a chunk of flesh taken out of his shoulder, and saliva is foaming at his mouth, his face is drawn and pale, cheeks flushed, beads of sweat on his brow. His breathing is labored and shallow, he can hear him wheezing in, his chest barely moving up and down.

 Oh, this is bad, bad, bad.

 …

It’s cold.

 That’s all he knows.

 It is dark. It is cold. He is alone.

 He deserves it.

 That’s all he knows.

 “roman.” Something. It jolts something in him, he knows that voice, but he isn’t used to it sounding so desperate, so afraid. He’s used to it being loud and proud and boisterous. Used to it laughing and cackling and spewing whatever words it can to make him blush like a tomato.

 He feels something. Wind? Wind. Flying. Ah.

 Hyacinth.

 Remus? Remus.

 It burns. Everything burns. Acid, eating him from the inside out, his blood corroding him, the air choking him, fire tracing itself across his skin, and he is shaking again, a choked sound escaping from his lips, as he coughs violently. He feels someone cradle him into a sitting position, feels something warm dripping down his chin.

 “Roman. Roman, please. Please, please, please. Roman.” Remus. Something twinges in him at that, and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look up, barely able to make out green eyes and white streaked hair.

 “R… re…” He struggles out, choking on more blood, breathing feels unbearably impossible.

 “heal yourself, Ro, come on, use your stupid Disney kids power, no blood allowed, right? No guts and fluids and… and death, right, Ro? You know I can’t heal, you know I would if I could but I can’t, so just snap those fingers and poof, back to normal!” His voice is frantic, bubbling with anxiety.

 “C-an’t. N-not s-strong en-ough.” He forces out, eyes slipping closed. Everything is pain, every moment is pure anguish, and just wants it to end. “S-o-orry.” He gasps, barely feeling Remus’s arms hold him tighter.

 “NO! You don’t have anything to be sorry for, don’t be sorry, don’t give up on me, and you don’t have to be sorry.”

 His awareness slips away.

[border-spam]

Leech Lord AU

Tyreen Calypso / Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso / Holy Mother Tyreen (differences from canon)

List of character traits and  world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon. 

One of these coming for Seifa shortly. Same AU as all other twins content I’ve written. TW: drug use.

Troy’s is HERE

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓x Confidence is not a façade.

Unlike her twin, Tyreen's self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an act, it's her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.

✓ Highly Empathic.

Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.

✓ Excellent Actor.

Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.

✓ Extremely Adaptable.

Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see's barriers others would see as impassable, as mere setbacks.

✓ Highly Charismatic.

Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.

✓ Natural  Leader.

Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is very, very aware of it.

x Incapable of admitting fault.

Ty's extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs regardless of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.

x Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations.

Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy's response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin's is the opposite. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.

x Self centered.

Tyreen's galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen is Tyreen's universe. She's aware that there are people she should value, she should value Troy, she should value Seifa, she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not feel that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn't feel anything for anyone else, but she knows that's wrong. She knows that's weird, and Tyreen isn't a freak, so she avoids dwelling on it.

x Manipulative.

Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She's woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she's actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she'd convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person's needs at heart. It's a lie.

x Illogical.

Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.

x Greedy.

While The Leech has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it's still one of Tyreen's natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, The Leech consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can never be content. She is cursed.

x Values her life over anyone else.

Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of family. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is no one she wouldn't kill to survive. Leda knew. Typhon knows. Troy... Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if he does.

Backstory:

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a moment of relief from its constant hunger since.

Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.

The Leech negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, demanding half of The Leech has doomed her to inescapable misery.

Personal:

Likes:

Positive attention and recognition.

Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.

Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.

Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them

Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.

Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She's seen everything, and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she's living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.

Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to choose to have. This doesn't change that she values them less than insects however, and she's as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.

Dislikes:

x Her natural hair colour.

The dark brown was Leda's. Her eye shape is Leda's. Her mouth is Leda's. She doesn't want to see her mother in the mirror, so she's focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it's her appearance she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.

x Being challenged.

While Ty is aware there are people who's opinion's she needs to heed, like Troy and Seifa in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn't like following their instructions. It's a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn't care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to eventually mock, a valued sibling or mentor will become the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than. Tyreen hates so easily, it's like breathing.

x Being looked down on.

Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he's above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy has to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He has to do the talking, he has to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide mockery.

x Her Father.

While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The indignity of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The insult of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The shame towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

x Her Brother.

Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It's that simple. He did. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and need. He's also the only person in the universe who knows her. He's the only person who cares for her. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it almost feels like love.

x. Herself.

Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking monster.

Physical differences to canon:

- Scarring is more noticeable:

Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their first week. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she'd had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy's rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she'd husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.

- Left hand has long term damage:

Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent The Leech  consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.

- Troy was attached to her stomach:

Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is very cool if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn't display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.

Asks are open! Any regarding AU will prob get priority for now as I work to flesh it as we go

[burntcheesepita]

new beginning

pairing: ryan howard/reader

warnings: none

wordcount: 1209

a/n: idk this idea has been bouncing around in my head. takes place right after ryan took up jim’s job. tell if u want a part 2 ayyy

You were a new temp stretching your legs in quality assurance, mostly to keep an eye on Creed. You quickly learned that the old man was pretty much completely senile, but absolutely refused to leave, and that you might be stuck at this office job a lot longer than expected.

Everyone was more or less easy enough to get along with, and you noticed that one particular salesman seemed to take interest in you. Ryan smiled at you whenever you met is eyes, and one day noticed you getting your favorite cookies out of the vending machine and since then had always “accidentally ended up with an extra bag” of them that “the stupid machine spit out” that he’d give you just about everyday. To get even, you stood behind him one day in the kitchen and watched him make his coffee. He had turned to you when he was done and asked, “What’s up?” to which you had smiled and said, “Oh, nothing.” and walked away.

And thus began your strange ritual: you made him coffee in the morning and he bought you cookies at lunch. And during lunch, even on your first day as the odd one out, he sat next to you and made friendly conversation. You talked about college, his MBA and your BFA, and how to deal with loans without immediately having a panic attack. You’d talk about what it was like growing up poor near Philadelphia in contrast to Ryan’s middle-class upbringing in Scranton. You discussed the most recent Quentin Tarantino movies, you found Ryan’s somewhat pretentious criticisms endearing. He told you about his love of jazz and how he played saxophone in highschool, you countered with your love of 90s girl grunge and how you taught yourself to play guitar. He liked playing video games and you told him you were really only familiar with Super Mario Bros and Sonic the Hedgehog.

He’d sit near you during Micheal’s superfluous meetings and generally seemed magnetically drawn to you.

During work hours, he went out of his way to ask you questions about the company’s paper suppliers, the difference between one type of paper to another, even how it was made, all for the sake of “helping a client.”

All of this to the dismay of Kelly.

Kelly didn’t seem mad at you as much as the fact that Ryan obviously liked being around you, and told you horror stories. How he always seemed nice at first, but that was to reel you in. He refused to commit. He was disinterested in dates and the wants and needs of his now ex girlfriend (her). He ignores calls and texts. He’s actually mean and manipulative when you get to know him for real. He only wants sex.

You had noticed Ryan had some contempt for Kelly. He tried to wiggle his way out of any conversation she tried to loop him into.

You thought you were getting along with Ryan just fine. Still, you had no idea what to think. You knew very well that guys could be very sweet one minute and absolutely vicious the next. Bad men don’t always seem like bad men at first.

You were thinking about this when you noticed Ryan get up from his desk near reception and walk toward the bathrooms.

You seized the moment, quickly shuffling over to Pam. She smiled at you and you smiled back and said, “Just came over to steal some of your jellybeans.”

You had gotten along with Pam very easily. she was sweet and helpful and you were her newest confidant in office pranks since Jim left. You figured that she might have some insight into Ryan and Kelly’s past relationship. Both of them would be unreliable sources and, most of all, you didn’t wanna scandalize Ryan by asking him if it was true that he was actually awful.

Pam continued to work as you chewed on a stale cherry jellybean.

“Oh, yuck,” you groaned quietly and Pam looked up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Actually, I have a question. Should I go out with Ryan?”

Her expression went blank for a moment before she said, “I mean, he’s really nice to you. I think he might really like you.”

“Really?” you inquired, “Kelly was telling me some terrible things and….”

Pam considered this before answering, “Yeah, they weren’t great together. Ryan never really liked her now that I think about it. She can be a hard person to deal with.“

“What happened?”

“Jim had set them up, actually. He told me Ryan just wanted to have fun and Kelly wanted a committed relationship. But Kelly wouldn’t leave him alone after they hooked up and the whole thing just sort of spiraled out of control.”

You nodded slowly. “Do you think he actually likes me? Or he just wants a hookup?”

“I’m gonna be honest, he’s been far nicer to you than anyone else in this office. Kevin thinks you’re already hooking up.”

You raised your brows at her and giggled.

Just then, you heard the kitchen door open, and Ryan sauntered back to his desk. You smiled at him and was about to make your way back to your own desk when he said, “Come over here a second.”

You glanced at Pam, who shrugged suggestively at you, and you went to lean against his desk next to him. You crossed your arms and looked down at him expectantly.

He pretended to shuffle around his desk, finding a piece of paper and a pen. He looked back up at you and grinned, “Can you tell me the difference between A4 and letter-sized again? I forgot to write it down before and I can’t remember it.”

You quirked your brows at him, “Is that really what you’d like to ask me?”

His bright blue eyes lit up, “Oh, yeah, actually. Wanna come over to my place for dinner? Maybe we could play some video games together.”

You giggled. Video games and dinner? Whatever, you’d take it. “Sure,” you say, running your fingers over his hand where it sat on his desk, “Maybe you could show my some of your signature moves.”

He flushed.

The rest of the day, you were full of butterflies. You paid absolutely no attention to Creed and instead spent your time teasing Ryan. You loved the way he became flustered whenever you would put you hand on his shoulder or winked at him from across the room. No one really cared for the flirting, but at least Pam thought it was funny. She told you that you could be a good influence on him and liked seeing Ryan soften up to a girl instead of being dismissive or overly interested in hooking up. She had said that sometimes when he wants something superficial from a girl, he can become a little strange and overbearing. But you seemed to turn his brain to mush.

You thought about how your little date might go. You could already tell from your time spent with Ryan that he often had a hard time asserting himself and his feelings, but was open to brag about anything he found clout-worthy. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Kelly says once he’s in the right environment.

[12redsky34]

wip roundup

I have been tag-teamed by @autisticmidoriyas and @yamadadzawa so I guess it’s my turn! Thanks for inviting me to share my many ideas, both of u xD

Just gonna preface this by saying that I have only three actual in-progress and posted wips at the moment, so I’ll split this into written and currently unwritten. In addition, while most of my ideas are for BNHA, I have a few for Haikyuu as well that I’ll include.

 BNHA

1. The Soul Behind The Quirk: Currently the fic I’ve written the most content for, and it’s been tonnes of fun to write!. It basically started with the thought “what if Izuku could see like... souls?” and it spiralled from there. It starts with Hisashi, an S-class villain (not AfO though), coming to Izuku and Inko’s home. He and a currently unnamed accomplice murder Inko and heavily injure Izuku, leaving Aizawa to rescue him from the burning apartment. Izuku force-manifests a quirk from the stress of the experience.

2. Dancing through Embers: This one is still in the baby stages, but it features quirkless, trans Izuku and Hitoshi, graffiti artist Hitoshi, vigilante Izuku, vigilante and brotherly Dabi (eventually, it’s a bit far down the line at the moment), and eventual parental Aizawa. Also featuring the characters in Karasuno from Haikyuu!! You don’t need to know anything about Haikyuu to enjoy them, but they’re a nice addition for those who do. This one’s more serious than most of my other fics so far, and I’ve outlined a lot more than the rest. I’m actually quite proud of what I’ve planned, and you may take that as you will ;)

3. A Study of Soulmates: You want a soulmate AU? You want good dad Hisashi? Want a quirkless Izuku who doesn’t ever step foot into UA? Want an Izuku that will eventually work in a coffee shop as an informant on the side? Well this is the place for you! This one is in it’s early early stages; like I just started posting last month, early. It’s mostly going to be fairly light-hearted, with both platonic and romantic soulmates, but Tododeku is planned as a main pairing and there will be plenty of shenanigans surrounding them.

3. I’m falling to pieces (falling to pieces): A oneshot that is still being written. I’ve seen a lot of fics where Aizawa and/or his classmates find out about Izuku’s previous quirklessness somehow, and this was actually inspired from this post by @zippodippo! Features all the dadzawa content!

4. Dragon!Quirked Izuku AU: This hasn’t had too much thought beyond “I want to make Izuku a dragon” and “Ooooh what if he was taken in by the Hero Commission just like Hawks?” Basically in this fic, his quirk manifested a little late and quite violently; he effectively goes feral for a short while until heroes are called in to subdue him. He would have been pardoned for his quirk use considering it happened while he was afraid and under significant stress, but the power his quirk had even then caught the Commission’s attention and they basically forced Inko and Hisashi to hand him over. There isn’t a lot they can do about it.

5. Shady Dealings: Doesn’t really have an end goal at the moment, but this basically started from “I want to write a villain/informant AU that I feel would be true to Izuku’s character,” and it resulted in this. Inko works as a nurse/doctor of sorts in the underground for villains, vigilantes, or just people who can’t afford an actual hospital for whatever reason. Hisashi works as a support mechanic of sorts for the underground, mostly for vigilantes and for the poor division of the population who can’t afford traditional prosthetics. Both of them take payment in the form of money, favours, or both. They’re also very careful to keep anyone from targeting Izuku, and make active attempts to get him into a more lawful line of work, but that backfires of course. I plan for it to be pretty lighthearted despite the serious subject.

6. Everyone is Brainwashed: I see a lot of fix-it fics where those involved are often like “why didn’t I see/notice this before?” and I thought “well... what if it’s because everyone literally can’t?” The basic premise is this: when UA was first being planned and built, AfO placed a very subtle but very wide-ranged brainwashing on anyone involved in major decisions regarding the school. He can’t change how anyone under influence acts in a major way, but he can, for instance, make someone decide not to put in place one safety measure or another. This is a chink he eventually takes advantage of through the USJ arc. Things are going quite well for him until one Izuku Midoriya walks in completely unaffected by the brainwashing zone he’s put in place.

7. Anomaly!AU: Basically if Izuku is an SCP from SCP: Containment Breach. I’ve taken a fair amount of creative liberties with this one, partially because I have never actually played the game and partially because fitting things like that into a world of quirks can be a little tricky. He’ll be an SCP of my own design, I’ve actually drawn him quite a bit at this point, but he wasn’t originally one. AfO took him as a child and felt like experimenting so he sort of crammed a lot of weird, random quirks into him, but it kind of backfired, and Izuku became something not quite human anymore. There’s not a whole lot planned yet but I have some ideas!

Haikyuu!!

1. Lightning Strikes Twice: Basically a HTTYD AU with some creative liberties. Hinata is a rare lightning Dragon, known in the racing world for his speed. The only problem is, his paired rider is abusive and keeps pushing and demanding, always telling him he isn’t good enough even though he keeps trying. Kageyama is a renowned dragon rider, known for his excellent control on the saddle and for being able to navigate racing courses even veterans find hard to clear. However, he never manages to find a dragon he truly connects with, and to make it far in the racing industry, that kind of connection is basically a requirement. Tragic accidents drive them from their old teams and bring them to Karasuno, where they both get a fresh start.

2. Giant Crow Hinata: Almost everything is the same except Hinata isn’t human, and lives in the mountains with his family, who are also not human. I haven’t decided what exactly they are past giant creatures of some sort. Hinata belongs to a clan of giant bird creatures, and he specifically is a crow. One night in a storm, he gets injured and ends up in Kageyama’s back yard. Kageyama’s mother patches him up and sends him home, but he comes back, and eventually he and Tobio end up in a routine of sorts where Hinata will sit there and listen to Tobio talking about volleyball. One day, Hinata arrives but he’s in a more human-like form and demands that he let Tobio try and play with him. That’s about all I got for that so far.

3. Pokemon AU: This one is. So involved, mostly on the worldbuilding side of things. For those who know anything at all about the main series Pokemon games, this will be set in Galar (Sword/Shield). Hinata grows up wanting nothing more than to be a Pokemon Ranger (they have a slightly different role than “canon” here), whereas Kageyama was born from a Gym Leader and the CEO of an influential company and has had heavy expectations on him basically since birth. The stress and fear of failure make him cold and controlling at first, so when he does his first run of the Pokemon League, he fails. He gets advice to visit the Wild Area where a certain Ranger spends most of his time. Needless to say, when he meets this scrawny, wild-haired little Ranger, he is not expecting it to be while he himself is being chased around by an angry Dragon-type until Hinata arrives and calms it down by just being there. He has many questions.

Aaaaand that’s it I believe! If any of you want to ask me questions about these, feel free to leave an ask! I’d be happy to talk about them more :D As for tagging, uhhhh... I dunno, @plusultrachaos, @faelwenholdsthelight, and @psychicshr00m, if y’all haven’t done so and would like to do this!

[newstfionline]

Sunday, March 28, 2021

Alabama, Georgia pick up the pieces after deadly tornadoes (AP) Chainsaws buzzed through fallen trees, stunned residents dug in the rubble that had been their homes, and neighbors rushed in to help on Friday after multiple tornadoes ripped a path of devastation across the Deep South. At least five people were killed. As many as 10 tornadoes—an estimated eight in Alabama and two in Georgia—carved a tremendous path of devastation on Thursday, uprooting 100-year-old trees, stripping roofs from houses, seriously damaging schools and businesses, and scattering treasured family possessions far and wide. Charlene Watson’s apartment building was ripped apart by the tornado. She awoke to sirens and moved as quickly as she could to the basement of her building before the twister tore the roof off her building. “Just be thankful for everything you’ve got, because you are not promised the next day. Nothing is,” Watson said, holding back tears.

Biden’s inner circle maintains close ties to vaccine makers, disclosures reveal (The Intercept) In the coming months, Linda Thomas-Greenfield, President Joe Biden’s ambassador to the United Nations, will hear from a growing chorus of developing nations about the foundering efforts to distribute the coronavirus vaccine globally. The nations, many of which have not even begun vaccinating their populations, are demanding that the U.S. support proposals to temporarily waive certain patent and intellectual property rights so that generic coronavirus vaccines can be produced. The proposals have been fiercely opposed by American drugmakers, including Pfizer, a pharmaceutical giant that Thomas-Greenfield’s former consulting firm has recently counted as a client. Thomas-Greenfield and her number two, Jeffrey DeLaurentis, previously worked for the Albright Stonebridge Group, or ASG, a consulting firm founded by former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright. The firm, which represents Pfizer, specializes in helping large corporations understand and influence international trade policy, including on intellectual property. Many leading figures in Biden’s administration, including key White House advisers, State Department leaders, and health care officials have financial stake in or professional ties to vaccine manufacturers, which are now lobbying to prevent policies that would cut into future profits over the vaccine.

Children Trapped by Colombia’s War, Five Years After Peace Deal (NYT) At 13, she left home to join the guerrillas. Now, at 15, Yeimi Sofía Vega lay in a coffin, killed during a military operation ordered by her government. Nearly five years after Colombia signed a historic peace accord with its largest rebel group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, the country’s internal war is far from over. Remote towns like Puerto Cachicamo have yet to see the schools, clinics and jobs the government promised in the agreement. Thousands of dissident FARC combatants have returned to battle, or never laid down their arms, and are fighting rivals for control of illicit markets. Mass killings and forced displacement are again regular occurrences. And young people—trapped between an often absent state, the aggressive recruitment of armed groups and the firepower of the military—are once again the conflict’s most vulnerable targets. That was evident this month, when the government bombed a rebel camp in an effort to take out a high-profile dissident FARC leader known by the alias Gentil Duarte. The camp turned out to be full of young people who had been recruited by the group—and the operation killed at least two minors, including Yeimi Sofía.

Why Uruguay’s Schoolchildren Are Doing So Well in the Pandemic (Der Spiegel) Two weeks after Amelia’s first day of school last March, she was suddenly unable to go anymore. Her school had been shut down because of the coronavirus pandemic. But for the first grader from Uruguay, it wasn’t such a big deal. She learned the alphabet by way of digital tutorials, and she had so much fun with the digital math lessons that she did additional exercises. There were video conferences three times a week, so she could get to know her teacher and classmates better. And under the leadership of her physical education teacher, Amelia, 7, did gymnastics exercises in her living room. Amelia, though, is not some well-off pupil at a private school. She goes to a public school in Uruguay’s capital of Montevideo. And like all of the other schoolchildren in the small country sandwiched between Argentina and Brazil, she received her tablet computer from the state. Uruguay has been investing in digital education for years in addition to making it accessible to everyone. The country’s education system was better prepared for the pandemic than most of the other countries in the region, and also better than many in the wealthy West. Whereas some teachers in Germany had no contact with their students for several weeks, there was a constant exchange between pupils and teachers in Uruguay. Instead of blurry scans and erroneous internet links hiding content that could not be found, Uruguay was able to offer schoolchildren digital schoolbooks with science experiments, homework in the form of quizzes or games, interactive video conferences, personalized exercises, and chats to clear up any questions. It has already been more than 10 years since the country—as one of six around the world—introduced a one-laptop-per-child policy. On top of that, Uruguay installed free internet in public squares around the country, including in rural areas, and also founded a state agency for digital education called Plan Ceibal. “In general, the last school year worked quite well,” says Fiorella Haim, a manager at Plan Ceibal.

Spurred by lockdown, Spain gives 4-day week a try (AP) After years of waiting tables, Danae De Vries is one step closer to achieving her lifetime dream of becoming a theater coach. Ironically, she owes that to the pandemic. It was after last year’s brutal lockdown that shut the Spanish economy down for weeks that the owners of a small restaurant chain in Madrid offered De Vries to cut her weekly work schedule by one day. Already struggling to make ends meet in a city that has seen rental prices spiral, the 28-year-old was hesitant at first—and then enthusiastic when she was told her wages would remain untouched. Experimenting with cutting back one workday per week is about to go nationwide in Spain—the first country in Europe to do so. A three-year pilot project will be using 50 million euros ($59 million) from the European Union’s massive coronavirus recovery fund to compensate some 200 mid-size companies as they resize their workforce or reorganize production workflows to adapt to a 32-hour working week. The funds will go to subsidizing all of the employers’ extra costs in the first year of the trial and then reduce the government’s aid to 50% and 25% each consecutive year.

Myanmar security forces kill over 90 in 'horrifying' day of bloodshed (Reuters) Security forces killed more than 90 people, including some children, across Myanmar on Saturday in one of the bloodiest days of protests since a military coup last month, news reports and witnesses said. The lethal crackdown, which took place on Armed Forces Day, drew strong renewed criticism from Western countries. British Ambassador Dan Chugg said the security forces had “disgraced themselves” and the U.S. envoy called the violence horrifying. Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, the junta leader, said during a parade to mark Armed Forces Day that the military would protect the people and strive for democracy. At least 29 people, including a 13-year-old girl, were killed in Mandalay, and at least 24 people were killed in Yangon, Myanmar Now said.

Beaten, Cuffed, Hauled Away: When Myanmar’s Military Comes Knocking (NYT) When the police and soldiers arrived in the middle of the night, they fired their guns into the air, threw stones through the windows and threatened to drive a car through the front door if no one opened it. U Shwe Win and his family were asleep. It was 2:30 a.m. The police and soldiers had come to arrest Mr. Shwe Win’s son, Ko Win Htut Nyein. When they found him, they beat and handcuffed the 19-year-old before hauling him away. His offense, the family was told, was taking videos of the police at a protest in Mandalay the day before. More than two weeks later, Mr. Shwe Win is still searching for his son. The authorities say they have no record of his arrest. Since the Feb. 1 coup in Myanmar, millions of pro-democracy protesters have joined demonstrations against the military and participated in general strikes and a civil disobedience movement that have brought the economy to a virtual halt. Security forces have responded with increasing ruthlessness, shooting people in the streets and arbitrarily beating and arresting people. Soldiers and the police invade homes in the middle of the night, searching for opponents of military rule. Many have gone into hiding. Some are arrested and released. Others wind up missing, tortured or dead.

Israelis gather for Passover, celebrating freedom from virus (AP) A year ago, Giordana Grego’s parents spent Passover at home in Israel, alone but grateful that they had escaped the worst of the pandemic in Italy. This year, the whole family will get together to mark the Jewish feast of liberation and deliverance from the pandemic. Israel has vaccinated over half its population of 9.3 million, and as coronavirus infections have plummeted, authorities have allowed restaurants, hotels, museums and theaters to re-open. Up to 20 people can now gather indoors. It’s a stark turnaround from last year, when Israel was in the first of three nationwide lockdowns, with businesses shuttered, checkpoints set up on empty roads and people confined to their homes. Passover is the Jewish holiday celebrating the biblical Israelites’ liberation from slavery in Egypt after a series of divine plagues. The week-long springtime festival starts Saturday night with the highly ritualized Seder meal, when the Exodus story is retold. It’s a Thanksgiving-like atmosphere with family, friends, feasting and four cups of wine.

Salvager hopes to free ship blocking Suez Canal by start of next week (Reuters) A giant container ship grounded in the Suez Canal could be freed by the start of next week if heavier tugboats, dredging and a high tide succeed in dislodging it, a Dutch firm working to free the vessel said. The 400-metre (430-yard) long Ever Given became wedged diagonally across a southern section of the canal amid high winds early on Tuesday, disrupting global shipping by blocking one of the world’s busiest waterways. About 15% of world shipping traffic passes through the canal, and dozens of vessels are waiting in the waterway and around its northern and southern entrances for the blockage to be cleared.

Piracy fears mount as ships take long way around Africa to avoid blocked Suez Canal (Washington Post) Brand-new Kia automobiles, cases of Heineken beer, live animals and billions of dollars of crude oil and other commodities remained stranded in the Suez Canal throughout the day on Friday. Meanwhile, a number of global shipping companies on Friday began steering ships toward the longer route to Europe via the Cape of Good Hope in southern Africa. Detouring around Africa is likely to add a week or two to most itineraries. It will also mean hundreds of thousands of dollars in additional fuel costs. With more ships potentially being diverted to the Cape of Good Hope, piracy could increase. Pirates have long preyed on ships moving in the waters off the Horn of Africa, and the seas off oil-rich West Africa are now considered among the world’s most dangerous for shipping.

A Year Into Remote Work, No One Knows When to Stop Working Anymore (WSJ) The daily alarm Katie Lipp sets isn’t meant to wake her up. It reminds her to go to bed. The employment attorney in Fairfax, Va., said she has tried a range of techniques to set boundaries while working long days from home running her law practice during the pandemic. Few measures work as well as the 9:45 p.m. alarm she started setting last month, though she admits to snoozing it occasionally to fire out one last email. “You never feel like what you’re doing is good enough, so you get stuck in a trap of overworking,” Ms. Lipp, the mother of a 5-year-old, said. A year into the Covid-19 era, many can relate. Employees say work-life boundaries blurred, then vanished, as waking life came to mean “always on” at work. Experts warn that working around the clock—while slipping in meals, helping with homework and grabbing a few moments with a partner—isn’t sustainable, and employers are trying ways to get staff to dial back.

[sinnhelmingr]

tma au rundown. revised from the old blog and updated for new lore from rp. warning. long with too many bullet points.

BASICS:

her name is leah lindqvist. no, this is not her birth name, not even a name in any official records, but it’s what she goes by and what the majority of characters will know her as. the only exceptions to this are those who knew her in her human life and those who have stumbled upon her in statements – more on that later.

appears to be in her early 30s, with an old world aristocracy look under her gothic leanings. has a propensity for elegant/historical looks in her day to day life, being rather more put together than the setting’s usual cast of characters. notable for her bloodless complexion and bright green eyes. tall and thin.

has lived in london for the last seven years, with occasional travels onto the continent. looking for an in to the institute to further her own research. changes living arrangements at around season 3 to better stalk keep an eye on ongoing plots.

originally scandinavian, specifically danish, though her accent seems strangely lax for someone who claims to have only left her motherland a few years before. speaks multiple languages fluently. 

is an avatar, though her exact ‘patron’ is a question she’s been trying to answer for a long, long time. the circumstances of what she deems her ‘becoming’ seemed to involve at least 4 separate entities, only one of which could have won her. add in her upbringing beholden to being a good agent for the beholding and, well, the waters do get muddied. 

BACKSTORY:

was born the youngest of three children in a happy copenhagen home, her father a prodigal from good stock and her mother a force to be reckoned with in the community. at some point, the house of cards crumbled for the couple, and their children were shuffled off to what relatives would take them. leah, or whoever she was before, went to her paternal grandparents specifically.

said grandfather, odin, was a proper gentleman, a pillar of the community, worldly and wealthy. he had a particular fondness for the macabre, and venerated an englishman known as jonah magnus and his various associates. this man about town had such dreams for his latest acquisition, for this bright and tender child who wanted the whole of the world in her hands. he would introduce her to his world over the coming years, training her not only as a proper heir to his legacy, but a perfect sacrifice for whatever esoteric entity he had turned to for patronage.

leah was raised to be a proper academic and globetrotter, groomed for something beyond her understanding. she was expected to read and recite, to observe others, and to mind her ps and qs more than her cousins ever would. as she grew towards adolescence, odin took to traveling the world with his ward with deeper intent, haunting locations of past or ongoing fear activity. leah was meant to observe the world beyond humanity, and to be seen by his associates.

that was a perilous thing, and got her on the wrong side of various avatars and monsters more often than she cares to remember. she has had confirmed run-ins with the spiral, the stranger, the desolation, the corruption, the vast, and the dark through these ‘misadventures,’ and has had at least one brush with the lukas family in her youth that leaves open the possibility of later lonely interference.

carries scars from the spiral, stranger, and the corruption at least. said corruption incident is in fact the cause of her limited mobility from her early twenties onward -- and no, she doesn’t want to talk about how she got her cane. what a fucked up question to ask.

odin referred to her in his records as his martyr, going back to the proper root of the term. martyr, meaning witness, meaning a girl forced to stare unblinking at the influence of the fears upon the world. that these moments of martyrdom occasionally caused her to be physically harmed was an inevitable coincidence. it should be noted, however, that leah’s moments of martyrdom over active instances of fear were almost invariably fatal for the subject of observation. while odin perceived her as witnessing the world and following the path of the eye, leah herself was chasing death.

the dawning realization that her life was to be given solely in service to this all-seeing eye led to brief fits of rebellion or anxiety that her grandfather worked to combat with subtle manipulations. these only worked for so long, as the situation came to a head at some point in her twenties when she managed to escape for a number of months. the event led to her run in with the corruption and an attack that left her severely limited in terms of mobility. recovering in the hospital under her grandfather’s tender, doting visit, it was made clear to leah that he could have stopped this at any point and taken her home. he instead chose to teach her a lesson: she was only safe under his shelter, and that of his patron. 

the realization didn’t stop her. her fate might be inevitable, but she could choose how she would meet that moment of sacrifice. eventually, her diligent composure and simmering disdain boiled over into open rage, an event that lead to an attack on one of her uncles. the exacts of the event have never been put to paper or spoken of, but it rattled odin deeply enough that he ended his pet project immediately. leah was ousted from the family, abandoned to a distant property. the outside world, however, would receive the fiction that she had gone missing, and this time she would never be recovered. it was clear to odin that he had created a monster, but not one he or his patron could control and use.

left to a rarely-traveled locale on the norwegian sea, stripped of the protections her grandfather offered under the sheltering eye, those entities who marked her soon came begging their pound of flesh. locking herself into a small cabin on the property, she endured bouts of darkness and mist rolling over the outside world, a constant knocking or clawing at the cabin door, and an apparent loss of self. after some perceived days of this isolation, some hallucination or dream came to her in which she perceived her patron reaching out and taking all of the fear away. it was always going to come to this, for someone that had never lived. she didn’t fight the inevitability. these eyes that were made only to see would now wither the world around her.

once awakened, she was discovered by a passing ship and returned to the mainland, walking and hitchhiking her way back to the main family estate. she found her grandfather badly aged in the weeks of her absence, striking when he was alone and demanding answers from him : what was her intended purpose? what did the eye have to do with this? what had she become? why did he choose her? at some point, her interrogation became too much for the old man, and he passed before she received the answers she sought. after disposing of his body, odin became another missing person’s case in the family, and leah made her way across europe for the next few years seeking the answers she had not received from the source.

has a past attempt to breach the institute under her belt. lasted a good few days keeping a low profile and dodging anyone who might question her cover story. was eventually found out, however, and was made to escape. all the way to the mainland, in fact, due to whatever she uncovered about the place rattling her deeply enough to keep away from england for some years.

eventually, with all other avenues of knowledge running dry, leah was forced to return and consider that the answers she sought lie in the institute itself. to that end, she had taken up residence in a london apartment complex and tried to decide how best to enter the very seat of the entity she fears the most.

RECENT EVENTS: 

has been an accomplice in several unsolved disappearances of young men in the london area. it’s an open secret among her peers that she makes offerings for her ‘partner’ out of these human sacrifices. this has rendered her something of a laughingstock to those who know her partner and its nature, as leah is fighting a losing battle.

had a s1 run in with her old nemesis the corruption, saved only by the timely intervention of a door. she never specifies where she had this stand off but it’s easy to infer she tried to find another way into the institute.

has developed a growing fascination with the latest archivist, including a desire to reach out to him if at all possible.

keeps her options open as far as interacting with her own kind. through rp she has proven herself an ally to the spiral-aligned figures of the narrative, and has passing association with the lonely, desolation, and stranger.

SPOILERS:

has been completely divorced from the concept of time as it flows for others. many of the discrepancies about her story as she tells it can be explained through this: her days abandoned on the island actually took place over a year, her time spent combing through the european continent took more than a decade, and she can no longer remember her birth year because it does not align to her perceptions of self. even those she knew in humanity, such as gerry, register as oddities for having aged in accordance with real time rather than her own.

her patron is the end, who had indelibly marked her at some point in her youth and seems to have intervened and claimed her once she was in serious danger. her exact role as an avatar of this fear is muddled by her decades of self-serving pursuit of knowledge rather than living up to whatever she was meant to do.

odin really stumbled into getting an intended avatar of the eye marked by different fears. it was not his intention, but rather a result of caretaker negligence in trying to make a witness of the girl. he never expected that it could have meant something in the grand scheme of things.

despite appearing all of 32 at most, leah was already in her twenties by the 90s. she’s actually far older than her body implies though her general issues with time mean she has not realized this fact and her status as an avatar has left her pretty ageless.

ABILITIES:

if looks could kill. a potent bit of irony is that the end turns leah’s intended purpose into a strength. leah has proven on two separate occasions to be able to kill with a glance and focused willpower. the look tends to induce some form of fatal medical problem in the subject, and she tends to use it sparingly, usually to generate more potent fear for her entity rather than her personal needs.

ghost interaction. as established through rp, leah has some affinity with the ghosts occasionally seen within the narrative. through roleplay with sittimoranimiinterfectorem, her presence seems to give them a fullness, making them more as they were in life than at the moment of death. one character in particular notes that he feels lesser if too far from her, like he’s losing himself. this accounts for the various dead things that have cleaved to her over the decades -- which leads to a demonstration of leah’s secondary ability of banishing the dead to oblivion if she so chooses. it’s a threat she holds over the heads of those she cannot do away with for plot reasons. one assumes she could manage the opposite, and call up a lingering soul for her own purposes, but why should she?

immortal. unchanged since the day she accepted the touch of the end, leah has neither aged nor weakened since. unlike some who require regular sacrifice to maintain their unlives, leah seems particularly resilient, feeding more to keep up her strength than anything. this doesn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t be killed by outside means, and has proven capable of being injured by other avatars or fear-adjacent creatures.

RELATIONSHIPS:

alliance/partnership/friendship with sittimoranimiinterfectorem‘s michael. michael was the first of her kind leah met in any serious capacity, and one she looked up to as a potential font of answers. instead, michael has been toying with her for years, as a liar ought to. there’s a lot of ways this relationship can be interpreted by outsiders, not helped by recent revelations about their patron.

former companion/occasional ally of bookburnt‘s gerry. the two crossed paths every once in a blue moon during the years, given odin and mary were associated with one another in their travels and overlapping ideals. leah tried to take on a supportive role for the teen, sometimes sending gifts, while gerry in turn tended to cut loose with someone who actually gave a damn about him as a person. in adulthood, the two sometimes ran into one another in the weird world in which they inhabited, though leah had no idea this man was the same boy she had bonded with years before.

potential acolyte/student of medisinals‘s blackwell. we’re still plotting it out but the two have each other’s acquaintance as avatars of the end.

RELEVANT STATEMENTS (whether to leah or the wider narrative of her grandfather’s legacy):

statement of frida [redacted], concerning the work, achievements, and disappearance of her husband odin. first mention of the family and leah’s original identity. (2001)

statement of olaf agner, concerning his time working for the family in north zealand. a less rose colored view of odin’s ‘visionary’ work and his ‘creepy’ granddaughter. (1987)

miscellany statements referencing a one eyed man and dark-haired girl/young woman at or around the scene of various incidents involving the fears across europe. sometimes references the girl in question reaching out to those that are marked, though those she touches are never saved. (80s-90s)

statement of torsten [redacted], concerning the personal records of his father and the disappearance of his niece. (2007)

reference to leah’s invasion of the institute archives in an incidental post-statement discussion with a certain assistant about his allowing a certain young woman into the archives. his boss proves decidedly unforgiving even after being made aware he had been deceived.(2009)

miscellany statements establishing odin as a sort of chessmaster invariably working with the eye before, during, and after leah’s part in his life. he’s part of the evil senior citizen’s union and actually kept professional ties with a lot of them. (60s-2001)

statement of james berger on the subject of his friend ethan hamilton going missing. first clear picture of leah and michael working in tandem. (2014)

statement of eve hall concerning the sudden and televised death of her employer at a political debate. another incident of leah and michael scratching one another’s backs, this time while mutually spiting the eye. (2014)

statement of anthony farrell on his interrupted night shift duties at a fast food restaurant. establishes leah as being nonplussed with the activities of her peers so long as no one is getting seriously hurt without reason. the hypocrisy. the audacity. (2015)

statement of leah lindqvist concerning her personal history and… ‘becoming.’ statement recorded direct from subject. (2017)