#it's been several world altering events since then

[midnightmoonbeams]

Ah. That's right. At this time I was super into the The 100 on CW so when I came across this player with the name PRAIMFAYA I was like, YO!!

September 17th, 2019

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #spl2n #the 100 #cw #praimfaya #i kinda wanted to fully learn trigadesleng #i think that's what it's called #it's been several world altering events since then #nintendo #nintendo switch #turf war queue #queue

[vadersassistant]

Irresistibly Yours One Shot (Darth Vader x Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) has been hiding across the galaxy for a year, attempting to flee her husband alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi, but now it is over. When the Sith finally tracks her down she must make a choice, continue to live a lie or leave with the man she loves. Takes place during Kenobi with altered events. Reader is previously a Jedi married to Anakin Skywalker.

Warnings: Make out session, mentions of sex, slight violence (not towards reader)

A/N: The poll I made landed in a 50/50 between suited Vader and nightfall Vader so I'm giving you the best of both worlds. In which, Vader wears the suit and mask, but he can take it off and looks like the Anakin we know and love.

“You have to go,” I demanded, turning away from the door in horror.

“(Y/N),” Kenobi pleaded.

“He wants me Obi-Wan, we don’t have a choice,” I reasoned. “You know he will continue to harm those people until I come out from hiding.”

“He’s going to try and take you.”

“And I’ll try and throw him off my trail, at least one of us needs to escape.”

“I understand,” he said, after a moment of silence.  “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“May the force me with you Obi-Wan,” I nodded to him, saying the old phrase intentionally.

“You as well.”

I watched him enter the secret tunnels in the back of the workshop before it slid shut, and audibly sighed. I knew it was hopeless, it wasn’t possible to ever escape him. I couldn’t, not with how well he knew me. A part of me didn’t even agree with Kenobi, as he still believed in the Jedi and being heroes. I had changed, and their morals didn’t resonate with me any longer, not since the fall.

My body shook, as I ran as hard as I could once opening the door. It was loud on purpose, everyone standing in the little street seeing me and yelping in surprise. I saw the inquisitorious point in my direction, calling out my action for their lord. I could feel it, even though I couldn’t see his face beneath the mask. I could feel that he was looking at me, the two of us making eye contact for the first time in a year. He was massive, even taller than before and stronger than ever, right on my tail as I fled. I was quick, my legs carrying me into the maze of shipping crates and dirt from afar. I should have been quieter, but I knew that wouldn’t do much. He could track me in other ways, like the force.

His cold presence clung to my shoulders as I ran between the mounts that acted like walls. I needed to throw him off, but I knew it was impossible. He was too intelligent, too quick. His steps were twice as much as my own, the force connection that bound us inseverable. My heartbeat picked up, so much so I could hear it as if it were right in my ear. My hands were trembling lightly from the thrill of fleeing.

“There is no escape,” his modulated voice said, but I couldn’t tell where it came from.

“I’ll never join you,” I whispered.

The Sith was nowhere to been seen. I backed up, returning to my original pace and attempting to find him again in the pitch black, even though his suit was the same color. He hadn’t ignited his saber yet, although it didn’t make much of a difference, since I hadn’t ignited mine in months. In truth, I hadn’t touched a thing related to the Jedi in a year. All of it, including the force, I severed myself from, up until he started hunting me down.

He invaded my dreams, doing everything in his power to get to me. When he came, it wasn’t painful, it felt amazing, too good; feelings I only experienced in his presence. He tried to pleasure me, sooth me and coax me into joining him, promising to save me from Kenobi. He abused our connection from our time as Jedi’s, seeping into my conscious and speaking to my thoughts, ghosting my body with his invisible touch. Every time I thought of him, I thought of the past. I told myself I didn’t love him, but we both knew it was a lie.

“Really?”

I knocked into something hard, strong hands coming around my upper arms. They kept me in place with ease, essentially locking me in my tracks. I looked up and swallowed, knowing I was done for.

“Vader,” my breath was short. I wouldn't call him Anakin.

“My dear,” he said.

“I am not your dear,” I tried to back up, but it was no use. My chest tightened, feeling his thumb rub my skin comfortingly.

“Yet you are weakening in my hold,” he spoke sweetly, opposite of his reputation. If anyone else rejected him, they would be dead, neck snapped, I knew that.

“You’re a liar,” I said unfearingly.

“You are the only one lying here, (Y/N),” Vader replied. “Don’t deny me any further.”

His voice lit a fire across my entire body, smooth yet so deep I could have lost it right then and there. It took everything to keep my composure, a fake stubbornness still trying to hold up across my face. I wanted so badly to do a million different things. A part of me thought to leave, to escape and flee once again. But another part of me wanted to follow him, leave Kenobi behind, and go into the depths of hell.

“I will never join you, Sith,” I used his new title as an insult. “Now let go of me.”

“Your thoughts betray you, my love,” Vader said. "I feel your conflict."

“I hate you.”

“Hate is not an attribute of a Jedi, or you,” he entertained. “You are too caring to hate.”

He was right, always right, and knew me far too well. I sighed aloud, as he still held me and I could just feel the victorious expression through his mask.

“I married Anakin Skywalker, not you.”

“Anakin Skywalker still remains, but only for your pleasure,” he rebutted. “I am here, waiting for you, my dear. You and I can overthrow the emperor, become the galaxies newest destined rulers. Leave Kenobi and set yourself free, do what we both know you long to. We are mean't to be together.”  

I looked into his helm, hoping that I might see his eyes through the blacked-out visors. My lips parted just slightly, breathing hitched as my hands rested on the Sith’s chest. You could see it, Vader's muscles breaching the clothes he wore. The armor fitted his broad shoulders perfectly, hands so skilled and trusted. My head dipped, succumbing to what I truly thought.

“I’m supposed to kill you, to try and run away.”

“I know,” he leaned forward, his mask hovering over my head.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this,” I my hands turned into fists, pounding on his chest in frustration.

“But you don’t agree with Kenobi,” he finished.

“I don't."

“So, join me, my dear,” Vader coaxed, placing a leather glove on my jaw to tilt my head upward.

I breathed deeply, my pupils slowly dilating while taking him in.

“Take the mask off."

Surprisingly, the Sith didn’t argue. He let go of me and slipped his thumb around the rim of the helm, like he needed to turn something off. A hissing sound followed, confirming my suspicions, and he lifted it above his head carefully, dropping it onto the ground. I watched it fall, clinking on the ground as if he didn’t care for it. My eyes slowly trailed back up, seeing his true appearance in what felt like forever.

His hair was the same length, wavy and brown, yet in the face he had grown so much. His jawline was even more developed, the scar still remaining on the right brow. The most prominent feature was his eyes, gold with red rimming the irises. His gaze was more alluring than before, a look I easily got flustered from. He grinned at me checking him out and let out a sexy and low laugh.

“Still have the same effect, don’t I?” Vader asked, his actual voice being used.

“Even better,” the words formed before I could think.

His robotic arm curled around the back of my head, the two of us enclosed on the space between. I slid my arms between his neck, kissing him deeply without hesitation. It felt like a war between hell and heaven, holding my breath for as long as possible while taking the Sith in. The further we went, the worse it got, to where I wrapped my legs around his lower waist and he held onto my ass. We would take short breaths touching each other as much as possible during it, enjoying as much as we could, the both of us starved from one another.

It was no surprise Vader got the upper hand, trailing his lips over to my cheek and down to my neck. He carried me over to a tower of crates, one sitting alone in front of the stack, sitting me down on it gently. I leaned back as if it was a wall, and sounds slipped from my mouth naturally. They were rare to come by, not having heard them in months, my husband well aware. I felt Vader smile as he got onto the crate as well and trailed his hand up my thigh to my top. He was straddling me, making me feel like I was weak, and it was to die for.

More whimpers left my lips, and I knew what he wanted. The Sith fiddled with the zipper of my jacket, remaining eye contact with me while doing so. I could feel his hot breath against my skin, forcing me to shudder as he started to take my clothing off. I wanted him so badly, feeling his cod piece harden against my thigh, but we both sensed something nearby. The two of us froze, silent as his cloak shielded me from anyone’s line of sight.

“Obi-wan is near,” I whispered.

“He has come back to try to take you away from me,” Vader said, his hands now placed on both sides so that I was caged in. It was protective, the look in his eyes possessive.

“We must go, you have to have a ship nearby,” I told him.

“I do, follow me,” he nodded.

I slid off the crate, slightly upset we had been interrupted, but there wasn’t time to think about it. Obi-wan would never forgive me if he saw this, and I preferred that I remained on good terms with him. Vader called for his helmet with the force, it quickly suctioning to his hand and then being placed on his head. I kept up with him, weaving through the maze of construction until we got closer to the town. It seemed that most of the Imperial forces had been ordered to leave, Vader having called them off unsurprisingly.

The people that once lingered around were all inside, sleeping away in fear from what happened. Behind all of the buildings was a ship, the shadow of it coming into view from around the corner. It was the infamous Tie-Fighter the Sith always flew in, extremely well developed and luxurious. He lifted up the hatch with a wave of two fingers, offering a hand politely to help me up onto the top. It was only when he got in first and sat down that I realized where this was going.

The ship was small, meant to be a one seater and easy to maneuver. Vader took off his helmet once more before shooting me a suggestive look and patting the inside of his leg. It created little space for me to sit in his lap, but I didn't think much of it, all I knew was that what had stopped before was about to resume.

LMK what you all thought about this. I honestly can't decide which Vader I like more so this was very fun to write

#darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #darth vader imagine #anakin skywalker imagine #darth vader x y/n

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 12

Hey all, this story will wrap up today, so next week it will go back to just one chapter a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays and when Glitters wraps up, Sundays will go back to one a day as well.

A short chapter for the first of two, because this chapter got too long and needed to be cut down a tad and the next part fits better as a whole.

Eddie and Steve finally kiss and just giving Steve the loving crafting circle he needs.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

****

Steve got to see where the cast ate their meals, where some of the cast stayed in large tents (for those that had traveled from out of state but couldn’t afford a hotel), he got to meet the people who sold the food to the tourists, and the people who cleaned up every night.

It was marvelous.

“So was the two events they were trying to schedule at the same time, the joust and your trick riding?” Steve asked after they left the cleaners.

Eddie grinned. “Close, the sword fighting and my trick riding. I told them that I would happily run over those bastards, but I didn’t think the horses would appreciate it.”

“I bet that got them to change their tune,” Steve said with a laugh.

“It sure did, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured.

Suddenly they found themselves utterly alone.

“Steve–” Eddie began, but Steve placed his fingers on his lips.

“Just wait,” he said softly. “There’s something I want to give you first.”

Eddie blinked at him. “You bought me a present?” he asked. Well technically he said, “Ym brut me apresemnt?” since Steve still had his fingers over his mouth.

Steve laughed and dug it out of his pocket. “It’s been on a little journey, one that nearly gave me a heart attack,” he murmured, “but Jeff was able to get it back to me in time.”

He handed the small pouch over to Eddie.

Eddie took it gingerly and rubbed it between his fingers as he looked at the small thing that Steve had made for him. But as small as the item itself was the giving of it, was massive.

“I remembered you telling me that your dice bag broke,” Steve mumbled, “and I really wanted to thank you for all your help this weekend. I don’t think I could of done it without you.”

Eddie looked up at Steve with glossy eyes. “It’s perfect, Stevie.”

“I plan on giving a bunch to Katie for her to sell while I make the bigger pieces,” Steve continued, “and Robin said that I should give the first one to you, because it’s special. And you deserve something really special, Eds. Because you’re special to me and I–”

Whatever else Steve was going to say got swallowed up by Eddie kissing him firmly on the lips.

He had just grabbed Steve by the face and locked their lips together.

Steve was stocked into stillness, but that didn’t last long as he pulled Eddie close to him and deepened the kiss.

Eddie let out a happy sigh as they parted for breath. “Wow, baby. You kiss like it might be your last.”

“Eh...” Steve said with a half shrug and a lopsided smile, “when you’ve faced more then one ends of the world, it very well could be.”

Eddie chuckled, pressing their heads together. “You’ve got me there, big boy.”

“Mhmm,” Steve said softly. “And I’ve got you here, too.” His arms tightened around Eddie’s waist, drawing them flush against each other.

Eddie swatted at him. “Sap.”

Steve kissed him again. “If I’m a sap, then you’re my tree.”

“That was corny even for you, honey,” he murmured, swatting at him at playfully.

Steve just laughed.

****

The end of the Renaissance Fair had come at last. There had been more then a few bumpy moments, but looking out at all the happy faces being lit up by fireworks, Steve was pleased with the results.

And next year was going to be even better, he had plans for helping the kids have quality costumes like Corroded Coffin boys had.

He might still have to do some altering instead of full on sewing all of the costumes, but he was really looking forward to it.

Katie had told him that he had several people offer her crazy money for the pouch he had accidentally dropped, so he promised her a dozen by the end of next week for her next Fair. In different sizes too.

Eddie had been the one to suggest that. Little coin purses, dice bags, and even handbag sized ones. Eddie was even going to help him find the right materials for it, ones that weren’t as expensive as the little dice bag Steve gave him.

Steve was really looking forward to it.

They hadn’t told the kids yet about their change in relationship. Not yet. They wanted to hold onto it for themselves a little longer.

Though, judging from the look that Will and Mike had sent him, Steve was pretty sure most of them had figured it out anyway.

So what started out with longing gazing into each others’ eyes, ended with holding hands under the cover of darkness as fireworks exploded overhead.

Steve had never been happier and he just knew more happiness was coming his way.

****

Steve was proven right when Claudia called him up the next morning.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve murmured sleepily.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “did I wake you?”

Steve looked blearily at the clock on the microwave. It was after ten in the morning.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, “I don’t usually sleep this late.”

“While that is certainly true,” Claudia agreed, “you also don’t normally spend three full days at a fair. Too much sun, too much fun, and too little sleep makes for a tired Steve. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. Henderson. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes!” she said brightly. “Are you free this afternoon, from around two to four?”

Steve looked over at his calendar and squinted. “Looks like it, unless the nuggets call for rides to wherever.”

Claudia chuckled. “I think they’re going to be just as tired as you and not want to go anywhere today.”

He laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

“So, me and couple of the other moms have a sewing circle every Sunday,” she explained. “And we were all wondering if you wanted to come and join us. We have punch and little treats and spend two hours working on whatever project we have going on while we fill each other in on what’s happening in our lives.”

“You gossip,” Steve accused, teasingly.

She giggled. “Gossip is such tawdry word.”

“Like your every day language wouldn’t make a sailor blush,” Steve said dryly.

“And how would you know that?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

“Ma’am, your son has the worst language I’ve ever seen on a teenager,” Steve said, “and I’m damn sure he didn’t get it from his dad. Even when he was alive.”

Claudia’s giggle turned into a full on laugh. “All right, you’ve got me there, Steve. So you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” she cried. “We meet at Joyce’s this week.”

“This week?” Steve asked, already plotting what to bring as a treat and which project he wanted to start.

“Yes,” Claudia explained. “We rotate every week so that one person isn’t stuck hosting every time. And if you come often enough, we’ll have it your place once in a while, as well.”

Steve frowned appreciatively. “Sounds good. I’ll see you later then.”

Claudia squealed in excitement. “I can’t wait. We’re going to teach you how to use a sewing machine!”

That really piqued Steve’s interest. “Oh yeah?”

“It was Karen Wheeler’s idea,” she explained. “Karen doesn’t sew like the rest of us, but she does cross-stitch while we all chat. Apparently Mike was telling her about all the sewing you did for him and his friends and that it was all by hand.”

Steve nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, my parents thought sewing was for girls, so I learned by hand.”

“Make sure to bring some examples of your work,” she said. “I want to blow Olive Peterson’s mind. She’s of the same mind as your parents, even though what she does, the knitting, was originally only for men.”

“I have these pouches I’ve decided to make and sell,” Steve said with a grin, “so I can bring those to work on and bring some of the work I did for the kids to show off.”

“That’s brilliant!” Claudia said. “I see you later!”

Steve said goodbye and hung up.

This just might be the thing he needed.

****

Part 13

Don't quote me on the knitting originally being for men thing, it was something I learned when I read a 12 Dancing Princesses retelling years and years ago. The soldier in the story knitted to keep awake at night.

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

@croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv

@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system CLOSED

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

[tanadrin]

Shoemaker on literacy, memory, oral tradition, and the Quran:

Studies of literacy in pre-Islamic Arabia have been severely overlooked in recent Quran scholarship; in fact, literacy in the 7th century Hijaz was "almost completely unknown" and "writing was hardly practiced at all in the time of Muhammad." "[T]here seems to be a widespread agreement among experts on the early history of the Arabic language 'that, before and immediately after the rise of Islam, Arab culture was in all important respects fundamentally oral.'" Ancient graffiti in the region seems to have been a bit like early runic writing in Scandinavia--not central to the culture, mostly decorative and incidental, and certainly not used for long, important texts. "There is, in effect, a lot of 'Kilroy was here' scattered across the Arabian desert." Indeed, most of these graffiti are personal names or private in nature--we're not talking monumental inscriptions here, we're talking bored herders scratching stuff onto rocks to pass the time.

Southern Arabia and the larger oases to the north had more in the way of literate elites (and thus things like monumental inscriptions), but these places were far from the central inland Hijaz. If someone in this region did want to become literate, they would probably have learned to read and write in Greek or Aramaic, which were useful and important linguae francae.

As in very early Christianity, writing occupied a controversial position vis a vis orality--oral tradition was primary for the production and transmission of culturally important things like religious texts, poetry, literary prose, genealogy, and history. The shift to a literate culture came only with the expansion of Muhammad's polity into a wealthy, multicultural empire rather than a tribal state. Indeed, much of the early Caliphate's administration used Greek and other languages--Arabic entered administration only slowly, since a lot of early bureaucrats were drawn from the Roman and Sasanian bureaucracy.

And like early Christianity, another reason not to feel any urgency to write down Muhammad's teachings was that early Muslims expected the end of the world to come very soon, maybe initially even before Muhammad's own death.

The dialect of the Quran is distinctive and unusual; it is very difficult to locate where this dialect might have originated. Ahmad Al-Jallad tentatively identifies an Old Hijazi dialect, but the evidence for this dialect (besides the Quran itself) is limited and mostly much more recent, and he assumes the Quran was produced in the Hijaz.

The Arabic of the Quran can probably be identified with the prestige dialect of Levantine Arabic in the Ummayad period, but the origin of that dialect, and what Arabic dialects were brought together there in that time, is hard to ascertain with certainty.

Shoemaker thinks the Quran started as short collections drawn from individual memories following the conquest and encounters with widespread literacy; these collections would have been considered open, and subject to influence from oral tradition. They were combined into increasingly larger collections, with additional traditions and revisions, emergin as something like divergent versions of the Quran (though still not fully static and closed). Finally, the traditions of these regional versions, with other written and oral traditions, were fashioned into their canonical form under Abd al-Malik, and this version was progressively enforced across the empire.

Shoemaker brings in memory science and the anthropology of oral cultures: memory is highly frangible and fallible. Even though it functions well for day to day tasks, it's important not to overlook how common misremembering and re-remembering alters information in both personal and collective memory when talking about a text that even Islamic tradition agrees was not written down within Muhammad's lifetime.

Most forgetting occurs shortly after an event in question; a small core of memories we develop about an event will persist for a significant time after. These findings have been corroborated both in the lab and in the circumstances of everyday life.

Memory is not primarily reproductive; literal recall is, in evolutionary terms, pretty unimportant, and brains omit needless detail. Remembering thus involves a lot of reconstruction more than it does reproduction; memories are storied piecewise in different parts of the brain, and are assembled on recall, with the gaps being filled in using similar memory fragments drawn from comparable experiences.

Note Bartlett's experiments using a short Native American folktale; when asked to recall this story, even after only fifteen minutes participants introduced major and minor changes. Subsequent recall didn't improve accuracy, though the basic structure of the memory developed pretty quickly in each individual. But this structure was not especially accurate, and significant details vanished or were replaced with new information. Most often this information was drawn from the subject's culture (in this case, Edwardian England), forming a memory that made more sense to them and had more relevance in their context. The overall style was quickly lost, and replaced by new formations, and there was a persistent tendency to abbreviate. After a few months, narrative recall consisted mostly of false memory reports, a finding verified by subsequent replications of his experiments.

Experiential and textual memory in particular degrades very rapidly; this degredation is much faster when information is transmitted from one person to another. Epithets change into their opposites, incidents and events are transposed, names and numbers rarely survive intact more than a few reproductions, opinions and conclusions are reversed, etc. Figures like Jesus or Muhammad will hardly be remembered accurately even by people who knew them.

The style of the Quran (e.g., prose, and often terse, elliptic, and occasionally downright nonsensical prose at that) does not lend itself to memorization; Shoemaker argues it is only possible for people to memorize the Quran now because it has become a written document they can consult in the process.

Eyewitness testimony is of course also notoriously unreliable, despite what apologists (in particular Christian apologists) have argued. Cf. Franz von Liszt's experiment in 1902, where a staged argument in a lecture escalates to one student pulling a gun on another--after revealing this event was scripted and staged, and asking different students to recall the details of the event at different intervals afterward, literally none of them got it right--the best reports, taken immediately, got things about one quarter correct. Even repeatedly imagining a scenario vividly enough can eventually lead to a false memory of it occurring (a phenomenon which may explain some alien abduction reports). People mistake post-even hearsay or visualization for firsthand knowledge, especially in the case of dramatic events.

What memory excels at is remembering broad strokes--we are adapted to retain the information which is most likely to be needed, i.e., the gist (or, more likely, the broad themes) of events and information, and not its exact form.

There's a long digression here about John Dean's testimony on the Watergate conspiracy--this may be the first book in early Islamic studies to have Richard Nixon in the index.

Even competitive memory champions train for short-term recall of large amounts of information; they, and other people with preternaturally good memories, are of course exceedingly rare. It's very unlikely that someone could remember, several decades after the fact, precisely (or even mostly) what was told to them by their friend whose brother's wife's cousin was really there. So even within the traditional account of the Quran's composition, it makes no sense to claim it is in fact the verbatim word of Muhammad.

As in the case of Solomon Shereshevski, when you do have preternaturally good recall even for (say) lists of nonsense syllables, the result is actually kind of debilitating--you have so many useless details to sort through, it makes it quite hard to function at an abstract level. And hyperthymesiacs, though they exhibit a high level of recall about their past, still often remember things incorrectly, at about the same rate as people with normal memories--they are no less susceptible to false or distorted memories.

Nevertheless most modern scholars treat the Quran as a verbatim transcript of Muhammad's words. This is exceedingly unlikely! Especially given that "group" or "collaborative" memory--memories as reconstructed by individuals working together--appears to be even less accurate than individual memory. You get better results having people try to recall events by themselves.

Since during the age of conquests the majority of converts were not closely preoccurpied with the interpretation of the Quran, it would have had to have been rediscovered and hermeneutically reinvented later; the memory of Muhammad's words were being shaped by the nature of the community he founded, as its members collective and individual needs continued to evolve along with the context of transmission.

Many people, both scholars and the general public, seem to believe that people in oral cultures have remarkable capacities for memory not possessed by those of written cultures. Study of oral cultures has shown this is demonstrably false; literacy in fact strengthens verbal and visual memory, while illiteracy impairs these abilities. People in literate cultures have better memories!

Oral transmission is not rote replication; it is a process of recomposition as the tradition is recreated very time it is transmitted. Oral cultures can effectively preserve the gist of events over time, but each time the details are reconstituted, and the tradition can radically diverge from its first repetition, with the stories of the past being reshaped to make them relevant to the present and present concerns.

The collective memory of Muhammad and the origins of Islam as preserved in the Sunni tradition would have forgotten many details as a matter of course, many others because they were no longer relevant to the later Sunni community, and they would have been reshaped in ways that made them particularly suited to the life and community of their contemporary circumstances, exemplifying and validating their religious beliefs--ones very different from those of Muhammad's earliest followers.

The early Muslim conquests put a comparatively small number of soldiers, scattered across a huge territory, in a wildly different cultural and social context, especially in close contact with different Christian and Jewish communities, esp. in the Levant, which rapidly became the cultural center of the new empire. Jews and Christians may have joined the new religious community in large numbers in this time also; their faith and identity would have continued to evolve in this period, as we would expect from comparative episodes in the history of other religions. By the time that Muhammad's teachings were formally inscribed, the memories of his few hundred initial companions would have been transmitted and dispersed to a large number of people in a totally different set of circumstances, with consequences for how those memories exactly were recalled.

Jack Goody, researcher on oral traditions: "It is rather in literate societies that verbatim memory flourishes. Partly because the existence of a fixed original makes it much easier; partly because of the elaboration of spatially oriented memory techniques; partly because of the school situation which has to encourage "decontextualized" memory tasks since it has removed learning from doing and has redefined the corpus of knowledge. Verbatim memorizing is the equivalent of exact copying, which is intrinsic to the transmission of scribal culture, indeed manuscript cultures generally."

Techniques like the ars memoriae belong to literate cultures and were invented by literate people; they are unknown in oral cultures. Oral and literate cultures in fact have a radically different idea of what it means for a text to be "the same"--in the former, word-for-word reproduction is not necessary. A poem can be "the same poem" even if every time it is performed it is largely unique.

Case of the Bagre, the sacred text of the LoDagaa people of Ghana, an extended religious poem used in a liturgical context. Variations in its recitation aren't just variations in wording; changes in recitation can be radical, and the last version is always the starting point. Nevertheless (as in other oral cultures) it is considered "the same," functionally identical with each recitation. These differences appeared even among different performances by the same reciter, or multiple times in the same ceremony. Even the most formulaic parts have great variability. Similar variability in oral texts in other oral cultures has been documented by other anthropologists, including for historical events.

Shoemaker notes that the tradition that the Vedas were transmitted without variation from the time of their composition remains an article of faith in some quarters of South Asian studies; this flies in the face of all available evidence. In fact we have no idea what the state of the Vedic texts was prior to the earliest manuscripts; they may have been written all along.

Collective memory is shaped by contemporary cultural imperatives--examples of Abe Lincoln, a white supremacist considered nothing special by his peers; Christopher Columbus, once revered; the last stand at Masada, considered a minor event of little importance to broader Jewish history until the founding of Israel.

There doesn't have to be any conspiracy or coordinated effort for false narratives about the past to take root.

The hard horizon of communicative memory is around eighty years; so historical consciousness basically only has two modes: the mythic past of collective memory, and the recent past less than eighty or so years ago.

Lack of a clear "generic" monotheism in the Hijaz around the time of Muhammad's birth means the expectations and memory of Muhammad would have been profoundly shaped by Christian and Jewish beliefs.

Early Islam, like early Christianity, wasn't old enough to have a clear distinction between historical/origins memory and recent/communicative memory.

"For most of the seventh century, then, Muhammad’s followers had a memory that was still immersed in the social and cultural milieux of the late ancient Near East, from which they had yet to clearly differentiate themselves. They eventually would do this in large part by developing a distinctive collective memory for their group, different from those inherited from Judaism and Christianity, a process that was no doubt delayed by their fervent belief that the world would soon come to an end, making such an endeavor rather pointless for a time. Only as the end continued to remain in abeyance, and the community’s living memory grew ever distant from the time of origins did they develop a collective memory of their own. Yet, as Islamic collective memory began to evolve, one imagines that it initially took different shapes within the various pockets of Believers that were scattered across their empire. The basic elements of this nascent collective memory were, as Halbwachs says of the early Christians, “still dispersed among a multitude of spatially separated small communities. These communities were neither astonished, anxious, nor scandalized that the beliefs of one community differed from those of another and that the community of today was not exactly the same as that of yesterday.” Thus, we should expect to find a significant degree of diversity in religious faith and memory among the different early communities of the Believers, scattered and outnumbered as they were among the Jews and Christians of their burgeoning empire. Only with ʿAbd al-Malik’s program of Arabization and Islamicization was a new, distinctively Islamic collective memory and identity concretized and established for this new religious community. It was a collective identity that was formed from the top down and imposed, at the expense of any other alternative collective memories, with the full power and backing of the imperial state."

The limits of oral tradition apply even more strongly to the hadith and biographies.

#stephen shoemaker #Creating the Quran #islamic studies

[kaybreezy3000]

Bad Things (Five Hargreeves/Reader)

~Psychopathy is a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, the inability to distinguish between right and wrong, poor behavioral controls, and behaviors that contradict social norms which then commonly result in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior.

Enter, Five Hargreeves, everyone's favorite little psycho.

(Chapter One and Chapter Two Post)

Summary:

Having been left in a new world with nothing, his mental state growing more and more dangerous, Five Hargreeves finds something he feels will keep him from going off the deep end, but just like in so many things he thinks that are wrong, the fact that he thinks this already proves he has.

Note~The female character is written so that she's part OC but easily filled in as you or reader insert. When we are in Five's side of things, the OC/Reader/You will be referred to as 'her/she/the girl.'

Characters: Number Five, Dolores, unnamed Female OC/Reader insert, Klaus, and Diego

Warnings and tags: Mental disintegration, psychological trauma, effects of isolation, masturbation, non-consensual voyeurism, explicit sexual content, bondage, POV altering, touch starved, obsessive behavior, inanimate object love, and many other sexually deviant themes all mixed with a lovely twist that you will hopefully enjoy...

-comment if you want to be added to tag list (New chapters will be added weekly and this one is 7 chapters total with a Word Count of just under 50K) 😉

Chapter One: Dark Side

Taking the stairs since the elevator is broken and he can no longer teleport at will, Five ambles, step by step, up to his apartment on the seventh floor. For a young man, Five feels so old and not just mentally like he actually is at the cognitive age of sixty. 

With no end of world event in the foreseeable future, as incredible as that is, living in Reginald Hargreeves’s ideal version of the world has left Five with next to nothing.

As far as the world’s concerned, Number Five Hargreeves is dead. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing because Five doesn’t want people to know about him being back, but it is a problem if you’re not dead and you need to find work to feed yourself.

If not for Klaus’s help getting him fake ids and a shitty job doing data entry in the basement of a huge office building, Five wouldn’t even have a roof over his head. 

Five’s polished black dress shoes sidestep around piles of trash as he listens to voices of people screaming and yelling at each other behind the worn and dented doors he passes on the way to his own.

He does not live in a nice building or a nice area of the city. His low-income housing is a far cry from the life he’d once lived behind the secretive walls of The Umbrella Academy. His childhood home still exists, though neither he nor any of his siblings are welcome there.

In the new world of Sir Reginald Hargreeves, the status quo remains as it was before, with most having very little, while a very few have a lot. This time Reggie himself has a lot more.

Nearly half the buildings in the city’s skyline bare Five’s adoptive father’s name, but it would do him no good to go to him for help. Luther did, and not even getting allowed to see their dad face to face, he got thrown out on the street by security guards in front of the glamours monstrosity known as The Hargreeves Internation building, which is Reginal's current residence and seat of power.

In this world, the relationship between the world-renowned inventor and his remaining adoptive children was severed years ago, just as it was in their real timeline.

Most of Five’s siblings had places to go though, and that was in part how it was so easy for them to walk away. They still had their various places they crashed at or rented.

For all Five knew, it sounded like Allison still had her life, including her daughter back, but besides that, he knew nothing about her. After turning on them, she didn’t look back. Like with her and most the rest of his family, it had been radio silence when it comes to communication with him since the day that they walked away to move on with their life.

As much as Five needed it in that first year, after everything their father did to them, he vowed he’d never go to him for help again, so he remained dead. 

After carefully traversing the disgusting hallway that is the only way to the place that he calls home, entering the one room flat, Five is greeted with the polluted smell of city air blowing in from the window he left open.

He sees Dolores waiting for him.  She is still tucked in under the blanket on his bed, just where he left her.

‘I am so glad you're home! ’ she brightly chirps.

Other than her and the sense of love and radiating warmth that Five creates out of her, there is nothing here for him. Five has no one.

There is nothing of color, or personal flair or tasteful decor inside his residence. The furnishings weren’t even picked by him. They were discarded here. They are faded, old, and beaten and used, just like him.

Five feels ancient and worn, but physically he is not. His costly tailored suits are fitted to perfection, and they only make him stand out even more in stark contradiction to everything else within his personal space.

“Hello, Dolores.” 

His reply is flat and lifeless, but he can’t help it.

Terribly thirsty, Five crosses the room, moving to his kitchen. He reaches up, taking a milky looking etched glass out of the cabinet, then he places it under the facet at his sink.

Five took the subway most of the way home like he always does, but he still had to walk six long blocks after that. He tips back the entire glass of water he just poured, chugging it in a matter of seconds. He can’t help the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth when he thinks about what he did for his family and the heavy cost he’s paid for it. No matter the amount of time that passes, it never seems to make his resentment fade.

Since being abandoned by his siblings in Oblivion Park the night their lives were given back to them by Allison and Reginald’s collaborative effort to fuck them over, Five has been dealing with the repercussions of his many mistakes and doing it alone. It has taken less than two years for Five to age from a scrawny pubescent thirteen-year-old, to a man in his very early twenties. In this utopian world, The Commission is no more, and the treatments they gave him back when he was theirs have completely run their course and are no longer unnaturally crawling through his body keeping him from aging.

After being plucked from the apocalypse, The Handler wasted no time adding to her strict requirement that he worked exclusively for her despite the fact that his contract didn't say that. She informed Five that since she was the only reason he was saved, not only was he hers, and not just in an advisory capacity, unless he’d prefer to die alone, he’d be undergoing various improvements. Not thinking what that meant, being all that mattered was that he saves himself first so he could save everyone else, he agreed. 

The very day he got picked up, after that conversation and being treated to his first real shower in forty years and a real meal that he embarrassingly devoured like the starving man he was, he foolishly started to think things were actually going to be okay for once. Then, with that silly notion still tickling at his brilliant yet still somewhat childlike mind, things changed very quickly.

The Handler informed Five that he was scheduled for operations starting immediately. When he nervously declined, saying he didn’t want them, she tartly replied that she’d be happy to take him back to his wasteland and cockroaches, and that’s when Five realized he held absolutely zero power in the hasty agreement he’d made.

Through her perfectly fluid, red lipped charm, The Handler laced every word she ever had for him with contempt and malicious intent as she continuously threatened him with thinly veiled cruelty. Terrified as if he were a helpless child, though schooling his wrinkled features not to show it, Five followed her like a lost puppy, sickness from the amount of food he’d just eaten adding to his terror as they stripped him naked, then strapped him down to an operating table. 

With little explanation other than adjustments were often made, especially to older recruits, Five fought every instinct not to blink himself to safety as he impotently watched the room fade away from the sedative being injected in his arm.

Even if he had blinked or could have at that point, there was nowhere safe for him to go.

Waking in recovery, at first, Five didn’t feel any different. He was extremely sore and bruised, but not different. Not till later was he told he wouldn’t age, being that he’d been given a treatment that would prevent it for many years to come. When it started to wear off, and that would be based on factors they didn’t make known to him, he’d be given more, thus allowing him to continue his service for them indefinitely even though he’d only agreed to a five-year contract.

Five realized that now that they had him, they weren't going to just let him walk away, but still he held on to the hope that he'd figure out how to get back. Defiantly he marched on thinking he'd get the better of them.

Their special therapies made him stronger, more resilient, and he even healed quicker because his metabolism was working much faster than it was before. It all seemed like a good thing.

Five wanted to live.

He had to figure out how to get back to his family and save them and everyone else. He needed time, just a little more time and he’d have it. He was finally strong, not sick, not starving or fighting everyday just to make it to the next.

This was good.

Only it wasn’t.

There was more they did to him that day, only he didn’t know about it till later.

When asked if he could perform the tasks required to work for them, Five had confidently said yes. He told his recruiter that he had killed before.

Through their missions as children, the idea of killing was something that never made him think twice because it was all in the name of good. They were the heroes. Dad had told them they were born extraordinary for a reason. They had a purpose. 

Five always thought that the purpose was to help people. Later he realized that was very naïve of him to think because Reginald only had them on missions that benefited him in some way. They did not go around saving the world from the everyday tragedies that were always waiting around every corner.

Not till they ended up in the Sparrow's world and after Reginald drained them to nearly the point of death did Five realize the purpose of them being born the way was so they could be used like extraterrestrial batteries to fuel the reset of the universe. 

Just like with The Commission, everything with Sir Reginald Hargreeves was done for a reason and those reasons held many gray areas.

As months passed and his training with his new employer completed, Five found out just what it meant to work in corrections for a time preservation organization whose goal was to maintain what they felt was the generally accepted timeline. Human life meant little to nothing to them on a one-to-one scale. That meant more death. Lots more death.

Each time that Five pulled the trigger or had to take someone’s life, watching the color fade from their purple oxygen-deprived flesh when he squeezed the life out of them, he told himself it was all to get back. When he got back, he’d figure this all out. It would be okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Neither was Five. 

Along with their other thoughtful enhancements, The Commission gave him something that would never wear off. By the time he finally was ready to make the enormous jump through time and space to go back to his family, Five was not the same person. He hadn’t been since he woke up on that operating table over four years before. That was because while he was out, they blended his DNA with that of several well-known notoriously brutal serial killers, and it was all in the name of making him a better assassin. 

Five had become mercilessly cold, and not the way he was as an arrogant child who thought he was better than everyone. No, this near emotional opposite of snobbery and having any sort of compassion for his fellow man was different.

In four years, he’d killed so many times he’d stopped counting. In the beginning Five still felt it, the remorse, and the nausea when he thought of what he’d done. He’d break down in fits of tears and shuddering sobs when he was alone in his tiny Commission assigned apartment, nearly suffocating from the weight of his shame. 

They were killing innocent people and he let them turn him in to the deadly weapon they were using to do it.

By the time Five was done, his mind had altered how he processed things. It happened in part because of the alterations they made to his DNA, but it was also his own survival method, allowing him to continue; to keep waking up and to keep fighting for what he had to see through to the end.

When The Handler gave him a job as she ran her finger condescendingly across his cheek in that wicked way of hers, it let him know that he was nothing more than her pet and her vicious executioner. Five accepted it. He even relished in the peaceful quiet of death and the simplicity of delivering it so efficiently.

The Handler was extremely pleased at how she’d manipulated him so easily. Five knew that, but even knowing he was being used, Five was proud of himself. He savored her praise like the lost child he still was inside. Even old and gray, Five was still the boy who longed to be noticed and loved.

When Five took out the board of directors, he’d done it for her, but he’d also done it for himself. In that moment, his mind was on another level of depraved, finding joy in the sick pleasure he felt as the blade of his ax sliced through their flesh and the spray of the warm blood spattered his face.

Even before that happened, Five had lied to Luther when he told him he didn’t enjoy it and that’s because he was trying to pretend that he was the person he wished he still was.

Even as he lied, Five's words came out lack of any emotion, dead and toneless. Luther didn’t seem to notice. Like the rest of his family, they didn’t know him anymore. They had no idea how different their dad's Number Five had become, and they didn’t seem to care to know him, though all Five had ever wanted was to get them back.

Five was aware that killing was one of the only things that made him feel alive, but he was too focused on trying to save the world to dwell on it. Everything kept falling apart and with more important things on his mind, he simply didn't have time to think about it.

Now there was time. 

Turning from his sink, Five walks back to the sole armchair in the middle of the space that serves as his living room. He slips off his black suit jacket, draping it over the back. 

‘I missed you,’ Dolores says, her voice in his mind so hopeful. Five glances her way but can’t keep her eye.

His reply comes almost too quietly to hear. “I missed you too.”

Purposefully avoiding her, Five wanders over to his small kitchen table. He didn’t even bother to turn on the light when he entered his apartment. This entire time it’s been dark, save for the dim light filtering in from his two small windows.

Pulling out the single chair, he sits down on the cracked vinyl cushion, dropping his head in his hands as he thinks about what he is doing.

Looking up after a minute of trying to get his head straight but failing, Five’s eyes train on the widow in front of him. His nicotine yellowed curtains wave gently from the air moving in. Beyond his window, across the alley, the occupant of the adjacent apartment is home. Five knew she would be, that’s why he left the lights off. It’s also why he left his window open. 

He can hear her voice. It’s faint as she talks on her phone, but Five can hear it and make out parts of what she’s saying. 

She’s talking about work like she often is.

The girl comes to the window dressed in her uniform from the job she works at during the day. She dumps the water from her watering can in the flower box attached to the sill.

Five knows that she can’t see him, but he doesn’t move a muscle anyway. He holds his breath.

She’s so close.

He could almost touch her.

Five can see her hair flutter in the wind before she laughs at something the person on the line must have said, then she leans back inside after plucking off a few dead buds, flicking them to the ground below.

The girl is young, similar in that she’s not much younger or older than Five's physical age. At his mental age, she is not someone he should be interested in. She is not someone Five should be watching like this, not that he should be watching anyone, but like so many things about himself that can’t control, he is interested in her.

Everything about her is animated and full of life. 

She’s the opposite of him.

Five is almost completely empty and deeply numb inside.

His fascination with her is in part because of that. He’s aware of this on some level, but he also realizes it’s for other reasons.

Bad reasons.

The immorality of doing this is almost no more than a ghost in his mind at this point. The more it happens, the less Five cares that it’s wrong.

Everything about him is wrong so why torture himself about one more thing?

With a dull, lifeless expression washing over his features, Five continues staring out, analyzing her every move as she moves about her small apartment. 

‘You can’t keep doing this. You need help,’ Dolores warns sharply, the same way she’s been saying it since he started this, the same way she says it every night. 

“I don’t need help, Dolores. I appreciate your concern, but I am fine,” Five grumbles back, not bothering to turn towards her, or finishing by lying to her again, telling her that it’s just a diversion, and it’s nothing more. 

Normally, when he comes home, Five would feel something when he sees the long-time love of his life. He still does, but the more he watches this girl, the less he’s been able to pretend with Dolores like he always has. It disturbs him but he can’t stop.

‘You aren’t eating enough, and you didn’t sleep again last night. I am so worried about you. I love you,’ she adds with that sound of unsuppressed fear in her voice that’s been getting worse and worse when Five comes in late, zombie-like after being gone at work all day and then wakes up acting almost exactly the same way.

Though it hurts him to do it, Five ignores her, pretending he didn't hear. Brushing the curtains aside even more, he lets himself become fully engrossed in the life across the alley.

Not long after being left by his family, Five had gone to Dolores, finding her standing tall on her pedestal in the used clothing store. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t take her then, that didn’t happen till later. He tried so hard to be normal and he knew that having her with him wouldn’t help in that endeavor.

After months of hardly hanging on, sleeping at Viktor’s some nights, on the streets others, then finally scratching enough pennies to get by, Five finally got his own place. Here in this hell hole, Five found that his new chance at living a real life was not at all what he’d thought it would be.

This time the idea of retirement and hitting the road to find his next big ball of twine left Five unbearably uneasy. He couldn’t let himself give into the childlike notions he had before.

Five had nothing. He couldn’t retire. Even if Klaus had wanted to drag him along to find their birth parents or something else pointless again, Five wouldn’t have let himself be tricked into it this time.

Last time that happened, he’d had this strange glimmer of hope light up his heart. He hadn’t felt that in so long. It was like getting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was viciously stripped from him again by impending death taking everything and sucking it into the mother fucker of black holes. 

Five was left in the dark again.

Now Five found himself feeling as alone in a world filled with people as he did in a world alone. He couldn’t figure out how to fit into society and that humiliating failure had him withdrawing inside himself even more. 

He tried to hold on to his usual anger, pretending it wasn’t his fault but even that failed him because he knew on every level that it was his fault. 

The isolation finally became too much for him, he snuck into the back room of that department store where Dolores lived. Not till the shop closed did he come out of hiding and steal her out of there, long legs and all.

She’s been with him again ever since, providing the love and comfort she always has. Only until one night, when Five saw the girl next door, Dolores had been enough to keep him satisfied and not feeling so alone. Since discovering this girl, a dangerous and obsessive pattern has developed. 

Every night when Five comes home, well after dinnertime, he leaves the light off so he can go to the table and watch the female occupant of the next building. She rarely shuts her blinds, and when she does, it’s not all the way. She may think nobody lives across from her because Five is gone all day and at night, even when he’s there, it looks like he’s not.

She may not care if someone is watching her, and that idea alone helps Five justify what he’s doing. That flawed perception of things is also making it easier for other thoughts to invade his already very fractured mind.

It started innocently enough. Curiosity mostly. She was pretty. Five told himself that it was normal to be drawn to beautiful things. She held odd hours, but she was almost always home for a few hours before bed when Five had nothing and no one else other than Dolores. To him, it felt like it was on purpose.

She’d either be home already or he’d get to watch her come in from one job, change for another, eat, shower, and go again. She’d water her flowers that hung in a box outside her window and then Five would get to be even closer to her. She’d even leave her windows open most nights, and Five would do the same, furthering the connection he feels is growing stronger with her.

Five believes that he knows this girl on an intimate level. He knows her name and where she works, and many other things about her.

This relationship is becoming real to him; as real as it is with Dolores.

Stepping out of what Five has determined is her bathroom, the girl bends down to pick up the towel that just slipped off her head. In doing so, Five gets a much better few of her ass that’s only covered by her very small underwear. If she’d just turn around, he’d see her breasts. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, “please turn around, for me.” 

She doesn’t, but Five’s right hand moves between his legs anyway. It always goes something like this. It starts as simple, silent watching, then as he justifies his actions with things that are entirely imagined, Five’s already defunct rationale dissolves completely. 

Five rubs his palm over the tip of his partial erection as it sits in a raised silhouette covered by the thin wool material covering his lap. Reacting to the pleasure of his own hand, Five spreads his legs wider, his fingers better working the hardening length as his lips slowly part to better accommodate his heavier breathing.

Five knows he could simply watch porn to take care of this perplexing and intensifying desire to be with someone real. It’s not like he’s opposed to it, it's just that this private show is for him and only him. This is special.

In his mind, the more he watches, the more he feels like this girl is part of his life, and that is the thing that he needs the most even though he can’t see the truth of it anymore. Intense denial and the refusal to see that he needs help, all comes from years of using this pattern to survive. It was even this way when Five was a child. Now it’s much worse and it’s fueling this fantasy, making him blind to the reality of what he is doing.

Five spends most of his days in a blur without sensation, existing but not living. But, deep down in a place he can’t open again, Five longs for something that he's only ever allowed himself to dream of.

Now, after everything that’s happened to him, Five is so broken he doesn’t know how to be with someone real which is making that dream feel impossible. He tells himself that it never really was possible; he's always been broken. This is all there ever will be. Just the idea of trying to open himself means letting someone inside and risking them seeing what he really is, and he can’t let that happen.

Five believes that he is nothing more now than a cold-blooded psychotic killer, living a meaningless life.

He can’t escape what he is, and he can’t go back to change it.

There is no one that can help him, and no one that would want to help him if they knew the truth about him.

This, what he is doing with this girl, is easier. It’s his only option. Five thinks he’s in control of it, just like with Dolores. Watching and touching himself like this, it’s enough. He won’t do more.

Five craves control and with this, he has it.

Now that he has her, Five is not alone. She is real, living and breathing. Five can even imagine the soft feel of her skin as he runs his hands up and down her smooth looking legs. He can feel her warmth on him, rubbing against his cock as he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her in a dominant yet affectionate embrace.

Wanting to tease her, Five smiles a little and says, “I bet you just couldn’t wait for me to get home. You love me, and you love it when I do this to you, don’t you…”

In Five’s head, she giggles a yes.

The girl flips her head down, blow-drying her locks. Again, the view isn’t bad. She dropped the towel around her and put her bra on while inside the bathroom where Five couldn’t see it. He didn’t get the full show he’d been hoping for, but she’s still a sight in her matching set of very feminine undergarments. Five can feel his hands roaming over her, the delicate filigree stitch of the lace fabric the only thing keeping him from having all of her.

Teeth studding into his lower lip, Five unzips himself, pulling the heat between his legs free so he can grip the girth tight. Heels digging into his linoleum floor, his lips twist with a dark delight as his eyes narrow. 

She is all his.

The girl flips her head back up, straightening herself as she shuts off the hair dryer and starts putting on her makeup. Five imagines himself shoving her up against the small, cluttered counter in front of her.

She drops her head back against him, moaning his name the moment she feels his bare flesh pressing against her in that way that means he's seeking more than just to rub himself on her.

She likes that too, but Five knows that she wants all of him tonight.

Licking his lips, his eyes trained on her body, Five’s voice comes out sweetly menacing. “I am going to fuck to till you scream.”

She arches into him again.

Five’s hand works his cock, spreading his pre-cum under his fingers, but it’s not enough to let his hand slip and slide and he doesn’t care. He likes to jerk himself hard and with no regard for being gentle about it. Pain and pleasure are the only things that make Five feel these days and this will give him both fixes.

Five desperately wants to feel.

“I love your perfect tits,” he grates out through clenched teeth. Then, in his head, he leans over, biting into the soft flesh of her shoulder as he suddenly fucks up into her from behind. He’s railing her hard and fast, and in his mind, she loves it as much as he does.

Or maybe she doesn’t and that’s exciting too even though Five knows that is wrong. It really doesn’t matter, because it’s up to him to decide, just like it always is with Dolores. With his cock in hand as the muscles in his calves flex and burn while his heels squeak across his floor, it’s all up to him and him alone how he finds his pleasure. 

Five is mentally and physically free to be the vile creature he is with no judgment and no fear of rejection. 

A thin sheen of sweat on his brow, Five grunts as he aggressively pumps his cock. His ass cheeks squeeze and contract as his hips jut upwards into his own hand. 

When the sound of the girl’s ringtone plays out, sending an upbeat song blaring, she drops her mascara on the counter and picks it up. Whatever the caller tells her, abruptly causes her to alter her usual nightly routine. Normally she’d be home for another hour getting ready, but instead, she hangs up, comes out in her bedroom area and haphazardly throws on her clothes and rushes out the door, leaving Five literally hanging. 

Hanging on to himself that is, with no more eye candy to get off on. 

The moment she’s gone, the reality of what he’s doing threatens to swallow him whole. Just the idea of having to face it has Five’s hand slowing and his heart clenching in the start of a panic attack.

No, no, no, no…

“I am not-" Five’s words stick as his mouth fills with the thickness of his mortifying disgrace trying to choke him.

His hands both come up, yanking at his tie as if it’s the thing stripping him of his ability to breathe.

Five feels like he is drowning. His once revered mind feels like it's breaking in two as it's being flooded with shame and hate.

He does not want to be this person.

‘Five, it’s okay.’ Dolores calls out to him, trying to help bring him back from the dark surrounding him. ‘I am here. We will figure this out! Please, sweetheart, just come to me. It will be okay. We can make it okay again.’

Dragging himself out of his chair, Five goes to Dolores. Once next to his bed, with blurry eyes looking down at her, he kicks off his pants and underwear, then rolls himself over on his side, burying his face against the cool hard skin at her neck.

“I am so sorry, darling. You are the only one that has ever loved me… I am so sorry I am doing this to you. I hate this,” he cries, the air heaving out of him as he reaches down under the blankets, taking himself in hand again. 

With more wet gasps, his free hand runs soft and tenderly up and down under Dolores’s blouse, trying to show how much he loves her in the way he handles her painted flesh. Five whispers apologies and words of love as he finishes himself, part thrusting and part still using his hand, while moving himself up against her solid and unforgiving leg.

Five may be laying with the mannequin that is the loyal love of his life, pouring his love out to her, but in his mind, images of the girl across the alley play over and over again.

Chapter Two: I feel So Close

Like usual, the next morning, Five finds himself awake way too early. He hardly slept again. It’s hours before his alarm goes off for work. He is bare assed with only his dress shirt on, laying with his face settled on top of the unforgiving shape of Dolores’s hard chest.  

Drowsily stretching his legs under the blankets, he cuddles in tighter, unwilling to open his eyes but also unable to turn his overactive brain off. Then, as sleep further evades him, he begins to remember what happened the night before.

Five’s hand glides up Dolores’s arm, coming up to her face so he can gently run his fingers across her cheek the way she likes.

‘Good morning, Five ,’ she coos back to his tender show of affection.

Peeking at her from under the fringe of his ruffled hair, Five does his best to smile when their eyes meet, but it comes off uncertain because he feels so bad for what he did.

Five never wanted to be a cheater, but Dolores has told him time and time again that she wants him to find someone who can be there for him in ways that she can't, and if he did, it wouldn't be cheating. The problem is this is not what she meant. It’s throwing his dysfunction and failure in her face when all she has done for the last forty-one years is support him. Then, after making her watch another one of his many falls from grace, he’s got the balls to come to her as a whimpering mess, going even more dysfunctional when he sets about selfishly dirtying her thighs and her pretty new skirt with his traitorous seed.

“I am so sorry,” Five quietly breathes, sounding so discouraged. 

Already his free hand is inspecting the damage under the blankets. It's not like he hasn't done these kinds of sexual things with Dolores before, it's just last night was wrong on too many levels. Dolores can do nothing for herself, and his intense shame over the way he used her and his innate need to take care of her has Five quickly untangling himself from her body.

‘It’s okay.’

“It’s not,” he replies on the way to the bathroom to get soapy washcloths.

Once inside, Five accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and just that makes his chest hurt.

“You fucking, pathetic bastard,” he mumbles, cursing himself as he goes about getting the supplies he needs to help bring some dignity back to his helpless partner.

Coming back to bed, he sets his things down on the nightstand and then picks up his own rumpled dress pants off the floor. He zips himself in, trying not to think about when he unzipped last night, but it’s impossible not to. 

Eyes on Dolores, he rolls the comforter back and starts cleaning her. Once he has her legs shiny and cleansed, Five glances across the room to the nearest window. Behind the fluttering curtain, he knows the girl is still laying in her bed. With even more remorse threatening to pull him under, he looks down at Dolores.

“I’ll change you into some fresh clothes, strip the bedding, and then you and I can make breakfast together, and I’ll read to you till I have to go?” Five says it as a question, sounding so hopeful she won’t reject his attempt to try to be the man he used to be for her.

‘That would be perfect, sweetheart. I would love that.’ As soon as her reply processes in his mind, it instantly makes him feel better.

Five makes good on his offer, other than his own shower, he spends the quiet pre-dawn hours at her side. He’s sure to right the rest of the wrongs from the night before by dressing her in the next best thing he has for her, then he remakes their bed with fresh linens and blankets, and carefully tucks Dolores in so she’s comfortable as she waits for his return.

After leaning in and kissing her on her cool rosy cheek, Five leaves for the day, dressed in his usual all black three-piece suit paired with a fitted white dress shirt and black tie.

Feeling a little more like himself and that he can make it through another day, Five’s smile before walking out the door is real and full of so much love. “Thank you for loving me. You are all I need,” he says in his head, doing his best to will it true, but it’s sadly not.

Like so many times he’s lied to himself, Five tries very hard to change this new pattern of giving into his darker urges, but as the week progresses, he can’t help but fall victim again to his inappropriate indulgence. 

The rest of the week, he manages to achieve his nightly end goal of blissful release without falling into another dark hole of mortification like he did after peeping on the girl on Monday night. Five’s success not wallowing in utter misery is not good in that it only further ingrains his deviant behavior and his fantasy that there’s something building between him and the stranger across the alley.

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

Friday after work, Five is sitting in his armchair, disdainfully eyeing his brother as he goes about, snooping around his small apartment. Five lets out a sharp sigh, then tipping his head back, he takes a drink of the extremely delicious coffee that Klaus used as an excuse to drop by.

"I know you haven't talked to Diego in a while, but I saw him last week and he told me that he's still been keeping an eye on our dear old alien dad."

Every time Klaus pays him a visit this topic comes up and every time Five refuses to take the bait. "Diego should stop trying to play superhero. He should just let it rest. Dad got what he wanted. He's got the world by the balls and even though we mean nothing to him, he let us live. Story over."

"I don't know, man. Diego said that Lila has been looking into things with him lately and there's something weird going on of there at the Hargreeves International building. Like more than an alien overlord hanging out in his penthouse basking in how small all of us insignificant humans look down here on the ground."

Five couldn't look more like he doesn't give a shit, so Klaus moves on to other things on his agenda. “So, work is good, things are going well then?” Klaus asks, leaning over Five's bed to give a tress hanging from Dolores’s wig a twirl.

Loathing the way Klaus is touching her, Five’s face melts into a purely sinister looking leer, but his brother doesn’t seem to get the hint and keeps on with it, twirling away.

“You could care less about my work or if I enjoy it. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate good coffee, but you don’t need to stop by and check on me. You haven’t felt the need to pay me regular visits up until recently and nobody else in our family of idiot misfit toys gives a damn, so you are welcome to join them in that if you are simply coming by to try and piss me off, which you are.”

Five defiantly cocks his chin the same time one of his shoulders rises in that uncontrollable mad tick of his as he gears up for the rest of his dismissal. 

“In case you forgot, I am a grown man and I have been taking care of myself almost my entire life. I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he bites out, teeth bared.

Klaus nods, his lips pursing as he thinks for a second. “Yeah, all true. But you are pretty damn young to be living all alone like this.” He smirks. “Well, sort of.”

“I know your miniscule brain can't comprehend this, but I am not a child, and I am not alone!” Five defends much too loudly and quickly, his sneer transforming into a deep frown instead.

After that excessive outburst, both Klaus and Five look at Dolores. Klaus dips closer to her and whispers something. Five can’t help but internally curse himself as he watches his brother openly taunting him. He knows it’s pointless to let Klaus rattle him, but he can’t help it. Everything is setting him off lately. One of the reasons he prefers to be alone is to avoid things like this.

Five’s already very small world is closing in around him more and more each day and the worst part is that he is accepting it.

Shifting in his chair, Five’s clammy hand comes up to his silk tie, fidgeting with it. Just having Klaus in his apartment is making it feel harder for him to breathe and he knows that’s irrational but it’s true all the same.

In Five’s mind, Dolores is looking back at him with her customary expression of agitation that she saves for when he’s doing something she’s not okay with, yet the reality is, her face always remains that of pleasant neutrality.

Lately, Five hasn’t been able to connect to her on the same intimate level he has been for most his life, but his troubled mind hasn’t given up on using Dolores as an outlet to try to get through to him. Though she is not real, Dolores is still where Five keeps what’s left of his heart, and she is his lifeline just like she always has been.

I want him to go, Five tells her in their way that needs no words.

‘You know that your brother was not in the best shape when he first got here. It’s not Klaus’s fault he wasn’t able to be around more. He had things to figure out too. Relax, sweetheart. Just take your deep breaths like we talked about. He’s just trying to be nice,’ she gently offers, trying to calm Five down.

Since Klaus is back to messing with Dolores’s hair, he doesn’t notice the look of fear in Five’s eyes as he stares at her, or that he’s desperately trying to do as she said and take long deep breaths to reign in this feeling of impending doom that’s looming over him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe that you are fine,” Klaus goes on, “it’s just I can’t help but feel like you need to get out, you know… Like join the world of the living a little more now that you can.”

Five’s fingers clench on the arm of his chair but he manages to keep his voice level and his expression blank by the time Klaus looks his way again. “I do get out,” he flatly replies.

Klaus laughs. “I don’t mean going to work or picking up takeout.”

Unable to maintain his façade of cool, nervously bending forward, Five’s free hand grips tightly at his knee. “Look, Klaus, these little interrogation visits of yours are a blast and all but if there is nothing else that you’d like to talk about, then you can kindly see yourself to the door because I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

Five doesn’t respond and that’s because he doesn’t have anything to do. Well, not anything that he is going to admit to Klaus anyway. Speaking of which, Five raises his arm, anxiously drawing his cuff up enough to see his watch.

The girl should be home by now.

She is waiting for him. He heard her telling someone on the phone this week that she has this entire weekend off. Five has been looking forward to this rare break in her busy work schedule ever since because now he won’t be alone the next two days.

It takes everything Five has not to get up and go check on her, but he refuses to even look over at his window while Klaus is there.

An ache like need to get his brother out as soon as possible has Five’s jaw tensing as he tries to think of how best to do it. Just thinking about missing his chance to spend time with the girl has Five fighting to keep his knees from bouncing. He's about to come flying up out of his chair and physically throw Klaus out on his ass.

'Just breathe,' Dolores reminds him.

Trying to listen and just relax but with his nerves still getting the best of him, Five looks extremely bothered when he finally comes up with his lame answer, but at least he is not going postal on the one remaining family member that actually remembers he exists.

“I am trying to finish a book due back at the library, and I’d like to do it before bed, so…” he reports with a jittery looking rolling of his hand, implying it's time for Klaus to move on.

To that, Klaus flamboyantly flaps his arms up, beaming ear to ear like he’s got the best idea ever.

“Hey, you can finish your boring book later this weekend. It’s Friday, why don’t you come with me, and we go out for a night on the town! Let your super cool big brother show you a good time, I’ll even pay, and I know all the best places. There’s this one club that has these naughty cage dancers and I know from what Luther told me from our Dallas stint that you like to watch the sexy lad-”

“You are not my big brother!” Five snaps, interrupting him. “I am older than you by nearly thirty years and something tells me that your idea of a good time is not even close to mine, so no thank you. I am fine, so stop acting like I am some kind of freak of the family that you need to check in on every few weeks so you don’t find me hanging from a rope in my closet!”

Instead of getting the picture that he is only making Five feel even more uncomfortable about his disastrous life, Klaus flops down on the bed, making himself more at home.

Wishing he could spatial jump, and even worse still having the instinctual reaction to try to but coming up empty handed, Five grates his teeth in extreme frustration, then abruptly stands up, violently crushing his empty coffee cup before he chucks it over in the kitchen sink.

Klaus can clearly see the very irate, no longer boney thirteen-year-old, ex-teleporting assassin, yet still very much a ball of rage version of Number Five Hargreeves coming for him. Even though he himself can die permanently just like everyone else, he obviously isn’t frightened by his brother because he continues snuggling in and fussing over Dolores, trying to style her glued on hair in a more tousled look.

Standing over him at the side of the bed, Five swats Klaus’s hand off his beloved mannequin’s shoulder.

“Stop touching her!”

Klaus holds his hand as if Five actually hurt him, even doing an overdone pout to add to his show of disappointment. “Five, this is exactly why you need to get out more. Dolores is great and all and I know you love her, but everyone needs someone a little more… Aah-uhm, you know.”

“REAL!”

Five’s voice is too loud, his heart is hammering, and his nerves are shot. He needs Klaus to leave. More and more when his brother stops by, it’s things like this. It feels like everything said is to remind him how fucked-up he is and how his life isn’t even a life.

“Five,” Klaus sighs his name, not at all fazed by him yelling, “ever since we got here, I am scared you’re becoming a very lost soul and that’s getting worse as the days go by. Now that you are free and you don’t have a world to save or an evil taskmaster from The Commission to tell you what to do, you’ve been hiding deeper and deeper inside yourself. I know this kind of thing, man. I have seen it and I’ve lived through some pretty fucked up episodes of depression. I can help you, and as a spiritual leader, you should know that I helped a lot of lost people find inner peace. The way we grew up, and then being a hitman and living a lifetime alone the way you did, it would mess anyone up. I just want to help is all.”

“Do you want me to feel worse about this? Is that what this is!” Five throws a shaking hand back over his dark hair, yanking it out of his eyes. With his hand landing on the back of his neck, nails digging in, he begins to pace.

Klaus sits up, his smile gone the moment he realizes that his brother is actually getting really upset compared to his normal kind of upset.

“Five, that is not at all what I am trying to do. I just want you to be happy. You are so alone, man. It can't be good.”

Five stops, spinning on his heel as he shoots death daggers back at Klaus. “I may be a freak as far as the world’s concerned, but the world can fuck off. Just stay out of it. I am not alone, and I AM FINE!”

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Klaus tries to lighten the mood again. “I am so happy you are good and all that.”

Klaus gently shrugs, biting his lip, giving away that he is aware what he’s going to say next probably isn’t going to get the reaction he’s hoping for, but he says it anyway.

“Maybe you need just a little something else to add to all your good, is all I am saying. It doesn’t have to be going out and trying to make friends or getting thick into the enigmatic world of dating. I get that one is a complicated cookie being you are twenty-ish going on sixty or whatever, but what the chicks or guys don’t know about you won’t hurt them. Just don’t talk about all that.” Klaus grins and winks. “Unless you do go for the hurting thing, you dirty old bastard. There are clubs we can go to for that too.” Looking at Dolores he adds, “I bet Fivey loves to spank that sweet ass now that you’ve got one.”

“Fuck you,” Five growls.

Klaus keeps smiling at Dolores. “I guess that means no cute Fivey daddy kink for you, gorgeous. Too bad.”

“Stop talking to her!”

Klaus looks totally thrown. “Why, you talk to her?”

“Because she’s mine, you shithead!” Five barks back, not sure what else to say about his extreme distress over this simple visit and he’s already regretting saying that because it only makes him sound even more nuts.

“Come on Five… Just chill out. I am just joking around. You need more of that. I also think you could use a little spice in your love life, even if that means just right here at home in your own little safe world of just you, your hand and this lovely lady and any other lady or guys that you’re secretly pining over in that genius but gloriously debauched mind of yours.”

Stunned at his brother’s latest comment that is hitting too close to home, Five can’t help turning his body just enough so he can look over at the girl’s apartment.

“Not out in the scary world of real people, I mean,” Klaus tries to correct, not realizing that Five is misconstruing what he just said, thinking he was talking about the girl next door and what he’s already doing with her.

Biting back another curse, Five narrows his eyes at Klaus, part in fury and part in embarrassed confusion because the girl’s lights are on, meaning she is home, and he feels like his brother is seeing right through him.

“How about instead of spending all your money on all these sexy suits that you have more than enough of already, you spend some money on a really nice blow-up doll. Or even just something that vibrates or something else exciting that has a little more give and play to it.”

As Klaus spits out his brilliant idea, his smile expands, and it matches Five’s wide eyes.

“Get a flesh-light,” he cheerfully suggests, “or you can adjust things with your new and improved big boobs love hole inflatable and add some Velcro to her hands or something else creative so she can give you a little affection back in the way of loving plastic arms wrapped around you while you hump the fuck out of her. We all need a hug, buddy.”

With that, Klaus stands and puts his hands out acting like he’s going to hug Five, but just as fast, Five steps back out of his reach, looking utterly appalled.

Again, not getting it, his brother offers a silly smile as he shakes a finger at him. “Settle down over there, old-man kiddo. You know what I mean… I am just talking about something a little more stimulating. You must be so horny and bored in here that you are going insane.” Klaus’s smile falters as he takes in Five’s tiny home and lack of anything in it in the way of character or signs of life. “You deserve more, buddy,” he finishes, the sadness he feels for Five seeping into his tone even though he’s trying to smile still.

“The last thing I want, or need, is for you or anyone to feel sorry for me,” Five seethes while jamming his hands in his pockets. His eyes move to the floor as he battles within himself to control the surge of desire to lash out both verbally and physically. Keeping his brother safe from either of those things, Five swiftly motions for Klaus to go. “Just go,” he nearly whispers because he's trying so hard to hide the quiver in his voice.

“Five?” Klaus tries.

“NO! I am done! I have done enough for you and everyone. Just leave me alone!”

Five yells it so loud, Klaus flinches. “I am sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I am sorry about everything. I am just worried.”

“Don’t be. I am happy,” Five lies. He looks up a few seconds after saying that, his face again the usual mask of indifference, but Klaus can see right through it and wishes so badly he had seen it sooner.

Not knowing what else to do that won’t anger Five more, Klaus moves to the door. “Fine… I get it. I am a dumbass, and you don’t need anyone, but I am here for you, man. I am sorry I haven’t always been there to listen, but I am now.”

“Sure,” Five says, before shutting the door on Klaus.

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

Five slaps down the deadbolt, then flips the lights off.

“That fucking, fucker !” he mumbles as he swiftly moves across the small space to the kitchen window.

With a huge sigh of relief, he sees the girl must have just got out of the shower. He didn’t miss it. The anticipation of that addictive rapture she provides is already settling Five down and also revving him up as he lowers his body into his favorite viewing chair.

Just as Five is thinking that he can escape into his perfect place, with her towel wrapped around her and wet hair dangling down her back, he watches as she suddenly spins around from her bathroom sink and then rushes out into her bedroom area. It appears that she is frantically looking for something. Her head pops up several times looking towards her front door, then as if giving up, she slowly walks over to it.

When she opens it, Five is greeted with an unwelcome sight.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Not able to understand at first, and obviously not getting an answer to his question, Five leans over his table for a better look. His girl just let some guy in her apartment. And she did it while in nothing more than her bath towel!

“No,” Five whimpers when he sees her smile at this asshole in the beaming way that he believes is something she only deploys for their interactions. She smiles like that when she’s laughing about something or dancing around her apartment loudly singing while she cleans, and none of these things have anything to do with him, but Five is too gone to see that.

Watching her sauntering off to her bathroom as the other guy is also hungrily watching it, has Five gritting his teeth. His fingernails dig into the palms of his hands. Though he doesn’t want to believe it, now that this other guy is there, Five is piecing together that she is not prancing like that for him. 

"It never was for you," a seductively cruel version of her voice tickles through his mind.

"Yes it was!" he growls back, unwilling to give up on his dream.

There’s even more burning pain as his neatly clipped nails carve half-moons into his flesh. His hands start to violently shake at his sides.

The girl says something to the guy then she shuts the bathroom door, blocking both Five and this new guy out.

As soon as she’s gone, her visitor starts meandering around her tiny place like he owns it, but Five is certain that he’s never been there before. He’s going about it not at all unlike what Klaus just did to Five, only the girl is entirely unaware of it.

The creep digs through her things, including her underwear drawer, taking a pair, and hiding them in his inner jacket pocket. Then he opens another drawer, pulling out a small jar that Five has seen handled by the girl many times. He greedily digs in, helping himself to the girl’s hard earned tip money that she saves all week to pay for her groceries.

Five’s entire body is vibrating he is so mad.

“I am going to fucking kill you, you piece of shit!” he hisses, eyes locked on the guy as he carefully studies his every move, learning any of his potential weaknesses.

Five easily determines this guy is an easy hit, no weapon other than his hands will be needed to end him. Five can already feel himself snapping this guy’s fat neck. There is no way he is going to let him get away with stealing from his girl. Coming over to take her out is one thing, and that’s bad enough, but taking her underwear without her permission! That means death and Five is going to happily deliver it.

During Five’s near manic episode of having mental and verbal conversations with himself, and also justifying reasons for killing this guy, he is conveniently forgetting the fact that he’s been watching her without permission and taking sexual liberties for himself from her body without her knowledge. With the way his mind has been working lately, it’s not at all the same thing. This guy has her trust and he’s in her home. Five would never violate her like the way this guy just did. He’d never even touch her let alone her things.

Focusing on the kill, a rush of adrenaline-fueled hatred brings that calm before the storm feeling that settles like an old familiar friend into Five’s mind and limps. His trembling fingers steady.

When his girl comes out of the bathroom she’s dressed in a flowy little skirt and a tight fit top with a unbuttoned cropped sweater over it. She goes straight to the guy with that adorably beautiful and innocent look on her face, and that manages to crack Five’s newly composed homicidal state of poise. He’s never seen her in anything that nice. Why doesn't she wear that stuff for him?

She lets the guy take her hand, leading the way as they disappear out the door.

It takes everything Five has not to spring into action and race out the door to follow them. He knows that doing that will only result in one thing, and that one thing is going to be bloody and brutal, but it would feel so good to see her date bleed.

To do that, Five would have to trail them, waiting for just the right moment. The idea of doing that brings back so many memories of his time with The Commission. It’s both sickening and sweet. He knows he could do it without anyone seeing. The girl wouldn’t even have to know. It would be perfect. But…

Fuck.

Even though this is what he was made to do, something feels wrong.

He’s never gone so far as to take this obsession with the girl outside of his apartment and hers. This is their special place, their own private world. But out there…

“It’s not real! She’s not yours!” his mind screams at him.

Five is all at once beside himself with how to process this unwanted mental intrusion.

That’s not true. She is real. What they have is real, his mind corrects. Him being a coldhearted killer is sadly real, but he hasn’t hurt anyone since he’s been in this timeline. He promised himself that he wouldn’t. He doesn’t need to anymore.

Five wants it to be real with this girl so badly and he wants to kill this guy just as much.

But none of it is real.

Deep down, Five knows that he has no right to feel this way.

“FUCK!” he screams in pure anguish, his hands coming up to his face, fingers digging in as his eyes slam shut. “Why are you doing this!”

The question comes out of his mouth, but it’s just as much for him as it is for her. Five can’t reason what’s happening to him or why she’d be with a guy like that over staying here with him. He’s not a good person, but he’d never…

Five’s voice comes out broken and quiet. “God, damn it.”

Yes, Five is a highly skilled executioner and absolutely thrumming with excitement over the idea of murdering this guy, but then the reality of what he himself has done to this girl is being thrown up in his face. Five’s insides are revolting against him and that’s because he has abused the girl too. He didn’t steal from her, but yet, he did.

Five may be experiencing an extremely dangerous dissociation from reality and doing so more and more as the days go by, but what happened with Klaus earlier and this mental battle with himself now proves that he’s still aware on some level of what he’s doing.

He knows it’s wrong.

He is wrong.

Again, that overwhelming hatred threatens to take his breath away. Five’s vision starts to flood with murky blackness coming at him from all sides. It’s hitting him hard and fast this time. He blindly reaches for the chair in front of him just in time to prevent himself from tumbling all the way down to the floor.

In a heap, eyes misting from terrified tears, Five folds in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs. His heart feels like it could burst right out of his chest.

“No, no, no,” he whispers in his downward spiraling mantra as he rocks back and forth. This time as Five slips away inside his own personal hell, not even Dolores is able to pull him back.

He can no longer hear her. It’s nothing but ash, blood, and regret.

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

Hours later, sitting at his table in the dark, Five brings his glass to his lips. The caramel-colored liquid isn't even giving him that delightful burn anymore as it glides down his throat. As if in slow motion, his blurred eyes drop to his hands.

They don’t feel like they are his.

They are, but they aren’t.

No matter how long he is in this new, younger version of himself, Five’s mind can’t weave together the new face in the mirror with the person he sees in his mind. When he was this age, he was not in good shape, but he was not this demon going around masquerading as a human. 

Seeing that his glass is empty again, Five reaches for his bottle of cheap whiskey with the intention of pouring himself more, but he’s denied for a second time tonight in his only remaining vice and that’s because there isn’t any left. It doesn’t really matter because Five already feels completely dead inside and it’s not the bad liquor making him numb.

When the girl and guy come bursting into her apartment not long later, Five is still sitting there in the dark extremely inebriated.

It appears from Five’s point of view that the creep’s mouth and hands are all over her in a very heated embrace. Five sits silent and still, watching as the girl stumbles backwards, her hand flailing out as if she’s surprised by her date's display of reckless desire for her. Then the guy forcefully kicks her door closed behind them, he swiftly scoops her up and he throws her down on the couch.

Five can’t even feel the rage, or the hate, or even the shame that he had before. He wishes so badly that he could, but it’s gone like the rest of him.

It appears to Five that the girl’s shithead boyfriend just manhandled her, but as far as he can tell, it looks like she’s totally into it.

The guy is on top of her in a flash, blocking Five from seeing her face as he pins her legs under his and he shoves her shirt up. 

Five’s eyes fall on her beautiful bare skin, mesmerized with the quick rise and fall of her chest. 

Her lover has one hand at her throat and the other around her wrists as he appears to smother her breasts in passionate kisses. 

The windows haven't been open tonight but in his head Five can hear her cries of pleasure as her date forcefully shoves her knees apart with one of his own, then grinds down on her. 

Five knows enough to know that doing that to her would feel so fucking good. Holding her under him... Directing everything...

It's too much for him to handle.

"Fu-uuck," he slowly breathes.

Being in control of everything is all Five knows when it comes to these things, so he easily lets the image before him become him. He is this guy. The only thing he would do differently is let his girl’s hands go free. He wants to let her feverously scratch and dig at his back as he presses his length between her legs. Five is so into this that in his mind, he can feel the pain of it.

He clings to that sensation, wanting to feel something. Seeing her body being treated in this way helps to pull Five back from the darkness in his mind, but it’s not the same as all the other times that he has been with her alone in their own unique way. This time she is a participant in the sexual act being played out before his eyes and Five isn’t sure if that’s why it feels different or not. 

Five realized the moment she walked out the door that this is not for him and everything about that feels horrible. Yet still he is still getting sexual stimulated by this, which is all the more fucked up and he knows it.

As silly as it is, the thought that she is doing this to hurt him seems all too real. Of course, she’d want to do that. Nobody can ever really love him.

Five lets out an absolutely maniacal laugh that fills his small apartment in the most horrifyingly unhappy way before he slurs, “Well played, honey. I deserve this and then some, but nobody is as good at hurting me as I am. It absolutely destroys me that you chose this loser, but I am not looking away. I know how to take a punishment; I have been doing it my whole life.”  

His hand slides down to his lap, the heavy feel of pleasure hitting him the moment the heat of his dick rubs against his equally hot palm. The full filling in his gut and the growing weight against his leg are all his usual physical reactions to seeing her in private like this, but this, her half naked under this other man as he aggressively dominates her, it’s bringing all sorts of disordered and confusing thoughts into Five’s mind. Something feels wrong, but he assumes it's him, so he begins to stroke himself anyway. 

“Fuck me over as you fuck him. I don’t care anymore, I can take it, baby,” Five grates out, his words running together as his hips begin moving up into his hand in their very practiced way.

Taking it further even than the couple across the alleyway have, Five hastily unfastens his suit pants and takes the end of his dick in hand, impatiently working it faster even though he’s not fully erect yet. In his semi-flaccid state, he tries to focus his efforts on the most sensitive area that's just under the tip, but his fingers won't cooperate because he is too shitfaced.

Unbeknownst to him, there is a disconnect happening between the alcohol and his hate for himself, his hate for this guy, and his new anger at the girl that he had tricked himself into believing loved him. 

To his dismay, it’s all manifesting in his inability to get rock hard like he’d normally be at this point. It’s just another thing he’s being denied, and Five is determined not to let go of one of the last things that makes him feel anything.

"Come on," Five urges both himself and them, his eyes trained on the other man who is also clearly fumbling as he tries to get his dick out of his jeans. 

If she wants to punish him, so be it. But he’s going to be the one to do the beating. Just like their relationship, it’s always been one sided, he only fooled himself that it wasn’t. 

He knows that he’ll hate himself even more for this, but in his screwed-up head, that’s exactly what he deserves. He wants to give in and just be nothing but the monster because it would be easier in so many ways.

After a minute or so of relentlessly jerking himself and finally getting hard enough that the head of is cock is pleasantly swollen and he's reaching close to his usual boner potential, the girl starts kicking her legs free. Five doesn’t grasp what’s happening, and that’s because he’s more focused on himself at the moment, rubbing the pearl of cum that's leaking out of him around and around as he pushes his thighs to lift and lower to the motion of how he envisions he's fucking her.

It feels so good, Five's eyes are hardly able to stay open as his head drops back and his mouth gapes and then closes and gapes again. He is making throaty grunting noises to the rhythm of his hand tightly jerking the base of his cock and the old chair he is on is creaking right along to his shameless song.

"Oh Fuck. That's it, suck it you dirty little slut," he groans.

In his mind, he just decided to pull out of her and then push himself straight in her mouth instead. The corners of his mouth pull back as a smile lights up his flushed face and that's because he just pretended to see that naughty twinkle in her eye that he can't get enough of. At this point Five has made up the idea that his girl is loving this and it's all a part of one of their normal little games which has him feeling much better about things. To Five, they just made up and it's going to be okay again.

"You are so perfect. Take me as deep as you can, baby," Five encourages her, his own hands working to give him that feeling of love that he so desperately craves.

When all at once, across the alley, his girl's actual man topples off her, falling onto the floor, Five can actually see the face he's been envisioning, and it doesn’t look happy at all and he doesn’t understand why. 

It looks like she is yelling as she pushes the guy off of her a second time. Her face contorts even more in the unmistakable look of pure rage. Even seeing this, Five still frantically searches for his release. All he needs is just a little more and he’ll be there in that addictive place where he can forget everything for just a few glorious seconds.

But then to his shock, the girl chucks the glass vase from her end table, missing her date by only a few inches. It smashes against the wall by the door and using the guy’s small moment of pause over that, the much smaller girl goes for another heavy glass object sitting among her other pretty things. This time she hits him with it in the crotch, and taking the hint, he bolts for her door. She’s right behind him, closing the door before flinging a chain lock across its bracket to keep him out. Even though Five can’t hear it, the visual slamming of her door feels like it sent a shockwave through him. 

He actually startles from it, his fuzzy mind coming back to him a little.

Five’s cramping hand on his shaft breaks its ruthless pace as he watches the girl slump her back against the door, her bottom sliding to the floor. She’s wiping her eyes.

Only now does Five know what he was missing in all this.

Watching her clean her own tears from her cheeks has Five suddenly realizing that she did not want what had just happened to her from the start, and that alarming fact hits Five like a ton of bricks. Following that drunken epiphany, an immediate explosion of hysteria hits him.

At the same time the girl gets up, crossing the room to pick something from beside her bed, Five hastily begins tucking himself back in his pants.

Five can hardly think, but one thing he knows is that this time he is going to kill that fucker.

As he races on unsteady feet for his own door, he looks back and sees the girl is no longer sitting there. He can’t see her anywhere inside her apartment but there’s no time to stand there and wait to see where she went. He assumes she went in her bathroom.

Five rips out of his apartment past the corroded elevator doors. He can hear the thing moving for once but since the lights still don’t work, he has no idea what floor it’s on. Crashing into a wall because he clumsily trips on some trash, Five curses himself for getting so messed-up, then takes off again, running as fast as he can to the stairway.

He bolts down the flights, his feet hardly making contact with more than a few steps on each one. When he hits the cement platform at the bottom and throws open the doors to the parking area behind their buildings, he comes out just in time to see his girl taking a swing at a flashy looking sports car pulling through the lot. 

She manages to clip off one of the side mirrors with her baseball bat and her date must be scared shitless because he doesn’t stop to have another go with her. Instead, he tears out on to the street, engine roaring and tires screeching. 

Hardly believing what he just saw and with his alcohol marinated brain not working even remotely right, Five comes her way.

“Holy shit,” he huffs as he tries to catch his breath.

The girl sees him coming, the look in her eyes so upset.

All Five wants to do is tell her he’s sorry. He wants to beg her forgiveness for being so fucked-up and angry with her that he didn’t see what was happening. He can’t believe that he just sat there, fucking himself while she was being sexually assaulted.

Her eyes grow wide as Five comes right up to her, but other than that, she merely stands there as if in a daze.

When Five makes the terrible mistake of calling her by name and then saying something about that asshole throwing himself on her like that, the girl no longer looks as unworried about the smartly dressed stranger approaching her in what she thought was concern.

“I don’t know you…” she says back, her confusion evident in her face and her tone. “There’s no way you saw…” She pauses but doesn’t take her eyes off the very unstable looking man in front of her. “How do you know that he did that?” she asks, terror washing over her face as she raises her bat.

Her eyes very quickly flit up then back down to the door Five just ran out of. As frustratingly slow as Five’s mind is moving, even he can tell that she is piecing together that he just came out of the adjacent building, and that since he just stupidly admitted to witnessing her date’s repulsive behavior, she knows that he was watching her somehow.

“Wait, I can explain. I care about you. It’s not like that-" He doesn’t know what to say, stumbling over his words horribly. “Please don’t be scared of me,” Five says, trying to correct his first verbal blunder, but it’s too late, and saying that only makes it much, much worse. She’s already backing away from him. He can’t help but panic, and in his current state of mind, he does one further in the wrong when he tries to reach for her. “Plea- OH FUCK!”

She swings at him. Five’s hand comes up stopping the bat just before it slams into the side of his skull.

“No! Just wait! I am sorr-” he tries and fails again to say anything helpful as he spins her around with it, maneuvering her body back up against him so he can detain her arms.

Undeterred by how easily Five turned the tables on her, the girl thrashes, throwing her head back to try and head butt him. He’s much more experienced in hand-to-hand combat than her and taller by just enough that he moves just in time and she misses her mark, her head flinging into his shoulder instead. Ripping the bat out of her hand even as she is stomping at his feet, Five binds one arm around her waist lifting her off the ground as he yanks her backwards with him. 

“Please, stop!” he cries again but she’s not having it. Just as she lets out a scream, Five covers her mouth.

The girl bites Five’s fingers. Filled with violent pain from receiving multiple puncture wounds at once, he drops her back on her feet. Five lets out a ferocious roar as both his arms instinctually come up, squeezing around her throat.

Now that her hands are free, she tries to claw at him but Five lifts a knee into her lower back, pushing in as he buries his face against her shoulder blades so she can’t dig his eyeballs out of their sockets. As the girl’s oxygen supply quickly disappears, Five knows it’s a matter of seconds before she will stop fighting him.

He bares down on her with a chokehold and his skill at taking someone down this way has the girl’s weight falling limply back against his body after less than ten seconds. As her head lolls to the side, he knows that she is completely out, but Five knows it’s not going to be for long unless he tightens his hold and keeps it there. 

If he does that, then it would be over for her.

Five does not want that. He didn’t want to see her hurt or be the one to hurt her. He didn’t want any of this.

He lets up the pressure, making sure she can breathe, but he doesn’t let her go.

Looking around the dimly lit parking lot, all he hears are the echoes of sirens in the distance and the usual humming noise from the traffic on the freeway a few miles away.

To Five’s surprise, it looks like nobody witnessed any of that, not the date who sped off and not this. It’s the middle of the night and there’s nobody around. Even in the window above with lights on still, Five can’t see any signs that someone saw them fighting. This is not the best neighborhood so even if someone did hear a disturbance outside, it would be nothing noteworthy.

But what now?

After what he just accidentally blurted, telling her that he has been essentially going full creep and stalking her, and then what he just did, Five can’t let her go.

If he does, then it would be over for him.

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

Thanks for reading if you got here.

(Chapter three coming soon...)

Updated link to chapter three below.

Link to Chapter 3

If you are hungry for more faster than I post it here, find this and my other Five stories at or check out my other Tumblr posts:

Master Post List to all my Five Centric Stories and Art

KayBreezy on A03

KayBreezy on Tumblr

Link to Bad_Kitty who created two of the pics for this fic and is an author who also loves to write Five Fics

#number five x you #number five x reader #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves fanfiction #number 5 #number five #kaybreezy-on-a03 #umbrella academy number five #number five imagine #tua five #Number five Hargreeves #Number Five #smut with feelings #number five smut #number five reader insert #five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #whump writing #dark number five #dark aesthetic

[strixcattus]

Conlang Year Days 22 & 23

Had a productive time coming up with proto-forms for flora and fauna terms (especially fauna, there's like fifteen of them), and since my principles for what gets a proto-form were basically the same for both, these two days get their own post.

If you're time-travelling—especially if you're crossing large distances—having a basic word for a particular species of animal or plant is deeply useless. Let's say you have a word for "crow." If you're hanging around in our present day, that's all well and good. If you go back in time far enough, before crows evolved, it's a completely pointless word. If you go forward in time far enough, to the ages after the collapse of human civilization and the rise of corvid sapience, you might be able to keep using that word, but it's not exactly ideal for what you're dealing with.

And what if you veer off into a completely different timeline? What if you end up somewhere where reptiles occupy most of the niches mammals fulfill in our world, and you're hanging out with the lizardfolk learning to take care of their giant lizard cattle and how to avoid the four-foot-tall crocodilians that hunt in packs? Where are your words now?

No, time travellers don't need or want a word for "crow." They need words that encompass three things:

What does it look like and/or do, generally? Is this a tall plant, or is it more of a shrub? Is this a big animal, or is it too small to pay much mind to? Does it fly or swim?

Is it going to kill me? If so, how?

Can I eat it?

Day 22: Flora

There are a couple kinds of "flora" particular to time travellers. Aside from those, basic roots for plants and plant parts say nothing whatsoever about the specific kind of plant, painting them in more general terms.

*sali: Translates as "grass" generally, but it encompasses all small, ground-covering flora—grass, moss, lichen, even small flowers. *nene: Fruit, seeds, nuts, and root vegetables. Essentially, any plant part that can be eaten safely and which isn't a leaf or flower. *kota: The opposite of *nene. All plants and plant parts that are poisonous. *jumini: Trees and other tall plants *pida: Leafy, low plants *jilu: Flowers (or other colorful markers a plant may have) *zaso: Leaves or similar (conifer needles, for instance) *maju: "Lichen" in translation, a kind of flora that is usually imperceptible within a timeline but which can cause major alterations in the events or physics of a timeline *zomo: Timeline Rot

Day 23: Fauna

I'm under no illusion that these two lists are complete. I added three proto-forms to this one while writing up this post. Still, I feel I've covered most anything that I'll need, and if I do end up creating some more forms, I can add them to the final proto-forms post, which... I haven't been closely looking at the preview of each week's prompts, but it seems that'll be in a couple days.

You'll notice that several of these forms are grouped by the general shape of the creature, differentiated by how dangerous the animal in question is—or why it's dangerous.

*kaja: Bird of prey (a note: "bird" does not necessarily mean "bird and bird alone." Anything that flies and is larger than the average insect might end up under one of these first three categories.) *denede: Small bird, like a songbird, for instance *date: Gamebird or large bird in general *jopo: Pest of humans (like an insect which drinks blood) *suti: Pest of food (like a mouse which sneaks into grain stores or a squirrel which attacks garden produce) *zitu: Pest of plants or structures (like a larva which bores into trees, an insect which eats the leaves of crops, or a woodpecker which has decided to set up shop on the side of your house) *kuna: Harmless small invertebrate (pay it no mind) *napa: Large carnivore (might eat you) *kalopo: Large herbivore (might be good food for a group) *mika: Small nonvenomous animal (might be good food for one person) *najato: Small venomous animal (proceed with caution) *kolo: Poisonous animal (never mind, this one isn't food) *dopu: Aquatic animal *poju: Harmless microbe (the average time traveller understands germ theory) *tino: Harmful microbe (and appreciates having a basic word for the things that cause disease) *medu: Outsider (anything that typically doesn't enter into linear time, except for:) *pekule: Time Worm (there it is) *siza: Humanoid (that's you! And pretty much anyone you'll ever talk to!)

#conlang #conlang year #time travel conlang

[timotey]

Ficlet: Behold the Gods

The Sign. Phaya/Tharn. Future fic. Unbeta'd.

Nee's big brother is an annoying, pigtail pulling idiot. And she misses him so much...

(Another what-if ficlet! I love imagining all the ways this could end! This time, a little more mythology...)

*.*.*

The Naga creature takes Tharn away and now Nee’s big brother is shattering to pieces.

Phaya’s always been an annoying, pigtail pulling idiot - but he’s also the bravest and strongest person Nee’s ever known. And now he’s down on his knees, unashamedly falling apart in front of all of them, sobbing so hard he can barely breathe.

Nee doesn’t know what to do! She just found out that all the legends were true, that there was actual magic and Nagas and Garudas in the world, that all that actually existed and that her big brother’s been smack in the middle of some crazy star-crossed love story of reincarnation and godly beings for several lifetimes now and it’s killing him, the loss of his lover is killing him and Nee just doesn’t know what to do, how to help!

And then, all of a sudden, there’s a golden streak and the sound of chiming bells, and between one blink and another, there's a woman standing in front of her brother, a beautiful woman in traditional attire, adorned with gold and precious stones. 

“King Sakuna,” the woman greets Nee’s brother in a formal, respectful tone of voice.

Phaya looks up, eyes full of tears. “Wanwisa…” he whispers. “He took Tharn. Chalothon took Tharn.”

The woman, Wanwisa, nods. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I can take you to Wansarut,” she offers. “I can't help you fight Lord Chalothon. I can’t, he’s my lord and master and I can’t raise my hand against him, it’s forbidden. But I can take you to Wansarut… if you want.”

She reaches out and Nee’s big brother, her stupid and reckless and hot-headed - and sweet and kind and loving! - brother doesn’t even hesitate. He takes Wanwisa’s hand and they both disappear in a whirlwind of golden light.

“Phaya!” Nee screams.

It’s the last time she sees her brother.

***

It’s the 15th day of the 11th moon again and Nee is back in Nongkai once more. 

It’s been an eventful year. Her grandma moved to Nongkai, she moved in with Tharn’s grandmother to wait and hope and pray for their grandsons return. They’ve been praying every day ever since Tharn and Phaya disappeared, trusting that one day, somehow, the two of them will come back to them.

Nee returned home and started school, a business school, intent on taking over her family’s business and helping her grandmother now that she is the only one left. The only one…

It hurts, this knowledge, and the pain never goes away. She’s always adored her brother but she’s never realized just how big a presence he was in her life until he disappeared. 

His colleagues from the special unit searched for him, for Phaya and Tharn both. Nee and the others couldn’t have very well told the police that a Naga king took Tharn so they ended up altering their story a little, telling them that Doctor Chalothon took Tharn and Phaya went after them. No, they didn't know where they went. No, neither Phaya nor Tharn contacted them again. The cops didn’t find anything, of course, only that no Doctor Chalothon actually ever existed, it was just a fake identity the man set up to get close to Tharn.

They came up with their story with the help of Yai, Tharn’s best friend, and the only one in the know. Because his wife, Sand, was there when it happened. After Tharn and Phaya’s disappearance, Yai left the special unit and took the position of a superintendent at the police station in Nongkai to be close, just in case, while Sand started working for Tharn’s grandmother, taking over for her at the sawmill, both doing their best to take care of Tharn’s grandma in his stead.

And now the anniversary of Phaya and Tharn’s disappearance is upon them. A whole year has gone by but the void left behind in everyone’s lives is nowhere near closing, it still hurts so badly that oftentimes Nee can’t stop herself from crying.

The 15th day of the 11th moon, a Naga Worship Ceremony.

Fuck the Naga!

***

They set up the altar on the lower terrace in the back of Tharn’s grandmother’s house, just like the year before, but this time, there’s no statue of a Naga on the table. Nee doesn’t think they could stand to even look at it. Still, they burn incense and they bring offerings and they pray, they pray for their loved ones to come home. 

And so they’re all there, Nee and her grandma and Tharn’s grandma and Yai and Sand, praying and holding hands and trying to comfort each other, when it happens. At twilight, they appear in a whirlwind of golden warm and fiery red magic, simply there all of a sudden, stealing everyone's breath away.

Phaya and Tharn, hand in hand.

They’re dressed in traditional attire, Phaya in red and white, adorned in silver and snow white feathers, Tharn in shades of green and gold. Their hair is longer and styled differently and their faces are made up, their skin is shimmering as if dusted with gold and they wear jewelry, bracelets and anklets, silver and gold set with precious stones. They look so unlike themselves from before but it’s them, it is them. And they’re alive and healthy and… there!

“Hello,” Tharn greets them a little timidly, a little uncertainly, as if unsure of their reaction, glancing up at Phaya who smiles down at him and nods, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. 

And then they’re hugging. All of them together and then passing Tharn and Phaya between them and the grandmas are crying and Yai is yelling and pounding his friends hard on the back and Sand is kissing their cheeks and Nee…

“I hate you,” Nee sobs into Phaya’s chest as he wraps his arms around her shoulders. “I hate you so much. How could you? How could you do this to us? To me? You’re the worst, the worst brother ever, and-and I h-hate you!" And she's hugging him and crying hard because he’s her big brother and she loves him dearly. So much!

And he’s whispering into her ear, head bent down to her, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I had no choice but I’m so sorry.” 

They’re all so happy, so deliriously happy to be together again. It’s perfect and glorious…

Until it isn’t.

“We can’t stay,” Phaya says unexpectedly when Yai starts talking about calling the guys, already planning a big get-together. 

And their little gathering falls silent, all the merriment from just a moment ago stolen again.

Phaya wraps his arm around Tharn’s shoulders and pulls him close against his side. He smiles down at Tharn and takes Tharn's hand in his, running his thumb across his knuckles gently. “We would love to but we really can’t,” Phaya says, looking each and every one of them in the eyes, one by one.

“But why?” their grandmother asks with heartbreaking despair.

This time it’s Tharn who replies and his voice is soft, his eyes full of regret. “There were... things we had to do to defeat Chalothon. We had to change ourselves, who we were, to match his powers. And those changes cannot be undone. Not anymore. The gate between the worlds opens only once a year. Once it closed, we were stuck. And now it's too late.” 

He drops his eyes to his and Phaya’s clasped hands and squeezes a little harder. “We aren’t human anymore,” he explains and he sounds so sad that Phaya pulls him even closer and kisses the top of his head tenderly.

“What are you saying?” Yai asks, stepping forward.

Rubbing Tharn’s upper arm in comfort, Phaya says, “We had to go back to what we used to be, before, at the beginning. Back to being Sakuna and Wansarut to defeat Chalothon, to gain our powers back, even though it meant losing our humanity. It was either that or die. But it means we can’t stay here, in the human world, or we will end up like Chalothon, becoming a warped versions of ourselves.”

Tharn looks up at them again. “This isn’t our world anymore,” he says, his voice apologetic.

“So... what? You just came to visit? You just dropped by to say hello and now you’re going again?” Yai asks, sounding angry. 

But Nee knows that Yai isn’t angry, not really. He’s just sad, heartbroken. Because she feels the same way. It hurts and if she opened her mouth now, her words would come out just as cross, just as belligerent. It would be that or start crying.

Phaya gives him a sad smile. “Basically, yes. The gate between the worlds opens only once a year, on this day, and it stays open from sunset to sunrise. Then it closes again. Only on this day, every year, can we come back to you, for a little while.”

“If you will have us…” Tharn adds softly, hopefully.

They’re all quiet for a little while, letting sink in what they just heard, trying to overcome their shock, their hurt, their disappointment. Their heartbreak at losing what they only just thought they got back again.

Then Yai steps forward and pulls Tharn into his arms, hugging him hard; Phaya lets Tharn go with a little smile. “Of course we will have you,” Yai says harshly, his voice breaking a little, and there are tears in his eyes. “We love you, you fool. So much! Just tell me… tell me that you’re happy. There. Wherever you are. Tell me that you are living a good life. That you’re good.” 

Slowly and with a little smile, Tharn hugs Yai back and nods into his shoulder. “Yeah, we are, we're good and we're happy,” he replies in a thick voice. “And we’re together, that’s all that counts.”

And Nee realizes that it’s true. It hurts, being separated from her big brother like that, being unable to just pick up her phone and call him and annoy him and complain to him about school and life and the unfairness of the world in general, but as long as he’s happy, as long as he’s living the life he wants and with the person he loves, nothing else matters. She loves him and so she wishes him luck.

***

They spend the night talking. And laughing and hugging and simply enjoying each other’s presence. And when the time comes to say goodbye, when the sky in the east starts to lighten, they’re at peace. 

Nee whispers to her brother, “I love you,” and he smiles down at her and whispers back, “I love you, too,” as if they’re sharing a secret.

And when Phaya and Tharn walk down the stairs to the lower terrace where they first appeared to them, Yai yells after them, “We will see you in a year. You promised and I’m holding you to that!”

They both turn back and smile, waving to them.

And then, then they let them see, just for a moment because human eyes aren’t meant to behold gods, they let them see their true forms, the sinuous loops of a Naga, scales the color of polished emeralds, and the wide span of a Garuda’s wings, their feathers a warm shade of golden brown. It takes their breath away.

The gate closes, taking them away, and when a moment later the sun comes up, there are a single scale and a single feather left lying there, on the polished wood of the lower terrace, keepsakes to remember them by.

#the sign #the sign the series #mé #my fics #my the sign fics

[dark-frosted-heart]

On Keith and his other personality

Officially Keith is kind!Keith and his other personality’s mean!Keith but I’m going to continue with Keith and Alter!Keith

I think I got everything, or at least all the important bits down. I also hope that this is understandable.

Origin

Alter!Keith was born one rainy night in one of the most traumatic moments of Keith’s life, when he failed to protect the one most important to him. More about that here.

Discovery

Keith is told by a doctor that his mind and body have yet to heal since "that day". People have noticed that Keith has been acting hostile toward some nobles, even if it was for the sake of the common people. He's told to rest and those feelings of days suddenly passing by without notice or of there being another "him" will go away.

One day, Keith had "woken up" with a sword in his hand and a noble who had a cut on their arm cowering before him. When Keith tries to ask if they're alright, the beg for forgiveness. He asks if he was the one that hurt them. He has no memory of this and apologizes endlessly.

It wasn't until some days later that Keith learned that there was another "him".

Some exchanges between the two in Keith's first diary:

Keith: "Who the hell are you? What have you been doing without my knowledge?"

Keith: "People are looking at me weirdly. They’re saying things I don’t understand."

Keith: "Don’t do whatever you please with my body!"

Alter!Keith: "I’ve done all the work for you, you failure. You should be thanking me."

Alter!Keith: "You don’t remember what happened? Then I’ll write it down."

Alter!Keith: "It’s only a matter of time before you’re recognized as a brilliant prince."

Keith: "Your achievements belong to you. They’re not mine."

Keith: "I’m afraid of your very existence."

Keith: "Get out of me, I’m begging you. This isn’t normal."

Alter!Keith: "You wanted to disappear. Then scram."

Keith: "Truly, you are better than me. You’re nothing like a failure such as myself."

Swapping

According to Keith's "More Love with the Beast" event, the frequency of swapping has increased over the years. It's gone from once a year -> once every six months -> once every few months -> once every few weeks -> once a week -> once every 12 hours. However, I'm questioning the actual frequency in the early years. I think it was more than once a year.

It used to be that Alter!Keith came to the front when Keith was either in very stressful situations or was exhausted. Also in situations that Keith just didn't want to deal with.

However, Alter!Keith has more freedom to swap in by taking advantage of when Keith has a moment of weakness.

Unless Keith's feeling too many negative emotions or is exhausted, or if Alter!Keith "locks" Keith in his mind (a recent development), Keith will "wake up" when Alter!Keith goes to "sleep".

Most of Keith's achievements as a prince can be credited to Alter!Keith.

Memories

Until recently, Alter!Keith was the only one that could see what Keith did and keep memories. Keith would not have memories of what had occurred when Alter!Keith was in front.

For the longest time, the two have communicated through notebooks or passing notes to Liam, their butler.

Along came Emma and things start to change

Emma has caused the swapping to happen more often than usual.

Alter!Keith doesn't fully understand the mechanics of it, but even when Keith isn't feeling any negative emotions, Alter!Keith's able to swap in at will. It's easier to swap whenever Emma's involved and he likes to get in Keith's way.

Keith's able to access what I call his "mental world". It's a forest influenced by his emotions. Alter!Keith accesses this world first after locking Keith away for several days. He wakes up in a dark and rainy forest. The floor is stained red. Most likely the exact spot where Keith's brother died all those years ago. Here, the two Keiths are able to converse.

When Keith and Emma were attacked, and Alter!Keith couldn't find a gap to swap until after Keith collapsed plus Alter not letting Keith out, there's concern about one of them never being able to come back.

Since becoming aware of the forest, Keith's been able to understand what Alter!Keith feels and has caught glimpses of him and Emma interacting. Just like how Alter!Keith's been able to freely swap since getting close to Emma, Keith's feelings for Emma may be allowing him to "see" through Alter!Keith's eyes and keep some memories.

As Keith's mood improves over the course of his route, the forest becomes brighter and more lively. It also reacts to his emotions at the moment, such as a strong gust of wind blowing through the trees when he's mad at Alter!Keith.

If Keith's ever kicked out of the forest while talking to Alter!Keith, he wakes up shouting his last sentence.

Current situation

Keith and Alter!Keith can now swap freely and "lock" the other personality up.

Keith now retains some of Alter!Keith's memories by getting glimpses through Alter!Keith's eyes. They get clearer over time.

The two fight for Emma's affections

Emma falling in love with them

To avoid Emma having to entertain Silvio, Alter!Keith as Keith has Emma be his guide in Rhodolite. As Emma and Keith spend time together, she grows to care for him a lot.

In contrast, she didn't like Alter!Keith because of how he hurt Keith. However, she soon grows fond of him after spending time with him too. He may seem mean, but he does have a kind side to him. Remembering the little things about both her and Keith.

She first tells Keith that she likes both of them, "as people" she clarified internally. Meaning, as friends.

She doesn't admit to herself that she's in love with him until a little later, after she's been avoiding him like the plague since telling him that she liked him. Every time she's with him, her heart races and she grows warm.

She loves Keith's kind and gentle nature. Like he went out of his way to go out at night find a hair accessory she had lost during one of their tours. Or whenever he offers his cape to her when it's cold. She loves Alter!Keith who teases her relentlessly but is also very open with her.

As for how the two fell for Emma? I believe it's because of how she accepts them both and believes in them when no one else will.

#great prince of jade #ikepri spoilers #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #keith howell #ikepri keith

[simpliao]

Girl, your schlatt fics are so. damn. good!!!! You’re a really talented writer, i love your style! when I was reading one of your most recent fics, i had an idea for a request! Victorian. Era. Schlatt. You cannot look at this man and tell me he and his chops do not belong in the 1860s. I just want to dance with Schlatt in a giant ballroom on a starry evening, and I would love it, no matter how many times he steps on my toes! Whether or not you accept this request, I hope you keep writing fanfic, no matter who it’s about! I meant what I said, you’re an amazing writer!!!

darling, i'm too busy being yours ; (chara) schlatt x reader

summary : it's wedding season in victorian england ! those wealthiest amongst the upper class have gathered for a several day event to find their future partners; including a certain young entrepreneur hailing from the still infant nation of the united states. only problem? the woman who caught his interest isn't a noble.

info : forbidden romance trope, victorian england setting, lord forgive my historical inaccuracies, swearing, sweet nicknames, mentions of poverty and allusions to poor treatment/trauma of workers, and bashful, she/her, afab reader. title taken from do i wanna know? by arctic monkeys (slightly altered).

a/n : appreciate the request anon ! since receiving, it's been sitting in my mind rent free i swear to god. so glad you and everyone else is enjoying, have a good day, you're so sweet ayayayaya !

this is also a short psa to inform everyone to not run away with random strangers you just met :)

Every step taken with confidence, a suit lacking in imperfection, and locks of caramel brown hair that set a new standard for Victorian men; managing to be messy enough to be innovative, but clean enough to not be considered unkept. Those were only a small portion of circulation remarks regarding England's most eligible bachelor; J. Schlatt hailing from New York. British society regarded the use of first names too improper, and being that his own business never mentioned his name no one had a clue of what it could be; only adding to his allure amongst the debutants of England.

The turnout of this year's wedding season amongst only the most prestigious nobles looking to negotiate deals and arrange marriages for the benefit of whatever family stood behind them. This, "Schlatt", was different. It was well known his upbringing was that of poor migrants, but what had him accepted into the fold was that he was now one, or possibly most, of the richest men of the new world. His features rare amongst other's of his social standing, and despite uniqueness tending to cause rejection, for once it actually drew him higher in respect and desire.

Eyes of an intense burnt Sienna, with lips that either remained pursed or slightly apart to nurse at his drink, he was notoriously difficult to impress. Women flocked to him, and it was said you'd only have about a minute before he'd excuse himself of you out of boredom or disinterest. He'd pull up a smile, one that was well known to send a million and one flutters to a lady's heart, and act engaged until time was up. He'd swooned all the debutant's hearts just within the first evening, all while organizing important business deals to secure inane amounts of wealth many couldn't possibly imagine.

From within, he loathed the fat cats that abused their power, coming from a poorer background he never cared much for what family someone came from; so he figured the romance portion of this trip wouldn't matter. He was well aware of how much British people adored him, and he was well aware of how to use it to his benefit. Oh? A certain earl of which he's been meaning to trade with requests he doesn't marry a certain young lady for the sake that his son could? He'd be willing to do it so long as he'd sign his prewritten contract first. Call it what you would, but not anyone especially in this time period could come from penniless poverty to eating amongst the most important people in possibly the whole world. With abilities to influence the very narrative of what would become crucial history, with names that have ties to hundreds of years of history, and wealth that they could sit on for generations; he didn't exactly feel bad manipulating them into getting what he wanted.

It wasn't like anyone would ever catch on. Well, they might. A debutant that he couldn't remember the name of to save his life, who had a remarkable claim to the English throne, was interested in him; and he was leading her along. He knew that most people expected the pair to end up together, and he knew openly showing more interest in others than her could possibly get him in some kind of shit he did not want to get stuck in; it was bad for business. She was a woman with more say than he ever could in this country, and being that she was related to people who ran the country, if he wanted some kind of net benefit he might as well sacrifice himself for the sake of his business.

Despite deep down yearning for the kind of love that pushed his parents to manage to migrate across the world, in this world love meant dying in each other's arms young or living long with so much as wealth to support yourself. Being that his parents were still alive, it made more sense in his mind to give back financially as much as he could. They had sacrificed and risked it all to give him the opportunity for a better life, it was only fair he sacrifice himself for them. His own happiness meant nothing if it meant the people who truly cared for him suffered.

He knew, however, that being someone you're not could only last so long, and knowing that he might end up married to this woman he'd need to practice being this posh, aristocrat that he knew he wasn't. He enjoyed drinking and laughing, telling profane jokes and living life to live. He knew he'd one day have to give up himself for the sake of keeping those he held dear fed. At least now, having snuck off from his provided room, he could walk carefully decorated hallways with exquisite paintings and impossibly large windows that let the blanche glow of moonlight seep in to create a seldom beauty when too many filled these halls.

Dead silence of night only disrupted by his own clacking of heels, occasionally he's pass a guard, of which he'd politely greet and pass without a single question. So long as no one would be murdered tonight his appearances wouldn't make so much as a passing mention. He was approaching the ballroom anyways, something about it called to him. He believed it to be his adoration of the cathedral, baroque architecture that you just can't find in the United States. It was nothing short of fabulously eccentric, and despite loathing the people who owned these works of art, he couldn't help but appreciate and take it all in.

Slowly decanting one of the curved stairs to the left of the room, he descended to the platform whereas the two opposing staircases connected into one. His eyes were directed upwards, a whole ballroom completely cleared and empty as crystal chandeliers only sparked by the light of the clear moon. The arched, vast glass windows that included a glass door to the promenade and an aperture to show the Prussian blue sky dressed in millions of shimmering stars whilst the room's lights were dimmed down low. He let out a soft breath, the societal pressures to be a certain way draining away from him. And just as his gaze slowly travelled downwards to admire the tile work, it so happened to catch notice of...

A girl. Dressed in the housekeeper uniform with a long coffee-skirt accompanied by an off-white apron that went overtop, the khaki, collared button up reminding him of something his mother would wear. Their eyes found each other despite being a fair distance apart, his chest constricted once he made out her delicate features. She stood frozen, visibly sucking in her lips and raising her shoulders tensely, as if holding in her breath. He took it one step at a time as he descended the stairs, he took notice of the white-knuckled grip she held of the stained once-ivory rag, a scuttle half-filled with cloudy water at her feet. Judging that past where her knees should be her dress was darker, appearing damp, he could easily guess that she had likely been on her hands and knees cleaning the floors.

Once finally, after painfully long, having fully descended the stairs, he approached her tense and practically frozen figure. His frame of 6"3 well above anyone he's ever met, she practically felt like dirt at his feet; now she knew exactly what they meant when the girls in the servant wing spoke about the unfeasibly attractive foreign giant. She didn't dare look away from his eyes, afraid he'd send her to her higher ups to be disciplined; no matter how hard it was with the intensity that stared back at her. "Uh," the sudden booming of his voice caused her to wince, it was buttery smooth and with an accent she'd never heard before. "I'm not going to hurt you, dear." A toothy grin grew to his lips, she could practically feel her cheeks burn. "You can speak, y'know. Uh, most people call me Schlatt." His improper way of speaking was akin to nothing she had heard murmurings of, it was that of a blue-collared worker like her. It intrigued her, and when he held out a hand for her, she looked a bit in bewilderment; his expectant gaze did worry that she may have offended him and quickly gripped his, forgetting her hands were moist with wash water.

Her eyes widened as she immediately let go, stuttering out incoherent gibberish before actually managing to exclaim an apology. "Ah! Sir Schlatt, I apologize you should never feel forced to touch a dirty worker like myself, please I beg for your forgiveness!" She quickly curtsied, and held her bow anxiously preparing for some kind of blow. Said blow never arrived, "I only wanted your name, darling, when it's just us you can drop this whole social status thing or whatever." She almost got whiplash the way she shot her head up, had she been mistaken? No, he said he was Schlatt, then why wasn't he who everyone said he was to be?

"...Y/n." She hesitated slightly, standing up straight from her bow and watching his lips silently move to pronounce her name, as if trying out just how it sound. "Y/n, huh? A striking name for an even more lovely lady." He was a natural charmer, and she could barely even stutter out a thank you, still fearful and confused of what exactly was going on. He took notice to the way her was still visibly tense, he wasn't quite sure why he was so pushy of this poor girl who only was trying to do her job. She was impossibly pretty, the natural beauty of her capturing him knowing that she was completely clean faced. Larger eyes looking up at him with such innocence, it tantalized him in the best way possible.

They both kind of looked at each other, she had this confused, frightened look that all the while seemed to be bashful of his presence, while he gave her his softest smile. There was something he could feel between the two, he had to know more about her; insatiable curiosity eating away at him. "Are you the only one here?" "Ah, yes, Sir! I am um... On floor cleaning tonight." A soft frown fell upon his lips, "will you at least get any sleep tonight?" "Ah! Please don't be upset, Sir! I am nothing to worry about, please have a good evening." He knew the kinds of abuses workers of this class faced that made them this sheepish and submissive, knowing that given things hadn't worked out with himself he could have easily been in her position; being spat on and disregarded as unimportant.

Seeing her flinch at everything he did, from saying her name looking her in the eyes, he was sure that underneath the thin clothing she wore would show years of horrors he thankfully never was subjected to. He wanted to at least give her a night to remember, a night where she could for once be an actual human being; what a pretty girl like her deserved. "Y/n?" "Yes!" She squeaked at her own name, a slightly mischievous smile crossing his lips. "Being a guest means my every whim you must fulfill, correct?" A flash of horror crossed her eyes, he threw his hands up and widened his eyes. "God, fuck no, I didn't mean it like that..! Shit, listen I'm sorry, I meant to ask you not to call me Sir. It always makes me feel fuckin' old." The sudden colourful words that left his mouth made her slightly giggle, it was so unexpected to have someone so noble have the sour mouth of a sailor. It was almost adorable watching him spit out swear after swear in apology; and while he finally, for the first time, see her smile, all it did was make him want to speak every profane word he knew.

"If you say so um... Schlatt." Hearing her voice, clear and lacking the stupid ass accident the higher-ups had, say his name, man, if he could ever form what he felt into words. Her voice echoed inside the corners of his mind, leaving more of an impact on him than any of those first-class women could ever dream of leaving; by simply uttering his name. He wanted her to say it again, but he also didn't want to come off as a creep again. He cleared his throat, "as I was uh, saying. It's a beautiful night, huh? It makes the place look fairytale-esc." He was beyond happy when she let out a soft hum, "that's why I never minded when I was handed floor scrubbing, these tend to be the only times I get to be alone. It's important to uh, gather one's thoughts every so often." Her voice was like a silky lullaby, he was almost in a daze listening to her speak. It wasn't like he wasn't listening though, he heard her loud and clear and related on a level he was sure she wouldn't have realized.

"To relax right? Because life feels like it's nothing but a barrage of punches to kick you down?" She blinked twice in surprise, quickly meeting his gaze once again in clear shock. "Yeah... Something like that." They had a staring match with each other, he swore he could see the reflection of shimmering stars in those adorable eyes of hers. "...Cause you need a moment to breathe, to relax?" She sheepishly nodded, and an idea flashed his mind. "Well, we are in a ballroom, aren't we? They say dance is therapeutic, would you do me the honours of giving me this dance?" He held out an open hand to her, she felt like she could practically burst from the flurry of butterflies that filled her stomach. She wasn't in some kind of dream, was she? "I... I really couldn't you're one of the wealthiest men–!" "Right now, when it's just you and me, I'm just Schlatt. The sewer rat from the slums of New York, alright? Please don't let who I am influence your decision." She sucked in her cheek, hand twitching as if trying to grab his without her command. They both know she wanted to, she desperately wanted to feel important and loved like how nobles looked at each other with such endearing gazes.

"I... I can't dance." And a small smile graced his lips, "there's no time to learn than the present, isn't there?" And moving in to cup her hand, in surprise she dropped the old, tattered rag as he quickly led her to the middle of the room. He cupped her hand gently, she remarked how soft his felt and how perfectly hers seemed to cup with his. A hand delicately slinked around her waist, "if you ever want to stop, let me know alright? This meant to be fun." He was so unbelievably caring, a soft smile curved up upon her lips as she hesitantly rested her other hand upon his chest; just as she'd seen other woman do. "We move in a square, alright? Try and follow my steps." She quietly obliged, looking down at first to watch his feet, with a few steps she slowly grew more confidant, raising her head to meet the adoring gaze of the male who held her like she was fine china; a kind of care she hadn't felt since she was likely an infant.

"You're not bad. Now, we're going to try and waltz around the room, alright? You'll be okay, I got you." His voice of reassurance had her feeling like she could do anything, and they slowly sped up and began to move in a kind of circular flower-like pattern to really touch every part of the room. She could feel her skirt swaying and she felt more beautiful than she possibly ever felt in her life, occasionally stepping on his toes, but she was always relieved when despite smearing his loafers (that probably costed more than she ever will) with the dirt of hers that practically were falling apart at the seams, he grinned through it and seemed genuinely over the moon. Feeling their momentum have air run through her locks, in a way she'd never felt before, the feeling itself could have made her smile. As they spun together, it was like the rest of the word became this blur of colours, while he was the only thing left. They were the only ones that occupied their whole world.

They could just imagine the live band playing music for them, the stars of the show, the only two people who mattered while the whole universe of stars could bear witness to a remarkably wholesome and pure pairing; no ulterior motives to be found in the minds or hearts of either parties. In the arms of the brunette she felt safe, actually happy and having fun for what could be the first time in her whole life. While when he heard her lighthearted giggles and genuine smile, he could feel himself float, a kind of glee that he'd only ever experienced while intoxicated. She seemed to be a special kind of high.

And once they finally slowed down, coming to an end to this strangely special dance, his arm never left the small of her back, as he figured they should admire the absolutely gorgeous sky that this night had to offer. Upon the veranda, bodies close and it being known that this was a time to be open and honest to each other; it just kind of happened. He never planed to have waltzed the night away with quite possibly the most beautiful girl he'd ever met, and she only planned upon it being herself, her thoughts, and her rag for cleaning. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was pure luck. Whatever it was that had so blessed them upon this bewitching night, they were immensely grateful and you could feel the dread of feeling it end. Although they had no clue exactly how long they had been speaking and dancing, they were sure they had been out longer than they should've.

"And when the morning comes, you turn back into one of the most important men in the world, right? We never share another glance and this night is swept under the rug to be forgotten and taken to our graves..." "Melancholy doesn't sound sound on you sweetheart, I'll let you know something, alright? I couldn't give less of a fuck what those rich fuckers think, they're important sure, but I can live without 'em." Her head turned from the vast open sky before them to look once more into the dark Sienna eyes of who she figured to be her one-time lover. "You couldn't be serious? Aren't you meant to be marrying the princess of–...?" "The broad that won't leave me alone because she might be queen one day? I couldn't care less. They could ban all my shipments but I'll get back on my feet." He removed his hand from her so he could up both her hands with his, fully turned to her.

"Before tonight I really thought that true love would never find me, I was full business, nothing else mattered but feeding my family back home..." His eyes briefly found themselves looking down to where their hands joint, thumbs caressing her knuckles lovingly before returning to meet her gaze. "...but tonight was something else. And... darling, I'm too busy being yours to possibly ever be with anyone else at this point." Her mouth hung partially agape, plush, peachy lips practically called his name and he slowly moved in closer. "I want you. Say the word and I'll take you back home with me, I promise from the bottom of my heart, I will treat you like how you really deserve." His voice slowly lowered, growing more gravelly by the minute as electricity was sent up her spine.

Their lips were separated by a handful of centimetres, his warm breath tickling her lips and condensing as miniature water droplets. Everything just seemed so right, and yet she feared the worst. "We... We just met..." And with the most gentle gaze she'd ever seen, he spoke in a hush that was barely above a whisper. "I have three days left in England, I'll make our arrangements. I'll get you out of this hell. Just first let me please kiss you tonight to start." "...What makes me so special? This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me... How do you know I deserve it?" A soft grin rose upon his features, plunging in closer and finally sealing lips together. Something about the pair wrapped up in each other's arms felt so akin to two halves of a whole coming together, she fluttered her eyes shut to feel the intense desire and love that was poured into that one kiss, sweet yet demanding.

Pulling away was the least natural thing about it, and with a toothy grin as if he'd won some kind of bet, with vehemence and conviction he spoke as clear as day, "that's how I know." The heavens above shall forever never forget the night they bared witness to the rejoining of soulmates, and so should they watch it again and again for millennia as the two continue to separate and reunite. Just until the sun explodes and the last stars die, the end of time itself, should they finally reunite for the last time, and say together, in spirit or in what little atoms made up the pair left.

Nothing conceivable could ever separate two beings that were simply always meant to be.

#chuckle sandwich #schlatt #reader insert #schlatt x reader #schlatt x y/n #afab reader #irl people #jschlatt #schlatt imagine #schlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #jschaltt #jschatt #jschllat #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt fluff #schlatt fanfiction #schlatt fluff #sleep deprived podcast #irl schlatt #jschlatt fanfic #Schlatt fanfic

[idealisticrealism]

TCL 3x04 thoughts

Ngl this ep was pretty epic. Spoilers ahead.

The main things:

In-universe, it has now been a total of about five days since the events of ep 1 (Arman going missing, Thony meeting Jorge and Ramona)

But sigh this ep really was the Thony and Jorge show, wasn’t it? I’ll admit it upfront, I enjoyed watching their interactions change through the course of the ep, though god it was hard not to think about how absolutely incredible it would have been to watch Thony and Arman being the ones dealing with this situation together instead. But putting that aside, it was interesting to watch her and Jorge go from shouting at each other (and kind-of shooting at each other!) and ordering each other around, to Thony realising he was going to help her, to him playfully teasing her (the idea of burying her in the desert now nothing more than a joke to him despite the fact he’d been completely serious about it only days ago), to his concern about her potentially missing Luca’s interview, to his reaction to her comment about ‘losing a brother’, to her challenging him again and him calling her out and then her acknowledging the terrible things that she has also done, to him awkwardly comforting her as she absolutely breaks down about everything being her fault (which was hard to watch but kind of warranted lol), to fighting for their lives together, to him seeing that she has the guts to be ruthless when she needs to be, to him immediately obeying her orders when they find Fi, to him watching her with respect as she saves Fi's life, to him bringing her van back to her and them bonding over both their success and the realities of life with little kids, to her trusting him with the vial and its contents�� like damn, that was a lot of progression for one episode! Reminds me of how much her relationship with Arman changed over the course of the pilot (but idk, with its own different vibe-- not really any of that electric chemistry and feeling of meeting someone you were always meant to meet and who is going to fundamentally alter your life, like Armony had, but more like finding a kindred spirit in an unexpected place? Idk). But anyway, the exchange “I’m not the man you think I am, Thony”/”Well maybe you could be”  compared with her 1x03 exchange with Arman “You’re not the man I thought you were”/”What am I then? Say it. You think I'm a monster” was definitely interesting and says a lot about how much Thony has changed since then. Her view of Arman changed over time because of how he got lighter and she got darker, and so they kind of met in the middle– whereas now, with Jorge, she is already so accustomed to his and Arman’s dark, morally grey world that it doesn’t scare her like it used to, and plus Arman showed her that even the ‘bad men’ of that world can be good in many ways, or can at least change for the better.  In this ep Thony saw the playful side of Jorge as well as the kind side, and though there was plenty of the dark side too, it was directed at people who even she thought deserved it, in a form of justice. Meanwhile his view of her changed from thinking she was just an erratic, reckless mess who didn’t listen to anyone, to understanding that she’s brave and determined and capable, and that her actions have been driven by both grief and an incredible level of family loyalty. Plus, she proved she could handle the harsh realities of his world and that she wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done, nor did she shy away from his own darkness. It must have been an absolute revelation for him to see her so calm and warm and at ease after her family was all reunited at home, and to realise that this is the real her, and that the near-feral creature he’d known over the past several days was purely a result of the incredible trauma and strain she was under. No doubt it’s during the events of this ep that his reported ‘fascination’ with her truly starts… and I guess we’ll see where it goes?

Okay seriously though what was with them using the song ‘Listo pa’ pelear’ as the example of music Jorge likes???? Aka the exact song that was used in the opening scene of 2x01, which was a montage of Arman cleaning in the prison??? I have literally listened to this song so many times that I thought I was having a stroke when it started playing in this ep. Does the music tech for the show just really love this song, or are they trying to subtly highlight the connection between Jorge and Arman??? I’m so confused

Yessss Thony handling a gun has been on my list of hopes for this show forever, because it’s visual evidence of her further progression into the criminal world (my dream of Mob Boss Thony is inching ever closer), and I’m just sad that Arman didn’t get to see it because he would have been so damn proud

Love Nadia going from 'holy shit’ (terrified) upon meeting Ramona and realising she’s Sin Cara to ‘holy shit’ (exhilarated) when Ramona blows up the sportsbook and welcomes her into the family lol. I think Nadia has a new idol haha

(Now I’m imagining the next Sin Cara meeting, with Ramona inviting Nadia and Jorge bringing Thony, and them all being one happy little crime family lol) 

Man, there is no way that Fi and Chris are walking away from that super messed up desert journey without some intense PTSD. Like seriously, Fi looking around the van at everyone (including Chris) panicking and suffocating? That was freaking haunting, as was the macabre trail of bits and pieces (and the body) left behind by other immigrants in the desert. This show really does not pull punches when it comes to immigration issues and I respect that so much. (Also, the idea of border vigilantes is so absolutely fucked omg)

Ok I’m sorry, but no fucking way would Thony allow there to be an unbarricaded door in Luca’s room that leads to the outside of the house. Just nope lol, not a chance, but clearly its necessary for next ep lol so ok

Other stuff:

Our Adan is in the credits again; because of the photos, I guess? Also Nadia’s pic of Arman on the bike is a S2 BTS shot of Adan, I still remember seeing it for the first time :(

Speaking of motorbikes, I’d wondered what happened to the brief glimpse we saw in an early trailer of someone riding the bike Arman got at Bosco’s camp– never would have thought it was Nadia and not Arman on it though! Damn the writers are just making her even more badass

Is it sad that I recognised the location where Nadia meets the bounty hunter as the same spot they used for filming exterior scenes at Hayak’s truck depot (and which I'm 100% sure is literally on the studio lot)?

“We got a problem with Thony” lol how many times is Jorge gonna hear this from Dante? She’s already so notorious she gets first-name use lol

Ramona’s gallery is called ‘Sombra’, or ‘Shadow’, which is a cool nod to the shadowy world she operates in

Lol at the guys that drove Thony into the desert just yeeting her stuff out of the car and hightailing it outta there like "nope we ain't getting in the middle of this, byeee!" Lol

Love JD being just completely all-in for this family, and Chris calling him his Step-dad <3. Also damn that actor’s voice is just so incredibly soothing, I could listen to it all day

Nadia and “Auntie Kate” (lol) have the same kind of snarky antagonistic vibe as Garrett and Arman. But lol about time they froze Kamdar’s accounts, Nadia should have never even had access to them in the first place given their estrangement and how he died. I feel for her though, going from rich to desperately scraping for money to rich again to having nothing again, poor woman must be so stressed haha. Though I guess she’s getting a nice little chunk of insurance money now , so all good again lol

“Where are you from?”/“Las Vegas” Wooo that’s right, Vegas is her home now!

Omg the happy family reunion, my heart!! Also Camila and Chris continue to be adorable, please let her come back writers! I mean Luca is already calling her ‘big sister’ so she’s clearly meant to be family haha

Okay, a new wish for this season: to hear Thony tell Jorge/Ramona/Nadia “It’s not about doing things the right way or the wrong way, but any way you can. Arman taught me that” at some point. Please writers I neeeeeed it

#The Cleaning Lady #TCL recaps #TCL spoilers #The Cleaning Lady spoilers #lbr I'm absolutely going to spend so much time daydreaming about a version of this ep that has Arman in it instead of Jorge....

[awintersrose]

Hello friends. I know it's been a very long time since you've heard from me, so long in fact that I'm probably entering a world I barely recognize anymore.

I got to a point where I needed to put my mental health needs and personal life first for a while, and take an unexpected and unannounced break from social media. Now that I feel like I can breathe again, I'm dipping a toe back in the waters to see where the tide takes me... I can't promise it will be in the direction of events or even many updates to fics, but this may change in time.

Truth be told, my motivation was ground to a screeching halt on several passion projects due to collective instances in which ideas were stolen, copied or altered enough in scope that one of the authors in question might genuinely think the plot points were their own. Most recently I discovered that one of my works was outright plagiarized without my knowledge or permission and only credited to me after another individual recognized it and addressed the author directly. The work now exists credited, but the fact remains that I didn't authorize it and I do not and would never want my work used this way.

I've stayed quiet about this for a while, wrestling hard with whether or not it might make some folks think of me as an enemy, but there is something about this corner of fandom that seems to make individuals think that the sharing of fic plot points and fic-specific headcanons makes them free to steal or even nearly copy into other fanfic. Everyone is trying to top the other instead of building up a community, eager to make a name for themselves at the expense of others. And for what, really?

While I do understand that this could easily be argued as the general nature of fandom these days, the fact remains that it's still exceedingly bad form, and the result is complete lack of community, and works in question that may very well never be completed.

I am not a fan of public callouts so that will never happen here, but all of this has been a rather crushing blow to my creativity and joy in contributing to fandom. I have spent the better part of the last year and a half tangling with these feelings and thus I am not sure about the future of the SC-verse at all at this point.

I have still been writing, mostly for myself. I have friends and readers I adore and have missed, so I'm back, for better or worse, and we will see what the future holds.

#rose rambles #sorry if this upsets anyone #if so i suppose there are reasons for that

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 06/02/2024

He is Back.

Season 6 No Album Release (Read More)

Ripped by eg_9371

Requested by Alex Worm and an anonymous reader!

Hey, so, SiIva Team - what the fuck is the deal with the goat?

Like, SiIvaGunner hasn't exactly been a stranger to creepy rips, particularly during its early years. On *** EVERYTHING IS FINE ***, for instance, I talked about the legendary horror that rips of the game "Barbie Horse Adventures: Blue Ribbon Race" have instilled into the audience thanks to just one rip back in Season 1, and we of course have Netyasha Roozi's excellent annual PlayStation Console BIOS rips of every Halloween, such as Play In MissingNo's Station. Yet, for as ominous and spooky as these rips are, I at least feel like I sort of GET them. Even four years on from its debut on the channel, I still don't know what the hell to make of "the standing goat".

Beginning with a rip of Cave Story's Mimiga Town theme back in Season 4 Episode 2, the confusion was immediately apparent - the 10 second video featured in the rip is from a moderately-popular Instagram post describing the goat statue's creepiness factor, and the song used is an arrangement of Pissy Pamper by Young Nudy and Playboi Carti - to my knowledge, with zero actual relation to one another. And sure, Mimigas in Cave Story are fuzzy little guys in an ominous world, that kind of befits the standing goat video - but the thing was, after this video's explosion in confusing reception, the goat just KEPT showing up. He would be recreated in different per-game artstyles like Deltarune and Ace Attorney, yet never properly...explained?

Yet, most bizarre of all, it seems as if for a small while the channel was playing at some sort of culmination to all of its buildup. During DJ Professor K's one-day takeover, an otherwise inconspicuous rip had the message "He is coming." hidden in its description - only for said rip to be followed up by Game Over/Password - Altered Beast, an arrangement of Pissy Pamper that effectively jumpscares you with the goat's presence by the end of it. The message hidden in its description? "He is here. Run.". And this Altered Beast rip was also part of an already-existing pattern with rips featuring the goat: "Memory", "Mysterious Crash", "Good Night", "Game Over" - several rips utilizing the creature seemed to explicitly be hinting at something far more ominous than what the video alone lets on.

Which brings us to the first true descent into this madness, one that stood out like nothing else quite did during Season 6's Halloween event: He is Back. In an event otherwise characterized by its lighthearted use of David S. Pumpkins, in-universe contextualized as little more than a fun halloween party, there's something yet more unsettling about the goat we've all been wondering about, reappearing in a rip that feels flat-out dangerous in atmosphere. The messages from the video description continue, this time saying - "Look behind you. I said, look behind you." - as if there's someone we aren't aware of attempting to save us from whatever this...creature is trying to achieve on the channel. Althewhile, the Pissy Pamper audio instrumental added on top makes what's otherwise primarily garbled noise from P.T.'s radio stations turn into a...surprisingly listenable, sort of glitch-hop-like banger?

The video end by leaving us with more questions than answers, as the video abruptly cuts to an error screen with the words "HE IS HERE" repeating over and over in many languages. And since He is Back's upload, we've...barely seen the goat anywhere. There's been yet one more possible development to his story, during Season 7's "The Cult of Proto" event, yet his fate and relevance to the channel remains as mysterious as it did many years ago.

For all that has and hasn't happened in the later Seasons of SiIvaGunner, I truly do love that mysteries like this still linger within the channel's mythos. And yeah, deep down I do know that these goat videos aren't meant to be amounting to anything bigger - they're just a silly, bizarre in-joke that's gradually taken on more and more creepy undertones. But there is something genuinely fun about that progression even having happened in the first place, isn't there? The goat could've easily just been left as one of many wacky out-of-nowhere jokes that Season 4s episodes debuted, yet he's been quietly sticking around, used by a small handful of rippers who seemingly have more in stock for the little guy than one would first think.

I, for one, welcome our good friend Billy with open arms.

#todays siivagunner #season 6 #siivagunner #siiva #tentative rip name #rip visuals #eg_9371 #Youtube #goat #standing goat #billy the kid goat #P.T. #pt game #silent hill

[iszapizza]

Another detail I noticed in episode 9, is that obviously various events from the original manga timeline have been altered. That is not bad, in fact, it lets us explore those same events in a different light.

For example, we know for sure that the destruction of July never happened. Knives is settled there, the confrontation that originally happens in that city several centuries ago has been replaced by the confrontation we saw this episode. Knives' legs are unharmed, and he actually waited those 100+ years for his plan to be completed, he wasn't forcefully rendered unable to do so, like in the manga.

(And keeping that in mind, if the event in July never happened, how did Vash get his bounty placed on him? Maybe we'll find out later)

So, if July's destruction never came to be prior to the story, the other possibility seems very interesting to me. And that is, what if the July incident is going to happen right now?

Vash and Knives' fight is coming up. Knives could get hurt, and that would help introduce the rest of the Gung-ho Guns in his absence. July would replace the Fifth Moon event, but would inevitably function the same way. It would cause the world to realize of the danger that Vash poses and it would cause him to go into isolation. That is, of course, if Studio Orange is going that route.

If not, and they're taking us in an entirely new direction (like the one detail of the Gate that instead of destroying everything around it, it sucks everything in, possibly connecting to that other dimension they mentioned this episode), it's completely fine and very fun! I would like to see how the rest of gang reacts to Vash's power, and especially how Wolfwood feels about this entire situation, since character-wise, he's very different from the OG Wolfwood.

Anyway, I'm really excited to see what's going to happen later!

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #millions knives #nicholas d wolfwood #isza rambles #isza theorizes #HAKDHA

[wormsin]

Do you think DC is writing Bruce's character so into the ground that they're evntually going to separate the Dynamic Duo for good? It's no secret that Nightwing is basically surpassing Batman in popularity now, and most fans are fed up with Bruce's character, practically to the point of hating him and wanting him no where near the BatFam. Do you think DC will give in to these kinds of wishes, and have them keep their lives/stories apart for good? I doubt they'd want to risk Nightwing's high status. (If anything I think they're writing Batman so terribly so they can make an excuse to be rid of him - at least for a while?)

I haven't been caught up on Batman, Detective Comics, Nightwing or World's Finest since the end of 2022 so I don't know what you're referring to specifically. what are people mad at Bruce for now?

but no, DC is absolutely not going to ever break up Batman from Nightwing/Batclan/Batman Rogues and Villains stories in any kind of permanent way.

first of all, Batman is *enormously* popular. whatever subset of fans don't like him, they are a minority. Batman and Batman-related titles have basically been DC's #1 seller since the 90s. in 2021 and 2022, Batman-related titles accounted for 38% of all DC's new releases. and like, that's including Nightwing, Robins, Rogues, Villains, etc. but a lot of it is the big guy himself. I'm fairly sure it's its own big department in DC. and they are spending the most money and hiring the 'best' artists and writers for Bruce.

Nightwing is growing in popularity but is still outperformed by several Batman issues. there are plenty of pop crit articles in the last few years about how Nightwing might be better and more popular than Batman, which is laughable because Tom Taylor's writing is flat as a crepe.

DC *has* removed Bruce before! he was lost in time and Dick was Batman for 2+ publication years. Dick was out of commission as Nightwing for that, for Grayson (2014-2016) *and* as Ric (2018-2020). it's not unheard of to remove or fundamentally alter a main character for like two years—

before returning to the status quo.

anyway, I think the larger point is that there is not going to be character development or emotional continuity between any Batman-related titles, ever. whatever is going on with Damian's relationship to Bruce in the Batman title is going to have no bearing on Damian's relationship to Bruce in Batman and Robin. they can't even maintain continuity between Nightwing and Batman when Dick and Bruce are in the same room. they can't remotely keep a coherent timeline of events, and we often have multiple Bruce plots running at once in Gotham in ways that break space time!

this is due to DC's publication structure. and it makes it very hard for writers to do things to characters and the world that have actual impact in the long-term. so whatever conflicts or turmoil happen in a run, they have to be resolved within the run because the next three writers are not necessarily going to know or care about it. (this is why Bruce "gets away" with being a Huge Ass.)

even if we just take the Watsonian look at things, there is nothing Bruce could do that Dick would not forgive. Bruce has done plenty, and Dick is still there for him. it's a pretty core part of Dick's character.

but DC does like to blow up Bruce's relationships and fuck up his character growth. so it is possible they're gearing up for a temporary family conflict or Bruce-solo time. now I have to catch up on comics and see what the hell is going on.

#ask worm #batman #bruce wayne #meta #dick grayson #nightwing

[carchacrok]

Bonjour! Many of you already know me as Augustine Sycamore, the Kalos region's very own Pokémon Professor. I help send young trainers on their journeys into this wonderful world of Pokémon! It was suggested to me that I should make a blog but I am admittedly new to this whole thing.

Above is a trainer card that includes some members of my team, though of course as a Pokémon Professor I care for many others! Some of which being:

-Belle the Vivillon

-Arbuste the Skiddo

-Several Floette that like to drop by on occasion

-A number of Pokémon intended to be given out as starters

likes from @anonymousunovan so please don't get jumpscared by her in your notifications

arsène here with another rp blog! wow what a shock. this isn't meant to be a standard interpretation of augustine. i have some plans.

standard rules apply, mod is 21+ and blog may get suggestive at times, but no outright nsfw is planned. i just anticipate he will get some... interesting interactions given the way the fandom takes to augustine. i ask that you be respectful of me being a person with a life outside of rp.

sapient pokemon and legendaries can interact! augustine is willing to talk with most anyone. evil team affiliated characters can also interact. EDIT: this still applies but specifically with the kalos legendaries I may ask you give me a heads up OOC as it might interfere with some lore for this blog

some notes about this augustine

-its been a decade since the events of xy

-the stories of xy are combined in this canon, with some alterations inspired by the manga and personal headcanons

-augustine has pre-existing relationships with both canon and noncanon characters

-augustine's involvement in the events of xy have been altered. the exact details of which will be revealed in due time

#pkmn irl #rp intro #pkmn irl intro #//i can only write blog intros past 2 am

[usafphantom2]

'Storted' camouflage is patented by the UAC for Su-75 Checkmate

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 01/19/2024 - 09:00 in Military

The Russian conglomerate United Aircraft Corporation (UAC) has patented a painting scheme that distorts the perception for the Su-75 Checkmate, the newest light tactical aircraft (LTS) in development by the manufacturer Sukhoi.

The UAC said in a statement that the Russian tactical fighter Su-75 "Checkmate", still under development, can revolutionize military aviation with its patented modular cabin system, allowing single pilot configurations, two pilots, or even an unmanned option. In addition to its modular capabilities, the aircraft could also employ a "distorted camouflage" to avoid visual detection.

The UAC patent reveals a unique camouflage design for the Su-75 Checkmate. This special paint is designed for stealth aircraft, with a scheme that makes it difficult to quickly identify visually and hide possible movements. The use of single-color dots creates spots of variable brightness, diverting attention from the actual contour of the aircraft and presenting a blurred and distorted image.

This camouflage is effective in various environments, such as varied landscapes and cloudy skies, designed to confuse opponents, changing the visible profile of the aircraft, making visual tracking difficult.

The strategy behind this innovation is to make the silhouette of the Su-75 look different, possibly as a smaller or different model, through the strategic use of colored spots that alter visual perception.

Although the Su-75 is intended to be a less expensive equivalent of advanced fighters such as the F-35, progress has been slow, leading to skepticism about its viability.

Despite the ambitious nature of this project and its characteristics - which include integration of modern systems and a high attack capacity - the Su-75 remains largely in the conceptual phase. The narrative under development around the jet labels it as "vaporware", given the absence of tangible evidence in addition to patents and announcements.

Although the cost and practicality of these modular changes have not been disclosed, the proposed capabilities of the Su-75 suggest a promising leap in jet fighter technology, with the potential to fulfill a variety of functions within a single and adaptable platform.

Tags: Military AviationCheckmateRussiaSu-75sukhoiUAC - United Aircraft Corporation

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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