#3rd church of something moment

[cowardlychimera]

here

#more <3 #if anyone's done any of these before then I'm sorry but either I didn't see or forgot </3 #3rd church of something moment #4th when everyone gets a job except you moment #5th when you're banned from being awake moment #<- just in case anyone's confused about my thought process.. #omori incorrect quotes #omori meme #omori shitpost #chimera babbles

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Anniversary

Congratulations you all get a lil schlatt smut that my brain won't let go so i'm writing it so I can get enough sleep to go to church tomorrow. MDNI below the break!

Lol I thought about titling this 'blurb' but uh nvm i guess.

"Shut the fuck up, broad."

"Oh real original, Schlatt. That's all you can come up with? Dumbass. I know it's so terrible that I wanted you home at a decent hour on our goddamn anniversary!"

"You know what, you're on your own tonight. I'm going out where I won't be annoyed to shit."

Schlatt had slammed the door shut after grabbing his keys and jacket.

Schlatt had had a slight temper as long as you'd known him, and you were usually able to put up with it. You were usually the one to talk him down from his tantrums.

But tonight you were in a bad mood when he finally opened the front door after being at work all day. It was your anniversary, and not only had he done nothing to acknowledge it all day, not even a quick text, he was late for the dinner you'd spent all week learning and all afternoon cooking. You'd even told him that morning that you were making something special for dinner and to please not be late.

You knew how hard he worked to provide for your little family, and it's not that you weren't grateful, it was just less of a family without him and instead a pathetic lonely woman with her cats.

When he'd finally opened the front door, he'd walked in, stumbling over one of Jambo's toys that the tabby had dragged around all day wanting to play with you.

"Y/N what the fuck is this? I spend all day at work and you can't even bother to clean up?"

That's what had started the back and forth yelling match bringing you to your current place, sitting at the kitchen counter, picking at the meal you'd prepared, the spat chasing your appetite away, but not your thirst, which was evident by the emptying bottle of wine you'd opened.

You missed the Schlatt you dated before Youtube, Twitch, Chuckle Sandwich, Sleep Deprived, and the growing list of his companies. Before he was always so high strung and stretched this way and that. He'd come home, excited to sit down for dinner to tell you about his day. You two would move to the couch for a movie before eventually making your way to bed. You missed the simple, happy moments when you'd adopted Jambo, and then later when you'd adopted his brother.

You loved Schlatt, you really did. But did you deserve the attitude that he always seemed to have?

Deciding you'd had enough, you pushed your plate away and climbed the stairs to your bedroom. Opening the closet you reaching to the top shelf to pull down your suitcase, laying it on the bed and unzipping it to start filling it with anything you'd need for a temporary hotel stay.

While putting the last few items in, you heard the front door for the 3rd time that night. Schlatt didn't say anything, but you heard him hanging his jacket and walking to the kitchen before starting towards the stairs.

"Honey?"

You stayed silent, as you heard him move his way down the hall, his heavy footfalls signaling his every move.

Zipping your suitcase you lifted it off the bed and onto the floor as Schlatt stepped into the doorway.

"Baby, what are you doing?" he asked, eyeing the suitcase in your hand.

"I think we need some space, Schlatt. Obviously we're having some issues and I think it's best we spend some time away from each other."

"What? No. Sweetheart, please." Schlatt grabbed your wrist trying to pull you to him.

"Let me go, Schlatt."

"No, y/n. Please lets talk about this." Being as strong as he was, despite your resistance Schlatt was able to sit on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

Pushing off his lap, you opted for sitting next to him, crossing your arms and bringing your knees up.

"Baby i'm so sorry for earlier...It'd been a long day, and I know that's no excuse for yelling but I--"

Sighing, you uncrossed your arms slightly, leaning your head back against the headboard.

"It wasn't just that, Schlatt." you said, cutting him off. "I'm used to being your punching bag after work. Someone to vent you frustrations to. But what made it worse tonight was that tonight, of all nights, I asked you to be home on time for dinner. I thought I'd do something nice for our anniversary." You whispered sadly, your head falling to look at your lap.

"Shit, I forgot. Baby, I'm so so sorry." Schlatt brought an arm around your shoulders, leaning and pulling you to rest on him. He placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Let me make it up to you? We can go downstairs, heat up dinner, pretend earlier never even happened. We can even watch one of those cheesy movies you like. Cuddle on the couch, just you, me and the boys. Huh? How's that sound?" You could hear the hope in his voice.

"Schlatt, I'm sorry. But I don't think i'm in the mood for any of that anymore."

Schlatt let out a defeated sigh. "Okay, baby. How about a bath? I'll make you up a nice one with candles, a bath bomb, nice warm water, a nice relaxing bath."

"I don't know, Schlatt-"

"Sugar, please. Let me try and fix this." Schlatt looked at you with the desperate puppy dog eyes, big and brown, he'd learned you couldn't resist over the course of your relationship.

Seeing those eyes made you almost forget why you were upset with him. Hearing his desperate pleas, and how much he wanted to set things right, this was the Schlatt you'd fallen in love with.

Giving in, you pull him into a kiss. Feeling his shoulders relax some, knowing he'd broken through the icy exterior you were giving him, he whimpered into your kiss, he wrapped one arm around your back, holding you close as he leaned more into the kiss, moving to lying you down, hovering over you.

As the wine you'd had earlier started to kick in, the kisses got less gentle, and the touches got a little less innocent, while the feelings of love, passion, sorrow, forgiveness, were all heightened. This was nowhere near your first time having sex with Schlatt, but few times before had it felt this way.

As you drew closer to your climax, you looked up at the man hovering over you, arms on either side of your head supporting the majority of his weight as the rest pressed deliciously against you, his hips snapping at a steady rhythm into you, soft grunts escaping his lips.

Threading your fingers through his dark curls, you pulled him into another kiss, one that your tried pouring your entire heart into. Every feeling, every thought you tried conveying through it. Schlatt did the same, as his thrusts sped up, pressing deeper into you, and you moaned into each others mouths as you came together.

Pressing his forehead against yours, grounding each other as you came down from your high, Schlatt pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Please don't fucking scare me like that ever again, y/n. Please don't give up on me. Don't give up on us."

"Oh baby, I won't. I promise."

"I'm serious, Princess." Schlatt stated, looking into your eyes. "My love, you are the most important thing in my life and the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, bar none. If I ever lost you-" Schlatt choked out the last sentence, as he looked away.

"Schlatt, baby are you crying?" You whispered, bringing his face back to yours. He wasn't making eye contact with you anymore, but now that he was facing you, you were able to see the tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, handsome, come here." You cooed, pulling his head down towards you. Schlatt buried his face in your neck, and you could feel the hot tears he had been trying to hide, your fingertips trailing across his bare back as you comforted him, trying to calm the deep breaths he took as he cried into your neck.

"I love you, Schlatt." You whispered in his ear, once his sobs had quieted.

"I love you, y/n. So much."

A few minutes passed as you laid in each others warmth, soaking in the raw feelings hanging in the air.

"So about that bath.." You started, smiling feeling Schlatt grin into your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. In a minute. I was at work all day you know and just went through some very extraneous activity."

#schlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt smut #jschlatt smut

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: religious cole cassidy x male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Cole Cassidy knows himself a man of faith

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.88k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 3rd person POV, religion, catholisism, murder, guns, hunting, internalized homophobia, implied sex (non-descriptive), use of the words "Satan" and "devil"

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: my only knowledge of religion is going to a religious school from Pre-K to 12.

The inspo + blue eye samurai

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Cole Cassidy was a man of faith. He recited the Lord's prayer in the mornings, said his grace before meals—he spoke His name into His night of sparse stars like a man persecuted on the cross, though in his life, he had always confessed to the Father at his local Church, bathed under the reds, greens and blues and yellows of the stained glass windows; he had atoned for everything he'd done, despite his motivation always being to carry out his duty for the Lord, as He intended.

And even as his bounties for men starved from God and veered off His path took him out of his town and into unexplored lands, he finished his work in time for the Lord's day, which he would, on his name and His too, never violate.

Cole Cassidy had done everything for Him the moment he was taught of His existence. Because He had given him this blessing of life, or living free, and He had given His son's life so he could live free of sin.

Who was Cole Cassidy if not a servant of the Lord? What was his Peacekeeper for, if not for his mortal duty?

Cole thinks he should not ask such questions—even the thought of such a possibility would be a desecration of the Lord's plan.

Time and time again, the Lord has tested him, and time and time again, his faith never shook.

But this, this wasn't the Lord testing him. This was the work of Satan, or the man, no, the devil, himself.

This was the devil before him, he was sure, and he was masquerading as a man, a mortal, just like him, no, the devil could never be just like him.

His hat was stitched in gold and tipped over his eyes; it was black, as was the leather of his vest and his shoes, and the canvas of his pants.

Though, when Cole first laid eyes upon him, it was not the color of His night that he saw, but crimson.

Bold, screaming, thick crimson.

Accompanied by him was the sound of death, shot after shot, bullets bouncing, gunpowder blazing, the roll of the cylinder and the tick tick tick, of bullets inserted into each chamber.

There were four ticks, of six chambers in the cylinder, two were empty.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Four men dead, and that was all. Silence.

Cole thought he had anticipated the number meticulously, counted the victims before them, and even before, counted the number of people he'd remove prematurely from the Lord's plan.

Until the devil aimed his revolver, and Cole forgot the ticks he'd counted as the barrel aligned with his nose, and bang.

The revolver fired empty.

The devil chuckled, he lifted his gaze, and Cole saw his lips, widened with a maniacal joy, perfectly white teeth bared; and his eyes were covered with green lensed, golden frames, and yet his eyes remained brown.

Cole faced death every day of the week except the first, and he was never scared, because he knew the Lord had planned of him something greater, but this day, finally, he felt fear.

But the revolver fired air, and he should be relieved, but he isn't. He's stuck in place, because the devil is walking towards him, tracking a careless trail through piles of people, carcasses, like it wasn't a maze, but tall blades of grass under his nose.

Cole remained stuck in place when the devil put the barrel under his chin and fired, again, nothing but air. The force of it still hurt, and it roused Cole out of his stupor, but again, he remained in place, cornered by Satan himself.

"You are alive," the devil says, "by fate. You must be a God's boy."

Cole almost corrected him, almost reprimanded him for uttering the Lord's name without respect, and for even suggesting that there were more than one Lord, as though the devil himself worshiped the stone statue under the pelting of the angry sky. All until Cole caught his tongue, for fear, again, of the devil's golden revolver and, as he realized that he was merely calling him one of the Lord's believers.

Yes, Cole Cassidy wanted to say, because to be ashamed of being one of the Lord's children was to curse Him, but by fear, again, he held his tongue, for if the devil knew he was, he would load a bullet into a chamber and be done with it. He kept quiet, again, cursing his Father, and he would be sure to confess for it as soon as the devil was gone.

Satan answered it himself, however, with a word. "Yes." He knew, and yet he lowered his revolver. "Go seek your God."

Cole remained in place, even as the devil turned his back to him and removed his red shawl, and as he folded the fabric and showed off the underside, Cole noticed it was truly green.

"Is that your bike?" The devil turned his head to the side, and Cole finally moved to nod. "I need it. May I borrow it?"

A question, so respectful in its wording, and yet it was a lie. He knew it himself as he laughed, "No? Alright. Allow me to hitch a ride. The nearest town, if you please."

He beckoned him with two fingers, and he stood idly by as Cole mounted the bike, then took a seat behind him.

Cole took off, the devil on his bike and pressed behind his back, where none but His sunlight should shine.

But instead, His sunlight illuminated the devil's back, a sick joke.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

When Cole parked his bike at the nearest Church, the devil did nothing but raise a brow and follow suit.

The cowboy ignored the devil as he walked the long rows of pews, his boots over the red carpet of the aisle that doesn't change color when the devil walks behind him.

When he came before the monument of his Father, he kneeled and he prayed.

The devil took a seat, and he watched, and he listened; but Cole didn't care, even as he prayed for forgiveness for denying the fact, via silence, that he was his Lord's child. The cowboy continued to murmur audibly into his hands to forgive the man behind him, that He forgive him for the blood on his hands and staining his clothes, for the bullets he's used and for the lives he's stolen.

The corner of the man's lips rose, but his venomous fangs didn't bare. He watched the man in front of his Lord's monument, kneeling on his knees over rough carpet, bathed in the glow of the rainbow of sunlight shined through stained windows, and he listened to his words.

As Cole spoke his last word, amen, the devil laughed. Cole remained on his knees as the devil stood and walked behind him, until again he came to a stop.

"You pray for me?" He says, "How kind."

And that is all he says.

Cole finally speaks to him as they both leave the Church, and as the man seemingly waits for him. "What are your intentions?" The cowboy asks, though his voice is not clear of fear, he tries to keep his confidence.

"I am a man in a foreign land." He removes his hat and places it over his chest, his smile turning warm, and manipulative, "I am in need of shelter. Will you, kind believer, grant me what I need?"

Cole knew it was his duty to give shelter to that which needs it, and the devil before him knew it too; but even with this plain act of utter manipulation, Cole is not at disposal to say no.

He mounts his bike and waits for the devil to steal his righteous sunlight.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

When Cole opens the door for him, the man takes off his hat. He knows his manners. He stands by the door, and Cole turns to look at him once it is locked. The cowboy remains silent, his expression forcibly neutral, and it does nothing except light the man's gorgeous smile.

"Thank you."

Cole knows his manners too.

"You're welcome."

The cowboy heads deeper inside his house, unaccompanied by the click of the man's spurs; he thinks it curious, so he turns, and realizes he's gone.

Cole Cassidy thinks it a miracle by faith, and heaves a sigh of relief. The devil was indeed just a test by his Lord; at least, that is what he thinks, but there is a creeping feeling under his skin that his thoughts are nothing but false.

This creeping suspicion is proven nothing but correct as the man returns later that evening with a savaged deer Cole knows he did not thank the Lord for. He sets it down at the kitchen table, careful not to spill its animal blood and make a mess. He does not realize, however, that he is tracking evidence of his earlier kills over Cole's floor.

With the motherly tut of his tongue, Cole pushes the man to the tub and leaves him to draw his own bath.

Dutifully to himself, he cleans up the mess the man has made.

When the man is done with his bath, he comes out of the shower dripping wet, and Cole tuts his tongue again, another mess to clean. However, he does this after allowing his eyes to drag from the top of the man's head, down his surprisingly naturally colored eyes and down the rest of his work-sculpted body, all the way down to his veiny feet.

Dutifully to his faith, Cole clothes the man, and then to himself once more, he mops up the– relatively better–pools of water, leading into the bathroom until he sees the pile of his clothes. Cole picks them up in his hands, leaving the boots, hat, and glasses, and goes outside.

Tonight, as he cooks up a stew of fresh game, he does not use his electrical stove as he usually does, but the traditional stove outside. The fire burns irregularly, and when the man comes down to see, he is only amused. The very end of a red pant leg lays unscathed outside of the fire, and the man pushes it back inside.

When Cole turns to see him, he is happy to see him devoid of gold, for it is his Lord's color, and him wearing it is pure savagery; so again, he is happy.

After feeding the man, as his faith calls, Cole heads up and nods off into a rocky sleep; as, even though he knows he is doing the right thing, he can't help but be unnerved by the presence of another.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Gold is the color of his Lord, of His riches under the very same name that He has bestowed upon mankind to be its treasure. It is the color of His sunrises and the color of His sunlight, the very same that bathes over him as Cole kneels by the window and recites the Lord's prayer.

He is aware of the man as he leans against Cole's doorway, unabashedly intruding upon his private space.

When the prayer is done, Cole starts to change into his day clothes. The cowboy tries to remain passive as he notices the man's gaze flow over his body, from the tips of his ears and the back of his hair, down the expanse of his worked back and his hairy legs.

"Good morning." Cole simply greets as he walks past him.

"Good morning." He replies.

That morning, the man graciously helps him with his chores, from cooking breakfast, sweeping and mopping the house, to hanging the clothes under the Lord's sunlight.

That afternoon, as Cole cleans his Peacemaker in the backyard shed, the man watches. Finally, he speaks.

"What brought you to faith?"

"I was born into it. For that, I am grateful."

"And you do not know a life without God?"

"I do not."

Sensing that Cole is uncomfortable with the conversation, the man switches to something else, then more topics. He carries the conversation, switching from how Cole came to be the owner of his land, the owner of his bike, and to how he became such a kind man.

He asked the final question with: give me a reason outside of faith. Cole laughed, and said he had no answer, and the man thought it sounded heavenly.

Finally, Cole opened up with his own question, then another, and another after that.

Many more laughs flowed out of the shed and the house that afternoon, until the man departed, and Cole thought, for the second time, that was done.

That thought is proven nothing but wrong as the man returns with yet another savaged animal, tonight, a wild boar. This night, however, he returns unscathed, so Cole kneels before its corpse and utters a prayer in thanks, before together they strip it for its parts and feast.

Cole feeds the man, and then after his bath for the night, he clothes him too.

Tonight's sleep is peaceful.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

Before gold coats the sky, Cole rouses from his sleep at the sound of the door opening. When he walks down the stairs, he sees Him.

The man sits heavily on his couch, his head in his hands with a frown. It turns into a forced smile when he sees his host, and he apologizes. "Sorry for waking you."

Cole examines Him, from the torn seam of his pants, to the thick crimson on his face and his vest and his thighs. He does not care for his now stained couch, nor for his hand as he selflessly reaches up to wipe the blood off His cheek. "What happened?"

"Protecting. Protecting you." He says, and Cole decides to believe him.

With a motherly tut, Cole pushes the man to the tub, except this time he doesn't leave Him. Cole draws the man a bath, carefully removes his clothes, and sets him in the warm water.

Cole doesn't know what he's doing except that he's helping when he scrubs the man's tired limbs clean from the crimson stains.

"Thank you."

This time, it's nothing about manners.

"You're welcome."

He leaves the man in bed, heads to his room as the sun rises and kneels down by the window, and begins to pray. This morning, it's not just the Lord's prayer, but also one of gratitude.

The man can hear who it's for before he falls asleep.

When he wakes in the afternoon, his tired limbs carry him downstairs to Cole, who listens without complaint nor word as He explains.

There were men in the woods, He says, monstrous men wielding axes for weapons and running like madmen yet covering distance like wolves. These unholy men were stalking him, He says, would've struck the next night, this night, and taken the land for themselves.

"Please believe me," He says, "I can show you the bodies if you don't."

He seems afraid. What for? Cole has always been a believer to the Lord, and now to Him, he doesn't need proof. "Thank you. Stay, tonight. Don't go out for a hunt."

The man nods. The story had taken a lot of breath and a lot of effort. He was tired once more. Cole lays him down on the couch and prepares a good bone broth for dinner.

That night, as he stares at the man in front of him drink his soup, he wonders what it might be like to kneel before his savior, and this time he does not think of God, but of Him. He wonders what it might be like to kneel before another man.

Cole Cassidy thinks himself a man of faith, but suddenly his thoughts are not quite what God would want of him.

Men were not to lay with another before marriage, much less with other men. This wasn't what God had intended for him...but sending this stranger into his life, was it not a reward? He had saved his life, though Cole might not be entirely sure, he had faith in it, just as he had faith in God.

The man before him deserved his gratitude, just as much as his God did. He had spared his life, He had brought him food, He had helped him, He had saved his life.

He doesn't need to wonder that night what it might be like to kneel for another man.

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He tells him His name the next morning, as they lay a mess of tangled limbs under his scratchy sheets. "(Y/N)."

The cowboy replies with his own, "Cole."

His name was a simple name, it wasn't the name of the devil, and His eyes weren't red. He wasn't the work of Satan, nor the devil himself, but a man, just like him; and when He would go on to wear the color of God as the day began, gold stitched in His hat and His boots and His vest, Cole was happy to see Him in it.

But for now, as the gold of the sky begins to turn to blue, Cole settles closer to the man, and he speaks gratitude against His lips.

Cole will be happy to kneel before Him for the rest of his life.

☆⋆~

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I liked writing the progression. If you didn't notice it it's: Lord became God, the change from the devil to the man, from he to He, and adjectives like maniacal to graciously. I also tried to avoid starting sentences with Cole's pronoun, to highlight how he thinks of himself as much lesser than God.

#cole cassidy x reader #cole cassidy x male reader #cole x reader #cole x male reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch x male reader #cassidy x reader #cassidy x male reader #🎟️ // overwatch #🎫 // cassidy #🎫 // cole cassidy

[lydiablackblade]

Okay, hear me out: Crowley is not the real Protector in their relationship but Aziraphale is.

Right after I post this I promise I will cast ash on my own head freewillingly but.. that thought's just sunk in me... and let's think about it a bit. (Sorry if this was discussed in detail somewhere before, I often feel like I only have second-hand thoughts about these two ineffable idiots)

At this very moment I cannot think of any occasion when Crowley in fact rescued his angel. Oh yes, there's their stupid game of courting invented by Aziraphale where he's the Damsel in Distress and his demon is the Knight in Shining Armour. Don't get me wrong, I love my protective Crowley as much as the next girl, but take a closer look.

The Bastille. Don't mention it. It is so clear that Aziraphale made up the whole thing just to have a lunch with Crowley even a new born baby would be able to spell it out. Aziraphale wasn't in danger of discorporation at all.

The Church in 1941. That is a trickier one, because we all wooed by grand romanitc gesture of Crowley doing the chicken dance on consecrated ground next to a boiling bowl of holy water and saving Aziraphale books that we - okay maybe only I - forget about the fact, once again, that the angel is not in real risk. Yes, he's whining about paperwork of discorporation, but he would be perfectly capable of saving himself by - I don't know, for example teleportation, or make the bullets disappear or simply turn the guns into something else - without the demonic intervention of the Blitz's plan.

Okay. These above were already analyzed many times by many clever people. Let's see the next one.

The bookshop attack - sorry to say, but it's again a nope. Crowley is promising to his angel to return, escorting the humans out, then tricking Muriel to take him to Heaven. But by the time he's back Aziraphale has already averted the immediate danger of the demon attack. They only have to deal with the aftermath.

And now let's see the occasions when Aziraphale in fact saved Crowley

The West End in 1941. Okay, that was a real threat. Furfur had a solid evidence of their Arrangement (and maybe more) and they couldn't use miracles to ease the situation. Not sure about the Heaven at that point but Hell definitely wouldn't express their disappointment only with strong worded letter. Crowley was in bigger trouble than Aziraphale, in bigger trouble than ever. And it only depended on Aziraphale's cold blood and fortunate magic trick not to drag the demon back Down. And did Crowley thank his angel? No, he didn't. At least not as much as we know right now. Instead he insulted him - even if the tone was affectionate ("you are really terrible at magic") and for whatever reason Aziraphale did the "I was wrong" dance. I desperate for a 3rd 1941 minisode in S3... Neil please

Soho 1967. Aziraphale gave Crowley holy water - after everything he said in 1862. How it is considered as a Rescue? Well, without this ultimate weapon Crowley would hardly escape from Ligur and Hastur, wouldn't he. Maybe he'd slip out of their hands for a moment but after screwing up the delivery of Antichrist and have evidence against him collaborating with an angel - the odds are not on his favour so to say.

In the book at Warlock's birhtday party the kids somehow took the security's guns and one is aiming at Crowley and about to pull the trigger. Aziraphale blinked and all the weapons turned to water pistols.

Maybe this last one is not really count as rescue (and it's not in the show) as might Crowley could miracle himself out of the danger IF he's fast enough but I like to think about this as Saving.

Anyway. Even if I count it strictly, it's two nil to Aziraphale so far.

Aziraphale is a Guardian Angel. He guards his demon, no matter what. Even if it means to pull a magic trick.

Even if it means to pull them (their Us) apart.

#crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #damsel in distress #knight in shining armor #guardian of the eastern gate #good omens season 1 #good omens season 2 #good omens

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 3: onwards & downwards.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: alone, you take some twists and turns that lead you deeper into the belly of the Labyrinth. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, some mild injuries, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, some light groping by Helping Hands but nothing explicit, cameo by knight!hoseok and knight!seokjin! word count: 4.8k series masterlist

The old dusty, cobblestone path shifted the longer she trekked through the Labyrinth. From something aged and grey to a more tan, refined structure of brink. No longer was she watching for raised bricks that she could stumble over and cobwebs of grand spider-silk wefts she could tumble into. It was far more maintained with its tall walls of oak-brown stones. The watch towers soon were exchanged for simple decorative sphere balls; some hollowed structures to have a flame flickering within.   

There were still rock and rubble, hugging the corners of the path, but, for the majority, it felt like she had entered a different portion of the Labyrinth. It felt like progress. And that made her giddy. She felt a tumble of adrenaline in her stomach, something urging her forward as she continued to turn and weave throughout the endless Labyrinth.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she peered up onto her tip-toes to look over the walls as best as she could, she saw she was long gone from the beginning of the Labyrinth with the curly-haired fae, Soobin, and Yeonjun.

All by herself.

Looking for signs of the castle, she had to turn completely around to find its looming shadow. The rolling Labyrinth ahead made it look higher than where she was, if possible. How did it end up behind her? How did it seem to loom as if she was in a deep valley and it on a hillside? That hadn’t been the case outside the Labyrinth. Despite that oddity, the Runner smiled and headed on her way towards the castle.

She can do this. She was on a roll.

Twisting through the pathways was easy. One foot in front of another. There were no signs of other folk, not like before. In fact, some areas of the Labyrinth looked surprisingly well tended. There were ivy covering some of the walls, but it was not brittle and dying like outside the Labyrinth. It was thriving as it crept towards the artificial light of the high-floating candles. Some brittle branches were dead, but it seemed the further into the Labyrinth the more life flourished.

There were the large obelisks at the center of some of the pathways. These were much taller than the ones outside of the Labyrinth, and they weren’t cracking or crumbled. They stood tall with elaborate carvings on each of its faces now.

The Runner paused at each one, hoping they could help her. Maybe they held a story or hints to where she was. Each one as elaborate as the last. Some portrayed the tale of baby-snatching goblins; others illustrated mushroom faerie rings and their powers. There were some carvings of a young girl who was gilded in gold and a man painted in white robes.

As she crept along, she saw a face that looked like the Goblin King’s but younger with an inscription below in that unfamiliar language. He was painted with a gold halo – almost angelical.

It was interesting. She wondered if these were like painted glass windows of churches, retelling lore of the Underground or if they were simply décor. Old myths or moments of the past that were mute as dust. After all, they were stuck here in the Labyrinth.

They didn’t help – she knew that. None really felt like they could point her left or right or that way or this way. So, she continued onwards.

Her eyes took in the landmarks – a trail of ivy, the obelisk with faerie magic rings, a twisted branch with sparkling dewdrops.

Down this path, and then the next. Is this the way or that the way? No, no… she had seen that branch before. Pausing, her lips formed a straight line, and her brow furrowed.

“You’ve gone in circles thrice, Y/N,” a voice taunted and jested in her ear, the brush of phantom lips against her skin eerily familiar.

Her hair rustled in the wind with the sound. It made her stomach dance as she realized it was his voice. Gooseflesh raised on her arms as she turned her head towards the voice. Only to be greeted with nothing.

His laughter shook her; it felt like it shook the rock walls of the Labyrinth even. She heard a scattering of a raven’s caw as a bird-like creature flew away from its perch atop a sphere rock atop the walls.

“Only 10 more hours, my Runner,” he hummed again.

 It felt like he was beside her, murmuring the soft words into her hair. It sent chills down her spine as the cool air of his breath tickled her ear. She did shiver when she felt a phantom chill on the apple of her cheek – like a kiss from a ghost. It was icy cold, taunting, and most of all unnerving. She jumped away before walking off quickly, in a direction she wasn’t quite certain of.

There was no laughter, and she didn’t know if he was still there. Or was he everywhere? It made her feel like someone was watching her. Leering at her. Her footsteps were quicker now as she walked down another path until… she saw the same tree branch again.

“Dammit,” she bit out through her teeth.

She has been going in circles.

How could she keep track of where she was going?

Looking about, she saw there was pile of rubble. Picking up a rock, she tested it against the fine stone of the floor. The flat tiles were more organized and leveled than the cobblestone of the earlier pathways. Gritting her teeth, she hoped this worked as she dragged down the rock against the tile. An unpleasant scratching noise occurred but there was what she wanted. A line carved into the soft tile.

It was her way to keep track of where she’s been – her string of thread within the Labyrinth.

Adding an arrow pointing towards her next choice – turning left - she felt triumphant.

Her smile was cunning, almost a mimicry of the King’s. She rose to her feet, energized as she began her trek.

She wasn’t so dumb.

Every so often, she’d pause and kneel to scratch her path onwards onto the ground.

-

The Goblin King chuckled as he waved a glass bauble aside, a projection of the Runner within its shimmering surface. As he let it go, it floated off into oblivion, devoid of magic and becoming nothing but a regular soap-like bubble rather than a portal to view and affect his kingdom.

Sighing out, impatience clung to his bones as he slung a leg over his throne’s arm rest. The throne was a worn thing, not something of greatness. It wasn’t painted in jewels or gold or ever blooming flowers. It was a simple circular throne, large, with a comfortable cushion of dark velvet. It was elevated above the main floor of the room, forever placing the King above his subjects. The arm rest and backrest were one singular curving bone that had many crushed night-sky drapes tied to it. If anything, it looked like a crescent moon dragging along the night sky.

He was comfortable here, but impatient and, frankly, annoyed by the chatter about. His gaze rose to rest on the grand clock, currently hovering above the doorway of his throne room.

If you could call it a throne room. . . In true Goblin fashion, the entire place has become more and more decrepit over the years. Not in the sense it was falling apart like parts of the Labyrinth. It just was messy. A mish-mash of different eras of goblin elite lived in this space forevermore.

Old memories of his father’s court lingered by way of reckless Changeling-Goblins who had little respect for much, causing chaos or drinking honeyed mead ‘til they drowned in it. Even older remnants of the previous Goblin Kings remained with old shrines to fae folk long passed decorating the walls in grand sculptures. The décor wasn’t to Hyunjin’s liking.

The large throne room was in the highest tower of the castle. With mostly open space, the circular interior had dark greys rockwork building it up. Platforms for goblins and goblettes of all shapes and sizes were perched in the tower’s rafters. Creatures from Aboveground, stolen or sacrificed, hobbled about, crowing or hissing. Sometimes there was a puff of magic and a goblin would mimic a chicken or snake to the amusement of his onlookers.

Fae folk of the higher court – with their humanistic glamour and aged visuals - were gossiping about in the alcoves, donning old lace and leathered finery of Court standards long passed. It was never quiet in his throne room. It had become less of his throne-room and more of a gathering space for the court.

Which he despised.

Hyunjin didn’t like gatherings of drunkard goblins and fae-folk. He hadn’t in sometime since he’s taken the throne. In his younger years as Prince, he adored the Court life. Preened on his soon-to-be-subjects’ attention. Before he realized, like a child with toys he outgrew, he didn’t want something simple any longer.

He liked challenges. And the Challenge of the Labyrinth was the truest challenge there was in the Underground. It wasn’t often someone wished themselves away – it used to be village children wished away by towns, babes by their frustrated mothers, forgotten sacrifices to deities unknown, or woeful wanderers in the woods who would be taken by passing through faerie rings.

The wisher – or the taken - would take up the Challenge in exchange for the return of what they so desired – the babe they wished away foolhardily or their ability to return to the mortal realm. Or they’d stay and once 24 hours of time Underground passed, their humanity was the King’s. 

His father oversaw these Challenges and, now, so did Hyunjin.

Y/N wasn’t his first Runner through the Labyrinth; most didn’t make it far and none have won against him. He treated his Labyrinth like a game board. It was a game he had studied since adolescence. He knew the rules inside and out, and he liked to win.

Despite this, he can’t recall whom the previous Runners were anymore. Trophies gather dust in his kingdom – sometimes their visages blend together. One had a dimpled smile and blonde hair; another a crooked snaggletooth and soft eyes… or was it reversed? They all failed in their runs and, therefore, were changed. Wishes and deals were magic, and magic was steadfast and always. Nothing can stop it – not even the King.

Their human blood turned to goblin. And goblin-blood took more than it gave; changelings were proof of that. They lose their humanity and something else. Sometimes it’s their talent, or their wits, or their will, or themselves entirely. Some maintained their human-touch, and some shriveled into the very winged, yellow eyed creatures they were trying to conquer. A shadow of themselves and utterly lost.

Hyunjin had at first tried to take care of his Changelings – his father had before him, before he lost everything he had – but it was frustratingly boring. Some whined; some lost their minds. Most were sent off into the castle or the city. Some wandered off. Hyunjin let them most times. After all, he had gotten what he had wanted. Like a spoilt kingling.

There were few Challenges in this day and age. Most of his Changelings were eras old by now.

Hyunjin remembered how his father was overlooking a Challenge every other 13 hours it felt. The older man smiling fondly at the goblins about him. Tending to his changelings with the fondness of a father. He knew their names – given and chosen.

Hyunjin could count those he knew the chosen name of on one hand.

Given names were a different story. Given names were something one kept close to their chest. Hyunjin loved to know given names. He loved having the upper-hand.

Which of course is why his throne room was a circus to the court.

He loved knowing things that happen in his land and what better way to learn that by listening. Listen and give those food and mead and other pleasantries. His goblin-blooded folk were simple. The room a cacophony of noise as they scurried about, chittering and chattering and clanging. Maid-folk and servants rushed to try to clean the mess the goblins left behind. There were few fae-folk of human glamour that were more tamed, lounging beside the open-windows of the tower as if they could spot the Runner. Gossiping at how this one hadn’t given up yet.

Interesting. Intriguing. Insulting.

Hyunjin huffed as his gaze flickered from the clock to the court ladies by the window and back again.

“Can you spot her?” The voice sounded like the garble of a river’s brook, crackling and clinking like rushing currents against river-rocks.

“No, no. Can you?” Another voice - squeaky like a mouse in a field.

“Not quite. I’ve heard something from a guard though.” A third - deep like a fire pit’s roar.

His gaze flickered back to the clock. The clock ticked one second forward, and yet it had felt like five minutes. His fingers tapped against his scepter.

The Runner was taking forever.

It almost humored him. Impatience. Time hadn’t mattered before – but as she stumbled through the Labyrinth’s Outer Rim, he was struck with the realization that she was progressing quicker than any other.

“You won’t believe it, but Han helped her – I heard it from a guard. A fallen pixie tattled for aid.”

Hyunjin’s ears perked at the mention of that.

“Luella! Don’t let the King hear you say his name.” The river-brook voice garbled with a giggle.

“Oh, Han.” The mouse-like fae squeaked with a giggle and swooned into her cohorts. “I miss him.”

Chortles of giggles escaped the trio, their glamours shuddering and revealing their true forms – flickering of flames, moving mist, and, frightening enough, a collection of writhing mice making up a body.

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched as he slung his leg down from his throne’s curved armrest to put his arms on his knees and stare at the clock, harder.

Of course, Han had to have helped her. He’s always getting into his private business. His foot tip-tapped against the tiled floor.

9 hours and 58 minutes. 9 hours and 57 minutes.

She will be his and his alone.

-

The Runner kept running onwards. Stopping every so often to scratch her directions into the rock work. It felt like she was making progress. Until she paused as she turned a corner. There was a branch that looked a bit too familiar. The curl of it looked like a skeleton hand pointing her away.

Biting her lip, she looked back the way she came only to spot something unusual. The stone she had tagged with her rock was bare of any marking.

“What?” she breathed as she rushed over to it once more. Her hand reached out to rub at the stone – right where she had scratched into it – to feel unblemished stone.

She marked it again, scratching deep into the rock, and watched it with a stoney look. It stayed like any mark should.

Weird.

She looked back in the direction she was headed and when she looked back down, the stone was clear.

“Dammit,” she cursed out, rising from her crouch and tossing her rock aside with a clatter. “That’s not fair!”

“That’s not fair,” the wind mocked; the King’s voice laughed.

She glared up at the cavern sky of candles before stomping off in another direction only to run into a dead end; a large grassy hedge blocking her path.

“This isn’t a fair fight – what’s fair about moving the Labyrinth?’ she gritted out as she turned her back to the hedge to stomp off another way.

“That’s right! It’s not fair!” a voice chimed out.

Now, that wasn’t the King’s voice. Its voice was higher, almost windshield-wiper squeaky as it giggled.

Her head whipped around to see, not a wall of greenery, but two knights guarding grand oxidizing- copper doors, crawling with ivy. They looked very different from anyone she had met yet. Not the worn look of the fae from outside the Labyrinth nor the soft sheltered attire Soobin wore. No, they both were knights that was certain.

They were both tall but one felt larger; mostly, due to the large armor he wore. It was a copper-like metal, flickering orange in the candlelight high above them. Shoulders, chest, neck, legs, everything had the suit of armor in place as if he was ready to go into a fight here and now (except for the fact it too looked rusty like the blue-orange doors they guarded.) How long must he have worn it to become rusted like that? His head, however, was bare of a shielded helmet and, instead, revealed a red-headed sweet-faced man with a heart-shaped smile.

The other knight was much more relaxed, wearing sparse leathered armor over a deep navy-blue velvet button-up and dark slacks. His hair was a dark coal color, swept to one side. He had lips that were a pouted strawberry color and a hyena laugh in his throat.

The red head was ready at attention while the coal-haired man was slouching against his doorway’s arch spinning his sword casually in his hand.

“Oh, hello!” she sputtered at the two strangers.

“Hello, hello!” The redhead greeted as he stood at attention. He smiled at her still, heart-shaped kind.

“You’re here!” The other awed. “Finally!”

“Finally?” she queried.

“I mean, we’ve heard you’ve been here and knew you’d end up here.” One said.

“It’s so nice to meet a real human for the first time,” the other cheesed.

“It isn’t the first time, Jin,” the heavily-armored one claimed with a pursed lip.

“Yes, it is, Hobi,” Jin retorted, as if offended by the others words.

“No, it isn’t,” Hobi replied.

Then, the bickering continued, back and forth. Back and forth. It made Y/N’s head pound. Her eyes shut as she looked about a bit lost with what to do. Behind her was a new dead end, made of cobblestone wall rather than green hedge-work.

God, this place kept changing it’d give her a headache… if Hobi and Jin didn’t first.

“Where is here? It was a dead-end just a moment ago,” she countered. “I need to get to the Castle; is this the way?”

“Oh, this is the checkpoint to the next point of your journey,” Hobi beamed. “The only way to get out of here is to try one of these doors!”

“One of them leads to the castle at the center of the Labyrinth, and the other leads to certain death,” Jin revealed, leaning against the opposing archway of his door.

“Bum-bum-bum-bah!” he dramatized, with a wiggle of his fingers in her direction.

Hobi giggled sweetly. It was almost endearing as if they were some middle-aged married couple with their bickering and yet… they seemed to enjoy each other’s presence.

One must learn to like the person they’re stuck with if there are no others around them.

“So… which is which? You must know,” Y/N prompted.

“We can’t tell you,” Hobi said with a frown. “And we don’t really know why we can’t either.” His pout was gentle and child-like.

“It’s the rules,” Jin reminded.

“You can only ask one of us a question regarding the doors,” Hobi added.

“That’s part of the rules, too,” Jin commented. “One of us always tell the truth and one of us always lies. That’s a rule too.”

His blue eyes flashed to meet hers as he raised a hand up in a mock-whisper. “He always lies.”

“I do not!” Hobi exclaimed; there was a clank of metal against metal as he jumped in offense. His orange eyes flashed to meet hers, almost panicky to prove himself.

“I tell the truth!” he insisted.

“Oh, what a liar,” Jin cooed, reaching a hand to pinch Hobi’s cheek.

It quickly made Hobi giggle lightheartedly as if he wasn’t just called a liar again. Their relationship was odd, bubbly, and cranky yet fond and casual. It was distracting.

“One question,” she hummed as she looked between the two of them.

Jin nodded slowly as he shifted to stand tall in front of his door. A brow raised.

Okay. . . how would she figure this out? She only had one chance. How should she phrase it? She can’t just ask them if their door would be safe? Because they could lie. But—

Y/N smiled.

“Would he,” she pointed to Jin, as she spoke to Hobi,” tell me that your door leads to the castle?”

Hobi’s lips pressed together as he looked at Jin and then her, over and over. It was almost comical if she wasn’t waiting for the answer.

“Yes?” he murmured after a moment. It sounded more like a question than an answer.

“So, your door is certain death,” she said, “and his leads to the castle.”

Y/N beamed brightly.

Hobi looked towards Jin who shrugged in agreement.

“But—he could be telling the truth?” Hobi countered.

“But, he wouldn’t be. So, if you told me he’d say yes, I know the answer is no.”

“But, I could be telling the truth,” Hobi pleaded.

“But then he would be lying, so if you told me he would say yes, the answer is still no!”

A blink, blink, blink from Hobi before he turned to Jin with wide fire eyes.

“Is that right?” he whispered as if she wasn’t there, and, to be honest, she giggled a bit. Because she knew this had to be the right answer – it had to be.

“I don’t know; I never really got the rules,” Jin replied casually before the two of them started to giggle.

The three of them were giggling; it was a bit odd but she realized everything here was a bit odd.

“I think it’s right, really I do,” she commented. “There’s no other way it wouldn’t be… I think I’m getting smarter with this place.” Y/N approached Jin and he scooted out of the way with grandiose.

He bowed to her as she opened the door.

“Thank you, Jin… Hobi – I mean, you were actually really nice!” she complimented as she breached through the door way.

A huff let her as she felt her shoulders lighten from stress. She did it. She took a few more steps into the passageway, the light growing dimmer as Jin began to shut the door.

“It’s a piece of cake,” she breathed with a grin.

Before, she fell through the floor violently with a scream.

-

Not many people experience free-falling. Sure, tripping or stumbling was common-place. Even jumping into a pool might excite. But it was all controlled. All small distances. All happening with an end in sight.

The Runner was falling straight down into a dark pit that felt endless.

The feeling of surprise hadn’t faded, still bubbling in her stomach like she had cracked open a soda can. Her heart was in her throat as she screeched out. Hands above her head trying to grasp onto something hopelessly.

But she was falling too fast.

“Help!” She screamed. “Please!”

The fall felt infinite, empty, frighteningly so until it felt like things were brushing over her skin. Branches? Rocks? Overgrown damp fungus? She couldn’t tell as she scratched out with her hands

“Help?” she swore she heard a feminine voice chime.

“Help!” Y/N screeched again. “Please.”

Before with a jolt, she was caught. Air knocked out of her and a pain radiated where she had been caught – her arm. Something held first her wrist but then she felt hands on her waist, her shoulders, her legs. Hands everywhere wrapping around her limbs, some squeezing them tightly, others trailing damp-fingers up and down her skin.

She couldn’t help the scream that tore from her throat, raw. Jumping in the hands embrace.

“Stop it,” she whimpered out as she felt more hands crawling, crawling, crawling.

One poked her ear and it made her jolt away. Her head looked up as if she could see where she fell from.

“Help!” she yelled. Maybe Jin or Hobi would come help. They were knights; knights help, right?

Another hand crept to squeeze at her throat, almost curiously, only stopping when she wheezed. The hand wrapped around her wrist tugged her upwards, another hand tugged her another way. She felt like a ragdoll amongst angry toddlers

“Hey, hey, hey,” she heard a masculine voice mutter. “We are helping. Helping Hands.”

In the dim almost grey light, she some of the hands form … figures. Faces of different shapes made of fingers and thumbs and palms. Horrific in the darkness. Something mussed her hair, twisting it into knots around chubby fingers.

“You’re hurting,” she mumbled, as a sickly pale hand cupped her cheeks and squeezed them.

“Would you like us to let go?” the voice was now a deep mumble of a thing, and she felt some of the hands release her on command. The pressure on her held wrists ached as gravity took hold and pulled her downwards. Her shoulders felt like they were popping out of their sockets.

“No!” she screeched, fingers outstretching to grasp onto a corpse-cold hand.

The hands returned with eagerness. Nails scratching at bare skin, fingers prodding at her waist. A thumb dragged over her ankle. Some fingers combed through her hair like she was a doll.

“I want a body,” she heard a voice murmured quietly.

She couldn’t help but cringe away by some of the cold limbs.

“Which way would you like to go?” she could see a shadowy amalgamation hand-like face speak, the lips fingers and its makeshift eyes two pairs of palms.

“Up or down?” a squeaky voice screeched, almost like it was a poorly oiled door hinge.

“Pick one! Pick one!” that voice sounded childish.

“It’s a big decision for her, hush,” a motherly tone chided.

“Which way do you want to go?” A more urgent voice pushed. A hand tugged her hair and she yelped.

“Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way? Which way?”

It was almost hypnotic, how the different voices layered together as they chanted the words urgently. How many people – hands? – were there?

“I, uh,” she blinked as she looked down into darkness and then upwards which showed the same thing. “I guess down? If that was where I was headed?”

“Down?” a voice cooed.

“She chose down!” Another boomed with a jovial cackle.

Laughter that sounded less than nice and coos of ‘poor thing’ crowed out around her as she felt her body shift and move as the hands tugged and pulled her downwards before.

“Down, the Runner goes!”

“Wait,” she tried to stop, before all of the crawling wriggling fingers disappeared, and she was falling again.

“No, no, was that wrong?” she cried out as she continued falling, the sounds of the Helping Hands laughter crowing, growing distant.

Violently, she finally hit the ground. Her knees and legs took the brunt of the fall, aching painfully as she let out a cry. The floor was of dirt and grime, and she coughed as a plume of dust surrounded her.

Lifting herself up onto her knees, she looked around. Darkness was all about her but, suddenly, a light shined high above her as a lid over the hole where she came from with a secure snap.

Sealing her wherever she was, deep below the Labyrinth.

Y/N couldn’t help but sag as adrenaline left her in a huff.

-

His crystal orb – larger than that of the one he showed Y/N in her bedroom – showed not the Goblin King’s dreams, but his reality. His entire kingdom’s reality. And it showed her. Sitting in the dark of an oubliette after falling down, down, down. His eyes looked closer at her face. What a beautiful face – frustration written clear on her features as she rubbed her knees that were certainly bruised after such a fall.

Hyunjin frowned.

“She shouldn’t have been this far along.” He muttered out, glaring at his Labyrinth-Runner.

He had to admit she was clever – far more clever than he first thought. After all, he thought she’d give up –a life devoted to him was not horrible (so he thought). But the scrambling of goblin-feet about the castle, servants of goblin-blood and changelings from failed runs revealed the truth. The High Fae of the Underground, the royal line, were not of softness. They took and took and took. And he wanted her.

Licking the corner of his lip, he stood from his throne, kicking one leg off the arm-rest to stand.

“Someone must be reminded of their place.” The King muttered, grabbing his staff with ease. “An old friend.”

There was a giggle about as the goblins who were lazing about – the favorites – chuckled at their king’s words.

They knew exactly who he was speaking of.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz imagines #hyunjin imagines #skz fantasy au #written by haley

[lavendertownsghost]

RvB Restoration incoherent liveblog, then more coherent thoughts at the end

spoilers of course

Kai!!! God I hope she's in more than one scene

Why do I feel like something's up with Wash?

Wait when did they get Sheila back??

Hey they actually mentioned O'mally and how Doc perceived that

Like how they kept Grif being absolutely done with everything like in season 15

Simmons stop being mean to your boyfriend

I just realized that Epsilon's armor is from a different game than the others

Oohhh wow the Great Destroyer prophecy is actually relevant

wait how is Felix part of the Meta 2.0? I thought they just couldn't get Elijah Wood back for Sigma and that's the orange AI talking to Delta, but it's actually a version of Felix??

Yep, totally expected the Reds to nope out xD

OK that's totally Sigma with a different voice actor (Miles?). Or was Epsilon was implying that Felix and Sigma merged somehow.

This is also a real good look into how Maine was tortured

Tucker noooooo :(

Wash go save your boyfriend

Also wait why is Wash in a hospital again? he was fine at the end of season 13. Unless this is a hallucination and he had a mental break

Surprised Grif went along with this

479er!!!! My girl!

Also did Sarge forget for like the 3rd time that the Red vs Blue fight was fake?

Ahhh yes, the classic Sarge plan of 'Kill Grif'

Love how they glossed over the actual fight at the end of season 13

Oh god the zoom class flashbacks

WAIT WHAT

oh shit that's Tucker in the armor

hey you know what would be real fucked? if Junior shows up

oh wow didn't expect the Reds to straight up leave Caboose to die

wait Sarge don't do a heroic sacrifice

hell yeah Sarge badass moment!

oh no Sarge in front of that door

fuck, if anyone from Blood Gulch was going to die it would be Sarge

aww Sarge finally saying he's proud of Simmons legitimately has me tearing up

People are going to say that Sarge being nice to Grif is out of character, but honestly I think it fits

why do I think Doc is a hallucination of Wash's?

oh wow Simmons

Grimmons moment? Run away with me, just the two of us.

aww Grif, choosing to stay of his own volition

So they're retconing Private Jimmy again? Church was in a robot for Blood Gulch?

Church gets a body again?

aww memories :) someone better draw fanart of Caboose, Grif, and Simmons and reminiscing around a campfire

Where is Carolina in all this?

I'm wondering if this is to bring Tex back instead of Church?

oof Simmons' robo arm

TEX???

Simmons badass moment

hey wait Simmons better not die

Car moment!

FUCK YES TEX

also is Wash just unconscious somewhere?

oh there he is

ooohhh he's calling Carolina with he beacon?

oh shit are we going to get a Tex and Carolina team up!

yeah Carolina!!!!!

wait Grif and Simmons don't know she's Allison's kid xD

mother daughter team up for the ages

you know, if Tucker was still conscious in there he would absolutely make a joke about getting double teamed by two badass ladies

You know, I don't think Tucker is surviving this

Oh fuck yeah Tex!

wait what how can she use the sword?

oohhh Tucker was still holding it

Theta baby boy :(

awww Tex and Church are finally together

now someone get Tucker to a hospital

I feel like the best plan would be destroying it- oh there it goes

oh Doc is totally a hallucination

oh Doc is dead :(

North??

oh it's all the Freelancers :(

Yeah I can definitely see that conversation between Wash and Carolina as either romantic or platonic, everyone wins there

is One from season 18? I don't recognize her

oh the shot of them on top of the base :(

Grif goes home... alone :(

aww the credits with everyone's faces. that last shot of the four of the OG RoosterTeeth crew:(((

I think that was a good end. I wish Wash would have actually talked to Tucker, and I'm sad we didn't see Donut and no canon grimmons but that was a long shot. I wish there was a bit more of Tucker as himself, but he's been the main character for a while so it was nice to focus on the others. the actual ending after the fight did feel a little rushed, I would have liked a bit more of Blue team recovering. also is it now just Simmons and Lopez vs Caboose, Tucker, Wash, and Carolina, or are the Freelancers going to leave?

I'm making a separate Grimmons post

All in all I liked it :) I think the most important thing was the everyone was in character. I know people are going to nitpick it and tear it apart, but it honestly could have been way worse.

Bow Chicka Bye Now

#rvb #red vs blue #rvb restoration #red vs blue restoration #Overall it gets a thumbs up from me

[bellemorte180]

WIP Wednesday ~ 300 Miles of Good Road Sneak Peak

The English Gazette

October 3rd, 1813

My Dear Readers,

What is spontaneity? Is it really the devil sitting on your shoulder and whispering temptation in your ear? Or is it something else? The church and society would have you believe that wants and desires of any kind were horrid and blasphemous. I disagree. Spontaneity is a gift. It is the chance at happiness, reaching and taking it. 

Pushing down those desires and following the trend, always doing what you’re told leads to nothing but misery. It's a lifetime of dancing to the tune that others set but all of that can be changed simply by making a choice. Happiness isn’t found in money or status, its found in those you love and surround yourself with. 

Happiness is found in moments of spontaneity. 

My advice, dear readers, is that when you have a moment to take a leap of faith and into the unexpected, do it. Cast aside the judgements of the Ton and fall into whatever unexpected adventure awaits you. 

Sincerely, 

Lady Davina Claire 

It was late as Klaus hurried through his home, hoping to not wake Rebekah and Enzo. Part of him hoped that they were not at his townhouse at all, having retired to their own home but he was not surprised that they had come home from some event and dined without him. So, as Klaus packed his trunk, throwing all his belongings in half haphazardly, he tried to be as silent as he could. He winced each time the floorboard creaked or silently cursed when he dropped a book to the ground. 

His heart was hammering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins at an hour that should have found him in his bed. He paused for a moment, peering around his bedchamber with realization that this was the last time he would be in it for some time and the next time he slept there, he wouldn’t be alone. The reality of it did not feel real, part of him was still shocked at the turn the night had taken. Noting the way his bedding was perfectly made, his maid had done it for him and wondered if Caroline would allow them to continue doing it. He imagined it would be an argument they would have.

Klaus could not wait. 

He couldn’t help but imagine her sleeping in his bed, her long blonde hair spread out among the pillows as her head rested against his chest. He couldn’t fathom the concept of them sleeping apart. She was so close now, that once he fully had her, he did not know if he could part from her, even for the night.  A thousand daydreams fluttered in his mind as he looked around the room, peering at the curtains to the paintings to the book he had resting by his morning chair. Even now, Caroline was etching herself into every fraction of his home.

Wonder what she will want to change? Or should we live somewhere else? The unknown didn’t bother him like it had merely hours prior. Months had passed without her, a bleak image of a life alone; growing old and wondering what could have been. There wouldn’t have been anyone else. Only Caroline. A world where Elijah had gotten his wish, Caroline banished from his life and society all together, was something worse than hell.

“Mother would have a fit if she saw the state of that trunk, she would have words with you.” Klaus whipped around, seeing Rebekah standing in his doorway, a silk robe wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was down, hanging around her shoulders and in the candlelight, Klaus could see the sleep in her eyes. 

“Mother? I believe you’re confusing her with our governess. She taught us how to pack a trunk.” Klaus countered as Rebekah stepped into his room. She looked down at the trunk, bending down to pull one of his waist coasts that had been tossed in. The worry was evident on her face, making him feel guilty for his plan to slip away without a word to her or Enzo. He silently cursed himself, the struggle to be better was always far more difficult that he had realized. “It will wrinkle but I don’t mind. It's just a coat.” 

“Where are you going?”

“North.”

“You were going to go to Leeds without telling me?” There was a pitch to her tone that made Klaus wince. The weeks she had spent caring for him, ensuring that he did not fall further into the pit of depression had been living in for the majority of the season had been forgotten, as was the pain he knew he put her through. “Why? What happened? Is it Elijah-”

“No. Elijah has nothing to do with this and I said North, not Leeds. I’m not going home.” The confusion on Rebekah’s features was like an open book, it was easy to see every suspicion passing through her mind. “I saw Caroline tonight, after Stefan and Elena’s wedding.” There was a flicker of understanding but the conclusion was just out of reach. “She is coming with me. Tonight.”

“North? How far north?”

“Scotland.” Rebekah’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. Words failed her but she could not look away from him. She reached for his hand and gave a squeeze before pulling him into a tight embrace. It lasted only a moment and when she pulled back, Klaus noted the smile that had overtaken her lips. “We want to leave quickly, without suspicion and get married before Elijah can get wind of anything. By the time he learns of it, it will be to late.”

“Let me wake Enzo. We’ll go with you.” Rebekah turned, moved to rush out of the room but Klaus gripped her wrist gently, spinning her back around to face him. He knew that she meant well, that it would be a privilege to have his sister there, watching him utter the vows he so desperately wanted to since the moment he laid eyes on Caroline. “Nik-”

“No. I need you and Enzo to stay here. If we all leave London at once, people will notice. No one will think twice that I left for Leeds and no one realized that Caroline had returned. I need you to remain, for a week or two at most.” He could see that Rebekah wanted to fight him, to tell him that she was coming with him whether he liked it or not; but he knew that he couldn’t risk it. “Please.”

“You’ll write to me immediately once it is done?”

“Absolutely. The second I take my vows I will pull out a quill and-” Rebekah pinched his side, causing him to laugh. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, playfully shaking her head. “Yes. I will write to you and let you know what our plans are. I don’t know that yet. Just that we are leaving tonight. Now actually.” 

“Where is Caroline?”

“Downstairs.”

“Downstairs?!”

“We already packed her things and it wouldn’ have been-” Rebekah did not let him finish before turning around and racing out of his bedchamber. His shoulders slumped and he shook his head, feeling even more pressed to finish packing. He gathered the last remaining pieces of clothing he could shove into the trunk and shut it. Gripping the handles, he began dragging the trunk down the hall, no longer caring if he woke anyone as he was sure Enzo would know of his departure soon enough. 

Once he reached the top of the stairs, Lucian who had been waiting patiently at the bottom sprung into action, raced up the stairs to take the trunk the rest of the way. At the doorway, he could see both Rebekah and Caroline deep in conversation, the former arms were crossed while Caroline simply nodded, wearing an enduring smile on her lips.

#klaroline #300 miles of good road #wip wednesday

[theofficersacademy]

At last the temperature begins to rise a little, the blizzard relents, and the snow melts just enough to allow travel to and from the monastery again. A backlog of mail arrives in one giant cart and the couriers spend the next several days sorting letters and packages for their recipients. Among the care packages, the notes from doting mothers, and the pining essays from distant lovers are letters describing situations far more dire. Unfortunately, many are dated from months ago, stalled by the storms until now, but that makes their contents all the more pressing.

In Valentia, without their new king and queen, without their gods, the people grow restless for something to believe in. Some groups have begun to take matters into their own hands, write concerned aides, and rumors have reached the castle about their aim to resurrect Mila and Duma. With resources already stretched thin by the recovery efforts, they could use some help with the investigation and subsequent quelling of such delusions.

In Jugdral, shadows still linger in forgotten places. Now that many of the continent's war veterans and nobility have traveled abroad for education, they have seized this moment to crawl back out into the light. From Grannvale comes news of remnants of the Loptyr church attempting to bring back Loptous. While the letters insist that these are, most likely, simply rumors at best, or a failure in the making at worst, they are not without a note of concern. Children have started going missing again. Others have been kidnapped in broad daylight. It would be wise to return home soon to assess these problems yourself.

In Elibe, whispers surge anew, and they speak of a second coming of The Scouring. Dragons have been sighted in distant skies, they say, real dragons breathing fire and ice and shaking the earth to its core. Elimine's church preaches acceptance, and its criers herald the beginning of a new era of peace and harmony. Those less optimistic instead sharpen their weapons and bolster their defenses in preparation for war.

While Garreg Mach monastery has its own troubles still in the aftermath of the blizzard, permission is granted to students and faculty from Valentia, Jugdral, and Elibe to return home this month if they so choose. A handful of knights and other students will be sent with them, in case trouble is indeed to be found. This is not a mission sanctioned by the church, however. This is entirely personal.

You make your decision to return. It's just for the month, and you're hopeful that these rumors are just that: rumors. Along with the allies and friends you've made from other lands, you travel to Enbarr to set sail.

What’s Going On?

Welcome to Sabbam Vitatham, the fourth anniversary event for the Officers Academy! Please continue reading below for information and rules.

This will be an evolving event. Instead of a traditional mission board, each of the six groups will be given a setting to explore. New information will come to light weekly, and situations will shift as time moves on. Use what your muse knows (or doesn’t) about the country they're in to make decisions, brainstorm threads, and ask questions.

Muses who are not participating in the event will be left behind in Garreg Mach. However, characters from Valentia, Jugdral, and Elibe who did NOT sign up to participate in the event but would narratively be involved (e.g. Celica, Seliph) can be assumed to be tagging along as well. Their participation will be off camera.

The Snowglobe mission board will be extended through the end of this month, but no new missions will be added. Use this month to catch up on past threads or thread together about your classmates and colleagues who have left for the event.

Sabbam Vitatham General Rules

Signups are closed and will not be reopened. The ship has sailed.

Find your muse's boat here.

You must submit your inventory by 11:59PM EST on August 3rd using this link. You can only bring items that you have claimed and classes that you have mastered. Do not include your class' mastery abilities as separate inventory slots. You can choose to not bring a weapon.

You will not be allowed to switch teams.

You may only start Sabbam Vitatham threads between August 1st and August 31st. Event threads may be continued after the event, but no new ones may be started. Likewise, only IC posts made between 8/1 and 8/31 will count toward prizes.

Your muses are already on their boats, so you will only be able to make event interactions with those who are on the same boat with you. As groups are split into different teams, you will only be able to thread with your teammates. However, if you wish to make farewell interactions with other characters who are being left behind at the monastery or journeying elsewhere, you're free to do so. These interactions will not count as event posts.

We encourage creativity and exploration. This is not an event that will solely be focused on combat. The results from your signups will be revealed as the story progresses, so ask questions, think outside the box, try new things, and do what your character would do in these situations.

We also highly encourage “Paralogue” threads. These are mini threads focused on character development or exploring something that interests you or your muse, parallel to whatever main objective your team is after. These do not have to be related to any prompt given by the mods. Paralogue threads enrich your campaign experience, so thread away as the inspiration strikes!

Please tag all event-related IC posts with #toasabbamvitatham2023. When split into your individual teams, your tag will change.

This event will allow muses to die. This can happen at any point during the event. Regardless of what happens to your muse, you will still receive all prizes at the end.

Sabbam Vitatham Schedule

August 1st - 3rd : EMBARK August 4th - 10th : ?? August 11th - 17th : ?? August 18th - 24th : ?? August 25th - 31st : ??

Discord

There is a new lobby channel for general event discussion and a new #openthreads channel for event-use only. Plotting channels for each team will be opened on the 4th. Please use these channels for event-related discussion or planning.

Prizes and How to Get Them

Two sets of prizes will be awarded for the Sabbam Vitatham event.

PARTICIPATION PRIZE.

All muses entering the event automatically receive one of these prizes upon joining. You may message the masterlist as soon as you have made your first event post.

Canon Lord characters: You are granted access to your exclusive promotional class. This class will have mastery requirements of a Master Tier class and will also require rank A in Authority and a drabble. Please message the masterlist to claim it. To see muses that qualify and their corresponding prizes, please refer to the fourth page of this sheet. You will also be granted your Personal Skill. Please refer to the section below.

Characters who have not claimed a Personal Skill: You will be allowed to claim your Personal Skill. Please refer to this sheet for examples and guidance on crafting one for yourself. Characters who already have personal skills in their respective games will receive their canon skill, so you do not need to design one. If you need help designing your skill, please ask for advice in the personal skill workshop channel in the Discord server. All personal skills must be submitted to the masterlist’s inbox to be approved though.

All others: If your character participated in past lore events and has already received all participation prizes that they are eligible for, you may claim an additional ability that you qualify for from the ranking chart.

If you prefer to hold off on choosing your participation prizes (i.e. waiting on skill points, etc.), you may do so until the grand prize claim period after the event. However, keep in mind that you may only feature any new abilities in threads after claiming them.

If you have already received your personal skill but would like to retune it, please submit a new proposal for the skill during this event. Mod Ree will also be rebalancing the ones that have already been claimed to fit the new rules.

GRAND PRIZE.

This will be awarded at the end of the event to any muse who reaches a minimum of 10 IC event posts. Contains:

One free skill point

Two choices from an event-limited selection of prizes

And a third prize — unknown for now

More information on that will come at the conclusion of the event, so for now, use what you know about Valentia, Jugdral, and Elibe to lend your help.

And as always, feel free to message the masterlist or use the Discord if you have any questions.

- The House Leaders

#toa announcements #toasabbamvitatham2023

[imaginarylungfish]

nothing is good or bad (or how i realized god still lives in my brain)

I grew up pretty Catholic. I don't know if my experience was extreme or not by others' standards, but to me, it felt pretty all-encompassing. My sister, mom, and I went to church every Sunday and prayed every day. I whole-heartedly believed I was born sinful, Jesus sacrificed his life for an unworthy lowlife like me, and I would go to Hell if I didn't behave in accordance with the Catholic teachings.

Looking back, it's all so absurd. How is there an imaginary man in the sky looking down at me and punishing me for being born? How did a man who lived thousands of years ago die on a cross and magically wash away the fact that I lied one day in 3rd grade? How is there a creature with horns tempting me to commit sins and lure me to a magically place with eternal fire? Like what?

It's funny because the thing that made me start to stop believing in "God" was sort of up to semantics. When my great grandpa was dying from cancer while I was in middle school, I had this prayer card from the Catholic store that said if I prayed it for 11 days straight, anything I prayed for would be granted by God. I, of course, didn't want my great grandpa to die, so I religiously prayed for those 11 days. A month later he died. I was crushed. I genuinely thought I could save him. I asked my mom why my prayers didn't work. She said it was because it wasn't God's Will. That broke my brain. What's the point of praying for something if this guy can just flip the script because that's just how he wants it? How was that fair?

Throughout high school, I still went through the motions of being Catholic (and even was confirmed), but I was skeptical. It wasn't until college that I cut ties with Catholicism and their "God" entirely.

It's been almost a decade since I've first questioned "God," yet I still have him in my brain. I thought by now, in 2023, his hold on me was gone entirely. But a conversation with my (now ex) partner nearly 6 months ago made it clear that isn't the case.

I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that what I thought to be the "best" in a situation was not objective. As in, it is no better to play video games all day than to go outside on a hike. Or delving deep into yourself and healing your traumas is really no better than just letting them be. It just depends on what you value and what you need in that moment. "There is no good or bad," my partner said, "it just is."

Yes, living is just living. Good and bad mean nothing other than what an individual person thinks. This made sense in my brain, but it didn't feel like a fully solidified understanding to me. I know I still unintentionally and unnecessarily assign morality to things based on my Catholic upbringing. Sex is bad. Tattoos are bad. Eating past when you're full is bad. Not being productive is bad. But why? By whose standards? Mine or the "God" that still lives in my brain?

After this conversation, I Googled some (secular) articles to analyze my thought processes. I knew I needed to expand my perspective if I wanted to integrate this new idea of neutrality into my way of thinking.

I came across a few articles written by William L. Mace Ph.D. on Psychology Today. The first was called "There is Nothing Either Good or Bad But Thinking Makes It So." In this article, Mace was asserting that everyone believes their way of thinking is the best, but it's not. It's just a way of thinking.

He talks about how people tend to gather evidence for our own way of thinking. When people don't align with our values, "we can always console ourselves [by saying], 'I may have lost to that deceitful so-and-so, but at least I came out ahead by holding to a higher ethical standard.'"

While reading this, I couldn't help but find my own self being reflected back to me. When I interact with someone who does something that doesn't make sense with my worldview, my knee-jerk reaction is to dismiss them. I rationalize to myself that they must just be morally inferior, right? I've done more self-work than them and they must just be ignorant. But on further reflection, isn't that just my ego trying to assert itself? Isn't that just the Catholic judgement I received as a child being spit back out as my own thoughts? There is no good or bad, no superior or inferior--things just are.

But realizing that is groundless. It's scary. I think, as humans, we want retribution for wrongdoing and reward for righteousness. We want punishment for sin and exaltation for virtue. (Hmm, sounds like a good basis to start a religion...) But that's just not reality.

In another article by Mace called "The Difficulty of Accepting Reality" he talks about how cognitive dissonance plays a role in our everyday lives. When we run into something (a person, a situation, etc.) that doesn't align with our beliefs, we have a choice to disregard the facts, re-adjust our own thinking, or blame something else entirely.

For example, when you're watching a movie that's hard to follow, you do your best to piece together the plot with the clues given and come up with your own interpretation of what's going on. In the end when everything is revealed, if you realize you were wrong, you can either dig in and assert you are actually right, admit you were wrong and re-adjust to the new reality, or blame the screenwriters for not making it clear enough. And there is no right answer. It's just your choice.

I was given these choices when I first broke away from Catholicism as well. After being exposed to more secular life, I realized there were some things that did not fit with my worldview of believing in God and following Catholic beliefs. I chose to re-adjust my views instead of insisting God is real. (This did not, by any means, happen overnight--it was a multi-year process of letting go and trusting my own beliefs over the arbitrary rules of the Catholic Church. Plus, it's an ongoing process.) Coming to terms with the idea that God does not exist is viewed as a lack of faith by believers and therefore I am labeled as "bad." But in my view, I am good. I escaped.

So, does that make those who still believe in God wrong? Is anyone right? My ego wants to think so, but I guess no one wins because there are no winners and losers. It's just life.

I am coming to my own conclusion that there is no better belief or way of thinking. Sure, there are codes of ethics enacted by societies. But those aren't facts. They're just collective agreements of conduct. Nothing is inherently better than anything else. Not everyone will think this way and that feels more okay to me than earlier in my life. I feel like through learning that nothing is superior or inferior, I can start chipping away at those old, deeply held beliefs from Catholicism in my mind. I, personally, don't want them there. I don't want a "God" living in my head anymore. I want more of me and my thoughts that I've cultivated through my own work, not some scripture shoved down my throat when I was 5.

Before wrapping this up, I do want to say, yes, for me, real damage was done by growing up in the Catholic Church. However, I don't blame my parents or guardians for raising me as Catholic. Nor do I think Catholicism is all-out bad (we literally spent an entire post on trying to eradicate that black-and-white type of thinking). I believe this runs deeper than mere individual fault. I know my parents thought being raised Catholic would be good for me and my sister. Even though I didn't ask for any of these negative consequences of my upbringing, here they are, and I want to do something about them, so I am not controlled by them any longer.

I want to internalize the belief that life is just life. Things are just things. There is no good or bad, no superior or inferior. There isn't much rhyme or reason to the events in my life or anyone else's. I am the one who can assign meaning to things. I don't want to follow an external set of rules, much less ones made by institutions that feed off of shame, fear, and ignorance.

If you agree or disagree or just want to see where this takes me, stick around. Thank you for your curiosity about my inner thoughts and reading this far.

-L

resources that have helped me process my Catholic trauma:

Leaving the Fold by Marlene Winell: this really opened my eyes to the distorted reality the Catholic Church puts forth as "truth"

Ex-Catholic Subreddit: it's reddit, so keep your expectations low. but there are some solid posts on there that help me remember it's okay that i'm still struggling and i am not alone. plus, the "sheep no more" motto makes me smile.

We're Having Gay Sex podcast: this has helped me learn sex and pleasure, especially queer sex and pleasure, is not wrong and is okay to talk about

Queer Sex Therapy: this has also helped me normalize queer sex and queer joy

exvangelical and non-religious friends: honestly, just talking with others who have been through the same shit as you have or see how ludicrous what you learned as a child was is super affirming

#exvangelical #ex catholic #personal post #personal blog #blog #blog post #thoughts #queer #catholic trauma #god is dead #ex christian #ex fundie #ex fundamentalist #apostate #religious trauma #religious deconstruction #deconstructing christianity #atheist #atheism #agnostic #agnosticism #religious recovery #deconversion #deconstruction #lgbtq #lgbt

[princess-pathetic-112898]

Moments I remember vividly from my childhood as depicted by random photos on my phone:

Every time I went to the bathroom at school, considered whether I could successfully sneak out the front doors & ditch, but never had the guts to follow through:

Creating elaborate fantasy dramas with my Barbie’s where they were royal witches but also fugitive orphans:

Trying to learn basic elementary level multiplication & division:

The time a cafeteria aide forced me to sit with a group of popular girls at lunch when I genuinely wanted to eat alone:

Bringing the shedded skin of my uncle’s pet tarantula & a National Geographic Kids book about tarantulas in for show-and-tell in the first grade because my teacher said we needed to bring in something educational:

Me & my guy friends getting told off by a cafeteria aide for making armpit farts, and being singled out because I’m a girl and girls should know better:

Insisting on doing Steven Spielberg for my 3rd grade biography project because I loved Animaniacs & E.T. (lots of second hand vhs tapes), & choosing a book that opened with the making of Schindler’s List:

Pulling my best girl friend away from our bullies before she threw a punch & got sent to the office again:

Going to Build-A-Bear and making the most nauseatingly pink creation I could devise with as many bows as I could fit on:

My Girl Scout troop trying to get anything done in the haunted church basement where we had our meetings:

#dank memes #random thoughts #saved photos #childhood memories #childhood #humor

[howaboutcastiel]

Carry Me Home (Jake Lockley)

Okay I am a huge sucker for Jake Lockley. I’d love to see a platonic female relationship with him? It’s entirely up to you whether there is angst or they can go from friends to lovers etc. I 100% trust you! I hope you are doing well 🌙✨ @in-between-the-cafes

Author’s Note: I think I have a different take on this than what you were probably going for, but I hope that it’s still enjoyable! BTW, I’m sorry that this took so long. If you want more platonic Jake, be on the lookout for some WIPs.

Content Warning: Teen!Reader, Mentions of homophobia, abusive/neglectful parenting, and homelessness. Also food and eating. (Part 1 because I’m a menace, but probably only two parts total)

You were sitting by the storm drain at the street’s end, crying your eyes out. 

The sun was just starting to set behind the buildings along the border of the neighborhood. It would be night soon. It would be cold soon. You didn’t have anywhere to go, exactly, and you’d spent your energy crying for a little too long to have the strength to walk anywhere. It had been a horrible, unbelievable day. You’d come home from school like any other afternoon, but you opened the front door to a wildly different setting than any you’d usually see at that time of day.

There they were, your mother and father, both home from work early and standing arms-crossed in the entryway. They didn’t look worried or sad—not like there was a death in the family or some tragic news about one of them losing their job. Your parents looked angry. You wracked your brain for what they could possibly be angry about and, when you finally figured it out, the pit in your stomach grew so big that you feared it would burst and shame and fear bloomed across your face.

The yelling and screaming that followed you then was something that you’d never be able to forget. Your mother spat the most vile words at you with venom on her tongue and tears in her eyes. She called you things you could never stomach to repeat. Your father was silent as he tore apart your bedroom, tossing your most treasured belongings out on the lawn, and everything else in the trash where he thought it belonged. You were everything they’d ever dreamed of—their little girl, their beautiful daughter, their smart and funny kid. But you were also everything they couldn’t bear for you to be. 

And they would never, ever, have a child who was queer. 

So that was it. You weren’t their daughter anymore, and the numbness and shock had melted away as the sun set on you and your measly duffel bag of belongings, leaving room for the panic and sorrow that was underneath it all. They’d taken your phone—they paid the phone bill, of course—so you didn’t have anyone to call for help. Maybe one of your friends would have let you crash on their couch for a day or two, but other than that, you really had nowhere to go. This part of town just wasn’t safe, though, and the chill of the night was already seeping into your bones with every passing, darkening moment. You had to go somewhere. 

Maybe the local shelter could take you in, just for the night. Maybe you’d be warm and safe there. You’d volunteered a few times at their soup kitchen with your church group. They seemed welcoming enough, though the facilities were hardly much better than just being on the street. Anything to get out of this cold, though. 

So, you held up your weak and shaking arm, and you hailed yourself a taxi. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped into the back seat, the warm air of the cab soothing your rigid muscles. The driver peered at you through the mirror, his brow furrowing in concern as he saw the tears in your young eyes. He tried to be professional, though. 

“Where to?”

“The shelter on 3rd,” you huffed out. He didn’t seem to like that answer very much. The driver turned to face you, placing his hand on the headrest of the passenger’s seat and giving a stern look. You felt your face burn hot. “I have money for the ride, I swear.”

“You’re going to the shelter?” He asked, his voice deep and accusatory, though you were sure he didn’t mean it to be. You nodded your head, feeling as though his eyes were burning a hole in you. 

“I don’t know the address, but I know it’s on 3rd street somewhere…” 

“Is your family there?” His voice lightened and his face turned soft. You felt more tears streaming down your face, and your heart panged as the word family rang in your ears. 

“No, they aren’t.” Your voice broke around the words, and you crunched your face to fight back the sob bubbling up in your throat. “It’s just me.”

He surveyed your body with his eyes, taking in how you were shaking and how your duffel was stuffed almost to the point of bursting at the seams. You had nothing to do but stare back at him. He was younger than your parents, maybe mid-thirties, though he had dark circles under his eyes that made him look wise for his age. A few unruly black curls peeked from under his flat-cap, and his brown eyes were both gentle and unhinged. Your father had stared at you just the same, once upon a time. A very, very long time ago. 

“Have you had dinner?” He finally broke the silence. His question took you by surprise, so much so that you stopped crying on the spot. As if on cue, your stomach growled pathetically. 

“No, sir. I haven’t.”

“Can I get you something to eat?” You wanted to say no to his question. He was a stranger, a nameless cab driver for a faceless passenger. You should never say yes to that kind of thing, but you were so hungry and desperate and distraught. “No offense, kid, but you’re looking pretty rough. Let me get you some food.”

“Oh…Okay.” You blinked back the leftover tears as he turned back around in his seat. You hadn’t really thought about your next meal yet. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he insisted, putting the car in drive. He glanced at you again in the mirror as the cab started to move forward. “You eat burgers?”

“I’ll eat anything.” You weren’t going to be picky about food when someone else was offering to pay for it. 

“Alright, then.”

You took the short ride as an opportunity to think over what would happen next. School was going to be tricky, now, wasn’t it? The bus would still be coming to your parents’ house, and you sure as hell didn’t have a car. Technically, you were old enough to get a job without their approval, and you’d be more than happy to do so if you had a place to live and a way to get there, but you didn’t. You didn’t have anything but the clothes on your back and the few things you’d managed to stuff in your bag. No food, not much money, and sure as hell not much in the way of necessities. You didn’t even have a toothbrush. 

The driver’s voice once again broke the dim silence of the cab. He had pulled into the parking lot of a run-down, vintage diner. 

“I know it looks like a shithole,” he began, “but I know the owner of this place. He’s good people, and he gives me a hell of a discount most of the time. The food is really good, too.”

You were admittedly scared to move, but he stepped out of the cab and opened your door for you. He stood there staring awkwardly until you finally threw your legs out and stood on the pavement. You followed him into the diner, noting that the place smelled vaguely of cigarettes, but also like the best french fries you could imagine. The driver nodded at one of the waitresses, who winked back at him before disappearing into the kitchen. He stopped at a booth on the building’s edge, gesturing for you to sit down opposite him. He wasn’t much taller than you, but you felt small as you hunched against the table. 

“Thank you,” you repeated. He smiled lopsidedly and shook his head as he pushed a menu in front of you. You struggled to open it, your fingers rigid and wavering still, and his eyes followed your hands as you set your gaze on a picture of a grilled cheese with fries on the side. The waitress returned to your table, too cheery for the time of night.

“What can I get you, Mr. Lockley?” She greeted him flirtatiously, obviously recognizing him as a regular. She paid no mind to you at all, beyond the initial surprise that he wasn’t alone at the booth. He tore his eyes away from you to acknowledge her, the smile having faded off of his face. He re-brandished it, showing his teeth.

“I’ll have the usual and a cup of coffee,” his tone was much different than it had been with you, though he wasn’t entertaining her flirting. 

“And what about you, doll?” She turned to you. You felt a lump threatening to form in your throat again, but you cleared it away with a firm swallow. 

“A grilled cheese,” you answered, “with fries. And a water.”

She smiled emptily and headed back toward the kitchen. You felt the need to curl in on yourself when Mr. Lockley’s gaze focused on you once again. He leaned forward to say something, his voice lower than it had been when ordering. 

“How old are you?”

That wasn’t what you had expected him to say. Then again, there wasn’t anything that you really could expect him to be saying. You didn’t know anything about him, and the situation was far from normal. You blinked at him in confusion. 

“Sixteen.”

He seemed physically hurt by your response. Mr. Lockley brought his hand up to his face, rubbing at his stubble as he thought. He was quiet for a long time--longer than he really should have been. You could feel the awkwardness in the air as the waitress returned with your drinks. He gave her a passing nod and a short “thanks” as she sat them down on the table, but otherwise remained in his own mind. Finally, he seemed to snap back into place.

“I should introduce myself,” he began. “My name is Jake. What’s yours?”

You stared at him, refusing to answer. It just didn’t feel right, not that anything felt right about today. He sighed quietly and flashed his eyes down to your hands, which were still holding the menu you’d ordered from. 

“Listen, kid. I’m just trying to help you. You clearly had a rough day and you don’t look like you have any plan. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I can at least tell you that the shelter you’re looking for is at capacity by now.”

“It is?” You felt a shudder inside of your chest, and he gave you a pitiful nod. Tears started to well in your eyes again and you forced them down and back. You cleared your throat and, reluctantly, you told Jake Lockley your name. He seemed to relax a little after that, reaching down to bring his coffee mug up to his lips. The water in front of you looked too cold for you to want to drink. 

“You would know that if you’d been doing this a while. My guess is, this is your first night without a bed.”

You looked down at your lap, effectively confirming his suspicion. 

“Did you run away from home?” You shook your head, but couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else. You didn’t want to think about it anymore, you just wanted somewhere warm and dry to rest for tonight, and you really wanted that grilled cheese. 

He let you off the hook after that, and you sat in mostly silence until your orders came. You devoured your sandwich as he watched in amusement, and Jake ate his burger much slower. The grilled cheese was gone before you felt satisfied, so you began to pull fries from the stack. You were halfway through the pile when Jake spoke up again. 

“You’re still in high school, aren’t you?” You nodded at him, your mouth full of food. “Do you get good grades?”

Again, you nodded.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” He asked genuinely. You swallowed your bite of food and he tilted his head upward, waiting on your response. You didn’t really know what to say to that. What was going to happen next for you? “I mean, what was your plan? Before today.”

“I want to go to nursing school.”

He hummed at your response, taking another bite out of his burger. You turned your attention back to your fries, confused by his question. After a while, you both ran out of food to use as a distraction. It sat heavy in your stomach, but you felt warm at least, and it had been a damn good meal.

“Do you know another shelter I can go to?” You finally asked. It was about time that you started asking the questions, even if he was paying for the food. He seemed offended by your words.

“There’s no way in hell I’m taking you to a shelter.” 

“What do you mean?” You said with concern. “I don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight. It’s supposed to rain.”

“I’m not taking you to a homeless shelter. You’re a teenage girl. I won’t leave you somewhere like that. It isn’t safe for you.”

“Why’s it your job to make sure that I’m safe?” Your tone was short, for the first time of the night. “That isn’t your business.”

“I’m making it my business.” He insisted. “I’m not dropping you somewhere like that. You can stay with me.”

You very much wanted to protest to that, but you wanted even more to have somewhere safe and warm to spend the night. The shortness of your tone fell just as quickly as it had come. You breathed in deeply before you said anything. 

“Are you sure?” This stranger couldn’t possibly be inviting a random teenager into his home. He couldn’t possibly want you there. He had other things to worry about. Bigger things. You weren’t his problem to deal with. 

“I’m very sure.”

He left a generous tip on the table and the two of you were on your way. 

#moon knight #jake lockley #moon boys #marc spector #steven grant #masterlist

[katsushika-division]

Relationship: Family - Akari Himura

Shuichi Himura † - Akari’s deceased father. A drunkard who constantly abused her and Rintaro. Akari has never once thought of him as anything other than her sperm donor and has nothing but a burning hatred towards him. Surprisingly, nearly killing her and Rintaro by setting the house on fire isn't the reason why Akari hates him so much. No, the reason Akari hates him so much is because he was the one who caused her to be ripped away from her older brother. Something Akari has and will never forgive him for. 

Rikka Sonoi (35 Years Old) - Akari’s biological mother. Akari has never once met her mother and, frankly, doesn't care about meeting the woman. Rikka herself personally despises the child she gave birth to and didn't bother giving it a name when they were born. She even considered throwing the newborn into the sewers to die but ultimately decided to leave her child with its paternal family. A violent psychopathic woman, Rikka views humans as nothing more than playthings to break and destroy at her discretion. Currently, she has spent the last few years locked away in a mental institution both for her own sake and for society’s safety. 

Kagami Saionji † - Akari’s foster mother. A religious extremist of a woman and someone Akari still fiercely hates even after all these years. Kagami truly believed from the bottom of her soul that Akari was possessed by evil and literally tried to beat the devil out of her even trying as far as to drown Akari in the bathtub. This proved to be the last straw for Akari who soon after set the house aflame trapping Kagami inside and killing her. As a result of her treatment under Kagami Akari developed a fierce hatred of religion going as far as maniacally burning multiple churches to the ground. 

Rintaro Himura (25 Years Old) - Akari’s older half-brother and 3rd member of Death Row Block. Known to the entire world as the “High-Rise Bomber” but to Akari he is simply her “Rin-nii”. Some of Akari’s earliest memories are of Rintaro singing her to sleep and shielding her from their father’s abuse. Even when their house burned down Rintaro did his best to shield her from the flames, something Akari has never forgotten. Even now Akari deeply adores her older brother and would do anything for him and knows he would do the same for her. In fact, her alter ego “Cinder” was even made to bust him out of prison. She’s currently working on a way to save him from his impending death sentence. 

Matsuri Hinata † - One of the girls at the orphanage Akari was sent to and one of the few people Akari has ever allowed herself to get close to. An absolute sweetheart who was always kind to Akari despite the latter's hostile nature. Eventually, Matsuri managed to win Akari over and the two became as close as sisters. Unfortunately, their relationship came to a horrific end when the two girls were kidnapped by human traffickers with Matsuri being violently murdered and dismembered in front of Akari. It was Matsuri’s death at that moment when Akari’s hatred for humanity truly began. 

#hypnosis microphone #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #katsushika division #death row block #akari himura #relationships #family

[knightofsuperior]

Weddings Are Momentous Occasions for Sure, But Really, This Is Just a Tiny Bit Overkill, Don't You Think?

Fandom: The Legend of Heroes/Trails, Trails in the Sky

Summary:

Cassius wants Kevin to officiate the wedding of Estelle and Joshua. There's just one slight problem with that. AKA, Cassius plays the embarrassing dad role to a T, Kevin realizes he should really stick to his day job, and Joshua and Estelle are in for a teensy bit of a surprise. Contains slight spoilers for Sky 3rd and endgame spoilers (mentioned in passing) for Sky SC. Written for the Kiseki Secret Santa 2018 initiative. #KisekiSecretSanta2018

Read the fic here and check out an excerpt/my thoughts below!

Excerpt:

Kevin placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose, and stared at Cassius for a moment. “When the hell did they get engaged?” Cassius shook his head. “They haven’t yet.” “Okay. Do they have vows prepared?” “Not in the slightest.” Kevin frowned. “A venue?” Cassius put a hand to his chin. “I was thinking the front yard of our home, since the church is booked that day. Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Actually, the clock tower would be even better. I could speak to Mayor Klaus about that, now that I think about it…” Kevin sighed, raising an eyebrow. “Lots of things to set up, it sounds like, but I haven’t heard a lick about this from either of ‘em. Do these two even realize they’re getting married?” “Nope!” Cassius replied cheerfully. Kevin could see where this was going. “Are you just trying to embarrass those two one last time before they go off to... wherever they’re headed?” Cassius grinned. “Absolutely.” “...well, shit, you shoulda just said that to begin with.” Kevin beamed, clasping his hands together and rubbing them excitedly. “I’m in.” Cassius grinned wide. “Fantastic!” With a boisterous laugh, he put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “I knew I could count on you!” “You didn’t think I’d say yes, did you?” Cassius nodded. “Absolutely not.”

Author's Note: The first in an unexpected series of Trails fics in their own continuity, something I call the "Kiseki In-Between-Iverse," focusing on the characters living their lives in the smaller, in-between moments that the games don't cover. I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift initially, but I loved the idea so much that when I wound up with the same giftee the next year, I just decided to make it a series.

I love the cast of Sky, and the game made me feel emotions that stick with me to this day, so I wanted to give the two leads a chance to have something nice happen for once--and make sure the rest of the massive cast embarrasses them wholeheartedly.

This is also when I discovered the joy of writing fic titles like they were Fall Out Boy/Panic at the Disco song titles. Sue me, it's fun.

#sora no kiseki #trails in the sky #legend of heroes #kiseki series #trails series #kevin graham #estelle bright #joshua bright #fanfic #fan fiction #trails in the sky spoilers

[imaginingfrancium]

sharing some of my xyx headcanons

so that my mind will be at Peace, i'd like to share some of my own xyx headcanon crumbsszxs, related to him being Filipino and other random stuff (from a Filipino [me] who can't stop having xyx brainrots. v detailed, sort of political, and self-indulgent themes ahead):

his parents are full-blooded filipinos, who decided to migrate to australia (to have a better life~~) (taking it from my experience of having relatives telling u to get a job/move abroad bc living in the ph suckz)

his dad passed away when he was in his early teen years. his mom married a local aussie man years later.

yes, he loved his dad so much. his dad was That Present, Supportive Father yeh

he grew up seeing his parents being so loving, caring, etc to each other. like that was his basis of love; he wanted to experience what his parents had. he hoped for it so much that i guess after how many heartbreaks (uhuh lovesick teenager xyx), he got tired and gave it up lol (until fLASH FORWARD to meeting us, and there: the love that was really something. not just the idea of something *bow)

his sister (yes, he has one) is a nurse and he is a lawyer. not bc they were coerced by their parents, but they just really decide it for themselves (imagine the number of times they had to say "no, really. i just want to be one") (v random hc, yes)

he used to visit the ph when he was young. those trips stopped since most of his family members already moved to australia too, and other places abroad.

even though he speaks english with a strong australian accent, it's like it's turned off when he speaks tagalog.

(i reckon that he can speak better tagalog than me 🕴 Jose Rizal be laughing in his grave rn)

he grew out of his catholic roots when he lived by himself, but still tries complete all 9 Simbang Gabi/Misa de Gallo masses. to have some connection with his devote catholic mom, and to honor the times he spent attending these masses with his late dad. (i like Simbang Gabis because of the native delicacies being sold outside the church every after mass)

after the first time you attended Simbang Gabi with xyx, he made a mental note to add Ben&Ben's Bibingka to his playlist about u (v self-indulgent but iykyk) (well if he has one) (i think he does tho)

he is Anti-Marcos and you cannot convince me otherwise. (he could've been that guy who called out marcos jr. personally when he was in aus for a family vacation) (can't find the video of it SKSKSKS)

he was supposed to study in the ph for college because attending university in australia is Expensive ™. luckily, he was able to enter one with a scholarship.

if he didn't though, he probs studied in UP or Ateneo (xyx wearing the UP sablay... as an iska, *tucks hair behind ear*)

(to my fellow filo/filo-speaking bp players) he didn't tell you he was filipino and can speak tagalog when you first got together. he decided to keep it to himself for a while bc he wanted to see your reaction 😎 the moment you knew was when he responded to an endearment you said in tagalog.

"so all along, you understood what i was saying?" "yes." "🕴️" "also your tagalog sucks." "oh f*ck off (affectionately)"

there is a news article about him written by a local ph news source. headline was "Australia-Raised Filipino Lawyer helped win big case vs. big company" something something. (you can smell the Pinoy Pride 🇵🇭 XD comments from here)

xyx listens to OPM !!! it's his 3rd most played genre on Spotify.

he grew up listening to it because of his dad (it is a way for dad to cope with his homesickness) (one more and i'll make a separate hc post about his dad)

with that info, lemme tell u that you both once danced to Ang Huling El Bimbo and/or Panalangin

v sorry for the many random, unorganized thoughts lol and the grammar errors. anyw lemme know what you also think ‽‽

(OPM songs i listened to while writing this: Isang Anghel by zild *highly recommend!!; dekada '70 by zild; Torete by moonstarr88)

(also gonna promote my bloomic but pinoy shitposting hehe)

#filipino xyx brainrot i didn't ask for #my coping mechanism is to write shit down #i need to let this out or else #xyx #blooming panic #bloomic #bp xyx #blooming panic xyx

[rosesutherlandwrites]

First Ten Lines game

Rules: Share the first line of ten of your most recent fanfics (edit: or original fiction) and then tag ten people. Don't have ten? Not to worry, just share what you have. Thanks for the tag @mysunfreckle and for doubling down on it to remind me. I’m going to come in with a mix of fanfic and original works, some of which are still only wee snippets in my ideas folder

1) The ship was burning. Original, A Sweet Sting Of Salt, aka Salty—my debut novel, coming next year from Dell/RHC!

2) As soon as I touched him, I knew the man was dead.  Original, WIP currently titled Venus In Ashes, aka Ashy. I’m on chapter 25, and about 2/3rds finished.

3) The man, the thing, was not human. Les Mis fanfic, And You Will Have Your Hearts’ Desire. The one that started it all, really. Grantaire accidentally gives his name to a murderous fae entity bent on gifting him the deepest desire of his heart.

4)We were murderous children. Original snippet, no clue what it wants to be yet but I suspect it might be a portal fantasy which is not my usual lane.

5) This is the way you make brioche. Original.  No plot only vibes, but it has a name: Babas. A baba is a kind of cake, it is also what some people call a witch. This is not an accident.

6) Joly froze, halfway into the carriage.  Les Mis Fanfic WIP, Weekend at Blondeau’s, aka the Weekend at Bernie’s AU no one asked for.

7) The church at Saint Merry was, for a wonder, entirely empty.  Les Mis fanfic WIP, Every Seminarian A Firecracker. Rarepair Enjolras/Bahorel which (as with 6) I really must finish because I promised @pilferingapples I would.

8)The Inspector looked around the empty room again. Les MIs Fanfic, Clickety-Clackety. Yes, it was me, I did it, I wrote that fanfic where Cosette’s haunted doll eats all the bad guys. Including the director of BBC les mis.

9) Musichetta knew something was wrong the moment he kissed her. Les Mis fanfic, Bossuet/Laigle. The one where Joly does not hesitate, a moment which was not meant to be as funny as apparently everyone finds it.

10)Marius Pontmercy was not unaware of his status as a noodle. Les Mis Fanfic, Entre Chien Et Loup. Somehow it’s a fix it fic for the Thenardier kids, but in the most disturbing way possible. I always get weirdly anxious about tagging people? So if you’re reading this, and write, and haven’t been tagged in it, consider yourself on of my ten and go for it!

#tag games #fan fic game #original fic game #writing game #apparently I have a real thing for succinct one liners #I guess it's good to have a brand?

[myundeadgayson]

Spoilers for Double Life SMP!!

man, i just finished watching Joel’s episode and while i’m literally so excited about SmallEtho, i can’t stop thinking about Lizzie not being there. and all i keep thinking about is that Lizzie wasn’t in 3rd Life either, and Joel had her back, only for her to be gone again.

to be clear, i love Joel and Etho being soulmates!! i couldn’t be more excited bc this couldn’t have been a more perfect duo to bring havoc to the server, but also,,, imagining how back in 3rd Life, Joel feeling so lonely. it always felt like something (someone) was missing, but he couldn’t figure out what. so he built himself a place and surrounded himself in pets bc perhaps the company will help?

however, no matter how many blankets he had, or how many wolves he befriended and laid with him at night, he could never shake the ever present loneliness and the cold, emptiness in his bones that something was missing. and it stayed that way until Last Life when he saw her.

he was drawn to her instantly. he couldn’t explain what it was. perhaps it was as simple as she was beautiful, and he wanted to know her. and in a world of death and vicious games, he tried to gain her attention the best way he knew how— pestering her and trying to steal her lives. and maybe it wasn’t the best way of getting attention, but it worked, didn’t it?

for some reason, he would always find his way back to her. and eventually, he remembered why.

on those rare nights when he’d actually be able to sleep, he’d dream of massive, colorful structures made of vibrant oranges, greens, and reds. he’d dream of a seemingly endless ocean wrapping around the shoreline, its sparkling, ever clear waves beckoning him in. he’d dream about what lies across those waters, pristine white towers with their rich, lovely pink tops lined with bright blue. he’d dream of lilypads that were large enough for shops and tiny homes. he’d dream of walking along the paths. he’d dream of spotting flowing pink hair out the corner of his eye, and turning his head to see a figure, only for the silhouette to disappear.

as the weeks went on, he would slowly garner more and more pieces. he could still sometimes hear the echo of fond giggles in his ear upon waking up. the sound would settle like a comfortable warmth in his chest. and when he recalled images of blurry-faced figures in fine suits and gowns amongst rows of church pews, and glimpses of pink hair standing beside him, he awoken with a newfound interest in the golden ring on his finger that he’d simply accepted the moment he’d awoken in that strange server.

and of course, he had questions. even though it felt as though he had all the pieces, it still felt like he was fighting for an answer. it was as if his mind wouldn’t let him see past the fog. and he could remember asking Grian about what was wrong, only to not be given any straight answers, as if he was too stupid to notice Grian was having the dreams too. he wasn’t that oblivious. he could see the way Grian was always watching Scar, as if trying to put together his own puzzle.

and then, it happened all at once.

Lizzie was a Red Name like him, and suddenly it was Lizzie.

she was Lizzie — his beautiful wife, the person he loved most in all the universe. suddenly, she was a Red, and she was finally within arm’s reach. and seeing her smile, even if slightly crazed from the newfound bloodlust coursing through her veins, he was reminded again that was she was so, so beautiful. and her giggle sounded like music to his ears, and so, so familiar until it all became clear and she was Lizzie, and he got to remember truly how lucky he was.

and as quick as he remembered, she was gone.

he had only so much time to mourn, to be angry, to fill any type of rage for whatever Gods had cursed them to that forsaken server before he was gone, and then he was awake in a whole other server with all those realizations gone.

he’s back at square one without even realizing it, but this time he’s not so alone. it didn’t shake the feeling of wrongness and the aching loss from his bones, but at least he could say he had a friend to keep him company— a soulmate, even!

and while he’s happily platonic, he can’t help noticing the golden band on his finger that he can’t bring himself to remove. and he thinks of his other hand with a ring made from a strip of a hanging vine, twisted around itself and knotted into a tiny circle. it matched the strip of mangrove bark around Etho’s, both of them makeshift and made more as joke than anything else.

Etho luckily doesn’t ask about the actual ring that he wears, and Joel doesn’t ask about the obsidian one that Etho wears on a chain around his neck, and looks too similar to the one Bdubs tries hide on a necklace beneath his shirt.

and he feels happy, but it still feels like there’s always something (someone) missing, but he supposes he’ll never know.

and if his dreams are full of pink hair and fantastic builds again, he won’t remember bc the Gods demand entertainment, so maybe this 3rd time’s the charm to forget what he’s left behind.

…and i mean, that’s one view of mine bc i very much love imagining an AU that connects all three Life SMPs via the players forgetting their pasts to start the game with a “clean mind”, only for Joel to keep trying to remember Lizzie even after the resets.

the other theory i have for Lizzie not being there tho was bc the trade Joel made in the 100 Hours SMP. when he traded Lizzie for a Nether Star, and imagining that perhaps since he essentially traded her soul and life away, she wasn’t able to be brought back. (and when you combine those two ideas with Joel remembering, only to remember trading her soul away,,, i’m just saying it’d be hella rough and i’m highkey considering it.)

#trafficblr #double life spoilers #double life smp #joel smallishbeans #lizzie ldshadowlady #hints of scarian #just as a heads up #it’s very minor tho. ethubs as well #neither are specified as romantic and can be seen either way #but Ethubs was married #i’ve been thinking about this idea forever and this new series was just an excuse to get some of it out #if you guys want to know more tho let me know! #i’d be so happy to and i have so many more thoughts about Grian’s part in everything #anyway!! thanks for indulging my rambles #last life joel #third life joel #jizzie #i swear that ship name will be the death of me agsjakdffj