#anyway i hate how they dealt with all this after but in and of itself despair was GOOD

[acerathia]

somebody's watching me || Chapter 5: Bleed

Summary:

Meeting him was your fate, your salvation, and you shall do everything to keep things this way.

Wordcount: 5.4k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Getou Suguru / Reader

Tags/CW:

no-curse au, Getou is still a cult-leader, cults, Getou's fake personality, dark content, Major Character Death, Paranoia, schizoid form of anxiety disorder, isolation, overthinking (in connection to the anxiety), some form of descent into madness, violence, stream of consciousness to show the mental state of reader, everything has meaning (dreams, colors, symbols etc.), warped look on reality, dissociation, blind trust, indoctrination, manipulation, mind-altering practices, polarisation of people/society, peer pressure, denial of reality, emotional abuse, body horror, drugs (implied), hallucinations,

Note:

Please be cautious reading this work, as it contains heavy themes, which might affect some people. Minors do not interact!! ignore any editing mistakes, i am tired. have fun, maybe? lol

The next weekend, you stood at the stop, waiting for the bus. You had signed up when you had managed to convince your family. While you didn't really remember how you had managed it, it had worked. The means to a goal shouldn't matter.

The headphones in your ears drowned out the sounds around you. There should be a bus coming soon to pick up the whole group, but you seemed to be a little early. This happened to you often, because you preferred to be at the place before the appointed time than too late. You didn't like having to worry about the time. Even though the empty lot still made you nervous. Were you in the wrong place? Had you gotten the time wrong and were actually late? Your teeth gnawed at your lower lip as you kept glancing right and left. But as some people slowly gathered close by, you were able to breathe a little easier. You still weren’t sure if these people were part of the group, but their equipment seemed to match the ones on the list. Even though you knew you were in the right place, you continued to look around. You only knew the leader, as he had invited you himself, and you kept an eye out for him. He did not seem to have arrived yet. Before he had the opportunity to even arrive, the bus pulled up to the stop. At first, you hesitated to get on. You had not heard any instructions, so you did not know if it would be right to do so. Only the fact that you were standing alone on the street convinced you to enter the bus.

Inside, most of the seats were already occupied. That probably meant that most of the members were already there. You wondered if there was still an empty seat by the window. Your eyes darted back and forth between the backmost and the frontmost seats. But when you spotted the man at the front, you decided to sit there. You even found a seat next to the window. Now you understood why everyone had just gotten on when the bus came. They were probably used to this situation, since the leader probably already was in the bus on these occasions.

You didn't want to disturb the only person you knew, so you didn't dare greet him. Besides, you didn't expect anyone to sit next to you anyway, after all, no one knew you. You had often dealt with similar situations. Still, that didn't mean it hurt any less. You probably would never be able to get rid of this pain completely. You had to admit, you never really understood why people didn't like you very much. No matter how hard you tried to fit in with the outside world. You could tell what people thought of you by simple looks, their facial features. You were getting absolutely tired of not fitting in anywhere, despite your best efforts. You had stopped trying, preferring to isolate yourself rather than be isolated.

You had to force yourself to take a deep breath. The ride hadn't even started and already you hated your current position among the people. And you really shouldn't, not yet. The trip offered itself to you as a chance to get better, to make friends. Even though you carried a bit of hope in your hands, you were aware that you didn't really know how to approach other people.

Your hand searched for your water bottle so you could take a few sips from it. The coolness in your throat helped a little and calmed your nerves. Then you rested your head against the window pane and looked out. You probably wouldn't be able to do anything else before the bus left, and probably not during the trip either.

But before the trip began, you sensed movement in the seat next to you. You wondered whether or not to turn around. Finally, you turned your head slightly and caught the glance of him. Oh, you must have been caught. Still, being able to lock eyes with him made your heart beat in a way, in a way which resembled panic, yet on another level. So, you smiled hesitantly at your neighbor, trying to not let your insides burst out.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to do, his gaze intently on your face, and you were about to turn back to the window, but then he suddenly gave you a small smile, one so unexpected, but one you couldn’t help but admire and cherish. How many other people had ever had this privilege? His whole being seemed to radiate from within with this small gesture and you felt dazzled, overwhelmed. For a moment you wondered why such a luminous person would sit down next to you, talk to you. But you asked no questions and passed your own smile like an anchor, trying to tie yourself helplessly onto his. Maybe this was your chance to get a little bit closer, not more than that.

You really wanted to make it work, but even the first hurdle seemed way too high; what were you going to talk with him about? You had little experience with small talk and social situations. Those memories stuck deep in your chest and knotted your thoughts. Why couldn't you be social? Why were you the way you were now? Something about you was wrong; everything about you was wrong. Your thoughts seemed to be stuck in your head for an eternity and you never came up with a topic. But before you could turn away again, embarrassed, he actually started talking to you, leading the conversation effortlessly. Relief seemed to loosen your muscles. So you at least tried not to make it harder for him than it had to be. While you were better with listening, you kept trying to respond to what he was saying. You hoped that by doing so you would not annoy him away, hoped he would stay by your side.

This way, the beginning of the ride passed. At some point you just let the silence rest between you. You weren’t sure at the beginning if he didn't want to talk to you anymore because he was annoyed and didn't like you. That was why you had given him an uncertain look at first, but he caught it and gifted you with another smile. This reaction calmed your worries and you could just sit with her in peace. Even if his smile laid heavy in your mind. You had to admit, it gave you some sort of weird feeling in your chest, which wouldn't go away, but it was rather pleasant, something else, something he had given you. It felt like he had temporarily freed you, enlightened you.

When the bus finally arrived at its destination, the whole group got off with an excited chatter. You brought up the rear, letting everyone else go ahead. At least that's what you wanted, but he didn't seem to want to leave you alone. Not that you minded, but it was just unexpected.

When you finally stepped onto the grass, you looked around. The bus had stopped in front of a grassy area, with buildings visible in the distance. The grassy landscape seemed familiar in some way, but you couldn't find any real memory of it. Perhaps it was simply déja vu. You could still feel your shoulders getting heavier and your heart wanting to jump out of your throat. But you tried to ignore the feeling and followed the person in front of you. The whole group lined up in a formation on the lawn. You just squeezed in between two people without really understanding what it was supposed to look like. But you didn't ask, you followed the steps of the others. Maybe your questions would be answered by themselves.

Suddenly everyone fell silent and their eyes were fixed on one person in the middle of the formation. You recognized him as the leader, something you were aware of, yet felt so jarring to actually witness. There had to be a lot of respect, otherwise, people wouldn't wait for his words with such silence, would they? You could do nothing but look around curiously, but you seemed to have been caught. The leader had given you a disappointed look and then turned back to the others. Your heart sank and your lungs twisted. Had you done something wrong? You didn't know. Your tongue licked over your lower lip and suddenly it was much harder to swallow. You didn't want to disappoint anyone, but you had done it anyway. Great job. Still, you tried to make an effort and understand his words. Even though your ears were filled with the roar of your pulse. That's why you only heard that everyone should throw their phones, their means of communication into a box. Your concentration should not be averted because of these devices. If this trip was to end successfully, then they could not afford any interference from the outside world.

That made sense. And it didn't bother you. Who would text you anyway? You were not in contact with anyone.That's why you didn't mind turning off your phone and putting it in the box. If the leader thought it would be better for you, he was probably right.

After all the devices were collected, everyone headed for the buildings. As they did so, the group split in half, and you had no idea what the requirements were to enter one or the other. At the same time, you wondered if the entry into the other buildings was restricted in some way. You wanted to run into each one and discover its insides. Curiosity stung your neck like a bee, but you pulled yourself together and followed the bigger group into the dormitory. Still, you tried to peer into the windows, hoping to see something, but the interior was far too dark for that.

Once inside, you stood uncertainly at the doorstep. You didn't know where you could get comfortable, and you didn't dare ask. Even though you probably wouldn't have gotten a word out as invisible claws squeezed your throat shut. Your gaze darted quickly back and forth. Everyone seemed to have a fixed place. You knew it, you shouldn't have come here. You didn't belong and never would. Your hand went to your throat, and your fingers scratched at the skin there. You hated this feeling. But you couldn't help it either, no one knew you, let alone liked you. You wanted to get away from this place as soon as possible.

But before you could just run out of the building, a girl beckoned you over. With slow steps you approached her. Wondering what she wanted to say. But she didn't say anything, rather showed you a free bed, which was at the end of the room. Was this one for newcomers? Or was it simply empty? Before you could ask that question, the girl was back at her bedside, too far away. You probably wouldn't find out now. Not that it would have made any difference. So you just smiled at the girl as she looked back at you. Then you followed the others and packed your most important things into the chest at the end of the bed. There was no lock, so you hoped you could trust these strangers. After all, you had no other choice. Then you sat down on the bed, not knowing what to do. The time between now and dinner was probably a break for everyone. The people talked to each other in a gentle tone instead of leaving the cabin again. Everyone seemed to know each other already and you wondered if you should introduce yourself to a group. But just the thought of it made your jaw tighten and your teeth grind. You were afraid of people's disgusted looks or their nose wrinkling. You preferred to be alone by choice rather than excluded. Even if you fervently wished someone would approach you first. But you knew that probability was slim, equal to impossible. You shook your head slightly and crossed your arms. Wondering why you still had those hopes in the first place.

You were about to drop backwards onto the bed, but the leader called to you from the door. Your heart sped up and you felt the need to immediately run outside. But you also didn't want to make a bad impression or disappoint him. So you left the building with slow and calculated steps and followed the leader into his office. The door closed behind you and suddenly you found it hard to breathe at the mere sight of him. So you sat down eagerly when he instructed you to do so.Then he handed you a bowl of candy, one of which you placed on your tongue if only to do what he wanted you to. Your eyes landed on anything but always returned to his face. But for some reason, the atmosphere differed from the one you had experienced on the way here. So you just kept silent and waited for him to address you first.

"I'm disappointed in you."

All your muscles froze on the spot. You didn't remember doing anything. What could have triggered that reaction? Did you make a bad first impression? This thought constricted your throat and you didn't dare say anything. Not even an apology crossed your lips.

But then he continued talking, and even though you wanted to just flee the room, you listened to him. He told you that he understood your situation, but it was no excuse for your behavior.You should have read the rules.

You frowned at this lecture. You didn't remember breaking any rule. Was it perhaps because of the formation? Because you didn't know where to stand? But you had not heard or read anything about it. Where would you have gotten that information? But he was right. It was your fault. After all, you should have asked. Therefore, you apologized in a croaky voice. At these words, the leader nodded, seeming more satisfied than understanding. Nevertheless, he leaned forward to put a hand on your shoulder. You did not like that. The warmth of his skin was something you should gain, something akin to a reward, yet here you are, enjoying it despite this.

"I’m just here to help you. This is all for your own good."

That was his promise to you, belonging and help. As the words slowly swam through your skull, you definitely felt calmer. It was true. He was only trying to help you, there was nothing to worry about. You felt warm with joy at his attention towards you. Someone was taking care of you! Your head seemed to become light. All at once the disappointment of the leader was forgotten and you had to grin to yourself. Only one thought filled your head: he wanted your best!

You didn't even realize that you were still being punished. At that moment, everything was fine with you. Your body felt like clouds and your fingers were tingling. Without understanding a word, you gave your consent to whatever task he gave you with a nod. How beautiful everything was right now.

You didn't realize you were dismissed until the leader escorted you to the door with his hand on your shoulder. With a final grin, you trundled back toward the dorm on wobbly legs. Your vision seemed to flutter and you had to hold onto the wall to keep from tripping over your own feet. You should have thought something of it, but at the moment your body felt pleasantly warm and all sounds were muffled. You had to pull yourself together to avoid attracting attention. After the situation, you didn't want him to change his mind too much. But something inside you claimed he would never be disappointed with you, he liked you, truly. However, how long would your mistakes be considered a rookie mistake?

No. You shook your head and almost fell over. You couldn't break any more rules.So, you made your way back to your assigned place. But before you even got to the building, someone gently grabbed you by the shoulder.With a silent protest, you swayed and turned around to face a woman. She apologized for having startled you, for having forgotten you. Forgotten for what? But instead of answering your questioning look, a hand was held out to you. With a trembling hand you grabbed it and let yourself be led out of the building. The woman's skin was soft and the touch did not bother you, unlike many others.

But it couldn't be that it was already time for dinner, could it? Your question was answered when you stepped into a meadow instead and walked through the grass. The walk seemed to be a bit longer, because the woman opened up a little conversation with you. Asked you how you liked it so far and how you were getting along. The grass of the meadow tickled your ankles and you felt as if you had been here before. But when you had to dodge a bush, you denied the thought. After all, this was your first trip to this place.

After a while under the evening sun, they finally arrived. For what, actually? All you caught sight of was a line of people. You wanted to run forward, stretching to see what was happening there. But you were nefariously pulled to the end of the line because the woman had not let go of your hand. Only when you had your hand back to yourself did you gather your courage and ask the kind woman why they were all standing in line. She answered with a gentle smile and a single sentence:

"It's a tradition.Everyone is supposed to show how selfless they can be."

These words only raised more questions. However, you let your thoughts rest with the answer and simply thanked the woman. This one seemed to know just like everyone else what was going on. You tried to see what was happening with each step forward. Your head swung from side to side to get a glimpse of the situation. But your attempts were unsuccessful. That meant you would have to wait for your own turn. Still, you wondered where they went then, since you didn't see anyone walking back.

Finally it was your turn. In the middle of the meadow was a lonely chair full of moss. Around it were towers of smaller stones, forming a circle. Someone tapped their fingers invitingly against the large backrest. Hopefully this chair would not collapse under you. Hesitantly, you sat down, but did not shift your weight completely onto the wood beneath you. The people around you motioned for you to roll up your sleeve, which you did without argument. Secretly, you continued to hope for an explanation, but it didn't seem to be coming. Instead, noise-proof headphones were slipped over your ears, from which music flowed. If you concentrated, however, you could hear the murmuring sounds in the background. But you felt a fatigue that made it difficult for you to resist. Still, you noticed your arms being pinned to the armrests until you could no longer move them. You wanted to protest, but your tongue felt far too soft, like it was about to slip out of your mouth. You only managed a frown to show your feelings. At first you let these things happen to you, but when a syringe was unwrapped from a plastic bag, you began to shake your head. You didn't know what these people were going to do with the syringe, but you didn't feel the need to find out either. Someone seemed to recognize your distress and began stroking your neck with their fingers. This motion did not help you calm down, but distracted you enough to not stir for a moment. At that instance, they jabbed you in the crook of your arm with the needle. Your gaze fixed on the syringe as it filled up. The tension in your body made it painful to draw blood.

Only when the vessel had filled completely with blood were the headphones and restraints removed. With a jerk you stood up and moved a few steps away from the chair. Then you demanded an explanation in a trembling voice. The blood was still flowing in drops down your arm, but you didn't care. Someone apologized and said they thought you already knew about the procedure. Just having blood drawn, for some reason. If they thought you knew about the whole thing, then surely they didn't have to chain you up. Still, you nodded, as if showing understanding. You were handed another candy before being escorted in a different direction than the one you had come from.

There, the next activity was to take place as a group, as there was still plenty of time before dinner. So, you set off without argument until you stopped in front of a pond. The whole place could have been out of a fairy tale if there were no garlic hanging from the branches of the trees. You wondered what they were placed here for. But you questioned nothing and sat down at a free table to join a group. After all, it was none of your business as long as these things promoted the welfare of you and others.

By the time you sat down, no one else joined. It seemed that you were the last, except for the missing leader. Even though he had been missing from the last activity too.

But the wait was not spent in complete silence and the mood lapsed into relaxed conversation. Everyone was sharing stories about their lives. At first, you didn't really plan to participate in any, but the girl from earlier found you and pulled you into a conversation. They talked about whether they could fulfill their goals at the end of the trip. Since you assumed they all had goals similar to yours, you agreed to the discussion. Then the conversation went in a completely different direction.

It took a while for him to arrive at the meeting. With his appearance, congratulations and laughter were exchanged. Were they congratulated because of the successful activity? This group was strengthened as a community in several ways thanks to this social time. People's eyes darted back and forth between themselves and the garlic above their heads.

The leader then got up on a podium to look over everyone. Then he began to murmur some words that were unfamiliar to you. Was it a song? The chant hummed throughout the group and you shivered. Your back went cold and you looked around. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the taller person in front of them. As if there had been an agreement, they all raised their hands above their faces and formed a sign in front of it, their fingers intertwined. This one seemed familiar to you, as goosebumps formed on the back of your neck and you had to swallow hard to keep your mind from wandering. You didn't want to stand out, didn't want to disappoint anyone, so you copied the gesture from a seatmate.

The moment you put your hands in front of your face, everyone fell to their knees with a jerk. With a faltering breath, you also let yourself slide out of the seat. Even though your fingers restricted your vision, you recognized how he swung his arm around in a sweeping motion and everyone sat back down as if on command.

Hands were separated again and gazes locked on the leader without blinking. An eerie silence settled over the clearing. One could feel the tension in the muscles of the others. They didn't even dare to breathe, afraid it would be too loud. Only a deep breath from the leader could be heard.

"My dear companions in this finite life, We are fortunate to be gathered here again.Together. Many who walk this earth with us do not know of the possibilities. The opportunities that have now opened up to us.

Everyone has the potential to take advantage of this opportunity to contribute something greater to our society.

In the past, I could only rely on myself.The people around me didn't understand my thoughts.This led society to unconsciously prepare me to be alone. Alone, as we all were!

But that is not how people should live. We should exist in each other's arms. We fight for each other, for being together.

We must not let society put us in a box. Everyone deserves independence, yes, but also charity, an infinite life.

What good is independence if you are alone for all eternity? None of us wants to be alone and we will find a solution. A solution of how we can hold hands forever.

Each of us came to this place emaciated from the withdrawal of love, of kindness. Oh yes, I remember each person's arrival, hold it in my heart as a warning. As a warning of what this world will do to us.

But don't worry, friends, we are fortunate enough to form our own society. A society that will be enlivened and loved by us until the end of time.

Be full of gratitude, be full of hope. For this weekend will belong to us and our purpose."

Your heart seemed to have longed for these words, for it understood everything without faltering. You almost had tears of joy; these people really understood what was going on inside you. At last you belonged in a place without prejudice, only with goodwill. You wanted to show your gratitude, with great signs and deeds, but for now you just clapped as loud as you could with the others. You would reach your goal, everyone would reach their goals. And you could even be helpful to the others.The next few days were full of possibilities and you would not let a single one slip from your fingers, from your heart.

After the applause stopped, it was time for dinner. No one seemed to be in a hurry and everyone strolled leisurely toward the dining hall. The excitement after the speech filled the air and intensified with each breath. Your body was still humming as well and you couldn't help the smile on your face. Everyone seemed to feel the same way, as they grinned at your, at each other, sometimes even linking their arms together. Slowly but surely, joy settled in your bones and grounded you like never before. You knew with certainty that the next few days would be the best of your life. Because being around people who were fighting for the same thing had a healing, calming effect.

With a warm feeling in your stomach, you entered the dining room. This time you knew exactly where you belonged and at which table to sit. With that certainty, you made your way toward the table that was furthest away from the leaders table. If you wanted to work your way up, you had to show yourself worthy. You had to make a big contribution to society in order to get up there as quickly as possible. While you still had no idea how to go about it, you knew you could do it. No matter what you would have to do to get there.

With a soft noise, you dropped into the chair and smiled at the others around the table. You didn't know anyone, as the only person you truly knew, and desired to be in the presence, sat at the front. You deserved it, but you would all too like to know what you had done to get closer to him. Money probably played a role too, but you were still a student, you owned next to nothing. No assets.Nothing valuable. That meant you just had to do the best work you had ever done in your life. Maybe you could help out a little in the kitchen, that might earn you some points. You wondered if you were allowed to do more, to serve him directly, in any way you could. You would ask that first thing in the morning.

The meal was dished up. It consisted of pies. With great joy you wanted to grab a piece, but you held back at the very last moment. Your eyes darted to the leader who had not yet touched his food. Then he opened the meal by handing the one serving him a pie to bite into. Only then did you grab a piece as well and let your teeth sink into the dough. The salty filling flowed with pleasure over your tongue and you closed your eyes. A metallic taste lurked in the back of your throat, but you felt too hungry to deal with the aftertaste. Still, you noticed that the pie was starting to drip from the other side. With your free hand, you caught a few drops. These shimmered dark red on your skin. All at once, the aftertaste became much more prominent and you could no longer taste anything else. Where did this blood come from? Was the filling raw meat? No, it tasted too good for that. Your eyes twitched left and right, looking for a reaction from the others. But no one seemed to notice anything. So you swallowed the mass without a word.

Your hand reached for the cup to your right to rid yourself of the taste. But the red color stung your eyes. Was this wine? Was it allowed to serve such a thing at such an event? You sniffed it. The smell was fruity, bitter. Was it supposed to smell like that? You didn't know, but took a sip anyway and let it flow into your mouth. It was just grape juice. A strangely bitter one, but grape juice, no doubt. The taste was familiar to you. Was the leader's tea made from the same grapes? You would have to check to see if anything was planted here. Then you put a hand on the edge of the plate to push it away from you. But before you could do that, a bright scream rang out from the front tables.

He had thrown a glass at some poor guy's head. The glass shattered over his skull and the flowing blood caused a reaction from the crowd. Only for a moment, though. They reacted more to the leader's tirade. At first, someone close by tried to calm him down and handle the situation with a cool head, but the leader's violence did not allow them to act. His words were meant to be instructive, and slowly insults began to flow in. These were harsh and would have probably hit anyone deep in the soul.

After blowing off all his steam, he could finally be calmed down. But after the situation, he didn't want to appreciate or acknowledge the person. You couldn't see it that well from where you were sitting, but the ground was swimming in the man's blood. Was no one going to help him with his wound? Everyone continued their meal as if nothing had happened. No reactions, no protests. Understandable. After all, they would have the chance to take his place when he disappeared. No one wanted to miss that chance. You watched as the man was grabbed by the arms by his seatmates and dragged out of the hall; leaving a red trail behind him. With unobtrusive movements, as if you had never stopped, you began to eat again. With each bite, the taste became more persistent and the juice didn't manage to cover it either towards the end.

After a while a bell sounded and everyone dropped everything from their hands. With a jerk they stood up, whether one had finished eating or not. When the leader was finished, then further eating was not allowed.

People formed a line to the dish rack to wash their silverware. With each step, you followed the others to familiarize yourself with the group's habits. Still, you wondered why people then went back to the rooms. You felt it was much too early to go back to sleep. But you seemed to be wrong about that, because after a few minutes you were lying in your bed, among the other people in a darkened dorm. You didn't think you would be so tired, but something made your head feel heavier and you couldn't help but fall asleep.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #suguru x you #geto x you #geto suguru x you #getou suguru x you #getou x you #jjk x reader

[unfriedough]

Heyyy, I absolutely love your Zuko fics!

Could you do a Zuko x reader where the reader is Zuko’s childhood friend and a firebender but decided to never bend again after the Agni Kai? And then there is some hurt/comfort after they reunite with Zuko trying to show the reader the beautiful side of firebending?

‘Cold?’- Zuko x female!reader

Masterlist <3

An: HIYA! LET'S PRETEND I DIDN’T DISAPPEAR LOL. Anyways thank you for the request loveee <33 (and for the compliments <3)

Summary:

I’m too lazy just read the request man

Warnings: hurt/comfort I guess, ants (?), that’s basically it.

Even as a firebender, there were few times you actually felt warm. Maybe the heat regulations in your body defected, or maybe it was just the essence of the flame itself - one that was proven time and time again to bring destruction and calamity to the people around he who beholds it.

Sure, the agni kai was traumatising, that’s no light and easy topic, but it really showed the complete and utter chaos power can hammer into someone. Power, and fire. Ever since that effervescent hue of danger filled reds and oranges kissed the skin of Zuko, things just weren’t the same. You could no longer even muster the courage to bring up a flame. Something as simple as boiling water for tea, or heating the cooker for some broth felt agonisingly difficult. Your parents assumed it to be a phase of your life, a mental state you put yourself in to be rebellious. But truly, you couldn’t firebend.

When you joined team avatar, you made it clear that under no circumstances would you even think about producing that horrid warmth, and surprisingly enough, they didn’t push. You and Sokka bonded quite a lot over being non-benders, because to them, you were. You weren’t the child who disappointed the king of the nation by refusing to be an extension of his likeness, you were just a non-bender. There was no association with you and the blazes. You were safe from it.

Safe.

Today didn’t feel very safe though, it felt extra chilly almost. Your friends all stood on the opposite side as your former best friend, weapons at the ready, guards higher than ever.

“Hello Zuko here,”

Mixed feelings. You didn’t know what this was. Perhaps you saw red at the villain, or you saw blue at the mistreated child, or maybe yellow at the glimmer of hope. Through this haze of colour though, you saw something else. You saw Zuko. As much as it was corny and cheesy to even think about, that was Zuko. Not prince Zuko, not firelord’s son Zuko - just the Zuko. Chills ran laps down your spine, suddenly feeling light headed and nauseous. You were letting your guard down. You shuddered at the thought, and Katara tilted her head from her position.

“Just cold,” you smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

There was just something she couldn’t read, like a cliff-hanger in a novel, or a hint in a riddle. But there was a task at hand, a task that needed to be dealt with.

And you thought it was, and it was over. But you were wrong.

The time came for you to pick whether the boy would join the team. Anxiously, you looked at your friends, the decision being a tough one at best.

“Well okay,” you mumbled.

Aang smiled and welcomed Zuko into the team.

You would say the day was rather mundane after that, but the next one was most definitely not. Zuko and Aang disappeared, which caused you to go off on a rampage on how much you hate Zuko and how you knew this would happen and Katara backed you up all the way through. Well that was until Sokka decided to voice his observation,

“This seems more personal than him just attacking us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re not usually this mad about something, you didn’t even want Azula to die. Azula.”

“Just uh mad, i guess.” you mumbled, folding your arms defensively.

And then Zuko took Sokka on a field trip, and the day after they came back, you thought finally things were gonna die down. Wrong.

Azula made her grand appearance, almost taking your life before you could even blink your eyes awake. Most of the fight was a blur of fire, but you managed to just catch when Zuko practically tackled Katara to get her away from the danger zone, and her sour reaction to him. You felt a pit in your stomach, an annoyed look on your face.

Zuko instructed everyone to leave, claiming this was a family thing. But you would be stupid if you let him get credit for this. He began his sprint before you, but you reached faster, a different kind of fire behind your gaze.

Your feet gracefully left the landing, and you pulled out a pocket knife, utilising its sharpness in order to slit a massive hole in the air balloon just above the battle. You dropped with a grunt onto the battle ground, trying to stabilise yourself.

“Well well well, if it isn’t little Yn! What? Still don’t use your fire?” She asked, blasting a bright flame in your direction.

You dodged almost effortlessly, a sigh as you rolled your eyes, “it’s okay, just trying to give you a winning chance, Zula.” You smirked.

She frowned, grunting as she blasted more fire at you. Zuko took the opportunity to blast some from behind, but she caught it, unintentionally miscalculating where you were, so her fire sprayed in another direction. You dodged anyways, muscle memory kicking in, accidentally landing where her fire was. The closeness of the heat scared you, although it didn't hurt, the shock itself was enough to cause you to stumble back. Back and off. You heard Zuko yell your name but it was blocked out by the mass amount of air whizzing past your ears. You tried to stick your knife into anything, hoping to grapple yourself up, but no, you just continued to fall. You thought you might pass out, hopefully before you hit the ground, but then something caught you. Sokka tugged your arm so you would fall onto Appa’s saddle, and you immediately laid down, nervous giggles escaping as you hyperventilated. You weren’t really concentrating, but you heard Zuko’s voice nearby soon after, and immediately sat up, shuffling to the furthest corner from him.

Azula survived, but part of you was relieved. You weren’t ready to just witness a murder. You will however now be in a cramped space with that supid firebender for an undisclosed amount of time.

“Are you okay?” he said, a rasp in his voice.

“I’m fine.” you replied, coldly.

He sighed, nodding.

Once you got to your destination, that night he, again, took someone on a field trip - Katara. You were dying to hear her say she still didn’t trust him, but it was the opposite, she did trust him. It was just you now.

That brings us to today, the group all sat by a bonfire at ember island, passing food around. Zuko came to join you, only to find the only empty seat next to you. When he sat, you completely ignored him, not even sparing a glance towards his side.

“Yn,” he whispered, only loud enough for you to hear, there was a tint of desperosity behind his tone, it ached your heart to see him like this, the urge to just reach out and hug him looming just behind the urge to punch his stupid face.

Toph however, tuned you both in when she noticed your heightened heartbeat, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“What,” you said, not even turning to look.

“Can we talk?”

You turned to look at him, a scowl on your face, “No.” plain, and simple.

He frowned, a hurt look on his features, “Yn,”

You got up immediately, dusting yourself off before storming off.

“What’s up with her?” Katara asked.

“Familiar?” Toph replied, referencing the similar scenario that occurred the day before, in which Katara was in your shoes.

Said girl rolled her eyes annoyedly.

“Do you know, Zuko?” The avatar asked, but Zuko got up abruptly and followed you, mumbling ‘I think so’.

The firebender followed your footsteps, and found that they came to a halt near the entrance of a cave. Slowly, he pushed the vines to the side. There you were, knees to your chest, arms crossed.

“May I.. May I come in?”

You rested your head against the damp grey rock wall, your eyes never leaving the moss coloured roofing, “Okay,”

The prince’s steps neared you, before his body carefully slumped down next to you, an extremely small gap between you two.

“Are you cold?” and suddenly you were twelve again.

And suddenly you were hiding under your bed, with Zuko trying to talk you into a good mood after you got lectured by your parents. He crawled under the bed to see you more clearly, although he realised it was darker once he got there. His face was inches away from your tear soaked one.

Your body stood alight with goosebumps, and he took notice once his arm fell upon your bicep area.

“Are you cold?”

You nodded, and he made a small fire in his palm, careful not to let his bed go up in flames. He smiled once he saw your face, and you smiled back. Then, you began to laugh, and so did he, and the fire went out, and you laughed some more. Your stomachs hurt, but you both really didn’t know why it was so funny. It just was.

“A little,” you replied, coldly.

Slowly, a heat formed, creeping gently around his hand as he toyed with it.

“I-”

“Don’t.”

Your vision glossed over, and yet, no reaction.

“Yn,”

You slowly turned your head towards him, still resting it on the wall, but your eyes never seemed to leave the flame burning in his pale palm.

“What do you want, Zuko?” but it didn’t sound like a question - although it was - it came out as more of an insult, like his name alone was so taboo that it was degrading.

He paused, and you turned to face the far wall again, sighing. The boy chewed on his lip nervously, trying to find a reason to ask his next request.

“Yn, give me your hand, please,”

You furrowed your brows, eyes jumping to your fingers. It was so cold, it felt like your fingertips would fall off, you only realised how icey they felt when you tried to move them. You winced, it hurt to try to articulate.

Hesitantly, you put your hands out, and he neared his to yours. The glow of the fire flowed as your hands collided, remaining in his, but oh so close to yours. You gasped.

“Trust me, it won’t hurt,”

Then it touched you, you squished your eyes shut, waiting for the electricity to run through you.

“Zuko,” you said shakily, feeling dizzy.

“Yn,” he replied, smiling softly - you could tell from his tone.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, and there it was, a tiny heartbeat dancing in your hands. When you looked up, mouth agape, Zuko’s eyes were fixated onto you, his smile reaching his eyes. Genuine was what you would call it.

And then, your fingers thawed, and moving was a lot easier. It felt like a new door was open, a world of never ending possibilities awaiting, all arising from a simple yellow. You tilted your head to the side a little watching it move, feeling shy under the prince’s gaze.

“I’m sorry I left you,” you nodded, never making eye contact with him, for fear of a drop slipping from the bars you’ve set in your eyes, because he shouldn't see you cry,

“I was an awful person, to say the least.” you hummed, a smile at his self recognition, “But, there was never a moment when I was on the ship where I didnt think of you.” he swallowed thickly, and you finally locked eyes with him, the flame failing to stay alight.

His hands were still guiding yours, never mind the fact that there wasn’t anything anymore.

“I’ve made lots of mistakes, I think I’ve made every mistake at that,” he took a deep breath, his face becoming more flushed, “I think the greatest one was losing you.”

Your face contorted into a frown, like a child who just got denied a new toy, and you looked down, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry yn, I really am,”

His words ran in your skull, and through tear filled eyes, you hugged him. You hugged him really tight. At that moment, you two were kids again, reunited after a week apart because you were grounded. You sobbed into his shoulder, and he gripped tightly, scared if he were to let go, this would all be a dream, and you wouldn’t be within his reach.

“It’s okay Zuko, I forgive you.” you leaned back, and held his face in your hands, a smile on your face.

And then maybe it was the wind in his hair, or the blush on his cheeks, or the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, but you felt compelled to him. Like a magnetic force was pulling you two together. You rested your forehead against his, and he shut his eyes, sighing heavily as he tried to bite back the waterworks.

Opening his eyes again, he gently brushed his lips against yours, testing the waters, testing his place. He stared at you, gauging your reaction from his place against your forehead. You furrowed your brows, pulling him back against your lips in a more passionate kiss.

To him, it was like the everything aligned for him, like colour reappeared in his dull world haunted by the ghosts of his past. His heart pounded in his chest, his lips moving in sync to yours. It felt like it lasted forever, if he were to die due to the lack of oxygen right now, he’s not even sure he would care, for his spirit wouldn’t be vengeful at all. The actual act of affection was cut short by a rustle outside of the hauntingly cold cove, thinking it was someone you may know. You moved back and sat next to him, against the wall again. And then, you dropped your head onto his shoulder with a sigh.

“This doesn’t change anything, you know,”

He laughed, “Sure,”

You hit him on the chest, gently enough that it doesn't hurt, but hard enough so that he can feel it.

“I’m serious!” The beaming smile on your face was a contradiction.

He smiled, resting his head against the wall, mimicking your previous sitting style. Zuko stuck his hand out, and you took it, squeezing it tightly.

Although the cave was cold, damp, and falling apart, much like how you were before - it was also warm, soft, and strong, and maybe that’s how you felt.

But maybe it was even weirder to compare yourself to a cave full of ants.

#zuko x reader #zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko #atla #avatar the last airbender #fluff #zuko fluff #zuko x you #atla zuko #zuko fanfic #zuko fic #zuko x f!reader #avatar zuko #zuko atla #zuko x y/n #zuko hc #zuko h/c #zuko headcanon #headcanon #headcanons #zuko angst #zuko atla angst #xreader #x reader #atla x reader

[spilledmilkfkdies]

Hello! I wanted to ask you, when the wizards are freed from Omega by Neruman in the comics, what do you think their relationship was? Because it never really felt to me that the wizards were serving Neruman willingly. Not sure if I’m quite thinking they were his prisoners, but it didn’t feel like they would serve him by choice. (You’ve talked about comic-exclusive characters in your posts before, so I’m guessing you know about the comic plots. If you don’t, since the comics aren’t widespread, then never mind.)

(Quick extra bit: any theories on where the wizards lived while serving Neruman? Because I could never tell if they lived in his Dark Dimension Castle thing, or if they just hid out in Gardenia again.) Thank you!

Ngl of all the characters with relevance to the remaining 75% of the Black Circle comic wise, Neruman has definitely done the least for me? Which might be a little ironic because he's like the whole reason the wizards were even freed to EXIST in the comics?? Idk he just doesn't get my creative juices flowing like Yllidith and Gregory do y'know- Despite having more relevance than both of them. I really am just attracted to cardboard huh. Hm.

But aside from that!! Yeah no, I don't think the word 'willingly' is even allowed in the building rn.

Tbh the wizards really just dealt with hit after hit, loss after loss. They went from nearly done with a centuries lasting job, to losing one of their own and being locked up, just to be freed and forced to work under him to repay a debt that really won't be until some guy says so, who abandons them anyway later on and lets them get locked away elsewhere. Had the wizards been in even a little bit of a better state, emotionally and magically, at any point during this, I don't think working under him would've gone on for as long as it did, if even at all.

Also if we assume that they haven't worked under anyone since Yllidith, and doing so wasn't the best experience (I am assuming both of those things), than this might've been extra upsetting for them too. If it wasn't humiliating enough by itself. Dare I say I think all 3 of them hated this shadowy, 'Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come' ass bitch- Just not a fan of it being mostly a fear thing, I mean these men have been around for a WHILE. Like just say they're aware they're too weak to leave him rn, but don't make them SCARED and sweating on their knees tf is WRONG with you smh.

Not to do another comic rant or anything, but I will NEVER get over how the comics slandered them and everything positive they had going for them. Maybe that's why Neruman doesn't do a lot for me hskskssj he really is a big part of it all.

Wouldn't be surprised if he did yoink them to be nearby whenever they weren't actively doing something for him though, so I'd say stand-by in the castle, but "free" roaming Gardenia when in the middle of the job, like with the whole Gregory thing. Who is actually my little guy compared to Neruman.

#ogron on his knees because he's dramatic >> ogron on his knees because he's oh so scared of random comic guy number something #i have a lot of emotions my bad #was actually planning a lil uh #comic related video thingy too #yippee yippee #also yllidith reworks?? um yeah #so keep an eyeball out for that #or don't ig i'm not the boss of y'all #winx club #winx comics #winx gregory #winx neruman #winx yllidith #winx villains #wizards of the black circle #alive wizards of the black triangle #answered ask #if i reblog a gregory and a yllidith related post shhh #am cleansing #they help

[argisthebulwark]

I saw ur tag about soulmates/reincarnation and i dunno if this really fits but it made me think of the parallels between karliah/gallus and tld/bryn. both couples being in love. mercer killing one of them, the one that just so happened to be/become the guild master. every time i think about these parallels i go fucking insane.

Especially if I think about tld actually dying by mercers hand and how something something history repeats itself, something something mercer killed both guild masters and left the ones so in love with them (maybe even married to them) broken shells

anyways....... *goes feral*

YEAAAA dude!!!! god i know it's sad and the reunion would be beautiful and all that but sometimes i just think about tld not surviving mercer. karliah not being able to save them and returning to thieves guild. mercer repeating his own history by killing the one destined to lead the guild and leaving behind a heartbroken, angry thief.

putting all my angst under a cut for the sake of the dash. obv death mention

"I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards."

Snow Veil Sanctum had become Karliah's personal hell. Entering the place she'd lost Gallus all those years ago was difficult but having to witness it happening all over again was surely some divine punishment. She watched the poor girl crumble, Mercer's disgusting last words hanging in the air long after his exit. Her eyes burned with unshed tears when she heard Brynjolf's name.

Karliah would follow through on her promise. The next time she saw Mercer would be the last. She dragged the thief's body from the bowels of the ruin knowing the hand pressed to her wound wouldn't cut it - but she couldn't leave her there. She couldn't leave this poor girl alone where Brynjolf couldn't find her.

She wanted her reunion with Brynjolf to be a joyous one. Instead she held the shoulders that shook with each of his sobs and fought back her own tears. He'd been so small when she was exiled and had grown into such a fine man. Karliah's hatred for Mercer somehow deepened upon seeing history repeat itself in such a way.

When Brynjolf's tears subsided Karliah recognized the resentment that replaced his sadness. She understood all too well his thirst for violence, his need to find Mercer and make him pay for what he'd taken from them. Karliah hated that Brynjolf could understand her pain. She wanted to take it away from him, to save him from the years of bitterness and isolation she'd dealt with.

"I'm sorry." She didn't trust her own voice when Brynjolf's puffy eyes met hers. "I'm sorry he took them from us."

"Why does this keep happening?" He sounded empty and Karliah had no answer.

She knew if they didn't stop Mercer his cycle would never break. A new thief would join their guild, fall in love, figure out his scheme, and die by Mercer's hand. Karliah's heart ached at the thought of other souls feeling her pain, the devastating ache of missing the one she loved so dearly.

Delvin was right. Mercer had become a curse upon the Thieves Guild. He killed and cheated, doing anything to keep himself afloat. He'd slain two important members and would surely try again. Karliah knew they had to stop him, it had to be those he'd left heartbroken and alone.

"What do we do now?" Brynjolf sounded so small, nothing like the booming voice he'd used when demanding to see his wife.

"We kill Mercer." She answered easily, offering him a blade. "We bury our loved ones. And you become the next Guild Master."

"I don't think I can do it without her." His voice broke and Karliah felt her heart shatter, pain she'd buried long ago fresh and new once more.

"You have to."

#brynjolf #skyrim #angst #tesblr #asks #anon #writing

[mwolf0epsilon]

Results, Recovery & Rehabilitation

Summary: After the parasitic infection on Umbara, Tup tries to get used to his new life circumstances. It's mostly trial and error and a lot of frustration, but it helps to have some help.

Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch belongs to @lost-on-kamino

[Something nice and fluffy to make up for all of Whumptober. I think it's nice to end 2023 on a more hopeful tone.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

For the most part since Tup had woken up from his coma, things were surprisingly peaceful for the usually rowdy 501st Battalion. This in of itself wasn't too strange. But, considering the circumstances behind his own disquiet, Tup couldn't help but to find it all a little unnerving.

Mostly because, in his mind, the mutated rookie didn't think he'd be so comfortable with having his own assailant running free, were he to be given the choice. Or rather, had he been in his brothers's shoes and not been the one perpetrating the horrors they'd suffered, Tup thought maybe he would at the very least want to bunk somewhere far away from the obvious threat...

Maybe the others were just better men than he was. Refusing to judge him for any of the things that transpired on Umbara. Even in spite of having gotten hurt, and their bodies having been altered in permanent life-changing ways.

Maybe he was just being too hard on himself. The guilt that followed him everywhere making him unwilling to forget, while also dolling out his own punishment in the form of restless nights full of wondering about what he could have done differently.

He didn't really know. Nor does he bother to really look for the supposed right answer. Dogma already did enough of that for him anyway. Actually, Dogma did practically everything for him nowadays.

And therein lie part of the problem...

Now, don't get him wrong, it's not like Tup hated his brothers's selfless, open affection, or their willingness to forgive him and seemingly forget what had transpired. In fact, he was more than a little grateful that he hadn't been condemned to a life of solitude and bitter resentment.

What bothered him was that they were being so gentle about it. Almost coddling him in the process.

And that was something that he felt wasn't fair on anyone. There should be consequences, even if he himself had been a victim of some very unique and horrific circumstances. Sith-hells, they should be rightfully upset that (even though he was being puppeteered by an overgrown mite) it was his own selfish desire to protect them all at all costs, that ended up being used as incentive to infect them with the same horrific condition he now had to live with.

This grotesque body with primordial instincts and bodily functions he couldn't quite understand. That he was afraid to become too intimately familiar with, due to the nature of these changes being so monstrous.

Being welcomed back with open arms felt like a disservice to all that he considered fair. A right slap in the face to everyone he'd hurt.

And that drove him a little bit crazy, the cheer amount of things that just weren't the same. Both physical and metaphysical. The GAR had never shied away from punishing even the most minor of infractions. Why couldn't his treacherous behavior be dealt with the same? Why was everything so terribly confusing?

It made his skin crawl in that way he knew Dogma's did when things weren't within a mold he understood. His perspective shifting to one that was of mutual understanding, in a way that should have not been so negative.

Tup should have never have had to change to finally understand Dogma's point of view. And yet...

Strange as it was to him how easily everyone had just moved on (and even went out of their way to interact with him as if he were still the same rookie who'd only just gotten deployed into his first real campaign), one thing Tup did accept at the end of the day:

There was really no use in sitting down and stubbornly dwelling on, and moaning about, things that everyone else had apparently already processed and buried the hatchet on. And, perhaps, it was just he that needed to shake the anxieties off and get a better grip on this new existence of his.

Starting with finding his new normal via the mundane when everyone else already had a head-start.

Getting measurements done for his new set of body gloves and rather minimalist armour pieces (which were more so he felt less exposed than really needed, due to his sturdy carapace that was more than able to protect him), made it all the more abundantly clear that he was physically not the same. But that didn't seem to deter the rather optimistic armourers.

His new shape was most definitely not easy to work with (things were just built in a way that made little to no sense in tailoring matters), boggling the minds of his vode who scratched their chins and hummed to themselves as they tried to sort out patterns and calculations.

A lot of guess-work had ultimately been involved. And maybe some holonet consultation. All the while he sat there, tail whipping ever so slightly, while Dogma reassured him that his new uniform and armour attachments wouldn't be intrusive.

"Most fabrics feel a little off against the chitinous plating. And anything that restricts wing or joint movement is uncomfortable, so they're going to take all of that into consideration." His twin had explained. "The first few prototypes the other vode and I tried out ended up ripping very easily..."

"That... Must have been a little awkward." At the time he couldn't help but to imagine both Dogma or Commander Cody unexpectedly ripping their clothes in a public space. It had been a humorous and frankly shocking mental image. One that made an undignified snort weasel its way out through his nostrils, even after he'd covered his mouth as best he could.

"It was downright embarrassing... Luckily none of us have external genitalia anymore, so at least we didn't get written down for indecent exposure." The pinched look on his brother's face spoke volumes about his past and current embarrassment on the matter. Dogma had never been fond of casual semi-nudity, much less full blown decant day suit where anyone could see. Showering communally was the only exception but then that wasn't much of a choice. "I ripped my trousers trying to get them on. My stinger cut right through the fabric... Realized pretty quickly we needed to do something about it. Hence the cap..."

"Uh-huh..." Tup had noticed the rubbery black cap covering Dogma's new lethal weapon. But he hadn't commented on it. He didn't think he should.

"Before the boys in armouring figured out a good enough material for a proper cap, Fives just stabbed a cork on it..." Dogma admitted as he hid his face in his hands. His lower set of hands. The other two were busy braiding Tup's hair. "It was humiliating..."

"A... Wait what? A cork?!" Tup snorted once more. This time not feeling like hiding or suppressing his amusement at all. "A cork? Where'd he get a cork?!"

"I have no idea!" Dogma shrugged. "But I spent a week with a cork stuck to a venomous stinger attached to my rear... At least I stopped ripping my trousers..."

"A cork... Unbelievable..." He couldn't help but coil his tail around his brother as the armouring crew came back with some designs for him to have a look at. They had seemed completely at ease around both Tup and Dogma despite their altered appearances and intimidating stature.

It really was strange... The only people who acted how Tup thought they should, were Coric, Sponge and Pitch, who were actively avoiding and frightened of them.

Well, then again, the armouring crew liked a challenge. Tup certainly had become one.

Right after getting kitted up, the second affair he'd had to get in order was a full medical update. There were a million and one tests Kix had to perform to get the gist of his new anatomy, with some notes he and Twitch had collected from the Umbaran medical facility as guides or points of comparison.

Humans and Umbarans had different physiological needs despite being convergent species, so it had not been unexpected for their metamorphic pathways to diverge a little once exposed to the same parasite.

It was, much like with tailoring a new set of kit specifically for him, a lot of guess work. But at least they'd had a proper guide instead of having to invent something with a little bit of help from whatever somewhat-fitting pattern they could find on the holonet.

He'd tolerated the tests but hadn't been overly fond of all of the bloodwork that had come with them.

"It's impressive. Your regenerative abilities were already advanced due to our immunity system being considerably more enhanced than that of a natborn's..." Kix loudly mused as he watched the readings on the terminal with great interest. Seeming much more relaxed than the rest of the medics who'd been making themselves busy to disguise their nervousness around him. "But with these mutations you've suffered, they've been significantly boosted. More so than the other mutated vode."

"That's nice and all, but do you really need to keep drawing blood?" He'd sighed, mildly irritated, not all that interested in knowing what else was different about him internally. What he'd already known freaked him out plenty. "Any minute now, and I'll feel woozy..."

"That's the thing, you're dealing rather well with the quantity I've already taken. Any other clone would have already started feeling faint." Kix offered. "If I could figure out why that is, what in your body is making you basically a walking bacta tank, I could possibly find a way to implement it as a more effective alternative for treating not just clones but maybe even natborns as well..."

"...Uh..."

"Maybe one day, after we finish tidying everything up... Too many loose ends to deal with wrapping up the war, to even consider the possibility of a medical award in my future." The medic sighed somewhat fondly at the thought. Seeming to be more inclined to dream about what might come to be, than focus on the errors of the past. The ramifications of certain situations.

And, while Tup didn't like the idea of being a test subject for whatever cooky idea his brothers might come up with, he wouldn't be too opposed to help advance the field of medicine if it meant the horrors of bacta shortages would become obsolete.

Getting used to his new diet was another thing he'd had to attend to. His body now requiring tremendously high levels of protein and sugar to function at full capacity. With mushrooms rounding out the rest of his requirements, as well as plentiful hydration with a few vitamin supplements.

It made sense, considering the life cycle of the parasite. But it was infinitely sad to him that the beauty of variety had been taken from him in the field of greenery. And Tup was quite fond of vegetables at that. Those he'd afflicted with this infection also stuck on the same boat as he.

That said, the amount of desserts that were now being requested to support his and the others's high sugar diet, were somewhat of a benefit to the mood of the entire battalion.

Clones had a notable sweet tooth after all. The 501st were standard in that manner.

It took quite a lot to satisfy his hunger, taking into account his much larger size. Filling up did come with a certain weakness however, which was how incredibly drowsy he would become whenever he ended up stuffing himself silly. As soon as he was finished with any meal, he needed to take a mandatory nap. Which often found him in the company of one particular medic.

Tup had humorously become adept at stumbling across Twitch. Asleep in some hidden nook or cranny in rather boneless-tooka fashion. How he hadn't stepped on the vod'ika yet, Tup wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't one to just let a brother sleep out in the cold. Thus it became norm to catch sight of a full-bellied and rather sleepy Tup groggily trotting back towards the barracks with Twitch fitfully asleep on his back. Secured by the grip of strong and hard outer-wing that kept his much softer underwings nicely protected.

Sometimes he'd put Twitch on a free bunk, tucking him in all nice and warm, with the use of those horrid tendrils that came out of his sides like tentacles. Their grasp much more gentle and dexterous than the large clunky claws that he now had to live with.

Other times he just lay down in the webbing nest Dogma had arranged for him (as he no longer fit nor felt comfortable on a standard bunk or cot), and let the younger medic remain sleep on his back. The kih'vod clinging to him tighter than a baby kowakian monkey lizard clung to its mother's back.

He'd either wake up with Twitch back on duty, the warmth on his back long gone and replaced instead with a blanket, or he'd find Dogma watching over both of them while he read some holonovel he'd picked up recently.

It was... Peaceful. Domestic even. Normal.

It bothered him on principle, but not enough so that he was averse to it in the same way that everyone's collective forgiveness made him feel jittery. Which was ironic considering Twitch was one of the vode he felt like had reason enough to hate him. The kih'vod was full of surprises.

Full of compassion in a way that most might consider naive. Tup found it admirable. So did their older brothers who didn't feel quite right there yet to sit with him. He'd heard as much while accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between Pitch and Sponge.

"He's a good kid." Pitch had muttered softly, while sitting with the more surly of the two. Occasionally brushing Beau's fur with a brush that Sponge had dutifully provided him with as a distraction.

Relearning to walk had made the two's friendship flourish even more than it ever had before. With both Sponge and Beau becoming much needed emotional support that Pitch could rely on.

"He's the best of us." Sponge had agreed, a smile on their still healing face. Some of the damage had gone with the wind. Only a few scars remained. Too many scars, in Tup's guilt-ridden opinion. "Such is the way of youths."

"He's not that much younger than us, you're making me feel old." Pitch had laughed, grinning at his friend in good humour. "But... Yeah. There's something about the younger generations of clones... I guess it's hope. They're more hopeful."

"Bitter resentment hasn't set in yet. It's what makes them better..." Sponge had seemed resigned to that, but not in a way that felt particularly bad. At least not from the way they'd sounded. "It's our job now, to make sure those of us that are still so eager to hope can live freer lives than the ones we'll surely live."

"Yeah... Yeah. For what it's worth, I'm still going to try to do better."

"As it should be."

It was a conversation that had given him much to think about. In due time, all of them might yet find peace in this new form of being. Be is as insectoid mutant troopers, or veterans ready to learn what it truly was to live at peace. No war or turmoil ahead of them.

Tup might yet let go, even if right now things were still a little too fresh. Too raw. Too pleasant for him to fully accept without feeling bad. He would strive to do better next time.

#Eps Writes #star wars #the clone wars #Umbaran Pathogen AU #clone trooper tup #clone trooper dogma #clone medic kix #clone ocs #clone medic twitch #clone medic pitch #clone medic sponge #beautiful the barghest

[melancholypancakes]

https://youtu.be/6iVy5s2DB4o

*Sylvie & Goddess! Y/N teleport together*

Sylvie: Back again, I see.

*Sylvie looks at Goddess! Y/N smugly*

Sylvie: I don't know if you realize this, but every time you reset "time" pun intended.

Sylvie: I'll be pulled back with you waiting to ulter history.

* A very pissed off Goddess! Y/N*

Goddess! Y/N: You know you're really wrecking the timeline!

Sylvie: No, I'm not.

Goddess! Y/N: Yes, you are!

Sylvie: You're just saying that to make me feel bad. So I stop wrecking the timeline.

*Goddess! Y/N eyes widen and twitches in Sylvie stupidity*

Goddess! Y/N: Okay, I have dealt with some dense magical idiots.

Goddess! Y/N: But what exactly is you're purpose if you don't think you’re screwing up time as we know it?!

Sylvie: Ho, I was worried you wouldn't asked me about my tragic backstory.

Goddess! Y/N: I don't need justification of why you're such a piece of crap!

Sylvie: Well, along time ago, when I was very young.

Sylvie: I was kidnap by the TVA after they erased my timeline and been running arcoss the multiverse ever since.

Sylvie: then I meet this handsome male variant of me Loki.

Sylvie: we hated each other, became friends and fell in love until one day we betrayed each other.

*Goddess! Y/N weirded out and disgusted*

Goddess! Y/N: Is that it?

Sylvie: Wait, no I didn't tell it right.

Goddess! Y/N: Did you two not know how to trust each other like normal people and just be...I don't know siblings?

Sylvie: This is gonna sound really weird but let me get it out there.

Goddess! Y/N: Okay, go.

Sylvie: Okay, Loki the male variant of myself betrayed me by not being on my side to kill He who remains that starts a war of Kangs.

Sylvie: Wanted to keep the timeline in order, which which got upset because I was upset that another variant could end up like me being kidnapped from their timeline.

* Goddess! Y/N just tired of bullshit and confused by lore*

*Goddess! Y/N then has an epiphany*

Goddess! Y/N: Wait, did you say Loki?

Sylvie: Yeah, Loki with butt cheeks as round as the moon and just as far out of my grasp.

Goddess! Y/N: Yeah, I went to school with him.

Sylvie: No, you didn't.

Goddess! Y/N: Yeah, I did. He was in my class, he got herpes.

Goddess! Y/N: He was like a solid 7/10 before that.

Sylvie: 7/10?!

Sylvie: But he must've- but what about his-

Goddess! Y/N: This imagination might be....a little out there.

*Sylvie disappointed*

Sylvie: Huh, well there goes my motivation

Goddess! Y/N: Yeah, so anyway. I'm the God of Time.

Goddess! Y/N: And I can keep doing this for eternity.

Goddess! Y/n: But I figure you got...

*Goddess! Y/N calculates*

Goddess! Y/N: Forty years.

Sylvie: Not if I ascend to God hood as well.

Goddess! Y/N: Nah, I'm just keep pulling you back here.

Goddess! Y/N: You know. I can reintroduce you to Loki.

Goddess! Y/N: I mean, he still has herpes but he's taking medicine for it.

*Sylvie re-thinks her life choices*

Sylvie: You know, that's okay I guess I did romanticize a bit.

Sylvie: But we haven't kept in touch so it would be a bit awkward now.

Sylvie: Maybe it's time to let go of Loki and you and I can just be friends!

*Sylvie pleads*

*Pissed off Goddess! Y/N still/annoyed*

Goddess! Y/N: Well, let's review.

Goddess! Y/N: You started a cult, stole my wand, you tried to brainwashed me, you broke into my....tree castle and tried to destroy time itself.

*Sylvie chuckles nervously*

Sylvie: Well, when you put it that way it sounds pretty bad.

Sylvie: But my childhood was stolen from me- well with my lover betraying me and him betraying me and all.

Sylvie: So, I think you can excuse my motivations.

Goddess! Y/N: No, no. I can't let this go.

Goddess! Y/N: Sylvie Lafeydóttir. I princess Y/N, by the power vested in me by Godhood do hereby sentence you to six consecutive life sentences as friends to the Avengers.

*Sylvie is confused what Goddess! Y/N just said*

Sylvie: Huh...

Sylvie: When you put that way it almost sounds like some kind of punishment.

Goddess! Y/N: Yeah. Wednesday is Monopoly night.

Goddess! Y/N: I suggest you bring a lot of scotch and a garbage bag.

#mcu #mcu loki #sylvie loki #sylvie x y/n #sylvie x Goddess! y/n #goddess!reader #goddess! y/n #goddess! y/n should be a canon marvel character #funny reference #YouTube #mental advance series #mlp #sylvie x reader #sylvie x loki #Avengers

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏

sentence starters from christopher isherwood’s novel a single man. change however necessary.

tw: death, drugs, age gaps (between adults, no pedo.philia), some n.sfw text

i'm afraid of being rushed.

why? why? is it some cosmic entity, some arch-tyrant who tries to blind us to his very existence by setting us against our natural allies, the fellow victims of his tyranny?

such questions are hard to take seriously. they seem so academic.

intolerable old [name], always absolutely in the right, and crazy.

oh well, i expect it'll last our time.

the question "is this playacting or does he really hate us?" never occurs to them.

put them back, now! back! put them back!

i never hear the noise children make -- just as long as it's a happy noise.

do they know that they are afraid? no. but they are very afraid.

among many other kinds of monster, they are afraid of little me.

even when they are geniuses in spite of it, their masterpieces are invariably warped.

[name] wasn't a substitute for anything. and there is no substitute for [name], if you'll forgive my saying so, anywhere.

would you possibly be free tonight?

poor man, living there all alone. he has a kind face.

idiots -- fooled them again!

what is he up to?

these people are not amusing. they should never be dealt with amusingly. they understand only one language: brute force.

but does [name] want to be obeyed? doesn't he prefer to be defied so he can go on killing and killing -- since all these people are just vermin and the more of them that die the better?

no time to worry about that now.

it is a slander to say that they are identical.

the only ism i believe in is abstract expressionism.

is this some supersubtlety?

let's see if that old robot'll know the difference.

will any of them make it? oh, sure. one, at least. two or three at most.

you're always paying.

[name] wanted me to ask you, sir -- we were wondering if you could manage to get out to us again before too long?

won't this keep happening to him all through his life? won't he keep getting himself involved in the wrong kind of game, the kind of game he was never born to play, against an opponent who is quick and clever and merciless?

sorry, sir -- i lost you for a minute there.

they look as if they were ready at any minute to switch from studying to ditchdigging or gang fighting.

she has the look of a divorcee.

how can i impress, flatter or otherwise con this cantankerous old thing into giving me a good grade?

i must say, i don't see how anyone can pretend to be interested in a novel when he doesn't even stop to ask himself what its title means.

it's not much fun being beautiful for ever and ever, when you can't even wake up and look at yourself in a mirror.

well, what does [name] want them to say it's about? they'll say it's about anything he likes, anything at all.

wow! i don't dig that jazz.

what do we need eternity for, anyway?

the stupidest text in the bible is, 'they hated me without a cause.'

a minority is only thought of as a minority when it constitutes some kind of threat to the majority, real or imagined.

it's better if we admit to disliking and hating them than if we try to smear our feelings over with pseudo-liberal sentimentality.

why, you wouldn't recognize love if you met it! you'd suspect love!

well, after all, what else can you expect?

is this sheer idiocy or slyness?

i keep remembering that beautiful accent. it's like music.

i have to go down to the book shop.

you don't have any of those capsules left now, do you?

i bet, even if you had seen god, you wouldn't tell us.

someone has to ask you a question before you can answer it. but it's so seldom you find anyone who'll ask the right questions. most people aren't that much interested…

a place where the police are angels has to be an insane asylum.

the not-understanding, the readiness to remain at cross-purposes, is in itself a kind of intimacy.

isn't it some tiny satisfaction to be of use, instead of helping to turn out useless consumer goods?

just the same, it is a deadly bore and, to be frank, a wee bit distasteful.

want to go? we might ask him some awkward questions.

now we have with us a far more terrible fear, the fear of survival.

[name] stood me up. talk to me.

they're being cheated out of their childhood. they're being turned into junior consumers!

how can you talk such incredible nonsense?

that fills them with fury and loathing because they can never understand it.

essentially we're creatures of spirit. our life is all in the mind.

the nurses at the reception desk are pleasant, too. they don't fuss you with a lot of questions.

i am woman. i am bitch-mother nature. the church and the law and the state exist to support me.

i was screaming. they heard me clear down the hall.

it seems as if they can't bear to leave anything the way it used to be.

where's that fucking nurse?

if you'll just step outside for a moment. this won't take any time at all.

did she mean goodbye?

it will be a good christmas, the merchants predict.

i am alive, i am alive!

you old ass, who are you trying to seduce?

there is always an atmosphere of leisureliness in this place.

these things just kill me. man!

nobody is bitchy here, or ill-tempered, or inquisitive.

even up here, they are building dozens of new houses. this area is getting suburban.

the supermarket is still open; it won't close till midnight.

who says i have to be brave? who depends on me now? who cares?

look -- is it too late to change my mind? about tonight?

who can it be at this hour?

they might notice something queer about me, and you'd feel ashamed.

hey -- you can't die here! ain't this heaven?

the author gets slightly vague, so i've had to improvise a bit. i mean, he doesn't come right out and say so, but i have a suspicion that one's supposed to make it with human flesh. actually, i've used leftovers from a joint…

i've already made two new year's resolutions -- only they're effective immediately. the first is, i'm going to admit i loathe bourbon.

you know, i sometimes think, about you, whenever you do something really sweet, you're ashamed of it afterwards!

how many times, when [name] and i came to visit you -- sulking, avoiding each other's eyes, talking to each other only through you -- did you somehow bring us together again by the sheer power of your unawareness that anything was wrong?

he has made up his mind, really and truly. he wants a complete break.

i know you think he hasn't behaved well to me, [name]. i don't blame you for thinking that.

i betrayed you, [name]; i betrayed our life together.

i keep wondering just when it began to go wrong.

so here we are, just the two of us. just you and me.

i mean, until i've done that, i won't feel everything's really over. you have to do something to convince yourself.

i never wanted to live alone, [name].

how can you pretend you don't love it? and you miss it -- you wish you were back there -- you know you do.

i'm not sure how i should like that part of it.

whatever you say about it, darling, you always make it sound so marvelously romantic.

what's the harm? it's fun. it adds a new dimension to being drunk.

[name] not enjoying himself? he was having the ball of his life!

we were always making plans like that. we hardly ever told other people about them, even you. maybe that was because we knew in our hearts they were crazy.

no, [name], cross my heart, i am honestly not being bitchy!

feeling guilty's no reason for staying or going. the point is, do you want to go?

i think i shall go back, [name]. i dread it -- but i'm beginning to think i really shall.

i had to tell her at once, right after it happened. otherwise, i'd have been so afraid she'd find out for herself, in some uncanny way, and that would have been too shaming.

the past is just something that's over.

i can't stand anymore indecision. i've got to burn my boats, this time.

i should hate so to leave you, [name].

we could get drunk and earn money at the same time.

do women ever stop trying?

you are drunk. oh, you stupid old thing, how dare you get so drunk?

oh, the bloody battles and the sidewalk vomitings!

seashells are still less easy to find here than discarded rubbers.

it was nothing. only a poem.

but imagine your happening to pick on this particular bar!

do you really think i'd be such an idiot as to try to buy drinks for a minor?

you could invite him to stay the night at your place. tell him you'll drive him back in the morning.

you can talk about anything and change the subject as often as you like.

that's the trouble. i don't know what is important and what isn't.

the past doesn't really matter to most kids my age. when we talk like it does, we're just being polite.

maybe i will. maybe i'll get mad at you.

if you and i are no different, what do we have to give each other? how can we ever be friends?

whatever made me tell you all that? am i drunk or something?

i, personally, have gotten steadily sillier and sillier and sillier.

well, i'm not bluffing -- so what are we waiting for? you weren't bluffing, were you?

that's enough for now!

they ought not to let you out on your own, ever. you're liable to get into real trouble.

don't be an idiot. you'd get pneumonia.

you don't even have a cat or a dog or anything?

i believe you've discovered the secret of the perfect life!

getting married? no. that's out.

i don't believe you're that much interested whether i marry [name] or not. i think you want to ask me something different.

so now she's called the whole thing off?

you aren't exactly sober, if you don't mind my saying so.

and now get me another drink.

i suppose you've decided i'm a dirty old man?

don't you have a glimmering of how i must feel -- longing to speak?

the point is -- here am i and here are you -- and for once, there' s no one to disturb us.

it's the enormous tragedy of everything nowadays: flirtation. flirtation instead of fucking, if you'll pardon my coarseness.

thought maybe i'd better split, after all.

that was great, this evening. let's do it again, shall we? or don't you believe in repeating things?

quick -- we need a substitute!

yes, i am crazy. that is my secret; my strength. and i'm about to get much crazier.

what if [name] has been scared off? what if he doesn't come back?

this is where he found [name]. he believes he will find another [name] here. he doesn't know it, but he has started looking already.

but is all of [name] altogether present here?

how can such a variety of creatures coexist at all?

both will have to be carted away and disposed of, before too long.

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #prompts #rp prompts #writing prompts

[mania-sama]

Can I ask your top 10 fav fics ever (from any fandom, if you don't mind)?

Also, just curious, is there a story behind your name "mania-sama "?

Hi!! Thank you so much for sending me an ask!! I will answer the story behind my name first, and then I'll get into the fics!

mania.sama comes from a couple years back when I was making my first online persona account. I had my regular Instagram account with my real name, but I didn't feel comfortable with people I knew in real life knowing the content I engage with and want to post (fandom-related and gaming clips). At the time, a couple of my beloved friends had these Instagram accounts all starting with a mental disorder and ending with a Japanese honorific. Weird combo, I know, I don't know how the trend started, I don't ask questions around here. Anyway, we brainstormed and decided on the mania, as in the manic disorder, and sama, a Japanese honorific of high respect. I would change it since I'm well aware it's kinda cringe since I have absolutely no Japanese heritage whatsoever, but it's too iconic to change now. All of my online persona accounts have this name, and people have called me "Mania" for far too long on Ao3. I'd hate to switch it up on people. And besides, I think it's grown on me after all this time.

Now for the fic!! So, I'm going to be so, so for real right now. I only have three fics I have bookmarked publically on Ao3, and they are my only favorite fics. Three. This comes from the fact that I read mainly one-shots that I forget as soon as I read them. I don't really have the attention span nor want to read long-form works most of the time. So, I did a lot of digging to come up with the rest of the seven, but I want to list favorite three first because they are actually my favorite. They aren't ranked in any particular order, they are just above the rest of the seven (which are also in no particular order).

These following three fics are also the only fanfics to ever make me cry. I've come close to a few of them, but these, of all my years reading and writing fanfic, are the only three to manage to bring tears down my face thus far:

Come Morning Light by SharkbaitSekki -> Haikyuu | 354,105 words | 15 chapters -> Teen and Up | Completed | Locked Work -> Summary: All in life will come and go. People and places will ebb and flow. Fate's dealt cards can't be foreseen. Safety is obsolete. When a nuclear blast on the island of Japan destroys all of the families and dreams within its radius, all that is left in the aftermath is to rebuild something -anything- out of the debris. Back to back, heart to heart, it's a long way up for the kids who have seen their lives go down in flames. But once at the top, for those who have made it, there is nothing left to do but admire the view. In which all of the aspects of their future are uncertain, except for the fact that unity will always lead them home. -> Thoughts: This was the only fic I had as my favorite fic for a long time, and the only one of the three to have an objectively sad ending, though it's listed as ambiguous. There isn't a dead dove tag on here, but there should be because this fic is gruesome, horrific, and downright traumatizing. And you know what? It's amazing, every single 350k words of it. The way some of these characters died, the trauma they experienced, and the ways they didn't or did move forward. It's all so impactful, and each character has a special focus. Not a single one goes without a spotlight. It also says it has ships, but none of them are actually canon, just vaguely implied. I don't really know how to explain this, but everything they go through, all of the places they go to, and the events that occur because of the nuclear bomb itself (such as acid rain and food poisoning) are all so well done, original, and thought-out. A town where all crime is legal at night but you must remain perfectly civil in daytime (as well as not talk about said crimes committed the previous night), radio broadcasts, refugee camps, trafficking, and more. There are just so many stand-out concepts and scenes that will stick with me forever.

one hundred miles by No_one_you_know -> Dream SMP | 126,898 words | 3 work series -> Teen and Up | Completed* -> that's, like, a hundred miles | 60,444 words | 12 chapters | Completed -> he's my brother, i just raise him | 7,034 words | 1 chapter | Completed -> as long as i'm here | 59,420 words | 14 chapters | Completed -> Summary (using the first fic): Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar. The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him. Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade? in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade -> Thoughts: I KNOW. I know what you're thinking. Dream SMP? Really? Listen. It was a different time, lads, and I, for one, refuse to be ashamed of my history with Dream SMP. I read and wrote fics and enjoyed it. What gives? Anyway. I chose the entire series instead of one fic because all of these fics are so good, and I feel that if you read the first one, you should read the others. This is the ultimate series of "Healing is not linear." It's a work on the failures of society, of the justice system, how life can be repeatedly cruel over and over again. All of the doubling back, the mental fight, the complex relationships, morally gray actions, and the brilliant display of the way trauma can effect children, and the way that adults can get away with so much abuse. I think about how he walked a hundred miles only to wind back in the same place again. Obviously, it ends positively (relatively positively), but it takes just as long to get there. Secretely, though, adoption fics are a guilty pleasure of mine and you can't take that away from me. EXTREMELY well written. * the series says it's not completed, but it sure feels like it is. Very conclusive ending, I don't think the author intends on ever updating again, so I think the "Not Completed" status is simply a mistake on their part.

When I Awake by wildflowertea -> Bungou Stray Dogs | 235,960 words | 23 chapters -> Mature | Completed -> Summary: Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything. -> Thoughts: What isn't there to say about this? I have written many comments under this fic, so if you want to hear my full thoughts, they are all there in the last chapter. I also added another comment months later, and will probably add another one in the future. This fic single-handedly changed the romance genre for me, set the bar too high, and I can't tell whether I should love or hate it for that. I'd go as far as to say this fic isn't really about romance, either; it's been every kind of relationship there is under the sun. It's about death, it's about hope, it's about tragedy, addiction, failures, and family. It's everything. I love, love the idea of the soul separating itself from the body being used as a symbol of a person at the ultimate crossroads: Should I live, or should I die? And death giving that person a second chance to make their final decision. I love this fic. Everyone and their mom needs to read it because it's truly life changing. I cried three times reading this. THREE. Not a single word is wasted here.

Here are the rest of the seven. These are all fics I enjoyed immensely and love dearly:

Running on Air by eleventy7 -> Harry Potter | 74,880 words | 17 chapters ->Teen and Up | Completed -> Summary: Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects. -> Thoughts: Genuinely, this fic ALMOST made joined the other three in my favorites. The only reason it didn't is because it didn't leave the same impact that the others did. But the writing, the plot, the romance, the characterizations, are all amazing, and the fact that it could've been a fourth edition to my favorites without the additional impact should be a testament to how good everything else is. I love a good investigation fic where I have no idea what's going on, but eager to learn more. I love the way they handled Ginny and Harry's relationship, how they were both never really good for each other as lovers, but humanizing them both. Ginny isn't a villain in the way of the gay relationship (I hate that trope, as we all do). Harry was just as bad in their relationship. And there are just so many good quotes, and every time I'm in the car for too long, staring at the road, I think to myself, "What if I just kept driving? What if I didn't go where I needed to go, but instead left everything behind and kept going?" And I really think this fic is in part to blame for that. Phenomenal work.

Oyasumi by monozayn -> Identity V | 6,210 words | 1 chapter -> Mature | Completed -> Summary: Oyasumi, Oyasumi Close your eyes and you'll leave this dream. . . . Eli Clark was something. But at the end of the day, Eli Clark wasn’t Naib’s something. A short story about giving too little, too late -> Thoughts: I had a VISCERAL reaction to this fic when I read two and a half years ago. I think I can contribute most of my feelings to the fact that I myself wasn't in the best mental state at the time, so it just hurt more than it should've. I think if I were to read this today, it wouldn't make it onto this list at all, but because of the strong memories I have tied to it, it's keeping its place here. I do remember really liking the characterization of Naib, who, despite being the MC, is entirely blameless and often really comes off as creepy, especially in the beginning. It was really interesting.

Food for the Heart by SharkbaitSekki -> Haikyuu | 28,486 words | 1 chapter -> Teen and Up | Completed | Locked Work ->Summary: Enter Oikawa Tooru, the middle-class citizen who has everything he needs, but who does not eat. Enter Iwaizumi Hajime, the homeless young man who barely scrapes enough to eat every single day. One chance encounter is all they need to start turning things around. That is, if they actually do want to bring change to their comfortable, destructive routines. -> Thoughts: If I'm gonna be honest, this fic is kinda like a fever dream to me. It's actually the only fic on this list that I've read twice, that being I really don't reread or rewatch media in general outside of gently skimming or rewatching certain episodes/scenes. I always lose this fic, and it came as a surprise to me to see that it was written by the same person that wrote Come Morning Light because I did NOT know this until I found it again for this fic. Thrice I have found this fic and thrice did it escape my attention. Now about the actual fic and not the mythical legend that it truly is, it's just such an interesting take on the characters. Less so that it's a perfect characterization but a wonderful insight to homelessness and privilege, into complex relationships and eating disorders. It shows that all people are different, they can be selfish when trying not to be, that life sometimes just really rocks our shit. I've struggled in on and off periods with eating myself, so this fic really drives home a nail into face that it might not for other people.

the path to paradise by roadtripwithlucifer -> Bungou Stray Dogs | (currently) 73,250 words | (currently) 11 chapters -> Explicit | Work in Progress -> Summary:

To think that there’s a gifted in this world who can transport others to a ‘Hell.’ Not even a particularly hellish hell. For all Akutagawa had experienced in his life, this is obnoxiously tame. Pleasant, even, if he was to ignore the centaurs hunting him for sport and the fact that he’s kneeling in an open grave.Still - if Akutagawa was given such an ability, he’d have no shortage of significantly more creative punishments for creatures as loathsome as himself.

Akutagawa goes to Hell. Atsushi follows. Neither return the same. -> Thoughts: This is one that is being updated quite regularly, so I have complete faith it will be saw through to the end (as the author has seen their other longfics to the end, too). This has some of the best BSD characterizations I've ever seen, especially Akutagawa. This fic scratches a very specific itch, since it's literally a Dante's Inferno AU, and where else are you gonna find one? One that's actually well-written, no less? It satisfies my constant hunger for tragic, painful things to happen to my favorite characters without ending poorly. They find comfort in each other. I love that. I love this fic. I can't wait to see how it ends. I like the use of their Dante and Virgil as "OC's", too. I don't mind OC's in most fics, but this is one the first to truly make me like their OC's. The author also puts in a whole lot of research, and they use this cool system of endnotes (that I WILL be stealing for any future long-form projects) to express their research. I just love reading their thoughts, and you can clearly see how much passion there is here.

Tommyinnit's unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii -> Dream SMP | 79,922 words | 30 chapters -> Teen and Up | Completed -> Summary: “I uh,” Tommy starts, not knowing how to break this to the hero lightly. He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I think your powers are broken? It’s not a bad thing of course, but like, I swear you tried to mind control me and it like, totally failed. Which is fine, honestly, don’t feel insecure. Everyone’s power stop working sometimes… I think.”  Sheesh, this is very awkward. Why is no one else talking? Why is Philza looking at him like he grew three heads? Why is the Blade staring at him so intensely? Why is Willow still frozen? “Did I, did I hit a nerve? Yikes,” Tommy hisses, “Well um,” He steps back, bracing his legs and bending his knees, “This was like super fun, but I’m - I’mma head out.” or, in which Tommy manages to annoy the hell out of Phil, Techno and Wilbur by being both impossible to catch and irritatingly endearing. or or, a crack fic where Tommy is a vigilante and Phil, Techno and Wilbur are the heroes hunting him down. -> Thoughts: I read this fic while it was coming out. I was also in therapy, so imagine my surprise and utter devastation when those chapters started coming out (if you know, you know), because I was, indeed, reading it to make myself feel better and not be sad all the time. I haven't read it in a hot minute, so I'm not sure if the humor would match up to mine today of if it would just be really cringe but I remember always finding it very funny. If it had just been funny and random, it may not have made it on here, but the overarching plot makes it a work of art. I won't spoil, because I do think you should read it, but it's a very good plot twist that I didn't see coming because I hadn't read any of the other works. Everything in that fic has a meaning, and everything is beautiful, and everything hurts. The concept itself is something that I think about often, too, even before I'd read it. Great execution.

Spiderwebs and Secrets by fi_niamh -> Genshin Impact | (currently) 89,103 words | (currently) 14 chapters -> Teen and Up | Work in Progress -> Summary:

Albedo, usually one for blunt and quick actions, was struggling to determine how he should continue. On one hand, marking the death as suicide, as it very much appeared to be, would immediately close the case and give the bereaved family some much needed closure. But could Albedo really do that when so many things didn't line up? Sitting back in his chair Albedo let out a deep breath. He scanned down the page reading the provided boxes. ... He was really going to do this wasn't he? Picking up quill with a steady hand, Albedo marked the fourth and final box with a neat cross mark. Death under suspicious circumstances. Albedo stood, waiting for the ink to dry before gently picking the piece of paper up. Albedo had a new assignment. As head of the Knights of Favonius Investigation Unit, Albedo was not going to let the cause of Diluc Ragnvindr's death go unknown.

When Diluc is reported dead as what appears to be a suicide, Jean struggles to keep it together, Kaeya is left in shambles, and Albedo begins to uncover the web of secrets and lies that Diluc left behind. -> Thoughts: While this fic hasn't been updated in a long time (and admittedly I haven't even caught up to the latest chapters, but that's not because the updates were bad, I just have this mental block that occurs with every multi-chaptered fic I read that I always have a really hard time breaking through). Anyway, this fic has the best characterization I have ever seen of any of the title characters: Kaeya, Diluc, Albedo, and Jean. It hurts so bad and so good, and I love me a well-written investigation fic that keeps me on my toes. So, so good. Did I mention that this hurts? Because it hurts. Hurts like a knife digging into your stomach and being twisted, but you keep pushing it in because the pain is addicting.

Butterflies and Storms by Chalily -> Bungou Stray Dogs | 36,524 words | 14 chapters -> Teen and Up | Completed -> Summary: “That girl in the back! She’s getting away!” Chuuya whipped around to see that his men were right — one of their assailants was an ability user, and she was using her power to escape. Shit. Mori had been painfully clear when he’d assigned this mission. He expected no survivors. Chuuya dropped his ability’s hold on the six or seven people around him, then kicked off of a nearby wall to propel himself at the girl. She was slowly dissipating into light, vanishing upwards into the ceiling, but before the edge of her coat could vanish Chuuya shot by like a dark bullet, reached out, and just barely grabbed it. // Chuuya gets transported to the past! Watch him struggle to figure out what the hell’s happening, then enlist the help of a young Oda to get back. But with the past altered, will he return to the same future he left behind? -> Thoughts: This fic has the perfect blend of good plot, characterization, and humor. Mainly the humor part, because it's always so effortless and it astounds me how easily they were able to write it. It's so natural, and I only wish I was half as funny as they are. This fic also reminds a lot of BEAST, and I am under the personal opinion that BEAST is better than the actual manga. Because it is and I'm correct. The OC they used for this and her ability is actually a book I'd read before, so that was also an added bonus for me. Very, very enjoyable fic and criminally underrated.

Honorable Mention: I KNOW you said only 10, but I have to mention this one fic that I can't for the love of me find, but I think about nearly every time I'm writing. It's a Dream SMP one-shot. If I remember correctly, it was somewhere between 1-3k words, and it was an absolutely masterpiece. I would've booted one of the fics I have listed to fit this one, but alas, I cannot find the fic. It's about the SBI, but all of the brothers get drafted to World War I or II, I can't remember, leaving Phil alone in their shared house. It's so. Good. Whenever I write, I try to emulate the emotion that author put into their fic, the way they were able to convey the lived-in, homely feel of the family as each one of them were ripped away, as they died. They described things in such a simplistic manner, and instead of focusing on faces or words, they talked about how the knob to the cabinet door was broken, the scratch marks on the table, the squeaky tiles on the floor. Amazing. I wish I could find it again.

Again, thank you so much for asking me!!!

#anon ask #fanfictions #favorite fanfics #fanfic #fanfics #haikyuu #bungou stray dogs #roadtripwithlucifer i know youre there #identity v #dream smp #genshin impact #harry potter #running on air #answered asks #ao3 #ao3 fanfics #ao3 fanfic

[fantasyinvader]

I was thinking about the events of the prologue again. We know that Edelgard hired Kostas with orders to "kill as many noble brats as possible," but I think the game does give us a clue as to why. And no, it's not teacher theory. An NPC says afterwards that if any of the students had died, it would have hurt the image of the Academy, Knights of Seiros and the Church as a whole. Now, remembering that Edelgard is someone who uses propaganda, I mean, information campaigns this would be a perfect opportunity for her. If a bunch of students, "noble brats," die it breeds animosity towards the Church. Animosity that can be used to seek allies, after all the month after Kostas is dealt with we have to deal with Lonato raising an uprising against Rhea over the death of his son. We know that the son and Lonato were manipulated by the Western Church into doing this, pawns of TWSITD for Edelgard's benefit.

And when Claude fled, Edelgard followechasing her d him and was even trying to point them to Remire. Why? We know that Claude's fleeing is meant to be an Almyran trait, that his people believe it's better to flee and survive rather than fight to the bitter end. The game also wants us to believe Edelgard and Claude aren't too dissimilar before Claude's character growth begins, ergo Edelgard fled to save her own life. She does the same thing at Gronder, throwing wave after wave of troops at her enemies while she stays in the back and eventually flees while Dimitri is overwhelmed and dies.

Actually, there's a bit of character growth for Claude there. Notice at the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion he does the exact same thing she does, while at Gronder he charges with his troops like Dimitri does. Even if we don't pick the Deer House, Claude still grows somewhat because of White Clouds, possibly why he tries to stay neutral rather than join Edelgard to take out the Church because he hates her methods and the lengths she's willing to go to (though will still hand the Alliance to her if he loses in Flower if he's allowed to flee).

Anyway, back on topic. This also means that not only did Edelgard put a hit on her classmates, she did so when Hubert got caught up into it. Considering she laughs as his confession, or how he always dies away from her, this is foreshadowing. Like about her using Bernie as bait, then setting the hill she's on on fire, or how Hopes revealed that Edelgard knew the real Monica who was very loyal to her, knew where Monica was held but did nothing to save her because the opportunity never presented itself. It shows how little Edelgard actually values him or the lives of those around her in pursuit of her goals.

On the other hand, any students that manage to survive would also have proven their strength. It's a quick and dirty way for Edelgard to discover who the strong actually are, and who to potentially sway to her side. Considering how Byleth or Shez take Kostas out, she instead focuses on them. Maybe that's why she wrote Monica off, because Monica couldn't save herself. An early hint to her real ideology perhaps?

[muzzleroars]

Hello!, i remembered another question i had (i hope its okay to send two asks from one person in one day)

I remember that you said if Gabriel had killed V1 in his tomb and later if he manages to revive it he succumbs to madness.

In this scenario would his 3 siblings go down to bind him? Or not since he and the hellbeast V1 only stay at treachery?

But if they fight then how bad would it get?, and how would the archangels react to a mad Gabriel and the monstrous machine? (Raphael's reaction sounds so interesting to me in this scenario), who would win and what would they do after the fight?

Didn't expect the ask to be this long, but anyways, hope you have a nice day!

(see this!)

because gabriel is staying in his designated layer in this case, he likely wouldn't be seen as a problem - what else he does is little of their concern if he's still subject to his proper punishment. however, a confrontation might still occur because v1, like all the machines, is an anomaly and needs to be dealt with itself (this is on michael's list in the au proper, he's just too distracted by gabriel to prioritize it). i doubt a single one of them even wants to approach gabriel's tomb (they've avoided every other fallen angel they once knew after all), but v1 demands to be dealt with, especially if michael's managed to clear out many of the others. and what they find in gabriel isn't entirely unexpected in a way, yet that knowledge can't really do much in face of the reality.

gabriel, in these events, has given himself fully to being a fallen angel of treachery - he does not value angelic life, and his priorities center around v1 as the object of his betrayal. human sinners of the circles are often despondent and repentant despite the lateness of their actions, they curse what they did in life to lay them so low in death, but fallen angels embrace their sins, cling to them with a vicious brutality as their displaced dedication to god needs a new idol. this is gabriel's mentality now, his will cleaved to his sin and honed in on v1 as its representative despite the complexities his betrayal actually carried. i'm sure the hope of the archangels is that their presence would be enough to drive gabriel into hiding, as many fallen angels refuse to be seen by those of high status - unfortunately, keeping v1 alive is his singular motivation, and so his confrontation is immediate and merciless.

it's shocking, no matter how they had condemned gabriel in their minds, to see what was once god's brightest angel, who was their compassionate brother, burning with uncontrolled hell energy and spewing curses at them. v1 is beside him too, a machine that is easily recognized as something hellishly stitched back together and fused with the energy now constantly pouring out of gabriel like a parasite on him. he has given up everything he has for it and he clearly no longer values anything else for all he's sacrificed, eager to drain the blood of the archangels just so the insatiable machine can feed on them. yet there is also a hell-warped undercurrent to his insults and his relentless assault - he hates those in heaven now, and he seems to barely recognize those that were once his family.

and on the receiving end of this, there is an unspeakable grief in each of them. raphael is the one that attempts to appeal to him the most, calling out to who he once was and growing more desperate as it becomes increasingly obvious gabriel is never going to respond. like i mentioned before, raphael is the least acquainted with hell of the four, and forced to fight gabriel like this would probably make or break his faith entirely. because this isn't him. gabriel's abuse, how he laughs in the face of raphael's soon open weeping, it can't be reconciled with who he once was. is this what hell does, is this what it makes someone? yet he still clings to the abomination with him, he protects it with a tangible emotional fury, and raphael recognizes this as something left of gabriel: his will to protect, his overflowing passion and love turned into something wretched by hell. and it gives raphael pause in simply seeing him as a demon made by his own sin.

uriel is deeply opposed to the fight to begin with, wishing to leave hell as it is now and let gabriel be trapped as he is as well. they shouldn't see this, they shouldn't know, this record should be stricken as it often was from his book during god's lifetime. so he desperately, almost instinctively blocks out gabriel's words, closes his eyes to the world of hell and only cares about wiping out the machine infesting this tomb - yet he knows the two are linked, that gabriel's hell energy in part fuels it, keeps it alive, and he is acutely aware gabriel will simply keep reviving it unless they reduce it to ash...which is highly unlikely given gabriel's insistence on its preservation during the battle. so he wants to leave. he wants to run from this. let them be, let them live in this sin and let hell finally be closed. he genuinely thinks their power would better be spent finding a way to bind this place and put it forever out of their minds.

finally, michael feels wholly responsible for what gabriel has become and like raphael he does see something of the old gabriel, yet he doesn't consider it hell-warped - gabriel always had this evil in him, and without michael's guidance it finally overtook him. his grief chokes him, each of gabriel's insults about his self-inflicted ruination pounding in his skull while the cruelty of his tactics in battle now reflect the only love he has left for that horrible machine. yet his pain is swallowed by his hatred, by being forced to live through all of this again and having to face the weakness in gabriel that fueled his anxiety for eons. he let himself fall, he let himself become this, he failed and now he has to pay for it, he can spend the rest of his days alone in the wastes of treachery gnashing his teeth in his own grief and shouting unintelligible, crude curses at god like the rest of the kin he chose over them. michael wants that machine severed from gabriel's hell energy, and so he plans now to bind it to him once that beast is dismantled.

i'm very interested in this ending with a draw actually (i know I KNOW but hear me out!!!) because i think it would present a dire scenario for the archangels - gabriel, as a fallen angel, opposed their will and chased them back out to heaven. he and the half-hell machine forced a retreat by the highest of heaven. what kind of message would that send to the rest of the fallen, hiding in their shadows and in constant fear of the angels? their rule over them is not absolute. god is gone from them, their power is reduced. the fallen angels begin to appear, they lurk around gabriel's tomb and they call out to him - a leader, where satan failed them in his fixed agony, gabriel rises as one willing and wanting to finally expel god's rule. he and v1 don't particularly care for their reverence, but they do give them much more firepower - and more blood, should gabriel offer a few as sacrifices instead (it only earns them more respect really)

#THIS WAS LONG but i thought it was interesting too!!! #gabriel and v1 as the little freaks accidentally offering hell its first real chance at liberation #while all the husks are like. is this good or bad for us. probably bad huh. #or maybe it's more of a sideways move for them. still bad just. different bad. #cake answers

[100hearteyes]

So many questions after the finale. Here are my thoughts on The Wilds season 2, for whomever feels like wasting their time reading them.

Is the phase 3 control group the girls AND the boys together? I feel like this is as far as the show can go. I would very much like it if it ended in season 3, or if the experiment itself ended in season 3 and season 4 dealt with the consequences as the final season.

The camera cut to Shelby when Gretchen said she had someone on the inside. Do we think Shelby is the new mole? The opening scene of the finale seems to imply that. On the one hand I don't think she would risk worsening for good her relationship with Toni; on the other hand, I could see her making a deal with Gretchen to keep Toni and Martha safe (she knows they're a package deal and Toni wouldn't really be okay if Martha didn't make it out okay too).

Shelby and Toni. Oh, my heart 💔 I hate how everything made sense so I can't even complain about bad writing 🙈 Shelby found happiness in the island, away from a world that hates her. Toni understood her hesitation, and she knows it wouldn't have made a difference anyway, but the moment Martha went catatonic it's evident she wouldn't be able to think about that incident rationally anymore. And I really like how honest she was about it – and how Shelby figured it out so quickly. I have hope that with Martha's recovery they can move forward, but fuckkk it was hard to watch.

Oh and also Shoni had the most beautiful shots. And that sex scene was beautiful 🥲 the cinematographers love them.

Shelby. What a wonderful, complex character (all the girls are). All her decisions and characterization are so, so coherent. We knew where she would end up, but it was still fascinating to watch. Her journey is perhaps the most straightforward, but that doesn't make it any less impactful and authentic. I just really can't wait to see where they take her character next.

Toni. It's funny that she's maybe the character who started season 1 at the lowest, but season 2 is actually where we saw her at her worst. Her verbal lashings (which happened TWICE this season) are vicious. Erana is a great actress (again - all the girls are) and you can physically see all the pain and anger at the world boiling and spilling over, and how she doesn't really mean the things she says but it's the only way she knows of processing her white hot emotions. It says a lot that the only one she didn't verbally attack in the finale was the one she was actually resentful of. Such good writing - like I said, the show shines when it's writing for the girls. And with Toni, you could see her calm and steadiness were bound to break eventually, and it happened in spectacular, heartbreaking fashion.

Which leads me to Martha. It was clear from season 1 that something would happen to her. I'm glad they didn't take the easy route and kill her; this was much more interesting and it means we can keep having her in our lives ❤️ her struggle is so real and I really admire how kind she manages to be despite all that's happened to her. But I also know much she struggles to remain kind and loving and herself, and how the island tested her. Yet she fights for it. It's a stark contrast with mfing Seth.

How... How did Kirin end up being my favorite male character? There were three boys I hated as soon as I laid eyes on them: Raf, Seth, and Kirin. First two creeped the bejeezus out of me from day one and my suspicions were confirmed. Kirin, however – I never expected him to believe Jonathan so fast and stalwartly. He was, along with Ivan and Bo, the only one who NEVER doubted the victim. No surprise Kirin, Ivan, and Bo are my favorites. Also really like Henry. I feel for Jonathan and what he went through so much, but can't really like the character. Scotty is... I kinda like him, but also not?

The writing for the boys improved a lot as the season progressed (they were empty stereotypes in the beginning), but I still think the show is at its best with the girls.

Nora being alive was expected from the moment they showed that DJ had survived. Jeanette was the only actual death because it was a terrible accident and it happened before they even arrived in the island. Fuck, I can't even imagine how Rachel will react when she finds out Nora is alive...

Speaking of Rachel, her character really bloomed in this season. I love how she started out as the hopeless character and in the end she was the one giving everyone hope. It was such an interesting and well written journey, with highs and lows, progress and relapses. It wasn't straightforward, which made it more real.

Dot's breakdown was painful to watch, but a long time coming. I really like how they had her trickle down towards that as the season went, wearing her down with each setback, under the too-heavy weight of expectation of others and herself. And my baby is so strong and empathetic; she made Toni feel better, helped Martha several times, held the fort when no one else could. I really want to give her a big, bone-crushing hug.

Fatin is the real MVP, always has been, and always will be. I ship Shoni and adore both of my girls, but my favorite character is actually Fatin, because how can she possibly Not be everyone's favorite character. She figured the Nora thing out, was psyched to tell Leah she was right all along, told the right person - the person who would be most useful, Shelby - first, was the group mom, always tried to keep the group's spirits up. Her development, although subtler than the others', has been beautiful to watch, and props to Sophia Ali, because she's been on fire throughout both seasons. She's such a joy to watch.

And how can I not talk about Fatin and Leah. I mean... I'm still in that wonderful limbo between shipping it and not, but FUCK they make it hard not to. Sophia and Sarah have really, really great chemistry, regardless of connotation – friendship, romance, even rivalry/animosity at times. They're magnetic on their own and fucking explosive when they're together on screen. And also! Leah confirmed bi/pan! She had a crush on a girl too! You can see the writers toying with the idea of Leah x Fatin, though I honestly don't think they will go there.

And now Leah. Oh my sweet, neurotic Leah. I know she's the least likable of all the girls and some people hate her, but I've said this before and I'll say it again – they're all my babies and I love all of them very, very much. And Leah... Creepy, magnificent Leah is such a great fucking character. Her greatest strength is her pitfall, but then she also knows how to use people's perception of her to her advantage and you can see why she's Gretchen's favorite, despite being the greatest threat to the project. She's just... She's brilliant. And completely fucking unhinged, and brilliant. And I love how the show doesn't shy away from showing just how selfish and psychotic insensitive and damaging for the group she can be, only to then show us all the upsides of her flaws.

As for Gretchen, this show still manages to put me in that awful place where I almost want her to succeed at some points. She's a fascinating character. I hate her, and really want her to fail, but there are moments when you can't help but root for her.

Back to the twist and the groups getting together, I'm not too excited for it to be honest. I expect there will be romance (the EPs already said it in an interview) and I don't know how well that can go. It can turn so cliché so fast. Also don't like the shared amount of screentime. This season managed to strike a very precarious balance where the girls were still the main focus, but only by a little bit, and I really don't want the scales tipped any further in favor of the boys. This is Leah, Fatin, Rachel, Nora, Dot, Shelby, Toni, Martha, and (yes) Gretchen's story, and it should remain that way.

Also, my saying X was bound to happen or Y was expected isn't a criticism of the show. It's actually a compliment. Sometimes there are very logical steps a story should take in order to get the most out of its characters and plot. And The Wilds takes those steps and hits those notes, while still managing to surprise us episode after episode. Love it.

There are probably more things I'll remember and add later, but for now these are my most immediate thoughts on this second season. It wasn't as good as the first one, but it still kept me awake at an ungodly hour because I just couldn't put it down (especially after 2x03/4).

#the wilds spoilers #the wilds season 2 #the wilds #spoilers #my thoughts

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Six: The Break-Up

In which Breekon and Hope are violent deliverymen, the Mother of Puppets is clearly Up To Shenanigans, and Jon realizes something with Michael has gone very, very wrong...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

They are mean to Jon.

It gets fairly (if briefly) violent. You are warned.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER SIX

Michael is gone in the morning, off doing whatever madness monsters do when not bothering Archivists. That’s good, because, Jon’s decided, there will be no further discussion of wooing.

Not until the Unknowing is dealt with, anyway. And if Michael decides to kill him after that, well, the problem will have taken care of itself.

Besides, it’s probably more delusion. Midnight madness after a stressful day is not reality, he tells himself. It’s messing with him. That’s the Occam’s Razor solution.

Unless that’s its influence, and now I’m doubting what’s true because I’ve been literally sleeping next to the embodiment of doubt, but what if this is the reality and last night was the delusion, or maybe—

That way madness lies.

He’s still going to need that door—Beijing is a seven-hour flight, and Jon hates air travel—but before that, he’s going to need the Institute credit card. Michael can take care of transport, but he still needs to eat.

For now, whispers something insidious in his head, and he ignores that, too.

He slinks into the building that feels like home in spite of denial and hopes to see no one he knows.

“Oh, Mister Sims!” calls Rosie, who must have eyes like an owl. “Mister Bouchard had to run an errand, but he left something for you on his desk. Go on in.”

My lucky day, Jon thinks, and immediately squashes it before it can jinx him.

On the desk is a manilla folder with a passport Jon had definitely not posed for, a company credit card in his name, and a note on Elias’s personal stationery. It’s very thick paper stock, and feels amazing to the touch.

No plane ticket.

So. Elias knew (or guessed, please may it be a guess) that Jon was going to China today.

Right. At least Elias wasn’t here to be insufferable and terrifying—

The note says,

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Jon stares at it.

Thinks about last night.

Realizes Elias must have found a way, and probably watched the whole damn thing.

Hopes he enjoyed himself, the bastard.

Jon looks up. There are portraits everywhere here (which makes sense given that Elias can see out of anything with eyes), and for no reason he can determine, he stares down the former Institute Head, James Wright.

“This means nothing,” he informs the painted man, shaking the note at it. “How the hell should I know what you wouldn’t do? This is useless!” He slams the note on the desk and turns to go.

Hesitates. Someone might find it. And they have no reason to connect it to him, but still…

He stuffs it back in the folder, and though he knows portraits can’t laugh (surely that’s not Elias’s power, too), he swears a dry chuckle follows him out the door.

#

Jon needs to leave. He doesn’t want to wait here. He doesn’t want to run into anyone else. And he’s almost out when Martin calls to him.

Jon freezes, hand on the door, fixes a smile on his face, and turns around. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin isn’t breathless, though he clearly jogged; his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright. “I have something for you,” and then he takes Jon’s hand and puts something small into it.

Jon stares down at a tiny toy teddy bear. It is a faded lavender; hard, solid plastic, and covered in a sort of velvety coat.

“It’s, well, it’s sort of a good luck charm, you know?” says Martin. “I’ve won a couple of poetry contests with it, and… never had any accidents, or anything, when I carried it around. So. You have to come back to return it to me, Jonathan Sims, do you hear?” he says, waggling one finger, faux stern.

Jon stares at it. Jon stares at him. “I… you didn’t have to…”

“Come back, Jon, that’s all I’m saying,” says Martin. “Please. I’m so afraid that one of these days, you just… won’t.”

Somehow, this isn’t about just going to Beijing.

Jon blinks away moisture and pockets the bear. “I will. I… I promise, Martin.”

Martin looks happy with that (or is he sad? Both?) and lets him go.

Jon doesn’t quite run from the Institute, but he does hurry. Whatever Tim would say before this trip, good or bad, would be too much after that.

#

Michael will show up when it feels like showing up. It’s not like Jon has a way to call it.

You could touch its scar, he thinks, but that is… far too intimate.

He walks for a while, enjoying the uncharacteristically sunny day. It’s suspiciously nice; he waits for someone from the Vast to zot him with lightning, or a Flesh monster to come squelching out of a storm drain.

Nothing happens.

Chelsea is nice. Very upper-crust, a lovely area; it isn’t busy, and the light breeze in the few trees along the street is relaxing.

And soon, he’ll be breathing air in a different country.

It’s exciting. He has so many questions. He wishes he could spend time there.

He wonders if he’ll be able to read Mandarin (probably not; that would be too easy).

He wonders if the Eye actually likes him.

It would not be a good thing, if it does.

“Wait a minute,” he mumbles, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. With all the (Craziness? Nonsense? Lies?) from last night, Michael never mentioned bringing him back.

Jon groans. They didn’t discuss that, did they? No, they did not.

The first time it offered a door to escape, it dumped him deep in the tunnels under the Institute—and sure, he finally encountered Leitner down there, but that was not exactly helpful for outrunning the monster on his tail.

The second time, it dropped him at Elias’ literal feet, which was unpleasant (scary, exposing), and deeply unhelpful.

Jon frowns. This should probably be negotiated before he takes any doors. While he could get a ticket home with the credit card, it would be tricky without any record of him arriving in the first place.

And unlike Elias, he can’t plant information in people’s minds.

Jon sighs.

Should he go back to work? Go back to the penthouse?

Spinning his wheels simply isn’t his style. Jon slumps. Tim will be unavoidable, but that’s how it is. He turns back.

And runs into the chest of a much larger man, standing right behind him.

“Oh, pardon—” he starts, but the words fall away.

It’s Breekon. Or Hope.

Jon shouts and stumbles backwards.

Right into Hope. Or Breekon.

“Steady there, oi?” says one in the worst Cockney accent anyone has ever pretended, and its hand is on his shoulder.

“Get away from me!” Jon shouts, slapping it off him, not caring who hears, who sees. He tries to run.

They’re so damn fast.

“Now, that’s not nice, is it?” says one, catching him like a butterfly, gripping his arm so hard it nearly wrenches from his shoulder as it lifts him off his feet.

“Not at all, right rude, it is,” says the other, and grabs his face.

They’d figured out pretty quickly that Jon didn't like them touching his face.

He tries to kick.

Might as well have kicked a rock.

“And here we are—”

“—delivering a package—”

“—by hand and all.”

“Should be grateful.”

“Should.”

They're so much larger than he is.

Panic has made him stupid. He’s dropped his bag, is more wriggling than anything else, not going for eyes or anything of use, but he just can’t think, because the last time they did this, they… “I won’t go back to the Circus!” he bellows, vowing it, already making plans to swallow his own tongue or chew out his own arteries or whatever it takes to avoid it.

They both laugh at him.

“Did we say we was taking you there?”

“Don’t listen so good, does he?”

“Big stupid Eye, guess it don’t got no ears,” and they laugh and laugh.

His arm is going numb. He kicks with each word. “Put! Me! Down!”

Breekon or Hope does—with an overhand throw, hard, into the sidewalk.

Jon is dazed. He lies still, gasping up at the spinning, brick-lined street, thinking vaguely that his left shoulder might be broken, and that his death will only make the news because it’s happening in such an upper-class area.

There’s no one here. No one in the windows. No one driving by. It seems obscene they should do this in broad daylight.

They lean over him. One holds up a wide, thin envelope. “This is for you,” says whichever one it is.

Jon stares at them, uncomprehending.

“Think you broke him,” says one.

“Naw, he came that way,” says the other, and they laugh and laugh.

Jon makes a tiny, helpless whine that he hates, and tries to sit up.

Breekon or Hope smacks him in the chest with the envelope. “Take it.”

“It’s for you.”

“Got your name on it, and everything.”

“Wh…w… who is it from?” Jon compels, and feels the question surge with power but without his permission because he knows avatars do not like being compelled and they always, always react with violence.

And they do.

They answer him—they couldn't help that—but whatever the answer was, it’s lost as one of them hits him, too. Suddenly he’s back on the sidewalk, flat out, blinking at two Breekons and two Hopes.

“Gotta sign for it,” they say like that didn’t happen.

So powerful, thinks Jon, and almost laughs hysterically. “Are you serious?”

“‘S wot we do.”

Leaning in: “We’re delivery men.” And for no damn reason, they laugh and laugh.

Jon is shaking as he sits up, and has to fight not to vomit.

He takes the pen he’s handed. Scribbles somewhere on the clipboard (though whether it was anywhere near the signature box, he will never know), and leans on his good hand, head down, as they drop the envelope next to him.

“See you soon,” says one.

“Nikola… didn’t… send you?” he gasps.

And maybe because he didn’t try to compel them that time, or maybe because they just enjoy his fear, they answer. “No need,” says one.

“She got something better,” says the other.

“Just sittin’ around, gatherin’ dust…”

“Grave dust!” And off they are again, laughing.

Jon says nothing more until they leave.

The Eye is doing its thing. All of that would likely have been a hospital trip, otherwise; but his vision has cleared, and whatever cracked in his shoulder seems to be solidifying. His stomach is still twisting, but it’s empty, and that’s his own fault.

He stares at the envelope.

It’s boring. Plain. Nothing but his name on it in block letters.

And there’s no reason for him to know what it is, absolutely no reason for him to already be guessing as he picks it up (don’t do it) (I have to I need to know), but at the last second, some neglected brain cell flips into gear and he does not reach into the envelope.

Instead, he turns it over and dumps it on the sidewalk.

A Guest for Mister Spider stares up at him, objectively innocuous and honestly crude—matte white with scratchy black webs on the corners, its font a half-written, half-carved scrawl.

Mister Spider has not changed. Standing upright, spindly black legs supporting a disturbingly swollen abdomen. It looks like it’s in the middle of a dance; its face is nothing but eyes of all shapes and sizes. And on its head sits a small, red bowler hat—the only color seen.

But not the only color in the book, no. As Mister Spider repeatedly rejects his dinner guests' gifts, the stain of their blood grows and grows, until it covers everything, until even Mister Horse’s son isn’t enough to sate Mister Spider’s bloated appetite.

KNOCK KNOCK. WHO IS IT, MISTER SPIDER?

Jon knows he’s panicking, knows fear is filling all his cracks and crevices and pushing out anything resembling sense because the Web wants him to pick up this book.

He feels it happening—a choice that is not his, a will that is not his own, sour and unfamiliar.

He knows what this is. He’s been here before. He can’t see the webs on his hands, or around his throat, or wherever the fuck they are, but he feels them.

Something wants him to reach for that book, pick it up, read, and head to Mister Spider’s door to be taken.

Except he’s not doing it.

He can’t pull away. Any movement he makes is only toward it. But he’s actually resisting, which should not be possible.

The Eye. Michael said he had protections; the Eye was giving him enough willpower to resist the Web—at least for a while.

That was incredible. But it wasn’t enough.

Jon is breathing hard. He can’t look away, can’t escape. Trying to lean back only leans him forward, trying to move his hand further only inches it near.

He’s shaking now, straining. It isn’t physical; this is a battle of wills.

He’d lost that battle handily when he was eight, when this book caught him fair and square, when that bully (Daniel? Darren?) more than twice his age knocked it out of his hands, and shoved him to the ground, and picked up the book to mock him.

And then was caught in Jon’s place, because he’d touched it.

Instead of being eaten, Jon got to watch Mister Spider eat.

It’s pulling him.

If he calls for help, someone else could touch the book. He can’t let that happen again.

Spots dance in his vision. The Eye’s help is not enough.

His hand has inched closer.

“No!” he wheezes. “No!”

Michael pulls him away.

Long arms around him, sharp fingers nicking clothes and skin as he’s lifted and physically yanked further from the book, and Jon’s body fights without his permission.

“No!” he cries, not trying to fight, not trying to get loose, but his body does it anyway, squirming and writhing toward that square, printed hell.

Michael tosses him into its Corridors.

He hits the weird, yellow carpet in a clumsy pile, and lies there, gasping.

He feels like he got run over.

Wait. Did he?

He feels sick, feels sore.

Was that because of the delivery men, or…

Was that today?

Wait. Did the Web get him?

Wait.

He doesn’t think it did. Did it? He can’t remember.

The last few moments seem so hazy. But something is hurting his hip. He rolls over and sticks his hand in his pocket and finds the little bear.

Martin, he thinks, though he can’t recall if Martin gave it to him or he gave it to Martin.

Wait. Of course he didn’t give it to Martin, it’s here.

“Good lord,” he mutters, sitting up and rubbing his head.

“That took you longer than usual, Archivist,” says Michael, who is, naturally, behind him.

Jon jumps. “How long have you been there?”

“A while.” Michael tilts its head too far, smiling brightly. “That was very nice.”

“What was? My deranged condition?”

Michael laughs.

“Feel like I’ve been put through a concrete mixer,” Jon mutters, leaning forward.

But his limbs are his own.

His will is his own.

The relief is so strong, it almost makes him cry. He slumps forward again, face in his hands.

“The Mother of Puppets really wants your attention,” says Michael cheerfully. “Not that I can blame her. You’re very entertaining.”

“She’d have had me if you hadn’t come along.” Jon sounds rough. Feels rough.

“Yes.”

“I... I owe you.”

“Yes, you do,” says Michael.

Jon’s empty, abused stomach grumbles. “What did you do with the book?”

“What I did last time, which should have been enough—punched through its center to put it to sleep, then threw it into a place that is not. You see? I am helping you, Archivist.”

“Was… was it the same book?” Because then it could be the same as his childhood, because then it could be following him, because then—

Michael is completely uninterested in provenance. “Do you still wish for a door to Beijing? I would think you’d need a rest first—you will hardly make the best impression this way, will you?”

Jon tries to think.

It’s odd, in here. Would be restful, if he let it; thoughts drifting away, letting everything mean its opposite, no longer being sure of guilt or doom or monsterdom.

It should be scary, though. It really should. How broken am I? he wonders. “How… did you know to come just then? Where were you, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s very strange, Archivist,” says Michael in a strangely light tone, one that makes Jon feel like it has actual hackles to raise. “I suddenly knew you were in trouble. Isn’t that funny?”

Jon stares at it. “How?”

Michael smiles. “I think the Mother of Puppets has some sort of stake in your adventure. Or perhaps It Knows You decided to share. Isn’t that nice? Everyone likes you! Though I will remind you, your death is promised to me.”

“Oh. Good,” says Jon just for something to say, and lies back on the carpet.

He’s not spinning. He feels like he’s spinning. Up and down are flexible in this space.

You should be terrified, he reminds himself.

Michael isn’t asking what happened. It doesn’t seem to care. It sits there, watching Jon, as if he’s doing something far more interesting than breathing.

“I do still need to go to Beijing. Um. I also need to come back to London. Is that… included?”

Michael tilts its head.

Jon suddenly has a bad feeling he gave it the idea.

“Yes,” says Michael so magnanimously it might as well be granting him a knighthood.

Jon manages a smile. “Thank you.”

“I lie, Archivist,” it reminds him.

“Not all the time, or you’d just never make sense at all.”

“I make sense?” says Michael with wide-eyed innocence.

Jon laughs. Again.

The damned monster looks overly pleased.

“I think I can go now.” Jon stands, slowly, and sighs. “New clothes. Right. At least these weren’t mine. Oh, damn, my—”

Michael holds up Jon’s bag, which most definitely was not there a moment before. “I did not forget, Archivist. What would you do without me, I wonder?”

“I’d have to beg Elias for a new passport, which is the worst-case scenario,” Jon mutters with a weak smile. He takes the bag. Stares down at it. Realizes his hands are still shaking.

Stop it, he tells them.

“Am I not helpful?”

“Yes, yes.” Then it hits him. “What, you’re ‘wooing’ me again?”

“Of course. It strikes me, upon thought, that this will be a longer project than first expected,” Michael says.

Jon laughs. He has to. What has his life become? “Well, good luck with that. Nobody’s ever managed that project to completion yet.”

“Perhaps they did not ask.”

Jon looks at it.

It knows, he thinks. It knows that Jon has almost no choices in his life right now.

That’s why it kept checking last night. That’s why it’s verbalizing now.

Jon doesn’t have words for what this is. Respect? Consent? None of those are quite right.

“There is blood on you, Archivist,” Michael says, low and pleasant.

Jon looks down at himself.  “Where?”

And it’s behind him, right up against him, hands on his shoulders and fingers reaching all the way to his hips, its presence looming, bending over him so its long, golden curls obscure Jon’s vision, and it grins madly at him upside down.

(Oh good, there’s the missing fear.)

It is very still. “If you wish, Archivist, I will withdraw,” it says.

And he is afraid (how could he not be), but he… doesn’t want it to withdraw. “N… not yet.”

One long, sharp finger brushes the side of his head. “This is where you bled.”

Staring at Michael (he could look away any time he wants), he reaches up, touches, winces.

“It will have healed soon enough, Archivist, but might I suggest you take… a bit of time?”

“I don’t have time. The Uknowing is soon, Michael.”

“You do have time. Here. With me.”

Jon pauses.

Michael can do that—keep people for weeks in here (to Tim and Martin’s shared trauma), releasing them moments from when it snatched them from the world.

But is that right? Is that fair? Why should he get to rest when the rest of the planet—

“Just for a while, Archivist,” Michael says. “Then we shall return, and you shall find new clothing, and wash away the blood. Then, your hands will no longer shake.”

Jon sighs. This day is not at all going to plan. “Yes. I… you know what? Yes. Yes.” He sits down.

It sits with him.

Close. “Your silly Beijing archive will be there,” it says.

Did I acclimate that quickly? I am going crazy, he thinks. “It’s not silly,” Jon mutters, defending a repository of knowledge he’s never seen.

Michael nudges his hand, and Jon looks down to see a small plate with what looks like an ordinary sandwich on it.

It’s not like the weird pastry of the day before—no mind-bending twists, no suspicious extra dimensions. “What is this?”

“Your stomach is very loud,” says Michael as if offended by bodily processes.

The laugh helps. Somehow, this isn’t the same as Elias’ cucumber.

It’s tuna. And it’s not boring. And it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Jon eats, and sits in silence, and dozes, though he did not mean to.

Eventually, he takes Michael’s offered door back to the penthouse, and outside, no time has passed at all.

#

The Pu Songling Research Centre turns out to be a near-complete bust—with two exceptions.

The librarian, Zhang Xiaolin, is friendly and helpful, and her English is very good, which Jon appreciates.

She is seems to think Jon is more interesting than he is. “Elias made a good choice for Archivist,” she tells him. “I did offer him someone, but he thought the language might be too much for him. It doesn’t seem to be a problem now.”

And of course, Jon politely says, “Oh, I suppose not,” because he feels lousy for being lousy at other languages, and it isn’t until he storms out of the library with only one tidbit of information that Michael informs him he’d been hearing and speaking flawless Mandarin for the past half-hour.

“No,” he says, breathless.

Michael thinks that is hilarious.

Jon opens his phone and looks at the statement he’d already recorded, the one he took a picture of in case the tape somehow didn’t make it back (he wasn’t sure yet how the Corridors affected electronics, but he’d be shocked if they didn’t do something), only to find that it was, indeed, Mandarin.

He pulls out his tape recorder. He’d recorded in English; he’d translated the thing on the fly, and hadn’t even noticed.

Michael watches the fumbling of various tools, looking more amused by the moment. “Do you wish to leave now?”

“I…” He shakes his head. Deal with it later, deal with it later. “Can we go somewhere first? From here, Gertrude went to Chicago.”

“Certainly, Archivist,” says Michael, its grin far too wide.

“What?” Jon bristles.

“You are becoming very familiar.”

Jon hunches. “I don’t have to go through your doors, you know. I could just buy a plane ticket.”

“Oh, Archivist… What a beautiful mistake that would be!”

“What do you mean?”

“Trapped in a narrow tube, at the mercy of the Falling Titan, with so little to occupy your mind?” Michael laughs. “You’d eat the fear of every single person on that airplane.”

Something in Jon’s chest abruptly gains a hundred pounds. “I… I wouldn’t. What are you talking about? I have better control than that.”

Michael bends double, to eye-height. “And sitting next to them, stewing, while they hold their stories to themselves… and you feel them, smell them like baked bread, salivate for them and daydream over what they could mean…. For thirteen hours? What do you think would happen, Archivist? Because if you do buy a ticket, I will be there. I want to watch.”

That was the most lascivious thing it had ever said. Even Jon couldn’t miss it.

“All right,” he mutters, looking elsewhere, face burning. “You’ve made your point. But it’s not that I couldn’t do it,” he has to add. For clarity.

Michael brushes its fingertips over his cheek. Such a light touch; tingling. Fond.

It occurs to Jon that it would have benefited from Jon’s unwise plane trip.

Michael warned him. Because Michael knew he wouldn’t want to do that to people.

This is rapidly becoming something far more intimate than Jon expected, and he shudders. “Chicago. If you please.”

It laughs at him and opens a door.

#

He is tired. Dragging. Swears it feels like jet-lag, even though it couldn’t possibly be.

They take a hotel.

Jon is absolutely over Breekon and Hope and Mister Spider, he tells himself, will not jump at shadows and fear more Spider-traps.

Michael lies beside him on the queen-size bed, studying him closely. “May I touch you?”

Jon swallows. “To… to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. You may do that.”

“I would like to do more,” says Michael.

Jon swallows again. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Then I shall not.”

It’s like liquid joy, rushing over him. Choice. When was the last time anyone cared about his choice?

Jon rolls over so it won’t see him tearing up. It’s stupid. This is stupid. It’s a tactic, a technique, that’s all. The thing behind him is a manipulative monster, and—

It begins to stroke his hair. Pointed fingertips, barely touching, running along his scalp.

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.

Tension melts out of his shoulders, his neck, his hands.

It’s really not going to push, he thinks, and without even meaning to, falls asleep.

#

He slept well, yes; but he doesn’t feel like he slept at all.

It’s jet-lag, somehow, he tells himself as he questions people anywhere around Gertrude’s forwarding address in West Pullman.

The rental manager doesn’t know much, but there was another forwarding address to the Usher Foundation in Washington, DC.

And a memory the poor man doesn’t seem to realize scarred him: calliope music in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason.

The Circus was here.

Shaken, Jon takes the forwarding address, then changes his mind. He’s so close—he might as well go and see where Gerard Keay died. There might be more information. “I need to go to Pittsburgh. Can we do that?”

“Of course, Archivist,” purrs Michael. “I am being very good. Do you see?”

He has to laugh. “Yes. Yes, I see,” Jon says, and lets Michael open a door.

The headache starts not long after.

It’s the annoying kind, messing with his vision, playing just a little with his hearing. He has to squint at people, which makes them less inclined to answer simple questions.

He’s lucky to find a nurse at UPMC Presbyterian who remembers Keay, he tells himself. He’s horrified at the knowledge (imparted by the Eye, not the nurse) that Gertrude took a weird joy in pretending to be Gerard’s mother.

Faux maternal roles or not, it sounds like Gerard died alone.

Jon hopes—deeply, desperately hopes—it wasn’t another sacrifice.

“I heard the old lady was arrested,” adds the nurse with the delight that comes of reviving old gossip, so now Jon has to go to the nearest station.

At two-fifteen, he compels a policeman.

He had to, he tells himself. The idiot wouldn’t tell him anything, and Jon’s trying to save his life, too, even if he doesn’t know it. Jon can’t afford to be lied to or blown off. There’s no time.

Even so, he learns almost nothing. It doesn’t help the headache. And now, he feels weirdly, heavily watched, even more than usual.

“We have to go to Washington,” he tells Michael hoarsely, who tilts its head.

“Your god is feeding off you,” it warns him.

Like Jude Perry warned him. Feed your god, or…

Jon scowls. It’s only been a couple of days without a statement. “It can go without supper for a night. Please. Washington.”

“Whatever you say, Archivist.” It opens a door.

He tells himself to be patient. That Gertrude hadn’t intended to be followed, and he’s doing well with what breadcrumbs he has.

Dizziness has joined the headache. It feels like hasn’t eaten in a month. Again.

Even with Michael’s doors, he has precisely enough time to arrive in Washington and check in at the hotel he picked before collapsing right in the lobby.

#

“Welcome back, Archivist,” says Michael, who is draped on top of him in a hotel bed.

It feels… amazing.

His head still hurts. He is still dizzy. But it’s less, somehow, his perception of whatever’s wrong now dimmed.

Michael has dimmed whatever the  Eye was doing to him. Somehow. Michael fits against him, and Jon feels safe.

(Which is wrong.)

Compressed, somehow.

(Weighted blanket of madness!)

He should ask it to get off him.

He doesn’t. ’“Wh…what….”

“You fainted,” says Michael. “I am very impressed, Archivist. Your denial is quite developed.”

“My…” He wriggles his feet. It took off his shoes. “What happened?”

“You took and took, and did not feed your god, so it fed on you,” says Michael, cheerfully. “I carried you. You see? I am your friend.”

Jon cannot imagine the scene it must have caused, or what anyone might have thought of a six and a half foot blond man, grinning and carrying Jon like an unconscious bride.

He squinches his eyes closed. Almost laughs, but doesn’t have the energy.

He still doesn’t ask it to get off him.

This, he decides, feels very good.

“You have a present,” says Michael.

Fear spikes.

“No,” says Michael, patient. “Not from the Mother.” And it holds up an airmail packet.

The post-date is about five minutes after he’d made the reservation at this hotel.

Jon stares at it. Grabs it. Sits up.

Michael slides off him like heavy sheets and presses right up next to him, watching his response.

Jon is glad it did not pull away. He dares not analyze that now.

Inside are two statements and another note on fine stationery.

To tide you over.

Jon had picked this hotel, he thought, at random. It looked nice; it was near the Usher Foundation. He’d gotten the reservation that afternoon.

“This is not happening,” mutters Jon.

Michael leans even closer to look. “Oh, my,” it says.

“How the hell did he know?” Jon says.

“He watches you with great interest, Archivist,” says Michael. Its hair has fallen over his arm, onto his hands, onto the statements.

“Is anybody not watching?” he snaps.

Michael just chuckles.

Jon wants to say something truly caustic, but he can’t. He’s reading, and he forgets everything else.

It’s a horrible story, of course. They all are; that’s the entire point.

He devours it, a starving man, lives its fear, the smell of smoke and the terror of open flame, the cruelty of the Desolation, and the Eye drinks it in, not requiring a new story, just requiring his experience as the flair that gives it flavor.

He’s panting when he’s done, flushed. The headache is gone.

He thrums with energy.

Michael watches.

“How did he know I needed this?” whispers Jon. “Am I addicted?”

“You have needs, Archivist. All living things do.” Michael’s tone is almost… gentle.

Almost.

Jon doesn’t like this.

A year ago, he could’ve gone a week without a statement, easily.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I’m turning into a monster, Jon thinks, and it panics him. “I am not the same as you,” he suddenly snaps, yanking away from it to stalk beside the bed.

Michael looks startled, but says nothing.

And the terrible thing is that Jon feels amazing. Incredible. Revived by another person’s horror.

It’s terrifying.

“A living tale will last you longer, of course,” says Michael, “but I suspect you already know that.”

Jon rips the statement to shreds.

It’s childish, but it feels better. He looks around—yes, one of the paintings has people in it, a group of ladies in 19th-century clothing, sitting in a garden.

“Is he watching?” says Jon.

“I wouldn’t know, Archivist,” says Michael.

He flips them off, anyway.

Then he tries to lift the painting and turn it around, but it is stuck to the wall somehow. So he fetches a towel from the bathroom and drapes it over. “Take that,” he mutters.

“You should… rest, Archivist,” says Michael, sounding oddly confused.

Jon narrows his eyes. “What?” he snaps. “Why are you talking like that? Don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ or give me ridiculous answers.”

“I… dislike becoming without a choice,” says Michael, and frowns. “But I ought not.” It looks at him.

This is not a good look.

Jon takes a step back.

Something is going on behind its eyes.

Something fraught, embattled. A resentment peers through, with confusion—a glimpse of the monster, the thing that plays with people until they die, disorientated, in its halls. Behind is the thing that looked upon him to kill him in the Circus’ ugly warehouse, that does not view him with amusement, or whatever it is Michael normally projects.

That, Jon realizes, is not Michael. He takes another step back.

“I should be enjoying this, Archivist,” says Michael, and its tone is poison. It rises from the bed without bones like some kind of weird serpent, and looms there, bent slightly to accommodate the height of the room.

Jon swallows. “I’m not becoming,” he whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say. “It’s not that.”

“Oh, you are, Archivist. Truly, I am witnessing a beautiful thing—the slicing away of your humanity, the becoming of that which no longer suffers from pointless, useless hesitation, but I do not like it. And. I. Should.”

When did it get closer?

It doesn't feel like Michael at all, right now.

So close, looming. Blocking out the light from the room, its hair caging him in on either side. He stares up at it, frozen.

“Why am I not enjoying this, Archivist?” It touches his face, but this… this is a threat, he knows it is a threat, and stays very still. “Did you do something to me, perhaps? Are you changing my nature? Or… is it this… of the pointless self your Gertrude burned into my being?”

“She’s not my Gertrude.” The denial comes fast, quick. Breathless. “Very much not my Gertrude.”

“No,” says Michael, thoughtful, soft. Its fingertips drag down his cheek just a tiny bit, and they draw blood.

He flinches.

“No,” says Michael again. “You are not like her at all.” And then it… shrinks, without shrinking, withdraws and piles back onto the bed with a flourish that would make Elias proud, and just looks at him.

Jon sits shakily on the chair by the bed and thinks.

Was that another part of the Spiral, looking at him for a moment there, another limb, to use Michael’s own analogy?

It was bad. That was sure. “Am I hurting you, Michael?” he says, softly. “Hurting you, somehow? By my… whatever it is I give off. Exude. Am I doing you harm?”

“Would you care if you were, Archivist?” Michael sounds like itself again, like that hadn’t happened. “You need me, after all.”

“Not enough to do you harm,” says Jon. “I could manage without you. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could do it. And if I’m… if I’m harming you…”

Michael suddenly laughs. “Are you breaking up with me, Archivist?”

Jon sputters. “Be serious!”

“I am, Archivist. This is new territory for me, as well—and unlike you, it is not in my nature to… take in knowledge in this way. Yes; I will say, for now, that perhaps you do hurt me.”

“I,” Jon stammers, horrified.

“You have protections. To enter your dreams each night… it pains me, Archivist. It burns, like passing through a skin of fire.”

Jon gasps. “We can part ways for a while! I… I’m already in DC, I can… I don’t know, maybe they won’t ask too many questions. I can get a ticket back, I…”

It suddenly laughs. “Oh, Archivist, the look on your face!” It’s on its back, holding itself as if its sides are ready to split, and its fingers are poking holes in the bed linens.

“What?” Jon says.

“I hardly have to do anything,” it cackles, and waggles its fingers at him. “You create all your doubt, all your fear, all by yourself.”

Jon stills.

A month ago, before Nikola, he’d have fallen for this.

He knows he would. Occam’s Razor—it was making fun of him again, having a quick snack on his insecurities.

But it has been quite a month, and whatever can be said about becoming, unwilling or not… he is stronger.

He knows it is lying. “Michael.”

“Oh, let me enjoy this for just a moment more, Archivist!”

“Michael, I know you’re lying to me.”

It stops.

The other peers out from behind those human-like eyes again, and Jon can see now that this is indeed more of what Michael is, not something different, but more of the Spiral, more of its attention than he had before.

It is confused, and it is angry.

He is terrified.

“That is a sentence,” says Michael.

“Would it help you to spend the night away from me?” says Jon.

“It would not help you, Archivist.”

“Answer the question.” And he did not mean to put power into that, did not mean to try to compel the embodiment of delusion, but it happened, just happened.

“Yes,” says Michael, and then looks utterly shocked.

They both stare at each other.

I just compelled a god, he thinks, and swallows.

“Very powerful,” says Michael, like a sweet nothing, and stands. “Shall I do this, Archivist? Leave you to your own devices? You are not very safe, without me.”

“You’re not safe with me, apparently,” says Jon. “So that’s my choice. Go. For… for a while.”

Without another word, it walks to the wall, where a yellow door—utterly incongruous in this place—appears. It walks through, and takes the door with it.

It respected his choice. At once. Jon is shaken.

And he can see something where the door was. An outline of some kind. Fading, but there—a remnant of Michael’s power.

That’s… new.

He swallows.

Stop the Unknowing, he tells himself. That’s why you’re doing this. That’s why…

There’s no going back, though. Every step he takes is one-way.

Just how much of a monster is he going to be by the time this is all done?

Will he still be himself?

There’s no answer to that. There can’t be. The Eye doesn’t know the future.

But it is eager to see.

He misses Michael. That didn’t take long.

Jon goes to bed without dinner, vaguely satisfied with punishing himself the only way he can.

part seven

#tma au #tma fic #jonathan sims #johnathan sims #michael distortion #tma michael #elias bouchard #martin blackwood #tim stoker #and eat it too

[tiger-moran]

The Shape of the Skull

What I liked about it: Moriarty being completely controlling even as a small child and people being unnerved by/afraid of him even then and him getting other boys to do his bidding for him and him being a brilliant mimic and actor and him managing to steal something he wants.

What I didn't like about it: I don't know, I just didn't love the story itself even though I think a lot about his character was how I imagine him to have been as a child. I think I would have liked it a lot more from a third person POV not from the POV of an OC.

Was Moran in it: no, I guess it's before Moriarty met Moran

Would I read it again: probably

-

A Function of Probability

What I liked about it: Moriarty being capable of carrying out some schemes himself. Him having set up different aliases across the continent. That when a client tries to cheat him Moriarty promptly has him 'dealt with'.

What I didn't like about it: Moriarty calls himself a "loyal subject of her majesty and the empire" and I sure hope he was being ironic but it didn't sound like he was. Moran is mentioned but apparently he messed something up badly and it's implied if he doesn't make amends pretty soon he would be, uh, got rid of. It didn't sound like they were close at all.

Was Moran in it: no

Would I read it again: probably

-

The Perfect Crime

What I liked about it: referencing Dodgson AKA Lewis Carroll and Moriarty being acquainted with him. The idea of Moriarty setting up a 'perfect crime' itself. The playing with the idea of Memento Mori.

What I didn't like about it: Moriarty isn't actually in it, this is set presumably way after he's died. And it just seems very cruel, what happens to the main character in it. Moriarty's 'perfect crime' ends up happening to him just because he happened to find the 'weapon' when it was never intended to be used against him. It's an interesting idea, the perfect crime, but I hate what the author did with it. And I guess Dodgson is meant to have solved Moriarty's 'riddle' hence why he never opened the bottle? But then why would he keep it? Why not bury it or take it to the middle of nowhere and smash it or something? Also would it really be that dangerous after all that time anyway?

Was Moran in it: no. Moriarty wasn't even in it

Would I read it again: no

#James Moriarty #Professor Moriarty #The Adventures of Moriarty

[vaicomcas]

how did the Spn writers get away with The Empty fiasco?

I wnatedto confirm something so I went on the wiki page and they just contradicted everything over time

I makes me so angry

but also the relationship between billie and shadow makes me curious, she threatned to throw sam and dean in empty when she was just a reaper

while the shadow itself confirmed that God not having power over its domain was a lie.

How did Billie have that power? does that mean any reaper can do that?

then why didn't the OG death send Godstiel to empty? wouldn't that have solved the levaithan probelm?

Good question about how Billie would have had the power to throw Sam and Dean into the Empty. Also Billie seems always very serious about upholding rules. So not only wouldn't she have the power, it would be OOC for her to abuse her power like that.

One possibility is that was just Billie's expression of her disdain for the Winchesters keep being resurrected. Another plausible explanation I can think of, is this would not have violated the rules. That Sam and Dean were already destined to go to the Empty when they die. Which meant, they were not human anymore after having been resurrected too many times. Of course then both went to heaven in the finale, but perhaps that's because Chuck's rules no longer applied (and they were always exempt from the show's rules anyway).

The whole OG Death and how he dealt with the situation in 7x01 made zero sense and was just the Winchesters prevailing over any logic and cohesion of the narrative. He got enslaved by two humans and then does nothing to retaliate after freed by Godstiel?

Death not sending Godstiel to the Empty on his own accord was probably because he didn't generally kill anybody who wasn't "supposed to" die already (as he tried to show Dean when he made Dean death for a day, there is a natural order of life and death, and Death upholds it and does not interfere). He probably doesn't see the Leviathan or the resulting death of humans as a problem for him, but just part of the story of the world that unfolds which he stands outside of.

It sort of calls into the question of whether "the natural order" was decreed by God. Because they presented Death as being equal to God ("in the end I will reap God too") it would suggest the natural order was outside of God's domain. But God created life (and with it death), so how could the rules of life and death have stood indepdent of God?

I also hated that they made Billie a villain in the last minute. Like if Billie wanted to kill all the people who had been resurrected due to Chuck's manipulation of the rules, she could have done so already. She was Death. If OG death could be enslaved to kill, it meant that Death has the power to kill anybody they wanted.

I could keep going down rabbit holes, but it's not going to be fruitful trying to make sense of all the plot points. There is always going to be the need to "suspend disbelief" for any fantasy stories to make the story work. When there are that many seasons and so many different writers espcially I can see how it may be difficult to keep things straight. But sometimes the contrivance is so excessive it's hard to overlook it even if you want to believe. Sometimes (as the case with myself) one doesn't want to be cooperative with the writers' intention making those inconsistencies even more glaring.

[diaryofahealingbxtch]

He didn’t make the bed again.

I’ve been trying to feel like I have my shit together, so I started making my bed. Then I went off to work for once and when I came home my new habit hadn’t caught on to him. I hate to nag. I don’t want to fight. But it irks me that he cannot take it seriously.

“Why does it even matter?”

Because it feels nice, to come and lay in a nicely made bed after a long day. We are privileged to have such a mattress and warm blankets and sheets to dress it with. It’s not about the bed looking nice, it’s about feeling nice.

He just scoffed and mockingly said okay while haphazardly tossing the top sheet and blanket on.

“It’s just gonna get ruined again anyways I never made the bed my whole life.”

Well, it’s time for a change. We’re married now. We have such a luxury to be where we are at our age. Our peers have mostly seemed to lack in the “forever found love” department. I suppose it is a luxury within itself to be upset over an untidy bed. Of course there’s bigger issues to be dealt with.. but in my small speck of a life on this big floating orb, I care about coming into my bed and being able to peacefully move about under the blankets. I hate fumbling and fighting to find what side is correct so we can share equal parts of the soft cloth while I’m ready to unwind from all the prior struggles of the day.

Cleanliness has correlation with mental health, mental health has correlation with sleep. How can I focus on my sleep when I’m too focused on the crumpled ball of blankets and missing sheet?

[ulircursed]

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

zinnia :   how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ?   has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

BOTANICAL HEADCANONS (no longer accepting!)

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

For all that he tries to appear as uncompromisable as he can in front of others, especially if he feels like something like pride or reputation is at stake, Andrei isn’t the most emotionally fortified person at his core, and is more easily shaken and even saddened by failure, fear or negative circumstances than he tries to be.

His responses... well, in public he tends to force himself to power through it, sometimes covering what weaknesses he has with a shield of apathy, anger or cruelty depending on the situation. In private, he does cry when he needs to, and while he does absolutely think of this as a weakness, it's also something that he feels is inevitable, if disappointing for someone like him who had no chance of living up to worthiness to begin with, so he just tries to keep it under wraps as much as possible.

In short, he tries to handle ‘weaker feelings’ on his own time, while minimizing their effects on his public, day-to-day life. How successful he is at it depends on what the stressor is and who he’s trying to interact with, but being able to keep a cool facade is a skill that he considers highly important and tries to utilize as often as he can.

zinnia :   how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ?   has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

In the arena event I joked that Andrei liked his mental health better before, when he didn’t care as much whether his individual allies lived or died, and that is to an extent true. Fallen comrades were less of a concern to him when he commanded the Beige Ritter, and it wasn’t until coming to Garreg Mach and going on a mission where he saw a comrade he’d come to care for immediately die in the next battle that it began to affect him.

And, well...... he hates it!! Caring is painful!! If something that didn’t give him any trauma before gives him trauma now, he’s not exactly going to be thrilled about it. But it’s also not something he can simply ‘turn off’ on a whim, and even now, if the circumstances are similar enough (after that initial friend, there are now a small handful of people whose deaths he’ll personally care about, much to his chagrin), he’ll find his attention split between focusing on the enemy and checking on the state of his allies. (Which he also hates, since it’s not often that he, an archer, can actually do anything before it’s too late anyway, and really it just puts himself in more danger for little gain...)

As for loved ones, hmm. I’m going to talk about Ring here, because while their relationship was tumultuous, I don’t believe that there were truly no positive feelings at all between Andrei and his father. I keep saying this, but I am of the firm stance that Ring was, objectively, an ok~good dad. He was tougher on Andrei than on Edain, I’m sure, because he needed to prepare his son for a position neither of them believed he could satisfactorily fill, but I don’t think he was cruel or abusive to Andrei, nor do I think he didn’t love his son.

And so I feel Andrei did have some sort of love-hate relationship with his father, enough that the act of patricide itself did elicit intense self-disgust at his own actions. He tries to downplay this in his own mind, focusing instead on reflecting upon the fact that he’d killed their family’s sole remaining major blood (which also sparks self-disgust, but at slightly less cost to his... sanity) (because it becomes less about the fresh revelation that he is a monster who is capable of killing the ones he loves, and more about oh look, the unworthy heir is overstepping his station, what else is new, he’s dealt with this literally his whole life), and further justifying it as for the good of Yngvi, but honestly... Ring’s murder was basically the first step on Andrei’s path of ultimate self-destruction that culminated in his final battle with Brigid (where he absolutely expected and wanted to die), and everything after that (coming to TOA) is just him realizing he’s not about to get that wish anytime soon, and thus trying to pick up what pieces of self-image he still has, most if not all of which he had given up as lost from the moment he released the arrow into Ring’s heart.

#➵ brave bow (headcanon) #thank you!! #it's long and kind of sad as usual... and uhhh #cw suicidal ideation #just a little but i thought i'd tag it to be safe