#didn’t see these on my dash YET this felt compelled to post

[twicethedreamshalfthelove]

from geoff’s instagram story

#i out loud said AH!! #hes so real for this #geoff rickly #geoff #didn’t see these on my dash YET this felt compelled to post #c.jpg

[junhuiste]

break the code (ex-wip)

pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader

wc: 1900

tags/warning: basketball!soonyoung, college au, slightly suggestive language, cursing

a/n: this was something i started way back in 2017 when i was 15 lol and i tried going back to it and finishing but i just can’t seem to continue it!! but i don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so i’m just going to post the unfinished wip! i might do this with a lot of wips i’ve had collecting dust over the years (and they’re like 99% svt lol); if i ever do find some stroke of inspo to finish it i might but for now enjoy the 1900 words i wrote when i was a sophomore

“But babe, you’ll sit on my side, right?” Soonyoung continued to pester you with countless little questions to which he knew the exact answers to.

You pursed your lips at your boyfriend; mild sorrow and guilt clouded your eyes. In return he pout your favorite pair of plush pillows to kiss, with dull bleakness and dismals fogging his irises. It was hard, really, to resist the pull of a magnet, who was trying every trick in the book to coerce you to sit on his school’s side of the bleachers for the upcoming basketball game on Friday.

Had it been that both of you were just your run-of-the-mill university couple, tachycardia would’ve caused you to blurt out “yes” instantaneously just by being gazed upon by Soonyoung, but alas, the big guy upstairs made it to be so that you technically couldn’t through the rulebook of the sibling code.

A flushed palm extended to your denim-covered thighs, with the utmost desire lacing his fingers.

“Pretty please? With a cherry on top?” His digits creeped towards your inner thigh, getting closer to the actual cherry he wanted on top.

“Soonyoung, no matter how well you do me, I’m still obligated to sit on my side of the bleachers.”

None of Soonyoung’s coercions could persuade you to decide about where to sit. You really would’ve preferred to sit on his side, but with your current situation, none of that was possible. It was a precarious oscillation between blood and water, and neither did you want to drown in with regret for embracing one over another.

“Fine. If you can’t cheer me on–which is a pitiful shame–let me take you out to eat after the game. And we can make out in my car or something so he won’t have to know.” Soonyoung’s gaze no longer held flashes of fervor, but rather a decadent gleam of sheer admiration.

“It’s a done deal, but you better promise me to dunk on him, or be prepared to get dunked on by him. As of right now, however, you owe me some kisses for making me wobble continuously back and forth between your side and his before I go,” you taunted, “come here you little rascal.”

Soonyoung gleamed at you piercingly, yielding you to lean forward against him as a shock of joy sparked up your back. His hand feathered along the back of your thigh, brushing it so longingly, with a tinge of impertinence here and there. You could feel the urgency radiating from him as he struggled to press you even closer to him, as there were no more gaps to be filled. He grasped your chin gingerly, before connecting his lips with yours, wanting to revel in dire coalescence he’d been awaiting upon your arrival.

Soonyoung is the warm bath you dip yourself into after constant exhaustion, the meager yet compelling and needed breeze as the sun beats down you, the red mark that’s actually relieving and boasts “A+” on a hard worked assignment, the last basket shot as the clock dashes away with the snickering seconds, and he is what has you torn on where your loyalty stands, but you can’t thank him enough for that strife.

You pulled away first because getting you two to separate would be a long ass haul, and maybe it was also getting late, just maybe. Your eyes glimpsed at the badgering hands that indicated 11:35 PM, and nothing but a sullen sigh managed to escape your lips.

It wasn’t fair, how time sashayed away, but there were no seconds left to spare to sulk about it, so you caressed the tranquility Soonyoung’s face possessed and left a lingering peck upon it. Knowing him, you’d expected him to grip your waist and pull you down with him into the waters of his joyous yet yearning ways but the coal haired boy enveloped you in an enticing embrace and with his lips hovering slightly above your ear, whispered, “Tell him to get ready.”

“I swear to God, I hate basketball,” your brother exhaled out in utter annoyance, to which you furrowed your brows at.

You always shifted in your seat restlessly, your heart palpitating at an ungodly speed of McQueen, eyes sought frantically to avoid meeting your brother’s, upon the dreaded word of “basketball” ringing in your ears. It wasn’t that you abhorred it, no, not at all; you absolutely appreciated the art of dunking and the pleasing note of swish through the hoop, but just not the people you knew personally who partook in it.

There’s always a Montague and Capulet narrative happening somewhere in the universe, always, and it just so happened that you were struck with the curse by some godforsaken entity of destiny of landing a role in your life as the fresh faced, ever so naive, youngest member of the Capulets–Juliet. And you dreaded the direction your supposed fairytale was headed the first time your boyfriend asked you to watch his basketball game, which oddly enough, was the same one your brother requested you to “bring all your hot friends” to.

As strange as it sounded, it wasn’t your brother’s undeniable libido for your friends that irked you and made you hesitate going to a basketball game, to which you’ve never thought twice about before, but it was the statement of, “God I am going to crush number 10’s ass.”

Number 10. Number fucking 10. Of course, it had to be the player that sweat through blue polyester and nylon, donning number 10 in white on the front and back. It could have been player number 13 or 17, for God’s sake it could have even been a negative number sported on the jersey, yet it all had to align in the cosmos to be player number 10.

You didn’t certainly deem ESP to be something legitimate, but on that day you swore to god your mind fucked you royally in the ass and placed you in Soonyoung’s dorm room the night before. It was nothing out of the ordinary, really, nothing but the sight of a teenage boy’s niche, because a lot of basketball players had to have chosen the number 10 for their jersey, right?

The environment malfunctioned instantaneously with the repetition of “I am going to crush number 10’s ass” circling about a short circuit in your mind. From that moment onward, the sight of the jersey was unquestionably more radiant that it could have ever been, with the blinding, white number ten atop Soonyoung’s chair cackling obstreperously at your oh shit moment. Tuning in to your brother slander your university’s rival, Soonyoung’s school, was always such a joy (not) to participate in.

Every “basketball” here and there snagged you by the ear and dragged you to hell and back with it, provoking the cracks of your palm to drench in sweat and legs to quiver more than you had felt around Soonyoung before dating him.

“Yeah I mean it’s not like you’ve worked your entire ass off the past 4 years or so to even set foot on the college court you've been dreaming of since you were 13!” Diverting your brother’s mental debate on his love of the sport, it was a necessity to pluck something else from thin air to talk about, and not your school’s rival when they had games against each other, which was seemingly a bloodbath in their perspective.

Trying to escape your brother’s trash talk of Soonyoung’s team was walking through an eternal, pitch black, underground tunnel, no goddamn escape.

“They only got us last time because of number 10’s foolery. Jesus Christ, the kid better slow down or he’s wasting stamina. Can’t believe he holds the title of captain, like me. I motherfucking swear to God if I have to listen to his loud ass winning chant–” yadah yadah, number 10 this, number 10 that.

You would have dozed off to your brother’s lovely lullaby of scorn towards your boyfriend had it not been for a text…from your boyfriend.

[spoonyoung]

hii hiiiii heyyyy hello bby Hhhii babe i miss youuuuu hi!

[y/n]

i can tell u’re tired :( don’t be

[spoonyoung]

he's going to crush me dang flabbit

y/n

so ur nervous ??? bby it’s just a game istg,,both of you treat it like warfare

[incoming call: spoonyoung]

Shit, what the hell? This bitch, right now? In this economy, at this time?

Inside your chest was a drumline pounding, giving it their all, threatening to burst out and announce to your brother that “Hey, your rival is dating your sister! They’re probably going to fuck later but you don’t know about any of it!”

You would plummet into poignancy if you didn’t pick up his call, because there was no chance you could see him everyday, so honestly fuck that you guys attended different schools, and resorting to calling each other did bring both of you to ease, but not at this goddamn, forsaken time, with one you love phoning you with 17,000 vibrations per second, and the other idiot you were practically forced to love, perched next to you, indignantly gripping the wheel with such force you couldn’t decide which one generated more turbulence within you.

Tensely clutching what was now a scorching piece of metal, you held it up conscientiously to your ear, and forced yourself to breathe out calmly and collectively. Every single mention, tidbit and strand, bob and fragment of Soonyoung that was mentioned around you when you were with your brother grabbed your trachea in its firm hold and forced the wind out of you.

“Hey, Hoshi,” you managed to choke out in a level headed manner.

Hoshi. That was what you and Soonyoung agreed to nickname him if you ever picked up a call from him around your brother or his teammates, but god forbid you were actually allowed to have a life of any sort!

“Babe,” Soonyoung mewled out from the other line, “I actually can’t do this. Don’t tell him, but your brother is really good...of course he is.”

Frowning because of Soonyoung’s lack of usual mirth and brimming confidence, you sighed, “If you let it get to you, then your thoughts affect your actions, and you don’t want that to happen right? You’ll be fine...and I’m not just saying this to say something, but you’re really good too, and you can’t let one person bring your entire mood down...even if...you know…”

“Will you at least come with me to my dorm after the game?”

“Oh you know I’ll be doing more than that,” giggling into your phone, trying to sound as enticing as possible, completely engrossed in this very conversation, as it was all the time talking with Soonyoung.

Both of you had a habit of drastically turning your talks from upside downs to those of obvious elation. They were conversations sometimes needed to be kept in the comforting privacy, selfishly not wanting to let anyone else in on the baby i missed you’s and the do you need anything from the boba shop’s and literally you don’t have the right to look this good’s.

Startled by the grunting and hacking oh so wonderfully expired by the total jackass to your left, you contended to the third degree, with the patience that was never really there starting to thin out, “Do you need something?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Soonyoung to call coincidentally at the times you were with—more like right next to—his rival, probably because his

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #hoshi #hoshi imagines #hoshi scenarios #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung scenarios #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hoshi fluff

[monkey-network]

Why Klaus IS Christmas Kino

Klaus isn’t flawless, let’s get this out the way. My love for this film won’t deny that it bears a couple nits that can distract the experience. Jesper and Alva’s relationship felt like an eye-rolling inevitability, notable cliches here & there, a notable song felt both fitting and out of place, and while enjoyable, I’m not as big a fan of the climax as I thought. But in spite of it all, I love this film and it is one of the best modern animated Christmas films, period? Follow me here. I could go on about its wonderful animation cuz yeah, it’s unlike any other film. But a philosophy of mine is that the best animation enhances the writing and I can say Klaus is that surprisingly well written and has become an all time Christmas fave

*deep breath in* So let’s do this...

I mention that Klaus has its cliches, but you gotta know that it’s smarter than expected. Believe me when I say if the writers didn’t care, this could’ve actually been so much worse. Jesper could’ve been more manipulative towards everyone for his goals, Klaus would’ve given up entirely after knowing the truth about Jesper, we could’ve had an argument between Jesper and his dad about upholding business, the townsfolk could’ve reverted back to their old ways, plenty writing moments where this could’ve been Emoji Movie levels of insulting to your intellect. BUT, they don’t. The film never really turns back on itself, it keeps moving where, as the notable quote goes, an act of good will sparks another as it starts with Jesper’s father.

Even if nepotism was responsible for Jesper getting the job in the first place, he clearly sees his son be more spoiled than he’s worth so is like, “Ma boi, I will send you to the ends of the earth or leave you to the streets if you don’t do something with yourself.” He never cared about his son representing the postal company, or ruining his top class image, he was only tired of Jesper taking advantage of his fortune while not having any ambition of his own. Can’t help but say Jesper’s dad is a very respectable character because the sole reason the whole plot happened in the first place was because he just wanted his son to do better. It’s that act of genuine consideration that pushes Jesper to his wake up call as he reaches Smeerensburg.

People have compared this movie to Emperor’s New Groove through Jesper’s character and I say yes, but this film takes that next step and put Jesper in the pit of pits way early. Reminds me more of Ratatouille’s beginning where Remy’s lowest point is around the same time as Jesper’s. The harsh atmosphere of the island is treated very blunt in how this is our mailman’s nightmare come true. With his situation, our guy is truly at his lowest. Gives up now, he’ll be cut off his inheritance and probably will have worse. Everyone hates him and each other, his post office itself is in shambles, symbolic of how communication is practically thin outside conflict, and the teacher turned fish seller Alva is that path Jesper could notably be if he didn’t try. Everything is literally grey for this guy, but like Ratatouille, when you’re at your lowest there’s no where else to go but up. That’s where Klaus comes in...

This is genuinely the most clever interpretation of Santa I know, hands down. A well established woodsman, a crafter both of living, for him and the birds that reside in his woods, and recreation with the toys he made himself not just for kids, but specifically the kids he and his wife wanted but couldn’t have. Klaus feels like a real person, not just another take on the mythical man. You’re with him and Jesper as he, after familiar winds provide him a letter, a small spark to do something good, soon opens up and gets reminded of what’s kept him going all these years. It is no wonder he sees his wife in Jesper, it’s thanks to him that he could refurbish his dashed dream into a new one. He didn’t just want to do it for the children of the island, but for himself. That is another thing about this film: communication. I mention before how it’s practically thin at first due to a long going feud that isn’t even aware of why it’s still going. The joy in hate is only for hatred’s sake, and they make it very clear how miserable it all feels. That is where Jesper comes in. They don’t take shortcuts with how he gets the ball rolling, both accidentally and purposefully, he boots up to get things done, pushes himself to go to Klaus to make things happen. This is all in part by the youth, what really ties the plot together...

As I mentioned before (again), life in Smeerensburg is noticeably miserable but thanks to Klaus, by extension Jesper, the kids are enticed to do what it takes to get some genuine joy in their lives through the toys they’re able to get. They’ll make them letters, and if they can’t write, they’ll go to Alva for teachings, and if they act naughty, they’ll try to do good which in turn pushes the adults to do good for the sake of their kids. It really would’ve been one thing to sure enough make the kids spoiled because of the toy giving, focusing more on the extrinsic value of Klaus’s kindness but no. The children are very grateful for these gifts enough to feel compelled to do good, and it makes them feel good as much as it soon makes the adults more convinced to stop fighting. It helps that this all takes place in older times cuz I believe this would’ve been far different, possibly worse, if this took place in modern times. That or just kinda rip off Arthur Christmas, it’s my guess. As such, it gradually becomes an amazing Christmas film because it isn’t just the presents, the Santa Claus myth, the festive style of it all that makes this holiday special to me. It’s the warmth... of togetherness.

My favorite detail about Klaus is how it transitions from cold to warm with its atmosphere. We start out with the emptiest, harshest environment, enough fog to choke your eyes, and then we get to this moment with a brighter, clearer sight of the more united town as the Christmas spirit builds in the film, even when it isn’t even that day yet in-universe, so too does the warmhearted feeling that can come from celebrating it appear more and more. This film fleshes out more of what the Grinch taught me, what A Charlie Brown Christmas taught me, what I’ve come to appreciate about Christmas as I grew up in this materialistic world. I can say everyday can have the Holiday spirit, but Christmas is the time where I feel compelled to be grateful of what I’ve made and got and give back when honestly, I don’t care about getting the most expensive stuff anymore like I used to when I was way younger. This film is so sincere in what it wants to say, and you know this is indeed the same guy that made Minions. Yeah, not kidding and I’ll let you sit with that if you’re reading this as I continue because we have to talk about that moment...

Yeah, I don’t like being the Nostalgia Critic, but I too don’t take kindly to the ‘liar reveal’ trope myself and this could’ve been a point where the film lost me a little. Though you know what? It still works. See, with that trope, what sucks is that it can tend to unravel the plot to where you know as soon as they break apart, they’ll get back together regardless of the deed done. This is why I don’t like A Bug’s Life, don’t @ me. But I’m not saying it can’t done right, like in Over the Hedge. The breakup between Jesper and the others is painful, but it is necessary to give us a couple great character moments. One is with Jesper and his dad, who came back personally to see that Jesper has indeed built something for himself. We get no dialogue between them but it’s clear that even when Jesper’s unintentionally successful thanks to Yzma and Bubba, he can tell his son wasn’t happy leaving everything behind, so he lets him stay since that was what he truly wanted this whole time. Again, give that man some credit for amazing dad. Another moment comes before the big reveal where not only do we see Jesper come to understand his own guilt surrounding his original intentions, but in the end they never hated him for coming back, especially due to him inadvertently stopping the enemy feud all together. Lastly, without that moment, we probably wouldn’t have got this smile. When Margu, purest character ever that I could make a whole segment about but I don’t wanna keep you too long, started to tear up after calling for Jesper thinking he left for good but she then sees our guy never really left and we get this teary smile:

I felt that. Almost more than anything else in this film.

Cliched as it can appear, the execution excels in those more memorable emotions for this film. It’s been a year since I watched this again and I remember so much about these characters. And my god, I haven’t even gotten to the animation which... my god.

Klaus is indeed the most beautiful upon beautiful films I’ve seen, and what makes it better is that it all enhances the story. I mention before of its transitional visual from cold to warm sights, but goddamn, the character designs, the environments, the expressiveness, the textures all amount to style perfect for this alone. I think it would’ve as well received if it had a more flat look, but they seriously went higher for a traditional appealing story that compliments the unique children’s storybook look of it all. This honestly is better than most of modern Disney films that I’ve seen, ironic since it feels like if you took Tangled the Series and made it 3D with more fluid character animation. And if I’m comparing something to the continuous mindblower that’s Tangled the Series, you’ve most certainly got on my best side.

Sergio Pablos and his team really pulled no punches in making this a great movie. A great Christmas movie, one worth seeing if not at least once but every Holiday season for tradition’s sake. Klaus gave me a good time, made me cry, and above all showed me to never stop having a good heart because doing good can indeed go far, thankless as it can be. Heck, my heart felt more rejuvenated than before in making this critique, that’s a testament to how much good this film means to me personally. What else is there to say?

It's The Best

#Klaus #Klaus movie #klaus netflix #Klaus 2019 #movies #art #animation #Christmas #holidays #xmas #analysis #long post #reviews #Good Stuff

[canmom]

post toku night impressions:

Immortals was, sadly, rather a mixed bag... on the face of it it’s hard to defend, but if you see it as doing a lot very consciously, you can find a more compelling reading (something I can credit to @lyravelocity who can certainly explicate it a lot better than me... but I will do my best!) It definitely felt like Singh was under orders to chase the coattails of 300 with a fair dash of LotR. the script revolved around reproductive anxieties - the baddie is obsessed with killing pregnant women and smashing peoples’ balls, many characters talk about ‘Hellenic’ children getting a future in a way that steers painfully close to the straight up reciting the Fourteen Words.

visually it’s a very strange grab-bag of motifs from across the “Western canon” - you have a Hellenic setting, a design sensibility that combines 60s ‘sword and sandal’ movie sets with Renaissance paintings and recent spectacle movies like indeed LotR and 300, the religious sentiments expressed by the characters have far more in common with Christian anxieties (why didn’t God help me? is he real?) than ancient Greek ones... and then there were plot elements that were narratively inexplicable, like the ocean being full of oil, but make a lot of sense to this reading. the villain likewise combines a bunch of War on Terror era fears: he’s against God the Greek gods, he wants to genocide us, he makes his army wear marks for Equality or something (although explicitly ‘human just like us’, they function in the film as just orcs); he’s so irrationally omnicidally hateful of life that to even think of negotiating is cowardice (and probably effeminate). so it overall starts to feel like rather a caricature of the modern imperial imaginary. yet the ‘reality’ of the Gods that we see portrays them in a pretty negative light: holding to a rather arbitrary non-intervention rule, and implicitly just jumped-up Titans, they appear near the end of the film only to pretty much all die in an orgy of violence that the film suggests will basically go on forever.

“that’s you, that is” is basically what I think you can take this movie as saying. as ever it’s unclear because it’s a big budget Hollywood movie and if that is what it’s going for, it definitely flew over most peoples’ heads. you could definitely say I’m giving it too much credit.

anyway, I have no such reservations about The Fall. fantastic movie full of visual inventiveness, which does a really good job of taking on how a story borne out of pain (even if, in this case, rather pathetic possessive pain, but that too is part of the point) can take on a huge amount of meaning to the people who receive it. incredible costuming, and incredible use of all those locations. the dynamic between Lee Pace and child actor Catinca Untaru is really sweet and genuine - those tricks paid off fully. and the darker direction of the story is much better suited than the neat endings of the other two of his films I’ve seen.

i was really struck by how deliberately he uses the camera - in an era that emphasises handheld shots and massive swooping CGI camera moves, it did a lot to show what can be done with a very simple choreographed track or pan. I loved the way the rather unimaginative concepts of Roy’s story, lifted from the generic Western he was trying to perform in, were fleshed out into this incredibly rich Indian-with-Spanish-inflections setting in Alexandria’s mind. I can see why some people would take some of the filmmaking tricks, like the abundance of match cuts, as overindulgence, but honestly I love that shit and it was a really cool way to draw out the shapes in the settings.

ironically I have less to say about it because it all just worked, there’s nothing really to defend, I’d just be effusively listing elements of the movie that I liked. it’s very interesting that Roy is obviously not a great guy at all, but that doesn’t matter for the effect his story has on Alexandria, who carries it with her long after she leaves the hospital, and imagines Roy in every stuntman she sees. I hope that the stories I end up telling, when I manage to connect up the circuits to process the things I find difficult into fiction, can one day have a similar effect on people.

#tarsem singh #toku tuesday #the fall #immortals

[mod-kyoko]

Hello again, may I request Chiaki with Soulmate alphabet Z?

here you go :)

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

z...zz (in which soulmates first meet each other and share memories in their dreams before meeting each other in person—sometimes difficult to accomplish as dreams are hard to remember).

it was an odd dream, that's for sure

the dream started out with you in a small, grey room with nothing inside of it

there was a hair clip in the middle of it, shaped like the space craft from galaga

your legs started moving on their own, leading you toward the the hairpin

you instinctively bent over to pick it up, but but it somehow leaped out of your grasp

you didn't know what was going on but for some reason your brain was telling you to chase it

the clip passed under a gap in the door, as if being pulled by a string

you quickly pulled open the door, and ran after it

the clip led you down an impossibly long hallway, a series of twists and turns and corners, until you finally reached a black door

the pin passed under it yet again, but this time it seemed ominous

however, you had no time for misgivings, as your body began moving on it's own again

with a click, the door opened

the first thing you saw was empty space

literally, it looked like you were in space

the only light source was a cluster of stars in the distance

there was nothing below you, above you, or to the side of you

you were floating in space

everything was also eerily calm

for the longest time, everything was still and silent

until, finally, the silence was broken by a feminine voice

"hey, who are you?" the voice asked calmly

you turned around to the source, it was a girl with short hair and a pink backpack

she was wearing the same hairpin that you were chasing earlier

you cleared your throat, musteringbthe courage to respond

"i'm y/n," you replied

she floated closer to you with a gentle smile

"my name is chiaki nanami, it's nice to meet you," she outstretched her hand, but as soon as you took it, your surroundings became blurry

you barely had the time to respond before chiaki began to disappear, as well as space surrounding you

startled, you woke up

"what was that?" you asked yourself, glancing around your room

you've never seen that girl anywhere, could your brain have possibly made her up?

no, isn't that impossible?

whatever

you didn't spend too much time thinking about it, and eventually forgot

after going about the rest of the day, you got in bed once again, only vaguely remembering your previous dream

once you fell asleep, the same dream occurred

this time, you went through the dream with a sense of deja vu

this time, you didn't forget what happened

you didn't know why, but you were compelled to write it down

the same dream occurred to you three more times in a row, and you couldn't get it out of your head

you were starting to panic, so you went shopping to take your mind off of it

while at the store, you saw a familiar backpack in a shopping cart

you didn't know why it was familiar until a girl came bounding around a corner

she was wearing a spacecraft hairpin

after doing a double take, you realized that is the very hairpin you have been seeing in your dream for the past week

you didn't know why, but you knew you had to talk to her

she didn't look busy, so you approached her nervously

"um, hello?"

the girl slowly turned around, seemingly shocked at the sound of your voice

"is your name y/n?" she asked breathlessly, eyes wide

"yeah! how did you know?"

"i have seen you in my dreams. haven't you seen me?" she inquired, not breaking eye contact

she seemed oddly chill about the fact that a stranger appeared in her dreams

"uh, yes, that's why i approached you. you're... chiaki, right?"

"yep, chiaki nanami," she answered with a smile

you decided to ask her if she knows why you've been seeing each other

"i have an idea. when i was little my mom told me when you start having dreams about someone you've never seen before, it means that person is your soulmate," she explained

"oh, well um..." you shuffled your feet awkwardly, not knowing what to say

"hey, tell you what. why don't i give you my number so we can get to know each other?" she suggested, smiling brightly

you felt a heat creep up your neck as you nodded

"yeah sure"

after digging through her backpack, chiaki produced a notepad and pen

she scribbled on it a bit before handing it over to you

chiaki: ###-###-#### call me sometime! :)♡

"thank you..." you breathed, cheeks heating up

gosh she is cute

chiaki broke the awkward silence yet again

"well, it was nice meeting you y/n. i have to go though, gaming marathon," she did a little salute with two fingers, added a wink, and then dashed away, leaving you star struck

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

i swear i thought i posted this earlier im sorry :/ i guess tumblr deleted my draft or whatever, i really remember finishing it though

anyway i didn't simp for chiaki but now i do

-mod kyoko

#mod kyoko #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #goodbye despair #sdr2 x reader #danganronpa chiaki #chiaki x reader #dr chiaki #chiaki namani

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Caught in Between 28. The Man Behind the Devil

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 12.29.20

Word count: 2k

Based off: 04x09 “O Come, All Ye Faithful”

Masterlist

CIB Masterlist

I come downstairs to find Klaus finishing a painting as Stefan walks into the doorway. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” I say looking to Stefan.

“Looks like a giant snowflake,” Stefan says looking at Klaus’ painting.

“I prefer to think of it as an expression of post-modernism. It’s my donation to the Winter Wonderland Charity Event,” Klaus says.

“It’s a giant snowflake,” I say as a hybrid walks in. 

“You said it was urgent?” He asks.

“Yes. Take this to the Mystic Grill immediately,” Klaus says.

“You want me to be a delivery guy?” The hybrid asks.

“What I want is for you to do whatever I say, without the attitude,” Klaus says before the hybrid takes the painting. “And be careful with that. It’s still wet,” Klaus says.

“Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves, you know,” Stefan says.

“What is the point of my hybrids being sired to me if I can’t maximize on the benefits of free labor?” Klaus says.

“Or you’re just lazy,” I snicker.

“What are you doing here?” Klaus asks Stefan.

“Elena is sired to Damon,” Stefan says as the information reaches me for the first time.

“I intuited as much,” Klaus says.

“Which means I need to find the cure now more than ever, and here you are making post-modern snowflakes,” Stefan says.

“I’ve delivered. I retrieved the Hunter’s sword from Italy. Which we’ll use to decipher the map hidden in the hunter’s mark. You’re the one who’s supposed to deliver the hunter and his mark,” Klaus says.

“Well, Jeremy is the hunter and he has to keep killing vampires to complete his mark, but we can’t quite figure out how to keep him from killing us,” Stefan explains.

“Sounds like quite the chore, which is why I feel perfectly justified in doing a little charity work,” Klaus says.

“Charity work?” I chuckle.

“Or maybe you’re lying about having found the sword,” Stefan suggests.

“Why would I lie to you, Stefan? We’re in this together,” Kalus says moving to a safe in another room. He opens it and takes a sword out. “The hilt acts as a cipher which we’ll use to decode the marks on Jeremy’s tattoo when he’s killed enough vampires to complete it,” Klaus says setting the sword down and sitting on a couch. Stefan examines the sword and its symbols.

“Alright. You boys have fun with your toy. I promised Caroline I’d help with set up...again. I’ll probably see you both later,” I say about to head out.

“Love?” Klaus says stopping me.

“Yessss,” I say turning back around.

“Make sure you’re back before the event starts. I want to take you there myself,” Klaus says.

“Al--right. Sure,” I say confused, and leave the house. I head over to the town square to see what was left to do since I had actually slept in and arrived late. Thankfully there wasn’t much left, just setting up the events snack table. And Thankfully Caroline wasn’t too mad. Since the event started fairly early in the day, I finished setting up and head back to Klaus’ house. I showered and got into a red dress, trying to be a little festive. 

“You look dashing love,” Klaus says as I meet him in the doorway. I roll my eyes as he never seems to stop trying. We head to the event and into the Grill where his painting is. We find Caroline staring at Klaus’ painting.

“Here to steal tiny Tim’s crutches?” She says catching Klaus and I standing there.

“Dickens was a dark man,” Klaus says.

“Nice snowflake by the way,” Caroline compliments.

“Is my work really that literal?” Klaus asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“I’m serious. There’s something lonely about it,” Caroline says.

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” Klaus says. 

“Good choice,” I say.

“Would you girls like some champagne?” Klaus asks.

“Can’t too many adult prying eyes. Don’t want to be a high school cautionary tale at the next town meeting,” Caroline says.

“Well, then it’s a good thing the high school part is nearly over,” Klaus says.

“If we’re gonna be nice to each other then I will need that glass of champagne,” Caroline says.

“How do you think I survive staying at his place,” I say as Caroline chuckles and Klaus shoots me a look.

“Allow me,” Klaus says walking off. Caroline pulls up her phone to text someone.

“What’s going on? Whenever you text someone that urgently there’s always something going on,” I say.

“You promise not to say anything?” Caroline asks even though she knows I won’t. “Tyler is making a plan to have Klaus’s body jump into his, so I told Stefan to grab the sword for the cure,” Caroline whispers.

“That’s a stupid plan,” I say.

“I tried to talk Tyler out of it, but he dead set on doing it,” Caroline says.

“Well, if I can be of any help, let me know,” I say.

“Just keep Klaus here and occupied until we have a hybrid take Klaus where they want him to go,” She says.  I nodded and head to find Klaus. As the day goes on, I find that Klaus is actually making an effort to get to know me and actually spend time with me. We go around and check out what the town has to offer. 

Later in the night, I found that I needed time away from the whole event so I told Klaus that I was heading to the bathroom. When I was on my way to the Mystic Grill bathroom I heard a scream, as I made my way there I found April walking out. 

“What happened?” I ask as I see Caroline standing there.

“That werewolf bitch Haley screwed the plan up,” She says and leaves the bathroom. I follow behind her.

“There you are. Stefan has been looking for you. Adrian’s leading Klaus to the cellar,” Matt says.

“How come the only time April Young isn’t following you around like a lost puppy is when I’m lying dead with a broken neck?” Caroline asks annoyed.

“April saw you?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. It’s ok. I compelled her,” Caroline says.

“No, She’s wearing Jeremy’s vervain bracelet. She can’t be compelled,” Matt whispers causing us to worry.

“Ok, well do you know what Haley is up to?” I ask. 

“I don’t know but it has to do with the hybrids,” Caroline says.

“I’ll go back up Stefan,” I say before heading out. I make my way to the forest and to the Lockwood cellar. As I make my way in I watch as Klaus standing in front of Kim’s lifeless body.

“Kl--Klaus…?” I say as I come into the cellar finding Kim's body on the ground and Klaus covered in blood.

“Athena...I—I can explain.” He says stepping closer.

“No,” I say stepping back. “I don’t know what exactly was going on, all I knew was that they were here. But I was giving you one last chance. And you just threw it away. I thought you were actually trying. I mean today was a perfect example. But no you go behind my back and yet again hurt...nope sorry kill the people I care about.” I say as my voice starts to waver.

“You helped them break their sire bond, huh? And you broke yours too, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did. What are you gonna do about it? Kill me too?” I ask picking up a piece of wood and pointing it at my heart. Klaus just stands there silent. “Do it!” I yell at him as more tears fall down my face. 

“Athena, please just put the wood down,” Klaus says as calm as he could. 

“You know after breaking the sire bond. I thought what I felt for you would go away, I thought they were tied to the bond. But no, they’re still here. I’m the only person who sees the man behind the devil, a man that can care and love someone. But after seeing what I saw, this,” I say pointing to Kim’s body. “I think that the devil is all there is left to you. I thought that I could be the person who could make you realize how important people are. That they’re not just pawns in your little game. But all that hope is gone, you just made me a pawn in your game and I thought I was more than that,” I say. 

“Athena. Can you please put the wood down and we can talk this out?” Klaus asks, still frozen in place.

“No. You don’t get to talk with me. You’ve already said your piece with your actions and now I’m saying mine. You broke my simple rule. To stop hurting the people I care about. I finally found people where we were all the same, people I could trust, people I could call family. And so what they broke your sire bond. So did I, but now I’m not so sure you didn’t use it on me like you promised. So why don’t take the damn stake and plunge it, right into my heart?!” I scream as Klaus finally moves and takes a hold of my hand with the wood.

“You know I can’t...You mean too—“ he starts.

“If I mean so much to you. Then you should’ve followed my one simple rule, Klaus. You don’t deserve to be in my life. I should’ve never taken a chance on you after you broke my trust so many times,” I say looking straight into his eyes, hoping there was even a sliver of hope. But I didn’t see any. I let go of my end of the wood.

“Athena, please,” Klaus says.

“Just go, before I kill you myself,” I say and he rushes out. I sit there with tears in my eyes, trying to figure out what I did wrong and how I could’ve stopped this, but it seems like it would’ve ended this way regardless. I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to find Tyler standing there.

“Tyler...I’m sorry I didn’t get here fast enough. I tried,” I say.

“As much as I wish I could blame this on you. I can’t. This was Haley,” He says softly before leaving and I follow behind.

“Tyler, you know I would’ve stopped him right? You know I wouldn’t let your whole pack get slaughtered right?” I ask hoping that he hasn’t pegged me as a cold-hearted murder like Klaus.

“Yeah, but I gotta go before he finds me,” Tyler says and runs away.

I make my way back to town and to the Salvatore’s. When I walk in I find Stefan and Caroline sitting on the couch. 

“What happened?” Caroline asks noticing me.

“I wasn’t fast enough. A--All the hybrids are dead,” I say shakily.

“Where’s Klaus?” Stefan asks.

“I don’t know. After what I saw I couldn’t look at him anymore, I told him to leave me after I found him. I’m sorry, I--I--,” I say.

“It’s ok. It’s really not your fault. If Haley hadn’t screwed up or whatever, this wouldn’t have happened,” Caroline says.

“Are you sure? Because he damn well didn’t seem to happy to find out his hybrids broke their sire bonds and band together,” I say.

“Ok. Maybe it still would’ve, but he let you go,” Caroline said.

“I was never apart of the plan and we all know he wouldn’t kill me in cold blood,” I say as Caroline and Stefan looked at me in agreement. 

“Look, what Klaus did wasn’t your fault. It’s Klaus, he does what he wants,” Caroline says.

“You’re right. I just can’t believe I gave him another damn chance. I don’t even know what I was thinking,” I say.

“I know you just wanted to get him off your back and it did work,” Caroline responds.

“It did. But just because I told him I done with him doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying to get me back, regardless of how many of my rules he broke,” I say.

“Why don’t we deal with this another day. Clean up and you can stay in your old room here,” Stefan says.

“Stefan’s right. You’ve had enough craziness for the night,” Caroline agrees and I nod. I go to take a shower and get ready for bed. 

A/N: This was the part I was really excited to write, for some reason. Now that Athena has given up on Klaus, do you think he’s gone off the deep end? Do you think Klaus will finally fight fair to win Athena back and will she take him back? Or do you think she’s finally done with Klaus and his shenanigans? I hope you enjoyed this emotion-packed part. Thanks for reading! 

🏷: @tristanacarry​ | @commentaryfanfic​ | @april-14-blog​ |  @simonsbluee​ | @awkwardspontaneity​ | @keiko0​ | @xetherealbeautyx​

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries series #the originals #the originals fanfiction #The Originals Series #the originals x reader #the originals rewrite #elena gilbert #caroline forbes #niklaus mikaelson #Stefan Salvatore #tyler lockwood #TVDCIB

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 15]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-7 and what I have of Chapter 8 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

This thing is going to be 1K words with the semester I’m having. :P The plan is to do a lot of work today. I even have my dinner in a crock-pot. I’m giving a presentation on October 13th and want to basically knock out the prep today so I don’t have to have it hanging over my head. Not sure if I will achieve that, but that’s the plan! I have big goals! Wish me luck! :D

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

 Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

 Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

 He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

 Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

 The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

 “My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

 Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

 He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

 Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

 He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

 “You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

   Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

 “I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

 “I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

 He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

  Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

 Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

 “Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

 “Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

 He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

 “I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

 “Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

 “But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

 After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

 He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

 Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

 “It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

 “I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

 Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

 Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

 Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

 The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

 Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

 “It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

 “My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

 “Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

 He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

 Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

 He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

 The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

 He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

 “I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

 “I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

11594

Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

#study break stories #not writing

[84reedsy]

A Reunion

Rating: E- Explicit Characters: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger, Various other characters Summary:  A Hogwarts reunion leads two former Hogwarts students to an unexpected evening. Setting: Post 2nd Wizarding War, Snape Lives AU Warnings: Smut, drunkeness

The same faces year after year had lost their allure. Some had aged ever so gracefully while some seemed to speed along the path of degradation. It was to be expected; some had darker demons than others. The war had left its mark on almost every person in this room. But the camaraderie that had existed in the aftermath had ebbed and people had fallen back into somewhat predictable  comfort zones of their inner circles. And to say her inner circle had been reduced was an understatement. 

She’d rather sit at her home and read through yet another text. The company of books had always been more enjoyable to Hermione than people...at least most of them.  

Hermione was by no means anti-social, but there were many times where she was intimidated by the prospect of socialization, especially at these Hogwarts reunions where the attendance spanned every age.

She still saw Ron and Harry on occasion, but they never made it to these things. Harry had tired of the hero’s role and what came with it. He was content to hide away. Ron seemed to regress not long after they’d been able to complete their 7th year o.w.l.s. He longed for the careless childhood of which he claimed to have been robbed of. To say it strained their relationship was an understatement. Being the proactivist that she was, Hermione parted ways before things worsened, remaining amicable friends for the last 10 years. 

That was her in a nutshell - a proactive realist. And a lonely one at that. Sitting at the bar, her half empty glass of merlot seemed to magnify that reality. People spoke to her, yes, but no one seemed to hold a conversation with her for any length of time. She wasn’t upset about that for the most part; the conversations only went one of a few ways. Either they asked about Harry, errantly assumed she was still with Ron, or asked details of the war that she didn’t feel like repeating in light-hearted company. She may not have been the poster-boy that Harry was, but she felt like a martyr in her own right. 

She grinned politely and waved at George from across Hog’s Head. He stood with other wizards from his year, each holding a pint and laughing. He got along as well as one could expect, but even from a distance you could tell when someone mentioned Fred - there was a sadness to his smile and a far away look in his eyes. She supposed twins would have a more difficult time being separated by death than most, but remarkably, George had held up well all things considered.

“Another glass?” The barkeep tended the counter while the bottle of merlot hovered over her glass, just short of pouring, “This one’s compliments of the ginger bloke standing over near ‘is lads,” Hermione glanced at George once again, smiling as he lifted his pint towards her. She nodded towards the barkeep and the bottle titled as her glass floated from the bar top. 

The truth was, Hermione wanted conversation. She wanted to reconnect with people from her youth. But, she’d always been bored by her own peers. They lacked a certain...something. It was hard to put her finger on it as she tipped her wine glass back and surveyed the room. The crowd was slowly thinning, people had lives to return to. Children, careers, some seeking one night of companionship with an old (maybe even a new) flame. Some bid her farewell as they departed, others were too inebriated to abide by any social niceties. 

This was the after-party of the reunion, moving from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. A fine dance had been held in the Great Hall. Hermione had been treated to moments of fond memories of the Yule Ball from her Fourth Year. She, Pavarti and a Ravenclaw a few years their senior had spent most of that sitting around a table attempting to catch up, but mostly commenting on the myriad of fashions chosen for the evening. They ranged from elegant to extremely gaudy, Luna sporting something near the latter of that spectrum. Neville in his dashing suit couldn’t have looked more proud to have the odd, but loyal lady on his arm. 

It was the solid black of his wardrobe that stood out first as the din of the ballroom had lessened. No one had ever expected Severus Snape to make an appearance even though an invitation was extended every year. To say he had become a hermit underemphasized the lonely existence he kept. It had not taken long for word to spread about his covert involvement that, many agreed, was the only reason the Second Wizarding War was ever winnable. His short temper and penchant for insults still left a sour reputation among the wizarding community but their gratitude was evident by leaving him be - just as he wished.

Hermione had felt then that she should make an effort to speak with him. Perhaps his loneliness had reached a point he could no longer endure. Though as an instructor he’d never offered her any sort of compassion or understanding, she felt compelled to provide both those things to him - especially with the way he spent most of the evening void of everything but uneasy glances. 

She should get home. It was very late in the evening and more wine was only going to make her sleepier. She slid from her stool, balancing the stem of her glass between her fingers. She would bid George and his mates good night and be on her way. Just as she turned, her eyes were drawn to the shadowy corner nearly vacated. 

Dressed still in solid black sat Severus Snape, a small glass of fire whiskey sat in front of him with his fingers lazily wrapped around it. The two gazes connected across the room and both knew they were equally as seen by the other. He’d noticed her at the ball and he’d settled in this quiet, hidden nook of a booth early enough to see her arrive here as well. As they stared, he had not a clue what they had to speak to the other about, but he found himself curious enough to invite her company.

“Miss Granger,” he slid from the booth, but stood still, not approaching her.

“Professor Snape,” She acknowledged him back, nodding slightly. She was only slightly aware that her grip tightened around her glass. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to company,” It was the closest to an invitation he could muster. In his years of solitude his grasp of social graces had deteriorated a bit, not that they were ever that well-honed in the first place. He was relieved, but did not show it when she smiled politely and nodded. 

Hermione looked around as if she needed to tread carefully. Old habits must die hard; she was an adult - her school mates would not look on in shock if she were to associate with her former Potions and Dark Arts Professor. She approached the booth and slid in the side opposite him. She sat a napkin down before placing her wine glass on top of it. His curious look made her nervous.

“Muggle custom,” She mumbled. Mentioning the word muggle may have been a grave mistake as an awkwardness surrounded them. Years of memories both flooded their minds - the existence of muggles in the magical world is what nearly tore it apart. She worried that the slip of her tongue may have ended this conversation before it began. She chewed her lip and looked downward and Severus was surprised to find himself amused. It was the same motion she used to make when he called her out in class for her know-it-all conduct. 

“Miss Granger, if I may,” He spoke first, knowing she was likely about to excuse herself, “I taught at Hogwarts for many years and saw thousands of witches and wizards with varying levels of magical genealogy. As much as it pains me to admit, and I’ll deny it if ever asked again, I never once came across one that matched your brilliance or hunger for knowledge.” 

Hermione had to wet her mouth with more wine, dried in shock of such a compliment from this particular source.

“Professor,” She had to struggle with an appropriate response, “I dare say that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” 

“I suppose I’m getting soft in my old age,” He lifted his fire whiskey and just before it tipped back over his lips, there was an ever so subtle wink of his eye.

“It can be difficult to let your guard down,” Hermione glanced around the room before returning her attention to Severus, still somewhat mired in shadow, “It’s hard to know who to trust, or who’s just out to get something from you.” 

“I have more experience with the latter - which should easily explain my absence from such….festivities.” He glanced toward the lively, drunken bunches near the front of the bar.

“So why now? Why this year, Professor?” Hermione’s curiosity subdued her hesitance.

Severus swirled the base of his glass along the table top. His face was obstructed only by the long locks of lanky black hair that had surprisingly few greys among them. His sharp nose was still as prominent as ever, though his face wasn’t pursed nearly as much as it used to be. Perhaps his years of seclusion had brought him some peace.

“Curiosity, Miss Granger,” He motioned towards the barkeep as Hermione had nearly drained her glass, “Curiosity to see Hogwarts again, to see what’s become of my students,”

“Curiosity?” Hermione couldn’t helped but be amused at the thought of simple curiosity bringing him out into the public eye, “Congratulations, Professor, that’s a new one to me” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” He questioned as their glasses were filled. From a glance she could see a facetious nature to his query.

“Not at all, Professor,” Another sip added to the ones before were calming (or numbing) her nerves, “Just...surprised,”

“I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation, so considered us both surprised by the other.” He lifted his glass slightly, awaiting her to return the gesture.

“Do you take me for someone that rude?” She returned in a subdued jest, only pausing shortly before clinking her glass to his, “What are we drinking to?”

“New surprises from old acquaintances,” He answered after a short pause, “And not rude...perhaps forthright.”

“That I am guilty of without question.” She sipped the fresh glass.

“Oh I remember you, quiet well Granger.” Even if she hadn’t been the ever present partner of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Severus imagined she still would have stuck out from her lack of shyness and her vigor for learning.

"You rarely missed an opportunity to call me out on it," her hand around her glass pointed a finger at him as she found herself falling into an oddly natural repartee. Odd, especially considering there was a time in her life where she viewed him as the enemy.

"It didn't appear to deter you," he noticed that his whiskey seemed to be going down much smoother in the company of someone. Perhaps this was a benefit of not drinking alone. Seveus found it difficult not to be amused as he cheeks stretched in a smile though he could tell she was trying to fight it.

“I suppose not, Professor.”  She still had that know-it-all look in her eye and though she knew the criticism when intended to inspire or shame her into subduing it, she still felt somewhat prideful in her acquisition of knowledge. His mouth crooked into a half smile of amusement. It was odd to be having a conversation as adults without the construct of student/teacher.

“It has been many years since I have entered a classroom, Miss Granger. I haven’t been your instructor for an even longer period. I believe at the present time, you are no longer obligated to address me as your superior.” He drawled, speaking over the top of his glass. 

“Old habits die hard,” She swallowed back the address of sir or professor, “That’s the only way I’ve ever known to address you. It definitely wouldn’t have done  to address you so informally before. I don’t doubt you would have been pleased with the lot of us Gryffindors referring to you as Sev or mate.” She joked, wondering if she could turn that half a grin into a whole one.

“You’re absolutely correct, Miss Granger,” He swirled the spicy libation in his mouth, “I would have been rather displeased.

“I do have a first name too, you can address me by it if I’m  allowed to address you by yours.” Hermione leaned forward a little, squinting her eyes with a peculiar amusement. She needed to see if he was game for such familiarity.

Severus sat in silence for a moment, resting his hand on the table as he sized her up in his mind. She was no longer the mousey, fresh faced child and student he’d first met. She was clearly a woman. The war and subsequent years had aged her as it had everyone else, but she did not fare as poorly as some. If anything she’d acquired beauty in her physical maturity. While her hair was still curly, she tamed it better now. She did not paint her face with anything too obtuse. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the edge of the table.

“Very well, Hermione,” Severus had to admit to himself that it felt odd saying her name out loud.

“That’s better, Severus,” Though in private, she and her friends had referred to him as Snape since nearly the moment they met him, there was a certain comfort she found in calling him by his name. Perhaps it was relief that she could view them as equitable instead of existing on two different planes.

Severus couldn’t help the quick, fleeting smirk on his lips, amused by her ability to change a pattern so easily. He decided not to let the moment linger. He was in need of any conversation outside of the internal dialogue that had been such a constant companion.

“So speaking of...Gryffindors…” He still grimaced, though Hermione found it comical, “How are those friends of yours?” His dark eyes were trained on her as he sipped again.

“We still leave that bad of a taste in your mouth?” She questioned, chuckling behind closed lips at his incredulous look, “I guess Slytherin’s and Gryffidor’s are just not made to see eye to eye?”

“In my experience, most of my interactions have been….unpleasant - current company excluded,” He was slow to the save, humored by the way her eyebrows lifted as if he would leave the insult as his last word.

“Nice save Prof- Severus,” She nodded, “I have to admit, I have occasionally thought of you over the years,” She hiccuped a little, “That is, wondering what you did to occupy your time.” She recovered quickly. 

“Have you now?” Of all the people she’d known, he would have thought given the circumstances that most of them rarely, if ever, thought of him, “After so many years playing a double agent and spending my career in the view of so many, I find that I prefer my privacy. I stay in my home, reading, writing, documenting,”

“Documenting?” She leaned her cheek into her palm, looking interested. 

“Yes. Though it was not my preferred subject, I did have a rather well adapted aptitude for potion-making. I developed many unique and novel substances even back to my own days at Hogwarts. I plan to release the formulas for a reasonable premium.” 

“Reasonable? But you’re Severus Snape; the man who lied bold faced to -Voldemort-” Hermione felt odd saying the name out loud, she hadn’t had to in so long, “Harry may have been the poster boy, but many see you as much of a hero as they do him.” She said matter-of-factly.

“That bold tone, that’s the girl I remember, Hermione.” He caught himself from referring to her as Miss Granger, “And I prefer not to label myself as such. I believe there are many that still despise me,” He took another sip and for a moment Hermione felt some pity for him, but mostly warm from his first chiding remark. 

“Well, regardless, I appreciate what you did. And you deserve a well earned drink on me,” She peered at his empty glass, not letting him refute her offer. She motioned towards the bar as a  decanter floated their way and refilled his glass, “I insist,”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate, you buying me a drink. After all I’m an old man,” he eyed the drink, his mouth thirsting for another taste.

“You’re not that old,” She leaned forward as she spoke a little quieter, “In fact it looks like you’ve barely aged,” She noted his appearance, the last decade had been devoid of most of the stresses that had strained him so much before. 

“You’re attempting to flatter me, Hermione. I can’t on earth imagine why,” He toyed with her a bit, finally sipping his fresh fire whiskey.

“I resent the accusation that my politeness is anything but,” She was quick to match his wit, but there was also a teasing, sarcastic suggestion. Surely it was the wine speaking for her or at least prodding her in such a flirtatious direction.

“I believe you’ve had too much wine, Hermione,” He noted her once again empty glass. 

She smirked holding it up in the air to the side, not breaking her gaze from his. It refilled from the bottle, this time settling itself on the table rather than behind the bar. 

“Am I of age, Severus?” She challenged his assessment coyly.

“Yes, I believe you are,” His eyes couldn’t help but look her over and confirm for himself that his thoughts were well founded.

“Then let me worry about my own levels of intoxication. After all have you ever know me to be *hiccup* irresponsible?” Her words and her behavior seemed to be sending two very distinct but different signals. He lifted his brow in a moment of question, but he was feeling rather warm and fuzzy himself. What harm could it do to let a bit of his guard down around someone who seemed so interested in his company.

“I cannot recall such a time, but perhaps you should put a little more in  your stomach,” He pushed a plate of bread and cheese he’d barely touched towards her, “How is Potter these days?” He wanted to change the subject until her obvious buzz was a little more subdued.

“You really want to know about Harry?” She looked somewhat surprised, but continued without his confirmation, “He’s alright I suppose. Still with Ginny Weasley, they have Lupin’s boy and one of their own. He turns down public appearances on an hourly basis. Tough to be treated fairly when everyone either wants something from you or to treat you like a god.” 

“I know about the former, not so much the latter,” He pursed his lips as he heard the name of Harry’s wife, “I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised he stayed with that girl. She was the least insufferable of the lot, in my experience. How about your Weasley. The daft one.”

“Ohhh, I can tell you’ve been sitting on that question for a moment, haven’t you?” Hermione noticed that he seemed compelled to ask it more than willful, “We didn’t last long at all - after school. We went our separate ways and I don’t see much of him at all. I keep in contact with his mum more than any of them.” She watched as he took a drink, but through the arc of the glass, she could see him conceal and satisfactory smirk.

“What I shame, you two seemed to compliment each other well,” He offered with little conviction.

“Ha, you don’t believe that for a moment, Severus,” She chortled a bit, “we had a history, but in the end he turned out to be very wrong for me. I need someone with more, with more…” She struggled to describe what was missing.

“Maturity,” Severus answered with a slow enunciation, not at all questioning.

Hermione glanced at him again, but the shared gaze had a different energy to it, “Yes. That’s exactly it,”

Though a silence passed between them, it felt as if they were wordlessly communicating. There was no awkward air between them. 

“So, there’s been no one else to fill the,” his eyes flickered down as if in the subtlest of suggestions, “void?”

Hermione nibbled a bit of bread, wiping a cumb from her lip before shaking her head slightly. She struggled to speak for a few moments, resisting the urge to suppress her impulse. 

“No. No one has filled that void in ages...Severus,” She said suggestively, but felt an intense nervousness as she waited with baited breath for his reply. 

“That’s quite a shame,” He replied after a brief pause. Either an awkwardness would follow or she might-

“Yes, it is,” She looked at him with determination and agenda. Though the conversation had been finding its way to this point, it still surprised him that she was this bold.

“Being alone does have its disadvantages,” He set his glass down, no longer interested in being satiated by a substance. 

“Perhaps tonight,” She ran her nail along a ridge in the wood grain on the table before looking back up at him, “We throw our cautions to the wind and give this whole ‘not being alone’ a go,” 

She had no doubt that snogging in public was something Severus was very much against, so taking the initiative she stood from the quiet booth, noting that the bar was nearly empty. She walked with some stealth but still a natural gate to a wooden door that led behind the bar. She opened it slightly, enough only to slip past the gap and keep the old rusty hinges from screeching. She looked back towards him in a silent invitation.

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

Hermione waited in the room filled with wooden casks and crates of bottles, stacked upon wooden shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. She leaned her back against one such post, the anticipation did the job of sobering her a bit. At least if she was rejected, it wouldn’t be with an audience. Only a short time had passed (though it felt like eons) when she was startled by the door pushing open. Severus also passed through a gap only large enough for him to float through, still sporting the black robes she remembered over the black suit. 

They did not need to speak. Each knew why they were there. 

Hermione did not move from her spot, but her spine arched every so slightly that her chest jutted forward as the room echoed his footsteps and her controlled breath. He approached, standing mere inches from her, making it no secret that his eyes were taking in her form. 

She was the first to break the barrier of touch, her curious core aching for a reprieve of its neglect. Her palm rested against his chest, sliding upwards over his collar. Her fingers slid without pause over the lingering scars on his neck that his cloak normally concealed. She did not let it deter her and he returned the gesture with one of appreciation. 

The first kiss was soft as if gently testing the waters.

“Severus…” She whispered feeling his breath rolling across her tempted lips. 

The confirmation of her desire saw his return kiss much more feverish and impassioned. As if seduction had evaded him so long that he dared not let it slip between his fingers. She arched more as his hands passed around her waist to her back, pressing her body into his. Her arms were around his broad shoulders. The kiss was not sloppy, but not at all contained. The only parting was out of the shear need for air. 

“Let’s not waste time, Severus,” She slid her hands to her blouse, yanking it open so the buttons scattered across the room. Her chest heaved, only contained by her lacy brassiere. 

“You witches and your frivolous underthings,” He paused to look into her eyes only a moment before both hands grasped her breasts, squeezing and lifting them as she struggled between a groan and a gasp. Their lips were quick to meet again as he tugged the lace cups down roughly, exposing her breasts directly to his greedy grasp, “Its a shame to cover these at all,”

Severus pulled his lips from hers to let his eyes absorb the visual of her toplessness into his memory. They were perky, their containment unneeded. He lifted one swell to meet his descending mouth, his tongue impatient for the taste of her firm nipples. 

“Holy Merlin’s fuck!” Hermione let her fingers grip his signature black tresses. She didn’t pull them either which way, more or less just holding on to him, “Severus, you devil,” 

“On the contrary, Hermione,” He rose up, stopping a maddening inch from her face, “I believe you’re the devil in this scenario.” Still holding her attention, his hand reached for hers and pressed it firmly against the evidence of her perverse inspiration. She gripped around the rigid shaft, still encompassed by his trousers, but the rush of arousal between her own legs almost left her dizzy. She was thankful for the sturdy post behind her or she’d likely have fallen off balance.

“What torture for you, you poor thing,” She squeezed and palmed his member. She grinned while gnawing her lip, lowering herself by sliding down the post. She knelt her splayed legs at his feet, her hand moving to unfaster his trousers while her humored gaze peered back up at his still serious countenance. 

His angular jaw clenched and shifted as she revealed him, her hand almost surprisingly warm as it wrapped around his vein-laced, pulsing shaft. He noticed her eyes fell upon her prey and she studied it as she stimulated it as if applying a science to extracting his pleasurable nuances. Ever the scholarly approach, typical Hermione.

“It won’t bite, Hermione,” He teased with a taunting chuckle. His fingers were unable to grip into her hair, partially impaired from Nagini’s venom. Instead, his hand slid over the top of her head, gently pushing it back so it rested against the wooden pillar. He stepped closer as her lips lazily lay agape, her chin tilted slightly upward. Her eyes followed the tip of his cock as it prodded against her lips, tainting them with a sticky string of precum before slipping between them. 

Severus’s breath shuddered as he struggled to acclimate to the warmth of her willing mouth. He moved slowly, keeping a shallow depth as she kept submissively still. 

“What a good little witch,” He growled.

Hermione’s now free hands allowed her the freedom to stimulate herself; reaching between her splayed thighs, her skirt allowed her quick access. She couldn’t resist the throb of her own sex, keeping her touch gentle to keep from cumming too quickly. She was desperate for an orgasm, but would rather the first explosion be at the mercy of his penetration.

As his eyes closed and his head tilted back, Hermione took more of an active roll. Her lips tightened around his cock, her tongue wiggled in a slow, purposeful massage. She was thrilled to earn the groan that rumbled in his throat soon after. She gagged but did not relent as his hips pushed him a little beyond her tolerance.

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” He tried not to wheeze, but the invigoration of her oral stimulation was nearly impossible to overcome. His balls ached and twitched a little as he pulled himself away, her eager mouth fighting his retreat, “I’d toss those knickers if I were you.” 

Hermione was eager to work the stretched garment down her thighs and let them fall the rest of the way to the floor as she stood again, her hand too covetous to leave his member untouched. 

“Get that cock inside me, Severus, now,” She coolly demanded, her leg lifted, her thigh resting on his hip as her other hand pulled him closer by his collar. His dexterity may have deteriorated, but his own therapies had regained his strength. She giggled a little in surprise as he lifted her other leg, letting them grip around his waist tightly. She was trapped between him and the post as his shaft nestled itself between the lips of her dampened sex, “Severus!” she gasped impatiently.

Hermione groaned a moment later when his swollen glans slipped inside of her, the tip a temporary tease. Severus watched her face intently as he let her weight sink her helplessly. Though she stretched to accommodate him and her cheeks reddened from resisting the urge to cry out louder, he did not allow her more time to acclimate. He flexed his hips, the movement thrusting her upwards only so gravity could force her full of him again, the pleasurable dive escalating now with matching force.

She balled up her fists full of his shirt, her thighs gripping his waist with a surprising strength. Her sex ached from his invasion, but it was a delicious ache that stole her breath from her lungs and made her wish it would never end. 

Severus quickened his thrusts into a satisfying rhythm. It was paced enough to keep her sex constantly roused with pleasure, but not so quickly that it lacked apparent skill. 

“Sev,” Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as she gasped, then bit the tip of her tongue, “That cock...is fucking magnificent,” 

He felt a tingle in his core, he hadn’t been called ‘Sev’ in years, but something about her husky tone made it a treat to his ear. 

“I was just about to say the same thing about this juicy cunt of yours, Hermione,” He seethed, his thrusts absorbed by her impaled sex. The post behind her did not cushion any of his plunging campaign. She was glad for it, she wanted to feel the entirety of his talent.

They only paused for a moment as the door opened, their drunken state a mix of alcohol and lustful intoxication. The barkeep paused in his tracks, carrying a crate of empty bottles.

“For fucks sake get lost,” Hermione slurred, her cunt completely full of his cock at the moment, “can’t you see someone’s shagging in here??” She barked at the shocked man, who quickly departed with a slightly frightened look on his face. 

“Such a feisty thing,” He was humored by her audaciousness, rewarding her with several quick strokes that pummeled her sex and drew a quivering release from her. She called his name in a raspy plea, slickening his cock so that it slid even more easily and quickly into her. 

Severus felt an overwhelming pleasure that his body had been devoid of for far too long and though he would have preferred to let it linger for hours, the time and place did not allow for such a reality. Perhaps his choice of partner added to his perversion. He leaned into her, pinning her tightly as his mouth latched on to her exposed neck. He suckled and nipped at the flushed flesh, crushing her breasts under the weight of his chest.

Hermione wiggled her hips, trying to match his movement. She tried to satiate the recurring tickle that burned inside of her sex. She chased the impending release with fervor, feeling his movements become more instinctual and primal. His breaths labored into almost gravely moans that matched his pace. 

“Severus….Severus!” She gasped as her release teetered on the edge, “Fuck...fuck! I’m cumming!” She finally exclaimed as the heated explosion swelled her core, making the pusing eruptions of his cumming cock even more pronounced and gratifying. 

Severus felt light-headed as his body’s concentration was on the orgasm that engulfed his being. Her cunt gripped his invading member with a possessive hold, still trembling with aftershocks. 

The room was filled with only the sound of weathered, heaving breaths, desperate to fill their lungs and restore their senses.There was a silent stare between them as her shaking legs released him and he helped her feet back under her. She straightened her skirt and brassiere, noticing a disappointed scowl as she covered her breasts. She only smirked, reaching for her wand as she repaired the buttons on her shirt. 

The bar was empty as they left, save for the barkeep who kept his gaze downturned as they passed. They parted ways with cordial ‘nice to see you again’s’, neither wanting to make awkward their peculiar evening.

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

The interaction did not leave either of their minds, though they continued about their individual lives as normal. Hermione continued her work alongside the department of International Magical Cooperation, travelling abroad to lands and sights that were thrilling and exciting. But even with her busy occupation, the moment of secret passion wove its way to the front of her thoughts often. 

One particular evening when the draw of self-indulgent pleasure was too prominent to resist, Hermione used that motivation to extend a greeting. She wrote a letter with careful intent and included an enchanted photograph as she folded and sealed it. She entrusted its delivery with a jet-black owl and set it off into the dark night.

The letter was delivered to its intended recipient as he continued his solitary work. His name scrawled in a feminine penmanship is what caught his attention first. When he flipped it over, Hermione’s initials impressed in the wax seal made excitement well up in his belly, though his exterior remained reserved.

Severus,

I very much enjoyed the chance to be in your company the other evening. And what exhilarating company it was. I hope my letter finds you well and please accept this photograph as a token of my admiration.

I look forward with a great deal of interest in our next ‘reunion’.

Warmest Regards,

Hermione

Severus smirked at the simple, concise letter. The smirk faded only slightly as he watched the enchanted photograph move before his very eyes. Though the border provided only a neck down view, the unbuttoning blouse slowly revealing a familiar lace and cleavage made no mystery of its subject. 

#severus snape #snape #snape lives au #snape lives #professor snape #hermione granger #hermione/snape #SNAMIONE #snager #severus snape/hermione granger #snape/hermione #fanfiction #hp fanfic

[iwrestlenow]

It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter One (Stories from THE EMERALD)

TITLE: It All Starts And Ends With You, Chapter 1 

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: The nature of a drake, human versus dragon, isn't just tragic backstory. The supernatural halfbreeds are a living duality, two creatures in one skin. Every drake is, essentially, a twin soul.

Unlike most twin souls with a Necromatic match, however, a drake can choose.

For Janus, giving Patton his human soul was easy...but a secret from his past means that his choice has consequences...consequences he was never supposed to face, because Patton would never be free.

So much for a sure thing.

SHIPS: Moceit (Patton/Janus), Dragon Witch/Original Male Character and background Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Future smut--warnings for all pertinent chapters will be posted.

...so apparently there's going to be a few side stories in this series? This takes place shortly after MANY MORE TO DIE, but it's not the big sequel. It's very much a side quest type thing because Janus Has Backstory and I Have Moceit Feels(TM). XD

Also, later on there WILL be smut in this story, but the chapters will be labeled--and I'm planning to make them skippable if I can. Otherwise I'll summarize plotty things in the end notes. So you filthy minded animals can have your debauchery, and those less inclined can still have all of my feels. :P

Per usual, unbeta'd self indulgent drivel, all mistakes are mine. ONWARD TO SHIPPYTOWN!

Also located at AO3 over here.

1019, A.A.

“Jay! A word?”

Eleven year old Janus Ormor looked up from the book he was reading on the floor of their living chamber. Father was captain of the guard, and as such they had better quarters in the palace than some other soldiers—shutters on the windows, softer beds, and the rug in their living chamber was far more comfortable than his bed, especially with a fire going.

Janus always had trouble staying warm—which never seemed right, since he was half dragon, but if Father wasn't worried then neither was Janus.

Marking his place carefully, Janus set his book aside and got to his feet so he could dash across the room to crawl into his father's lap. Yeah, it was kind of juvenile—he was eleven, Shadow's sake—but Father ran hot, and Janus was not above stealing a little of that warmth from him.

Knowing that, Timothy Ormor smiled and loosened the top couple buttons on his collar, allowing Janus to press his forehead to the curve of his neck as he crowded close with a satisfied sigh.

“What's going on, Father?”

“Nothing, really, just...well, your birthday is in a couple days.”

“Uh huh! I'm really excited! I love surprise parties.”

“How did...”

Janus looked up at his father with a smile, earning one in return. Father finally laughed, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I forget how good your ears are, wriggle worm.” Father sighed, tugging Janus closer. “No matter—yes, we're throwing you a surprise party. Think you can pretend?”

“I'm real good at pretending!” Janus assured him before cuddling up to Father's chest again.

“Well, that's good...but, uh...we need to talk 'bout something else.”

“What's that, Father?”

“Well...you know the story I told you about how you were born?”

Janus nodded, tucking his head against Father's neck again. “You and Mother loved each other very much, so you--”

“Not that part, imp!”

Giggling, Janus continued.

“--after Mother found out she was with child, you guys let me be born in the way of the dragons: she changed form, carried me for a year, and I was hatched a few weeks after the egg came. I didn't get my human form until I was a month old.”

“Well...that's the thing, kiddo...Shadow's Balls, there's no easy way to say this...”

“Say what, Father?”

“I...damn it, but I promised her you'd know your people. Thing is, Jan...your mother didn't have you with me.”

Janus felt his stomach get cold inside.

“What do you mean? You...you're my father.”

Timothy ran a hand through his son's hair, staring into his bright and confused little face. He wasn't overly fair, but his jet black hair washed out his complexion some, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

He was so easily mistaken for human with that beautiful face—until he heard things no child his age should. Until he stuck his hand in a fire and came away unburnt. Until he grew slow and lethargic in the cold...until those dark eyes bled yellow as daffodils, pupils lengthening into reptilian slits.

“I'm your dad, wriggle worm,” Timothy confessed, “but the truth is...I'm not actually your father.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Sneak attack!”

Janus dropped his book as Patton rushed straight at him, flinging himself into Janus's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck to squeeze tight.

“I could see you coming, sweetie.” Janus pointed out with a sigh that didn't match the fierce swell of affection in his chest, hot and restless, compelling him to hold Patton in return with arms wrapped carefully around his waist.

Patton's giggle, right in his ear, sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. “But you didn't know I was gonna hug you!”

“Your arms were open for one.”

“So?”

“You also do this at least three times a day.”

“Only because you said four was too many!”

Patton drew back to pout at him this time, and that hot swell of affection stretched in his chest to the point of pain. Since Mori's death and Roman's installment as regent until the coronation, Logan and Patton had been given free reign of the castle, along with a few other Necromata prisoners the pair had vetted. Until their freedom was voted on by the citizens, they couldn't be released, but they could at least be made comfortable, and given room to reclaim some shred of normalcy.

Which meant Patton could, and did, visit Janus far too often, greedily devouring every hug, cuddle, hand hold, or simple hair ruffle he could gain access to. Janus could hardly deny him...and Janus wanted it all just as much.

Gods, Janus wanted, too much and too soon and too...inhuman.

Staring into Patton's face, Janus's vision was tinged with rays of gold. A gilt to every dark curl on Patton's head, flecks of gold in those deep blue eyes turning them into true lapis...shimmering gold lips pooched into a mock scowl, gold dusting the faint array of freckles he was acquiring after a few weeks of sunlight...

Pressure. Warm, steady, gentle...

Janus blinked, realizing Patton had his forehead pressed against Janus's. He was talking, words Janus couldn't hear but felt, soft and soothing and endless to fill his ears and press back the shimmering film over his vision.

The gilt edges faded away. His eyes were blue, deep and still and endless. He was Patton again, not...not some worthless hoard.

Just Patton, soft and sweet and bloodthirsty, infinitely more precious.

“...got you, Janny, my beautiful Janus. I got you, you're doing so good, you're so good for me...”

...okay, that couldn't be allowed to go on. Not when it made warmth pool far lower in Janus's body, made him want something entirely different—and wow, he was not ready for those kinds of personal revelations today.

Clearing his throat, Janus reached up to gently touch Patton's cheek.

“I'm all right, Pattycake. Promise.”

Patton watched him dubiously, a far more serious version of that pout forming on his face again...Gods and Souls, he wanted to run a fingertip over that lush lower lip. Or maybe bite it.

“You were growling.” Patton replied suspiciously. “And you were feeling cold. You're never cold, you're always warm as toast.”

“It's nothing, truly. I was just...distracted.” Janus tried again. “Work related, got me a little upset is all.”

Patton narrowed his eyes—then leaned back in to hug Janus again. Janus hugged him back without thinking...and felt his breath catch when he swore, swore to all the dragon gods, that he felt the tiniest press of lips against his neck before Patton burrowed in, pressing his face there.

“No one's 'llowed to upset my pretty dragon.” Patton mumbled against his throat. “Gonna eat their liver.”

Janus knew enough to know that was a very genuine threat, petulant as it sounded—and the promise of bloodshed should not make his heart throb with the softest pulse of tenderness and adoration. And yet...

“No more cannibalism, remember, darling?”

“It was one time, and it was an accident!”

Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as Patton drew back to whine at him in protest.

“Yes, darling. Of course—entirely accidental. Naturally.”

“Humph. Not talking to you anymore.”

“Understood.”

“...the Lord Father is here to see you.”

Janus felt his blood turn to ice at that.

“Janny? You okay?”

With a sigh, Janus gently patted Patton's knee.

“No, but this was inevitable. Up, Paddock darling. I've business to attend to.”

********** He seemed bigger than Janus remembered.

Walking into his office, he was unsuprised to see Josiah Crofter standing within its walls, back turned as he stared out the window, arms folded across his chest. He wasn't, technically, allowed to be here and leave free, but Josiah had made it clear to the prince regent he knew how to access the castle at will—and had been given leave to do so whenever he wished to see his family.

When Janus was thirteen, he'd been a hungry giant, and now...now he was exactly the same despite the fact that Janus was now a grown man. Tall, too, thanks to that seven foot frame in his ancestry. Somehow, even still, Josiah himself was the bigger, the prouder, the more intimidating.

Clearing his throat, Janus announced his presence. Josiah didn't even turn around.

“You got good men servin' you, Deceit.”

“Do not call me that.” Janus replied flatly, sauntering over to his desk. “The walls have ears. Granted, most of them are mine, but loose lips and all. Unlike the rest of you, I take protection of my True Name very seriously.”

“Unlike the rest of us, son, it can't be used to hurt you. Not anymore.”

“Yes, you saw to that, didn't you?” Janus bit off tersely, sinking into his chair.

Josiah fell silent, taking a moment before he finally turned to face him. He was a stoic wall for several seconds before his expression just...melted, cold gray eyes going smoke-soft as he watched him.

“You look so much like your momma it hurts.” Josiah murmured, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “It's a good hurt, mind, but...I know you don't believe me, but seein' you's a balm on old wounds, little ember.”

That caught Janus by surprise—and he hated that. He was the one with the surprises, the tricks, the knowledge...but this man had things he never would.

Father knew who Janus was, but Josiah Crofter...he knew where Janus came from. He knew the why, the history and the parts and how they worked together, because they were a part of him as well. They were, quite literally, part of his soul.

“Which part?”

The question left Janus without his permission, torn from the small, secret part of him that had been inexorably drawn to his birth father's doorstep from the moment his human half had truly awakened for the first time.

He wasn't sure what he even meant, but somehow Josiah knew all the same.

“Both. All.” he replied, deep voice heavy with affection that settled over Janus, warm as fire and soft as the heaviest flannel blanket. “You got her scales and her hair—and in human form, her eyes were always that same shade of yellow you got on the one side.”

The knowledge hit him hard, formed a fist and plunged straight into his chest. It was comfort, it was agony...and it was a much needed reminder.

Josiah Crofter knew him as even his own father couldn't—and far too late, Janus learned to fear him for that reason. Far too late.

Janus's True Name was proof of that.

“Is there a reason you're here to see me, Lord Father?” he replied instead of addressing the observation. “Or did you come her to merely wax sentiment?”

A flare of hurt, then anger passed through his expression, clinging to his bones with its painful familiarity. Timothy Ormor was a man slow to anger, patient and steady—unlike Janus, whose swift mind was only outpaced by his heart, burning with the fire of the dragons.

Lashing out with anger instead of grieving or showing fear. This man was where he got it from.

Like Josiah did now, composing himself and folding his hands behind his back, he would default to a steady and inscrutable mask, cover the truth with strength and decorum.

“I came here to check on you.” he replied evenly. “Your situation with the Morrel boy ain't exactly a common one. Does he know?”

“About my condition? No.” Janus replied flatly. “And he never will.”

“That ain't an option, and you damn well know it.”

“It is if we aren't together.”

Josiah's brow furrowed, expression clouding with confusion. “You a Jadeheart?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “That term is archaic as all Seven Hells—no, I am not aromantic. Nor am I asexual, which is hardly your business—oh, I'm sorry, Soultouched.”

“You love that boy. You're bonded to him.”

“Your point?”

“...so you did give him your human soul.”

Janus fell silent, stubbornly holding the other man's gaze until he grit his teeth with a growl.

“Ah, Hells...”

Janus didn't like the way Josiah's breath left him in a rush, the way he cursed as if he'd just lost something precious. He didn't like the way he hung his head, shoulders slumping in something like defeat.

Janus didn't like the way he felt suddenly like he'd done something to deliberately hurt him.

“He was a Black Dog with a pure heart.” Janus hissed. “The purest heart...anyone who didn't know would assume he had a soul already, how could I give him anything else? How could I kill that human heart with a monster's soul?”

As he said it, he felt the reality of it sink into him for the first time, saying it out loud like that.

Because unlike most twin souls, a drake could choose.

And when Janus gained an inkling of what might be happening, when he felt that moment come—to give of himself, to release something of himself into Patton's care, of course—of course he chose to give Patton, to trust Patton, with everything in him that was human.

“You know what's gonna happen if you hold yourself away from him, son.” Josiah warned.

Janus narrowed his eyes at him, but could no longer bear up under Josiah's scrutiny, his eyes flicking down to his desk.

“Tell me this, Father: if you knew that you were going to become every foul thing the Animator stood for, if you knew that you were going to turn into your own father, would you have married my mother? Would you have exposed her to that monster?”

There was no answer from Josiah. Janus didn't expect one.

The closer he grew to Patton, the worse it got—and now that the sweet little killer was no longer safely tucked away in the dungeons or sequestered in a single wing of the palace, Janus was slipping.

Consumed by the hunger for possession. Tormented by visions of riches. Haunted by the knowledge that, if given half a chance, he would consume Patton whole just to sate his growing thirst for more.

Without his human soul, Janus was losing his grip on himself—and if he couldn't do something soon, the dragon—Deceit--would be all that was left of him.

#janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #sanders sides #fanfic #necromancer au #fic series: the emerald #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

[bjy-on-ao3]

Kinktober Day 15

(As before, you can find a link to the AO3 version of this and the rest of my Kinktober 2020 prompts on the ‘Masterlist’ section of the blog.)

Taking some liberties with how Devilgram/D.D.D. work in this chapter, so don’t mind me. I flip-flopped on this one for a while trying to decide who I wanted to be the one masturbating - Asmo of the MC reader character.

Kinktober Day 15: Masturbation (Asmodeus | Obey Me!)

A loud buzz from your D.D.D. nearly made you fling the device off into the darkness of your room. You fumbled not to drop the device amongst your sheets as you glanced at the picture the screen had changed to. You brow crinkled curiously, noting it was an incoming call from Asmodeus. Your eyes flicked to the time readout at the top of the screen. It was late. Much later than you might normally expect a call from one of the demon brothers or anyone else for that matter. Most of the time they just texted you anyways rather than called. That it was Asmo of all people who was calling so late, the brother who was meticulously careful about not staying up too late and getting plenty of sleep for the sake of his perfect skin. 

Asmo’s light voice repeated your name in his typical, affectionate tone, almost sounding surprised you picked up. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You hesitated for a second, recalling why you had even been awake at such a time of night. You had been browsing Devilgram - Asmo’s in particular - looking up a few photos both recent and innocent, and more so others older and far more useful as eye candy than memories. But Asmo couldn’t have known that, could he? “Ah, oh no, it’s fine. I was still up. Couldn’t sleep,” You admitted. It wasn’t exactly a lie after all.

“What a coincidence, neither could I! That’s why I called you~,” he explained, sounding far too enthusiastic about the fact. You waited for him to continue, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done. “Why don’t you talk with me a bit? Maybe it will tire us both out,” he suggested. There was a tinge of something in his voice you couldn’t quite make out that you quickly dismissed.

You made another face, uncertain how just talking might help you sleep, but willing to oblige him. It wouldn’t do to have him bemoaning his lack of sleep in the morning if you could help it - one demon brother in a bad mood invariably created a domino effect at breakfast. “Uh, sure. What did you feel like talking about?”

“Mm, how about what you were doing looking at those old beach pictures on my Devilgram page so late at night?” The mischief in his voice was obvious and your heart gave a start at his words.

“I-wha… H-how did you know?” You squeaked into the phone, feeling your face flush hotly, feeling as if your brain had suddenly blown a circuit.

Asmodeus chuckled, the sound light, but breathier than you usually remembered. “Oh? Did you not know? The new Devilgram update came out. You can see realtime activity on your posts.”

“I had no idea,” You confessed guiltily, your heart thumping in your chest. That meant Asmo knew exactly why you were awake - or least what you had been looking at. Maybe not what you had been using them for. At least you had that secret left.

But the Avatar of Lust could easily put two and two together. “Don’t be ashamed, my dear. It’s not like I can blame you, I’ve done the same,” He reassured you. For a moment you weren’t sure if he meant looking back at old provocative pictures of himself or of others on Devilgram - sometimes with as much of a narcissist as Asmo it was hard to be sure. “It’s perfectly natural.”

There was that air in Asmodeus’ voice again. A tinge of huskiness to his tone, a hint of breathlessness that had you wondering. The cat was basically already out of the bag, so maybe you could use it to your advantage? “Okay, so maybe I was, maybe I needed a little something to look at to help me sleep,” You tried to turn the situation around and sound coy and confident, but you could hear the embarrassment filtering into your voice.

“Well, If you needed something like that to sleep, you know you’re always welcome to come ask me for help,” the demon on the end of the line purred. The throaty tone of his voice had increased and it was beginning to dawn on you that Asmo hadn’t called you simply to tease you for ‘using’ his photos. “Cat got your tongue, dear? Hm, I bet there’s the cutest look on your face right now,” Asmo mused aloud after you went silent again, thoughts derailed by your realization.

“S-so then, what are you doing, Asmo? Or did you really call me just to tease me?” You tried to hide the embarrassment again, yet between it and the sudden wetness between your legs, it was hard to curb the wavering of your words.

Another throaty, rich giggle. “Why don’t you come to my room and I’ll show you?~” He invited coquettishly.

Another tangible silence ensued as you debated with yourself and tried to pull yourself together. “Alright,” you managed to answer without stuttering.

”Don’t be too long, dear.” 

With a beep, the call cut off and you were left staring at your home screen. Adjusting your pajamas, you crept from the bed. You quietly and carefully left your room, looking up and down the hall for anyone else around. No Lucifer patrolling to ensure no one was out of bed past his self-imposed curfew. No Beelzebub out for his late-night snack raids. The coast was clear. You made a quiet dash to Asmo’s room, blood pounding in your ears.

Arriving at the door, you knocked very gently, waiting for a moment to no response. You pushed open the door tentatively, knowing Asmo wasn’t one to invite you to his room and then fall asleep a few minutes later. You stepped in swiftly, whirling to close the door with an almost inaudible ‘click’ before taking in the bedroom.

Your red-faced embarrassment returned when you turned your attention to the room, the sight of Asmo stretched out across the bed immediately drawing your eyes. As embarrassed as it made you, it also wasn’t a sight you could resist. From whom you were speaking to and the increasing breathiness of his voice, you had put together that you weren’t the only one who had taken the opportunity of late-night insomnia to touch themself.

What you hadn’t expected was exactly how bold of a show Asmo had invited you to see. Sprawled languidly across the sheets, one leg partly propped up and an arm stretched out above his head, the demon was completely nude. He had shifted into his more demonic form from what you could only assume was lust. His wings fluttered and flexed against the sheets, in time with the steady stroke of his other hand. Your eyes followed the slow rise and fall of his wrist downwards. You bit down on your lip at the sight of his swollen cock, slick with smeared pre-cum.

“That was quick, dear. Couldn’t wait, could you?” He teased, his words broken up by pants and soft moans.

His arousal thick voice was fuel to the sudden warmth that had compelled you to accept his invitation. The desire in his pale red eyes may as well have turned that heat into a five-alarm fire. He chuckled thickly through his noises of bliss. “Speechless, hmm? Just come here and enjoy the view then,’ he invited from his repose on the four-poster bed. He stroked more desperately at his cock, bucking his hips up into his grasp. “When I’m done I can help tire you out, too.”

Combined with the increasingly intense groans of pleasure coming from the demon, the promise sent a shiver through you. You almost felt spellbound by the erotic sight before you. Asmodeus’ specific means of charm had never affected you as it should before, despite harboring an attraction to the beautiful demon. Though it seemed when the full package was put on display before you, even you weren’t completely immune to Asmo’s temptation.

#kinktober #kinktober 2020 #kinktober day 15 #day 15 #day fifteen #obey me asmodeus #om asmodeus #swd asmodeus #obey me! #swd om #shall we date obey me #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom #fic #fanfic #fanfiction

[bundleofyarrow]

chapter 6 is up!

the latest chapter of my Milo x Reader fic is live, and it really sets the stage for the story! if you didn’t see enough Milo in my last post, you might be satisfied with what you see here! it’s below the cut or you can read it (or any chapter!) on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087343/chapters/72127755

i’m also open to write scenes and imagines related to what’s going on in the Bundle of Yarrow universe, so feel free to send me an ask if you’re interested in getting something!

Chapter 6: Dappled Grove

Pattering on leaves. Dripping from bark. The rain sings its own music from the canopy of the forest. Branches of the trees here reached out to one another, creating a secluded corner of the Wild Area. Mushrooms thrived in the damp, muddy floor of the grove and apples swayed further up in the wind. Unlike the wide open fields you just ran from, there were ponds and creeks, and reeds of tall grass lining small lakes. Songs from the Pokemon within them harmonized with the rain.

Opening your eyes, the world is sideways. As feeling returns to your body, you feel the cold, sticky mud against the left side of your face and body. When you attempt to rise from the ground, a dull, thudding pain vibrates down your front. You’re able to support your body weight with your arms, though your elbows feel like they could give at any moment.

Looking back, you see the raised root of a tree, and further into the distance, the border between the Rolling Fields and Dappled Grove. When it doesn’t seem like you’re being followed, you begin to pick yourself up from the ground. Spotting some of your things in the mud, you grab some stray Pokeballs and leave the berries you picked earlier for some lucky scavenger. It wasn’t long until you noticed your phone, its screen bright and, if you were to listen for it, constant low vibration. You wanted to leave it there, but your better judgement compelled you to pick it up and wipe it down. It wasn’t a mystery who was trying to get in contact with you, but you couldn’t think of two people you didn’t want to talk to more right now.

You slip the phone into your bag and scan your surroundings, pulling your soaked and muddy hair out of your vision. Despite hearing a chorus of Pokemon calls, you couldn’t see any in sight. They must all be hiding snug in nooks among the trees while it rained. 

Right now the best thing to do is to find some sort of shelter, so you can get dry. First you needed to get back to the cliffs, and then see if there any empty caves you could stay inside. After the rain stops, you can begin to make your way back to the train station along the southern border of the Wild Area, and head back to Postwick.

The vibrations of your phone against the contents of your bag is audible to your ear as you take a few steps into the grove. You’re not entirely sure what direction you’re going in, but you know you should hit the cliff walls eventually. Raindrops and the squishing of mud beneath your footsteps are all that accompany your scrambled thoughts of recent events. And your phone. constantly. going. off.

At this point you feel too deep into this to admit that you’re acting unreasonable. Sure, maybe you shouldn’t have dashed into the middle of a Diggersby vs Piloswine turf war, and sure, maybe running in the complete opposite direction of safety because of petty grievances was a little extra. You can’t really explain your reaction to knowing Sonia and Leon were rekindling their intimacy, but the way Leon treated you like the plague for the past day only to be back to his good ol’ Champion self after spending the night with her just felt wrong. You felt cast aside, like moment he realized you weren’t after his body, you were just a risk to his reputation.

Your feet stomped through the mud as your thoughts compounded upon themselves. Whenever you could hear your phone vibrating, begging for you to pick up, your movements became more erratic. Your brain recalls all the things Leon said to you in your closer moments, and you can’t seem to completely push them away. And that vibrating just gets louder, and louder, and-A large splash erupted from your periphery, and a loud burst knocked you back screaming off your feet. Your ears rung and you felt dizzy, trying to get back up but stumbling. In front you was a creature with glowing red eyes and strange vibrating protrusions all over its body. You assumed it was a water Pokemon of some sort given that it was blue and came from the marsh you were passing by. You would check your Pokedex but your phone probably slipped to the bottom of your bag by now. Trying to look at it through the dim lighting of the grove, it was terrifying and making this constant, oppressive vibration noise. You didn’t need to pull out your Pokemon to sense it was strong, way more than you could handle.

You slowly backed away from it, and you began to notice small tadpole-like Pokemon hop out of the tall grass and around the larger one, shrieking high pitched trills that pierced your hearing. It seems like you walked a little too close to a nest of these Pokemon, so you were hoping if you just left everything would be okay. Turning and running, you put your all in getting away from the Pokemon so you can survive this disaster of a trip. But you hear a rumbling, and before you know it a powerful cry yells out and you feel a sticky liquid hit your right leg. It immediately seizes up, causing you to fall and shout a curse out into the trees. Looking to your leg, you see muck covering it as the muscles convulse, making you scream as the Pokemon stalks towards you. You attempt to get up, but the pain of the Pokemon’s sonic attacks and losing control of your leg makes you fall forward again.

Is this it?

You don’t know why this Pokemon is so determined to hunt you. Crying out, you hear nothing. No one. Sonia’s shoulder bumps and hugs flash through your mind. Leon shielding you from the Onix. Dragging yourself away, you realize how much you don’t want things to end here. Despite everything, you did have people out there, waiting for you. Wanting to know you’re safe.

The padding of the Pokemon’s footsteps pick up in speed, you try crawling faster but you can tell, it’s not enough. You look back just in time to see it lunge at you with its fist.

Never enough.

A bright light flashes between you and your assailant, rippling just inches from your face where it made contact with the punch attack. This knocked the Pokemon back, which stumbled in shock. It looked up in the distance behind you, from where you could hear foot steps.

“GIGA DRAIN!”

The Pokemon begins to glow green, which starts to surface on its skin as small globes of light. Then all at once, they shoot from it and back towards the voice, promptly causing the Pokemon to faint.

It was hard to process what just happened, your brain preoccupied a range of stimuli and concerns related to your safety. A headache sets in when you realize your ears have been ringing this entire time. There’s running and yelling coming towards you, but it hurts to concentrate on them. Rain continues to fall on your face. Your leg throbs. Only makes sense that you pass out.

~*~*~*~

The first thing you notice is that it’s still raining. But instead of it falling on your face, you hear its rhythmic tapping on a fabric of some sort above you. As sensation begins to return to your body, you realize that you’re not lying in mud, but against your back is something padded. Something is vibrating…

Your eyes spring open and your breath quickens with the image of red eyes and vibrating skin in your mind. Instead of seeing the forest canopy, you find yourself inside a green tent. Turning your head hurts when you go too quickly, so you slowly look around and see your bag next to you, and noticed you’re lying on your sleeping bag. Confused, you rise up into a sitting position, rubbing behind your ears attempting to ease your headache. As you do, your right leg slips out in front of you, and you see that it’s been cleaned and dressed with a bandage. It feels numb but not as bad as it did before, and the camphoraceous smell implies someone applied medicine to your injury.

Speaking of someone, who brought you here? You look around and spot someone else’s camping gear, including a sleeping bag, first-aid kit, what looks like snacks for Pokemon, and a lantern hanging from a hook in the center of the tent. You don’t recognize any of it, meaning a charitable stranger must have saved you from that Pokemon.

It dawns on you that you’re still in your muddy clothing, but the mud that was on your skin and in your hair was gone. You spot a washcloth browned with mud on the floor by the first aid kit, and blushed thinking of someone touching you with such care. You decide to quickly change into new clothing before anyone returned. As you pull out your clothes from your bag, your phone lights up to show the countless amount of notifications you’ve gotten, all from Sonia’s phone. You begin to feel guilty, especially now that you encountered danger, but can’t bear to talk to them just yet.

Just as you pulled on fresh clothing, you hear heavy footsteps approaching the tent. You’re not exactly sure what to do, pretend to be asleep? Wave hello? Go out to meet them? What’s the proper etiquette of being put up in a stranger’s tent?

While weighing your different options, you hear the zipper to the entrance open, making you freeze up. Whoever it is, they are large, starting to frighten you a bit. But soon they stick their head in enough for the lantern light to glow on their face.

“It’s… you!?”You see the wet but same friendly face of the man you met back at Route 1. Unruly rose-colored hair, eyes as green as Galar’s fields, freckles dancing across a boyish face. Fumbling since you still don’t know his name, you make room for him to enter. “You’re awake!” He clambered in and quickly zipped the tent shut. His wide frame made the space seem smaller once he settled in. “Thank Arceus that you’re recovering.”

He has that smile on his face again, warm and gentle. Your cheeks heat up just imagining him carrying you back here to the tent and treating your wounds. It’s not hard to see the contours of his chest through his wet, white shirt, and the impression of mud against it where your head must have been. He begins to empty his pockets of a gnarled looking root that it seems like he dug up in the grove. Before he could explain anything, you leaned forward towards him on your left hand, looking him in the face as if committing it to memory.

“Please,” Your voice is a mix of trembling and dreamy, probably because you’re still fighting exhaustion. “your name. What is your name? I’ve wanted to know ever since we last met.”

The man pauses, taken aback at the sudden attention. His gaze shifts between each of your eyes, like he was struck with some sort of realization. It might have been a trick of the light, but his freckles seemed more pronounced and his cheeks a shade more pink.

“M-Milo, I’m Milo! Mighty rude of me not to introduce myself before, my apologies.” His eyes look away from you, like he was embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Milo.” You repeat his name to yourself, and smile at him, offering your name in return. “I’m so happy to see you again.

”He pauses for beat, as if he was expecting a certain reaction that never ended up coming. His face softened and he smiled back again.

“Looked like you were in a tad bit of trouble there for a second with that Seismitoad. Thankfully I heard ya and was able to make it over in time.” Milo’s eyes travel down to your injury. “How’s that feelin’?”

You pass a hand over your injured leg, your mind momentarily flashing to when that muck covered it. “It’s a little numb, but at least it’s not twitching anymore.”

Milo puts out his hand and shows you what he collected while you were unconscious. “My poppa always told me to make tea out of this here root if I was ever hurt in the Wild Area, and it’s never failed me. I’m gonna make you some and it’ll fix ya up, good as new!”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that for me.” Your gaze drops to the floor. “I’ve been enough of a burden already.”

“Hey now, chin up.”

You look back up at him and his soft expression. “Don’t say that about yourself, looks like you’ve had quite the rough day. I’m happy I found you, if only so we get to cross paths again.” He pulls off his cap, running a hand through his wet hair in attempt to get it out of his face. That’s when you realize he’s just in from all that rain.

“Milo, you’re soaking wet! Don’t you think you should get out of those clothes?”

You look at him with some concern as he starts to turn a bit red. Is he getting a fever?“

I, ah,” His eyes look away from you, not at all able to keep his usual friendly eye contact. “I wouldn’t wanna m-make ya uncomfortable…”

It took you a second to get what he meant, mostly from the slight squirming he was doing while under your gaze. You briefly imagined him peeling off his wet shirt in front of you, eyes widening and definitely getting a full blush.

You scramble to turn around as fast as you can, looking completely away from him. “S-sorry! I can leave if you want! This is your tent.”

“Don’t be silly.” A chuckle accompanies his words, and he seems to rummage in his bag. “You’re fine right there.”

A quiet comes between you two, enough to hear the rain tap against the tent and the vibration of your phone in your bag.

“Your phone’s been goin’ off ever since I found you. Seems like someone’s quite worried.” You turn to face Milo to respond, only to catch him trying to pull his head through a dry shirt. His well-built chest and torso were rather exposed, you could tell that he regularly does physical work to have that physique. Your eyes can’t help but notice he has some freckles on his shoulders and in the center of his chest. You felt a wave of heat travel through your body as you quickly looked back away.

“O-oh do you think so?”

“Are you not gonna to check?”

He continues to rustle around, and you have a permanent blush trying to not think of him changing his pants. You attempt thinking sobering thoughts, about the amount of worry Sonia and Leon must be feeling right now, not if his freckles trail all the way down his body.

You let out a long breath after pausing to think of what to say. “Milo I…” Your voice trembles and you can feel the emotion rising to your eyes. “I messed up. I really just… made a mess of things.” Putting your hands to your face, you try to calm your breathing, but it doesn’t seem to help much.

A gentle weight places itself on your shoulder.

“May I?” Milo asks softly.

Nodding, you turn to him, rubbing at your face as he lightly rubs your shoulder, now in dry clothing with a small green towel hanging from his neck. “You always seem to catch me at my low moments, I must seem like such a bummer.” “I don’t think that at all. Not one bit.”

You look at him through your hands and misting eyes, and he has that genuine, reassuring expression. You try to smile, if only to show that you appreciate the positive energy he is sharing with you.

“C’mon, you can tell me all about it.” He turns to small gas stove, which he must have brought out while he fished for his new clothes. It was big enough to hold a small kettle, which he poured water in from a canteen. It also looked like he had a paring knife and shallow bowl set next to him. “I’ll prepare your tea while you do.”

You’re not really sure where to begin, and you don’t necessarily want to gossip about Leon and Sonia to Milo. In a way, you didn’t want to disturb the gentle warmth he radiated.

“Well, after I met you, I decided to take Wooloo on an adventure.” Milo would look up and nod every once in a while as you spoke, just to show you he was still listening while peeling and cutting the roots. “My cousin, Gloria, she just got her first Pokemon. So did her neighbor friend, and they both were determined to enter the Gym Challenge. I figured, if someone so young could set out into the unknown, why can’t I? It was a good excuse to get out of Postwick and see the rest of the country. I didn’t know really what I was doing- well, I mean, I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I figured, I had I fight my fear of failing and just try.”

Saying all that out loud reminded you of how you were planning on returning to Postwick. Was that still the best thing to do?

“It’s brave of you to step outside of your comfort zone. You should be proud of yourself!” Milo regards you with another smile, lifting the top of the kettle to check that the water was boiling. Satisfied, he carefully slid the chopped root into the kettle with the edge of his knife and replaced the lid.

You feel a bit bashful. “Are you always this encouraging to everyone?”

In your mind it was supposed to be a whisper, but Milo clearly heard you given his stammering. “N-no, it’s just, y’know, the nice thing to do! It’s part of my j-” He’s clearly blushing, and you can tell he’s trying use the towel to hide the color in his cheeks.

Milo’s reaction makes you chuckle a bit, it’s satisfying to see that he’s not completely composed and measured all the time.

“Anyway!” Is that a bit of a pout you see? “I guess you made it out here because you’re on your way to Motostoke for the opening ceremony? Are you joining the challenge too?”

His eyebrows raise a little as you shake your head.

“Honestly, I don’t really know much about the Gym Challenge. I don’t think I’m really that strong, or if I’m any good at battling or training Pokemon. It’s not that fun seeing them get hurt… But I do like spending time with them though! With Wooloo, and Yamper, and now Vanillite. I feel they all want to be with me, like they just know I’m someone they like.” You say that last part a little quieter. “And when I set out with new friends, and new Pokemon, all I could think about was the memories we would make together.”

That faint smile returns to Milo’s lips as he tips the kettle, pouring the tea into two ceramic tumblers the color of sage. “Sounds wonderful to me.” He slowly picks up one of the cups by the rim and moves it towards you. It’s a wonder how delicate his hands are despite their size. “Careful now, it’s hot.” You take it from him, brushing fingers with him as you do. If he noticed you blushing from that, he doesn’t show it. “It’s quite bitter, but it’ll heal ya up right quick, I promise!” He picks up his tea and gestures it towards you. “To good health!”

For a few moments all one could hear was the rain and the both of you blowing on your tea to cool it down. When you heard more vibrating, you reached into your bag and set it to silent before returning to the task at hand.

Milo looks between you and your bag a few times. “You sure you don’t wanna answer it?”

“I will have to eventually, and when I do it’ll make me sad.” You blow on your tea a couple more times. “I’d rather enjoy this moment with you right now.” He looks down towards the tea in his lap, enough for his cap to cover his face. “I’m enjoyin’ this moment with y-you too.”

It’s your turn to offer him a smile. “Milo?”

“Y-yes??” He looks up to you, seeming a bit distracted.

“Do you believe in fortune-telling?”

Milo is caught off-guard with that question, tilting his head as he tries to puzzle out what you mean. “Hmm, well, my Gran reads my tea leaves whenever I visit. There are times I think my Wooloo’s sleeping arrangements can predict the weather. And my family gives each other good luck charms as gifts all the time. So a little I suppose!”

You reach into your bag, feeling around for something in particular. “I talked to a fortune-teller before I left on this trip, and she offered to read my fortune. I wanted to know what my adventure was going to be like. Know what she said?” Milo tilts his head again in curiosity when you look to him. “That I’m going to find love when I least expect it.”

“R-really?” His green eyes blink a few times as he processes what you just said so forwardly. “Ain’t that somethin’…” Milo leans into his towel again. “Didn’t know someone could go on an adventure lookin’ for love like that.” He desperately tries to busy himself, deciding to refill your cups with tea as he avoids eye contact.

Your hand finally finds what’s you’re looking for, and you pull out a bundle of sticks wrapped in a worn silk scarf. “I do a bit of fortune-telling myself. Or really, I like to do some self-reflection.” You place it between the two of you and unfold the silk, letting the small sticks roll out a bit. “These are yarrow sticks.”

“Yarrow, huh.” He rubs his chin, intrigued.

“It’s a bit complicated to explain, but you can get messages through grasping the sticks and counting the amount you have. After you go through it a few times, it indicates special symbols that will give you your fortune.” You look up to Milo, who is giving you his attention and looks mystified. “As thanks for saving me, can I read your fortune?”

He nods eagerly. “Only if you wanna, of course! You don’t owe me anythin’.” You smile again and begin the process, closing your eyes, picking up a bunch of the yarrow, then counting them. “This does take a bit, how about you tell me a story? What are you doing out here in the Wild Area?”

“Well,” Milo considers his words. “Mostly for training really. Thought I could use some extra practice with my Pokemon. Been swamped with work and haven’t had as much time for battlin’.”

“So you’re not just a Wooloo rancher, you’re also a Pokemon trainer?”

You’re not looking up at him, but you could tell Milo was stumbling over what to say.

“Th-that’s right, yeah. And with the Gym Challenge starting up ‘n all, there’s gonna be a lot more fightin’ ‘round these parts. The Wooloo have been hoggin’ all my attention lately that my other Pokemon are gettin’ a tad jealous.”

“I can imagine Pokemon and people alike fighting for your attention. You have that kind of aura.”

“I-is that so?? I’m not sure, just a regular ol’ lad here. Nothin’ special!”

You find his consistent modesty rather charming. It’s not hard to imagine Milo’s genuine nature attracting a lot of people. He must have his hands full. Looking up to him for a second, seeing his gaze cast down to his fidgeting fingers, you reply simply with “I’ll have to disagree with that.” You’re not entirely what’s going on with him, but for a man of his size he tries to hide himself often. You enjoy his reactions and earnest manner, which makes you want to get to know him better. “Are you ready for your fortune?”

“Yes!” He says maybe a little too eagerly, staring down at the different piles of sticks. “So you arranged ‘em into piles of different amounts. And they all line up to mean somethin’?”

You nod and stare intently, counting the different lines and trying to remember your studies. “It describes your current situation, a catalyst for change, and how that will influence the future.”

He nods some more, looking up and down the row of piles.

“It looks like… right now, you’re going to be a part of a gathering. Where you’re a leader of some sort.”

Milo fumbles the cup in his hand, panicking a little trying to catch it and not splash tea all over the place.

“Is everything alright??” You ask, alarmed at the sudden reaction.

“Y-yes, sorry, I just wasn’t expectin’,” He gulps. “this to be so precise ‘n all.”

You give him a bit of a puzzled look and he rubs the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. Maybe it’s better to let him tell you the details on his own time.

“Hmm, well, the emphasis is on feeling tasked to bring people together. But eventually, that will change.”

Milo leans in some, curious to hear what you have to say and amazed these simple sticks could conjure up such meaning.

“It seems like you’re being indecisive about something, and that’s creating confusion. The people around you are expecting more action, but you’re unsure of your social standing.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the intense look in his eyes tells you that the reading is really sinking deep. This is the first time you’ve seen him look so serious.

“Because of that, it looks like you will follow a new path, or really, a new person. While it seems like you should be the one leading, you have to learn what it’s like to let someone else take the lead for you. The main piece of advice is: be completely open and sincere. Though it can be tough, that is the best way to navigate your relationships during this change.”

Milo seems to be struck by the message you delivered. You allow a few moments to pass, folding your hands in your lap as he contemplates the meaning.

You hear a buzzing noise of a Rotom Phone, but you know it’s not yours. Milo sits up and looks you in the eyes. “Thank you for this, it was a wonderful gift. Plenty food for thought.” He reaches into one of the pockets of his camping bag. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to check this.”

Nodding, you gather all your yarrow back up and bundle it with the silk it came in. You’ll have to remember to thank your auntie for putting this in your bag, it’s your favorite keepsake of your grandmother’s.

Milo is scrolling through something on his phone with a faint smile on his face.

“Good news?” You ask, putting the sticks back into your bag.

“I just got sent these!” He shows you his phone with what looks like pictures from a photoshoot. A striking woman is in all of them, posing confidently in different swimwear outfits. She clearly gorgeous, must be a model for fashion magazines. “It’s my girlfriend Nessa, isn’t she so cool?”

Oh.

You start to feel embarrassed, as all the attention you were getting from Milo made you feel a little special. But you should have caught on by now that it’s likely he’s attentive to everyone. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

“She’s beautiful, what a lucky guy you are!” It’s unclear how sincere you sounded, but you hoped it was enough. For the second time today, you’re not sure why you’re feeling as strongly as you do. Milo, at least, seems oblivious to the emotional rollercoaster you’re on, so you’re able to small talk some more before he suggests both of you going to sleep.

“We can begin hiking towards Motostoke in the mornin’, should only take us about a day or so more travel. Then you can meet back up with your cousin and see her in the openin’ ceremony!” He explained as you both slide into your sleeping bags. “Nessa’ll be there too, I hope you get to meet her!”

You turned your back to him as he puts out the lantern. For some reason, you’re not as excited as he is to arrive in Motostoke. A few moments pass in silence before you find what you want to say.

“Thank you for saving me Milo. I know you just think it was the right thing to do, and it was nothing but… It means a lot to me. I hope to be able to be there for you when you need help.”

There are some shuffling sounds, what you guess to be Milo shifting in his sleeping bag. You feel his gaze from behind, but he doesn’t make any moments towards you at all.

“You already have been.”

You both wish each other goodnight. It took you a bit longer to fall asleep that usual, even with how exhausted you were, because Milo’s presence was nearby. He kept shifting around too, but since your back was towards him, you could only speculate why. The rain continued to beat against the tent, eventually lulling you into a deep sleep.

~*~*~*~

A soft humming weaved among the sound of rain, guiding you into the waking world. Your eyes slowly opened and take in the scenery, trying to remember where you are. At first the man nearby you seems like someone from a dream, but you remember it’s Milo. He’s in his own world peeling and slicing apples, balancing his phone on a knee and every once in a while looking to it as he arranges the fruit on plates. He has such a boyish look but a wise air about him, and you find the contrast appealing. It’s clear Milo has such consideration to his strength, and pays careful attention to how he interacts with the world. Just makes you want to get to know him a little better.

You must have shifted around or had your breath pick up, because Milo looked over to you and noticed you were awake. He offers you a smile.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

A part of you flutters a bit hearing that. Drawing yourself up into a sitting position, you let out a short yawn. “Morning~”

“I didn’t wake you, did I? Jus’ thought it would be nice to have a little bite of somethin’ before we left.” While he did have a bit of softness to his voice, it seemed like he was wide awake. 

“Not at all.” You were going to tease him about his singing, but decided you should be more cordial with a taken man. “What’s cookin’?”

“Just some apples from the grove!” He hands you a plate of apple slices after you move from your sleeping bag and over towards him. “It’s best to save the real cookin’ for when we’re able to get outta this rain and set up a campfire.” He takes a bite out of an apple slice, chewing as he thinks through something. “How’s your leg feelin’?” 

You move around and bend your leg. “It’s definitely feeling better! Still feels a little numb at times, like my leg has fallen asleep. But your magic seems to be working!”

After chatting a bit more over apples, you both get ready to leave and break down Milo’s tent. He’s able to locate a path that would take you both northeast through the Dappled Grove towards West Lake Axewell.

Soon into your walk, it’s clear that your leg isn’t back up to 100% capacity. While you didn’t really feel any pain, you noticed it didn’t have the quickest reaction time, leading you to stumble a few times whenever there was uneven footing. You try to play it off as being clumsy, but Milo notices what’s going fairly quickly. He moves to your right side and extends his left arm towards you.

“Here ya go, hold onto me for support.”

It is shocking to you how he says this with a completely straight face, not thinking about how your skin is going to touch his, how you’ll feel each other’s body heat as you inevitably press up against him, how to a stranger in the distance it’ll look like the both of you are-

Before the moment can completely pass, you slip your hand around his bicep, completely flushed. As you walk, each time you feel like you’re going to stumble, you’re able to shift your weight into him. His sturdy build barely moves whenever you do, he even whistles a bit during the quieter moments of your journey. It’s like all of this is natural to him.

It’s still raining in the Dappled Grove, but it starts to ease into a drizzle along your journey. Eventually you both come across a serene pond surrounded by large, flat rocks. Milo helps you down on one of the rocks to rest, and says he wants to scout the rest of the area to make sure it’s safe. “There’s Bewear ‘round these parts, and that’s a critter I wouldn’t want us to run into.”

He leaves you with the quiet sound of rain hitting the pond next to you. The ripples are almost calming, hypnotizing even. Leaves and flower petals float along the surface. As you look, you start to notice that the leafy pads of the pond are actually Pokemon, whose blue bodies are underwater. There’s a group of them floating with each other on the far end of the pond, squirting streams of water at each other and making what you assume to be giggling noises. They didn’t look to be putting too much effort into dodging each other, rather allowing the force of the water sprays push them toward and away from each other. After your encounter with the Seismitoad, you can’t help but smile at seeing the more playful side of Pokemon.

Until a stream of water hits you straight in the face.

You sputter a bit, surprised because this didn’t come from the group you were watching, but a lone one hanging by your side of the pond. It giggles shyly at your reaction. “Well two can play at that game miss!” You grab your water bottle, take a swing, and squirt back at the Pokemon. Yours was weaker and smaller, but she still let out noises that made it seem like she was entertained. You both went back and forth with your antics until you heard a soft chuckle nearby from behind you.

“Havin’ fun?”

You jump a little at Milo’s voice, and feel your cheeks heat up knowing he probably watched you act silly for bit there. He settled down next to you on the edge of the pond, offering a finger for the Pokemon to brush against.

“Do you know what kind of Pokemon this is? I don’t think I’ve seen any in Alola.” You smile at how naturally she seems to warm up to Milo.

“It’s a Lotad! Very calm and sweet Pokemon. I train with one of its evolutions sometimes.” He smiles a bit as she floats a bit in a circle. “Alright we should go now. How ‘bout you go swim with your friends?”

The Lotad gives a look to the others and then looks away, floating towards you instead.

“Aww it looks like she’s feeling a bit left out. I know how that feels.” Lotad begins to crawl out of the pond next to you.

“Seems to me that Lotad has taken a shine to ya!” Milo fishes out a green bean and hands it to you.

You smile as she allows you to feed her. “I really enjoy it when a Pokemon seems to pick me out. It’s nice to be noticed.”

Milo shifts his weight, but doesn’t say anything.

“I wish there was a way to catch a Pokemon without battling it.”

“Sometimes you can!” Milo pulls out one of his Pokeballs. “You see, all that matters is when this button here,” He gestures to the knob at the front. “presses against the Pokemon you wish to capture. If the Pokemon accepts your ownership, then it’s easy as pie and they’re snug in their Pokeball! But most Pokemon like bein’ free, so you have to weaken them first in order to catch ‘em.” He hands you the Pokeball. “How ‘bout you see how she feels?”

You look to the Lotad and hold the Pokeball out to her. “What do you say? Would you like to come along with me? There’s a whole bunch of friends who’d be happy to meet you!” The Pokemon takes one final look at the others deeper in the pond, and then nudges at the Pokeball. With a flash it opens and soon the Lotad is in the ball. With a couple light shakes, the ball clicks and it seems like she’s ready to be one of your Pokemon.“Wow you’re right!” You hold up the Pokeball, amazed that it happened. “I always thought you had to take Pokemon by force.”

“Usually, that’s the case.” Milo has his hand at his chin, looking like he’s really thinking about something. “But it looks like you naturally attract Pokemon! I noticed that with the Wooloo I gave you. Technically, we’d have to do something more official, like me releasing and then you capturing him. But he just went right over to you and accepted you as his trainer.”

You giggle a bit. “That one is still attached to my hip, I’ll be surprised if he ever wants to do anything but cuddle.” Sliding the Pokeball into your bag, you shoulder it on and stand up from where you were lounging. “I bet he’s going to be so happy to see you!”

Milo smiles as he lends out his arm again, which you take. His demeanor hasn’t changed at all, nothing is awkward about how he is around you. When you try to imagine Leon doing the same thing, it’s like he would get hives and pass out from so much physical contact with you.

“It looks like the coast is clear for the rest of the way outta here. And the rain lets up in the direction we’re headed.” You’re reminded that it’s still drizzling as water collects and drips off the edge of his cap. “I’m sure you’d like to be near a warm cozy fire right about now!”

“With you? Of course.” It’s your turn to smile when Milo mumbles a sort of thanks.

You feel like, maybe, this adventure is worth going on after all.

#milo x reader #pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield imagines #pokemon milo imagines #pokemon milo #pokemon swsh imagines #a bundle of yarrow #fanfiction #fic

[fericita-s]

The Bloom Is On The Rye

Henry was a man and none of his gifts were trifles, starting with the firm arm around her waist saving her from certain death and the blanket around her shoulders to keep out the cold now.  The ring on her finger that he had probably been saving for a woman he loved and admired rather than one he had to take care of like a tiresome beast of burden, even though he was too nice to say so.

An 8K-ish Mercy Street Emmry story (with a dash of Phoster) I’ll be posting in 6 parts, starting today.  Also on AO3.

@jomiddlemarch​  wrote In Having New Eyes for Mercy Street Advent, Oregon Trail crossover day.  When I freaked out about how much I loved it she encouraged me to write more, even sending me ideas and brainstorming about various directions the story could take.  So here it is! Thanks for letting me play!

@the-spaztic-fantastic​ continues to make everything I write better, from brainstorming to beta-ing to being an enthusiastic reader.  Thank you.

At night Henry read aloud from the Book of Psalms.  Their first evening together he had cleared his throat awkwardly and asked if she would like to hear.  Emma knew it was his way of telling her he didn’t expect a wedding night so she said yes, an easier yes than any of the others she had given that day.   Henry’s voice was measured, like he was considering every word as he spoke it, and soothing, like he wanted the words to comfort her in the way he would not with his touch.

The words reached her, more than they ever had inside the four walls of a church or though the short verses she embroidered on pillows.  Now she thought David’s words could be her own. Give ear to my words, oh Lord, and consider my groaning.  Let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy, and spread your protection over them. Sometimes the psalms were angry and sometimes joyous and sometimes despairing, but always wanting to find hope.  

And Emma was all of those things too. The expanse of land was breathtaking in its beauty and she could hardly deny that the Creator God who made it was powerful. 

But the land was also terrifying and unfair, and she sometimes wondered if God was too.

***

“Thank you,” she said as Henry put a blanket around her shoulders.  He didn’t say anything in return but he did sit next to her, their sides touching just barely, their feet hanging over the side of the wagon.  The campfire was several feet away and the light from the stars and moon was bright enough that she could probably see his face if she dared turn and look.

“At home we had servants.”

“Oh,” said Henry, moving slightly so that their sides were no longer pressed together at all, and Emma mourned the loss.  It had felt warm, nice even to be touched, light though it had been.  There had been so little of it since her family died. “We’ll probably have to keep our own house, even after this trek is over. Though perhaps in a few years we could hire someone to help.”

“I only meant - that’s why I don’t know what to do.  But I’ll learn.”

“I should have told you more, before we married. And I don’t expect you to do all that.  I managed fine as a bachelor. I can do for us both.”

“Then what would I contribute?” she asked, now looking at him and smiling so he would know she wasn’t aggrieved.  It was a new world to her but she’d seen enough to know that everyone had to have a use.  Nothing could exist for only beauty and perhaps it was a mercy Alice hadn’t realized that yet before her end came. 

Perhaps it would have made Jimmy into a man who did more than ruin his family.  

“I’m sure you have many talents,” Henry said and Emma was grateful he spoke.  Not just for the confidence or kindness it showed, but for pulling her from the darker thoughts that had started to intrude.

“I can plan a party.  Embroider a handkerchief. Paint a landscape.” 

“Could you sew a dress? I can probably get some calico or muslin when we go through Fort Kearney. I know you’ve only the one dress since - “ he paused and took her hand, hesitantly covering it with both of hers. She smiled at him, so he would know it was welcome, and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders with her other hand, shivering a little. 

“I can manage that.  And I can pay for it, too. My trunk with our sewing notions; I still have it. Mother hid some brooches among the buttons and I’m wearing the pearl necklace. We could sell them.  There’s a leontine watch chain too, but we had to sell the watch.”  Emma felt the drop pearl pendant warm against her chest and thought of the brooches carefully wrapped in bits of fabric.  The cabochon garnet in its decorative frame and the less valuable hand painted one, enamel and round, the size of a coat button. Her mother had painted it herself and kept it stowed away from the grit of their dusty travel, but Emma remembered seeing her sit with it that first night on the trail, turning it over in her hand and then bringing it to her cheek like a kiss. 

“No,” he said, and his fingers moved to his mother’s ring, loose on her finger. He ran his thumb over it and Emma shivered again.  “You keep that. You should keep something of your family. To give to your own children someday.”

Her hand fell gently into her lap as he drew his hands back and Emma wondered if he, like her, was suddenly thinking about what it would mean for her to have children someday.  Was he regretting this arrangement? This marriage where he barely touched her?  

“Your mother’s ring - was there someone you planned to give it to?”

“No. I brought a few of her things, without much of a plan for their use.  Small things to remember her by.  And you, was there someone for you?” 

“I thought so, before we left.  But when our family fortunes turned, he did too. I’m not longing for him.”  She could feel him looking at her and it made her feel warm. Like she had admitted too much.

“Good.  I mean, I wouldn’t want you to have more grief to bear than you already have.” 

Neither spoke as Silas Bullen began playing his fiddle from across the circle of wagons, a jaunty version of “Yankee Doodle” that Mrs. Brannan’s voice soon joined.  Emma could picture her parents listening to it - her father inviting her mother to dance, her mother complaining that a song with a Virginian like Washington in the lyrics would use the word ‘Yankee,’ but smiling and taking his hand anyway.

“I’m not crying about you. About being married to you. When I cry.  I just miss them, that’s all,” Emma said, wishing she was still wearing her bonnet so Henry couldn’t see the tears springing to her eyes.  

“I know,” he said. “I understand.” And she believed that he did, passing her handkerchiefs all day when her tears fell and not mentioning the cause. This time, after pressing a handkerchief into her fist, he also put his arm around her, running his hand up and down her arm, making shushing noises like she had heard him use with the oxen when he unyoked them for the night. She could feel his heart beating against her back as he pulled her tighter against his chest.

It was nice talking this way.  Like he was a friend and could maybe be something more soon. Like they could get through this together. Emma knew how to tease and cajole and even dare boys into showing their affection.  She had received trifles such as a paint set or a bouquet of flowers someone’s servant had grown in a hothouse.  

But Henry was a man and none of his gifts were trifles, starting with the firm arm around her waist saving her from certain death and the blanket around her shoulders to keep out the cold now.  The ring on her finger that he had probably been saving for a woman he loved and admired rather than one he had to take care of like a tiresome beast of burden, even though he was too nice to say so.

Author’s Note:  I did research but only included information that would help Henry and Emma in their romantic pursuit of each other, occasionally eschewing actual facts and realities to make the story more compelling.  For example, most travelers on the trail (called emigrants or overlanders) used tents or slept in the open by the campfire since their wagons were too loaded with supplies.  But I needed Henry and Emma to have some privacy or else he would never ever make a move and no one wants that story.  Henry reads here from Psalm 5, a psalm of David.  Emma’s jewelry was of the type popular at the time; the leontine style was named after a famous actress and was made of a woven golden ribbon with a tassel on one end and a watch hook on the other.

#mercy street #mercy street advent #Emmry #The Oregon Trail

[windskull]

A Little Less Lonely

A/N: Uhhh does the Namco High Fandom still exist on here? I  know this is like. 7 years late but. 

Summary: Davesprite has watched the same week play out so many times, knowing that, in the end, everything will start anew and there’s nothing he can do about it. Everyone around him feels like little more than a caricature, going through the same motions over and over, tugged along with by the whims of the game.

Until one day, someone doesn’t.

~ 6000 words, Davesprite/Anti-Bravoman. Contains swearing. See Ao3 posting for more notes.

Davesprite drummed his fingers against the plastic table, his expression unreadable as he idly looked over the crowded field. All around him colorful booths advertising various clubs and student organizations had been set up, desperately vying for the attention of any student that happened to pass by. Several groups of students idled about nearby, some occasionally glancing at him as they passed by. But they never approached, never expressed interest in joining. They never do. Some might smile at him or give him weird looks, while others might ignore him entirely. But in the end, they always behaved in the same predictable way.

Right on cue, a pair of students in wrestleball gear passed by. One of them gave him a dirty look, whispering to his friend as they gave his table a wide berth. But their actions don’t bother him. They don’t so much as sting. In the end, the other students were just voiceless bits of data, and they just did what they always did.

His attention shifted to a booth across the pathway. Meowkie stood by herself, looking out for a certain someone. Cousin, of course. She always looks for them. Just like all the other datable caricatures in Dating Sim Hell World.

The slightest of smiles — a wistful, wry smile — crossed his face for mere seconds before he turned away. Cousin dated her in a recent cycle. They certainly wouldn’t go for her again so soon. He almost felt bad for her. Without Cousin there for her, she’d just get pushed around by the other students and blamed for things out of her control. Just like she always did.

His gaze shifted away again, spotting the adorable alien in question conversing with Blue Max. Ah, so that’s who they’d selected this time. It’s not the first time they’d dated Blue Max, and he doubted it would be the last. He supposed Cousin had a soft spot for the sensitive ones. At least they weren’t dating Hiromi or Terezi this time; those routes always made him cringe just a little.

Shifting his gaze further still, he spotted a speck of purple down the path, standing out against the colorful crowd. Anti-Bravoman was watching the exchange as well. Davesprite let out a disinterested hum, leaning forward to rest his chin on the palm of one of his hands. That poor sap got chosen just last time. Who knew when he’d be selected again?

Cousin and Blue Max began to walk back towards the school, Anti watching them go. Davesprite rose from his seat, preparing to go off and dow who knows what, but he paused. Huh, had Anti always watched Cousin leave? He shook his head. Oh, what was he saying, of course he must have. The game always played out the same. No matter what Cousin did, everything went down the same predetermined paths.

The other students begin to disperse, and the little effects of Cousin’s choice are evident. Davesprite counted them off on his head. Taira won’t immediately go to the wrestleball game. Instead, he’ll gather up a couple of the other players and go heckle Blue Max at his club. But everyone else would still follow their usual patterns, just without Cousin. Meowkie would go do her hall monitor thing, Richard would go to culinary club, and Anti-Bravoman would go to poetry club. Just like everyone else would do their own clubs.

He wouldn’t bother with his webcomic club, of course. Despite how much the game tries to compel him, he hadn’t bothered with that in a long time. After the first dozen or so cycles, he’d abandoned his schedule, doing whatever he pleased when the game didn’t call for him to interact with Cousin. Admittedly, doing what he pleased usually meant doing nothing, but that didn’t matter. So long as he didn’t get in the way of Cousin, everything would go fine. The game wouldn’t care. The game wouldn’t compel him to move elsewhere.

But as he began floating away, he realized something was off.

Instead of wandering off like all the others, Anti-Bravoman was still rooted to the spot. At first, he thought it must have been a little error. Sometimes the game glitched, after all. He’d return to his normal path soon enough, none the wiser that there was ever anything wrong.

Anti glanced up, noticing Davesprite. He locked eyes with him for just a moment, then suddenly let out a squeak and averted his gaze. Davesprite fully expected him to turn and run off towards Poetry club. Maybe he’d go, too. Watching Anti make a fool of himself trying to act cool and edgy might be fun.

But Anti didn’t run off towards the café. Instead, he turned and dashed towards the school steps. Davesprite’s mouth dropped open as he stared where Anti had disappeared.

That. That wasn’t normal. Throughout all the resets he’d experienced, Davesprite had never seen Anti enter the school on club day. This was new. And as much as the voice in the back of his head told him that this wasn’t anything important, and that he was probably just forgetting something, he couldn’t help but be curious.

So, despite a little itch telling him to do otherwise, he floated through the doors and after Anti.

*****

Davesprite’s search for the rogue student brought him to the roof, where he found Anti sitting on the edge with his back turned, kicking his feet idly. His bullshit guide abilities tell him that there are no events that are supposed to happen up here today, a fact that helped alleviate that itching feeling that he was in a place he shouldn’t be.

Yet, at the same time, it gave him an uneasy, twisting feeling in his stomach that threatened to make him sick. (Could he even get sick?) There was something wrong. Neither of them were supposed to be here. But more importantly, Anti-Bravoman wasn’t supposed to be here.

Uncertain of how to break the silence, Davesprite floated just a bit closer but said nothing, silently closing the door behind him. Sure, he could just float up to him and go, “hey you know you’re not supposed to be here right don’t you have poetry club to get to or something?” But something about that didn’t feel right in the moment. So instead, he opts to just say, “hey.”

Anti jolted at the sound of his voice, letting out an out-of-character, high-pitched squeak of alarm. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. But then his eyes lit up with recognition, and he relaxed slightly. He tilted his head.

“…Davesprite?” There was confusion in his voice, but it wasn’t the hesitant confusion of someone trying to recognize the face of someone they were vaguely familiar with. No, it was the confusion of someone who wasn’t expecting to see anyone else. “What are you doing up here?”

Offering a coy smile and a shrug of his shoulders, Davesprite did the best he could to play it off. “Can’t a guy get a little privacy? I mean the roof is supposed to be off limits and all. But it’s kinda hard to enforce that when a student can fly don’t you think? But anyways what about you? You up here doing like. Some Batman shtick or something? Like. I can see you doing a deep gravelly voice. Monologuing about how dark and broody you are and how the world can’t understand you or something. Some pseudo deep poetic bullshit like that. Speaking of that don’t you like. Go to poetry club or something today?”

Anti flinched and turned his head away, his gaze dropping back towards the ground. “They wouldn’t understand the… inky depths of my soul. The darkness that dwells within me. The depressive state of my innermost being. But that’s enough focusing on my inner demons. What about you, aren’t you supposed to be at poetry club or something?”

He had to suppress a snort to prevent himself from laughing out loud at Anti’s edgy antics. Teasing, whether lighthearted or not, would be the fastest way to get nowhere with his questions. He shrugged. “Poetry club sounds cool and all but I prefer making shitty comics to spitting hot rhymes these days.”

He approached the edge of the roof, taking a seat next to where Anti had been a moment before. His tail curled around, hanging over the edge beside him as he patted the edge, inviting Anti to sit beside him.

Anti stared at him for a moment before sitting back down a few feet back. Then he laid back, his arms behind his head. “I mean,” he began, keeping his gaze on the clouds above them, “no one is going to miss me if I don’t go to poetry club. Cousin might ask about it but all I gotta do is make up a little lie. It’s not like it changes anything in the end.”

Something about the way he said that made Davesprite suck in a breath. It’s familiar, in a way. Like Anti took the words right out of his mouth. He blinked a couple times, digesting the statement before turning back to look at Anti. As soon as Anti realized he was staring, though, he sat back up and looked away.

“I mean. Think about it,” Anti said quickly. Maybe almost too quickly. Or maybe Davesprite was just overthinking things. “It’s not like I have any friends here. I don’t help people out with their bike problems or participate in any of the other clubs or anything. Or just. Have friends in general. If I don’t show up, no one’s going to know.”

He has a point. But at the same time, that didn’t make the nagging feeling in the back of his head go away. Because he knew the way this game worked. He knew Anti wasn't actively involved in any route but his own, and that he only ever made passive remarks about his actions. But still. The game had a way that it did things. Everyone was a caricature, unable to deviate from their script. Everyone but himself.

Or so he thought.

Davesprite realized that he had zoned out. Anti was still rambling, trying to come up with some sort of excuse as to why he was up here. Because that’s all it was. Excuses. Davesprite ignored it all, instead just uttering two words barely above a whisper. “You know.”

Anti’s voice stopped mid-sentence, the words dying in his throat. Swallowing nervously, he tugged at his scarf. “Know what?”

Davesprite frowned. “I mean. We can beat around the bush all day and all but Cuz is only going to be busy for so long, you know? And then we all have to go home and do nothing for the rest of the day and then come back and have to pretend like we did what we were supposed to do. Or we’re supposed to at least. I guess I could always say that I did jack shit but even if I did it wouldn’t make a difference anyways. If anything going off-script would just cause things to reset prematurely or something. Shit’s pretty whack and all but what can you do. So instead you just shrug it off and try and trick them into thinking there’s a harem ending or some shit.”

“What are you…” Anti blinked at him a few times, trying to digest his words. When the implications finally sank in, he stiffened. He stood up suddenly, pulling his scarf up a little higher. “I need to go. I-I have a poetry club to get to.”

“I mean if you don’t want to talk about it that’s cool and all. But.” Davesprite paused. What good would it do to force it. If he was right, then Anti apparently didn’t want to talk to him about it. Which was frustrating, knowing that there might be someone that understood his plight right in front of him, refusing to admit it. But if he was wrong, he’d just make a huge fool of himself.

Then again, if he was wrong, it wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. Anti would just forget this whole conversation in a week, and his sad, miserable little existence trapped in a looping video game would just return to the usual.

He would speak up. “You’re not exactly the most popular student or anything. It’s not like you got anything else to do. Heh. Imagine if you were popular like Donko or Galaga. Always surrounded by other students. Beloved by all. Wouldn’t that be wild? Then again you’re not an inanimate object. Seeps like that’s what it takes to get popular around here. You think someone would date Cousin’s Katamari if they were given the chance? I think it could be pretty cute.” What was he saying?

“What are you trying to say?” Anti gave him a weird look, shaking his head. “Why are you even bothering me with all this. You’ve never paid me any mind before.”

Because he needed to know . He needed proof that he wasn’t alone in this mess. “All I’m saying is that you usually go to poetry club don’t you? You run off and go hide in the rafters and give this dramatic speech about meat prisons that nobody seems to like. I guess you’re going to go do that now so I’ll stop bothering you. Have fun and all.” He shrugged, rising from his spot, and prepared to lower himself to the ground.

“Wait.”

Davesprite turned around. Anti was standing still, staring at him. He wring his hands together nervously, eyes darting to the side. “Are… you really being serious? You’re not messing with me, right?”

Sincerity wasn’t one of Davesprite’s strengths, so instead he replied with his usual flair. “I ain’t clowning with you. The only person I’m clowning on is myself. Well. Right now anyways. It’s not like there’s anyone else here right now. God damn. Do you really remember stuff? Wish you’d have said something sooner bro. It kind of fucking sucks talking to people and getting the same cookie cuter responses every time. Like a bunch of fucking puppets. Ugh.”  

Anti tilted his head so that he was staring at the ground and rubbed his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m supposed to,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know.”

Seeing at how vulnerable, and, yeah, kind of pathetic, Anti looked at the moment, Davesprite almost felt bad. Almost. “What you think the fact that you know about all this is like. Some sort of glitch or something. I mean, hello, I’m Mr. Guide Knowitall and I didn’t know about this so you may be on to something. But. I mean. I also feel like I should have noticed a glitch or some shit like that. Then again I did see you acting weird today so I guess I did notice but…”

“I was just missing Cousin,” Anti said quietly without looking up. “Even if it’s all temporary and all part of a script, they make me feel good about myself.”

Davesprite sucked in a deep breath. Still keeping his gaze down, Anti walked back to the edge of the roof. Finally, he turned back to look at Davesprite. “I… I’d like to talk about this more. I think. But… Cousin will probably be finishing their event right about now.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Davesprite suggested before pausing. “Well. Not tomorrow. The day after. We could meet up and. I dunno. Discuss why videogames suck and maybe why you have control over your actions?”

Hesitation crossed Anti’s face. But it was gone just as quickly. He nodded. “We should probably go somewhere away from the school, since Cousin should be here if they continue down their current path… I think. I don’t know, I don’t follow them around. The café, maybe?”

Davesprite raised a hand up, offering Anti a fist bump. “It’s a date.” He paused. “Well. Not a date. But. You know.”

Anti rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Eh, heh… no, I get it. I’m a swirling pit of darkness. A walking pile of — admittedly totally cool — edge. Not exactly Cousin material. I don’t think that’s what you meant anyways.”

Davesprite laughed, because of course he’s skittish like that. “See you then.”

*****

The next day, as always, passed in a blur. From his seat, Davesprite watched, bored, as Cousin talked to Bluemax and a couple other students, but did little else. They just don’t speak to them all like they used to. Anti kept to his seat in the back of the room, idly scrawling away in a notebook.

Curious, Davesprite rose from his seat, mindful of his tail as he made his way across the room to take a look at what Anti was doing. He expected to see bars upon bars of poetry, but instead was met with surprisingly pristine doodles of robots. Little, less clean doodles of Anti charged at the robots, destroying them in some pictures. Some of the bots he recognized as the ones from Evil Namco High. The ones that they all fought at the end of every week. But others are totally unfamiliar.

Anti glanced up and caught Davesprite’s eye, but quickly looked away, placing his hand over the notebook. Davesprite couldn’t get a good read of his emotions at the moment, but the way the antennas on his helmet drooped suggested that he was embarrassed or otherwise flustered. He raised his brow at the reaction, but said nothing and instead just took one of the nearby empty seats.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Lingering doubts began to swirl in Davesprite’s mind. What if everything from yesterday hadn’t been real. Perhaps he had made it up, in some desperate desire for company.

He almost said anything. But then he swallowed nervously and said, “are we still on. For tomorrow. You know. Date at the café and all.”

There he went, calling it a date again. Not because it was. But it was kind of fun to get Anti a bit flustered. His behavior when he wasn’t putting on the edgy, tough guy emo kid persona was quite a bit different, and almost kind of cute in a way.

Anti nodded slowly. “I… thought you said it wasn’t a date. But yeah. I should have nothing better to do.”

Davesprite let out a relieved breath and smiled. Thank god he was right. At least he didn’t make a total fool of yourself.

“I’ll let you get back to your doodles then,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before leaning away and settling down to just chill out and watch the room, waiting for time to pass.

“T-they’re battle plans!” Anti sputtered, holding the notebook up to his chest. Davesprite just smiled.

*****

They waited for Cousin and Blue Max to leave before sneaking out. Anti insisted on jumping out the window, which Davesprite decided to go along with. For the first time, he got to see that Anti wasn’t actually just some kid in a silly costume. Grabbing hold of the windowsill, Anti’s arms stretched , allowing him to carefully lower himself onto the ground. Without reacting outwardly, Davesprite lowered himself to the ground after him. Not a single student said a thing as they slipped away. Not that they ever did.

The café was only a short walk away. After all, everything in the game had to be close by. There was only what, like three locations outside of the school? Four? It certainly saved on resources.

Save for the staff, the café was empty. No need to waste resources on patrons if Cousin wasn’t coming. The two of them sat down at a table near the back, neither saying anything at first. Not until the waiter came, at least.

“Got anything with birdseed?” Davesprite asked, his eyes skimming through the menu idly.

“... We do not,” the waiter replied flatly.

What kind of establishment didn’t carry birdseed? But he shrugged it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Eh…. I’ll take a sugar cookie then. And a cup of ice water I guess.”

“I’ll take a hot chocolate. Extra whipped cream please.”

Davesprite waited for the waiter to jot their order down and walk off, tracing circles on the table with his finger. “Didn’t take you for the hot chocolate type of guy. With all your dark, angsty poetry I would have thought you’d order ‘coffee as black as my soul’ or something like that. Seems more on brand or whatever.”

“I mean yeah it is,” Anti said quickly, adjusting his scarf. “But, uh, that would be wasteful. Just because something is ‘on brand’ for how I act in-game doesn’t mean it’s who I am as a person.”

“Touché. So the poetry is all for the game, then?”

“Oh, no, it’s very me. I’m supposed to be the dark avenger, the tortured soul, shunned by society.” He paused, staring at the table. “But, I mean, that’s not all there is to me, you know?”

Davesprite opened his mouth to say something, but paused when their order was brought to their table. Peeling the wrapper from his straw, he sat it aside and took a sip before speaking again. “Well, while we’re here, might as well talk about how we ended up in this situation. I mean, the short story of your life and all. I could talk about mine all day but well. That would be one hell of a story. It’d take weeks to tell that shit yo. We’d be up to our necks in video game bullshit. Then again. Aren’t we anyways?”

Anti chuckled, the tone bitter. “Guess you’re right there. I’ll tell you more of my story if you tell me yours. The, um. Short version.”

“Fair enough. Long story short is that I’m basically the doomed version of a cool dude named Dave. Went back in time and fused with an asshole crow and became this mess.” He paused to gesture to himself. “You know. Standard video game fare. Did I mention he was playing a game too? Wild stuff. Doomsday game. Ended the world. All that mess. I watched my bro die. That was pretty shit. But that’s not important here. Anyways after like. Three years of things went to shit and I just. Fucked off. Pretty sure that timeline was doomed anyways. Whatever. Anyways, I just kind of ended up here in video game hell. Guess that’s my punishment for not being good enough. Being surrounded by a bunch of soulless caricatures that just act and react the same way every time, no matter what you do. Can’t change things. Well. Till I found out that you’re not. Wild. Maybe it’s not quite hell after all but like. Purgatory or some shit. I dunno I never really gave a shit about all that.”

He looked up, realizing just how long he’d been rambling now. Anti was staring at him, though between the visor and the scarf that covered his face, his expression was pretty hard to read.

“Anyways, how about you? I think I said enough here.”

Anti pulled his scarf down just enough to expose a frown. Huh, his skin was the same color as his suit. Davesprite wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected that. Anti lifted the mug, taking a small sip before sitting it down again. A little bit of the whipped cream stuck to his face, a stark contrast to the dark tone. He wiped it away before staring at the mug for a moment, the corners of his mouth twisting into a wistful smile. “I guess my origin isn’t as different as you’d think. I’m… a science experiment, you could say. A byproduct of chance. An alien gave a man some superpowers that he called from space. But by total chance, some of it split off and hit a mad scientist’s experiment and made me. I guess I’m not a clone, per say, but I was given life by the same power that made him a hero and I share most traits with him. Bravoman, that’s his name. And that’s where the ‘Anti’ part of my name comes from. I guess you could say my whole identity revolves around him.”

He paused, laughing bitterly. His hands gripped the edge of the table, fingertips clenching tightly. “Which is why it’s kind of funny that it never comes up in my story here. Nothing from my home world does, except my penchant for the dark and dramatic. Heck, I wasn’t even a villain there. And I’d barely qualify as an antagonist, despite my best efforts. It took an evil, alternate universe version of myself to even be recognized as a rival. But… that’s getting into complex issues.

“All that to say… In my universe, half of my super powers revolve around meta. Recognizing that I was part of a webcomic and playing with that medium. I wonder if that’s why I was able to break out of the game’s mold. One day I just woke up in detention, with these words and memories of things I never did — like attending Evil Namco High — in my head. I didn’t question it the first time. The second time I thought I must be having a weird dream. But after a while, I knew something was up. I started trying to figure out how I got here. And tried to figure out if there was a way out.” Another bitter laugh. “Never have.”

Davesprite frowned, placing his elbows on the table so he could prop his chin on his hands. “Well. Shit. If that ain’t a story and a half. I guess it explains a lot. Um…” Jesus. Anti looked about ready to cry. And he wasn’t good at that whole consoling business. He lowered one hand, drumming his fingers on the table before reaching to break off a bite of the cookie. “Want some?”

Anti blinked, staring at him for a moment before opening his palm so Davesprite could drop the cookie piece into his hands. “…Thanks. I… I never really knew if everything you said was a part of the game, or if you were really in control of yourself. And I never got the courage to ask because, well, I was afraid that if I did, the game would take notice and I’d… lose control of myself, or something. Does that ever scare you?”

He sucked in a sharp breath before nodding slowly. “I mean I don’t think it would if everything I’ve done to stretch the limits of this game hasn’t done so already. But I can understand your concern.”

Nodding slowly in response, Anti took another sip of his chocolate. “I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag though… Maybe things won’t be as lonely around here?” There was a hopeful tone in his voice. And as much as Davesprite wanted to be defeatist and say that none of it would matter, he just nods in response.

“Guess we could just. I dunno. Blow the game off and do whatever on day three, huh? What do you usually do again?”

“Get peer pressured by total strangers I’m led to believe are former classmates into kidnapping Pac Man. You?”

“Same,” Davesprite joked, shaking his head. “No, I just usually fuck off and do whatever. God it feels so nice to be able to swear. Did you ever notice how we’re never allowed to swear despite the game having several little innuendos here and there? Funny how standards are different. Kind of like how they made sure everyone was at least eighteen in the game. You know why. You ever think about how Taira is thousands of years old and yet he’s a student here? Weirdest shit.”

Anti blinked. “Uh… I don’t actually know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t? Davesprite snorted. Oh that was hilarious. “God you’re just as innocent as Cousin. That’s hilarious.”

“Anyways, I think we’re running out of time, but this has been fun. Kind of cathartic actually. We should definitely meet up again, don’t you think?”

Anti smiled before pulling his scarf up. “I would like that. So… in two days… somewhere?”

Davesprite began to get up from his seat. “Sounds as good as anything to me.”

*****

They spent the next detention day passing notes to each other, and chatting once Cousin seemed to be done talking. Anti told Davesprite more about his world, while Davesprite told him more about his. Much of the same was done in the day that followed, albeit elsewhere in the school. It amazed Davesprite just how much more bearable passing the time became, just with Anti being there to help him pass it.

*****

Cousin picked Lolo on the next reset. This time, they hadn’t even bothered to talk to anyone else. Davesprite waited for the crowd to disperse before approaching Anti, Keeping a nonchalant expression. “So I was kind of thinking,” he began, shrugging his shoulders. “Since I saw you drawing the other day and all. Seems like you’d enjoy the webcomic club or some shit. Room’s unoccupied if you wanna go there and pass the time.”

Anti blinked at him a couple times, like he hadn’t expected to be approached. Then his eyes squinted and the antennas on his helmet stuck up, and Davesprite got the idea that he was grinning. “Sounds fun! Lead the way.”

And that’s where he and Anti spent the next hour, doodling stupid little comics to pass the time. Davesprite did his usual shitty ironic comic shtick and got a kick out of Anti’s attempts to overanalyze them and find a deeper meaning. Anti, meanwhile, busied himself with drawing a more refined version of the doodles he’d seen in the notebook before. It was kind of adorable.

“I’ve kind of gotten used to drawing them by memory now,” Anti explained as Davesprite looked over the images. “Since, you know, everything always ends up getting erased in the end.”

“Tell me about it,” Davesprite said. “Kinda surprised you bother at all. Knowing that it all goes away in the end.”

Anti doesn’t say anything after that. And for a moment, Davesprite thought he might have genuinely upset him. But then Anti shook his head. “No, you have a point. But it’s like. I don’t want to forget anything, you know? At least there’s something a bit more permanent now. Something that’s going to stick.” He raised his hand to gesture to Davesprite. “Our friendship. This uh. This is a friendship, right?”

Davesprite snickered. “Wow you’re a real dork you know that. But yeah if you consider hanging around a feathery asshole a friendship then I’m all for it and all that. It’s better than being totally alone in Dating Sim Hellscape.”

That got a laugh out of Anti.

*****

It became a habit, going forward, for the two of them to meet up and pass the time. The next reset, Cousin dated Taira, and the davesprite learned that Anti actually knew quite a bit about building robots.

The reset that followed saw Cousin joining up with Richard Miller. Davesprite cracked a joke about how Richard and Albatross would go great together, and Anti replied that it was too bad they couldn’t mess with the code that much, just to see what would happen.

Al was picked the reset after that, and Davesprite couldn’t help but wonder if whatever player force that controlled Cousin was thinking of the same idea. He and Anti spent most of their time at the café this time, only avoiding the area when Al and Cousin were there. In those times, they kept busy reading and making silly comics. Even if they lost the records each time the game reset, at least they had the memories of the pleasant times.

Davesprite was selected the next reset. The week passed with him doing his usual bullshit. And yet, he couldn’t help but think about Anti the whole time, and how real he felt in comparison to this. Several times, he’d glance in Anti’s direction during detention, only to catch Anti doing the same.

He didn’t expect Anti to hug him tightly when the next reset came around, rambling about how much he missed him.

And suddenly, Davesprite started to realize that maybe this was becoming something more than a friendship. Yet, the words remained unspoken between them, through reset after reset.

*****

One reset, Cousin did something strange. Day one went on as normal, with Cousin electing to spend time with Mr. Driller. Yet, the second day, Cousin chose Donko.

As Anti watched the two of them sneak out through the window, he leaned over to Davesprite. “What are they doing?” he mumbled.

Davesprite stared with a blank expression on his face, his hands clenched into fists. “They’re experimenting,” he said quietly. “The player. They’re trying to see what happens if they play the game differently. Fucking with our lives just to see what would happen. To see if they can get a game over, perhaps.”

“What happens when they get a game over?” Anti asked.

Davesprite swallowed nervously. “You. Me. Everyone that goes to confront Evil Namco High. We…”

Die.

He didn’t say the word, and yet it hung in the air like a weight waiting to be dropped.

Anti sucked in a breath, wringing his hands together. “Oh…” A long silence passed between them. “I don’t want to…”

“Yeah.”

Another silence, Anti glanced down at the doodles on his page. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so heroic. “Davesprite… you’re the more knowledgeable of the two of us. What would happen if we just… didn’t go?”

Davesprite had to pause for a moment. What would happen. It wasn’t like they were the ones fighting alongside Cousin. They weren’t the ones that determined the outcome of the battle. “I mean. It wouldn’t change the outcome of the fight. Jury's out on whether or not we’d die though. Since like. Not fighting isn’t really an option in the game itself in all.”

Anti was silent again. He traced circles on the surface of the desk with his finger. “I guess… I guess there’s only one way to find out, huh?”

*****

They waited until Cousin had made their selection — Donko, who they had only hung out with on the second day — before slipping away. No one noticed as they moved away from the gathering crowd of students. Or at least, no one said anything, but Davesprite hadn’t expected them to.

He led the way to Zweihander Ridge where the two of them laid out on the grass. They could hear explosions in the distance, but the two of them did their best to ignore it.

“This is some pretty depressing shit huh,” Davesprite said, letting his hands rest at his side. “Who would have thought dying was a possibility in video game hell huh? I mean I know Jane’s route has her and Cousin die but like. They come back before the end. In this ending you just. Don’t. It’s like a fresh reset. You do one thing wrong and dead Davesprites start piling up. Not fun. Not cool Cousin. Seeing a corpse of yourself is the worst, you know. Awkward as hell.”

He felt something brush against his hand. Looking over, he spotted Anti’s hand resting on top. He gave Davesprite the most serious look he thought he’d ever seen him give.

“Look, I… I don’t know. What that’s like. It sounds… awful. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with all this.” Another explosion sounded in the distance. “But like. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, right?”

Davesprite stared for a moment. Then he smirked and moved his hand so that his fingers intertwined with Anti’s. “You’re goddamn right about that. Who would have thought mister doom and gloom would be so hopeful? It’s kind of cute.”

He sat up for just a moment, which made Anti sit up too, his head tilted in confusion.

“You know maybe we should just like. Make this official and all.” Leaning forward, Davesprite used his free hand to tug down Anti’s scarf. Anti’s mouth hung open ever-so-slightly.

“Davesprite, you… I…”

Davesprite gave Anti a quick peck on the cheek before leaning back, giving Anti an uncharacteristically serious expression. “When I ended up here, I thought everything about this world was fake. Everyone was little more than a caricature. Little more than a game construct, a bastardization of who they could be. Yet here we are. You’re not. God damnit Anti, don’t ever leave me.”

Anti’s mouth hung open in shock. For just a moment, Davesprite regretted being so candid.

But then Anti smiled, and Davesprite felt his heart flutter.

“Don’t worry Davesprite, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hesitantly, Davesprite let his ghostly tail wrap around Anti’s waist. There the two of them sat, watching as the town far below grew quiet. It was over. The game would reset soon. The world seemed to slowly grow brighter around them.

Davesprite smiled. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

#Namco High #Davesprite #Bravoman #Anti Bravoman #fic

[arecomicsevengood]

AGING ALTERNATIVES

We live in a culture that worships the large-scale spectacle of the obvious. Partly because of this, the most affecting thing a person can do is something with a large amount of effort behind it, delivered to a small audience: An elaborate meal cooked for a loved one, a labored-over zine in an edition of ten. But of course, time has this great leveling effect, and attempting something large scale can easily crash and burn, and in so doing become something only for a limited audience.

There is an ongoing conversation being had about older comics but they are almost always superhero comics, with some weird eighties genre trash thrown in. This conversation includes a great many alternative cartoonists, but it is very rare for a forgotten art comic to slide its way into the discussion. There’s numerous reasons for this: The larger the print run, the larger the chance a work will find its way to a bargain bin. But also, artists are competitive, and largely inclined to promote themselves or their peers. Once an artist is no longer producing work, they are rarely championed.

Obviously, not everyone finds their way into “the canon,” but you would think that work intended to be somewhat personal would end up being valued enough by individual people that you’d hear about it now and again. The case for alternative comics is the same as it ever was: It’s an artistic medium that can do anything, and it’s released in the fairest most egalitarian way, via mass production, for it to find people who will support it. The art is immediately striking in a way that gives it an edge over the written word, but it’s distributed to shops across America rather than galleries, and so should have long life after its initial release. Of course, the vision falters due to the reality that most of what gets produced is pretty bad, and not really expressing anything particularly unique or individual, and this only goes unspoken at the time of a work’s release due to admiration for the amount of labor that nonetheless went into it.

But what ends up happening in retrospect is this thing where banal superhero work gets reevaluated, with certain aesthetic decisions dictated by the technology of the time (like the coloring) becoming romanticized and recognized as things of beauty, while tons of black and white comics made by people who were desperately trying to push the medium forward and make something that works as art or literature get tarred with a blanket dismissal, associated with either the indulgences of the highest-profile practitioners or simply casualties of their pitiful attempts at graphic design. Only the small handful of practitioners whose publishers have steadily championed them and kept their work in print get to escape this fate. But obviously, if you’re working at something risky, you might end up working with publishers who are not economically viable in the long term, or, if they are, it’s because they’re being subsidized by projects way more commercial than yours.

There’s plenty of stuff which had a large enough print run for copies to be found, but functionally exist at the level of visibility of a zine. But, while I might be interested in extending the same amount of charity I would to someone making work with no hope of commercial success, to engage with the work honestly means that the fact that it was attempting to find its place in the world of commerce must be taken into consideration when thinking about the goals it set out to fulfill. That so much fails to meet these commonly-held goals can make one feel pretty depressed about the medium, and maybe this is another reason for people to avert their eyes: When you’re talking about superhero comics of a certain vintage, while they might not have attempted to be art, at least the people making them got paid.

Obviously, The Comics Journal has been fighting this fight for decades. I am sure all of the books I am going to write about, they have already covered, and they probably came to the same conclusions, and depending on the writer, they might’ve been more entertaining to read than I will be. But I want to offer these reconsiderations in light of all the other reconsiderations being made, that are coming to the opposite conclusion of what The Comics Journal would’ve. It is easy to look back at the 1980s now and say, for instance, that Elektra Assassin is a better comic book than American Splendor.  There’s a discrepancy between what is the best work being produced at a given historical moment and what is the most exciting scene to be a part of. I like to think if I had been writing for the Comics Journal in the early nineties, I wouldn’t have gone all-in praising Palookaville, but I get that in the moment it would’ve felt important to do so. Now, of course, there is very little that feels exciting at all, in the context of real-world community, due to the global pandemic. This is an incredibly lonely moment, and nostalgia has a powerful allure.

But I’d like to ensure the nostalgia we feel compels us to fight for what’s human, rather than allow us to simply surrender our past to the colonizing forces of corporate interests. In the interest of the human, I will not make any grandiose claims for the works I’m writing about. I’m not describing anything as a masterpiece. These instead fulfill the humble virtues of being charming, cool, interesting. They didn’t upend my value system of what the comics medium could be. But, since it was all of the Picturebox releases that shifted my perspective on comics on its axis when I was in college that caused me to ignore some of this stuff, that its virtues can endure after such a flip is itself notable. Anyway, I have no reason to have written such a long preamble. I could’ve easily just made separate posts for each comic I wanted to talk about, but all this additional context seemed important to me to articulate. All of these are books I bought online over the past few months.

Shuck Unmasked, by Rick Smith and Tania Menesse

Feel like the main thing holding this comic back is a certain lack of joie de vivre to its line. There’s a certain cuteness to its designs that seems reminiscent of Jeff Smith or Goodbye Chunky Rice era Craig Thompson but it’s a little bit stiff in ways those cartoonists aren’t. The mask Shuck wears resembles the face Chester Brown draws himself having in Paying For It. I feel like this is maybe the only comic I’ve seen that frequently has dialogue that’s misspelled in an attempt to capture phonetic dialect and presents that through lettering that feels like a font. There’s a sense of being rounded instead of being scratchy, a lushness that feels hinted at, but also tamped down. There’s a literary flavor to it, an attention to the language, a deliberate and delicate sense of stately melancholy that’s present.

The Shuck of the title is a demon, living on Earth, tasked with making sure the dead don’t escape the afterlife and roam around. Despite his horned form, he’s able to wear the mask of an old man, and fit in with his neighbors, which include a little girl, with whom he develops a bond. There’s a gentle quality to it, but also a sense of darkness that prevents it from being cloying, an interest in the esoteric that suggests the profound. The premise could be a recipe for sitcom-ish stasis, but actually the status quo shifts quite a bit, over the course of these self-published comics, collected into a book by Top Shelf.  It feels like each individual chapter should be reread a few times before proceeding on; the chapters have a nice density to them. That’s the funny thing about a lack of velocity to the line, it suggests a studiousness with which to approach it, but doesn’t invite the eye to return to it. Two issues of a sequel were self-published afterwards, I would read those.

Tales Of Woodsman Pete, by Lilli Carré

I’ve heard a couple people call Lilli Carré the best cartoonist of her generation. The first time I heard it said, I had never read anything by her, but I was struck by the assertion because there’s so many heavy hitters in that cohort I’m not comfortable making such declarations about anyone. There’s a collection of Carré’s short stories I’ve checked out from the library, but I found that collection inconsistent, with notable highs that didn’t still didn’t quite bowl me over. This could be partly an issue of format - Few cartoonists of Carré’s generation have a short story collection of their work available, and it might not be the best way to examine the work and see its strengths.

(A sidenote irrelevant to the larger thrust of this conversation - I started keeping a google doc of what years cartoonists were born, and have a my own idea of “generations” of cartoonists in terms of whose work it makes sense to consider alongside one another. 1960-1967 is one cohort, then 1968-1975, then 1976-1982, then 1983-some point unclear to me at this point, there’s a generational divide for sure but I don’t yet know the rules of it. I lump Carré in with Eleanor Davis, Dash Shaw, and Michael Deforge, rather than the slightly older group which includes Kevin Huizenga, CF, and Sammy Harkham. That’s not to say the people championing Carre are making the same distinctions, these generational lines are weird and arbitrary and some people are “on the cusp” and everyone chooses their own peers to a certain extent. However, I do think these generations are important or useful to think about, in terms of who came up with access to alternative newspaper strip jobs vs. the Xeric Grant vs. Tumblr, and it’s just generally interesting to think about what was around to serve as an influence at a formative age. People born after 1967 have had very few opportunities or chances for institutional support, by my reckoning. Over time, more people became acclimated to making uncompromising art, and there also became way less economic opportunity for people making work intended for adults. I suspect the forthcoming generation will be more inclined towards making content for kids because they grew up with things targeted to children, and they can be part of the push to make that stuff more diverse. This coincides with all of the economic infrastructure except for libraries being obliterated.)

Tales Of Woodsman Pete is a smaller object, of digest proportions, that Top Shelf released, early in Carré’s career. It’s worth noting her style nowadays is far more experimental and minimal, although I suppose at the time her work might’ve been considered pared-down, closer to folk tales than novels. This comic follows a woodsman, who monologues to no one, speaking to the trophies he’s made of his kills, in a series of short strips. This is juxtaposed against bits involving Paul Bunyan and his ox Babe, who share a camaraderie between them that doesn’t truly abate Bunyan’s sense of loneliness. It is, like Shuck, a gentle thing, and is able to conjure up some emotion, but I wonder if the sense of tweeness present within it is something Carré feels she’s outgrown? That’s not to say I object to it, just that I recognize a shift away from that stuff. I believe Carré is a Calvino fan, this stuff might be closest to the early stories in Our Ancestors, but Calvino’s work became far more overtly experimental afterwards. I don’t know, I still don’t have a bead on who Carré is or where she’s going. And that’s great, why should I?

Hectic Planet: Checkered Past, by Evan Dorkin

In high school, I read a Hectic Planet comic called The Bummer Trilogy, and liked it a lot. That was a single issue collecting three short stories that were the last work Evan Dorkin would do with the characters. While in retrospect, high school is probably the ideal age to read this material, those strips still feel more mature, in a sense of being personal, than much of Dorkin’s work. He’s written some superhero comics for the big two that never did much for me, and he has some collaborative genre comics I’ve never read, but he’s most associated with his humor cartooning, which I have kept up with despite only finding them intermittently funny. There’s always a sense of Dorkin as a performer of his material, where the humor tends to feel angry, but his most self-consciously autobio material is about the fact that his psyche is a dumping ground for assorted pop culture detritus. What’s interesting about this material is that is, in fact, still kind of immature, but it’s moving away from the science fiction premise, to be present enough to make jokes and talk about feelings. It’s the falterings towards finding a voice and having confidence in it, a youthful move towards what might not be maturity, but is, at least, work. So chunks of this are about a dude who’s heartbroken because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him and so he’s annoying all of his friends by complaining all the time and he’s thrilled to meet girls who like the same bands as he does and he goes to the grocery store and only buys junk food and while this might sound dumb, in context, it’s the beginnings of a worldview that feels fairly true to life for someone who would’ve been that age, at that point in time.

So, considering the era, and the sense of a science fiction premise being abandoned, it might make sense to think of this comic as following in the footsteps of Love And Rockets, albeit from an East Coast Jewish male perspective, and nowhere near as good. It almost feels like if a low-budget eighties sci-fi movie had cast a stand-up comedian in it, and when the budget got cut, they let him fill out the runtime with his routines and riffs, in an attempt to make it a star vehicle in case he ever got cast on SNL. Slave Labor put out a lot of alternative comics, and they all kind of got looked down upon to one degree or another. Much of what they published is both really poorly drawn and nakedly chasing whatever youthful subculture audience they could. Dorkin is easily one of the better artists they had, but the desire to be cool according to the terms of the subculture of the times makes for comics that feel dated now. All the characters in this book are really into ska, the back of the book has all these images taken from ska compilations and 7-inches featuring the characters. But that’s also interesting, because sensing the book’s quest to find its readership lends such authenticity to the young adult milieu, of what it means to be on your own and trying to find your people. It’s from a moment in time when talking about young people put a work in dialogue with alternative culture and not major book publishers, who due to generational differences, would not have understood any of the things this comic is about.

(This piece is sort of a variation on what I talk about in my article in But Is It… Comic Aht 2, by the way. There, behind a beautiful Lilli Carre cover, you can see me talking up more explicitly “all-ages” comics Slave Labor published, like Zander Cannon’s Replacement God, and Scott Roberts’ Patty Cake. Halo And Sprocket was a little bit later than the time period the article focuses on, but I liked that as well. Maybe the most interesting thing I’ve read from Slave Labor that wasn’t all ages and was never collected into a book would’ve been Jon Lewis’ series Ghost Ship. I also like the issues I’ve read of Bernie Mireault’s The Jam, which ran at multiple publishers, and I would like to read more of.)

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, ALYX! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ARAEL.

Admin Rosey: Oh god, I think Arael was one of the characters that caught me by surprise. But the absolutely mastery of this application, did not at all surprise me because only Arael could - and should - be so effortlessly captured within the span of a single application. Tragedy, as you said Alyx, is woven into Arael’s bones and the fact that they recognize it and are so unbroken by it in their countenance says absolutely everything to me. The plots that you have lined up only feed into that tragedy more and I, for one, am absolutely here for it. I think that Arael is ripe for evolving and I completely trust this beautiful starlit character in your capable and loving hands. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Alyx

Age | Taylor Swift vc: Idk about you, but I’m feeling 22!

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | hopefully pretty active? I have work and classes but I’m taking less hours and my internship is done so I’m hoping I have more time to be on the dash.

Timezone | CST.

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | I saw plenty of ads for it on my personal.

IN CHARACTER

Character | 

Arael: “Lion of God”; She couldn’t remember her original name. Her memories of the cold abyss of the galaxy came to her in bits and pieces that she latched onto as one would latch onto an extended hand. She could remember that feeling of peace within her falling star. She could remember that acceptance as her annihilation came nearer. She could remember the rage and melancholy that took over her being as she opened her eyes and examined the wings that protruded from her back and the knowledge that her destiny was ripped away from her. The name Arael was a reminder of that original loss. She was never supposed to be a lion of god. She was never supposed to be an angel stuck on Earth. God had claimed her for himself. He claimed her to be a lion, and all she could do was set her icy gaze on her surroundings and roar until her voice grew hoarse and the burning in her chest faded away.    

What drew you to this character? |

To be honest, I lurked on the admins’ blogs as the RP was originally being promoted. I tend to search for characters I like by quotes and images posted to their tag, and there was one quote on Arael’s tag that caught my attention. I don’t remember what exactly it said, but I knew it meant Arael was a character I needed to keep my eye on.

I love characters with tragedy built into their bones. There’s something so compelling about a character going through hardships and how they react to those hardships. Arael’s power alone showed me that she was a tragic character. To be able to hold everyone’s hope in your hand aside from your own? It seemed like a twisted gift from fate. As I read more, I realized that she was a creature of tragedy. She was pulled from the night sky against her own will. She was made into god’s image without her consent, and forced to endure the knowledge that she had lost her home and her destiny. She stared at the night sky, but she was never truly able to go back to her original home.

I like playing around with grief and how it impacts a character. I like seeing if they drown in their feelings, or if they rise above the grief and move forward with their lives. I think Arael is drowning in her grief. She’s stuck in this tunnel of rage and revenge that will consume her if she’s not careful. She’s blinded by this need, and I find that incredibly interesting to explore. Will she burn out? Will she start a war between the three parties? We’ll have to see.

Her story also kind of reminded me of Buffy Summers from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Not in a direct way, but there was a storyline where Buffy died and her friends brought her back from heaven and Buffy talked about being in peace before they brought her back. Arael being torn from her fate and made into an angel reminds me of that. The melancholy and grief they both felt from being ripped away from their rightful place. The way everyone notices that mourning. It gave me parallels.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

“Why are you full of anger? Because you are full of grief.”

→ She was happy. For so long, Arael didn’t know what that feeling entailed. She had looked upon her existence as a punishment. She stared at the realm of heaven and only saw a jail cell. Her body was crafted by god, yet all she felt was unfamiliar in her own skin. Uriel had changed that. She had brought a smile to the otherwise stoic angel’s face. She was warmth wrapping itself around Arael’s cold heart. She was that flicker of hope that Arael felt in other people. She was hers, and someone had ripped that away from her. As she stared into her lover’s empty gaze, all she could think about was doing the same to whoever had killed her. She will rip the world apart if that’s what it took to satisfy the grieving of her heart. The only question will be: who will be spared in the end? 

A big part of Arael is her dealing with that loss of her lover and that need for vengeance. I definitely want to explore her seeking out the answers to the murder. I want to see her dragging suspects to be interrogated in the hope that one day the right person will tell her what she wants to know. I want her to endanger innocent lives in her quest for justice. I want her to be so consumed with rage and grief that either herself or others get harmed in the process. She is a star on a collision path, and I want her to burn and burn out during this journey. Most of all, I want her to find the person who did it. I want her to find them, and I want her to kill them. It's the only way for her to be satisfied. It’s the only way for her to put her grief behind her and search for that glimpse of hope again

“You turn the pain into power.”

 → To some, her powers seemed like a blessing. To be able to hold onto someone’s greatest hope was to understand what truly made someone feel at ease. It was the way their eyes sparkled whenever their favorite person walked in a room. It was the passion that would surge through an individual during that last battle of a war. It was a glimpse behind the mask that people often wore, and Arael held all that at her fingertips. To her, this power was another way fate mocked her. She could feel what people’s greatest hopes were. She could fill them up with so much hope that they would be blinded by that desire. She could do so much for other people, but it would never be done for her. She couldn’t fill herself up with that hope. She couldn’t understand that blinding urge that she gave out. What does one do with a gift that serves to remind someone of the very thing they’re lacking?

I want to explore the depths of her power. I think that there’s more to be discovered with her abilities, and I want her to discover exactly what she can do with her gift of hope. I want her to see if her power could be used in the opposite direction. Could she drain someone of their hope? Could she blind someone with utter hopelessness to the point that they see nothing but their dreams slipping from their grasp? I think it would be a dangerous discovery if it were possible. I would also like to see a situation where her gift is irreversible— whether it be gifting hope or taking it away. Perhaps anger clouds her abilities and she over exerts her gift. Perhaps she’s trying to find an ounce of her own hope by filling someone up with so much hope that they become a shell of their former self. I want to push her powers to its limits, and I want Arael to see what sort of consequences are dealt from that discovery. 

“You allow your anger to blind you.”

→  Arael’s been in a fragile state since the death of Uriel. To feel the small hint of hope get ripped out of her hands by an unknown assailant left her in a state of brokenness. She’s blinded by this ideal that she’ll be satisfied with vengeance. She has it built up in her mind that the death of this assailant will bring her the peace that she almost had with Uriel—- the same peace that was ripped away from her by god. What do others feel about this mentality? Do they find it foolish? Do they understand her mentality? Or perhaps they see an opportunity hidden behind those aching eyes? 

I want to explore the concept of manipulation with Arael. I’m usually not fond of manipulation plots, but I feel like Arael’s in such a vulnerable state right now that it might be possible. I want someone to see that anger and despair. I want someone to see this utterly terrifying, broken angel and use it to their advantage. She’s the perfect weapon if used correctly. Her tunnel vision for revenge could easily be directed towards someone’s enemy if they whispered the right words to her. She could start a war if the correct side twisted her enough. I want to see her revenge used for someone’s personal plans. Maybe she kills an innocent person because she was led to believe they were present during her lovers death. Maybe she drags an innocent victim to Abaddon because she was led to believe they had valuable information. I want to see that manipulation, and I want to see the fallout of it. 

“You reach for a soul that forever escapes your grasp.”

→ Arael loved Uriel, or at least it was the closest she ever got to love. The angel had gifted her a slice of hope that she had lacked since her creation, and Arael has been seeking a semblance of that hope since her departure. She feels lost, like she was back to her first years as a star-turned-angel, and she hates that feeling. She hates the emptiness that fills her heart as she watches the mortals her companion once adored. She hates the way she feels so distant from the other angels. Most of all, she hates that their love story ended so abruptly. She misses her with every fiber of her being. One often wonders what they would have their final words be to a loved one, but what if she could have that do over? What if she could catch a glimpse of her again?

I want her to approach Ryuk about contacting her dead lover’s soul. I think there’s a variety of reasons why she would want to talk to Uriel again. I think the most basic one would be that she wants to see her again—- even if it’s only through Ryuk’s words. This was the one person that broke her out of her shell and showed her that the world was worth more than mourning. The most plot related reason would be that she can ask her what her last memory was. Arael has exhausted her options when It comes to possible suspects, so perhaps Uriel could remember who was around during her death or who even caused her to perish. I also like the thought of Uriel advising her against this revenge quest, and Arael refusing to listen. She doesn’t realize that this isn’t what her lover would’ve wanted. She doesn’t realize that she’s doing more harm than good. It’s overall a more personal plot, but it’s good development for her and helps lead to either her collapse or her breakdown at realizing what she’s becoming. 

“Anger was better than tears.”

→  Mortals were the envy of God’s creations. Angels were tasked with protecting them like a dragon protects its treasures. They razed cities, enacted miracles, all for the species that found favor in God’s eyes. Arael was never a mortal. She never understood the significance of their kind. She had no attachments to the beings aside from those tasks formerly given to her. She didn’t care for them like Caphriel did. She didn’t despise them as others might. Her feelings towards them might be classified as indifference. However, the stance changed after the death of Uriel. Eyes that might have had a glimpse of care for the beings shifted into anger at the thought of one of them murdering her beloved. Eyes that casually looked over the beings stuck to watching them with careful eyes. One human in particular has gotten caught within her storm. The question is: will she shatter the tentative peace that held the world together? Perhaps a bigger question is: will she have any regrets if she does? 

Personally, I find the thought of Arael killing Bastien quite sexy. This would be completely up to the Bastien player, but even if it didn’t go that far, I still love the connection. I like the thought of Arael breaking that peace between the three factions. She sees Bastien as this arrogant fool, and she’s bothered by his position of power. How does her Uriel, gentle and kind, die while men like him thrive? It frustrates her. I’d like to see her knock him from his place at the table. Whether this be done through violence or jeopardising his spot amongst the ten would be up to the Bastien player and what they feel comfortable with, but I can work with either one. Arael’s desperate for some sort of vengeance. I think the more she struggles to find the one who killed Uriel, the one she’ll lean into these desires to destroy someone else, and Bastien is the unfortunate victim of her wrathful gaze. 

“You’re a being of isolation.”

→ She is the only one of her kind. No one else knows what it’s like to live amongst the stars. No one else knows what it’s like to be plucked from the night sky and recreated in someone else’s image. No one knows the loneliness that comes with such a fate. The other angels are her brethren, her allies, but they don’t relate to her on that level. She’s a solitary creature, a lone star stuck wandering the earth, and it’s a painful existence. Will she ever figure out that some stars lay in clusters? Will she ever realize that she has the opportunity to shed that loneliness? It’s hard to say. It’s hard to pull herself out of the isolation that she chose from the start. 

I want to explore her dynamic with the other angels. I think Arael struggles with connecting to them due to her origins. She doesn’t have that connection of being formed from the Earth or reborn as an angel. She’s different from the others, and that caused her to separate herself. I want to see how they take her quest of revenge. Surely some of them were close with Uriel, maybe even close with Arael, so perhaps they would support the mission. On the other hand, I’d love to see that disapproval. I want to see them trying to temper her anger only to be met with an icy glare. I’d love to see someone try to talk her down from her grief. She’s blinded by this mentality of an eye for an eye, but she doesn’t realize how that affects her fellow angels. I want them to show her how it affects them. Let them get caught in the crossfires of her vengeance. Let them struggle to pull her away from the brink. I think the angels quietly realizing that this fallen angel, this hollowed soul, might do some real damage would be delicious to watch. 

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely!  

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

They say the story of Arael is a tragic one. She was a burning star plucked from the sky and formed into god's image. She was placed among the angels, meant to stand holy and divine alongside her new brethren, yet she found herself standing alone. This angels story isn’t built on blessings. Her story isn’t a fairytale told to the young mortals in an attempt to sooth them to sleep. No, her tale is built on loss, and that’s what motivates her throughout her journey.

Her original loss is the loss of her original destiny. She was stripped of her purpose, ripped away from her original form and forced into a foreign body. She stared at her reflection and a stranger peered back at her. She examined her wings and only saw the fragments of her former self embedded within her feathers. She destroyed cities on God’s behalf, and yet all she could feel was a hollowness in her chest. Loss was her mentality within this point. That acknowledgment of what she’s become and how to endure that was her guiding factor in her initial years of life as an immortal being.

The next stage of loss was the loss of her hopelessness. Uriel had dragged her away from that hole she tucked herself in. The fellow angel opened her eyes to the possibilities of life, and for the first time, Arael’s world wasn’t a bleak landscape. She had color in her vision. She had a slight light in her eyes. Her smile wasn’t forced. She was learning what it was like to look at life as an adventure rather than a chain wrapped around her ankle. This stage of loss was a good thing. It was a stage of growth for the distant angel. She lost that depression that overcame her during her early years. She lost that emptiness that had wrapped itself around her like a blanket.

This latest stage of loss is the cruelest of them all. This burning star, this cold-eyed angel was finally learning the most human of experiences: death. She felt that small sliver of hope rip away from her as she held Uriel’s prone form in her arms. Her body shook with anger as she realized she was once again alone. Her motivation stems from the impact of that loss and the grief that nestled inside her heart. She’s driven to revenge. Her eyes are blinded by the need to punish the person that ripped that hope from her. A part of her knows this is a dangerous path. She knows what happens to stars that burn too brightly. Yet, the loss keeps her locked in its grasp. If she is to burn out, if she is to be destroyed, let it be with the knowledge that she has conquered the loss that has been trailing after her for years. 

In-Character Para Sample | 

“I brought another one.”

The history behind her statement was not lost on her. Each week she’d latch onto a lead. Each week she’d drag them into the heart of the black cells. Each week she’d watch Abaddon pull out any sort of answers they might have buried in their chest. Each week she’d feel the bitterness of disappointment settle on her tongue as she realized she reached another dead end. It ended the same every time. It couldn’t end the same way this time.

Her eyes traced over the features of her latest endeavor. His porcelain skin and almost white hair reminded her of Uriel, but the resemblance wouldn’t help him out of his fate. She had plucked him out of the crowd in hopes that he had any recollection of that fateful night. With each individual, She wanted a direction. She felt herself grasping at ghosts as the figures from her memory dwindled, and this feeling of loss was becoming all too familiar. 

She released her hold on the boy and watched him try to scramble his way out of the cells. Mortals always seemed to have that reaction. Their fight or flight kicked in, trying to make sense of the location they were forced into, before finally realizing the fight was for nothing. They will leave once she gets the answers she’s seeking. 

And yet, the boy wasn’t providing those answers. She watched him endure the torture despite the pain it brought him. She watched him fighting back tears, denying pain until it couldn’t be denied anymore, and yet still the answers remained behind clenched teeth.  

“Again.” 

Her voice was strong as she stared at the bleeding, frightened human before her. She refused to accept that she had reached another dead end. She clung to her quest with sharp claws, and she refused to release her grip for even a second. She was a vengeful angel, a flame with no mercy in sight, and all would endure the burning until she felt satisfied. 

Her eyes flicked upwards to meet Abaddon’s, but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t care if the demon saw the hurt in her eyes or the flash of desperation that would spill out every time a mortal came to her with no answers. Maybe the demon had the same look when they got tossed out of god’s favor. Arael didn’t ask. Their relationship wasn’t built on sharing stories or reminiscing over almost forgotten memories. Their relationship was a mutual understanding--- a knife and the being that wields the instrument. 

“Do it again until I say otherwise.” Do it again until I can hold any sort of answers in my hand. Do it again until the ache in my chest disappears for a second.

Arael watched the mortal flinch at Abaddon’s nod with cold, unfazed eyes. The scream that erupted from the boy’s mouth would make others grieve, but it only reminded her of the hollowness inside of her. She felt nothing as she watched the pain on his face. She felt only her own rage trying to crawl out of her chest. Perhaps this is what it meant to be a star. Perhaps this was her destiny all along---- to burn from the inside out until nothing but a hollow shell remained. 

And perhaps she’ll succumb to her destiny, but only after the grieving in her heart is satisfied. She’ll burn up, but she’ll bring the person responsible for her demise with her. 

Extras | 

Inspo tag: https://elidclochan.tumblr.com/tagged/insp%3A-arael

Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/aesthctics/insp-arael/

#accepted #accepted: arael

[houkagokappa]

Favourite anime of the decade

Although I only began watching anime in 2013 and thus didn’t think I could make a post like this, I started to think about which shows I would pick if I would make it, and before I knew it I had it composed. I chose the anime that meant the most to me and I feel a strong connection to, not necessarily the ones I think were the best of each year (though in a way they are the same).

The anime for 2010-2012 are series I watched after they originally aired and the anime I picked for 2013-2019 are all series I watched as they aired.

Under the cut because this is super long and incredibly self-indulgent. You’ve been warned.

2010 - Katanagatari

What better way is there to start this list than with Katanagatari, an epic that took the entire year to air.

I watched Katanagatari with my university’s anime association in 2014-2015. I didn’t know anything about it beforehand, which is why I like attending our anime meetings. They’ve introduced me to a lot of great anime I otherwise never would’ve watched (or in this case wouldn’t have discovered until much later).

I love the colourful world and the interesting characters, the banter and all the twists. The ending to Katanagatari is one of the best endings to any anime ever. It’s a great story with a good structure and an amazing conclusion. Nanami is the best girl and we need to treasure her. That’s all.

2011 - Mawaru Penguindrum

What better way is there to continue this list, than with my favourite anime ever?

After watching and falling in love with Utena, I had Penguindrum on my radar, but I didn’t feel rushed to watch it anytime soon. Then one day, about half a year later I saw a gif of Ringo with the burning diary on my dash, which looked super cool and I took it as a sign to finally start the series.

I watched all of Penguindrum over a long weekend in November 2014 at my parents place. I remember being sick, just as I had been when I first watched Utena, which is a weird coincidence and possibly something needed for additional effect. I saw half of it on my laptop in my bed and half of it on our TV in the living room, which I regret, because turns out it’s not the kind of show you want your parents to get glimpses of. I still remember the fear I felt when episode 14 rolled around and my dad was sitting with his back to the TV and I PRAYED that he wouldn’t turn around to question me or why I was watching some animated lesbian bondage infused attempted rape scene... I also don’t know why I thought Penguindrum wouldn’t throw something like that at me, I had seen the previous 13 episodes...

Anyway, that’s my favourite anime of all time, ever. I love all of its themes to death, and it’s such a beautiful and emotional series. I think the first episode is one of the best first episodes of any anime ever and I love how the ending ties back to the very first scene. 

I could write an entire essay on why I love Penguindrum and why it’s the best series ever (well, competing with Utena for that title), but I think anyone reading this already knows why, so I’ll leave you with the funny anecdote above instead. And if you haven’t seen Penguindrum yet do yourself a favor and go watch it NOW. This is the Ringo gif for you!

2012 - Nisemonogatari

I love the Monogatari series. I love the unique animation and visual style, the amazing characters and the fun dialogues. I also really love Nisemonogatari in particular and I’m sad how it’s often dismissed for being the least interesting season or for being nothing but fanservice. I watch Monogatari specifically for the dialogue (and visuals). I don’t care about the plot as much as I care about the character interactions and Nisemonogatari delivers with those. More specifically I appreciate how well it divides the time spent with each girl. Later on in the series there are long breaks where some of the characters don’t appear at all and I end up missing them, but with Nisemonogatari we get a little bit of everyone (of those who have appeared so far). Of course it’s also great how Nisemonogatari introduces us to some new characters and upcoming plot points and contains a lot of cool foreshadowing, but that’s beside the point. All I want is the dialogue. I don’t even care what they’re talking about, Monogatari manages to make anything interesting.

I watched all of Monogatari during my spring break (lol) in 2015. I also watched it at my parents place, on the TV in our living room, which was great because Monogatari deserves a bigger screen. This time around I was older and wiser and didn’t have my parents around. It was just me and my sister and although Bakemonogatari impressed me so much I tried to make her interested in it, I wasn’t successful with that so I got to watch it in peace (peace). (In hindsight, with consideration for what was to come, that was probably for the best).

As another fun fact I should add that although I was super impressed with Monogatari, I didn’t consider myself a die-hard fan until a year or so later. I was happy to watch Owarimonogatari in the fall, and glad to see the announcement for the Kizumonogatari movies that came after it, but I wasn’t over the moon thrilled about it until I actually watched the first movie. It had to grow on me a little bit, which isn’t unusual when it comes to my favourites. I loved Utena the first time I saw it, but it took months for my obsession to build and grow and fully develop. Maybe because they’re both shows that leave the viewer with a lot to think about, so you only realise their full brilliance later on?

2013 - Kill la Kill

I began watching anime in the spring of 2013, when Shingeki no Kyojin, Free! and Dangan Ronpa began airing, because Homestuck went on a hiatus and that’s what the content on my dash changed into. I also began attending conventions and in January 2014 I went to Yukicon. At the con I ran into an acquaintance of mine and joined her gang, who decided to go and listen to a panel called “Kill la Kill - is this how Trigger saved anime?”. I would never had gone there on my own, since I wasn’t watching Kill la Kill or interested in starting it, but I’m glad I did because that was my first proper introduction to Kill la Kill and what ultimately sparked my interest for it.

When I tried the first episode I didn’t like it a whole lot. I hated the style, it was so sketchy and ugly and the fanservice made me uncomfortable. However, the first episode was really good at setting up the story and I was curious to see how it would continue so I kept watching. I didn’t love the following episodes either, but there was something that compelled me to keep watching and 4 or 5 episodes in I began liking it once the story and Ryuko’s personality had managed to fully suck me in. I binged the first half until I was caught up with the airing episodes and then I had fun waiting for the new episodes each week. I don’t remember much more about my initial reactions, but because it’s one of the first anime I ever saw and one of the first airing anime I ever followed it’ll always have a special place in my heart.

I’ve since rewatched Kill la Kill multiple times and it still holds up. I love the crazy energy, all the different personalities and characters and the amazing twists. I also grew to love the style, it’s very distinct and now that I’ve seen more anime I appreciate it all the more.

Having loved Kill la Kill and hearing so much about Trigger, I started to follow them and make sure to watch everything else they would put out. I like to think that we both started out at the same time, because this was their first anime as a new studio and one of the first anime I followed. Trigger has a special place in my heart as much as Kill la Kill does.

2014 - Selector Infected WIXOSS

Battoru battoru!

Selector Infected WIXOSS is probably the least known anime on this list. I was introduced to it by a friend who at the time watched everything that aired. She sold it to me as a Madoka-ripoff (knowing I was a huge fan), which it kinda is, but also not at all and people should stop using that phrase. It’s about girls who make wishes and suffer, but that’s where the similarities end. It’s also very much what I’m into, I love a good show with dark and somewhat taboo topics, lesbian undertones and all that jazz. It got a second season which concludes the story, but any continuation past that is not worth anyone’s time.

It was written by Mari Okada and made to sell cards. I own a set and I’m still waiting for the day when I get to play with them.

2015 - Hibike! Euphonium

Hibike! Euphonium is another anime that I watched and liked, then loved, then became absolutely obsessed over long after it had already ended. I picked it up only because it was a music anime and I had just finished Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso and was in the mood for another similar show. (I also picked up ShigaUso on a whim, because someone I followed on tumblr was hyping it up as a music lover). I’m not a musician, but I loved the series regardless and ended up relating to Kumiko and her struggles like I’ve never related to anyone before (even though the specifics of our struggles are somewhat different). Hibike! Euphonium is one of the first pieces of media that made me cry, not over a sad scene, but over a emotionally charged one when Kumiko realises she wants to succeed, she wants to win and get better and put her whole heart into her playing. (I vividly remember telling my friend about how an anime made me cry and being super embarrassed to reveal which one, because it was so new and personal to me).

Hibike! Euphonium is a beautifully made, incredibly touching anime. It’s done with so much care and so much love. I also have a lot of precious memories attached to it; I went to Kyoto for a student exchange and took the opportunity to spend an entire day in Uji, where Hibike! Euphonium takes place. I visited most of the locations seen in the anime, cried about how ridiculously realistic everything is, sat on Kumiko’s bench by the river, randomly met up with some Japanese fans and ended the day on top of Mt. Daikichi, as seen in episode 8. It was one of the best days in my life!

2016 - Doukyuusei

I was introduced to Doukyuusei through the Penguindrum tag on tumblr. Either tumblr was broken (very likely) or someone was spamming it (also very likely), but there were a couple of posts promoting Doukyuusei that showed up in the tag CONSTANTLY. They weren’t terribly out of place because the director of Doukyuusei (Nakamura Shouko) was previously known for her work on Penguindrum, but I should add that there were so many of those posts, actual Penguindrum posts (which there weren’t many of to begin with) disappeared among them, which made me quite annoyed with Doukyuusei.

Then the trailer came out and I watched it and it seemed pretty cool. I think I even glanced at the manga, but I didn’t think much of it. Then the anime came out and everyone was sharing gifs from it and they looked so good I watched the movie as soon as I could. Even though the quality of the first stream I found wasn’t great I loved it and watched it again as soon as I finished it the first time, and then again the next day when a better stream came out.

By reblogging Doukyuusei a mutual started talking about it with me and our conversation made me pick up the manga again, mainly since I found out that there’s a continuation to the story. Now that I properly read it I really fell in love with it and Nakamura Asumiko’s artstyle. I also find it funny how when I looked her up in order to find out about her other works, I realised I had looked her up before thanks to her joint project with Ikuhara. Back then I wasn’t in the mood to read Nokemono to Hanayome and I didn’t care for “some BL mangaka” to continue checking her out, but now that I’d found her again it all came back to me. I think it’s really neat and funny how I’ve been introduced to her through Ikuhara several times over!

Back to Doukyuusei, I love it a lot because it’s a very sweet and simple story. It feels realistic. I like the flow of time, or rather how it skips forward a lot and we only get small glimpses of the more important moments in their relationship, along with some of the small cute ones. It’s not an amazingly unique story, but it feels very refreshing, maybe because of how basic it is. I’m not sure how to best describe it, but at the end of the day it’s a very wholesome story about two boys who fall in love and there aren’t that many of those, especially not any that have gotten anime adaptations.

It’s quite short for a movie, which makes it very easy to watch. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve seen it. During my exchange, I spent 10 days in Tokyo at an Airbnb that asked me not to stream anything, so in order to have something to do in the evenings I downloaded Doukyuusei and watched it every other night. I also used to watch it at least every month for more than a year and as a general pick-me-up whenever I was feeling down. I know the entire movie by heart by now.

2017 - Owarimonogatari 2nd season

I already shared how I got into Monogatari and why I love it so much. Yet, or precisely therefore it shows up on this list again (though all things considered it should be a bonus instead of an entry). The second season to Owarimonogatari is an amazing conclusion to an amazing series (not that it’s the conclusion at all). Hachikuji is my favourite character so it was great to see her again after so long (see my comments about Nisemonogatari) and I’m still crying over the brilliance of her kamimashita gag. It was also very rewarding to get an end to the mystery that was Ougi.

The anime came out while I was on a field course in Tvärminne. I remember it well, because I had the luxury of having a room to myself and an entire afternoon to chill there. I began watching it and had a really good time doing so until a classmate of mine came knocking on my door, asking me to join him in some game and I had to choose between being social or watching the long awaited new season of Monogatari. It was a tough choice to leave Hachikuji behind (I’M SO SORRY), but I ditched her and joined them. After that I didn’t have enough time to finish the series, until it was time for us to leave. I couldn’t get a car ride all the way to Helsinki, but I managed to get one to the Inkoo library and my dad to pick me up from there maybe an hour or two later which was the perfect time and perfect place to continue watching Monogatari. I really haven’t learned anything when it comes to watching possibly questionable anime with other people around. Luckily no one lives in Inkoo, so I got to watch it entirely undisturbed. Good memories indeed.

2017 BONUS - Eromanga-sensei

Look. I couldn’t honestly write this list without including Eromanga-Sensei. I unironically like the series. It began when I read the LN just to pass the time and have something to laugh at. Then the anime got announced and I knew I’d watch it, but I wasn’t really into it yet (the LN’s aren’t that good). Then they made a figure of Sagiri and I got it because I really love her design and then I started to look forward to the anime more, because I began having certain expectations for it and suddenly I’m here blogging about my first impressions of it (which are now lost forever, yay!).

I actually find the story to be quite touching and I got emotional watching the anime. Sagiri and Masamune have lost and gained their families multiple times over and now with all their parents dead it’s just the two of them left, both desperate and scared and unsure, wanting to find and create a new family and sense of belonging for themselves. It’s also a really well-made series, all the production values are top notch, the animation is fluid, the music is nice and the voice acting is great. It’s pretty funny and although none of the characters are particularly likeable, it’s an enjoyable series to watch. You can’t take it too seriously though. I had a really fun time with it, mostly because I made myself have a good time with it. I didn’t care about any of the memes and I got made fun of by all my friends, but that’s what I mostly remember 2017 anime for. I can’t wait for the second season, which we will inevitable get!!

2018 - 3-gatsu no Lion 2nd Season

3-gatsu no Lion is another anime that grew on me over time. I had difficulties watching and finishing both seasons, because at times it’s a really slow series, but I still consider it one of my favourites and one of the best series ever made. The second season was even better than the first and I sincerely hope we’ll get a third, and a fourth and a fifth or however many are required to finish the entire story.

Shaft has again done an incredible job with the visuals. I love the entire production, the music and voice acting and the overall feeling. The bullying arc was amazing, super emotional and raw and I love how it dealt with the aftermath and how there wasn’t a simple solution and how everything didn’t get fixed overnight, because that’s not how it works in real life. I love how Rei got a lot of personal growth. I love seeing him starting to rely on others more and become more comfortable with himself and what he likes and wants. It’s incredible how all the characters are multifaceted and how 3-gatsu makes me care for them (I’m cheering on you, pidgeon-man!). The Kawamoto family emits so much warm and positive energy I can’t help but cry everytime I see them. In fact, I used to prepare for each episode by making myself a nice, often Japanese styled meal, since there’s such a huge focus on delicious looking food in the anime I would always get hungry watching it, and a packet of tissues because I would cry every. single. week. It was ridiculous.

It’s not an easy series to get into, but probably the only series I feel the need to recommend to everyone I meet, just because it really is an amazing series that explores the human psyche and an incredibly rewarding watch once you get into it.

2019 - Sarazanmai

Do I even need to write something here? Anime of the decade, no question about it. 

There’s something really special in being able to follow an anime project you’re passionate about right from the start and I’m glad I got to do it with an Ikuhara project, because his anime is on a whole other level and speaks to me in ways no other media does. This was also the first time I took on such an active role in the fandom, which has been incredibly fun, but a bit taxing as well. However, if there is an anime that gets better once you share your thoughts on it with others each week, it’s Ikuhara’s.

Sarazanmai ended up being what I expected and nothing like it. I don’t know how, but it managed to exceed my expectations, even though they were skyhigh and I was worried about getting let down, especially since Yurikuma Arashi didn’t live up to my expectations for it. Sarazanmai however, was everything I wanted and more.

I love the story and themes, I love the characters, I love how there was so much going on, but they managed to make it work and have a satisfying ending. The musical numbers were insanely good and I love all the crazy shirikodama shenanigans. Watching Sarazanmai is like being on an emotional rollercoaster, with just the right amount of everything. I can’t wait to see what Ikuhara comes up with in the next decade!!

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If you’ve read this far, thank you for your time. I hope you enjoyed this and I applaud you for getting through all of it. If you feel like it, please share your picks with me, I’m curious to see what they are!

#my nonsense #anime #anime of the decade #should i spoil it and tag them all? #i kinda want to #also none of the anime on this list comes as a surprise if you know me or have been following me for a long time #katanagatari #mawaru penguindrum #nisemonogatari #klk #wixoss #hibike! euphonium #doukyuusei #owarimonogatari #eromanga sensei #3 gatsu no lion #sarazanmai #i hope you don't mind that i didn't properly introduce any of the series #i kinda assume everyone knows them all since i blog about them so much #and i think it's more interesting to think back on my experiences with them #you can always look up plots or more specific recommendations elsewhere #long post