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rnelodyy · 3 years

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c!Dream and the rules

(/dsmp /rp, all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I think one of the most striking parts of Exile is something that I rarely see talked about, and it’s Dream’s rules. Or rather, how his rules were made to be used as justification to hurt Tommy.

The thing about exile is that, outside of the initial rule of “Don’t go back to L’Manburg”, Dream never told Tommy the rules, yet constantly operated under the assumption that Tommy already knew them, and had accepted them. The rules also changed constantly, without Tommy ever being notified until he was already in trouble.

The second time Dream told Tommy to put his armor in the hole, he didn’t tell Tommy to do that right away. Instead, the conversation went like this (slightly edited to remove stammering and unrelated dialogue).

Dream: Do you have, uh… something you wanna put on the floor here? Tommy: Yes. (drops two pieces of red concrete as Dream digs a hole) Dre-eam! You’re evil. You’re evil. Dream: Anything else, Tommy? Tommy: Nope! Dream: Oh c’mon, I know there’s something else you wanna drop down here. Tommy: (panicking slightly) No, there… (messages BBH “take this and run”, throws him the disc BBH had gifted him earlier) Um… I don’t reckon there is! (pause) Dream: Okay, are you suuuure? Tommy: YES. Dream: Alright… How ‘bout your armor, Tommy? Tommy: Well, no, this is- I actually earned this myself. Dream: I know you did! Tommy: Leave me alone. Dream: Just drop it in the hole, Tommy. Tommy: Wh- no, NO, you can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit, what do you mean?! Dream: (sing-song) Tommy… Tommy: What? (Dream hits Tommy with his axe, taking over half his health) Tommy: (screams, drops his armor) OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY!

The only rule Tommy was aware of at this time was that he wasn’t allowed to go back to L’Manburg. Dream had taken his armor the night before, but there was no indication that he expected Tommy to do this constantly. Taking his armor upon initially arriving at Logstedshire made some kind of sense, allowing Tommy to keep it would run the risk of him trying to fight his way back into L’Manburg. Taking his new, very shitty armor (seriously it was an iron chestplate and a pair of golden leggings he got from a ruined portal chest) made no sense at all, so the fact that Tommy was confused and refused to cooperate at first isn’t unexpected in the slightest.

And the thing is… Dream was aware of this fact. Throughout the conversation, he never really sounded annoyed, and was actively teasing Tommy at times. This isn’t a good thing btw, it’s a sign that he was fully aware that Tommy didn’t know what he wanted from him, and that that would create a situation where Dream could “put him in his place” as it were.

If you’re a parent, and your kid does something that’s not allowed, without knowing it’s not allowed, you don’t start off with a beating. You sit them down, calmly explain the rules to them and explain why those rules are there, then send them on their way with the knowledge that they shouldn't do it again.

This interaction wasn’t an instance of Tommy acting out and Dream correcting him. This interaction was a trap. Dream set Tommy up to fail by not telling him the rules beforehand, and when Tommy offered even the slightest bit of resistance and asked why he needed to drop his armor, Dream jumped straight to beating him. It’s a powerplay, plain and simple.

This is demonstrated again with the destruction of Logstedshire. Dream got pissed that Tommy disobeyed him by having hidden chests with gear under his house, and retaliated by destroying everything Tommy had built, destroying every item he’d collected, killing his pet and only foodsource, barring him from the Nether, banning everyone except himself from visiting, and telling him to start over from scratch after a whole lecture about how Tommy betrayed him.

Again, I wanna point out some specific lines from this lecture that illustrate my point very well.

Dream: You were lying to me! You were lying to me. Tommy: No- Why was I lying?! Dream: What do you mean, why were you lying?! Tommy: I wasn’t hi- I wasn’t- Dream: You hid things in a chest knowing they were things I wouldn’t want you to have! And you hid it in a way that way I would never find it!

Except Tommy didn’t know that. The contents of the stash were all items that Tommy had obtained previously without any issue (diamonds, emeralds, iron, ender pearls, some pickaxes, and some purely sentimental items like flowers, a jukebox, and pictures of Tubbo and L’Manburg). In fact, the vast majority of them came from Tommy’s aboveground storage, which Dream had full access to, and had looked through before!

Dream also never said Tommy wasn’t allowed to hide stuff, and there was nothing to suggest he didn’t want Tommy to keep secrets from him.

There’s been a theory floating around for a while that Dream knew about Tommy’s item stash beforehand, since it was a very strange place to dig a hole (like, right in front of the house in the center of Logstedshire itself, instead of out in the plains where the TNT wouldn’t damage any structures), and Tommy had previously forgotten to cover up the entrance ladder. While Dream hadn’t looked inside the house, he would’ve definitely heard Tommy place the block back.

If this theory is correct, then this was yet another trap. Dream knew Tommy had a hidden room, and instead of just saying “hey, I don’t want you to have a hidden stash, go put this back and fill in the room” (which would’ve still been bullshit btw), he went COMPLETELY ballistic, destroyed EVERYTHING Tommy had, and while doing it, kept admonishing Tommy for betraying him, said shit like “I thought we were friends”, and even accused him of preparing to attack Dream. Again, a powerplay.

Hell, even the exile conflict itself is this! Tommy was exiled for griefing the king’s property while being a high-ranking official in L’Manburg. Except Fundy, the then-president’s son, CONSTANTLY griefed Eret’s shit after the L’Manburg war, ranging from ripping down one of their towers to “shrink” it, filling another tower with water, and multiple elaborate plots to steal the throne from under their nose. But apparently, between all of that shit and the exile-conflict, the rules were silently changed, meaning Dream could exile Tommy for breaking a couple blocks and placing some rude signs in George’s house. Even the punishment itself was changed without warning, as Tommy went from being exiled from L’Manburg to exiled from “everywhere that’s ever been touched.”

...I was originally gonna make a different point here. I may put it in the reblogs, because I still think it’s very interesting. But, in the middle of writing this essay I had to stop because it was late, then I spent the entire next day packing up because I’m in the middle of a move. It's now the next evening, I'm sat in my new room, on my camping bed, I opened this doc because I pretty much forgot what I typed, I reread it, and then I realized… This isn’t an isolated series of events. This is a pattern for Dream.

Before Tommy first joined the server, there were only three set rules: no stealing, no griefing, and no killing people. Except by that point, those rules weren’t enforced at all. In fact, Dream broke all three at once at one point, by killing George and burning his diamond armor because he didn’t feel it was fair that George got to run around in full diamond when everyone else still had iron.

Tommy joined the server, and broke the rules like everyone else. He stole shit, broke shit, killed George for funsies… and he got exiled for it. Seriously, they dumped him in an empty snowfield for breaking rules that nobody had enforced for weeks. So technically, the Exile-arc isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to him!

During the events that would eventually spark the Disc War, Sapnap stole a bunch of Tommy’s items (including the only Netherite chestplate on the server at the time), and told him he’d only give the stuff back if Tommy helped him with a conflict he had with Ponk. Long story short, Dream tried to intervene and was killed by Tommy and Sapnap, and Dream stole Tommy’s discs to force him to apologize. He then kept the discs, and the Disc War followed. Sapnap, despite being the aggressor and arguably forcing Tommy to participate in the conflict, was never punished.

This proves not only that the rules can change whenever Dream feels like it, but that they’re arbitrarily enforced. Dream refuses to punish his friends for the same crimes he endlessly fucks over Tommy for.

L’Manburg was created in part because of the fact that the rules were unevenly enforced. Tommy, Wilbur, and later Tubbo were repeatedly killed, stolen from, imprisoned, and even held hostage for very minor crimes, while the people killing, imprisoning, kidnapping and stealing from them were able to do so without impunity.

This was also the point where Dream just started making up new rules; there was no rule against having governments on the server, or making a separate area where Dream’s rules wouldn’t apply, so Dream banned governments, and used this new rule as an excuse to kill them, take their items, and tear their land to shreds.

And that’s another thing: the punishments for breaking Dream’s rules are INCREDIBLY harsh.

Kill him non-canonically one time? Your most prized possessions will now be dangled over your head and used to hurt you for the next few months.

Make a country with different laws that doesn’t infringe on anyone’s territory, has no desire to expand, is explicitly pacifistic and open to trade negotiations? You’ll be forced to fight a war you’re in no way equipped to fight, you’ll be betrayed and murdered and have your land destroyed in front of your very eyes until you literally have no choice but to surrender.

Mildly vandalize the king’s house, which nobody else has ever been punished for? You’ll be dragged into court, exiled from your home, and subjected to weeks of abuse until you believe that all of your friends hate you and you actively want to kill yourself.

Hide some stuff in a secret chest? Your only shelter will be exploded, your pet/only food source will be killed, all your items will be destroyed, you’ll be banned from the Nether, and none of your friends will be allowed to come see you.

This is all such disproportionate retribution it’s ridiculous. It’s like punishing someone for speeding by blowing up their car with a ballistic missile.

So to sum up: Dream’s rules are arbitrarily enforced, and he can just straight up make them up on the spot if he feels like it. Sometimes, he won’t tell you a rule exists until you’ve already broken it, and you’re treated as if you broke it out of malice instead of genuine ignorance. And if you do break a rule, and he decides you have to be punished, it will always be a punishment so harsh it doesn’t even ATTEMPT to fit the crime.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty fucking corrupt and tyrannical to me.

When people say Tommy deserved exile, or made Dream spiral into villainy, or abused Dream somehow (seriously I’ve seen this take multiple times and every time it makes my brain melt) by breaking the rules, I would invite them to take a step back and ask themselves, why did that rule exist? Did Tommy know it existed? Was it enforced for everyone other than him as well? Does the punishment fit the crime?

Dream has a bad habit of making up rules, or enforcing old ones that were never enforced before, to punish those who threaten his power. None of the Dream Team were ever punished for anything, despite committing the same crimes as the L’Manburgians. That is, until they founded Mexican L’Manburg (i.e. went against Dream’s rule), at which point they were attacked by Dream and George was dethroned for “not being neutral enough.”

Tommy should’ve faced consequences for what he did. But those consequences should’ve come naturally, and been carried out by the people he hurt. Like, if Dream hadn’t intervened, griefing George’s house would’ve resulted in George griefing Tommy back in revenge. In fact, he DID do that, by turning Tommy’s entire house into granite and putting the Jump In The Cadillac picture on his front lawn.

These are natural, proportionate consequences. Exile was none of that. The Disc War was none of that. Everything that happened to L’Manburg was none of that.

Dream’s rules and how he enforces them are inherently corrupt and tyrannical. To pretend it’s anything but is disingenuous at best.

#dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #c!dream #c!tommy #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #i had a COMPLETELY different point that i wanted to make but then i thought about it and went w a i t #uhhh if you wanna hear my original point lemme know i guess #anyway c!dream is such an interesting character! i hate him!#little green bastard man #c!dream critical

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writingsfromhome · 3 years

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Bad Timing II

A/N: I’m just about finished the whole series and I’m excited for you to read this! <3 Sorry for the late upload, I started a new semester and had zero time to write but I worked on this all weekend. I’m curious to know if your opinions on Harry change after this part, the next part’s going to be packed but this is an in-between. Thanks as always for reading <333

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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I lay awake in bed, staring at the blank ceiling before my phone’s constant buzzing forces me up. A couple voicemails, and a single text from Harry: GM, call me if you need anything.

I stare at it longer than I should, the audacity to think we were fine enough to text me so casually. But there was some small solace in knowing he took the extra step to let me know. Ugh; my head injury was more serious than the medic diagnosed. I throw my phone on the bed and head downstairs where I’m surprised to see him gone. It was only 8am and I needed a coffee, otherwise I would not make it through the day. When I see the pot of coffee half full, I stop in my tracks. Harry made coffee before he left. I touch the pot and it’s still warm, he couldn’t have left that long ago.

I open the dishwasher that I’d loaded last night only to find it empty. I stand straight, hand on my hips--had he unloaded the dishes too? How did I not wake up to the noise? How did he even know where everything went?!

Maybe he wasn’t such a dense detective after all, the thought makes me smile. I look around the room and notice he’d tidied up from last night, and folded everything away on the couch he slept on. I take my coffee to the couch and without thinking, hug the pillow to my face and inhale. The strong scent of his aftershave sends a sharp and painful jolt to my memories. What the hell was I doing?

I drop the pillow and settle on my kitchen table, responding to some emails while I make a game plan for the day, shaking off the claustrophobic feeling I got thinking about going back to work. I finish the last of the coffee and start moving, shower, dress appropriately, pack my laptop...I just had to keep busy so I wouldn’t have time to think about it.

***

“We’re here for you, whatever you need,” the regional manager lets me know during the meeting. I’d learned post-trauma policies the bank had. I was sorry to know them, I really just wanted to put the whole thing behind me. I tell her that. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. We do require you to go to at least one counseling session, your employees have got to go to a group meet with a licensed therapist so you can all discuss this and get over the awful event.”

“I see,” I chew my lower lip. I didn’t want to talk to anyone about the way I jumped at every little thing and stared down each and every stranger on the tube on my way in today. I felt crazy. Maybe I did need a shrink. “I’ll include that in the memo I guess. Thanks again for all the support and the resources-”

“That’s my job, our job.” She motions to the man sitting beside her who hadn’t actually said much the whole time. We talk for a little while longer, and by the time they leave I’m exhausted. But I make the trek to the hospital to visit Cole like I told him I would.

***

The weekend flies by: I take the train to visit my dad up north and let him take care of me like I was a kid again. It was nice to unwind, I thought, I should visit my dad more often.

But come Monday, I’m back in my pantsuit ready to get on with my life. I try not to think about Thursday too hard but it’s difficult when first thing that morning, a therapist shows up for a group session. Most of my employees look anxious to be here, but I watch their shoulders relax as they discuss what happened. Watching everyone bond brings a lightness to the heaviness that sat in my chest: it was good.

“Ms. Y/L/N? When can we schedule a one-on-one?” The therapist stops me at the end of the session.

“I think this session helped a lot,” I put on a big smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

She smiles politely, as if she expected this, “It’s a requirement for back-to-work. I have time right now if you’d like, I’m not seeing another employee until lunch.”

“Um,” I look to where everyone mingles, comforting each other and breaking off into groups. If I had to talk about it in order to work, and work is the only thing to help me get my mind off of it...I guess I had no choice. “Let’s do it now.”

But an hour later and I’ve mostly just talked her ear off about Harry showing up, how awful my luck was that he would be the lead detective on the case, how much damage he’d done to me. How he appeared on one of the worst days of my life again.

“It’s almost a sign,” I ramble. “Like...what are the odds?!”

“Do you still have feelings for him?” She asks, looking like she knew the answer.

“No,” I scoff. “I hate him. He broke my trust!” And my heart.

“Those are feelings,” she says wisely.

“Well sure, yeah, I have negative feelings towards him. Why wouldn’t I?”

She pauses, a very pregnant pause. “It’s been almost 4 years right? Usually, those feelings start to...dissolve into a more neutral ground when you...receive closure. You take time to grieve, to sit in the wound in your heart, but then you pick yourself up and try to heal. It seems like you’ve just told yourself you were healed and got on.”

“I am healed,” I insist.

“Just like you started this sessions by letting me know you were over the trauma that happened to you a few days ago?” She asks. I avoid her gaze. “When I asked about Thursday, you said you were ‘over it’ and you just wanted to focus on work but you’re not giving yourself closure. Likewise, with Harry. You haven’t found closure even after all these years.”

I stare at her, she’d sliced right into a vulnerable part of me--I’d led her there, I realise. It was something I knew all along, I just didn’t want to point at it alone.

“You’re right...I feel like I never got closure.” I confess. “How? I just want to know h-how he could’ve left me for another woman after all those years together--as lovers and as friends? He was there when mum...he was there through hell. And then he put me through hell.”

“I’d like to believe Harry showing up on a...hellish day is a sign like you say. But maybe a sign you need closure. Talk to him, ask him what you need to know in order to close that chapter of your life.”

I exhale, the idea of it making me feel claustrophobic. She wanted me to open myself up to him again and invite him to hurt my feelings? I try to ask her more but she looks at her watch. We’d gone over.

I thank her and walk out with a weight on my back that feels bigger than the one I went in with. I thought therapy was supposed to make me feel lighter.

***

I’m hiding behind my desk as the footsteps get closer and closer to the door. I clutch the knife in my hand and-

“Y/N!”

I jump up out of sleep, and open my eyes to my office. I stare at the table in front of me where the papers I used as a pillow are rumpled.

“Y/N? You have a call on-”

“Adam,” I look at my assistant. He’d been really quiet today and I was worried about him but there was so much to catch up on I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him. “Sorry I...haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry Y/N...the detective’s on the line he insisted he talk-”

I roll my eyes and answer the phone, motioning for Adam I’d be okay. He hesitates at the door before closing it tightly behind him.

“Y/N?” Harry’s breathless voice answers irritably on the other line.

“Harry? Why are you calling me at work?” I ask, still sleepy from the nap. Is this about the case?”

“No it’s about your things at the station, it was processed--we couldn’t find anything useful so we’re returning this batch. And I think some of it belongs to your staff? Did you want to pick it up or should I drop it off to yo-”

“I’ll pick it up,” I wanted to make it clear that Harry in my space wasn’t going to be a normal thing. “I’ll head out in a bit, can I just collect it at reception?”

“They’ll buzz you through to me, I’ve gotta go-”

“Just leave it with reception...” I say to dead air. He’d already hung up. Damn.

***

“I’m here for some things, it was taken for evidence?” I say to the woman at reception.

“You’ll have to be more specific love,” she raises an eyebrow. “A lot happens here.”

“The bank rob-”

“Ah, Harry’s case. I’ll buzz you through-”

“No I thought maybe I could collect it here uh-” I look for a nameplate. “Serena, listen, I’m in a rush so is there any way for you to get it-”

The phone ringing cuts me off. She holds up her finger and I stand tapping my foot. She rolls her eyes at whoever was on the other line, motions that they were chatty and points to the glass doors. I sigh, I guess I was seeing Harry. I think about my therapist and cringe, I couldn’t.

When I walk in, I scan the room for Harry but I don’t spot him anywhere. I walk awkwardly until someone asks if they could help but they point to his desk and tell me I could wait there.

“I’m actually here to pick up some evidence, couldn’t you just give it to me?”

“He’s the lead officer, he’s got to sign off--”

“Fine,” I hated the bloody bureaucracy around here. I go to where he points and sit in Harry’s chair, ignoring the looks from people around me. I toy with the pen and doodle on an empty paper. Y/N was here I write and smile, it was juvenile.

“Y/N! Sorry! Nobody told me you were here.” Harry shows up a few minutes later. He opens the bottom drawer and takes out a nondescript cardboard box. If I knew if was down there I would’ve left a long time ago. “Just need you to sign this.”

“Okay,” I sign where he points and reach for the box. “I’ll grab that, thank you.”

“Can I walk you out?” He fiddles with his phone.

“Will you take no for an answer?”

“Nope,” he’s all teeth when he smiles. I sigh and walk in front of him. It’s weirdly silent but I notice he was typing on his phone when I look over.

“Well...g’night then.” I say at the door but he pushes it open and walks out with me.

He finally puts his phone away and asks. “Are you alright? Have you gone back to work?”

“Yeah,” I chew at my bottom lip, nervous. “We’re really sticking together, trying to get through it.”

“That’s good. That’s how it should be.” He waits a beat. “We’ve been trying to catch the robbers, they hit up another bank so it’s hell inside. That’s why I was so busy.”

“Another?” My heart plummets, and my palms feel slick.

“Yeah but we’re working as fast as we can. So...uh, did you need anything from me before you go?”

“I...” I think about the therapist’s words and chew my lower lip. I try to work up the courage. Fuck it, I realise. I had nothing to lose. “I do...actually.”

“Oh,” he looks surprised. “Good, what’s that?”

“I want to talk, about us. I...I need like, closure Harry. I think I deserve an explanation about...” I trail off as I notice him staring at me blankly. “What?”

His blank expression settles into confusion. “What’s more to explain Y/N. I’ve told you everything, I-I dunno. I thought one day we could get together like old friends, but it’s obvious you’re still upset with everything and I don’t know what more I can say? I said everything in that letter but if-”

“The letter?” I ask sharply, cutting off his chatter.

“Yeah, the one I wrote you after we...after you moved out?” When I don’t react he continues: “I dropped it off at your sister’s the week after you cleaned out your things? You didn’t...read it?” He looks hurt, if that was possible all these years later.

“I...did. Obviously I just...had some questions.” My heart races; what letter? He wrote me a letter?

“So what do you want to ask?” He looks at me curiously, concern etched in his brows. “I would like to talk actually-”

“Now’s not a good time,” I cut him off again. I had to know about this letter first. I can’t believe I walked into this blind. “I’ve actually had a long day, this is--we can do this another time, okay? Thanks for...walking me out.”

***

The first thing I do when I get home is call my sister. I can sniff her guilt a whole country away.

“Y/N, you were heartbroken! Y-you didn’t need to have it broken all over again reading his stupid letter! I was looking out for you!”

“That wasn’t your call!” I raise my voice. “I’ve been...I haven’t had closure all this time! I thought he didn’t even care enough to try to explain it to me and you knew he sent a letter this whole time?”

“Well when he showed up to the flat I wasn’t about to-”

“When did he come to the flat?” I wanted to strangle my sisters and her protective instincts.

“After you moved your things out. He wanted to see you and I knew you were a mess, I told him you never wanted to speak to him. I was looking out for you babe I-I didn’t even realise I was keeping you from closure I just...I didn’t want you hurting. Don’t be mad.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, she was right. It was Harry who hurt me, and I shouldn’t take it out on her. “I know. I know. I’m sorry for yelling I just-I wish I could read that letter.”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I should’ve given it to you once you moved out...I still have it though. I think I tucked it into my old yearbook. D’you want me to...”

“Mail it? Yes, as soon as possible please. I need to know what he wrote.”

“What if you just get hurt all over again?” she asks.

“I’ve been hurting, I don’t think his outdated explanation will hurt any more. Just please mail it the first chance you get okay?”

I was so close to it, I think. I had to get that letter. I needed closure. I deserved it. And just knowing I could get it, it’s almost like I was waking up in a dark tunnel I hadn’t realised I was in this whole time. I knew where I was, and I could see light on the horizon.

H POV:

The last time I had a full night’s sleep was on Y/N’s couch, this case was a lot bigger than we thought. It wasn’t just a robbery at one branch, these same people have hit up two other places in the last few days and they were good. The worst part was they weren’t afraid to use a gun.

“Chief,” one of the constables comes up to my desk, where I’d been staring at footage for the last hour. “There’s been um, there’s a problem-”

“Spit it out,” I say, eyes still on the screen.

“The evidence you released on Monday...blokes down in evidence can’t find the SIM from the scene...we think they accidentally left it with that batch.”

I look up from my screen and I can practically see the sweat breaking out on his brow as I stare. If that was important evidence, we’d misplaced it at the height of an investigation. My arse would be on the line too--it was my name on the authorization letter.

“Don’t panic until we’re sure it’s not with the evidence we gave out,” I get up and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m looking into it right now, don’t let anybody know it’s happened.”

I grab my jacket from my chair and root in the pocket for my phone but Y/N’s number goes to voicemail. I curse. I look at the time, it was 6 already. I had a feeling she might kill me but I would have to drive to her place, I hoped she didn’t leave the evidence at work...after all I did tell her to return it to her employees...I have the brief thought of asking her in the morning but I remember my arse on the line and walk quicker.

“Woah, someone’s in a hurry,” Detective Cole comments as I rush past her. “Not even a hello.”

“Sorry,” I flash her a smile. “Urgent!”

“Need any help?”

I pause long enough to turn around and answer. “Normally I would say yes but I’ve got to do this.”

“Don’t let me keep ya,” she smiles, I notice Serena eyeing the both of us suspiciously as she packs up for the day. She was always trying to convince me to ask her on a date, but I was done with dating coworkers after I made the mistake of marrying one and breaking up quickly thereafter in the past. I’d changed careers quickly after that.

Y/N’s POV:

“Oh my god,” I stop in the middle of my bedroom as my sister reveals her big news over Facetime, an ultrasound held up to the camera. “Oh my god!”

“I know!” She squeals.

“I-I-you’re pregnant!” I was shocked, I didn’t even know my sister was trying for a third kid. “You better give me a bloody niece this time!”

My sister laughs, one hand on her belly. I should’ve known, I realise, she’d been cryptic the last few times we talked, dropping clue, but I’d been so wrapped up in other things I didn’t pick up on them. “It wasn’t even planned but Y/N, it feels right. The boys are stoked--they want a sister too.”

“I am so happy for you and Stu,” I let out a whoop. “I wish I could hug you! I’m going to book some time next month and come see you--this is big! Did you tell dad?”

“Not yet, don’t say anything--oh,” a cry bursts out from somewhere on her end. She rolls her eyes and tells me she would call me back. But I get a text to say there was an accident with a toy truck and a jug of OJ, she would call me back later in the evening when everything was settled.

I throw my phone down on my bed and sit on the edge in my robe, I’d just come out of the shower to my sister’s call. I was over the moon for her, but it was times like these I felt like an awful person. Because as I think about her happy news, I put my hand to my own belly and imagine what it would’ve been like to be the one calling family with good news. The familiar ache in my chest comes back, once upon a time I did have good news for a short period of time.

It was a few months before Harry and I split, I’d skipped a period and went immediately to the pharmacy. I’d decided to wait for a week before I would tell Harry because he was stressed from work. He was always stressed at that job, but I wanted it to be perfect. I’d spent the whole week stopping by nursery stores, browsing baby books, even buying a few onesies and the cutest booties I couldn’t put down. I picture the baby--mine and Harry’s, wearing them.

But the day I’d planned to tell him, I’d woken up and knew instantly something was wrong. I never told him, I fought with him that day instead...I couldn’t even remember over what. I held the awful burden on my own, packed the future I couldn’t have into a little box and shoved it under the bed. A few months later, Harry and I were over. That future was as fragile as the paper-thin wings of a butterfly, one that would never take flight.

I do what I did on my darkest days, I root underneath my bed and pull out the box.

I still had it; it was morbid, holding on to a future that was deader than dead. But I hold it in my lap, and run my hands over each piece of clothing. I imagine just for a moment what I could have had, they would’ve been 3 and I would’ve been a mum. My chest tightens, and I squeeze the items closer.

H’s POV:

By the time I get to Y/N’s, I’d stress-sang so many 90s hits that most of my nervous energy had streamed out the car window. I gather myself, clear my hoarse throat, and knock; ready to be beheaded. When there’s no answer, my nerves return. I knock louder, and try to peer through the frosty window.

“Harry?” Y/N opens the door in a flourish, looking fresh from a shower. I try to block the visuals that spring to mind, my mind blanking as I try to remember what I had to say. “Hello? Harry? Why are you here?”

“Uhm,” I shake my head. “Urgent business--the evidence I gave you on Monday, please tell me you still have it?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “You’re knocking on my door at nearly 7 for evidence you returned to me?”

“It’s urgent,” I look around out of habit. “Y/N, we may have accidentally given you something with the evidence we were meant to keep--please I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’m not messing with you, this is my head on the chopping block--I need to know if you have it.”

“For fuck’s sake Harry,” she opens the door wider. “Just...come in.”

“You have it?” I step in eagerly and close the door behind me, basking in the warmth inside. It was a chilly spring evening.

“I haven’t touched it since I brought it home, I threw it somewhere in my room.”

“Didn’t it...have your employees’ personal items in it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s not like they’re eager to have reminders of that day!” she snaps and I back down. She turns in a flourish of her robes and walks upstairs. She doesn’t say anything so I follow her up, drinking in every detail I can about her new life as we pass through.

She’s headed into her bedroom when her phone buzzes. I recognize her sister from the contact photo that takes up the screen. She glances at me, and back at the phone, making a decision.

“It’s beside the dresser, don’t make a sound or my sister will come here in record time to rip your head off.”

“I take it she doesn’t like me,” I try to joke.

“She’s not the only Y/L/N sister that doesn’t like you,” she puts a finger to her mouth and takes the call into the other room.

Maybe I should stop cracking jokes with Y/N, I think. It was clear she still hadn’t forgiven me. I was surprised she still held on as vehemently all these years later.

I head into her bedroom, a tidy and plain room. Compared to what I’d seen of her main floor, her bedroom looked like it belonged in a hotel. I spot the box almost immediately resting between a laundry hamper and her dresser. I pick it up but on the way back, the box on her bed catches my attention. The lid is half on, and I know I shouldn’t but something almost possesses my hand to nudge the lid aside. I stare and what’s inside the box sends me reeling; like I was seasick, but with both feet firmly on the ground. The feeling punches me directly into a past I’d abandoned. A future I abandoned too.

When Y/N finds me a few minutes later, I’m holding the shoes from the box in my hands. She stops beside me. I look to her and her face is frozen in fear, before it shuts down into anger--no, fury.

“What the fuck are you doing going through that?” she snatches the shoes out of my hand and picks the box up.

“Y/N,” I say gently. “What...what is all this?”

“Did you find your stupid box? Just--” her eyes search the room frantically and settles on the evidence box on the bed. She picks it up and shoves it into my chest. “Take it and go Harry, I don’t want t-to talk. To you. Please just--” her voice breaks.

“Okay I’ll go I just...” my heart feels heavier than lead and I want to say the perfect thing to her but nothing comes out. When she shoves me I scuttle out. I hear the sob that escapes her as soon as I exit into the hallway, I almost turn to go back in and offer comfort. But I couldn’t comfort her, not since the day I gave up on her. I walk to my car, not even relieved to have the evidence. I don’t know how long I sit in the car and think about the contents of that box: folded in neat piles were baby onesies, bibs, and a pair of tiny shoes. Remnants from a broken past, a broken promise.

I wasn’t an idiot, and I wasn’t heartless despite what Y/N thought. I know what my selfish actions did to her, I know how I’d fucked her up without meaning to. But it’s only now that the weight of it settles entirely on my shoulders. How many years has it been, and that small box of new onesies stayed under her bed. Her room might’ve looked sterile and fresh but its corners held heavier burdens than I thought were possible. A new feeling of shame blooms from within me, and it stays like a bad aftertaste.

***Y/N POV:

I was going to read that letter, find my closure, and burn everything from my past ceremonially in a bonfire, I think as I watch the trees in my backyard rustle with the morning wind. It had been a few days but I couldn’t even focus on him finding that box, the humiliation of watching him look up at me with confusion and pity...it was enough he’d broken my heart, but now he felt sorry for me too. I focus back on the greenery while my fingers toy with the letter that’d come in the mail, a few years late.

The envelope looked worse for wear but it was still as sealed as the day Harry had written it. I hesitate, trace my fingers over my name on the front. A memory comes rushing to me, Harry in my dorm writing silly things on my post-its and sticking it in places I wouldn’t find until he’d left. Like under my covers, or inside my closet door. They would be silly like

Y/N smells like farts

or cheesy like

have a terrific day

. I usually tossed them, other I’d tucked between classroom textbooks. I wonder what happened to them.

Finally, I work up the courage to slide my finger under the seal and break it open. Two pages fall out, his distinct writing halfway between cursive and chicken scratch covers both pages. I read:

Y/N

You’re probably wondering why you’re reading this--I don’t think I deserve your consideration for even a moment let alone for enough time it will take for you to read this. Yet I want so badly for you to read this, to just know I didn’t mean for this to happen to us. And I know you think I’m the one who did it to us, but I need to explain.

You always told me I was good with my words, that maybe I was an artist in another life--a poet you liked to say. But every time I try to find the right words to say to you, English may as well not be my first language. I should have tried harder, should have found the right words for months but I kept putting it off until it was too late.

You are and will always be my best friend first, Y/N, I know I’ve broken your trust but I care about you deeply. I just wasn’t happy. And that had to do with the road we were going down together, not you. I’m deeply sorry for the words I said that day, for how I’ve made you feel these last few months. I guess, ultimately, I was being selfish. And I don’t have an excuse for that. I fucked this up but I wasn’t happy and I was taking it out on you, and on us. I used the things we couldn’t have as an excuse, but I’m not happy where I am in my life. And that’s something I need to find; I need to figure out what I really want.

I can only hope we’ll circle back to each other one day, in the future, when we’re in better places. But I don’t think we were right like this, maybe it’s bad timing, or maybe there’s a blanket over us much too heavy for us to find comfort under. I’m sorry for leaving us like this and for breaking your trust but I need to do this.

Know you’re perfect as you are, right now, there’s absolutely nothing about you I would ever change. I, on the other hand, have a lot of changing to do.

I wish you nothing but the best, you deserve the whole bloody world Y/N, but I don’t think I can give that to you. I hope one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. For now, know I love you and I’m truly sorry.

Harry, xx

My finger brushes over the last line, I take myself back to the Y/N and Harry four years ago--and it’s not so hard to do. I lived there more often than I’d like to admit. But I picture us, I picture Harry sitting down to write this. How might I have taken this if I read it all those years ago? I picture myself dissolving into tears--maybe my sister was right in not showing me.

I also imagine I would have known why, and maybe I wouldn’t be where I was right now if I’d had that closure.

But even all these years later, the tears stream down my face as if it were just yesterday Harry handed the letter over to my protective sister. There was so much hurt and heaviness, looking at it from the perspective I had now...I see a glimmer of truth in Harry’s letter. We’d worked wonderfully as best friends, and our intimacy was comforting. But we were also two people being pulled in two directions while clinging onto what we thought would keep us happy. It didn’t mean I forgave him for what he did, how he did it. But I finally understood why.

All this time, I asked why--I wondered if there was something I could’ve done to have fixed it before he left. I see now, he’d wanted an out the whole time. Nothing would have fixed us except time apart. I still felt like shit, but this epiphany made me feel closer to the closure I needed. The light on the horizon grows a little brighter. We’d just had bad timing.

***

I feel bright and chipper Monday morning; a sunny morning and a weekend of closure could do that to a woman. I bring along with me a box of treats; it had been a week since the horrible robbery. We’d put some precautions in since, had the therapist stay a few more days, a few of the employees decided to transfer and as sad as I was to see them go I knew it was the right thing for them to do to feel better. As for myself, I forgot about it most of the time. But it would creep in every so often and freeze me up.

I spoke to the company’s therapist once more after Monday, she’d asked about Harry and I had told her about the letter. She was intrigued but quickly changed the topic to how I was feeling after the events of last Thursday.

“Y/N?” Adam walks into the staff room as I finish the note to accompany the treats. “What’s all this?”

“Treats to cheer everyone up! Not that sweet fried dough is going to erase everyone’s PTSD...” I try to make a joke but Adam’s face is tense like it’d been since that day. “Adam I’m teasing...have you um, have you talked to someone one-on-one?”

“Me? Why?” He jumps. “I’m fine, I’m alright it’s mostly out of my head anyway.”

“Hm,” I look him up and down. “I don’t believe you but I’ll let it drop...for now.”

He fidgets with his hands, “Anyway I came in here to let you know the detective on the case called first thing about returning some evidence-”

“I can’t pick that up.” I say finitely. “Do you have room today? Maybe take an extended lunch and pick that up?”

“From the station?” he stutters.

“Is that where he said it was?”

“Uh yeah, yes. He wanted you to pick it up.”

“Well DCI Styles won’t get what he wants for once, you’ll pick it up at lunch okay? Just keep me posted.”

I go back to my office with a coffee and get a crack on with my work. I check for any updates on the client from last Thursday but I continue to receive the automated email that their office was closed for the week. It was weird, but I just make a note to follow up later on.

After lunch, Adam appears shaken, with the evidence. I instruct him to leave it in the staff room and send out an email, making sure to remind them that they didn’t have to go through it if they didn’t want to. I would keep it there until it was cleared out, even if that took the month. I think about my scarf in there, the one used to tie my hands. I wanted to burn it, never see it again. I send Adam a quick email to remove it from the box and dispose of it.

H’s POV:

“This just doesn’t make any sense,” I comb my fingers through my hair, as if it might trick my brain into seeing the pattern here. “This same group’s hit four places total, and yet Y/N...the HSBC was the first. There’s got to be a connection there, it’s here but I just can’t see it.”

“Harry,” Detective Cole puts her hand on my shoulder briefly before moving it away. “Maybe you need a break, I don’t think I’ve seen you go home the last few days and your shirt’s a bit...ripe. Maybe take the rest of the day off?”

I sniff myself, she was right. She shrugs with a I had to say it look.

She was right too that I hadn’t gone home. I did almost nothing but focus on this case, not only because it was growing bigger by the day and I had pressure from upstairs. But it was a welcome distraction to the new guilt that seemed to jam every other area of my life.

It was almost like I was reliving a timeline, going back three or so years ago. It felt like Y/N and I were freshly broken up, and I was trying to pick myself back up from it. Except that’s not the way it went all those years ago--I’d moved on, quickly then. But now, time was catching up. Or maybe it was karma.

“Earth to Harry?” Cole waves her hand in front of my face. “You really should go home.”

“Yep,” I scratch my stubble. I should shave too. “I’ll just drop by evidence before I go.”

She looks like she was going to say something but she gets up from the chair beside my desk, and walks back to her own. I sigh, sifting through the files on my desk to take home with me. My notepad underneath shifts and I spot Y/N’s familiar writing: Y/N was here. I run my finger over it and smile, remembering how she had written that on the baseboard of every flat or dorm room we’d left. And just like that, the guilt and shame take the memory’s place. How the fuck was I supposed get past this and focus, I think.

I shove my files into a bag and head out. Evidence tells me there wasn’t a lot on the sim card but they were still trying. I ask for an email if anything comes to light, and go home where I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.

i meant to take a short nap, but I wake at 4am and my mind’s buzzing with so many thoughts that I have nothing else to do but get up, eat a mashup of breakfast and last night’s dinner. With nothing more to do, and 6am creeping up, I decide to get in my car and drive while the roads were somewhat clear.

Driving helped me think sometimes, on my worst case after my promotion, I’d gotten on the road one night and driven all the way to Leicaster. After a night’s rest in a hotel and the drive back home, I’d cracked the case. But this time, with my thoughts racing, I end up driving to Y/N neighbourhood on autopilot. Maybe because she was on my mind, the guilt a constant companion since that day.

I park on the other side of her street, and watch her front door from the rearview. I don’t know why I was there, it felt ridiculous and creepy. Yet, I couldn’t leave. Maybe I could offer her a ride to work, I think. But I know she would decline because she didn’t even come in herself to collect her evidence. She’d sent her awkward assistant instead.

Her door suddenly opens, and a strange man walks out. She leans on the doorframe and laughs at something he says. He leaves a kiss on her cheek and walks away. She shouts something after him and he turns, saying something back that gets her laughing. My heart races, seeing her face in the distance wrinkle with laughter. I remember all the times I could get her to do that, effortlessly. The guilt returns tenfold.

He adjusts his coat, turning back around and she watches him fondly for a few seconds longer before closing her door. I’m suddenly irritated, immediately suspicious of this bloke. I watch, unblinking, until he turns the corner out of sight. Who was he? Her boyfriend?

I look at the time on the dashboard, 7:08am. I sit, indecisive for another half an hour. My thoughts churn: the robberies, the motives, Y/N, the worn out box with baby clothes, her male guest who’d spent the night, the look on her face when she’d woken up after her concussion and saw me: disbelief, anger, and sadness.

I get out of the stuffy car and walk across the street where I hesitate outside her door. I knew I was crossing a line, pushing a boundary she put up by not picking up the evidence herself. She’d made it clear what she wanted, but I never denied that I was a selfish bastard. I raise my hand, and knock.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #detective!harry #dci!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #writingsfromhome #fic #au #harry styles x reader #oop this took a while to get out #but i'm so excited for pt3 #:)

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wickedw3asleys · 3 years

Text

MINEFIELDS - Pt.1

George Weasley x Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of death, trauma, mental instability, depression, ptsd... emotional scenes, basically almost angst but not too much...

AN: hello everyone! so i finally got the time to finish writing the first part of my second serie! (i know i haven't finished my Just Like Heaven one but i have adhd bare with me) and i'm pretty excited about this one since it's not going to be a specific genre like fluff or smut, it'll just be a mini fic, so i hope you'll like it!!🥰

☆:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::☆

The Battle of Hogwarts and Fred's premature death was a huge heartbreak for everybody. The ones you once were close to in school were now almost strangers to you. It was sad, pretty sad actually, but none of you got out the same from Hogwarts, and for you, you were still living the trauma and pain of fighting for your life and seeing your friends die, even 4 years later; never being able to fully heal.

You thought that forcing yourself to move on the second you got out of Scotland would help you, but in vain. It was hard for you to completely move on, and the only one that kept you company was Dean, your old Gryffindor friend, who happen to be now your long term boyfriend. He was the only one that was still there after all; not even Harry, Ron, Ginny or Neville bothered in keeping in touch... The only one that sent you a letter from time to time was Hermione. You found yourself writing to her as a sort of therapy, even though you did it once every three or four months. But she was there, somehow...

You learned from her the first year that her and Ron got in a relationship, finally after all these years of being chasing each other; Harry and Ginny were still together; even Luna was now in a happy and healthy relationship, but she couldn't keep you updated about the others.

The part that broke your heart the most was when she first mentioned Molly and Arthur in her letters; after the loss of their son they weren't the same, of course they were still the Weasleys you all once knew, but they were "empty", as Hermione described. Molly, still to this day, would put an extra plate at the family table, expecting to see Fred join them for dinner; and Arthur would spend more and more time in his office, trying to get his mind distracted.

And then George... For the first year he refused to look at himself in the mirror. He wouldn't sleep or eat properly. The day Fred died, a part of him died too, not as twins, but as individual too, and everybody saw it.

When Hermione told you about the hell George had had to go through during these 4 years, you couldn't help but hate yourself deeply for not being next to him and helping him going through that.

"Sometimes I find myself talking to Ronald and Ginny about him, we are all very concerned about him and his health, still to this day... After all, he did not only lost his twin that day... He also lost you..."

Fred, George and you were always together in your school days, since your first day at Hogwarts, even though they were a year older than you. You were always there for them and they were always there for you, always you three, through heaven and hell. You couldn't agree more with Hermione's words, and you hated yourself for that. You had been selfish, not being able to stand by George's side and not giving him any sign of life. At the time, you thought that it would be better for both of you to just disappear, but after all these years, you were completely regretting that decision.

"Sweetheart... Hermione wrote...", Dean says, entering your bedroom, handing you a folder piece of paper, "Are you okay?"

You were once again lost in your thoughts, always the same ones, but Dean always knew how to help you come back to reality. You appreciated that of him, never showing and ounce of pressure or frustration towards you, and you loved him. But you weren't sure if that was truly love or if you were just thankful for him being there... And it was a thought that was slowly killing you inside.

"Huh?", you shook your head, chasing all these intrusive thoughts from it, "Yeah, I'm okay... Let's see what she has to tell me today..."

Dean warmly smiled at you and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, "Okay, tell me if you need anything, alright?"

You nodded and opened the paper the moment he left the room.

"My dearest Y/N,

I hope you are doing well. Everything is great here, we are all doing good. Nothing much has changed, except for Harry and Ginny speaking of engagement... I was supposed to keep it secret because it is not entirely confirmed yet but I couldn't help myself from getting excited over it! A good new like this one is what we all need right now...

That is why I am writing to you, I was thinking about making a reunion... A family reunion... After all these years I think it is finally time to get together and talk around a good dinner... As we used to do... I think it would be great for everyone and Molly is already so excited to have you back home, she misses you so much, Y/N... We all mis you...

I hope I get your response soon...

Your dear friend,

Hermione."

You put the letter on your desk and sighed deeply. You knew one day you would have to go back to the Burrow and see everybody again, and you wanted too. You wanted to feel like home again, feel everybody's love and affection again. You truly had missed all that, but after second thoughts, you weren't sure it was a good idea...

Hermione said everybody was missing you, but was that true? Did they all want to see you? Or do they actually still hate you for leaving? You didn't want to face Ginny's, Harry's or Molly's gaze when you get there, you would be too ashamed of it...

"I think you should go...", Dean says after you explained the letter to him, "It's been 4 years, Y/N... You need to see them as much as they need to see you..."

"I know... But what if they hate me...", you say with a small voice.

"They don't hate you", your boyfriends take your hands in his, "I'm sure they've missed you. You practically lived there when we were in school... And you were always with Fred and George..."

The mention of Fred's name made your whole body shiver. It has been a long time since you've heard his name falling out of someone's mouth, and you could feel your heart drop at the sound of it.

"I miss them... So much...", you start tearing.

"I know, sweetheart, I know...", Dean pulls you in a tight hug, never letting you down and holding onto you for dear life.

"You really think I should go?", you ask a few minutes later.

"I do... I don't like the idea of leaving you alone but I think it would be better if you went by yourself... Next time I'll go with you"

"Are you sure?"

"Completely...", he smiled.

The days that followed Hermione's letter, you had sent your positive response to her and started packing your things for the few days you were going to spend at the Burrow. Hermione had told you that the only one aware of your visit was Molly of course, but it would be a total surprise for the rest, that information only making you more nervous.

The D-day came up more quick than you've had thought, but there you were, now standing in the middle of your living room, saying your goodbyes to Dean, surrounded by your bags.

"Good luck... Everything is going to be okay...", he says, leaving the last small peck on your lips.

You warmly smiled to him and in a second, you apparated on the field in front of the Burrow.

You could feel your eyes already water at the sight of it. It was like nothing had changed, and even after all the thing that house had been through, it looked the same as it did the first time you stayed there.

The smell of rain and wet grass filling your nostrils and the sound of the wind and early birds only made you more nostalgic. Damn you had missed this place. It was home, you were home.

After a moment trying to compose yourself, you took your bags and went straight to the building.

When you got to the front door, you realized that you didn't know what to do; should you knock? Should you just enter the house? Thinking that the second option would be the less appropriate, you decided to just knock, already nervous about who you'd get opening the door.

You waited a few seconds before hearing an echo of someone running though the house, followed by voices and sounds of plates.

"Harry, dear, can you please-

"Hello, Molly...", you smiled to the woman in front of you, "it's been a while..."

She was in complete shock. Her mouth completely open and strangely looking like she was about to pass out.

"Oh Merlin...", she breathes out, "Y/N... It's really you..."

You could see tears starting to form in her eyes, and you felt too weak to stop yours from falling. She opened her arms to you and you didn't hesitate to hug her, instantly starting to sob.

"Let me look at you... Oh my Lord...", she took your face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs on your cheeks, collecting your tears, "You're a grown woman now... I can't believe it... Arthur! Arthur, come here!"

She embraced you again in the warmest motherly hug you've ever received, which only made you sob more.

"What's wrong, mom?", Ron arrived at the door, followed by his sister, Hermione and Arthur, "Who's-

You slowly lift up you head from Molly's shoulder and faced everyone.

"Y/N... You came...", Hermione says, shocked.

"Of course I came..."

Everybody was speechless, not knowing if you were actually real or just a pure product of their imagination. Ginny instantly got towards you, embracing you as warmly as her mother.

"Merlin... How are you?", she asks.

"I'm fine... I'm sorry... I-

"You have nothing to be sorry for, darling...", Mr. Weasley was now the one to hug you.

When he let you go, you looked at the other three people; you couldn't really describe the looks on Harry and Ron's faces, they were visibly shocked, but you couldn't see if they were happy or mad to see you...

"Ronald...", you started to make your way towards him, but quickly, he took a few steps back, "I need to go...", he says, before leaving the room.

You knew it was a fair reaction, he had all the rights to hate you and be upset.

"I'm so sorry...", you sob, "I'm so so sorry..."

Harry put his hand on your shoulder and also embraced you in a warm hug.

You didn't expect the reunion to be this full of emotions, and it wasn't even breakfast's time yet...

Hermione and Ginny helped you with your bags, leading you to Charlie's empty room, the one you always used to stay in whenever you stayed with the Weasleys.

"It hasn't changed a bit...", you say, admiring the house as it was the first time you saw it.

The two girls entered the room and sat on the bed with you, only to stay there in silence hugging you for a moment. As you couldn't believe to actually be there, they couldn't believe it either.

You made a brief resume of what had happened in your life during these 4 years; why you had left, where you were living now, your life with Dean...

"Dean?", Ginny smiled, "Wow... I wasn't expecting that one..."

"Yeah... I hope it's okay though...", you say, embarrassed.

"Don't worry, it's completely fine... Besides...", she stops to lift her hand and wiggle her ring finger, now occupied with a big gemstone.

"Godric! You're joking!", you take her hand, "I mean... Hermione told me about something like this in the letter, but I didn't know it was confirmed!"

"Hermione!", Ginny scolds her.

"Sorry! You know I'm very bad at keeping secrets! I was so excited for you!"

The three of you kept laughing and talking about everything, making you forget about the moment you had been apprehending for the past few days: your first meeting with George.

"Breakfast's ready!", you hear Molly's voice echo through the house, making memories come back to you.

You slowly made your way down the stairs with the girls and when you got to the kitchen, you felt you whole body freeze.

You were feeling like you were about to pass out, but at the same time, you couldn't find yourself making any type of move, you weren't sure if you were still breathing. You felt the weight of the world on your shoulder when you saw the man you had shared so many moments with, and when he turned to face you, you saw his brother.

His body immediately copied yours, not being able to move or say anything, and for a good minute, George and you stood still, staring at each other; and as if you had read each other's mind at the same time, you ran towards each other and crashed in your arms, sobbing like babies. You felt his legs start to lose strength, and you not being able to help him stand, you both let your bodies fall to the ground, still hugging and holding on each other for dear life.

Neither of you had said anything yet, you were both too busy shaking and sobbing to say anything anyways.

The other people in the kitchen didn't say anything either, they just stood there, looking at George and you, knowing that it would be better to not interrupt you and just leave you let your emotions out.

George was obviously was more affected than you were, and you could feel his body tremble with every breath he tried to take.

"I m-missed you... so much...", he managed to say between sobs.

"I missed you too, Georgie...", you keep crying with him.

"W-why... did you... left me..."

"I know... I know... I shouldn't have... I'm so sorry...", you sobbed harder. How could you have done that to him? How could you have left him alone? After everything...

"I'm so sorry, Georgie... So sorry... I missed you so much..."

"Please, tell me you're staying...", he looked at you in the eyes. You could feel his sincerity emane from his body, and you knew he needed you. He needed you as much as you needed him.

"I am staying...", you managed to smile between your tears. George hugged you even tighter than before, crushing your body with his but you didn't care. You'd let him break your whole body if he needed to.

"Georgie... Honey...", you felt Molly's soft presence helping you get up and guiding the both of you to the table. When you sat down, you see that everybody was deeply affected by the scene that just happened; Molly still having tears running down her cheeks and Hermione and Ginny holding onto each other. Even Harry and Ron were on the verge of crying.

You sat down on your chair, George's eyes still on you and your hand in his.

"George, darling..."

You quickly turned your head to the voice behind you.

"Angie...", George got up, almost stumbling on his own feet.

"What is she doing here?", she asks, earning confused looks from everybody.

By the look she had on her face, you knew she wasn't happy to see you. She looked at you with disgust and anger, which was completely fair...

"How dare you?! You filthy little-

"Angie, it's okay... Please, calm down..."

"Calm down?! Look at you! Only her can make you feel that way again!"

"Angelina... I promise I came here to start things over... And do things correctly this time...", you say, tears forming again in your eyes.

"You have NO RIGHTS to be here! After all the damage you caused this family! NO RIGHTS!", she yelled, her eyes almost popping out of her head.

You looked at the people around the table, no one saying anything. Not even Molly was able to form coherent words, she was just there, heavily breathing.

"I'm going to go...", you slowly stand up from your seat, not wanting to make everyone more upset than they already were, "Angelina, I'm sorry..."

She glanced at you in anger, "you shouldn't be here", she spat.

"Y/N, don't leave, please...", George pleaded, eyes red and swollen.

"I'm just going out, I'll be okay, don't worry...", you caressed his arm trying to comfort him, and you could feel Angelina tensing her body at that action, eyes full of fire.

"I'm sorry...", you say before closing the door behind you.

#fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #hogwarts #weasley twins #fred weasley x reader #george weasley smut #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley smut #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley fic #weasley twins fic #harry potter fic

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

lost time (chapter one)

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

a/n: while this features rafe, he is almost completely non-canon in this series! also welcome to my new series - I hope you enjoy 😌

warnings: drinking, cursing, mentions of sex

wordcount: 1.5k

MASTERLIST

______________

“You’re not seriously taking that.”

Sophie Flint stopped dead in her tracks at the low, slightly amused voice that echoed down the hall. She had the Delta Tau Delta fraternity composite tucked precariously under her arm, which was definitely not fair game, but she had a mission to complete.

She wasn’t exactly sure why it was a thing for sorority girls to steal things from frat houses. T-shirts, baseball caps, a fraternity composite if you were feeling particularly bold. But in a fun competition her friends on her dorm floor had concocted at the beginning of freshman year, she and her friends had made it their personal mission to collect at least one item from every fraternity, all 27 at Ohio State University. It was the start of her junior year and she hadn’t taken anything but a couple shack shirts so far (and was immediately told that was cheating), but a little pressure from her friends, a Delt party and a handful of White Claws made it the optimal time to act. Go big or go home, right?

She turned, slowly and put on her flirtiest smile - and dropped the look the second she saw who it was. “Cameron.” Sophie acknowledged him with a mere nod, then started walking straight past him.

Rafe snagged the edge of the composite immediately, tugging her backward. “Flint. Did you not hear me?”

She rolled her eyes, keeping a firm grip on the composite. “Heard you loud and clear. Just not listening. I need this.”

“What could you possibly need a fraternity composite for?” He questioned with raised eyebrows.

“That’s for me to know and you to not find out.” She told him with a smug expression, curling her fingers tighter around the heavy frame.

Rafe debated his options. He could let the girl go with a definitely stolen composite that would be kind of a hassle to replace, and let one of the pledges manning the door deal with it. Or he could argue more and watch the way her eyes grew bright and hear her little huff when she disagreed and - nah, it wasn’t worth it.

He dropped his hand from the frame and lifted it in surrender, his other hand gripped loosely around a red solo cup. “I’m too drunk for this.” (He wasn’t.) “As long as you promise you won’t steal anything else.”

She smirked. “I don’t make promises.” With that, she was on her way with the prearranged route - down the fire escape by the back hallway on the third floor, where her roommates waited not-so-patiently in the parking lot.

___________

Rafe and Sophie had known each other since high school back in the Outer Banks, and they had never - ever - gotten along. He had gone to St. Andrew’s all-boys private school while she went to the sister school at Greenville Academy. Both grades were relatively small and students went to each other’s sporting events, combined for the yearly school play, and most importantly - threw parties together, often. The parties were always extravagant, alcohol flowing at some rich kid’s house with an excess of unsupervised teenagers milling around.

If you asked either one of them where the mutual contempt started, they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a specific moment. Sophie liked arguing (and instigating) just for fun while Rafe liked proving his arrogance. It was almost a guarantee at every high school party that at a certain point in the night, you could find them at each other’s throats, arguing over the dumbest thing possible. There was a point that it had evolved from coincidental arguments to seeking each other out to start a debate - no one else could go head to head with them quite like each other could - but they’d never willingly admit that.

___________

It had only taken them two weeks for their first argument in college. She strolled up to the makeshift bar in the sticky, dimly lit basement of Delta Tau Delta, way too confident for a freshman, and tapped on the pledge’s shoulder by the jungle juice to request a drink. Rafe Cameron turned around, wearing his backward baseball cap and signature smirk, and his face quickly morphed into shock.

“Sophie? What the fuck are you doing here?”

She crossed her arms, somehow already pissed off. They stuck to last names only, he knew that. That was their one unspoken rule they kept when talking - or rather, fighting - back home. “Please tell me you’re visiting a friend here, Cameron.”

He grinned and spread his arms wide. “Welcome to my home.”

“Dear god.” She elbowed him aside, serving herself a drink from the Gatorade cooler. “Of course you had to follow me here.”

He gaped, mouth hanging open in shock. “Follow - follow you?! You’re high if you think I would willingly follow you anywhere, Flint.”

“I applied to Ohio State, early decision, forever ago. You had to have known. It was my top school and top scholarship.” She shot back, trying her best to hide a grimace as she took a long sip from the sugary-sweet drink, laced with an ungodly amount of alcohol.

He didn’t miss the subtle brag. “I don’t keep tabs on you. Why didn’t you go to Clemson or something nearby? You know, like everyone else?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because, dumbass, I look horrific in orange and purple.” She proclaimed like it was an obvious statement. “And I wanted to get the fuck out of the Carolinas.”

He grinned, completely unfazed by her insult,and lifted his cup to tap hers. “Cheers to that.”

“Whatever. I don’t want to see you on campus again.” She turned sharply on her heel, leaving with the last word - or so she thought.

“See you around, Soph!” He called out after her, way too smug for her liking. Typically, he would follow her and antagonize her some more, but as a pledge he was assigned to man the jungle juice for the night. He stayed put, only out of obligation - making a silent promise to himself to check up on her another time.

___________

She ran into Rafe again one week after the composite incident. Literally.

In her defense, it was pouring rain. She was just trying to be a good friend and drop her roommate Allie off for class, now that Sophie finally had her own car in junior year, but she was running late as always and in a rush. Sophie swerved around the corner of the business school parking lot just as a big black Range Rover was backing up, and gasped when she heard the tell-tale crunch of metal on metal. Allie winced, clutching her backpack in her lap. “Um…”

“Just go.” Sophie sighed, knowing she had only two minutes to make it to class on time. Allie muttered a quick apology and dashed out of the car as Sophie dropped her head to the steering wheel with a loud “fuck!” She reached over and grabbed her insurance card from the glove box, then got out of the car, ready to grovel.

Rafe slammed his door as he got out to inspect the damage. It wasn’t much, more like a quick bump and a paint scratch than anything, but he was already in a mood and this didn’t help.

“Oh, fuck no.” Sophie cursed lowly to herself as she saw Rafe hunched over by their bumpers. “Great driving, Cameron.” She called out, arms crossed.

He straightened up, walking over to her with an incredulous look. “Uh uh. This is your fucking fault, Flint. Just give me your insurance card and we’ll call it good.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed a now-wet strand of hair out of her face. “Except you crashed into me. Ever look in the parking lot before backing up?”

He scoffed, gesturing her over to look at the cars and waited til she reluctantly followed. “There’s an indent of your front plate in my rear bumper. And there’s about twenty students that probably saw it, want to call in a character witness?”

“I’m not a bad driver.” She huffed. “That’s clearly your fault.” She was lying, of course - anyone with two working eyes could see she had rammed into him. And with anyone else, she’d be extremely apologetic, even patient. But Rafe Cameron irked her to no end.

“Yeah, the time you merged your brother’s car into someone else on the highway our sophomore year of high school shows you’re an excellent driver.” He retorted, then started toward her car, opening the door. “Where’s your card?”

“Hey!” Sophie grabbed his arm, pulling him back. She fished the insurance card out of her pocket and begrudgingly handed it over. “Chill out, it’s right here.” He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the front and the back, then handed it back. He then paused, eyeing her over. She shifted under his intense gaze. “What, Rafe, it’s raining. Hurry up so we can both leave.”

“I thought you weren’t in the business school. Why are you even here?”

“I’m not. I’m dropping off a friend.”

He reached out and swiped a thumb under her eye, and she silently cursed herself for the way she fucking shuddered, like she was desperate or something. He smirked. “Your mascara’s running. Probably ought to fix it.”

With that, he turned back to his car - enjoying her rare moment of silence.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #college rafe #frat rafe #rafe x sophie #mine

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7: Threads

Hello! Long time no see! The delay was unplanned and I'm sorry about that. I had an idea in the meantime to add more fluff chapters before shit starts to go down but then I couldn't get to writing them while telling myself that I will write them eventually, and then I had other ideas, and I was writing for Summer in the Archives, and so we are where we are. I decided to just keep posting what I have and if I do feel like adding fluff that would be happening in the meantime then I will just make a separate work in the series. I'm aiming to go back to my weekly schedule (haha), so I hope I can get the next chapter out next Friday. As always, please leave me a comment or come yell at me here on tumblr, it always brightens my day and keeps my motivation up! Enjoy <3

Martin looks at Jon’s sleeping face and thoughts swirl inside his head like tendrils of the mist that has been following him, tendrils that meet in one specific place – his feelings for him. He’s not proud of the fact that this is where his thoughts end up turning every time he thinks about Jon, considering the severity of the situation Sasha explained to him, but he cannot help wondering – despite his better judgement – if Jon doesn’t share them. He replays the worry in his brown eyes, the tight hugs, always ensuring he’s there, safe, and whole… He might be adding meaning to otherwise ordinary actions, of course, but he can allow himself to hope, for when that hope sparks inside him, the fog withdraws.

Jon is wrapped in a blanket on the cot in the storage room, where Martin has laid him. They found him sleeping on the desk in his office, his eyes all red-rimmed and puffed up; they didn’t comment on it. Martin carried him to the storage room and placed his glasses nearby. Tim went to take Sasha home, so she can get some rest, too, and was supposed to come back with lunch; the events of the morning are laying heavy on all of them and have left them quite hungry.

Martin closes the door to the storage room and comes back to his desk. Working seems a bit pointless when you know that your boss is scheming an apocalypse somewhere behind your back and you can’t quit the job, but he finds himself needing a distraction, so he opens up his computer to do some follow up research on Jason North and the alleged ritual site he found in the middle of a Scottish forest. Martin’s never been good with research, not like Sasha, so he soon stumbles upon a dead end. He ends up researching pictures for Scottish forests and cottages, and he daydreams, with his poem notebook by his side. How nice would it be to just move to Scotland, to a cottage like that and forget everything. Grow your own vegetables and herbs, welcome the sun every morning with a cup of tea; go down to the town for some groceries, meet some good cows; and maybe Jon is there with him, and he finally gets through to his head that he shouldn’t make tea in the microwave, and they cuddle on the couch while reading—

“’scuse us,” comes a deep voice and Martin looks up, startled, to find two delivery men standing there, in the Archives, with a big package next to them.

“Looking for the Archivist,” the other man says, but Martin figures that just because the voice is coming from a slightly different direction. They sound exactly the same; he finds they look similar, too. Their clothes are identical; they’re different makes and all but somehow, he can’t tell these two men apart. There’s… something off to them.

“Sorry, are you two meant—” Martin blinks, but one of them interrupts him.

“Won’t take up your time.”

“Just got a delivery.”

Martin opens his mouth, trying to process the fact that they seem to be two parts of the same whole. He wouldn’t be able to explain this thought if asked, but this is what runs through his head.

“Look, you really can’t actually—”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

He looks and yes, there, on the package, says ‘Jonathan Sims’ in a very ordinary, unassuming writing. He glances over at the door to the storage room and back at the two men.

“Well, he’s not—”

“We’ll just leave it with you.”

“Be sure he gets it.”

Martin struggles for words.

“Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—”

“’course. Much obliged.”

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll… try?” He responds with the first thing that goes into his head.

“Your recorder’s on, by the way.”

“Might wanna change that.”

Martin looks at his desk and he notices a tape whirring steadily in the recorder.

“Oh… so it is. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“At all.”

They both turn as one and leave Martin, the recorder, and the package alone. He hums, looking from one to the other and back.

“Well, I know for a fact that I did not turn you on,” Martin speaks to the recorder. “Maybe Tim felt in a mood for a prank. It is April Fool’s after all,” he huffs out a laugh. “Would be his style to do something, even with… all this happening.”

He stops the recording and turns to the package; before he can do anything else, though, the recorder clicks itself back on. Martin gives it a sideways look and his heart picks up the pace. He frowns and clicks stop again. One second. Two. There; it clicks the red button on its own.

Martin stands up and takes a step back.

“What the hell,” he breathes out.

Suddenly he hears a familiar laugh from the top of the stairs and energetic steps running down. Tim emerges from the doorway and gives him a surprised look.

“You okay, Marto?” He asks and places a paper bag on his desk, then points his chin at the package. “What’s that?”

“Uh…” Martin collects himself in a second. “Two delivery men just came by. It’s for Jon, apparently.”

Tim places a second paper bag and his coffee cup on his desk and walks around the package.

“No sender. Interesting.” He strokes his chin and looks at Martin with a grin. “We should open it.”

“Tim!”

“Look, boss is asleep, the package came to the Archives and not to his house, how private can it be?” Tim throws his arms up but seems to be watching Martin’s reaction more carefully. He doesn’t look very bothered, Tim assesses; he seems to be equally interested in the contents. He sighs and tosses him a letter opener.

“Fine, but you’re taking the blame,” Martin rolls his eyes with mock exasperation, and Tim’s grin gets wider.

“That’s the spirit!” He cuts the tape at the corners and opens the packaging to reveal an old wooden table; there’s a hole in the centre, Tim reckons about six inches square, and its surface is covered in intricate patterns resembling optical illusions. He frowns at it. “Huh. A table. Why would Jon…” He trails off as his eyes follow the hypnotizing patterns. “Interesting…”

Martin watches as Tim drops the letter knife to the floor, enraptured by the table. He wants to say something, to call out his name, but the fog from the edges of his vision spills out at the sight of the table and it blocks out the world; Martin stops feeling the chair underneath him and finds himself stranded in a sea of grey, thick fog.

“Tim? Tim!” He calls out but there’s no answer. There would be no answer, ever; he’s all alone here.

—

Jon wakes up to a nagging feeling that something is wrong. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids and gathers his bearings. He realizes he’s on the cot in the storage room, a blanket thrown to the floor next to him. He still feels too hot, and he takes off his sweater vest. What’s this feeling, gently pricking at the back of his mind?

He gets up, wobbly as he feels, and makes his way to the door. As he opens it, a voice makes its way to his ears.

“…friend mentioned poetry?” Jon squints his eyes, as light reaches him, yet he immediately recognizes the voice.

“…Gerry?” He asks and blinks – yes, he can make out the thin and long figure dressed in black, sitting on top of Tim’s desk. Tim is there too, leaning against Martin’s desk in front of Gerry, and Martin sits in the chair, his cheeks coloured just a little with faint pink. They all turn to him with surprise when he emerges. He can feel tension in the room, and he acknowledges the presence of something that looks like a table covered with a blanket in the middle of the room; the nagging in his mind grows into anxiety. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin jumps up to him with genuine worry and Jon smiles slightly, as he shakes his head.

“No.” He blinks again, to chase away the sleep and looks at Gerry and his inscrutable expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry gets down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

Jon frowns with worry.

“Gerry, I’m serious.”

Something in Gerry’s demeanour changes as he sighs, and his expression clears.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m in,” he says. “Whatever your crazy plan is, if you even have one, I want to hear it or help you make it; you weren’t picking up your phone, so I decided to come, pay you a visit.” He glances towards the table and his eyes cloud with a shadow. “And it turns out it’s good that I did.”

“What is this?” Jon walks over to the table and three pairs of hands shoot out to stop him. Gerry’s touch lingers comfortably, because apparently that’s what he does, and Jon isn’t so sure he minds it.

“An old table, with weird, hypnotizing patterns,” Tim says, and Jon detects a tinge of guilt in his voice.

“Did it have a hole in the middle?” He asks urgently and Tim nods.

“We need to get rid of it,” Jon looks in the direction of the stairs. “Put it in the Artifact Storage and make sure it’s covered.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Martin asks and Jon nods.

“Amy Patel case; the one where a person got replaced. Why would they—” Jon’s face falls and he turns to Martin and Tim. “Who delivered it?”

“It was two delivery men, really big, quite intimidating, but—uh, now that I think about it I can’t remember what they looked like…”

“Shit,” Jon sighs and rubs his face. “Okay, we really do need a plan.” He looks over their faces and his eyes stop at Martin’s disgruntled expression. “What is it?”

“What you need is rest,” he crosses his arms. “You pulled an all-nighter with Sasha, and you haven’t even slept for two hours now.”

“You do look like shit,” Gerry offers his insight and Jon fixes him with a glare.

“I can’t protect you when I’m asleep,” he says and looks pointedly at the table. “Clearly. Tell me wha—” He stops when Gerry squeezes his arm sharply. He takes note of the static in the air and clears his throat. “I want to know what happened.”

Tim sighs.

“Alright, it is kinda my fault,” he admits looking away. “I insisted on opening your package to see what’s inside. But in my defence, I thought it would be something funny; at least a bit humiliating for you, and we could laugh it off. The mood’s been horrible lately,” he grimaces. “The lines kind of… hypnotized me. I couldn’t look away and I started getting lost in them. It… It felt like being trapped in a web; the more I struggled to look away, the harder it was. I don’t know how much time had passed before your resident goth intervened. Then I came back to myself and Martin… he was grey again.”

Jon glances worriedly at Martin, who starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t think you guys could see that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s that fog you mentioned,” he says to Jon who nods, his lips pressed together. “It was… stronger this time.”

“He was a step from disappearing,” Gerry says, looking at Jon curiously. “I thought you guys were new here.”

“We are,” Tim says, looking at Jon pointedly. “You said you know why that happens.”

“I did,” Jon sighs and leans against the desk, next to Gerry. “I’m—Martin, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Martin looks away and he mutters something along the lines of “don’t worry about it”.

“The fog is… another one of the fears; called The Lonely or The Forsaken,” Jon says, looking somewhere into space. “It’s the fear that you’re all alone, that you can’t connect with anyone. Martin…” He exhales. “I have reasons to believe that your connection to the Lonely might have appeared in this… reality, along with my memories.” He finally looks up at Martin; there are no emotions on his face. “When did the fog first appear?”

“S-Sometime when I got transferred into the Archives,” he nods. “I thought it was just anxiety, but… y-yeah, it makes sense, I suppose.”

“You still don’t remember what you did to end up here?” Gerry asks and Jon shakes his head; Gerry clicks his tongue.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim looks at Jon. “What is Elias’ plan?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t remember exactly. I…” He trails off looking at them. They are waiting for him to tell them what to do. Martin, with colour in his eyes and something else there, something Jon doesn’t let himself think about; Tim, whom he hasn’t hurt yet, who still has hope and who isn’t filled with bitter anger and sorrow; and Gerry who’s alive, here with him, offering his help. Jon thinks about Sasha, the real Sasha who’s still there. He can’t protect them all from other Entities and Elias. Even with all of his knowledge, Elias still has more power here than him, and Jon sees that his threats weren’t a bluff. Jon deflates with a sigh. “We need to know if there’s a way to fill the tunnels with CO2 before the Hive attacks; and I need the table sealed shut - it’s not getting anyone this time. Other than that, I think we need to work the statements, like before.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Elias is serving an Eye power and not letting us leave, and I’m supposed to still work for him?”

Jon swallows.

“Elias… He’s dangerous. Even with everything I know, he can still hurt us. I’m not risking an open war with him.”

“What is he gonna do, kill us?” Tim scoffs but he goes quiet when Jon gives him a hard stare. “Fuck off.”

“Murder isn’t usually his style of dealing with things, he generally prefers threats and blackmail, but he can definitely do that, too,” Jon says. “Let’s just say we don’t want to piss him off more than is necessary.”

“You literally punched him in the face today.”

“Yes, I know.” Jon grits his teeth and looks away. Tim narrows his eyes.

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” He asks and takes a step towards Jon. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon says coldly. “We need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no, you’re going back home and getting some sleep,” Martin shakes his head. “Or we refuse to work.”

Jon groans but Gerry places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Jon, I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promises and after a second of searching his face, Jon gives in.

“Fine. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Martin says and hands him the paper bag from his desk. “Eat this.”

Jon gives him a grateful smile and, with a last look at them, walks to the stairs and climbs up.

—

Gerry Delano sits comfortably on a park bench with a cup of coffee in his hand and sips on it slowly; he thinks about the things the new Archivist – Jon – said to him this morning. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the absolutely horrendous smoking habit (at that Gerry just chuckles to himself) and the clean but messy clothes speak for themselves, and Gerry didn’t want to say it, obviously, but it was this entire image of an absolute mess of a confused man that made him believe him. The marks are curious, yes, but Gerry has seen many things which he doesn’t understand, and he’s okay with that. No, this man is clearly in need of support and if he’s really taken over for Gertrude (and, judging by the sheer amount of his energy just screamingBeholding, that was very probable), he is in for one hell of a ride.

If Gerry would have to describe his perfect life, with his mother and Gertrude gone, he’d probably say he wants to find a normal job and get some peace and quiet; that being said, he did try that as a teenager, running away from his mother and her life. He told himself then that he didn’t belong in the normal world and would always find his way back to his mother. He abandoned that dream for a while, until Gertrude offered to help him get rid of his mother’s ghost. He thought that maybe if he helped Gertrude for a while, burned some Leitners in the meantime, maybe he’d have enough and manage to build a life that didn’t always border on getting killed by something supernatural; and so his life went on and he never really grew to feel at home in the “normal” world. He’d about accepted the fact that he’ll probably die on the job with the old Archivist, and he wasn’t very surprised to find how quickly he accepted it. It seemed fitting; much more so than getting a job at a coffee shop or other, and just living among people who had no idea what’s really out there. Then he got shot in Pittsburgh – a Slaughter case he’d tried to prevent – and he was forced to stay behind in the hospital. In some fleeting moments of consciousness he saw Gertrude holding the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead and he prepared himself to wake up as a ghost any time; instead, he woke up to an empty hospital room and a note in her handwriting – “Build your life here. Stay safe.” He thought if this weren’t his chance to build the life he’d imagined for himself then it would never come; and he was right. He soon discovered that making friends is way too difficult when you’re able to tell which Fear Entity marked them in that supernatural encounter they’re too scared to talk about, and he returned to London, searching for Jurgen Leitner himself. He thought he found him, but he ended up beating up someone who turned out to just be some pathetic old man. And here he is, back in the world his mother dragged him into without his consent. Gerry sighs and takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe the universe simply needs a pyromaniacal, angry goth who did in fact end up in the business of helping strays.

He directs his thoughts back to Jonathan Sims and the Institute. They need to form a plan and Jon said he would fill his assistants in on at least the basics. He takes out his phone and checks the time – 1 PM. He rules that’s enough time to explain the basics of the metaphysical functioning of the Fear Powers in the world.

He finds his last messages and opens the one Jon sent at his request for contact saving purposes – “Here. – Jon Sims”. He’s a creative one, isn’t he? Gerry saves the number as Jon Archivist, then changes it to Jarchivist, and grins; then swipes to call.

No answer. He tries again and it still goes to voicemail.

Gerry shrugs and finishes his coffee. He burned his last Leitner in the alley just before he met Jon, so he doesn’t exactly have any new leads. He thinks he might as well pay the Archives a visit; it’s been a while since he was there last time, with Gertrude.

The street is quiet when he walks up to the building. The aura of Beholding is quite strong here already and he looks at the Latin words above the entrance. “I watch, I listen, I wait.” Tacky.

He comes inside and turns towards the stairs leading down. He’s not surprised when the lady at the reception calls out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir! Can I help you?”

Gerry turns to her. She’s a small Chinese woman with a bob cut and huge glasses; she smiles but Gerry can recognize a customer service smile when he sees one.

“Oh, actually, I’m a friend of Jonathan Sims, the, uh, Head Archivist. Saw him this morning, I promised I’d drop a few notes.”

“Notes?” She glances over at the papers at her desk. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Gerry Delano,” he tries to smile as she checks something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have you anywhere as a potential source—”

“Oh, that’s weird. I worked with the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson? Jon had a couple questions about her management style, you know how it is,” he waves his hand. “New job can be stressful.”

She looks over his clothes and tattoos with a frown for a second and then sighs.

“Alright, Jon’s office is right downstairs, through the Archives, Mr. Delano.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods his head and runs down the stairs.

Gerry doesn’t know what he expected to find down in the Archives, to be honest. Probably Jon being interrogated by his assistants, or maybe no one at all; he definitely did not expect to find one tall man staring into swirling patterns of a table that gave him very mixed signals of the Web, and another man in his desk chair, staring into space with a very unnaturally grey stare and his form dissipating into mist.

“Oh, I swear to God,” Gerry curses under his nose and looks around. “Can’t I meet people normally once in a blue moon?”

He picks up a blanket that lays stranded on the ground and covers the table. He then snaps his fingers in front of the tall man’s face and waves his hand.

“Hey, you still there?” He asks and the man draws in a breath, rapidly, and blinks, then looks around in confusion.

“Wh-Wha…” His eyes land on Gerry and he frowns. “Who are you?”

“Someone who just saved your ass from something nasty,” Gerry says, turns to the other man and touches his shoulder. Still there.

“Oh, God, his eyes are grey again.” The tall man grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Martin? Martin!”

“How did he manage to go so deep into the Lonely with you there?” Gerry asks and moves to look inside the Head Archivist’s office. Empty.

“Into the what? Martin!” He shakes him again and Martin blinks and exhales but does not acknowledge him at all. “Do you know what’s happening to him?”

“Where’s Jon?” Gerry looks at the man sternly.

“Jo—who the hell are you?” The man exclaims. “We need to snap him out of it!”

“It’s not that easy.” Gerry rolls his eyes and looks through Martin’s desk. “What does he love?”

“What?” The man looks at him confused and Gerry stifles a groan of frustration.

“Martin. He needs an anchor, something that he loves that will bring him back here.”

The man’s eyes search the desk frantically.

“Come on!” Gerry rushes him and the man groans.

“Can he hear me?”

“Allegedly.”

“What does that mean?!” He looks at him pressingly.

“It means I don’t know!” Gerry grabs one of Martin’s hands. “He might, if he’s not too far gone.”

“Martin,” the man grabs Martin’s other hand. “Martin, think about tea. Poetry. Um, about—” He’s cut off by Gerry’s groan of frustration. “What?!”

“That won’t work,” he shakes his head. “He’s in the fogs of The Lonely; he thinks he’s alone and that it’s never gonna change; that he can’t ever make meaningful connections with other people.”

The man’s eyes move frantically as he puts something together in his brain.

“Martin,” he squeezes his hand again. “I’m here with you, you hear me? You’re not alone and Jon is here too, and Sasha will be here soon, and we will all be with you here because we are your friends, okay? We’re—” His voice catches when Martin’s grey gaze lands on his face. Gerry unknowingly nods for him to continue. “Look, I know you’re convinced that you’re no help here because of that fake resume that everyone pretends not to know about, but you’ve been such an amazing friend through these couple of months and—” he searches for words before continuing. “And I know you have feelings for Jon, and you need to think about him because if you ask me, he’s head over heels for you too, and you’re just too oblivious to realize, both of you,” he laughs and a tear streams down his face. “So you need to think about him because he needs you to be here and stay here, and we need you too, okay, Marto, we—we really do…” He inhales, as Martin squeezes his hand back and blinks. The man sighs deeply with relief and leans his forehead on their joined hands.

“Tim…?” Martin speaks up with a very gentle, detached voice and then his gaze lands on Gerry who has now let go of his hand and stands back up. “Who’s that?”

Tim looks up and wipes away another stray tear, then stands up to face him.

“Yeah,” he frowns. “That’s a good question.”

Gerry smirks and climbs up to sit at one of the desks.

“Seeing how I just might have saved your lives; I’d rather think some thanks are in order.”

“I��m not kidding, who the fuck are you?” Tim crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Gerry notices he stares at his tattoos like he’s trying to remember something.

“Eh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Name’s Gerry Delano, but you may know me as Gerard Keay.”

Recognition flashes in Tim’s eyes.

“We had a statement about you!” He says and immediately frowns. “You killed a man.”

Gerry chuckles.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin asks and Gerry crosses his legs.

“Waiting for Jon, actually. I thought I may find him here, but it appears I must have found his assistants, am I correct?”

“And you know Jon how?” Martin follows up; his voice gains a bit of depth to it, and he tilts his head, much more present than a second before.

“We met in an alley outside the Institute this morning,” Gerry shrugs. “Or, late night. Morning might be pushing it. He didn’t mention it?”

Tim sighs and rubs his face and Martin shakes his head.

“Eh, that’s fine. You two look like you have enough information to process for the next two months.”

“Something like that,” Tim nods and leans against Martin’s desk. “Jon’s getting some sleep and we’d rather have no one disturb him. It’s been a… hard morning.”

“He did look like he hasn’t slept in a week, I’ll give you that.” Gerry shoots a glance at Martin; his skin is regaining color, but his eyes are still unnaturally grey, and the edges of his form are blurry; the fog still lingers. “Hey, um… Martin?” He asks and Martin looks at him with surprise.

“Yeah…?”

“Just getting your names since you haven’t introduced yourselves. But that’s okay, I’m good at picking up from context.” He smiles and continues before Tim can speak. “So, Martin, what is it that you do here?”

“Uh… excuse me?” He blinks.

“I’m just interested, tell me what your usual day consists of. What do you do for fun? Your friend mentioned poetry?”

He notes the blush on Martin’s face with some satisfaction; the dark green colour returns to his eyes, though, still, his edges remain blurry. Martin can’t answer however; as he takes a breath, he’s interrupted by the door to the storage room opening.

Jon looks, frankly, even worse than he did before; in addition to everything aforementioned, his eyes are now puffed up from sleeping and he has apparently ditched his sweater vest, leaving only a creased, light blue shirt.

“…Gerry?” He frowns at him and takes in the room. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin shoots upright and the edges of his form become solid for a second. Just a second.

“No,” he shakes his head and blinks at Gerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry jumps down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

“Gerry, I’m serious.” Jon gives him a look and Gerry sighs, but it’s a sigh of mock exasperation which hides only fondness. From the moment he learned Jon is the Head Archivist, he knew he would be a lot different than Gertrude; even if at first it was “this kid is a proper mess” contrasted with Gertrude’s calculated craft. He can see that what actually makes him different, better, is that he cares. Even though Beholding has him in its grasp far stronger than it ever had Gertrude, he has that spark of human empathy that she deemed an obstacle. He wouldn’t be the kind to sacrifice his own assistants to stop the Apocalypse, which maybe doesn’t give them big chances of success, but makes Gerry trust him. It makes him feel safer and it makes him stand stronger, and maybe that is exactly what is needed. And that one detail, that seriousness in his voice when he asks what happened to his assistants – to his friends – and the worry in his eyes when he checks if they’re okay, that’s what fully convinces Gerry that this man is worth his effort. If they can’t save the world with a strength like that then maybe no one really can.

—

Martin opens the door to Jon’s office to see the man reading something in a book. He looks up at Martin and his lips twitch towards a smile.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says and immediately yawns. “God, sorry.”

“I was about to ask you if you’re still working.” Martin takes a look at his desk; there’s two empty mugs pushed to the side, a tape recorder (not recording), and some books and papers. Martin notices Jon’s glasses are still where he left them after he found them near the cot in the storage room. “You’re wearing contacts now?” He asks and Jon raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Well, I- I noticed you didn’t wear glasses today,” Martin shrugs and points his chin at them. “You forgot them yesterday.”

Jon’s eyes stop at the pair of glasses, and he frowns.

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “Checks out, I guess.”

“What?” Now Martin frowns and Jon looks up at him, breathing in.

“The, uh—The Eye powers,” he grimaces. “This happened before too. I don’t—I don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh.” Martin shifts. “Well, I just wanted to tell you, you should get some rest. It’s—It’s late.”

Jon smiles fondly, staring into the air. Martin wonders what he's thinking about. Is he going back to memories he doesn't have?

“I really should, shouldn't I?” Jon asks no one in particular and sighs. “Thank you, Martin.”

“F-For what?” Martin laughs a little bit confused, and Jon looks at him for a moment before he shrugs.

“For caring. For being there.”

Martin looks away and shifts awkwardly again. Jon's stare, though gentle, is piercing; overbearing. Martin can't yet decide if it's good or bad, but it is certainly a lot.

“I should—”

“Could you—”

They start at the same time and look at each other. Jon shakes his head and gestures with his hand.

“Please, go first.”

Martin takes a deep breath.

“Could you tell me what—what it is that you want me to remember?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it. His forehead ripples.

“I...” he begins and sighs, looking at his desk. “I don't think it was you. I mean—I think that... that it was a different version of you. In my past.” He looks up and his brown eyes are sad. “So it makes sense you can't remember because it never actually happened for you.”

Martin deflates with a little “oh” and looks down. The hole in his mind is settling nicely in the fog and he doesn't question it. Why would he? It was always there. He’s only lived this life, not anything else – if anybody would know it would be Jon. And obviously, it was a different Martin that Jon fell— That Jon cared for.

“Were we…” Martin stops, the word “together" left hanging in the air, and Jon looks at him for a second before something flashes in his eyes.

“We don't—I mean, I can't really— It's, it wasn't you so...”

‘I can’t really expect you to have the same feelings now’ is what Jon does not say, but Martin, of course, has no way of knowing that.

“Right,” Martin nods, and he can see Jon's cheeks blush, much the same as his own must right now. Martin swallows the awkwardness and nods again. “Alright, I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it. Then. Get—uh, get some rest.”

He closes the door and exhales deeply. Well, that was disastrous; he thinks, as he walks towards the document storage. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest but he chooses not to dwell on it; it wouldn’t provide him with any insights he didn’t already know.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma oftm #jonmartin #niki.writes #new posting format because i have not heard of consistency in my life #we're back at it!!#also i promised myself that i would finish this #i Will Not abandon this #we are powering through #and we can Do this

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faraway-in-headspace · 3 years

Photo

I?? I searched Chicken Choice Judy on google out of curiosity because it sounds oddly familiar like there’s a similar-sounding name and I found 4 websites selling the shirt design. But the descriptions on these pages are BUCK WILD??

Written version of the descriptions under the cut (very long).

[Begin ID

First image states: Long ago, when I had hair, I was an undergrad living in a house with nine other men. Near as I can tell, three of them (not sure which three) never bought food, just lived off what they stole from the Chicken Choice Judy shirt But I will love this other seven. We had several house meetings about it, but nothing changed. One day, I came in from grocery shopping. By coincidence, all 10 of us were in the kitchen. I started putting my stuff away. 1st thing I pulled out of the bag was my half-gallon of milk. I opened the carton, took a couple of drinks from the carton, then gargled some of it, and spit it back in. I opened my tub of margarine and licked the whole surface. By now, the room chatter had stopped because the other nine jaws had dropped open.) To your original question, those specific topics would take several years to build, as they depend on several layers of pre-requisites, which would require either that more advanced topics such as algebraic topology to be taught in elementary school, or that the buildup process happened blazingly fast during high school – both of which probably stretch the biological limits of what pre-teens and teenagers can reasonably be expected to accomplish. I spit on all my veggies, took the bread out of the package, and licked and spit on it, then carefully put it all back in the plastic bag. Remind teenage daughters to look through them before going on date with the boyfriend, in case they want to use one. I labeled it all and put it away. None of it was stolen. I never said a word, but I made it a point to repeat the performance anytime anyone was around to see it. Others began to emulate my approach and food theft stopped. Even I found it revolting, but it solved the problem. Works even better if you are sick or can at least make your thieving roommates think you are. While some cities are starting to reopen in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, people around the country are continuing to wear masks in public and practice social distancing. Vogue is committed to staying safe, and offering hopeful, optimistic content that highlights moments of camaraderie and exceptional acts of heroism from around the world. We are all looking for a little comfort too—be it a soothing Instagram account or a stylish creator on TikTok. It reminds us of the power of little things.

Second image states: A couple of guests informed me my office was too minimalist and that they expected more things to be hanging on my wall the Chicken Choice Judy shirt besides I will buy this next time they visited my wife’s and my home. I kinda hope they held their breath while they were waiting for our next invitation. They both went on to backstab me and my wife pretty bad a few years later. Another set of guests tried to squat. I had driven them all the way from Florida to Massachusetts under the impression that they had jobs and a place to live lined up. They offered no money for gas, hotels on the three-day trip, or compensation for the inconvenience and effort. He even tried to weasel out of the dinner he offered as a thank you by forgetting his wallet. The dude got me off the streets years ago and I wanted to pay him back in some way, but my wife and I were in no position to have extra residents in our home. We just don’t have the room or money. I made all of this VERY clear and told my old buddy that we could only house them for a couple of days max. There are MANY other details, but the disrespectful thing my former friend said was wordless. As I was kicking them out and they were angrily loading stuff into my car to bring them anywhere but here, my buddy left his gigantic knife right in the center of my wife’s desk. Like that was supposed to make us change our minds and let them stay? In the days of dial-up, I had a family call and not be able to get through because we were online. They decided to show up unannounced. They literally caught me in my underwear as they were let into the apartment before I could even react to being rudely surprised. Some of my family members have a history of abuse, violence, and stalking, something at least one of the visitors, my mother, was quite aware of since she lived through it with me. Her tagalong friend decided to put in her two cents and tell me I should get a call waiting or a second line because they were trying to call me. That did it! I suddenly forgot I was just wearing underwear and angrily asked my mother’s friend if she was paying my phone bill. My mother-in-law, stepfather and mom’s friend beat a hasty retreat and NEVER did the pop-in ever again.

Third image states: That was why when we did get to reality shows, Etro and then Dolce & Gabbana plus Jacquemus later in France, it was wonderful. Clothes are all about contact: As a wearer, you feel them on your skin, and as a watcher, you process them with your eye. The watching part can be done secondhand, but the Chicken Choice Judy shirt in contrast I will get this impact will always be second to the real thing. I read some commentators in the U.S. saying, “Too soon” or “Wear a damn mask!” which I always did, but these opinions while valid enough lack perspective. Milan and its surrounding region Lombardy went through what New York did but earlier. Through sagacious governmental management much more effective than that of the U.S., Italy has managed dramatically to flatten the curve across the rest of its territory. These shows just like the reopening of flights, stores, factories, and restaurants were symptomatic of recovery that, far from being taken for granted, is being tended to with vigilance and cherished with gratitude. The digital Fashion Weeks were better than no Fashion Weeks at all, but as an upgrade on the real thing? Nah. Like everyone, I missed the shows in the experiential sense this season. But for the first time since I began covering the collections several years ago, I didn’t miss a single brand or designer’s contribution to Paris Fashion Week. Which is to say, thanks to the Fédération’s online platform, I was able to watch every name on the haute couture and men’s calendars. This brand on-demand convenience not to mention being spared the logistical headaches of zigzagging across the city was pretty great. Also, everything was on time, from the films to the manner in which we filed our reviews. While efficiency can be satisfying, it’s not necessarily exciting. Ultimately, we had to accept that the focus this season wasn’t going to be the clothes but rather the brands conveying some combination of identity, process, and values. And in the absence of standardized criteria as in, showing a minimum number of looks, specifying a time range, it was interesting to observe how heterogeneous these experiments proved to be quasi–ad campaigns versus short films, conceptual or fantastical visions versus raw and documentary style. A proper kimono takes nearly an hour to put on – I’m sure most Japanese girls would much rather spend a few seconds and slip on a dress. Get survey responses from targeted consumers today.

Fourth image states: Around a decade ago, not long after he started his own label, Massimo Alba made a great mistake. A batch of shirts and T-shirts he was working on that had already been garment-dyed one color were mistakenly exposed to another. Speaking at his showroom presentation this weekend, Alba said: “It’s very interesting to me that so many good things start out as mistakes like this.” That accident was to Alba what the Chicken Choice Judy shirt moreover I will buy this mold-infected petri dish was to Alexander Fleming: a stumbled-upon eureka that led to a career-defining course of the investigation. This collection featured a series of softly tailored jackets, corduroy pants, and shorts, plus light cashmere sweaters that were hand-overdyed two, and sometimes three colors. It’s a process that led to variations in tone that included acid-trip floods of purple on purple to subtle bleeding of magenta across mustard yellow. Like most of Alba’s garments, these dyed pieces appeared at first glance conventionally prosaic. The more attention you gave them, however, the more their exceptional qualities became evident. Take a pale blue jacket, for instance, which at that first glance seemed passingly related to a surgeon’s scrubs. To the hand it was light and almost textureless in its softness: The fabric was a cotton mousseline developed for Alba by Albini. Long-sleeved, in a delicately mottled finish of washed-out sky blue, it made for an ideal mid-summer shake in pink, sleeveless, it was an impactful shirting second skin. Other interesting developments this season included a cotton pant named the Myles with acutely kinking stitched gather at knee-level on both legs and another handsome pant, baggy in white poplin, with patch pockets. A blue tropical weight jacket named the Lenny, after Bernstein, was Alba’s interpretation of a bohemian creative’s ideal piece of workwear. Collarless shirts in ripstop linen and button-up short-sleeves in terry were further finely effective coups de théâtre. Alba is a self-deprecating yet dangerous designer: Try just one carefully chosen piece and that’s it, you’re spoiled for good because nobody else quite compares. The museum in Prague where this portrait is held describes the ring on her first finger as the ring given to her at her wedding. It’s not comfortable. Maybe a lot of girls think that a see-through blouse can attract the attention of boys or they think that it will make her look much smarter. Meghan has no dress sense: no knowledge of fabrics, fit, styles that flatter, proper tailoring, Her father raised her in L.A. Enough said. Her idea of dressing for an event is “dress up” like a little girl dressing up as a princess. Shiny! Tight! Celebrity “fashion” not elegant, just flashy.

/end ID]

#infinity train #chicken choice judy #mine

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heres-to-the-lovely-lies · 3 years

Text

Always and Forever

Prologue: In the Beginning

The Originals x Reader

This was something that I thought of a while ago and I thought, “I need to write this down.” I want to try and make this into a series, so hopefully writer’s block doesn’t kick in and I never finish this story.

Also, this story does mention deaths of family.

Warnings: mentions of family deaths, spoilers (potentially, if you are still watching the TV series)

I hope you all enjoy! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See, I never thought I’d live past twenty.

Where I come from, some get half as many.

Nowadays, people are living to be a hundred years old.

If I’m being honest, I wish that is where I could have stopped.

One hundred good years and I would have been fine.

Living for eternity, that’s a different story.

It all started many years ago, a little over a thousand I believe?

The specifics of time don’t quite matter, at least not to me.

When you’ve got more than a thousand years behind you and millions more ahead, time doesn’t always come into mind.

Anyhow, I digress.

I guess I should tell you when it started.

A thousand years ago, I was but a weary traveler moving around from forest to forest. That was just the way that my family and I had lived life. We did not feel bound to one spot like another tribes or villages did. They kept the mentality of hunting and gathering in their minds and lifestyles. We were always moving. Always searching,

Although I loved my family, I came to hate this way of living, especially after what killed them. Looking back, I wish I had convinced all of them to find a place to settle down like the other families that we would pass by.

We had just traveled all day and night in order to follow a herd of buffalo when we came across a small village. You know it now as Mystic Falls. I call it Hell.

The people there had been kind to us. They let us stay for a night in order to get our strength back up for the next day’s travel. It was there where we met them.

Some call them legends. Others monsters.

Vampires.

Werewolves.

Witches.

But when I first met the children of the Mikaelson family, I knew them as human.

There was Mikael, the patriarch of the family and his wife, Esther. She was like me, a witch. She had always been a little more interested in me than other witches we had meet. I wasn’t like most witches, who drew their power from nature or ancestors. My magic always just seemed to flow through me, continuously running from a never-ending tap. Back then, I thought it was weird that I never learned any magic from her, but looking back now, I think I’m happy that I didn’t.

Then there were the children.

The oldest was Finn, who I often quarreled with whenever left in the same vicinity as him. Everyone said it was because Esther would keep an eye on me, which gave him the wrong impression, but I choose to believe it was because I was naturally better at performing magic than he was.

Next came Elijah, the first to greet my family we arrived. His charming looks and calm demeanor had my mother and sister swooning over him. Even my father was impressed with him.

Klaus was also a charmer when he met my family. His smile just seemed to pull everyone in except for me. Every smile sent my way was met with an eye roll. He tried his best to pull me into his mischievous, dare say, dark ways, but I chose to stay out of it. Why get pulled into something that would only last a day?

Kol was just as bad as Klaus. My sister was practically sewed into his arm from the way that she held onto him. Every words, every smile, every look, she was held tight by him, even though he looked like he wasn’t trying to catch her attention.

Rebekah had always been my favorite. Even though she had been the only female Mikaelson child that I had met that day, it felt like she understood me. While Klaus and Kol were persistent in their attempts to pull me into their troublemaking ways, Rebekah seemed to always be by my side to fend them off.

Then there was little Henrik. Sweet, innocent Henrik. When I had first met the youngest Mikaelson, he had surprised me with a flower he had found in the tree line right outside the village. His words had taken me aback with how direct they were. Thinking about it now makes me smile and laugh a little.

“One day, I’m going to marry you.”

Just as quickly as we had met the Mikaelson’s, my family and I were gone. Not even a day later, we were back on our feet and on our way to follow our herd of food.

It was when night fell did my family realize our mistake.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen. We were supposed to be safe. I had created a protection barrier around all of us, created by tracing a circle around our sleeping area and enchanted it. A barrier that only the hand of powerful magic could break.

It had happened so quickly. None of us had seen it coming. Where we had traveled from, we had only heard myths about the shapeshifters. The ones that only changed during a full moon. We never thought we would ever see one in real life.

The werewolf struck right when the moon was at it’s peak and leaves from the trees above us had opened to let in the pale moonlight. First, it took my father, who had been standing watch for us. He didn’t even have time to warn us before he was dragged into the night.

It was when my mother screamed in agony and pain did I wake up. By then, it was already too late. I had opened my eyes to see my mother get thrown to the side, my family already laying dead around me.

I was the last one left.

When the werewolf attacked me, I... did nothing.

I did not fight back. I did not run away. I had sat there as the monster came racing towards me. I could feel the tears of pain running down my face, but could not seem to scream as the monster started to tear me apart. I cried even when I started to lose feeling in my body. As I laid on my back, eyes open and gazing at the stars, I wait for the sweet release of death to come and take me. I could not live in this world without my family. I would not. They were all I had.

But death never came. Even after the werewolf had finished attacking us and wandered back into the dark curtains of the forest, death never came. And it still didn't come as the dark canvas of the sky started to ombré into a beautiful shade of red, then orange, and finally a light blue.

Even when I tried to will it, I could not die. It was like life and death had decided to play a sick joke on me. Death would not allow me to cross over but life would let me continue on with a permanent reminder of one of the most devastating moments of my life.

When I finally closed my eyes, I could hear faint footsteps coming closer. Then I could hear Elijah’s voice call out for his brothers as those footsteps became louder and faster. I could hear Klaus call my name as I was lifted into the air, strong arms carrying me back in the direction of their village. I assume it was Klaus holding me, but I guess I’ll never be certain as I had kept my eyes closed the entire time.

I could hear Rebekah’s pained cries and Henrik’s confused speech as the Mikaelson brothers and myself reached the village. But still, I did not open my eyes.

I believe I was finally able to sleep when I heard Esther’s voice beckoning her sons to bring my family into a small hut, but it still did not mean death.

I awoke a week later, my skin riddled with scars, some wounds opening again when I finally moved. I was the only survivor.

Having no where else to go, I stayed with the Mikaelsons, growing closer with Elijah, Klaus, Kol, Rebekah, and Henrik. They became more than just friends to me. They were now my family.

But where there is happiness, tragedy lurks behind it, hiding in its shadow.

It wasn’t even a month later that the Mikaelsons lost Henrik to another werewolf attack.

The family was never the same after that.

I assume you know the rest of the story from here, but if not, I guess I can summarize it a little.

Mikael asked Esther to perform dark magic to ensure that none of his children died ever again, thus creating the first vampires, The Originals.

They became creatures that could never be killed, the strongest of them all. The ones that would live for eternity.

After a thousands years on this Earth, I blame myself for not stopping Esther. The Mikaelson children were forced to become something so monstrous, so destructive, in order to protect themselves. Over the years, I watched this curse break their souls, pull bits of humanity from them as their hunger for blood and protectiveness for each other danced in circles around them.

The night that the Mikaelsons became immortal was the same night I became immortal as well, except, this was for a different reason.

You could say it was like a page out of a horror movie. The young girl longing to have magic to make her life better or more interesting is visited by the Devil and trades her soul to have everything she could every want.

That night, after the Mikaelsons were turned, I was approached by a man. He emerged from the darkness of the forest, his demeanor calm and collected, his hands behind his back as he came closer.

“I have a proposition for you, young witch. Take a walk with me.”

This man led me away from the village and further into the forest. We walked for what felt like eternity when he finally stopped. The only light in the forest was provided by the moon.

“This is the very spot you and your family were attacked, young witch. Now, it seems as though your new family is facing a similar predicament. Do you want to try and save them?”

Of course I agreed. I had come to fallen in love with the Mikaelson siblings.. They were the only things I had left.

“I only need one thing.”

“My soul?”

“Your life.”

I was, confused. My life?

“I can see that you are perplexed. Let me explain.You see, Esther is performing a spell that can make her children become immortal. They can never die. What purpose does you growing old serve when you want to be able to be there to help them. I guess, in a way, I am asking for your soul, but what I really want is that life force that makes you tick. That makes you grow old. That pushes the blood through your veins and causes your heart to beat.”

All it took was hearing ‘help the Mikaelsons’ for me to agree. I should have put some more thought into it.

I will always remember his smile when he made me immortal that night, right after he took my soul, my life force as he called it, away from me. And I would always remember his name.

Cade.

From there on, I tried to be there for the Mikaelson children whenever I could. That was until we were forced out of the village by Mikael. I had gotten separated from the others when I stayed behind to protect them, using my magic to ward Mikael off.

I wasn’t as strong back then, so Mikael was able to defeat me easily, pushing the white oak stake he had created through my heart before pursuing Klaus and his siblings with it.

I thought death would come for me then too, but it did not. After I could not hear Mikael’s footsteps, I stood up, my clothes stained with blood. That was then when I realized just what deal I had made.

For many years, I would search for the Mikaelsons, but it was as though I was one step behind Mikael and two behind the siblings. Everywhere I went, they were either gone after I arrived or would settle down after I left. To the rest of the world, the Mikaelsons were but a whisper, a figment of imagination. They were myths. But they were all too real to me.

I found myself traveling alone for two hundred years. For two hundred years, I did not give up on them. I called out to each and every Mikaelson sibling using my mind, hoping, waiting for a response. I would cry out into the world, telling them where I was, wanting them to come and find me. I was always met with silence. A silence so deafening at times I would scream to the dark midnight sky in order to not feel crushed.

And still, there was no answer from any of them. For two hundred years, the only answer I received that they were still alive was the trail of bodies left behind at each and every settlement they had managed to land in.

Then one day, I could not take it anymore. I did the one thing I said I wouldn’t.

I turned my back on the Mikaelsons and I started to walk the opposite way from them. The deal I had made with Cade became a curse. I was left alone with the demons in my head and the nightmares behind my eyelids.

I had failed Elijah.

Klaus.

Kol.

Rebekah.

‘Always and Forever.’

That is what we all promised each other when Mikael drove us out of Mystic Falls. What a broken promise it is now.

I would not find the Mikaelsons until many, many years later. Not until I, myself, became something so unrecognizable, so much so that my own reflection doesn’t even know who I am.

I am on my way back to Hell.

That is where my story begins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Orleans. Some things never change. (Y/n) hadn’t been back in New Orleans for more than eighty years, having gotten there in the 1920′s after the Mikaelson siblings were forced to leave. It was specular to see again, looking at everything Marcel had done.

It was night by the time (Y/n) came strolling into New Orleans. After many years of traveling across the globe, she was ready to lay down again for about a hundred years before setting off again. She needed a break from all the plane rides and carpool adventures. It was good to be back in a place that she knew.

However, as much as she wanted to stay in the town she once called her favorite home, (Y/n) was merely passing though. She would only be in New Orleans for a night before heading on her way to Mystic Falls.

While she never wanted to return to that place again, she had heard a whisper, one so faint even she was convinced it wasn't real. It called out to her, begging her to come back to Mystic Falls. This plea, she could not ignore.

Her house keys in her pocket, (Y/n) walked down the middle of the street. She could hear music and partying faintly in the distance. She didn’t have a care in the world as she walked through the streets. She took her time as she placed one foot in front of the other. The night was peaceful and all she wanted to do was savor it before going to bed and leaving in the morning.

“Well look here, boys. This one doesn't look like a local.”

And the peace was lost.

Turning around, (Y/n) saw three vampires lined up behind her. One of them had their fangs bared already, the dark viens in their face popping out.

“Mhm, you must be new to all this vampire stuff,” the witch spoke.

The three men were taken aback by what she had said. Shrugging her shoulders, (Y/n) turned back around and started to make her way back down the street.

“Go home, boys. I’m sure there is easier prey for you to catch at some party Marcel is holding.”

Now the vampires were even more confused, but they were not about to let some new tourist tell them what to do. Within seconds, all three raced in front of the witch and bared their fangs. They hissed at her as she continued to walk towards them, an amused look on her face.

The next thing they knew, a head splitting pain took over all of them. It was as if their heads were getting ripped off of their shoulders. Their blood boiled and their skin felt like it would melt right off their bodies. As they withered on the street, clutching their heads, (Y/n) continued to stroll past them, not even breaking a sweat as she induced pain and suffering on Marcel’s nightwalkers.

“Goodnight, boys. Don’t let any werewolves bite.”

Continuing down the street, (Y/n) held her head high as witches hiding in the dark spotted the scene that had been caused, their eyes growing wide in fear of what Marcel would do when he found out this witch had performed magic. Did this witch have a death wish?

It didn’t matter to (Y/n). She would not be staying for long.

(Y/n) (L/n) was back on her way to Hell.

#the originals x reader #reader insert

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Animaniacs: King Yakko Review (Comission by BlahDiddy)

Hello my beautiful technicolor rainbow! It’s time for Animaniacs, and while there is no balonga in my slacks there is one last christmas review for my friend to finish up, and after two visits to Acme Lab for the spinoff we’re finishing up with a look at Animaniacs proper. Suprisingly for a show that stands so easily on it’s own it’s existance is entirely thanks to another show: Tiny Toon Adventures, which had largely the same staff, including ep and co-creator stephen speilberg and Todd Ruegger, who was brought aboard from A Pup Named Scooby Doo. Since TIny Toon was a colossal hit with tons of awards and merch, including some very good video games I wish Warner would find a way to re-release, I mean.. come on if disney can rerelease the disney afternoon games (If...not..for..switch), and LIon King and Aladdin games (If somehow FOR switch), then Warner, which has it’s own game stuido no less, can put together a collection of the good Tiny Toons games when the new show comes out soon.

Point is it was a mass sucess and Warner Bros likes money, so they had Speilberg try to get Rutger to come up with another show for the two of them to do, something with name value. Rutger found his inpsiration when seeing the iconic warner water tower and taking some platypus characters, came up with our heroes and the rest is history.. well okay he retooled them from plataups’ to early looney tunes and other toons style characters minus the racisim of say bosko the tall ink kid but still, the rest after that is history. And the rest of this review is after the cut

The show was, and KINDA still is, a variety show: taking a page from looney tunes, as well as tex avery’s other work, the crew decided rather than just focus on the warners, to instead create a whole cast with various ensembles to work with so we got Pinky and the Brain, The Goodfeathers, Rita and Runt, the Hip HIppos, Katie Kaboom, Chicken Boo, and my personal faviorite Slappy Squirrel.. and the bane of my existance, Buttons and Mindy.. or rather Mindy’s Mom. The kid did nothing wrong. So naturally the first thing Animaniacs related I cover.. is an episode entirely breaking from format for one 20 something minute Warners cartoon. I do intend to do more animanics stuff in the future, so i’ll hopefully get a chance to talk about everyone, I just feel unlike with say house of mouse most people reading this probably know who they all are, and I can save any deep dives for if I cover the characters specifically. Spoilers: there’s probably never going to be a buttons and mindy deep dive unless someone tourtues me by paying for it.

So with that out of the way, we can dive into the episode.. which I won’t be covering in my usual recap it point by point because the writers have freely admitted that’s not what Animaniacs is about. While some of i’ts SEGMENTS are more story based like Pinky and the Brain, Goodfeathers and Rita and Runt, most are just based on simple set ups to reams and reams of gags. And I love it. I grew up with this stuff not just Tiny Tunes and Animaniacs but the classic Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry and Droopy shorts.

Their well timed, well executed feats of comedy and most have aged pretty well.. emphasis on MOST. I’m keenly aware why there are several gaps in the shorts for both Tom and Jerry and The Looney Tunes on HBO Max, including all of the Pepe LePew and Speedy Gonzalez shorts. Also all of Droopy is missing.

My grumblin aside though, it is VERY NICE to have all the classic Warner and Tom and Jerry shorts at my fingertips and it was one of the biggest selling points of Max for me. Last year I gained an intrest in the old disney theatrical shorts, hence my various birthday specials, so I BADLY wanted to revisit the theatrical shorts I grew up with. And honestly.. Max is the best way to do that: their in crisp hd, in neat season collections (Though the Looney Tunes one is better sorted, tom and jerry’s seasons are just.. random smatterings of shorts across various eras), and most importantly EVERY SHORT they felt comfortable with putting up there is on there. Every. Single. One. I make a big deal about this because Disney.. has only maybe 30-40 of their hundreds of shorts on there. Now lucky for me the vast majority are still on youtube and I get why some really arne’t suitable.. we probably don’t need the donald duck short where he prepares to shoot a penguin in the face or the Goofy short where his own reflection, the goofy equilvent of tyler durden I guess?, keeps saying “Hey Fat” to him. And yes BOTH of these actually happened. But.. there’s MANY shorts with no clear excuse why their absent like the triplets first apperance, gus’ only apperance, and one a friend told me about.. that time mickey built a robot to box a gorillia. Again not making this up, just wondering why you can’t restore the rest of these for plus. They’ve ADDED shorts ocasionally, but it still dosen’t make a whole lot of sense to just.. not have them all up there. and to not put them in some sorta collection for easier consumption but hey it’s Disney. They either full ass things or half ass it. There is no middle ground. Point is Warner.. actually cares about their heritage in shorts and honors it and thus has everything avaliable in the best quality, so tha’ts nice.

My point after that detour is I really love this kind of humor, and now as an adult I can see the effort the timing, pacing and character chemistry these shorts had takes. And Rugger and co.. they got it. They got it down perfect. And this episode is a great show of that and just how they barely updated this format for the 90′s. But as I said it’s more about the jokes and basic setup, our heroes are slotted into x scenario and just left to run wild. It’s been the basic seutp for looney tunes, tom and jerry and all the gag based greats, and it works perfectly here. Sure there’s some setting and continuity with the warner lot, scratch n sniff, ralph, plotz and in the reboot Rita, but it’s mostly just our heroes go up against “X asshole” and it just works.

And that’s.. entirley what this episode is. The short is an homage to the graucho marx film Duck Soup, which given the warners were based on the marx brothers that isn’t a huge suprise, a film like brian’s song I have not seen, but genuinely want to. The basic setup is the same: An underqualified womanizer, though since htis is Yakko it dosen’t get past hitting on his chancelor, played by hello nurse, constantly, which is still.. ewwwww... but clearly not the same thing, becomes king of a small nation and ends up at war with another country. There were spies and other stuff in the original short but that was left out to streamline things. But this homage stands on it’s own fine: The basic plot is this: Yakko, due to being a distant relative and the last one alive, becomes king of the small happy and very musical, as the wonderful opening number shows, country of Anvilania, which makes anvils and why yes there is one MASSIVE anvil gag as a result at the end. Yakko says he’ll try his best and geninely tries to with the shenanigans you’d expect, including Dot not gettnig Polka Dot’s are a thing and instead taknig any mention of it as a sign to polka, Yakko again hitting on his colleague and wanting ot get a new anthem because the current one by “Perry Coma’ puts people to sleep. Honeslty that gag didn’t do it for me: Partly because I genuinely know next to nothing about Como and he’s far past my generation.. and because despite this, SCTV did a MUCH better Perry Como gag over a decade before this episode that while still left me baffled as to why anyone cared about mocking him, was 80 times funnier and felt far less like you needed to know who he was to be funny.

youtube

That being said it’s one of only three running gags, and jokes period that didn’t land for me. The other ones being the hello nurse bits, because it’s aged really badly to have Yakko harass one of his employees and his age is hte only thing that keeps it from scuttling the episode as he’s just 13 or 14. Maybe 15.

So SO glad I now have that on hand whenever i need it. The other being the “Your highness” joke as it just.. dosen’t make much sense and isn’t very funny. But that’s it: a refrence i specfically don’t get and I doubt most of you will, and if you do fine we all have our frames of refrences, a joke that’s dated very poorly, and one that just.. didn’t land. And even then the Perry Coma thing’s third use to knock out the opposing army DID work for me as did the VERY clever joke of “Sire” “Maybe later”, so even the weaker bits still had some legs. But getting back to what little plot there is the king of the rival country, upon hearing this, assumes he can easily intimidate a child into giving him the throne and goes to a royal reception. Instead, as you’d expect, the Warners mistake him for a party clown, show him no respect and fail to take his delcration of war seriously, and while in a REALLY great gag, and the reason i’m not doing a strict summary is 90% of the review would be me saying something to that effect, Yakkos’ call to action for his troops ends up having them all run off in fear, the Warners take out the army as noted above and then in one of the most GLORIOUS climaxes in the series history...

In which the Warners give the bad guy “all the anvils” as he requested. I sadly coulnd’t find a clip of it but seek it out if you got hulu, my words can’t do it justice as they hit him with anvil after anvil in increasingly clever and insane ways till the guy finally gives up and it .. is glorious. Other highlights not already mentioned include: The opening song, the bad guy dictator from the other nation not being able to hear because of his helmet and his attendee having to lift it, leading to Yakko taking off his helmet just to end the “what’ running gag, Yakko’s bit explaning his distant relation and more. So yeah not a ton to say on this one. It’s a very good, very funny episode but also very typical of a warner cartoon in structure, just stretched over 22 or so minutes. As I said with few exceptions the jokes work, the anmation is crisp as always, and the climax is one of the series best. A crisp, quick watch and a nice quick review after a week of with some really tough ones behind me and ahead of me and a month of rather large ones a few weeks out. So yeah if you like animaniacs, even ifyou’ve seen this one worth a watch, if you have any more animaniacs you’d like me to take a look at feel free to comment or comission and until the next rainbow..

#animaniacs #yakko warner #dot warner #wakko warner #anvilania #hello nurse #king yakko #duck soup #goodnight everybody #hulu #warner bros #kids wb

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Verboten 16 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 16

As Danny waited outside with the rest of the guests, his parents and Vlad met up with him. After they handed him a bag filled with one of his favorite Nasty Burger meals, he gave them a quick rundown of what he knew, save for the appearance of the ghost. While frustrated, his parents shuffled him into the RV so he could eat and warm up a bit. It was a chilly fall day after all.

As he ate, Danny vaguely wondered how his parents managed to convince Vlad, the man with the limo, to go across town with them. His dad’s driving prowess… well, lack thereof… was famous in the area. The townsfolk and even the police steered clear of any known Fenton vehicle. In actuality, he had no idea how his dad hadn’t lost his license.

After a couple hours, the fire department cleared the building with the exception that rooms on the second floor could not be used until the police preformed an investigation to verify whether or not arson occurred. The rooms on that floor would also need cleaned. Thankfully, little damage ended up being done from the fire: a few pieces of furniture and some scorch marks. The majority of the damage ended up being from the hotel’s sprinkler system.

After collecting their items, his parents drove to a large house on the outskirts of the housing plan where Sam lived. After asking what they were doing there, Vlad matter-of-factly stated he just finalized the payment on it. Danny’s utter confusion had to be evident as his parents explained Vlad recently decided to purchase a house in Amity Park since he would be around more to help with the research.

Well, it explained why it took his parents so long to get food. While the act itself didn’t seem that strange for Vlad, he did own a castle in Wisconsin after all, something about the timing bothered him. With the rare exception of a day when there was a major experiment malfunction, Vlad tended to stay with the family upon his visits. Exactly how long would he be in town if he needed to buy a new house?

After getting a quick tour of the house, Danny retired to his temporary room and called his friends. The three way call ended up being hectic as he explained what happened. “Guys, I’m telling you, I saw a ghost, and then somehow the hotel caught fire.”

“Calm down, Danny,” Sam instructed. “I know you’re telling the truth, but geez, how in the world did you end up being the center of so much trouble in two days?”

“My mom said something about me possibly attracting paranormal things now.”

“Makes sense, in a weird sort of way,” Tucker agreed as typing could be heard on his end. “I’ll see if I can dig up any stories of ghosts like what you saw this time.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tucker. You’re already looking into those files.”

“Nah, this’ll be easy. It’ll only take a couple minutes at most to set up a search and have it run in the background while we talk. Any specific things that stood out?”

“Other than the blue flaming hair?” He sighed and collapsed on his bed. “If she hadn’t been a ghost, she would have looked right at home in one of those bands Sam likes. She said she wanted to make people remember she still exists.”

“So she looked like a goth?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, but with some, uh… I think you’d say she’s more punk.”

“Woah! That’s weird,” Tucker stated after something on one of his tech devices beeped in the background. “So, apparently there have been a series of spontaneous fires that seem to occur about every ten years, but they started after the death of a local girl. Some people think it’s her ghost that causes them. I’ll send you the articles.”

It took only seconds for the article links to be sent. Danny nearly dropped the phone when the picture of the mentioned girl appeared on the screen. With the exception of the hair, the girl’s face matched that of the ghost. “That… that’s her! Wow, she really doesn’t look that much different as a ghost.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Sam hummed as she reviewed the information. “Says here while she was unpopular at school, she was in a local band. She was found dead after her house burned down mysteriously. The police thought it might of been an arson, but officials were never able to verify anything. After her death and around its anniversary, there were reports of fires in the city. Sometimes, entire buildings are engulfed, but other times the words ‘you will remember’ appear burned into buildings.”

“I kinda remember hearing my dad mention something about ghost fires growing up, but with it being my dad, I never put any stock into it.”

“My mom said something about it once.”

“I have no idea why I keep forgetting your mom works for 911,” Sam interrupted. “You know, we might be able to use that to our advantage.”

“I mean, you can try, but she refuses to talk about anything other than the occasional funny call. The one about the ‘bambulance’ still brings me to tears.”

“Tuck, you’re getting distracted.”

“Right. Anyways,” some typing could be heard on Tucker’s end, “my mom thought the fires were from the girl’s bandmates. They had just recorded a song called ‘Remember’ which got some local play before she died. Since I know asking Mom for anything else is pointless, I think I’m gonna see if I can get into the files of those fires. The news articles all have explanations, but some of them seem a bit over the top.”

“How long will that take?”

Danny snorted. “Sam, it’s Tucker. Knowing him, he’s already looking at them.”

“I’m hurt, Sam. Do you really have that little faith in me?”

“I know you’ll be able to get them eventually. You’re track record hasn’t been all that great recently. You’ll still working on those files you got from Plasmius, after all.”

“Oh, I’ve finished the review on those. Some of it isn’t pretty, but I wanted to verify information directly from Vlad Master’s companies. That’s been slow going ‘cause he has some impressive firewalls, and I’m really trying not to get caught. As for this,” Tucker briefly shouted in triumph, “I’ve already gotten what I need. Hmm… that’s weird. The official investigations regarding the ‘Ember fires’, as they’re called, all state there was no known cause of the fire. There wasn’t even evidence of an accelerant… which is…?”

“It’s something used to make a fire go from a few flames to a roaring fire. Think of what happens when you add gasoline to a fire,” Sam explained as tapping could be heard on her end. Was she at the computer too? “Most arsonists use one. If they don’t, unless the flames start where there’s something like tissue paper, sawdust, or something else really flammable, the fire usually takes a lot of time to grow and become a problem. Tuck, is there anything about flammable materials?”

“Hmm… no, not really.”

Danny sighed as he got off the bed and paced his temporary room. “Great, now there’s a fire starting ghost on the prowl, on top of Plasmius, that thing… and possibly whatever is wrong with that girl. Tuck, do you have any updates on anything?”

“On the Plasmius front, no. Like I said, I’m trying to cross-reference those files against the files from VladCo and DALV, but that’s taking a while due to his security. For the creepy thing that attacked you, I have a notification set up for any potentially related attacks. I think that’s all I can do for now on that… As for Maura, I got distracted a bit when Plasmius had that chat with you, but I can tell you she stopped posting on social media right after her disappearing act. That’s pretty weird for girls in her clique. Give me a couple days to get her medical chart.” Something beeped in the background. “Oh, it looks like I might have a pattern for our fire bug ghost.”

“At least that’s something. Can you send them to me?”

Sam snorted. “What, you’re gonna try to figure out where she’ll be and talk to her?”

“I mean, it’s worth a shot. Maybe she knows something about Plasmius or that thing? And… maybe I can nicely ask her to stop lighting fires?”

“I think you’re just gonna end up with your ass kicked, but go ahead.”

“Thanks for that wonderful vote of confidence,” Danny deadpanned. The ghost was nice enough to give him a warning so she couldn’t be all bad. “I think if I open up with a ‘thank you’, she won’t outright attack me.”

“It’s your funeral.”

“Actually, Danny, can you die?” Tucker hesitantly asked. “I mean… your situation is kinda weird.”

He thought about it for a few moments. “I think so. Clockwork told me I’m alive, so that’s good enough for me. But, to be honest, I don’t really wanna think about it too much.”

“That’s fair.”

…

Danny’s conversation only lasted a few more minutes after Tucker asked the awkward question as his parents called for him over an intercom system. Uncertain if the correct response to the intercom should be to cringe or be impressed, he pushed it from his mind as he meandered down the hallways to attempt to find his parents.

Something about the décor of the mansion seemed familiar, but Danny found it difficult to place it. Vlad loved the Green Bay Packers, and he commonly used their colors of green and gold for accents. He stopped in his tracks as he glanced around. Plasmius also had green and gold splashes in his home. It had to be a coincidence.

Not wanting to think about it more, he raced down the halls and eventually came to the main foyer. His dad shot him a questioning glance as his mother stood and moved towards him.

“Hi, sweetie! How are you adjusting? It’s been a hectic couple days.”

“I’m okay. I’m just a bit tired,” he told her as he dodged a hug. “I let Sam and Tucker know we’re fine. I’m not dealing with Jazz until after you guys talk to her.”

“I trust the room is to your liking?”

Danny jumped as Vlad’s voice came from behind him. How did he miss him? “Yes. Thanks for letting us stay.”

Vlad waved his hand dismissively. “It’s no trouble at all. My house is yours.”

“Vlad, you mentioned you had a workshop we can use?” His mother asked as she abandoned her attempts at hugging her son.

After staring at her for a second, Vlad shook his head and regained composure. “Surely that can wait until tomorrow, my dear. You’ve been through quite a lot in the past twenty-four hours.”

“No can do, Vladdy!” Jack boomed as he excitedly stood. “You heard those policemen. They want a Fenton product, and I can’t sit still when that spook is still a threat to my family. Say, do you want to help?”

The billionaire grimaced before forcing a smile. “I must politely decline, but I will gladly look over any blue prints in the morning.”

“Don’t worry,” Maddie told him while giving her husband a fond grin, “I know how… enthusiastic Jack can be when he has a new project. I’ll also make sure he sleeps tonight. We don’t want any accidents.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

Danny glanced between Vlad and his parents. There was some sort of story he was missing. “Should I ask?” he hesitantly questioned.

“I was badly injured when we were in collage when an experiment went wrong,” Vlad explained as his expression hardened. “As a result, I’ve made it a rule to not be in a room when someone is actively making experimental items or preforming experiments. However, I’ll gladly double check procedures, blue prints, set ups, and results.”

“I… yeah… That… that makes sense. But you’re okay now?”

“Absolutely, my dear boy. You could say I gained a different outlook on life as a result.” Vlad gave a predatory grin which sent shivers down Danny’s spine. “Why, if I hadn’t gotten into that accident, I probably wouldn’t have ended up so successful.”

“Right…” His mother must have caught something off in Vlad’s tone as she furrowed her brow in confusion. “It’s gotten pretty late. Danny, will you be alright?”

“Huh? Probably. I mean, I could use a snack.”

“The kitchen and pantry are just down that hall.” Vlad pointed towards the hallway opposite of the way Danny originally came. “Will you be alright to be back to your room once you’re done? If you wait, I can escort you back once I’m done showing your parents where the lab is.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be alright. ‘Night everyone.” Chuckling as his father couldn’t contain his excitement anymore and bounded down the hall followed by his amused mother and wary Vlad, he just made his way to the kitchen. It thankfully was easy to find, and after making a sandwich, he meandered his way back towards his room.

….

Around midnight, Danny decided he would attempt to sneak out of the mansion. Luckily for him, Vlad put him in a room on the ground floor, saying something about how the upper floors weren’t ready yet. Luckier still, there were no bars on the windows. Sam’s parents tried doing something like before due to how many times she snuck out, but it was struck down by her Grandma Ida, who still had control of the deed at that time.

Escape ended up being a piece of cake. There didn’t seem to be any type of security system or guard which seemed strange, but that would probably change once the mansion was officially finished.

He had an idea of where the ghost might end up appearing thanks to the articles Tucker forwarded to him earlier so he booked it in the direction of an older housing plan near the city’s boarder with Elmerton. The majority of buildings in the area were row houses in disrepair. While there were still a few low income families in the area, most of the houses were considered condemned. Danny remembered hearing talk of tearing the houses down at one point, but either the project was shelved or abandoned.

As he approached, he decided to shift to his ghostly form. While it seemed unlikely he would encounter anyone, the area did have a reputation for crime. While he didn’t know what sort of protection being a ghost would give him, it seemed a better option. And, if that thing tried attacking him again, maybe he could float to safety. He really hoped that thing didn’t appear; his trust in his abilities honestly was non-existent.

The soft glow of his ghost form provided the majority of the light as he silently found his way to the road where the girl used to live. The few street lamps were either broken or burnt out, and some even seemed melted.

His destination, Garnier Avenue, seemed worse than the surrounding streets. At first he thought the houses were just gutted, but a second look said otherwise. Most of them had some evidence of fire: melted windows, ash marks, and collapsed roofs and walls. Ash and dust could be found on the road as well as the sidewalk, and in some places, they almost looked like outlines of people.

The area seemed dead. No noise. No sound. No movement. As he continued to move forward, his hair stood on end and his breath misted in front of him. It was almost as if he walked into some sort of wall of static electricity.

“So this is what you actually look like. You’re not that bad looking after all,” a curious voice called to him, making him jump. Danny spun around to see the ghost from earlier materialize in front of him. Her appearance hadn’t changed, but she seemed more solid. Even her voice seemed closer and more natural. “Do you know how many of us would kill to be able to blend in that well?”

“Uh… I really wouldn’t know. This is really new to me,” Danny relied as he held up his hands in what he hoped was a submissive manner.

Her eyes narrowed. “So why are you here, baby pop? Do I interest you?”

He gulped at the undertones of her applications. “A little? I mean, you were nice enough to let me there would be a fire, and I wanted to thank you for that. And maybe ask a couple questions?”

“You just happened to be there at the right time,” she responded offhandedly though her satisfied smirk suggested his thanks was welcome. “It would be a waste to see someone like you get destroyed by accident. But, I would like to know how you found me.”

“I mentioned you to a friend of mine, and he was able to find out about your legend.” Danny hoped he sounded genuinely curious and not creepy. Wait, was it possible for him to not be creepy? He was a ghost after all.

She nodded. “I like to come back around the anniversary of my death. It helps strengthen me.”

“You do seem… I think stronger is the word I want.”

“Glad you noticed, and that makes you more observant than most of the guys I’ve met over the years. Call me, Ember.” Grinning again, she walked around him almost as if she was examining him.

“I’m Danny.”

She snorted. “Bet that’s your real name. Don’t met too many ghosts who remember theirs. You really must be new. Anyways, you had questions?”

“Yeah. I was hoping you might know something about this thing that’s been seen around the town. It attacked me, and it’s caused enough trouble to get the police interested.” When she didn’t immediately respond, Danny took that as a sign he could continue. So, he quickly explained his interaction with whatever the thing was. When he finished, Ember expression turned stony.

“You’re telling me something like that has been seen in my town?” she demanded. Her hair, which had been gently waving in an invisible wind, suddenly blazed in a blue flame. “Are you telling me one of those things have been seen here?”

Danny gulped and nodded. “Like I said, it attacked me! What are they? Plasmius doesn’t know what they are either.”

“Plasmius? Plasmius is here too?” The temperature around them spiked as she shrieked. “Are you working for him? You better answer me, Dipstick.”

===

Notes: ghostly fire is usually considered insubstantial and doesn't tend to cause damage. Actual paranormal fire damage is usually associated with poltergeists, and more modern theories classify poltergeists as creations of psychokinesis (PK) agents (normally living people) instead of spirits.

Ember's background is directly taken from information provided by one of the show's directors.

"Bambalance" is a reference to an old but hilarious 911 call. You can find it on YouTube under the title "the guy, the deer, the dog, and the bambulance." There is some foul language in it.

Also, there is a very subtle 'Phantom of the Opera' reference in this chapter.

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bastillewolf · 4 years

Text

Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

“Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #Nick O'Malley #AM #TBHC #Jamie Cook #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck It And See #Fanfiction

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chromemist · 4 years

Text

Patrol Nights: 1st Instance

Series: Miraculous Ladybug

Pairing: Vipernette

Rating: straight up nsfw

Warnings: Vouyerism

Inspired by everyone on the LBSC server. I’m probably gonna make more of these. Please take head of the warnings. If you don’t like it, you are in no way obligated to read it. If you do read it, enjoy it! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Viperion and Chat Noir both lighted on the rooftop at the same time, a soft sshink coming from Chat’s baton as he retracted it. Viperion looked over at the young cat and sighed. Chat Noir had the same pinched look on his face the entire night, and Viperion was really starting to get tired of it. He had hoped that after four years of watching the cat superhero get turned down, he’d grow up and get a clue. But even after all this time, Hawkmoth mysteriously disappearing, and Chat bragging about a girlfriend, he still wouldn’t give up. While it wasn’t as often and as annoying as it had once been, it still happened.

“Sorry this is boring you Chat. But look on the bright side. No crime!” Viperion tried for a pleasant conversation. Chat Noir only sighed, his shoulders and ears sagging.

“Yeah, it would’ve been a perfect night to talk to Ladybug. No offense Viperion. You’re a great teammate to have in a fight, but I definitely don’t want to be hanging out with you.”

Viperion rolled his eyes and walked to the edge of the building. He leaned on it, facing away from the grumpy cat and took his lyre off his back. He idly strummed it while addressing Chat Noir as calmly as he could.

“Ladybug asked us to patrol for the night. We all have our Miraculous now, and we all need to step up and do our part. It’s not just you and Ladybug anymore.” Viperion heard a rough intake of breath from behind him before Chat joined him at the ledge. “She’s been really stressed out lately. She needs a break. That’s where the rest of us come in. We can give her that moment of rest.”

Chat narrowed his eyes at him. “How can you tell she’s stressed?”

Viperion smiled wryly. “I’m the observant one, remember? It’s my job to watch.” He kept strumming calmly as Chat continued to stare at him. Viperion knew Chat was always worried he or Bunnix would discover Ladybug’s identity before Chat himself found out. Even though Bunnix had yelled at him that ’this wasn’t a competition Chat! We’re your ‘get out of death free’ card’, he still couldn’t shake old habits.

The cat just signed again and shook his head though. “Well anyway, it doesn’t look like anything’s happening. I’m calling it a night.” He said and hopped up on the ledge, preparing his baton to launch himself. He looked over his shoulder at Viperion. “You packing up for the night?”

Viperion considered going back to his apartment briefly. “I think I might stay out a bit longer. It’s a nice night.”

“Ooh? Got anywhere specific you’re going?” Chat wheedled, a smug grin on his face. Viperion snorted in response.

“It’s just nice out, and I don’t want to be inside my apartment right now. But if you’re asking if I have a girlfriend then no. Speaking of though, shouldn’t you be getting back to yours? What’s her name again? Marinette, right?” Viperion tried to keep his emotions in check, tried to keep the jealousy from leaking through. He knew Marinette wasn’t seeing anyone, but he couldn’t help being a tiny bit jealous over how much attention Chat Noir got.

Viperion was an adult. The oldest on the team. He should be past all this petty jealous teenage bull. But yet, whenever Marinette was concerned… ’Eventually I’ll learn my lesson…’ he thought.

“Marinette’s just a friend.” Chat said airley, almost automatically, like he’d said it a million times before. And hasn’t he heard that before? She’s just a friend. We’re only friends. You’re a good friend Luka… Viperion only sighed as Chat gave him his signature two fingered salute and leapt into the night.

Viperion watched him bounce away, the slight irritation ebbing away the farther the cat got. Once Chat Noir was completely gone, Viperion too leapt into the night, his lyre still in one hand. But he didn’t head home, just as he was planning to do. Instead he aimed for a certain bakery. Marinette had been so stressed this week, so stopping in to check on her would probably be welcomed. She liked all the heros well enough. And since Chat wasn’t going to visit her…

Moments later, Viperion quietly landed among all the furniture of Marinette’s balcony. He noticed the skylight above where she kept her bed was open. Thinking she was up and wanted some fresh air, he quietly made his way over, bringing his lyre up in both hands. He was about to start strumming again, to let her know he was there without spooking her, when he stopped dead in his tracks.

A noise, like shuffling sheets, came from the open skylight. ’Maybe she’s asleep already? I don’t want to wake-’ Viperion’s eyes widened behind his mask as another sound floated up from the skylight, completely freezing him in place. A low moan, in Marinette’s sweet, musical voice. ’Maybe she’s in pain?’ he thought, torn between hoping for that and hoping she wasn’t hurt. While he never wanted to wish harm on her, the alternative would be-

“Oooh yes… Right there…” Was quietly moaned and dashed all his hopes of leaving without ever hearing Marinette’s sweet moans of pleasure. In the four plus years of knowing her, he’d heard her make so many different kinds of noises. These though… These he’d always hoped, dreamed, he’d hear face to face, if she ever looked at him as Luka that way. He shouldn’t, couldn’t stay. He needed to leave, give her the privacy she thought she had, and take a very long, very cold shower.

“Luka, please…” Viperion stopped dead in his tracks once more. ’Wait, what?’ He looked down at himself and yeah, his suit was still on. And no one was popping up out of the skylight. Which meant…

’Is.. Is she imagining me?’ His brain screeched to a halt over that thought. Did not pass Go. Did not collect 200 dollars. His head turned without his permission towards the opening though when he heard more shuffling and a longer moan.

“Luka, your hands…” Her breathy voice floated up. His own responded by gripping into the sides of his lyre tightly. The low sound of skin brushing skin met his ears. “I love your rough hands on me. Please touch me?” He heard her beg him in her fantasy.

’I need to leave!’ his mind shrieked at himsekf in his head. The rest of his body was not keen on listening though, as his feet silently led him to the darkened corner where he could peer down at her. ’This is wrong and I’m horrible for staying, why am I staying?’ But his hormones and repressed feelings won out. Viperion knew he’d feel disgusted with himself and incredibly guilty later. But for now… Now he peered over the edge of the skylight, and saw one of the most beautiful sights ever. He brought his lyre up to his mouth and bit into a side to keep from making any noise. Oh, Sass was going to give him so much shit for this…

Moonlight bathed Marinette in it’s light, highlighting just how very naked she was. Her head was turned away from his position, but he could see her one visible eye was closed and her mouth was parted open on another panting moan. Her unbound hair was draped over her pillow and oh how he could write songs just from that view alone. His eyes traveled down her body, and it only got better.

One of her small hands was cupping a breast, rolling the puckered peak between two fingers. As she did, she praised Luka on how well his calloused fingers rubbed her. A jolt of pleasure shot through Viperion’s body and ’well that’s a thing I didn’t know I liked.’ He shifted quietly on his feet, the motion finally bringing attention to his rapidly hardening cock. Oh yeah, Sass was definitely going to give him shit for this.

Another low moan from Marinette brought his attention back to her. Viperion chewed on the curved tip of the lyre as his eyes followed her other hand, down her body. She splayed her fingers over her belly and slowly dragged them down, though dark curls, and gently pushed one thigh apart from the other. Viperion swallowed hard as her other thigh dropped open, baring her completely to him. She ran her hand lightly up and down her inner thigh, fingertips just barely teasing a fold. Desire coursed through him as he listened to Marinette plead with him, with Luka, to touch her.

“Please Luka, please touch me there. I can’t take much more of this!”

’Neither can I.’ He answered in his head.

Marinette moved her fingers down slowly, until finally pushing into her lips. She groaned out a yes and her back arched beautifully as she dipped her fingers into her waiting hole. Viperion almost moaned out loud when he heard the wet squelching noise coming from between her legs. Marinette pumped her fingers a few times, coating the digits liberally. She moved her now soaked fingers up to her clit, taking it between her thumb and pointer and rubbing. She tossed her head back, facing straight up. Her eyes still clenched shut thank God for that and her mouth opened wide, she panted and whined for him. She swirled her fingers around herself while her other hand gripped her breast tightly.

Viperion always imagined he’d go slow and gentle with her if he ever got the chance. He wanted to show her how much he loved and cared for her in every way possible. But if she wanted it a little rough as well, he would absolutely do that for her. One hand let go of his lyre and immediately latched onto the prominent bulge in his suit. He squeezed himself, hoping that he wouldn’t make any noise to alert her of her audience.

“Luka, I need more. Please, I need your cock in me!”

Pure lust slammed into him and he squeezed his throbbing member hard, trying to stave off the orgasm that wanted to rip through him. Never had he ever heard Marinette say anything remotely nasty or use actual cuss words. But here she was, pleading for him to ’fuck me with your hard cock.’ He was going to die of blood loss to the brain. Sass was going to have to apologize for him. He knew she had only been Multimouse a handful of times, but she knew what a kwami was. She could take his Miraculous off his dead body and give it back to Ladybug.

Viperion was brought back to the present as he watched her release her chest and, reaching back up under the pillow, brought out a very familiar shape. ’Oh shit, yes baby please.’ he encouraged in his mind as she dragged the toy down her body. She moved her fingers from her clit to spread her folds apart. He bit the lyre even harder as she first teased her wet hole. She dragged the tip from her hole, to her clit, and back, before pushing only the head inside.

Viperion inhaled sharply at the same time as Marinette, her back arching again as she lightly pumped the tip in and out. “Please don’t tease me!”

’Only if you’re good.’ came unbidden in his head, surprising himself at the thought.

“I’ll be good, I promise Luka!” She cried, startling Viperion badly, thinking he had said that out loud. But the lyre was still stuffed in his mouth, and she had said Luka’s name. A quick check confirmed her eyes were still closed, still lost in her fantasy. Viperion let out a slow breath of relief. He felt like a cold bucket of water had been dumped over him. Maybe that was a sign that it was time to go.

But before he could move away, she cried out his name loudly, followed by “ah, that’s so good!” His eyes snapped back to her. Her head was tossed to the side again, her chest heaving with labored breaths. Her hips rotated back and forth along with the dildo now buried inside her. Marinette cried out again as she pulled it halfway out, before pushing it back in.

“Faster Luka, faster!” She pleaded. Her hand obeyed, pumping the toy in and out of her at an increased rate. She took her clit between her fingers again and squeezed in time with her thrusts. Marinette cried out and moaned loudly as her hips rose off the mattress, her toes curling in the sheets. “Almost… Almost…”

Viperion once again had to squeeze himself in order to stop himself from cumming just as her orgasm hit her. Her choked off moan ended in her sighing out his name once more in reverent bliss. He could see the pleasurable shudders still wracking her body as she milked herself through the last dregs of her orgasm.

’Time to go!’ he thought as she lowered her body and her eyes began to open. Quietly and quickly as he could, Viperion made it to the edge of her balcony and inelegantly launched himself to the next rooftop. Running along the rooftops of Paris with a hard-on was not an experience he thought he’d have, and never wanted it again .

He barely made it back to his apartment, thanking his lucky stars he was able to afford a place by himself. Viperion barreled through his open balcony doors before slamming it and his blinds closed.

“Sass, scales rest!” He cried out while running down the hallway to his bathroom. As the light around him faded, Luka kept running, shucking off his clothes as he went. “Not a word Sass!” He yelled before slamming the bathroom door closed.

Sass was definitely, definitely going to give him shit for this. But only after Luka was satiated. It wasn’t until sometime later, much, much later that Luka emerged from the bathroom. He was very tempted to just go to his room and pass out after all his exertion, but the quiet apartment unnerved him just a little. Sass was a very quiet kwami, but even he made noise. So, tugging up his boxers, Luka went in search of his little snake friend.

Thankfully, Luka found him quickly, sitting in the kitchen counter and taping at Luka’s cell phone screen. The little kwami flicked his eyes up at his holder as Luka came into the room and grinned, fangs on full display.

“Not tonight Sass. I’m still punch drunk from what happened. Not a word please?” He asked.

“I would not dream of it, masssster.” Sass replied. Luka smiled in gratitude and turned to head to his bedroom. But before he could get too far, he heard the tap of a flipper against the screen and music suddenly filled the room.

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya

“SASS!”

“I did not sssay anything!”

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #viperion #vipernette #voyerurism #sass is a little shit

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1137

created by: allwrongx - Bzoink

Do you have a bookshelf? If so, just one or how many? I don’t, actually. I have the most books out of everyone in the family, but they’re all either lined up or stacked in random points in my room because of said lack of shelves. Currently, I have three groups of books strategically placed around my room.

If you answered yes to the above, are your books ordered in a special way? Just by height since I have a lot of tall books like encyclopedias as well as smaller-sized novels and pocketbooks.

Have you ever owned action figures? I have a couple of wrestling action figures and I want to keep collecting more if my financial situation ever permits it in the future.

Why did you last smile? Andrew Ilnyckyj finally has a new cooking videoooooooo, which is the main BuzzFeed content I watch these days. I think his last one had been posted in January, so I’ve been feeling pretty starved for some new Andrew content.

Do you have a close relationship with your immediate family? I’m not close with them in that I don’t feel shy about kissing/hugging them or confiding in them; my family are not those people for me. But like we don’t fight (anymore) and we’re able to have pleasant talks over dinner, which is as close as I’d possibly ever get with them.

Idk, we were ultimately never able to cultivate an emotionally strong relationship with one another, which I’ll always feel bittersweet about; but at least I now have a blueprint of how I’d want to build my relationships within my family, should I ever have one of my own.

If I gave you twenty bucks what would you do with it? Use it to pay my sister for the drawing commission I asked her to make. My total bill comes up to around that amount, anyway.

If dinosaurs could be tamed, would you want one as a pet? Nope, they can stay in the wild.

Do you crack your knuckles, neck or toes constantly? I crack my knuckles the most and my ankles as well. Never my neck and toes.

Are you constantly catching colds or other sicknesses? No, I rarely get sick.

Is there a movie from your childhood that you still watch today? I do an annual Toy Story rewatch because it’s my absoluete favorite kid’s movie. I will also always be in the mood to watch The Game Plan, which I watched every single weekday after coming home from school in like the 3rd grade.

Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Nope but this has been on my list for years. Just never gotten around to downloading it and finally seeing it for myself.

Where do you do most of your shopping? I usually go to small, independent businesses that sell trendy pieces for a lot less, but I also drop by H&M from time to time. Once I feel secure enough with my savings I also wanna be able to start shopping from Zalora because they have really nice brands over there as well, haha.

Are you afraid of mice? I don’t imagine I would be since they’re tiny and cute. I’m afraid of house rats, though, especially considering how big they can get D:

What type of souvenir do you usually purchase when on vacation? I typically don’t get souvenirs for myself, but this is also because I’ve never traveled solo. My family collects magnets from all the different places we’ve been to though (and also from my dad’s work travels), so our fridge doors are filled with them.

Do you vacation often? Yeah, my family would usually take 3-5 trips a year, usually around the country and sometimes out of; but of course we’ve had to put a stop to it since the pandemic blew up.

Are you comfortable wearing your pajamas in public places? The only place I’d be comfortable doing so is at the nearby McDonald’s, since I’ve seen residents from my village come in there wearing their PJs or housewear. Otherwise no, I’d rather dress up.

What's your favorite candy bar? Twix!!!!!!!! And while they’re not technically bar-shaped, I love Reese’s Cups too.

Do you own more than one copy or edition of a book? Hahaha yeah. I have two copies of Twilight (one is from my boxed set, another was given to me by a childhood friend, Maryrose) and Breaking Dawn (one is also from my boxed set, while the other one is the special white cover edition given to me by Angela).

If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? Miss Saigon. That’s the only musical I’m into.

If you could put any person or characters face on money, whose would it be? I definitely want to see a woman’s face on a dollar bill or coin sometime in the future. < Oh man, this is a pretty good answer. We do already have women in our P500 and P1000 bills, but they’re accompanied by men :/ It’d be neat to see a woman take over a bill/coin all on her own, like Gabriela Silang.

The place that you'd most like to be right now is where? God I really wish I were out in a coffee shop right now but I have to saveeeeee. I’ve been meaning to check out this nearby cafe that also doubles as a co-working space (which means I can do work there without feeling guilty or anxious that I’m taking too much time there, yay), and I might visit next week.

Do large crowds make you anxious? Depends on what the context is. If I find myself in the middle of a stampede that’s quickly going ugly then I will definitely start to panic; but if I’m at, say, a concert, then personally a bigger crowd means a better experience for me.

Do you own a helmet of any sorts? None of my own, but we do have a helmet for our bike.

Will you willingly sing in front of other people besides your family? No unless a huge sum of money is up for grabs, lmao. I’ve only sang in public once, when my mom made me do a solo number on my 7th birthday.

What's in the box? Yeah, I’m not feeling creative enough for this question...

Does your family generally decorate for most holidays? No, only for Christmas.

Would you take the chance to be Nancy Drew or The Hardy Boys for a day? Eh, I’d pass up on the offer. Mystery isn’t my thing.

Do you eat soup when you're sick? No. I prefer to drink lots of water as I usually lose my appetite when I’m sick anyway.

Is there a specific mug or coffee cup that you have to use all of the time? I don’t have to use it, but I’m in love with the mug Angela gave me just this past Christmas. I use it all the time now.

Have you ever watched Doctor Who? No, but I don’t think it’s my kind of genre or show.

If so, what do you think is the scariest creature yet?

Do you prefer to do your shopping online or in person? If I already have an idea of what I want to get, I prefer to get it in person. But if I need something oddly specific and have no idea where to start, that’s when I start to look for online shops or go to Shopee or Lazada altogether.

If you read, which book or series did you enjoy most as a child? Angie Sage, with her Septimus Heap series.

Do you read tour guide type books before you visit places? It’s been a while since I’ve traveled extensively, and when I was younger I didn’t really read into tourist guides. Now that I’m older, I do want to start reading up before visiting a different country – not necessarily about the best places to visit, but more about the culture and practices I have to observe. I remember being reprimanded by a Korean when I tried to snap a photo of something I saw while out in public in Jeju, and I don’t want to do something like that again.

Would you please belt out a few song lyrics here? AND IF YOU TRY TO FIND ME NOOOOW I’M IN ALL THE ECHOES THAT HAVE FAAAADED OUT soooo!!! I’M MOVING ON CAUSE I JUST WANT TO FEEL FOR ONCE THAT I BELONG, THAT’S WHAT GOING ON

How do you get rid of your hiccups? I hold my breath, which is a trick taught to me by my mom. Not always effective, but it does work sometimes.

Is there one saying that you've adopted from someone/somewhere else? I’ve picked up “Awesome!” which was Gabie’s catchphrase. My former director also liked saying “Anywhoooooo” when she wants to digress, and I’ve since adopted that into my vocabulary and mannerisms as well.

Can you lie effectively and smoothly? Yes, but I feel like shit every time I have to.

Do you buy Halloween candy when it's on sale after the holiday? No, I don’t enjoy candy anyway.

Why is your favorite teacher your favorite? She taught beyond her curriculum - music, which isn’t even part of my top 30 favorite subjects - and always made sure to inject a little bit of useful life advice in all her lessons.

Who can never fail to make you laugh? Hans.

Do you agree with the "they're just being kids" excuse? No, especially if the kids in question are already 16/17 year olds.

How many pets have you had in your lifetime? Countless goldfish, one chick, one rabbit, one cat, two birds, and two dogs.

Were you ever afraid of monsters under your bed? Sure. Still am occasionally, heh.

Would you kindly recommend your favorite movie to me? Two for the Road shows a realistic take on love told through cars and a non-linear tour around Southern Europe. If you’re into that and Audrey Hepburn’s pretty outfits in each scene, definitely check it out.

#survey #surveys

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bluerosesonata · 4 years

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The Legacy of Aika Village

[This will be the first of a few mini-articles I plan to post here, just about different things I’m passionate about. Please indulge me.]

This article originally was written back in early April- since then, Nintendo announced that the “Dream Suites” would be coming to the latest update of ACNH, as “Dream Islands.” As such, I thought it would be timely to finally post this.

Update: On July 2nd, the original creator of Aika Village made a tweet announcing their plans to remake Aika for Dream Islands in New Horizons! The legend lives on!

Image Credit: thumbnail from chuggaconroy’s playthrough of Aika Village on Youtube.

Animal Crossing And Horror: The Legacy of Aika Village

With a lot of the world in lockdown, Animal Crossing New Horizons has become a creative and social outlet for many, leading to a lot of people who never played Animal Crossing to engage with it for the first time. I’m sure most of you have encountered the various types of people present in the Animal Crossing community by now, but there’s a type of Animal Crossing players that a lot of people didn’t realize exist, and have existed, for a while now: The Horror Town Creators.

These players were the subject of a brief write up on Polygon by Patricia Hernandez [Hernandez, Patricia. “Animal Crossing: New Horizons is now a horror game, thanks to fans.” Polygon, 24 Mar. 2020. https://www.polygon.com/2020/3/24/21190826/animal-crossing-new-horizons-horror-game-decorations-scary-nintendo-switch-blood-spatter-pattern.], who posted an article featuring quotes and pictures of people creating horror themed towns and rooms in New Horizons, but only made a brief mention of the legacy of horror that many of these players are striving to recreate: The Nightmare Suites of Animal Crossing: New Leaf.

(These next few paragraphs are a bit of a self-indulgent aside, so feel feel to skip ahead.)

Horror gets a bad rap. Horror artists get comments like “lmao what SCP is this,” “that’s fucked up,” or get flippant remarks about it all “looking the same.” Horror writers get made fun of for only writing “three types of stories.” Even the term “creepypasta,” which has evolved into shorthand for “horror stories independently published online,” still carries the stink of derision from the typo-filled, often poorly-written shock stories the term originated from. Despite this derision, horror, as a genre, is MASSIVELY popular (and profitable as well!). There’s an undeniable appeal to it.

More importantly, horror always finds a way to adapt itself to different mediums. As one can easily see by the success of horror podcasts like the NoSleep Podcast and The Magnus Archives, it isn’t even limited to a visual format! Like fear and dread itself, the horror genre crawls on, inexhaustible, undying, and ever-present, always returning to us in ways both novel and familiar.

Horror lovers are a tight knit, but welcoming, community, and that’s one of its biggest strengths and weaknesses.The biggest drawback is that a lot of really cool stuff produced will never be experienced, let alone documented, by people outside the community. And that’s what prompted this post. I was trying to explain the Dream Suite horror movement to my cousin, and despite my best efforts, didn’t find a lot of coverage about them, beyond the fact they existed. Worse, most of those were articles written five years ago. Even so, I’ll link to a few of them at the end of this post, as they’re definitely worth reading.

For me, I wanted to share my experience of the horror town phenomena with people outside the community. The Nightmare Suites movement was really something magical, and I know that I, personally, am still trying to recreate that magic in New Horizons. And hey, maybe once you’re finished reading this, you will too.

The Dream Suite

Before we can talk about Aika Village, we need to explain the feature that made this whole movement possible. In the 2012/2013 3DS game, Animal Crossing: New Leaf, there were two areas in every town: The village, and Main Street, which laid beyond the train tracks that ran across to the north of every town. Main Street was home several important structures, including the town shop, the Happy Home Academy, and the Post Office. Later on, more structures could be unlocked and built as public works projects, one of which was the Dream Suite.[“Dream Suite.” Nookipedia, 25 Apr. 2013, nookipedia.com/wiki/Dream_Suite.]

As for how it worked, Nookipedia explains it best:

To begin a dream, the player must lie down on the bed and pay Luna 500 Bells. They may then choose to visit a random town, input the Dream Address of a specific town to visit, or search for a town. They may then choose to visit a previously visited town or a random town, or to input the dream address of a new town to visit. While dreaming, the player may walk around the town and perform actions just as they would in the real world, but their actions will have no effect on the town.

While dreaming, the bed will be on the dream town's plaza. Luna and Lloid stand near it until the player decides to wake up. Players can borrow tools like a shovel and axe from Lloid to use within the dream. If the player lies on the bed a second time, they will leave the dream and anything they have in their pockets will be lost.

The player cannot go to Main Street or enter any buildings with doors besides homes. Additionally, messages left on the bulletin board cannot be read; instead, the board displays the town's name and Dream Address…custom designs on display in the town, such as on the ground and in houses, will be visible. The player who uploaded the town can also be found walking about. When spoken to, they will say their recorded greeting.

In essence, the Dream Suite takes a snapshot of your town at the moment you ask Luna, the NPC running the Dream Suite, to share a dream- this includes your outfit, the way you decorated your home, the items laying around town, etc.

The most important aspect of this feature, and the one that I feel had the most impact on the Nightmare Suite creation movement, was the method of discovery. If you didn’t know someone’s code, you would be sent to a random dream of a random town, from anywhere in the world- and this is where I feel my personal experience of being in the community departs from the articles that have already been written about the Nightmare Suites.

The Urban Legend of Aika

In the years leading to 2013, I was going through some rough shit. I won’t go into details here, but video games had become my entire life. Coming into the summer of 2013, I didn’t have any friends I kept in touch with, and I was “starting over” in a city where I knew nobody- things were looking up, but outside of tumblr, I didn’t have anything even resembling a social life. Animal Crossing: New Leaf was a stabilizing force of my life during this time, and really helped me. I had the Shampoodle haircut guide saved to the camera roll on my phone, for pete’s sake.

It was in the beginnings of my friendship with a group of girls (whom I sadly no longer even have contact with), where a lot of our initial bonding happened because of anime and RPGmaker horror games. We were sitting together in the campus dining area, me playing on my 3DS, when I first learned about the Nightmare Suites.

“Have you heard about Aika Village?”

I hadn’t.

“It’s this really creepy town in dream suites, I heard about it from a friend online.” Later that day, she linked me to a tumblr post compiling a series of codes leading to different “creepy dream towns,” the first one being simply labeled as “Aika Village.”

That dream village became a phenomenon: people would write up their interpretations and theories about it, and even lead to a few articles and videos on gaming sites like IGN and Killscreen, which is why I’m not gonna even bother going into the content of the village itself.

And So, The Dream Begins…

This, in my opinion, was the draw of the Nightmare Suites. Without a way to directly share codes from your 3DS to your social media, the discovery and sharing of Dream Towns was like that of urban legends- like virtually passing notes in class, or sharing scary stories that “totally happened to a friend of my cousin’s sister” at a campfire. It felt like a cool discovery- something exclusive and scary and weirdly intimate. They had a mystique to them, a mystery of who their creators were and what they “really meant.” But above all that? They were cool as hell.

The Nightmare Suites used the limitations of the game to try and create an unnerving atmosphere in ways that were reminiscent to me of the RPGmaker horror game subgenre, and for me, created a lot of memories of excitedly typing in my once a day dream suite visit late at night in my dorm. I never lacked variety- there were so many people either influenced or inspired by Aika to make a horror town that there are entire lists and tumblrs dedicated to collecting those codes. (I even played around with the idea of making my own horror town, but never found the right inspiration, instead dedicating my time to making themed homes and custom outfits based on different anime characters.)

The sad fact that so many of these towns have been altered or overwritten, if they’re available or accessible at all, is in itself, a part of their urban legend-like appeal. While many of us may never get to experience these towns, the stories about them endure, in lists on long-abandoned blogs and youtube videos from people’s playthroughs.

And that mystique is the real legacy of Aika; While the Nightmare Suites may be gone, the wonder and dreamlike memories many of us hold from our chance encounter with it will never fade. You could even say we’re a bit…haunted by it.

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randomoranges · 3 years

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ok so i’ve had this idea for ages. it was og meant as a pre-amnesia/post-amnesia thing. you know the type. but, if you squint real hard it could just me some rando au where they meet when they’re in uni and grow old and happy together.

find yourself a weirdo if that’s your thing :)

Sushi for Two

Message from Étienne (Roommate)

Questions: 1. Do you like sushi? 2. Are you coming home tonight?

Edward is locked up in some study cubicle, nose deep in a myriad of textbooks, trying to get a head start on his never-ending pile of homework and assignments, when the message comes in. He thinks of ignoring it, but to be honest, he’s been on the same problem for the past thirty minutes, he’s been at it for the past three hours and he really should take a break. Therefore, he puts his mechanical pencil down and picks up his phone to see the message.

Message de Édouard Answers: 1. Yes? 2. Yes??

Étienne beams from his roost on the kitchen counter upon getting the answer. He keeps swinging his legs as he taps out an answer for his roommate and then steals another sushi piece from the half-empty plastic container on the counter beside him.

Message from Étienne (Roommate)

Excellent! I may or may not have ordered too much and figured I could share. However, if you want any, you better get home soon, or I might just finish it off by myself. (There really is a lot.) (Please save me from myself.) (Why the fuck is sushi so goddamn good?)

Edward can’t help but chuckle. His roommate is – odd at times, but he always means well. Étienne’s good for a laugh and to be honest, he likes hanging out with him.

His stomach growls at the idea of free food and he figures he might as well head home. He can get another hour or so done after supper. He ran out of snacks anyways.

Edward packs his bags and then heads out, letting the cold winter air wake him up some from the stuffy study cubicle he had been in.

Edward makes it home in less than thirty minutes and lets his bag fall to the ground before removing his boots, jacket, scarf, tuque, and mittens. Of course, there’s already jazz music playing and he’s not even surprised. He’s come to associate the music with Étienne and more often than not, Edward has come home to hear it playing from some speaker, be it the one from the living room, or from Étienne’s computer in his room. It’s even gotten to the point where Edward can recognise some tunes and he’s even asked for the name of at least two songs that he actually really enjoyed. (Étienne had looked ecstatic. He’d even let him borrow the album.) (Edward hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he hadn’t liked the other tracks on it.)

Étienne lowers the music once he sees him and waves him over to the prized container of sushi.

“Were you expecting people over?” Edward says when he sees the multiple plastic boxes of sushi littering the counter. There are at least five and two are empty, while a third one has a decent dent in it.

“I was really hungry and I just ordered all my favourites,” He sounds apologetic and half-guilty, like a child scolded trying to make their case for their actions. Edward laughs, amused by Étienne’s antics, and rolls his eyes. This must have cost a small fortune, but he supposes that’s not his problem.

“That’s the worst way to order food.” He admonishes gently.

“Do you want free sushi or not?”

Edward mimes zipping his mouth shut and Étienne nods, pleased, and then hands over a container and motions for Edward to join him on the counter.

Edward isn’t convinced by the idea and gives his roommate a questionable look, “You know we have perfectly good chairs and a very sturdy table. I’m sure it can hold your mountain of sushi.”

“Shut up, Murphy; this is the only way to eat take-out sushi.” There’s a teasing grin to Étienne’s retort and Edward rolls his eyes and hops up onto the counter. Étienne seems tremendously pleased and Edward figures there’s at least that.

“Lemme guess, you want me to eat with my hands like a heathen?”

Étienne scoffs and nudges the chopsticks out of Edward’s reach. Edward sighs, rolls his eyes, and then picks out a sushi piece, before popping it into his mouth. He likes the variety of textures and flavours, even if he has no idea what’s in it. It’s good, is what matters, and it hits the spot.

They eat this way for a while, tranquil, sitting on the kitchen counter, Étienne’s legs still swinging wildly, and Edward comes to agree with the fact that perhaps this is the best way to eat sushi after all.

“You know,” Edward starts to say when they start picking at another box, “I always liked to eat the leftover sushi on the day after. When it’s a little bit hard. Is that weird?” He says it softly, as if confessing to some deep, shameful secret, but Étienne gasps and looks excited by the shared secret.

“Me too! My sister said I was weird! I sometimes got extra just so I could have hard day old sushi!”

A laugh bubbles out of Edward’s chest that takes hold of Étienne and they both laugh at this shared absurdity.

“I once ordered sushi specifically to eat it the day after,” Edward ads.

“That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I ever think of that?!”

For as much as Étienne is a bit of an oddball, he’s also relatable to a fault at times and Edward has found a kindred spirit in him in the few months he’s been in the city.

“There’s a place back home that’s really good. Like – really, really good. I go there every time I go back home. If ever, for some absurd reason, you’re in town, I’ll take you to it.” He knows he sounds a little hesitant and shy, but the idea of someone like Étienne coming out west to Alberta for any reason whatsoever always sounds odd to him. Étienne seems as though he’d fit best in some bohemian city and not someplace like Edmonton. Still, he can’t help but imagine, if only for a moment, what it would be like to have his friend over, but he rids his mind of such thoughts before they get the best of him.

“Absolutely! You better! Plus you need to take me to your Butter Dish Palace and Talus Valley.”

Edward near chokes laughing and has to hold himself from falling off the counter, “Oh my God – it’s – it’s the Butterdome and the Talus Dome. Then there’s the River Valley. They’re just silly landmarks though... well – ok the River Valley is legit, but –”

Étienne cuts him off before he can go off, “Listen, you’ve shown me photos, you’ve mentioned them forty thousand times, I’ve brought you to the silly landmarks of this city – it’s only fair! I want to see these places with my own eyes! And then you can take me to sushi. It’s the way it’s gotta go, Murphy. I keep bringing you to bagels and other food.”

Edward wants to argue the point, but Étienne is right. In any event, he highly doubts Étienne will actually ever come out to visit him. Still – Étienne is an unpredictable fellow, he might just surprise him.

“All right, all right – hand over the other container now.”

Message de Eddy

Questions

1. Do you want sushi?

2. Do you plan on coming home at some point?

Étienne looks away from his easel when he hears his phone chime. He puts down his paintbrush and stretches, before walking over to the worktable where he’s abandoned his phone. It’s been one of those days where he’s locked himself up in the studio and lost all sense of time. He’s been working on a new painting of his – something for his latest series and figured he’d use the day to get a head start. He’s been at it for hours now and his stomach growls in hunger at the idea of sushi. He knows he could use a break. It feels as though his head has been swimming in turpentine, so maybe a change of air is good.

Message from Teddy <3

1. Always.

2. Only if you’re there as well <3

Edward grins to himself when he gets the message from his spot on the kitchen counter. He taps out an answer on his phone and tries to rein himself in from stealing yet another piece of sushi from the already open plastic container. He could eat the rest and pretend there weren’t as many containers, but he knows better.

Message de Eddy

Perfect. I may or may not have a large amount of sushi and I figured I could be nice and share, instead of stuffing my face in it, since you’ve been ignoring me for the past several days. Therefore, if you want any, you better get your butt here. Or I will finish these off by myself. You know I can. (Please, don’t let me do that again. It’s not worth it.)

Étienne laughs; his partner is a gift, honestly. Edward is always good for a laugh and always knows when and how to pull him out from his intense work periods when he somehow or other manages to neglect all basic needs such as food and sleep. It’s as if he has a sixth sense for these things.

Étienne rinses off his paintbrush and tidies up a bit. He figures he might as well take a break and call it a day. He can drive Edward crazy and work on some more coloured sketches instead, just to get a rise out of him.

He shuts the lights and then heads out, letting the change of light and air wake him up some from the smell of paint and turpentine he had been in. (Ventilation only went so far at times, even if it hadn’t been that bad and the patio doors had been open.)

Étienne makes it home in less than three minutes and lets himself fall to the bench by the door before removing his shoes and slipping on his slippers. Of course, there’s already jazz music playing and he’s not even surprised. Edward is a giant softy and likes to set up these things for him. He’s come to associate a nice night in with the playlist of jazz music Edward has collected over the years and more often than not, Étienne has been surprised by the rather large collection Edward has garnered with time. It’s even gotten to the point where sometimes, Edward will surprise him with news about a jazz band that he used to follow once upon a time, as if Edward has kept up with them over these long years. (There have been times when Edward has informed him about bands that he no longer cares about.) (Étienne hadn’t had the heart to tell him that he didn’t follow them anymore. Edward had looked ecstatic. Étienne didn’t want to ruin that.)

Edward hops off the kitchen counter and comes to greet him instead, before helping him over back to the counter.

“I didn’t know we were having people over,” Étienne says as he accepts a hand from Edward to get onto the counter. There are at least six containers of sushi and one has at least a piece missing from it.

“I just ordered our favourites and I figured you’d appreciate lunch tomorrow.” He doesn’t sound apologetic and neither does he sound guilty. Instead, he’s defiant, daring Étienne to call him out on his brilliant plan. Étienne rolls his eyes, amused, and fond by Edward’s antics. This must have cost a small fortune, but he supposes that’s not his problem.

He shakes his head for good measure and Edward gently shoves at his shoulder.

“Do you want free sushi or not?”

Étienne answers by reaching over for one of the containers and offers first pick to Edward as a peace offering. Edward nods, pleased, and takes a piece he’d been eyeing since the container had arrived. He then motions for Étienne to join him.

There are no chopsticks and there is no need for much conversation. There’s a perfectly good set of chairs and a very sturdy table they could use, but the kitchen counter makes it all the better, especially when they’re sitting at it. They’re tranquil, pleased in each other’s company and the whole setting helps enhance the flavours of the now very familiar sushi. It’s good, still, and it hits the spot.

Étienne still swings his legs out of habit and Edward stills it with his foot for a moment, before leaning in close. Étienne stops and lets him have the moment for the time being. Even after all these years, this is still the best way to eat sushi, in his humble opinion.

“You know,” Étienne starts to say when they start picking at another box, “Forget lunch; I’d rather have these for breakfast with you tomorrow morning.”

Edward looks at him for a moment and then grins, soft and pleased, “There’s just something about leftover sushi on the day after.” He adds. Étienne nods and steals the next piece, before Edward can get to it.

“Weirdo,” Étienne says, mouth full, grin wide.

“Your weirdo.” Edward corrects.

Étienne smiles at him, soft and sweet, and oh so very pleased. “My weirdo,” He agrees.

“We make a good pair of weirdoes.” Edward says after a lapsed moment of silence, once they’ve slowed down on the intake of sushi.

Étienne leans his head on his shoulder as an answer and they fall quiet once again in the knowledge of the statement. They remain seated on their kitchen counter, sushi boxes littering the place for a while longer, before they’ll get stacked away in the refrigerator, and then eaten the following morning at that strange but delicious consistency they both like. They’ll sit beside the Butterdome butter dish Edward had brought back from Edmonton that one winter and will remain hidden behind the refrigerator door filled with magnets of all the strange but wonderful landmarks of both Montréal, Edmonton and all the other wonderful and sometimes strange cities they’d visited over the years.

It doesn’t matter what Étienne’s sister thinks, but when they’ll next head over to Edmonton for a visit, Edward knows Étienne will find another magnet to add of his favourite “Talus Valley.” They’ll stop by Kyoto, the place Edward had mentioned ages ago, like they always do when they visit together, and they’ll order too much sushi, like they always do. They’ll say they need to try other places – Étienne will go so far as to find all the worst rated places they could go to, but in the end they’ll stick to their tried and tested. There’s just something comforting in the knowledge of familiarity that they’ve both come to love with time.

FIN

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