#i don’t sense any pity or self-congratulating either

[codenamesazanka]

I do love that he’s so blunt about these other kids and himself, so candid about the facts. Yeah, all the other kids thought they were losers and they had no friends. So I played with them. I did a nice, good thing.

#i don’t sense any pity or self-congratulating either? #he’s just completely matter-of-fact about it #shigaraki is the same #‘this is my league and we’re all no-good scum. but if anything happens to them i will kill everyone in the world. everyone.’ #shigaraki tomura #Shimura Tenko #nalslastworkingbraincell #bnha #mha #heroaca

[comfortwriting]

Unbreak My Heart - F.W

Fred Weasley X Reader Part 2 of ‘Call Out My Name’, inspired by the song ‘Unbreak My Heart’ by Toni Braxton.

Part 1 , Part 3

About: Fred realises he has everything wrong. His heart aching for the reader after pushing her aside for someone else, he searches for her to apologise for what he’s done and to admit his true feelings for her.

Theme: Heartache, sadness, moving on, relationships, rumours.

Warnings: mentions of raw emotions, *incredibly light* smut, depression, body image issues and swearing.

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Come back and bring back my smile Come and take these tears away I need your arms to hold me now The nights are so unkind Bring back those nights when I held you beside me

The first thirteen months without Fred were the worst. You couldn’t face visiting Weasleys Wizard Wheezes no matter how many times George asked in his letters which you ignored. You couldn’t go into Diagon Alley without hearing news about The Weasleys - more importantly, the news about Fred and his darling; they were now engaged.

You kept to your bedroom, crying to sleep every night, looking through all the pictures you had taken of and with Fred over the years that you were with him. Letters you had written to him laid scrunched up all over your floor like an author going mad over a sticky, confusing, part of the story - but that was exactly what this was. 

Everywhere you went as you entered Diagon Alley, you were forced to listen to the news over and over again that the shop was a success. You wanted to congratulate George, but after ignoring him for so long you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pen to reach out to him.

Too afraid to let anyone in after the damage Fred inflicted on you, you didn’t bother meeting anyone new.

Plenty of people offered and even your sister tried to match you up with a friend of hers from work, but you declined and allowed Fred’s damage to take over you.

You only left the house for work which was torture enough as you worked with Percy at the Ministry. You ate one meal a day which was an apple on your lunch break. You didn’t dream of moving out despite your parents encouragement and you simply just collapsed in on yourself whilst your family constantly complained about Fred, swearing that you chose the wrong twin.

Although you hated Fred - or at least convinced yourself that you did - you still thought about him every single day, and at bedtime you would envision yourself back on his sofa in his arms underneath that scratchy patchwork blanket you shared many memories under. 

Laying awake staring at the ceiling, you took a deep breath. It had been over a year. You couldn’t go on like this. You needed to claim your life back, one step at a time. Sitting up in your bed, you grabbed the last of your parchment and leaned it against an old book. Dipping your feather quill into your ink pot that rested beside your bed next to the framed picture of you and Fred, you wrote to George.

You began apologising for not replying and for not visiting the shop, explaining why, and asked how everything was going - you missed your friend and it became suffocating to ignore him reaching out.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart My heart

It had been another five months since you wrote your letter to George and you were still waiting for a reply. You told yourself that perhaps he got too busy with the shop or he just didn’t want to mend things after you ignored him for so long. Either way, you didn’t ponder on it, sprayed yourself with some perfume, and got ready to leave for your third date this week.

George wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. He truly was too busy with not just everything at the shop, but also helping Fred plan out this so-called wedding and engagement party that came out of nowhere. He planned to write back but time got the better of him, he knew you wouldn’t take it personally.

“Oh look at you!” your sister grinned, “Same guy?” she asked enthusiastically. 

“No,” you shook your head and grabbed your coat, putting it on, “I don’t see the same guy twice if the spark isn’t there.”

Your sister smiled to herself and told you to have a good time. You enjoyed yourself temporarily until you remembered Fred Weasley and what he did. He was the reason why you decided against seeing the same person twice. If there was no chemistry during intimacy you moved on. Speed dating was the perfect temporary aid you needed at the moment.  

And just like Fred and his fiancé, word got out about you and how desirable you were. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you started looking after yourself and forced yourself into the limelight. Even if it didn’t result in finding your true love, you still wanted to have fun along the way.

Your parents went to The Leaky Cauldron, and just as they were leaving, they bumped into Molly and Arthur Weasley. Your parents flinched at first sight, but swallowed the anger they had towards their son Fred.

“Oh Mr and Mrs Y/LN! what a lovely surprise to see you!” Molly chirped up. George turned his head and stood up to greet your parents. Unlike Fred, they loved George.

“And you.” Your father replied, his voice monotone.

“We haven’t seen your daughter for ages. We missed her last summer, please ask her to come and see us. George misses her and it’s our Freddie's engagement party tonight!” Molly babbled on, pointing to George when she mentioned him and Fred.

Molly and Arthur loved you coming over to the burrow. They loved you even more seeing how happy you made their son. In their eyes you brought out the best in him. On the other hand, they weren’t keen on the girl Fred decided to marry, she was inconsiderate, selfish and didn’t know what hard work was - she was handed everything she ever wanted, the exact opposite to you.

Your fathers face flushed with frustration. Didn’t they know why you never came around anymore? Were they not aware that Fred was the reason she screamed and cried every night for over a year?

Your mother hesitated but decided against holding back. She liked the Weasley family, but she couldn’t allow Fred to get away with what he had done. 

“Maybe you should ask your darling boy, Fred. Or maybe George will tell you, he’s the decent one of the two.” 

Your mother said no more and stormed out of the packed pub, your father trailing behind nodding a goodbye to George. Molly and Arthur stood there speechless and looked over at George, demanding that he tells them what happened as soon as they arrive home when everyone has gone to bed.

Fred felt strange throughout the whole party. He didn’t feel happy like he thought he would - he hadn’t been feeling happy for the past five months. Something in his life just didn’t feel right and he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong -waking up next to his girlfriend made him feel sick and he realised how stupid he was thinking that getting engaged would make everything better.

Molly, Arthur and George sat at the dining table when everyone else was in bed. “George you better tell me what happened, now!” Molly hissed in a low whisper.

George spilled absolutely everything, from beginning to end. As much as he loved his twin, he didn’t shy away from any details even if they showed Fred for exactly who he was, and the awful things he did. Molly and Arthur were outraged at their child's behaviour. Molly had to restrain herself at the table whilst she sobbed into her hands.

Far away, you panted heavily as you came down from your high with your date. Unmounting him, you laid beside him in his bed. He took off his condom and breathlessly offered taking a shower with him. You accepted his offer knowing that you could go home straight after, you wouldn’t need to stress about hurrying in the morning to get to work on time. 

Take back that sad word goodbye Bring back the joy to my life Don't leave me here with these tears Come and kiss this pain away I can't forget the day you left Time is so unkind And life is so cruel without you here beside me

Work at the ministry became more tolerable over the next six months. Percy smiled at you more often and you couldn’t understand why. You didn’t look into it and simply smiled back. You flourished even more within the same time - you had got into a relationship with the one night stand you shared a shower with. The curly haired bookshop assistant grew on you and you didn’t mind, he often made you laugh so hard you burst into tears.

Whilst you were finding yourself, running with the wind, Fred had fallen apart completely. He overheard George spilling his guts, and finally realised why everything felt so wrong, why he wasn’t happy. You were the missing piece. His guilt and mistakes were eating him alive. He broke off the engagement - to his parents delight - and vowed on finding you and making everything right. George felt relieved that he had his own room because Fred’s cries were enough to make anyone feel ill.

Fred slept with the Irish scarf he bought you from the world cup, and he kept the patchwork blanket on his bedroom, refusing to bring it back downstairs.

Memories flashed back to him, the two of you in the tent, “Oh Fred are you sure?” you asked him as he put the scarf around your neck.

He chuckled and kissed your head, “Anything for you, my love!”

Then memories from the sofa flooded in, hurting him even more. 

“I’m so in love with you,” you moaned, cupping his face while he made love to you. 

He shook his head and came to his senses, angry that he put such a lovely girl in the firing line.

“Percy, Y/N works with you doesn’t she? Can you tell her I need to see her.” He later begged.

Percy refused, “That would be an incredibly inappropriate thing to do in the work place!” 

Fred wrote you letters, but you never got them. The family refused to lend him their owl and Fred couldn’t understand muggle post. Getting desperate, he would stay in Diagon Alley trying to see where you were lurking after work, asking strangers if they had seen you, showing them the only picture he had of you.

“It’s going to be perfect here!” Your mum smiled looking around your large half unpacked apartment, “When will he be moving in?” She winked.

You finally saved up enough money to move out and you were planning on asking your boyfriend to move in if things continued to run smoothly. You had got your furniture, all you needed were the items left in the big green box from your bedroom. “I’ll collect them next week.” 

Feeling brave with your partner, arms linked, the two of you visited George’s shop. He had sent you a letter letting you know when Fred wasn’t working and you felt confident that you wouldn’t bump into him.

“I’m so proud of you!” You cheered for George, giving him a hug.

After paying for your bits and bobs you previously saw in the design stages, you walked out of the shop and bumped into someone. Looking up to apologise, you realised it was Fred. He stared at you - both of you mirroring each other looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

You shook yourself out of the immediate shock Fred was still stuck in. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, walking away, your boyfriend asking what his problem was.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart

Another week went by and Fred was going stir crazy. Customers in his shop who knew you both were whispering about how happy you were now. Him and George argued when he discovered the letter between you two.

Fred rifled through the stacks of letters and found your parents address where you no longer lived. He got on his broom, not caring if muggles saw him, and landed on the roof. He crawled down to your window and gave it a tap with his wand with a soft “Alohomora”.

Expecting to find you asleep, he discovered only disappointment that your room laid bare and empty. The bedside table had nothing but a folded photo lying face down on it, the bin on the floor full of parchment balls.

He unfolded the photo and put a hand over his mouth, seeing you and him moving during your morning walks. He bent down and grabbed a ball from the bin, unravelling the parchment. He cried reading the letters you had written him but never sent. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the green box on your bed and he went through it, more tears spilling down his face.

“I’ll just grab my box!” He heard you yell, walking upstairs. 

Without giving him time to hide, you opened the door, revealing him standing in front of you. You held back a scream of shock and took a deep breath shaking your head, “Fred please - you can’t be here.” 

Fred shook his head and cried, “I’m so sorry, for everything,” he made his way closer to you, “I got everything wrong, her, everything.”

Not wanting your parents to see him, you closed your bedroom door and locked it, your heart pounding. Tears fell from your eyes, the walls you put up against him crashing down, your hate for him melting away and your love for him surging inside.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him through your cries.

Fred walked over to you slowly not wanting to scare you off. This was the closest you had been to him since you bumped into him at the shop. The young man you fell in love with wrapped his arms around you, tangling his hands in your hair. You stayed still with your hands by your side.

“I’m in love with you.” Fred choked out between sobs. He pulled away and gently put your hands in his, your tear filled eyes getting lost in his.

“Fred- I can’t!” you shook your head crying, feeling weak at the words he said and the ones you replied with. 

“Please,” Fred begged getting onto his knees, staring up at you, “please let me make things right.”

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Bring back the nights when I held you beside me

“I think you look stunning,” Fred complimented you, soot spread out all over your nose.

You chuckled and sneaked a kiss on his lips, only to hear a loud thud on the desk in front of you.

“One weeks’ detention for the two of you,” Professor Snape snarled, “and fifty points will be deducted from your house.”

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many, many nights Oh, un-break my

“What do you mean you’re taking her instead of me!” you freaked out, throwing your earrings at the mirror. 

“It’s just a bloody Yule Ball. Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything.” Fred argued.

“Well it does to me!” you argued back, “I’m guessing I was just your back up plan if she said no.” 

Un-break my heart, oh baby Come back and say you love me Un-break my heart, sweet darlin' Without you I just can't go on

Fred held you in his arms, the two of you watching the muggle horror movie in amazement. You nuzzled your head into his neck, planting kisses on it softly. Fred let out a soft shaky moan, his hand making its way up your thigh. “We’ll need to be quiet,” he whispered, pulling your underwear off.

Can't go on (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my) (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my)

You stared at Fred, still trying to process what he said. You pursed your lips and stayed quiet getting lost in your thoughts. Fred noticed you were in shock and lost for words. He pulled out the scarf from his coat pocket and walked over to you, wrapping it around you.

You stared up at him, getting lost in those gorgeous eyes that you missed so much. You looked down at his lips and kissed him impulsively.

He kissed back.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #imagines #oneshots #HP #Weasley #weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #george weasley

[pieces-by-me]

Little Mouse

Hello there! This is my piece for @youbloodymadgenius​ 1k Writing Challenge!! I originally wanted to post this sooner but I took too much on my plate and have now so many things to write that I put myself under pressure. The idiot I am.🤦🏼‍♀️

But anyway: Congratulations again on this huge step!! You deserve every single one of us and even more and I’m sure your blog will only grow bigger and better. I really hope you enjoy this and that you have an amazing day/night ✨

Words: 2827

Summary: Ivar’s night before the big war will be interrupted by a visitor from his past. Someone he has almost forgotten.

Prompt: I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. - A Streetcar Named Desire

Warning: mention of death, I think thats it. English is not my first language

He was standing over the table, browns lined in though. Somehow he had to do it. He had to beat Alfred and win this final battle. The battle over Wessex.

Ivar was in pain. Not only his brain, form constantly thinking of strategy upon strategy, but also his legs. They were killing him. The constant raining, the fog and the gloomy atmosphere shrouding Wessex into a climate that did not agree with Ivar. They hurt worst then on the coldest day in Kattegat or the snow filed days of Kiev. Maybe it was because Kattegat was his home and he was just too used to that. But this was close to agony. The wind blowing through his tent was not helping either.

Not finding the answer he was looking for after watching over the maps of the terrain he was done with it for the night. Tightly gripping his crutch while limping to his bed he made his way carefully from one side to the other. Sitting down he reached for his cup of mead and took a big gulp, hoping the warming liquid would help his sour mood and hurting bones. And after a couple of more cups he felt the familia tingling of warmness traveling through his body. It didn't stop his legs from causing him pain, but at least it was now more tolerable. With this he was able to take off his braces. Making him hiss and grimace as the metal left his limps. 

But soon the soothing feeling came from not having his legs being trapped and pinched together that the hissing turned into a long sigh. Finally he could lay down and rest. His men and the one from Harald would want to know a plan by tomorrow but they would have to wait a bit, because he was to tired to think anymore. Something that didn't happen often. Taking of his heavy tunic and trowing it across the improvised room he closed his eyes with hoping to find sleep soon.

Ivar's hearing was always impeccable, a trait he was very proud of and something he would rub under the noses of his brothers every chance he would get. This time his hearing was the reason he woke up from a deep sleep. Someone was sneaking through his tent. And it was not his brother. That klutz was always too loud walking around. So who was mad enough to creep through his quarters while he was still in them? Someone with a death wish that was certain. He used his the arm he lay on to travel towards his hidden knife under his pillow. Something every son of Ragnar would sleep with. But just as his hand neared the edge of his pillow a voice filled with taunt went through his tent.

“I took your knife so you don't have to search for it.”

What in the name of Odin?

Not only was this voice teasing him, him a feared Viking throughout all the lands, but it was female and close to giggling. No use in trying to be stealthy he turned around to face this intruder and sat up.

When he looked at her he saw that she was a meek little thing. Thin, sickly and clothed in scraps. Standing there, proud and smiling, three meters from his bed. Twirling his knife in her hands. There was a glimmer of triumph in her eyes but something else sparkled alongside it. Admiration?

Pushing the initial shock away, Ivar slapped a smirk on his face and looked her deep in the eyes. Something about them was nagging on his brain. Like he had seen them a long time ago, or in a dream. But before he could say any words or threads she beat him to it.

“You are Ivar the Boneless.” It was definitely admiration.

“It has been a long time since I have seen you.”

That made him stutter a bit. So he had seen her. But when?

“I'm not surprised you don't remember me. I am a nobody. But I saw you. Way back when we both were little. Or at least younger, I never truly grew taller.” A sort of giggle that was close to sadness left her lips at her words. But it wasn't a wonder that she didn't grow. How could a body grow when there was never anything to feed it?

It was quiet then after her words. Ivar was in a state of remembering. Trying to pinpoint where he could have seen her. When they were younger and he was in Wessex, otherwise it wouldn't make any sense. She was Saxon, or at least not from his home. That could only have been when he was captured with his father by King Ecbert. His heart ached at the memory of his father. So it had to be there, but how could they have met, he was in in a cell or locked in a room for the whole ordeal.

A feeling like letting lose of a taut arrow whizzed through his brain as he glanced at her awaiting eyes again.

“You were crawling behind your father into the first ring of the city when....”

“You are the little mouse.” His voice was louder when he interrupted her.

For a moment she looked at him in pure amazement. Bewildered almost as if shot with his arrow. But then seconds went by and her looked formed to something of confusion.

“Mouse?”

“The little girl behind a barrel, hiding away. Tiny thing with huge eyes that stared at me. Like a mouse looking out of its hole.”

“So you really remember me?” Her voice and face went back to amazement and in her pure joy she took a step towards him. Almost as if not even realizing that she did. But he definitely saw it.

“The great Ivar the Boneless knows who I am.” Her voice was small but proud. Almost as if it wasn't a sentence meant for him to hear.

Ivar didn't know how he should react to this. He could yell for his guards, making them run in here and taking her a prisoner that broke into his tent. Probably punished and killed. But something held him back. He was intrigued of this women. Truly she was like a mouse. Small as one. Quiet as one. And also sneaky if he thought about it. Her hands must be quick and steady too if she was able to grab the knife quite literally from under his head. He decided to entertain her joy, and it had definitely nothing to do with the fact that she called him 'the great Ivar the Boneless.'

“Well since you know who I am apparently, tell me your name. Or do you want me to keep calling you mouse?” A self-satisfied smile grew on his face.

“I don't have a name and mouse sounds better then what I was called before.”

That again made him stop for a second. “You don't have a name? Don't be stupid, everyone has one.

“Don't call me stupid.” She held his knife steadily in her hands and this time her voice was void of all emotion. “My mother was crazy when I was born and the time I grew up with her so she called me by a different name every day. And after she died no one was there to give me one. So yes, I don't have one.”

“Well then I just have to call you Mouse then don't I. You looked small back then. And as you said there was no one there to help you. So how did you survive?” His smile turned into a bitter smirk after her mood change.

“Why do you want to know?”

“A person breaks into my tent at night, steals my knife and reveals that we already met once in this life. Why wouldn't I want to know how they did all that?”

Ivar could see that she was hesitating for a moment. But after thinking everything over, the good outcomes and the bad once, she started walking around in his tent. Went from one corner to the next and kept her eyes sweeping over every little thing that she could see.

'Probably looking for something to take with her' Ivar thought with a bitter kind of chuckle.

“I had to live on the streets since I was 5. Mother died and the men who owned our little house threw me out. Didn't need another mouth to feed, he said. So I had to learn how to live on my own. I was small and young so some people pitied me and gave me scraps of food of small measly coins. But I could also run real fast so I could rush around people and take things from them before they knew.”

There was more. He knew it, he could hear it in her tone.

“You said that Mouse was better then the name before, so what was that and who called you that?”

Her steps staggered for a tiny bit and he new that he was right.

“There was a men who helped me.” She was still looking at everything except Ivar. “He helped me, not out of kindness but because he saw that I had talent.” She wiggled her fingers at him and her lips turned up at her words. “I don't know his real name, he never told me but he always called me Pest. So I called him Oldie. He hated that.” Tiny laughter slipped out of her mouth and when she skipped through the room he caught her eyes for a second, seeing that she was in a memory.

“So I would say Mouse is better then Pest wouldn't you?”

Her eyes found his at her question and he only nodded. “So he helped you stealing?”

“I didn't only steal things you know? I sat out in my alley and begged. And I tried to find work. But no one wanted my help. How would anyone want me. I'm not strong and Oldie always said I have to big of a mouth. I can't keep it shut. And I needed training at the beginning. Had to run away a lot of times to escape the guards when people saw me.”

The smile that was threatening to grow on Ivars face was quickly pushed back down. He hadn't decided yet if he would let her go or not.

“For a long time in my life I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. I had to be lucky.Waiting that people took pity in me. I had to be patient and hungry for most of my days. But then I heard stories of you. People talked about the sons of Ragnar and even after I left York a couple of months after I saw you, I still listened to the people when they talked about you. How you avenged your father and later took York. How the cripple that I saw crawling around was now walking and riding a horse.”

Not even he noticed her standing beside his bed. He was too compelled by her words and the admiration that was back in her eyes that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

“But after hearing your stories. The stories of Ivar the Boneless and how he conquered and fought and of how he became King I realized that I didn't want to depend on anyone but myself anymore. If you could rise up to such a degree I didn't want to stay where I was” She sat down on his bed. Right next to him.

Never had he imagined that he would inspire someone in such a way. Raising fear and misery. Making people scream when they heard stories of him. Having poets sing about his conquests and destructions. All that was more logical then the admiration he got from this women before him. Confusion showed on his face.

“You knew that I could kill you the moment yet you stepped into my tent. But still you came.”

His question was met with a nod. Her eyes piercing his.

“You did not come here to steal my things did you?” After looking at her hands he added with a smirk. “Well except my knife.”

She smiled and and nodded her head again when she looked at the mentioned knife in her hands. Tightening her grip she slowly moved her hand towards him as if she wanted to give it back to him. He didn't react to her movements.

“I just wanted to see you again. You haven't left my mind for a long time.”

Her innocent honesty touched his heart in a strange way. She did not come to steal. She could have even killed him with his own knife. Gods she sat herself right next to him even though she knew that he could probably crush her like a bug with his bare hands. Still she risks her life just to see him one more time. To see the person that gave her hope all her life. Hope for something better. Hope that even a person that has to crawl though the dirt can become someone great.

Not knowing what he should do with her words and the warmness that spread though him all of a sudden he asked her the first thing that came to his mind.

“Where is Oldie?”

Bemusement at his question and sadness for her upcoming answer mixed on her face.

“I killed him.”

Shock and a slight silver of panic made itself known inside Ivar's head. Maybe he should have taken the knife back. But before it could grow bigger she continued.

“He was caught in a bear trap when we moved around. His wound did not get better so one night he asked me to end his pain. And I did.”

His panic subsided but with it grew a kind of sadness. Empathy maybe. He saw that her hands started to tremble just a tiny bit so he enclosed her small cold hands with his larger warm once.

The trembling stopped and a gasp was heard though the tent. She looked at their hands and took in his warmth. The difference in size was almost comical. And when he started to speak in a voice not many people would hear, quiet but tender, she met his eyes again. Feeling the squeeze of his hands.

“You should take my knife with you. You earned it by taking it from under my head.”

She wanted to protest, further proving that she really did not want to hurt him or steal from him.

But he wouldn't let her.

“A little mouse like you should have something to defend herself. You can't always run away to escape. You have this now as a gift. So you will take it.”

His last words were stoic. He wouldn't take it back and she knew it at his tone.

“Thank you.” Now even her voice sounded like a mouse. Tiny and high.

This was the first thing someone ever gave her as a gift. The sun that was slowly creeping up the horizon fell into his tent and with the new small form of light in it he could see that her eyes were shining again, this time with unshed tears of gratitude.

“Now run along little mouse. The sun is rising and you need to escape before the cats awake.”

He squeezed her hands one more time and then let her go.

Standing form his bed she did not broke the gaze they shared. Even when she made her way closer to his desk she still looked at him. Only now he could see the tiny gab under his desk. The one she probably sneaked her way into.

“Goodbye Ivar.”

“Goodbye little Mouse.”

“Hopefully I can see you again one more time. See if you still remember me then.”

“Oh I'm sure I will.”

With his last words her smile was as blinding as the upcoming sun. Oh yes he would not forget her.

She turned around reluctantly, bend down to the ground and crawled through the hole. The tent was empty again.

Ivar had to laugh. She really was a mouse. Sighing he laid back down, knowing that it was no use in trying to sleep again. He was wide awake and soon his brother and Harald were up to further discuss their plans. He really hoped that after this battle their paths would meet again. That he could talk to her more and learn more about her life.

But for now he had to win against Alfred. After that he could think of his little mouse again.

————————————

Let me know what you thought! Feedback is really appreciated✨ have a nice day!

#history vikings #vikings #youbloodymadgenius1kcelebration #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar fanfic #mywork

[pfreadsandwrites]

Congratulations on 100 followers once again!! you're a beautiful writer and i know you'll have so many more soon enough!! ❤️ okay sooo for the celebration thingy can i request "are you flirting with me?" with kakashi? 😩 I'll leave all the specifications upto you and take as much time as you need there's no hurry at all!

100 follower celebration

Omg thank you so much!! I’m sorry if this is crappy ahah I really struggled to start it and also i am terrible at flirting but so are these two dorks!!!

Also through writing this I realised that I am not that good at writing when it’s a) something light-hearted b) second person. BUT I’M STILL GONNA TRY. Also this is longer than I intended but largely because I didn’t know how to introduce the flirting without it being longer... The other ones I write won’t be this long (i hope!) Also I feel like this is really terrible, I’m sorry T.T

warning: changing povs cuz i am stupid!  1.3k words.

taglist: @allthingskakashi @ibukiirisha @datblobbyfish @praisingkuroosbedhead @madaras-housewife @cinam00n @enchantedpendant

56. Are you flirting with me?

You let out a sigh - all too common a sound for you these days - and stared hopelessly at the flood of paper at your feet. Everywhere and anywhere, covering the entire cross-section of the hallway so neatly that you were tempted to just leave it there.

Of course, you muse bitterly. This was exactly what you needed. Being dragged back to the hospital on your one day off after having to work your ass off for a week - that wasn’t enough.

Neither was being tricked into taking the fall for one of the medical ninja who’d somehow fucked up the most basic procedure possible - that hadn’t been enough either.

And being lumbered with all the paperwork that was supposed to be the work of your underlings (normally humility would stop you from admitting it, but your patience was running thin) - of course, that wasn’t enough.

But dropping ever sheet of every document that you’d painstakingly and meticulously organised and filled out? This had better be enough, for your sake - and for the sake of anyone who’d have the misfortune to encounter you today.

You carried on gazing at the mess in front of you - praying that the sheer hope of your will would wish it out of existence.

You closed your eyes. You waited. You opened your eyes. Your own scribbles greeted you mockingly, and you could pinpoint whereabouts you lost your motivation on your handwriting.

So much for making it disappear.

You hunched your shoulders in defeat, and fell to your knees. Your tired fingers got to work, gathering the paper. Your head and eye sockets ached in tandem, more and more with each sheet you picked up. It just wasn’t fair. All this work you were doing, that you weren’t even supposed to be doing, thanklessly - and for what? You didn’t have time for friends, for yourself - you barely even washed your hair last night. Caught up in your own self-pity, it took you a minute or two to notice that you weren’t actually picking up your paperwork anymore - it was being handed to you.

You frowned at the hand in front of you, your weary brain attempting to make sense of the present. You recognised the hand - it was a man’s hand, a shinobi’s hand, adorned with fingerless gloves, large, strong-seeming - though subtly so, to the point where you could overlook it easily. You studied them a few moments longer when it finally hit you. These were Kakashi’s hands. You’d noticed them many a time before. On the rare occasion you were sent on a mission, or most commonly when he’d end up back here after completing one, but his hands had left an impression on you. Many things about him left an impression on you, if you were being completely honest with yourself.

But you didn’t like to be completely honest with yourself. The realisation brought you back to the present, where you suddenly remembered that you’d just been gawking at this man’s hand, silently, while he’d been holding out something for you to take. Shit. You felt your cheeks heat up, and took the paper quickly.

“Sorry! Thank you!” You said quickly, looking at the paperwork, before finding the courage to ignore your embarrassment and blink back up at your helper. Kakashi just glanced back at you curiously - well, that’s what it seemed like, through his one visible eye.

“Something wrong, Y/N? You seem a little… spaced out,” Kakashi said slowly, and you felt scrutinised under his gaze. The smooth tone of his voice didn’t help cool down the heat in your cheeks, either. Good thing you did manage to wash your hair last night, though you were sure your exhausted mood wasn’t doing you any favours physically.

“Sorry. Overworked. Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” you explained, and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. He’d been discharged yesterday - not that you were his doctor, not this time, and not that you checked up on him when he came in and when he’d left - no, definitely not.

Kakashi hummed, but returned to helping you gather up the papers. He didn’t offer any explanation as to why he was here - you didn’t ask directly, after all. No chance he would admit it if you had, anyway. Instead, he smiled under his mask. He hadn’t expected to see you react this way - off guard, nervous - and even though you didn’t exactly seem like you had the energy to respond positively, you still were. It was all very… adorable. “I could tell.”

“Well, yeah - I really appreciate it, but you don’t have to help. You probably have something to do, right?”

“Right.” Wait, Kakashi thought, no. How did you manage to catch him off-guard too? “I mean, no. I don’t. You look like you could use some help.”

“Oh, I’m okay, honestly. Just one of those days, you know?”

That was another thing. How you did everything by yourself, out of necessity. You didn’t seem to expect the same kindness you offered freely outwards. He smiled again, and went back to work again.

“I do know. And though I’m sure you’re okay, two hands are better than one - well, four are better than two - you know what I mean.”

You giggled, but didn’t even think to tease him further. He was always thankful for your kindness. “Okay. Thank you.”

Kakashi smiled, and gathered up the rest of the files. You didn’t seem to have to do much else after that. He seemed to hold them with so much more ease than you did, but that was to be expected. “Alright. Where am I taking these?”

He stopped you when you shook your head and tried to prise the heavy pile from his arms.

“I think I’m less likely to drop them than you are, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to argue, before you realised that he wasn’t wrong. Instead, you relented, and began leading him down the hallway. It was nice to not have to do everything for a change, and it was even nicer that it was Kakashi of all people. “I appreciate it. I really am exhausted”

Kakashi winked. “Well, being exhausted agrees with you."

You blinked back at him. What did that mean?

He paused, before his own mind went into overdrive. How were you supposed to take that? Why was he incapable of saying something normal around you? The words fumbled over in his brain as he tried to correct himself. “I mean…  You look good, even though you’re exhausted. Never mind.”

What is wrong with me, Kakashi chided himself, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard you giggle.

“Thanks?”

“You’re very welcome.” Well, he’d resigned himself to being an idiot now. At least he’d corrected himself. Somewhat. “You know, if you appreciate this, what say you return the favour for me in some way?”

“Are you flirting with me?” you asked quietly. Common sense would have dictated yes, but you still had to quell your own self-doubt.

“If you’re as busy as you seem to be, it probably won’t be likely, but…,” Kakashi continued on, before he registered your question. Suddenly he became thankful for his mask. It was a good thing you couldn’t see just how how hard he was blushing.

But you got an inkling anyway. “I could make it a little likelier. I could even return the favour this evening. But what did you have in mind? Not helping with your paperwork?” You were teasing him a little, by this point, but he didn’t mind.

“No, I meant -,” he stopped himself when he realised you were joking. “Wait. Are you flirting with me?”

You laughed, as you opened the door to your office, and Kakashi’s eyes didn’t stray from yours as he carefully placed your work on your desk. Suddenly he felt a little bit braver - and maybe he would take you up on your offer.

You didn’t feel so angry about being called in, or the stupid medical ninja (even if he was still stupid), or dropping your hours of work. Maybe this was exactly what you needed, after all.

#kakashi #kakashi x reader #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi imagine #naruto #kakashi fic #ficlet #drabble #pfwrites #ask #allthingskakashi

[sleepymarmot]

Opinion: MAG 187 doesn’t invalidate Helen’s more sympathetic moments

It is possible to interpret the episode as retconning everything the Distortion has ever said and done into a manipulation targeted at Jon, which would undo the character’s complexity and make them revolve entirely around the protagonist. The key for this interpretation seems to lie in the following exchange: 

ARCHIVIST You worked to hurt us and help us, all with the same smile, until we can barely tell one from the other. Keeping us off-balance, constantly second-guessing our own opinions of you. Never quite crossing a line we could never forgive, but never putting yourself on the line either. And when one face finally stopped smiling, you just changed the face.

HELEN Fine. So if that’s all true… why? Why would I do any of that? What’s my actual motive?

ARCHIVIST I don’t think you even have one. It’s just what you are.

But I don’t think most of what was said here is new information.

Let’s go back to season 3. Here’s how the newborn Helen Distortion explains her identity:

HELEN Michael isn’t me. Not now.

ARCHIVIST What happened?

HELEN He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me. Lost my way.

In other words, the Distortion’s modus operandi is a long, long game of cat and mouse (see also: MAG 146 Threshold). Michael got sidetracked by his (or Michael Shelley’s) revenge against the Archivist(s) and decided to actually kill the mouse. But it was unnatural for the Distortion, so it shook off the troublesome identity, and Helen was both an instrument to get rid of Michael and a continuation of what was started by him and worked so well.

ARCHIVIST A-are you still going to kill me?

HELEN No. That was Michael’s desire, not mine.

The Distortion doesn’t want to send the Archivist into its corridors. Why would it, when it’s so rewarding to misdirect and mess with him in other ways?

Now, for episode 115.

HELEN I… I’m not… I’m not entirely sure. I’m… having trouble. I don’t think I was meant to be Helen.

ARCHIVIST I’m – I don’t understand.

HELEN Neither do I. Michael was… pulling away. His anger was interfering. I don’t, I don’t think I have a choice but to be Helen. Self is difficult.

ARCHIVIST Michael, he, uh, he, he wasn’t meant to be you either, though, was he?

HELEN No.

There’s an internal conflict between Helen and the Distortion -- just like there was between Michael and the Distortion. I don’t think the new episode invalidates or undoes that. On the contrary: it restated that Michael strayed from the Distortion’s purpose, which means Helen could have done the same.

HELEN Something happened when I became ‘Helen’. She wasn’t right, she wasn’t ready.

ARCHIVIST I don’t…

HELEN Before, talking to you made Helen feel better.

ARCHIVIST You’re not that Helen!

HELEN I just want… I just want to feel better.

Helen was supposed to be a meal that replenished the Distortion’s energy. But it seems that the food was not as fully digested as the Distortion would prefer, and tried to bite back.

ARCHIVIST Wh-what? Why should I believe… a-a-any of this? You’ve told me over and over that you’re… what was the phrase? The ‘throat of delusion’? All of this is –

HELEN I have never told you a lie, Archivist. I wouldn’t dare. I, I just thought you might understand.

ARCHIVIST Uh… How could I possibly…

HELEN We’re both changing, Archivist. I had hoped, that together –

The Distortion has never lied (and now we know why). The Distortion has truly changed. Its new face genuinely wanted Jon’s company, just like the previous face had wanted him dead. But both faces interact with Jon in a way that leaves him confused and upset, because such is their nature.

In MAG 131, Helen insists that her identity is not a mask but a new but inseparable part of herself. As we now know, she is not lying: 

ARCHIVIST

You’re still wearing her face.

HELEN

Not this again. I’m not “wearing” anything, Archivist. I am at least as much ‘Helen Richardson’ as you are the ‘Jonathan Sims’ that first joined this Institute. Things change. People change. It happens.

We get a double confirmation that Helen is different from the Distortion’s previous incarnations in MAG 146, in the words of both Helen and her victim:

This wasn’t like before; there was no playfulness here, none of that malicious joy that I had always felt coming off it. Now there was just a cold hunger, a deep anger, as though I had no right to just stand there looking at it. The street was silent, but I could feel it screaming at me to open it.

HELEN (all business) Oh, well; the son, I was pursuing long before I was even Michael. And technically, I didn’t eat the old man. He passed away from terror long before I got a chance to open properly.

ARCHIVIST His son Marcus – he – he was fine when I read his father’s statement two years ago, but now, suddenly, I can’t get through to him.

HELEN No. I imagine not. I decided it was time to finish that game a few months ago.

ARCHIVIST You – Why?

HELEN Not sure. I suppose Helen didn’t have quite the same attachment to him as a project. I’m not quite as much for decades-long campaigns of subtle terror these days.

ARCHIVIST (soft) That’s horrible.

HELEN Is it? We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? (pointed) Don’t we, Archivist?

Helen Distortion doesn’t derive joy from terrorizing people for months or years with doors. That’s just food now. Now she gets the same joy from messing with people with the help of her humanlike appearance and personality.

An often-quoted line from MAG 152:

HELEN Even if it were capable of doing so, what possible reason would the Eye have to change how you feel, when it makes no difference to your actions? Helen was like you, at first. She felt such guilt over taking people. Until one day she realized she wasn’t going to stop doing it. So she chose to stop feeling guilty.

Again, the new episode confirms two things: 1) Helen wasn’t lying. 2) Helen was telling this to Jon to make him doubt his loyalties. And again, this is not new information! She laughs at his misery and confusion very openly!

Episode 157. Jon gets a shocking reminder that Helen is Just Here To Troll:

HELEN Because I have a good enough sense of what’s going on to know that it will be much more fun without my involvement! (begins laughing)

...

ARCHIVIST Just tell me what’s going on. Please.

HELEN (gleefully) Bad things, Archivist. Really bad things.

MAG 164, Helen’s first appearance in s5. There’s so much going on, let’s try to list at least some of it: she congratulates jonmartin on their relationship, immediately tries to play them against each other, cheerfully deflects all blame onto Jon and also Georgie and Melanie, admits to betrayal, announces she wants to be friends “again”, then expresses pity that Jon isn’t hostile to her enough. Absolutely everything she does is about creating relationship chaos.

MAG 166, second encounter with Helen post-Change, and she is delighted to see disagreement between Jon and Martin unprompted by her:

MARTIN Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on!

ARCHIVIST (disbelief) Sorry, what?

HELEN (surprised delight) Yes, Martin!

In MAG 177, she moves the focus of ridiculously blatant manipulation and provocation onto Basira, and also doesn’t bother to hide she enjoys scaring her “friends”:

HELEN Not interrupting anything, Am I?

MARTIN Christ, Helen, you scared the life out of me.

HELEN [Insincere] Sorry, darling.

And finally, MAG 183. By now, everyone in the scene is aware that she’s here just to get a rise out of our heroes and metaphorically eat popcorn.

MARTIN Look. Listen, I’m getting really sick of all thi–

ARCHIVIST Leave it, Martin. She’s just trying to get under your skin.

MARTIN Yeah? Well, she’s really good at it!

HELEN Aww. Thanks, sweetie. But to be honest, I’m mainly just here to see which path you choose.

Which brings us to MAG 187. We already know that Helen isn’t Jon and Martin’s “friend” as in “ally” -- she hangs out with them to provoke strong responses and sow chaos. The plot twist is that she’s not just doing it for fun, like a human would -- it is her way of avatar feeding.

The Distortion has always been a trickster. I am glad that they died this way, instead of becoming either an over-the-top villain or a reluctant hero -- before the plot could corner them into becoming one. And as Jon said, the reason Helen had to die was not her trickster nature, but the side she picked on the “Eyepocalipse: keep or cancel?” issue. 

The reveal in 187 does not contradict the information we had before, and so it doesn’t retcon or undo the complexity or character development that the Distortion had. The fact that the Distortion fed on Jon (and others’) reaction to them does not mean that they never had any motivations or thoughts beyond that. Jon says it himself: “keeping us off-balance” is not the Distortion’s motivation, it’s “who they are”, it’s the natural, instinctive way they conduct themselves. We have learned that the Distortion's behavior was Eldritch Trolling instead of Regular Trolling, that's all.

#the magnus archives #tma spoilers #mag 187 #helen distortion #blah blah blah

[spidercakes]

Here, have a high school ABO AU featuring Tony trying his best while Peter plays coy.

*

Tony knows he’s staring but he can’t help it, Peter Parker is pretty okay and he has poor self restraint. Its why he decided to disrupt shop class by squirting whipped cream into his mouth out of one of those ridiculous cans every time Hammer went to speak. Fucking priceless.

“If you stare at him harder, maybe he’ll agree to date you and sex will fall out,” Pepper says, earning a sharp laugh out of Rhodey. He gives her a high five and Tony gives them both a dirty look.

“I hope you both get an STI,” he mumbles.

Pepper snorts, “neither of us are as slutty as you so I think we’re safe,” she says, pushing a copy of Hamlet at him and he wrinkles his nose. Like he wants to read more fucking Shakespeare. That asshole one hundred percent faked his talent and none of his shit makes sense, Tony refuses to believe there’s teaching value in it so he goes back to looking at Peter.

Today he’s wearing a short white pleated skirt, thigh highs, and an oversized baby pink sweater with a fuzzy scarf wrapped around his neck just looking delectable. Tony’d like to unwrap that scarf like a fucking present, exposing the soft, pliable skin underneath and-

“Jesus Tony, you’re literally licking your lips. What is he, a fucking pork chop?” Pepper asks. “This is why omegas think alphas are useless and a burden on society,” she mumbles.

“Amen,” Rhodey adds, shrugging when Tony gives him a dirty look. “Sorry man, you know I love you but all alphas do is start pissing contests that turn into wars and expect us all to be happy about it,” he points out.

“And yet its you that wants to join the military,” Tony says.

“Unlike some rich assholes not all of us have immediate access to education money, thank you. Also Air Force, planes are cool as hell so do not insult me,” Rhodey says, flicking his fingers at Tony.

“You remind me that betas aren’t as reasonable as I like to think they are,” Pepper tells him and Rhodey makes an offended noise. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re just as dumb and reckless as Tony, you’re just better at sounding reasonable about it.”

A book slams shut to his left so Tony looks over, noting that Peter is sticking stuff in his bag and right, okay. He can do this, he can ask him out its not like he hasn’t done this a million times before. Well, not a million times but still he’s never had a problem with it until now and- Pepper smacking him gets his attention.

“Do you want him to think you’re a stalker? Because that’s how you get him to think you’re a stalker,” she says.

“Uh huh,” he says, getting up and taking off after Peter. He can do this, its not that hard and its not like he gets turned down often. Or ever.

He catches up with Peter in the hallway in front of his locker looking just as delicious as he had before, except now he’s unwrapping that scarf from his neck and his head is just tilted to the side and oh. He must notice Tony staring because he turns and gives Tony a bored look. “Do you need something?” he asks, tone also bored.

Oh dear god. Tony makes a small noise of some kind, holy hell he’s awful at this, and then tells himself to suck it the fuck up. “Um, yeah. I’m having a Christmas party in like, a week or so. Wanna go?” he asks.

Peter looks up up and down and what does that mean? “I’m Jewish,” he says, shutting his locker and walking away and no fucking way.

“Is he actually Jewish?” he asks the girl standing next to Peter’s locker. Michelle maybe? MJ? He can’t remember, but she hangs out with Peter so he figured she’d know.

She gives him a judgmental look. “You didn’t know he was Jewish?” she asks and Tony lets out an annoyed breath.

“Shit.”

*

Peter can feel the way Tony is looking at him and at this point he’s perfected playing it cool. Its not like he’s never seen this before, Tony deciding someone is the object of his affections only to lost interest whenever they showed an interest back. Peter doesn’t have any interest in being some kind of tryst so he figures maybe all those ‘play hard to get’ things might have a point. So far he’s managed to keep Tony’s interest anyway, so maybe that’s not total junk psychology anyway.

He keeps an eye on Tony in a much more subtle way than Tony does with him, only diverting his attention when Ned walks into the library. He grins, hoping that Ned’s bearing good news about Legos. “Guess who managed to wrestle the last Death Star Lego set away from a white mom crying about her kid wanting one for Christmas?” he says, looking pleased with himself.

Peter snorts, “oh my god, did she yell about you ruining Christmas?” he asks.

“Obviously but if you think for one second I feel pity for Karen’s little unvaccinated mucus machine you’ve got another thing coming,” he says, resulting in them both laughing.

“Awesome,” Peter says. “Now all we need is to get MJ to agree to come and then we can eat like, so many Oreos.”

Ned nods, probably strategizing in his head when he notices something. “Oh my god Tony Stark is walking over here,” he hisses at Peter, looking over his shoulder and damnit Ned, play it cool!

He doesn’t say that though, he just takes a calming breath and turns to give Tony a bored, maybe even a little disinterested, look. Tony only pauses for a half a second and Peter sure shit hopes this works because he’s wanted to climb Tony like a tree for like three years but he’s not about to be some hookup either. “Um, hey. So I’m having a party this weekend, not at all Christmas related and uh. Wanna go?” he asks.

Peter pretends to consider it even though he already has an answer. “I have a date with Ned,” he says, phrasing it that way on purpose.

Tony looks a little confused. “You’re dating Ned?” he asks.

“No, platonic date but he battled a white mom for Lego Death Star and I’m sure he nearly contracted measles so I’m not bailing on him,” he says.

Tony lets out a soft snort, covering his mouth as he starts laughing harder. “Congratulations on winning your battle,” Tony tells him, amused.

Ned nods, “I ruined Christmas for her kid, so I feel real accomplished. We’ll probably have time to swing by after the Death Star thing though,” he says and Peter swears to god. He turns and gives Ned a look, making sure Tony can’t see his face while he does it and Ned looks confused.

“Awesome, see you guys then,” Tony says, grinning ear to ear like he’s just won something and he hasn’t won shit, damnit!

“Dude, what the hell was that? You’ve had a crush on Tony for like, seventeen years,” Ned says, “so what’s with the look?”

Peter sighs, “I’ve been carefully cultivating a cool aloof nature and you came in here and ruined it by accepting his invitation! Now he thinks he’s won,” he says, slumping in his seat.

Ned frowns, “have you been reading bad nineties dating advice columns?” he asks.

“No, Ned. I’ve just noticed that any time Tony decides he’s interested in someone he’s not interested as soon as they’re interested and I’m trying to make myself interesting enough to keep around here,” he says. “And then you off and made me available.”

“Fine, next time I play wingman I’ll tell him about that time you got violent diarrhea at that Nandos when we went to Britain last year,” Ned tells him.

Peter lets out a panicked squeak. “Oh my god Ned, no!”

*

Peter didn’t want to go to this damn party but MJ wanted to go just to see what Tony Stark’s house looked like and honestly calling it a house is like calling a whole ass parking lot a single parking space. It takes him, MJ, and Ned all of five seconds to lose each other and another ten seconds for him to be completely lost. God damn MJ, they should have just eaten way too many Oreos and gone to sleep and then Peter would be back to having Tony think he’s unavailable and it all would have worked out in the end but no, couldn’t do that.

A hand curls around his arm and for a moment he’s relieved because he’s sure Ned found him but when he looks over its Tony. Well shit, he’s unprepared for this what the hell does he do? “You came,” Tony says, smiling wide and aw man its hard to seep his cool with Tony so close and like... actually touching him and stuff. God, he’s desperate.

“Yeah, MJ wanted to steal all your toilet paper,” he blurts out like a fucking moron.

Thankfully Tony has a weird sense of humor because he starts laughing. “That all you came here for?” he asks and Peter hadn’t paid attention to how close they were either. Okay Parker, play it cool.

He turns so he’s facing Tony and steps in a little closer, allowing Tony to move his hand from Peter’s arm to his waist as he reaches up and pulls Tony a little closer to him by the lapel of his shirt. “Depends,” he says, looking Tony over. “If you’re worth my time or not.”

Tony looks delighted as he settles his other hand on Peter’s waist. “I haven’t had any complaints,” he says.

Yeah, Peter’s heard the stories and then probably a lot of rumors. He circles an arm around Tony’s neck, “well, I’m not fond of being left cold in the morning and I’ve got a good consensus on where you stand on that so,” he says, pulling away just as fast as he came close but Tony pulls him back.

“Mm, something tells me you’ll be worth keeping around,” Tony murmurs.

“Mm, and something tells me I might want to hold out on you a little, make you beg a little,” Peter tells him, not at all anticipating the way Tony’s features cloud over with arousal and okay, he can work with that. He grins, pulling out of Tony’s grasp almost completely, “why don’t you come back when you’re prepared to grovel a little, hmm?” he says, moving to walk away but Tony pulls him back, wrapping his arms around his waist again.

“Oh, I’m plenty ready to grovel now,” Tony tells him enthusiastically. Peter happens to look over and finds Ned and MJ at the end of the hallway looking way too enthused for their own good. He turns back to Tony and smiles, “well, go on then,” he tells him, pushing him back into the room he’d come out of when he’d found Peter here to begin with.

#tony stark x peter parker #starker #alternate universe #fanfiction

[orchidbreezefc]

OKAY COOL I WAS ON THE FENCE ABOUT POSTING MY OWN EXPERIENCES IN THE KFAM DISCORD BECAUSE A POST ABOUT People Being Mean To Sage Specifically SEEMED KIND OF MASTURBATORY OR SELF-PITYING OR WHATEVER BUT IF WE REALLY ARE GOING TO STILL BE OUT HERE PUSHING THE This Server Is A Lovely Familial Community And Dissenters Are The Problem NARRATIVE EVEN NOW? HELL NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

obviously this is hard to be objective about. this stuff is a lot less concrete than my first post, a lot more based on vibes i got, which, yknow, is why it’s not in my first post. but if anyone identifies with this, if anyone sees their own experiences in this discord reflected in mine, then it’s going to be worth the worry i’m reading too much into things, or others thinking the same of me. if i can help anyone who felt like THEY were mistreated there and weren’t sure if they were reading too much into things, then. it’s worth it. especially since the M.O. in there was ‘everything’s fine and if not we’re going to MAKE IT FINE by silencing anyone who disagrees’.

a lot of talk has been done about the censorship (word used loosely, first amendment protects from the government not from the mods etc, definitely a specific suppression of dissenting ideas though) the mods have been doing--once more i suggest @kfam-tea for receipts and screenshots. not something i feel great about, but not something i have personal experience with, so i won't speak to it. see also my first post about my interactions with the creators. it touches on the dogpiling, which i'll go into more depth on in this post. you can find it [link: here].

so. the first thing in the official discord that tipped me off about the hivemind samethink phenomenon is that the whole place is distinctly frosty on the subject of samben. that’s a post all its own, one that follows through to numbers on ao3 and whatever, but i’m not here to make a ship manifesto. suffice it to say i got attached to the ship upon listening, inhaled the (suspiciously small) ao3 tag, and was stopped in my tracks at the discord server where any implication of such ship inclinations were met with silence and pointed changes of subject.

distinctly weird. distinctly unusual fandom behavior, that i couldnt even hint around shipping the two men whose incredibly profound relationship is literally the crux of the show, who have exchanged ‘i love you’s, one of whom is confirmed gay--all other romantic entanglements aside, because when have those stopped shippers? that was weird. i realize that's maybe a bit tinfoil hat of me. it could have been the goldfish-bowl big-brother-is-watching vibe from having creators in there, except, as i said, it carries to other sites.

anyway, much more concrete was when i spoke out about my thoughts on ben’s actions in ep68. again, enough there for another post, so tl;dr: he was doing his best, he’s a good guy and a good friend, but his actions DIRECTLY outed sammy to the WHOLE town, without allowing sammy to say the words himself. it was an accident, yes, but it had tangible, harmful consequences, and even accidental harm warrants apology. it should at least be... acknowledged. at some point. by the show OR the fandom. it's a disservice to ben himself to never get the chance to own up to it.

this was an unacceptable take. i tried breaching this topic and making my case twice, and got THOROUGHLY dogpiled both times. a dozen fans crawled out of the woodwork to argue heatedly, sometimes getting quite aggressive, sometimes toeing the line of outright hostility toward me personally. definitely some downright rude messages. not once did anybody speak up to defend my right to put forward my dissenting opinion, let alone SUPPORT my argument, god forbid. ben’s were the actions of a good friend, i was told. outing someone to their whole town without giving them the chance to say it on their own terms didn't qualify as harm at all, i was told, on account of ben's heart being in the right place.

still, the opinions being argued matter less than the attitudes and behaviors. people don't have to agree with me about that ep, i don't care. i do care about being given the right to, as a single person on my own, have space to make an argument without being shouted down by a dozen people. i do care about how it fit into a greater pattern of forbidding any criticism of the show, and ben in particular, who is a good friend and therefore all of his actions are good and harmless, who is our resident heterosexual unassailable paragon of purity. which might explain the samben problem--sammy/ron[/jack] was perfectly fine, even popular, but there was never a whisper of shipping ben with anyone but emily. they're Official. theyre The Perfect Couple. don't you dare challenge that (and for the most part, i didn’t dare. i quickly learned not to).

my [link: previous post] details kyle's response to these fun events, where he specifically went out of the way to follow me being shouted into silence (a result of me being driven to literal tears and shutting down rather than invite more argument) with a warm congratulations to everybody for their conduct in this discussion. because that's the kind of conversation kyle wants to specifically and explicitly praise and encourage, i guess.

anyway. this contributed to the growing sense over my time in the discord that people held a certain distaste for me but didn’t want to say anything direct. instead they talked around me, ignored me, immediately changed the subject from my messages, the whole while bestowing constant glowing compliments on each other and endlessly repeating saccharine sentiments about what a nice family type community they were, how grateful they were for the discord being such a positive space. i suppose that’s an easy impression to get when negativity is ruthlessly suppressed (and apparently outright censored nowadays) and instead of insults or, god forbid, communication with people with whom folks might take issue, they just (more or less) silently stonewall and cold shoulder them.

again, i could be misreading cues, being egocentric or tinfoil hat by reading this pattern into how i in particular was treated. either way, the fact that i was given the fandom friday shout out the week after KFAM live was definitely... strange. fishy, even. i was already mostly out the door at that point, had been for weeks--it was actually in my last few days speaking there period. i felt strangely guilty that they would dedicate a day to me when i didn’t like being there much and hardly spoke any longer. one thing’s for sure: my congratulations were fewer and more impersonal, perfunctory, and/or generic than other fans got (i kept a screenshot). i still have no idea what to make of that one, but there you have it.

p.s.: since vagues are in vogue now apparently, i might as well mention the person who's been accused of being A Problem In The Discord For A While Now, among nastier things, which definitely is not an effort to justify kyle's passive aggressive response to their untagged post which used the phrase 'death of the author', or kyle subsequently crying on twitter about death threats because apparently he couldn't be bothered to google a basic literary analysis term and thought if he was vague enough nobody would look into what was actually said. i guess he was right, if the hundreds of asspats and outcries against The Evils Of Podcast Fan Meanies were any indication.

i digress. i just wanted to testify that the fan in question was one of maybe three or four people on the server who consistently treated me nicely and acted like they liked me. and that another fan who claimed to be uncomfortable around death-of-the-author-person was the person who came the closest to being outright nasty to me when i expressed a critical opinion. make of that what you will i guess!

p.p.s.: if i never say anything more about this whole thing or the creators’ part in it, i do want to say for the record: noah james is fully exempt from all of this and remains absolutely wonderful and a whole treasure. like dont pedestalize male creators and assume them incapable of wrongdoing etc etc but i had an hour long midnight denny’s breakfast sitting across from him and he was nothing short of an angel the whole time. sweetest guy i’ve ever met. he hasn’t breathed a word about any of this drama. he may not even know it’s going on because he’s too busy being the most beautiful and talented man in america or something. i love you noah

#sage speaks #sage original post #kfam #king falls am #kfam drama #kfam critical #kfam negative #kfam hate #long post #kfam tea #ok to reblog

[writings-in-ebony]

Heritage - Chapter 1 Steve Rogers/Black!reader

Summary: With only a few weeks until his departure to college, Steve must still endure the requirements put upon him by being in the Rogers family. This included attending galas that his family hosted in order to boost their ego and flaunt their successes. Steve would rather be at home doing anything but showcasing himself as the family runt, but whatever his grandfather says, goes. 

Author’s note: Welcome to the first official chapter! It took a while to write because I was trying to figure out which direction I wanted this to go in. The reader, who is not present in this chapter, will show up soon and her appearance will be explained in that chapter’s author’s note. Likes and reblogs are always well received and I love comments and asks! Thanks again, everyone!

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: If bad language counts as a warning…

Chapter 1: 1987

Steve stood in front of the large mirror positioned over his dresser, fumbling with the sliver of silk that was wrapped around his neck. He twisted the silk every which way, not understanding why it wouldn’t take shape, and it began to frustrate him. In actuality, the entire night awaiting him was going to be frustrating. It was the annual gala his family held. A night advertised as a showcasing of the achievements of the Rogers family, but it was actually a circle-jerk filled with bloated egos, secret promises, false compliments, and all the other unsavory traits that the upper percentage held. And Steve had to entertain that nonsense for an entire night. Oh, and he was livid.

He had begged, begged, his father to allow him to miss the gala, to which his father happily obliged considering he was already ashamed at the runt he had for a son anyway. But after notifying his own father, Cashel, of the news, Jeremy quickly returned and told Steve that he was required to go due to his grandfather’s orders. Jeremy didn’t seem very happy about the news either, but Steve had no choice. He’d rather face a thousand galas back-to-back than face the wrath of his grandfather, so he faced the music and was taking it like a champ.

Seven minutes later and Steve still was struggling to tie a fucking tie. As if sensing his frustrations, Bucky appeared in the doorway and smirked at him. Bucky was Steve’s own personal bodyguard, personally hired by Cashel himself. However, it was more of a friend protecting a friend since both boys grew up and were raised together. When questioned about it, Cashel merely waved a hand and stated that “He knows you better than anyone, therefore, he should be fit to protect you from any of the dumb circumstances you always get yourself into.” Bucky thought this was the funniest thing, but Steve didn’t crack a smile.

“You need help with your tie?” Bucky offered, already stepping into the room.

“I would say no, but I’ve already waisted so much goddamn time,” Steve grumbled, dropping his arms to his side as he gave up.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Bucky pursed his lips as he mocked his friend. Steve didn’t even satisfy him with a reply. Instead, he pointed to his tie and raised his chin.

Bucky stood a head (and a few inches) taller than Steve, making Steve look like a child next to him. It also didn’t help that Steve had a soft, boyish face and his appearance made him look like an overly grown 12-year-old. So, one could imagine how flirting with the opposite sex went.

“There, done,” Bucky announced as he patted the sides of Steve’s suit jacket to smooth out the wrinkles. Steve nodded and muttered a thanks, turning back to look at himself in the mirror. He really was a poor sight. His skin was too pale, his cheeks and eyes were sunken in, and he looked too thin. But this was the usual. He was born a runt, which meant that he didn’t possess the quality characteristics that were passed down to every firstborn in his family. He didn’t have the strong build, chiseled jawline, piercing eyes, nor the basic ability to shift into a majestic wolf. No, Steve was just fucking regular. And that’s why he hated these galas because that is all his family saw him as. A regular born to a family of gods.

He really thought that when he hit the peak of puberty, age 16, he’d have a sudden change and become the wolf he always knew he could be. But it never came and now, just a little over a year later, Steve felt like it would never come.

“Hey, what’s on your mind,” came Bucky’s quiet voice. He sounded concerned; all sense of humor sucked out of his voice. Steve didn’t want to tell Buck, his pride flaring up at the sign of weakness, but he’d been feeling shitty this entire week leading up to the event. And knowing Bucky, who was also a wolf and had gotten the gift early on, he could smell the mixed emotions flowing through his friend.

“I…I just wonder whether I’ll ever be good enough,” he sighed, pushing away his pride. “And don’t say, ‘Hey Steve, it’s okay. You know your family cares for you,’ because you know that’s bullshit.” He sounded so bitter and pitiful.

“Listen, I get it. You’re upset you have to go to this thing tonight. You’ve never liked these kinds of things. But think about it. You’ll be getting shipped off to college in a few weeks, somewhat free of the gaze from your family, and you’ll have a chance to make a name for your own damn self. They don’t define you, Steve,” Bucky finished, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I know, Buck. Thanks.”

“Nah, man. You just gotta get your head in the right space and realize that you are a wolf on the inside. You might can’t shift, or do the other crazy shit, but you think like one. You’re one of the smartest men I know and to me, you act more like your grandfather than anyone.” Steve scoffed and gave Bucky an incredulous look. “What? You don’t see it?!”

Steve chuckled and pushed Bucky away, thinking this pep talk was going wayward. “Alright, Buck. I think that tie of yours is too damn tight.”

“Are you kidding? Man, don’t let me make a list of how you both compare,” Bucky started, giving Steve a look of challenge.

“Oh, so you guys are making lists now?” came a snicker from the door. They both looked up and saw it was Steve’s mother, Sara. She was giving them both a look of amusement as she walked in. Bucky, shifting into professional mode, stepped back and bowed his head at her.

“Mrs. Rogers,” he greeted. She waved a hand at him and insisted he relax. So, he did. She walked over to her son, who was still pouting, and gave him a heartwarming smile.

“Oh, you look so handsome,” she cooed. “You might just get a girl, yet!” She looked way too excited by that fact and this caused Steve to turn intensely red.

“Mam, getting a girl is the last thing on my mind right now!” he groaned, closing his eyes. “Plus, how am I going to date her when half of the women here are basically family!” He was stopped by his mother grabbing onto his arm and dragging him out of the room.

“Hush up, boy. Women have friends! Now, c’mon so we can get you set up with someone before the introduction,” Sara grinned and stared ahead determinedly. Steve whined and heard a quiet laugh behind him. He whipped his head around and glared daggers at Bucky, the asshole.

True to her word, Sara whisked Steve around the ballroom and introduced him to about ten ladies before she was called away to mingle with the wives of some other important figures. This left Steve to go finally plunder the hors d’oeuvres and sweets table at the far wall of the room. Dinner wouldn’t be served for another hour since this was the time to mingle and schmooze. So, once his tiny plate was stacked with various meats, cheeses, crackers, and tiny cookies, he placed himself at a far table and ate in solitude. Bucky, who was still on the job during this event, was briefing with the security team and keeping an eye on Steve from across the room.

About halfway through his plate, he was approached by none other than Rumlow, a neighborhood bully and Steve’s longtime enemy. He sneered as he towered over Steve’s small frame. “What’s happening, Rogers?”

“I’m happily eating my food,” Steve announced, not caring to entertain Rumlow’s shenanigans. All he wanted was to finish his cheese and crackers. Rumlow didn’t react to Steve and still had that ugly sneer plastered onto his equally ugly face.

“Well, good to know you’re eating just fine. I just wanted to let you know that I have officially been promoted to become my father’s underling. Like his assistant, with perks,” his sneer curved into a wicked smile, as if rubbing the information in Steve’s face brought him sincere joy.

Brock Rumlow and his family belonged to the Italian mafia that lived across town. His father, Vito, was a well-known caporegime and was known for his cold exterior and brutality. There were always stories and rumors surrounding the man and how he ran his section of soldiers. One such rumor, a famous one that Bucky had told Steve, was Vito beating a man to a literal pulp using only his fists and raw strength. Steve thought it was all hearsay until he had the chance to meet the man personally. He was a hulking mass of muscle, with steely eyes and a strong jaw set in a permanent grimace. Steve hated the man on the spot and made it his own personal vow to avoid him and his idiotic son whenever he could. However, Brock’s incessant need to find and torture Steve (both mentally and physically) made that vow extremely difficult to uphold.

“Congratulations, Brock,” Steve blandly complimented, hoping that playing along will speed up Brock’s departure. “I do hope you rise through the ranks and make your father proud.” He was really rubbing it in, and he raised his glass of water in a mock toast.

“Aww, Steve, no need for the fake praise. I know it’s eating you up inside to know my father actually respects me,” Brock still had a smile on his face, but it was beginning to look like his family’s signature grimace.

“Well, Brock, unlike you, I don’t need my father’s approval nor respect to have a personality. And I definitely don’t need you coming over here and acting like you won whatever imaginary competition you’ve formed in your head,” Steve waved a hand, nonchalant about the entire thing.

“Listen here, runt,” Brock growled, loud enough to attract attention from a few others. “For someone who has so much shit to say, you can’t even stand on the same level as your grandfather and father. You’re useless, pathetic, and I’m damn sure surprised you’re still here and not in the fucking garbage where you belong.” Steve felt his fist tighten its grip on his napkin. “I’ve been promoted by my father, something you’ll never have the chance of doing. Heh, I’m surprised your whorish mother is still here.”

“Enough!!,” Steve’s voice erupted, echoing off the walls of the ballroom. His voice had unnaturally deepened and he felt a boiling rage under his skin. He wanted to fight Brock, and he was seconds away from throwing a punch. However, he couldn’t act on his feelings since the entire room had gotten silent; all the attention aimed at the seething young men. “You listen here, and you listen good Brock. You can talk about me, my father, and anyone else in my fucking family. But if I ever, and I mean ever, hear you utter something other than a compliment about my mother.” Steve leaned in close to Brock, making sure only he could hear him. “I will hunt you down and kill you myself.” And with that, Steve grabbed his plate and made his way to the attached balconies. He needed some fresh air.

Conversation began once Steve reached the balcony’s doors. He was pissed. Pissed at the fact that Brock had challenged him like that, but also because he had lost his cool so quickly. He felt the rage dampen within him as he eased down onto one of the marble benches. It was cool tonight and Steve was grateful for it. It felt like a splash of cool water on his face, something he needed right now.

He placed his plate on the bench and gazed out at the gardens that surrounded the venue. There was no one out there tonight, yet, the owners had decided to cut on the lights and the fountains. All for show, he guesses.

“I saw your exchange with Brock,” came a voice from behind him. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and he turned to see it was his grandfather, Cashel. Steve straightened his back and was about to stand when his grandfather raised a hand and motioned for him to keep sitting. The man was giving him an unreadable gaze, yet he could tell Cashel was reading him like a book.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to disgrace our family,” Steve apologized. There were a lot of things he’d do but piss off Cashel was not one of them. It was a funny situation really, given that Cashel has never shown him any direct animosity. In fact, besides his mother and grandmother, Cashel is the only other family member who doesn’t look at him like he’s…waste. But he’s also never been doting. He’d just sit and stare at Steve as if he was trying to solve the most complex problem. Like Steve was hiding the biggest secret and he needed to find it out.

“Apology accepted. However, you did not disgrace our family. It’d have been more disgraceful if you’d let the boy keep hounding you like a dog,” Cashel provided, taking a seat at the other marble bench. He looked otherworldly tonight. To any normal person, they’d think that Cashel was Steve’s father, but that wasn’t the case. The man looked a little over 50, but his real age was 108. One of the perks of being a wolf was you age at a drastically slow rate, meaning Steve looked like a child and his grandfather looked like an aged model. It sucked that this was the only wolf characteristic he had, but it was better than nothing.

Steve was pulled from his thoughts when he looked up and caught Cashel giving him that stare again. All he could do was blurt out a small, “What?”

“You know Steven. You fascinate me,” the older man chuckled, rubbing his salt and pepper beard.

“How so?”

“Here I have three sons, two who are nothing like myself and one who dedicates his…basically, his livelihood to me. And out of all of them, you are the one who I can see the most of myself in.” Steve was speechless. Where was this coming from?

“And I’m not just talking about your irritating stubbornness or the way you walk, no, there are more things we have in common than just on the surface.” His grandfather’s eyes seemed to glow as they aimed straight at Steve. “How do you feel about the family business, Steven?” The question was so sudden, and Steve didn’t know whether to answer it truthfully or lie. He knew if he truthfully answered, his grandfather might not like what he has to say. However, if he lied, which was something his grandfather hated, then the consequences would be far worse. Truth it is.

“I don’t necessarily like it,” he began, gaging his grandfather’s reaction. It didn’t move. “I don’t feel the need to exploit others for monetary gain, nor do I like paying others to carry out my dirty work and leave them with the consequences. However, I know why you do it. You came to America for the sole reason of protecting your family and the nature of us, as wolves. And this is your way of accomplishing that goal. It might not sit well with me morally, but some things need to be done in order to get what you want.” He had looked down at his hands towards the end, really taking into account the sacrifices his grandfather made. When his gaze raised back up, he was greeted by his grandfather’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk. “What?” he questioned again.

“That was well-spoken, Steven.” His grandfather raised himself off the bench, straightening his jacket. “I’ll have to take what you said into consideration. Now, I must be getting back to my party. Can’t have the host gone for too long,” he chuckled and walked off the balcony. Steve was left there staring at his grandfather’s back, mouth slightly parted, wondering what the hell that was all about. He looked out towards the garden again, eyes landing on the fountain shaped like a turtle. His grandfather was strange, but the man was always ten steps ahead of everyone. He was scarily accurate about everything and he always said everyone had a place in the family. The only problem was, what place was he considering giving to Steve?

Taglist: @mygirlrenee

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x poc!reader #black!reader #poc!reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #heritage fanfiction

[proxylynn]

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #6

Chapter 6: Like any realm, there are many layers of unknowns.

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I NOW OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, WHICH USED TO BELONG TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). I ALSO OWN MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND A LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR AN ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT. SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

[SOMEWHERE IN THE ENTITY...THE ARCHIVES OF THE OBSERVER]

(Arcus 01)

I would start at the beginning, but I don't know when that was or how long ago I was banished to this prison. What I know is I've been observing and studying the inner workings of this Entity that had once been...well...an obsession. How ironic that I should be sentenced to live out the rest of my days in the very thing I sought to destroy. An obsession turned prison...as all obsessions are, I suppose.

(Arcus 54)

The atmosphere of the realms is dark and grim to say the least but also...ever changing. I've already remarked that the atmosphere is misty even foggy at times and that this fog feels alive. It seems to contain swirls and streams of memories or imprints of beings from multiple terra worlds. It is as if The Entity absorbs all the psychic energy and thoughts of beings it snatches as it journeys through the endless cosmos.

I've used the Auris to study the black fog and have come to three observations that will prove invaluable to finding a way home. First, the fog is rich in Auric particles leading me to believe this dimension is more conscious than it is material. Second, I should be able to manifest anything I am able to pull from rifts in the fog using techniques passed down from my family. Third…The Entity is far more ancient than we ever suspected back home and most of our theories and conjectures were wrong. The rich presence of Auric particles and cells suggests it is one of the Original Ones—an Ancient.

(Arcus 129)

A knock at the door and an invitation attached to a bottle of whiskey waiting for me at the foot of the door. I kneeled to inspect the invitation. "You are cordially invited to The Entity's Birthday". The Entity has a birthday? Am I losing my mind...my grip on reality...whatever that actually means here...Is this some kind of a prank by a marooned soul?

(Arcus 142)

The Entity is the cosmic embodiment of evil. Back home we witnessed how its very presence turns worlds inside out...how it seems to remove or extinguish any sense of empathy or compassion within communities...how it brings people to the brink of madness and...well...pushes them in. Now I understand it does all this in order to rip victims from their lives and have them play out an endless trial of terror that it presumably needs for its own survival. And there, perhaps, lies the key to its destruction...if an Ancient can be destroyed at all.

End the trials. Destroy its ability to sap dark nectar from victims like a cruel parasite feeding from a flower. At least the Archives affords me a better understanding of the Entity...why it moves from universe to universe, picking victims off and devouring worlds as though at a cosmic buffet. What I have yet to conclude is whether it is attracted to worlds that are brimming with darkness and madness or if it is in fact the catalyst of such darkness and madness.

(Arcus 182)

I have discovered structures within the realms of The Entity that remind me of home. It is possible others from Terra Primus have found themselves marooned within The Entity. These Survivors could have with them knowledge to free me from this tower and possibly ideas on how to escape this infernal dimension. As far as I know...we were one of the first of the many worlds to begin unraveling these great cosmic mysteries and proving that planets and solar systems were...well...alive. These discoveries led to entire paradigm shifts that unlocked for us our ability to travel from dimension to dimension. Where once we thought our knowledge was absolute...these discoveries showed us how little we actually knew about the world.

(Arcus 223)

I felt an uncanny and unseen presence in The Archives as I contemplated The Entity. I could hear the labored breathing of Killers standing outside my prison. I looked out into the dark, raging Fog and saw nothing...Either The Entity is aware of my presence and is preparing to send Killers to put an end to my plans...or the memories of Survivors are somehow merging with my personal memories and these sounds are mere side effects of overusing the Auris. In the end, it doesn't matter. If I could end The Entity I would even if it meant my own demise. My life is little to pay for the salvation of the worlds it will destroy.

(Arcus 293)

Things could have been worse. I could have been banished in a dimension without Auric Fog containing the memory imprints of countless victims, memories that keep me entertained and busy with my coin and spirit collections...and the music...the variations from parallel worlds...it helps pass the time. In a twisted way I think what I'm admitting is that I'm glad The Entity takes what it wants when it wants from the omniverse.

(Arcus 328)

There is a curiosity at the core of every thinking person. A need for knowledge from uncharted and unknowable territories, but what is discovered in those blank spaces of the abyss...of the cosmos are things far too immense to understand. Things better left unobserved lest they undermine our sanity. Better to embrace ignorance than face the truth of our insignificance in the grand scheme of it all. Against the vastness of the infinite we are mere microbes swirling in an endless, indifferent cosmic stew. I say stew...but The Entity is probably more of a blood pudding.

(Arcus 345)

I have recently wondered if Survivors realize the titanic significance of their thoughts and feelings, and of how The Entity uses them to furnish the trials. Thoughts and feelings that bring me glimpses of what it's like to have lived on a parallel world as someone else. It helps pass the time.

(Arcus 437)

I'm going to have a couple shots of whiskey from Terra 917, experience a few Memories, then head to bed. The warmth of spirits from 917 have always had a way of lulling me away. While it is true this is a cruel fate...an even crueler fate would have been to have been imprisoned here without the Auris...without the ability to manifest and create and enjoy. It feels strange as this may seem as the nexus of creation...able to travel Memories and cull from those Memories without restraint. Helps pass the time. Definitely helps pass the time.

(Arcus 557)

All planes of existence are a unique mix of conscious Auric particles and material particles. The Entity is almost certainly pure consciousness...The observable fact of existence is the material world responds to and changes with consciousness...collective consciousness is the key...The body, the home, the trial—all of it is an expression of The Entity's unconscious need for fear and terror.

The distinct observation in the specimens chosen by The Entity is that they all come from worlds that have failed to understand the metaphysical relationship between their thoughts and the world they live in. This is not by chance. It is, to my mind, self-preservation. Victims who know this truth and have honed their ability to manifest could be poisonous to The Entity. This leads me to believe The Entity is attracted to dark worlds because darkness and chaos are clear indicators that inhabitants have failed to connect the dots between the collective consciousness and the health of their world. The conclusion, then, might be that The Entity feeds off ignorance.

(Arcus 571)

Gut-wrenching shrieks echoing through the Fog disturbed my sleep. I woke up, put on some slacks, clambered to the roof with some whiskey, and hit golf balls into the abyss. There's something about hitting iron and wood into oblivion that's calming, even therapeutic. I must have hit a thousand golf balls before the yelling and screaming finally subsided and I called it a night.

(Arcus 572)

Someone left a bucket of golf balls at my door with a note: Best Balls Ever! Upon further inspection I realized they were hardened eyeballs. Fossilized eyeballs collected no doubt throughout the lost Realms. I didn't realize eyeballs could be fossilized or that they make, dare I say, decent golf balls. I actually wouldn't mind another bucket. This must be a gift from my mysterious friend.

(Arcus 632)

Through a rift I believe I culled another memory of Vigo manifesting reality within The Entity with something reminiscent of the Auris. How he came to understand the machinations of The Fog is both puzzling and inspiring. It suggests to me that perhaps this place enhances one's connections to our infinite selves throughout the omniverse.

(Arcus 723)

I pity Dwight. It's as though every action he takes brings the opposite of what he intends. Trying to help his fellow employees from an abuser he ends up shutting down the entire operation, leaving many in a far worse situation than they ever were in. Granted, spiking a narcissist's drink and watching him unravel was worth the price of admission. The many memories of Survivors struggling with narcissists have led me to the conclusion that there are only three possibilities when relating to a narcissist. Enable them. Run away from them. Or...destroy them. But beware, narcissists take everyone with them when they go down.

(Arcus 731)

Hard to tell when one day ends and another begins. The tower and the library help me cope, but it's hard to forget the truth of my situation even for a moment knowing everything I have is a lie. I have access to anything I want and yet I have nothing. The survivors continue to undergo the trials with the most brutal of killers. I continue to search the fog for the memories of those who found a way to escape. It sometimes feels like a futile search. But then again...I've got time on my hands...lots of time...

(Arcus 767)

The Auris was little understood back home, and to be fair I wasn't given the chance to explain its merits to the council. Had they taken the time to understand they would have realized that though I had no verifiable explanation for how the Auris works...I had theories, and the most reasonable was that the Auris works on the basis of the Trinitarian — the Trinitarian of Creation — a concept long held by our ancestors and forgotten throughout the ages. But the concept isn't complicated, isn't witchcraft, isn't a secret. It simply suggests that it takes two things to create a third. A father and a mother to create a child. An idea and passion to create something new, something real, something lasting and meaningful. A thought and feeling. Therein lies the best theory of the Auris and how it is able to create with Auric particles.

The failing of other pioneers back home is they believed thought alone was enough when in reality it is only half the equation...the other half is emotion, for it is feeling and passion that fuels the fires of creation. The Auris amplifies and manifests and forges something new using the mold of thought and the fires of passion. Or...I've been here too long and I'm grasping at theories to pass the time.

(Arcus 789)

Emotion. Passion. Interest. They are the spark, the undefinable force that enables creation. You cannot manifest anything if you are not filled with emotion about it. The Auris was ridiculed because the council lacked understanding. This might be the whiskey ruminating but...art is not created by thought alone but by thought and feeling working in harmony. Feeling is everything...Feeling is the most important aspect of bringing anything to life. It is the fuel that makes thought and intention reality.

(Arcus 893)

Several Survivors went mad trying to escape the trial. They had with them memories of previous incarnations so that one Survivor began dashing his head against a wall convinced he was reliving a nightmare he had just escaped. The other Survivors drowned him in mud to shut him up. It seems to me Survivors are torches growing dimmer and dimmer with every trial. Some stop to feel altogether and are doomed to The Void. Others go raving mad and need to be silenced by others.

(Arcus 968)

Strange, luminous markings left in the Trials for Survivors and Killers that help me navigate and study Rifts with greater ease. Someone is trying to reach out to me. Tampering with The Entity. Using tricks to secure my attention. To let me know I'm not alone. To let me know I'm not the only one able to manifest within The Entity. Yet the knowledge of living dimensions and Ancients is knowledge few have developed among the infinite Terra worlds within the known galaxies.

(Arcus 1032)

Jumbled experiences of brutal Killers and weird rituals of godless brutes from worlds too dark to care. I jerked myself straight out of one memory that pulled me into a cavern of bodies with an odor so repugnant I was retching for hours. I still have that horrible taste in my mouth and shudder at the thought of that smell, that horrible smell, rotting humanity. What foul creature of a man had made this festering hole his lair is beyond me.

(Arcus 1043)

I look and observe the realms of The Entity with eyes that see disharmony, chaos, fear, and terror... and yet I acknowledge I may be swayed by appearances and that there may be another truth beyond the veil and it feels futile if not absurd to try to put to words what I am seeing.

(Arcus 1118)

There's nothing like silence to drive you mad. I stared out into the endless ocean of Black Fog surrounding me and quickly realized how incredibly small and insignificant we are. Dread and despair soon overtook me and I began to realize how arrogant we were back home to try to define and describe these living cosmic entities. We thought we had figured most out. We barely scratched the surface.

(Arcus 1256)

Discovered new memories of Trapper which shed some light on his descent. The question I am asking myself is: Did The Entity begin to corrupt him before he was snatched for the Trials or was all that anger and bloodlust a result of his harsh upbringing? Either way I would not expect him to comply with another authority figure even if that figure was an Old One.

(Arcus 1513)

I have used the Auris to explore the memories of an unknown survivor who comes from a world where, from what I can gather, a cult for The Entity exists. It's not a surprise or the first time I've seen such a thing, but the memories suggest she was a detective of sorts trying to prevent a cult sacrifice before she was snatched for the trials. I'm not sure what happened to her and will have to explore the fog to unravel more.

(Arcus 1672)

I have culled imprints of a killer I have yet to observe. My best guess, judging by the nature of the crimes, is this brute is from Terra Dark. She lured men with love, robbed them of their savings, and fed them to her pigs. Lovely. Efficient. And resourceful. The impressions of the memory are as follows...

...He stands framed in the doorway with flowers. A stupid smile on his dumb face. He has no sense that his days are numbered. Lonely soul made the trip for a wife. He thinks he'll get everything for a ring. Her land. Her farm. Her savings. Won't happen. Won't go as planned. Not as he planned, anyway. It didn't for all the other lonely souls who answered her classified ad. She peers at his eyes and thrills at his ignorance. His long, dumb face. His false sense of superiority. He wrote her a poem. How sweet. She'll cram it down his throat when he's convulsing on the floor. She takes his poem and asks about his money. He has it with him. Packed his savings in a bag and made the journey for a new start. He'll get more than he bargained for. Way more. To the bank with his money. To the pigs with him.

(Arcus 2903)

I rose early to experience a few deaths in The Archives I recently captured from The Rift. I had some milk from Terra 728. I listened to a radio show from Terra 232. Horror stories and tales of terror. I read a new version of Dante's Inferno from... I'm not sure where...I thought of home, had some whiskey, and slept for what felt like an eternity.

(Arcus 3212)

From a window I see something moving with an uncanny light. Through the black fog it shines there, beckoning me. And yet, I cannot leave. I cannot move. I can only bring things to me through the Auris. What light is this? Is it a creature sent by The Entity? Is it a survivor? Or perhaps it's a marooned soul from back home searching like myself for a way back. An unnatural wind whines and I stare at the moving, hypnotic light, a hideous watching eye, trying to reach out to me, trying to tell me something, trying to convey something in its strange, rhythmic movement.

(Arcus 4902)

Life is not life in this prison, and death is not an escape. It is merely the start of a new trial and most survivors are aware they are caught in something they will never understand. Why this is all happening is no longer obvious to me. The truth is...I don't know what to believe anymore...The Entity is...not what it is...or what I thought it was...

(Arcus 7294)

I woke up soaked in blood with no recollection of what transpired the night before. The blood dripped off my nose and chin. I felt my forehead and scalp to discover a deep, stinging gash. Accident? Self-inflicted? Nightmares of The Fog? Creatures of the abyss? I didn't know. Later by the bed I discovered a purple mound of flesh and gore. I cleaned the slop and tossed it out the window into the abyss from which it had come.

(Arcus 7456)

I am taking notes under incredible mental strain. I have had flashes of Survivor memories overrun my senses all day, and I am trying to focus on home and gather myself. I haven't used the Auris for some time and yet I have been pulled in and out of these lives randomly. These records... these archives will, I imagine, help me remember myself, should the Auris nudge me into the abyss.

(Arcus 7547)

Whiskey deep into the night. A strange aftertaste...a flavor from a world which makes the best whiskey. Whiskey dreams are some of the most pleasurable. Dreams of home, with friends and family, enjoying time lost. When my senses returned, I realized I had turned my palace of a prison upside down. I remembered none of it. Everything, a drunken blur. So many paintings and statues I had created from memories from other worlds...shattered...I'm losing my grip on reality and maybe that's a good thing. One day merges into the next and I'm lost in a storm of whiskey, screams, and endless streams of broken memories.

(Arcus 8876)

It's always entertaining to watch a Survivor try to escape with a femoral artery lacerated. Some victims actually get quite far before shock and cardiac arrest overwhelm them. They fight and struggle for life as if death were final. Perhaps this is the reason The Entity wipes the slate clean with every resurrection. The unwavering belief that death is real gives weight and gravitas to the trial... to the experience. Otherwise Survivors won't care. Wouldn't run. Wouldn't feel. The fear of death is the pulse of life and believing death is real gives emotion to the experience. It, in other words, feeds The Entity.

(Arcus 9082)

Hillbilly has quite an arm. A farmer made his way out of a barn and with one well-aimed blow with a spade, his head was severed from his shoulders, and two spouts of hot blood burst from his body like geysers. Hillbilly watched the headless man stagger stupidly and collapse in a growing puddle of steaming blood. I have to admit I've gone through this memory more than once. It's one of my favorites. I find Hillbilly disturbingly amusing and the illusion of death fascinating...at a distance.

(Arcus 9873)

King has this way of doing things that are quite amusing. One of my favorite memories I return to time and time again whenever I need a lift is Memory 2332 - Gasoline Man: King grabs this man who skipped a few payments on a loan. He drags him by the hair and throws him in an alley. He grabs a metal gasoline container and douses the 'sod' with its contents and lights a match. He stares at him through the flickering flame as the man screams in terror. He watches him beg for his life. Then he flings the match. The man's eyes pop out of his head as the flame hits his chest and falls to the floor with a sizzle. King tells him to make his payment or next time he'll use real gasoline. Brilliant.

(Arcus ??????)

A new tome of memories has appeared in my library. This one full of blurred pages and faded images. It will take quite some work to clear the fog for these to make some semblance sense. The newer parts that are clear tell of a Survivor I hadn't seen before. Such a strange woman. The Entity is rather active with her unlike the others. Even going so far as to taint her into being a monster. I pity this woman. It is one thing to have always been a monster...it's entirely different being forced to be one. Still...I will admit to being intrigued by her situation. For this is the first time there is a soul stuck between the two sides. I should get started soon. I want to see how she ended up like this. I want to know how she handles it. How she manages to deal with the monsters...and with the Entity itself. I just pray that I can keep myself sane long enough to find these things out.

[ELSEWHERE IN THE FOG]

We've been walking for some time now.

After a less than jolly wake up I've been restrained by Chops' weapon's chain, my arms locked behind me with the safe end while the other stabby end is in his hand, and he's been dragging me into the fog ever since. Before, however, Legion reminded my dumbass what we were doing...going to visit the Doctor to check out my weird soul. Seeing that guy once, even while not in a trial, was enough to make me less than willing to go to him or his realm, hence the chaining. Chops having to be in control of the body to keep me on this makeshift leash means the others aren't around. The shades of the Bones, Boo, and Dead Eye lagged behind us the further away we went from the chalet until they faded altogether once we pasted the border of the realm.

Now we wonder about the fog. A killer leading a reluctant dog to a kennel of death. Needless to say, I don't make things easy for him.

"quit draggin' your feet!"

A hard yank has me trying to resist spinning to the ground like a drunken jackass.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Big freaking deal."

Being a smartass earns me some comeuppance in a speedy punch to the gut.

"disrespect me and i'll give ya one hell of a bad time. got that, meat?"

I want to vomit but there's nothing in me to puke up.

"now, come on..."

He starts walking and a small tug has me following on instinct.

"we're almost there."

"*coughs* Are guys even sure he'll be helpful? He could just take me and dick you over."

He growls.

"ya think we can't handle that quack?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just saying we shouldn't just show all the cards we're holding right away."

"it's not like we got much choice. ya don't wanna go to the void, do ya?"

I shiver.

"yeah, didn't think so."

"Still...I don't trust this."

"good..."

I look at him funny.

"keep on your toes. especially around the quack."

There's that odd tone like how Bones had when he mentioned the Doctor. I got a feeling they had a bad experience with him before. Our ceaseless wondering continues. My mind begins to make shapes in the swirls of fog, heh, reminds me of my youth seeing things in the smoke at church...Wow, I'm fucked up. Either way, imaging things keeps my brain steady. Helps me forget the reality I'm in for a while. It's been my coping mechanism for god knows how long. And once I'm in it for long it gets pretty hard to be drawn out. Though...I'm not far gone enough to not notice this faint sound. It's soft. Almost...Almost like humming? Looking around shows nothing. Nothing except me...and him. Can it be...?

Being a curious yet cautious punk, I move in close behind him and...music? A dark and depressing mix of power ballads and gloomy melodies.

"The hell...?"

With my hands not a usable option, I bite the end of his hoody's hood and pull it back. The exposure of his skull angrily surprises him yet not as much as I am to see earbuds in the acoustic meatus of his head. When did he do this? Was I that distracted?

"the fuck ya doin'?!"

"Dude, you have tunes?"

He takes one out to better hear me.

"what?"

"How long have you been holding out on me? Do you know how boring this silence is?"

He chuckles while putting the bud back in.

"why else ya think i've got this on?"

He attempts putting his hood back on but I annoyingly hit his shoulder with my head.

"bitch!"

"Share!"

"fuck you!"

"I'll leave you alone if you do."

He glares.

"or i can kick the shit out of ya and not."

I scoot in front of him.

"Dude, come on...Do you really think it'll be that easy?"

His glare intensifies. I give a hopeful smirk with a small shrug. His response is to yank the chain and grab my face while my body went on "keep steady in one place" mode like a moron. His distal phalanx tips dig into my cheeks like the claws of a pissed-off cat.

"*harsh* i ain't like bones. i ain't gonna treat ya with kid gloves. piss me off, i'll beat ya to an inch of your pathetic life. the only thing stoppin' me is how much i don't want to drag your half-dead ass to léry's."

Léry's Memorial Institute...another realm the Entity told me of.

A research facility should be a place where minds grow, where learning happens. But the Léry Memorial Institute is quite the opposite. It's a place where the human brain is turned into something unpleasant and broken. Nestled in a sleepy woods three miles south of Michaelstown, Illinois, the Léry Memorial Institute started its life out as a hospital specializing in the rehabilitation of GI's returning from the Korean War. The mansion built in the late 1800s and its massive lot were donated by the previous owner to be transformed into a medical facility. As an army hospital, it always fell under different laws and rules to other hospitals and in 1967, it effectively became a front for the CIA. Under the Stewardship of Otto Stamper, the old army patients were shipped out and a huge fence erected around the property. Around this time, the public was refused access to the patients and the whole place was shrouded in secrecy. By 1970, the Institute was fully transformed into a CIA black site with special requirements to develop cutting-edge interrogation techniques and they employed a wide range of different doctors and specialists to help them. The Institute thrived through the 70's growing to a staff of hundreds, filling the main hospital, and several out-buildings. Documents and evidence about the Institute are scarce as the government condemned the entire building in 1983, even razing most of the building to the ground in what seemed to be planned explosive demolition. Even now, the events that lead to the closing of the Institute and what happened to the staff and patients is shrouded in controversy and mystery. Snippets of information in heavily redacted documents tell the story of some kind of incident or event, but even the most tenacious reporters have failed to unearth any real evidence of conspiracy or wrongdoing. You can still see what remains of the shell of the main hospital facility, standing defiant against the ruins that surround it on what is still US Military land.

"now take this as your only warning. i ain't playin' games."

He sinks the digits in more, adding pain into the threat to drive the message home. The effect he wants from me is submission. My real reaction...A blank expression of indifference. Why give in to him? Fear? So what. Fear means nothing when death is nothing. Sure there's pain but whatever to that.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're kinda cute when being tough?"

Honestly, this was better than what my brain wanted to say. He, however, didn't take this as a compliment and promptly uses that weapon to cram it deep into my side at an angle to scrap down my hip. Needless to say this gets a better response for him to take and my roar of pain gets muffled by his tightening grip.

"don't fuck with me, bitch! unless...ya don't want me to let ya heal? ya do want to be able to do that...don't ya?"

The feel of steel on bone makes it hard not to whimper while nodding.

"then you're gonna behave...right?"

He twists the blade. Seriously, is that signature Legion move? My wincing is high and nodding fast.

"prove it."

This confuses me.

"let's play a game..."

He yanks the blade out. If it wasn't for his hold I would've jerked to the ground.

"if you can do one little thing...i'll let ya be free."

His smug slyness is too obnoxious to miss while he lets my face go. Giving me creepy feelings.

"And what might that be, sir nice guy all of a sudden?"

He stares off, either thinking or listening to the others in his head.

"first a set of rules...ya can only obey instructions and ya must do everything i say. ya can't do anything unless i give ya the okay. ya can't speak unless spoken to. and ya gotta keep eye contact unless i say."

Creep levels are growing.

"do ya have the balls to agree?"

I sigh. I'm slowly bleeding out, what choice do I have?

"Sure. If it makes things easier."

His sharp-toothed smirk is sending chills of regret through me.

"good...on your knees."

I can't help the "I fucking called it" face and groan.

"Dude...Really?"

He backhands me fairly hard.

"i said, on your knees!"

I spit some blood out and hate my life more than I already do as I slowly do as commanded.

"smart girl."

He puts the bloody blade in my face which is conveniently at hip level for him.

"ya made me dirty my blade. be a good kitten and clean it for me...slowly."

I grimace at the obvious pseudo-sex act he wants me to do. The only upside is I don't mind the taste of my own blood. So, with much resentment for everything, I slowly lick the weapon. Being mindful of the very sharp slightly nicked blade.

"slower. really give it a fine shine."

I huff through my nose while really dragging my tongue along the metal. It helps to think of it as a weird popsicle. At least this can't last much longer...I hope.

"not bad, kitten. looks very nice. but..."

He kneels, taking a harsh grip of my hair and taps the tip of the blade on my lips.

"i think it needs a final deep wash. open your mouth."

This can go horrible real fast, yet I hesitantly open up. The look he gives, lidded sockets and licking his teeth with a red gel-like tongue...The fuck? I have so many questions! Either way, my creepy meter is maxed out and broken.

"don't move. we wouldn't want to make it dirty again."

He seems to like this control as evident by the meticulous way he inserts the murder weapon and tests just how far he can get it to go before something happens then pulling it out methodically slow, only to repeat it all over again. Feeling all sorts of uncomfortable my ability to look at him reaches its limits. This turns his building desire into a rage and his pulling of my hair borders on scalp ripping.

"look at me!"

The snap makes me jump, nearly stabbing the back of my throat but I do as told. Like the bitch I am.

"don't ya fuckin' look away from me. got that?"

I nod very very very carefully. Seeing I've lost my dignity, which is understandable with this shit going on, his domination lust kicks back in to do some overly prolonged and humiliating oral knife play with awkward staring. The longer this goes on the more carnal he looks. His breathing, how the fuck a skeleton breathes I know not, is getting labored and a tinge shaky. The grip of my hair lessens to light kneading. And the sounds that leave him...It's so dirty. I want this to stop. I feel like just ending this by slamming myself on the damn thing! Until, thankfully, he finally gets his jollies and removes the weapon with a long drag across my tongue...only to then lick it himself much to my disgust.

All this over wanting to listen to his music?!

"mmmm...that was fun, kitten. good job."

Glad you're happy while I'm kneeling in the growing pool of my life juice...jackass.

"Mew."

His pleasure flips quickly to normal edgy jerk.

"ya had to ruin it."

"Sorry."

Why the fuck did I apologize?!

My automatic apology impulse does seem to do some good by not making him forget the reward for playing his game. A small bit of fiddling around my back ends with the chain going slack and my hands becoming free.

"i was gonna make ya sweat for a bit, but then ya would've probably bled out and ya know my feelin's about dealin' with ya like that."

Once more, a member of the Legion has upheld to their word to me instead of pulling that "I lied" bullshit most schmucks would do. And once more, this has an effect on me and how I look at Legion.

"Thank you."

I begin to rub the wound and seal the damage while he sets his weapon back into its normal state.

"don't thank me. just hurry up."

Even if that was a dick thing to say, it was a nice dick thing to say. I will remember that.

With my wound healed and blood no longer draining into the fog, I stand yet feel off. Probably the emotional scarring of him humiliating me. But there's no time for that. So I bottle it up like all my other negative shit. I'm sure it won't be affecting me in any way now. Most likely I'll cry about it later but for we have a mission to complete.

As if nothing has happened we walk once more, side by side. And again he listens to whatever music he has. He ignores me for the most part which makes listening to the faint tunes a bit easier. Suddenly...I recognize the song that kicks in...Nirvana: Heart-Shaped Box. Must resist...Would he even...Fuck it! Not like it matter.

"♪She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak. I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks. I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap. I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice...your advice...♫"

I pause when I notice the beat is gone. I look out the corner of my eye and don't see him. Turning my head shows he stopped a bit back and is looking at me oddly.

"Uh..."

"ya know this song?"

I rub the back of my head.

"Only when the song plays. I'm not good at recalling lyrics alone."

He's slow to approach and I'm unsure when he messes with something in his pocket. But then I hear the song again.

"♪Meat-eating orchids forgive no one just yet. Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath. Broken hymen of your Highness, I'm left back. Throw down your umbilical noose so I can climb right back. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice...your advice...♫"

As the music jams solo he smirks and returns to trekking the fog, grateful I'm not butchering the song. Not to be left alone I follow and keep enjoying the music.

"♪She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak. I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks. I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap. I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice. Hey! Wait! I've got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice...your advice...your advice...your advice...♫"

I don't think he minds indulging my karaoke, not while the real thing blares in his skull and I maintain similar pitch to make it hard to distinguish. He probably likes that I'm not being such a pain in the ass while distracted like this. And distracted I am as we continue. The only thing that breaks me from my song and shameful weak dance is the random feel of something tapping my skin. The feel of cold accompanies the tingles. Slowly this oddity becomes clear...snow.

A large gate, the ones that humans must escape in, comes into view as the snow blows into the fog. This is the entrance leading to the building that is Léry's Memorial Institute. The cold is fitting here. Like an unseen bait. The cold lures you towards the false shelter where no good can be found.

The old building we find has it's doors open, inviting the foolish inside. A scientific center of some sort, full of discarded equipment. Some I recognized, other items are new to me. It does have that been abandoned feel to it, the kind that tricks you into letting your guard down. I don't question how the Entity manages to bring places like this here, there's no point to that kind of thought anymore. I have to put my curiosity on hold for now. There is danger in this place and I can't afford to be enchanted now. Inside are small areas like waiting rooms and resection desks, but also traces of something dark. As we tread the halls, beds that probably did not hold free people are scattered about. Corridors lack the warmth that comes from normal care facilities. I feel most uneased. Its maze-like features might trap me for good if Chops wasn't guiding me. What kind of shit went down here? Do I even want to know the reason why there are jail-like bars housing the area we're headed? Probably not.

This place hums with power. Electricity is everywhere and dirty tools are found laying around. This facility screams of a place where all methods are acceptable, go or bad. Whether the "subject" is alive after the procedure is not important. If these walls could talk all you would hear are screams and tearful waling. A passing glance of one room shines the smallest semblance of peace, some sort of library or study houses normal furniture along with numerous amounts of books. Nothing else remembers all those who lost their minds and their lives in there better than archives. Nothing...except the one who is called Doctor.

Pass the bars of no return leads to a noisy circled area. A medical viewing theater with massive electricity generators, holding chairs, tool cabinets, multiple large monitors playing random static images hang from the center, and viewing stations above. Every nerve I have is on alert. Get the fuck out of here, is what my brain tells me, but my body refuses to obey. Chops can feel my nervous deer energy and clutches my arm, it helps ground me better than trusting my legs to not book it.

"🕈☜☹☹ 🕈☜☹☹ 🕈☜☹☹📬📬📬" (WELL WELL WELL...)

I had forgotten the Doctors voice, it tends to happen with only one meeting, even if it's rumbling with dark authority. But his intimidating presence is something I'll never forget as he effortlessly strides into here. The fusion of sparking wires integrated into his bones, the painful contortion of his face to the point his skull is cracking, even his professional attire looks like he wants to bring pain not healing. He's creepy as creepy can be.

"✌☞❄☜☼ ❄☟☜ ❄☟☜✌❄✋👍💧 ✡⚐🕆 🏱🕆☹☹☜👎📪 ✋🕯💣 💧🕆☼🏱☼✋💧☜👎 ✡⚐🕆 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ☺🕆💧❄ 🕈✌☹😐 ✋☠❄⚐ ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄ ⚐☞ 💣✡ ☼☜✌☹💣📬 ✌☠👎 🕈✋❄☟ ❄☟☜ ☟🕆💣✌☠ ☠⚐ ☹☜💧💧✍ ☜✞☜☼ ❄☟☜ ✋☠❄☼✋☝🕆✋☠☝ ⚐☠☜ ✡⚐🕆 👌⚐✡💧 ✌☼☜📬" (AFTER THE THEATICS YOU PULLED, I'M SURPRISED YOU WOULD JUST WALK INTO THE HEART OF MY REALM. AND WITH THE HUMAN NO LESS? EVER THE INTRIGUING ONE YOU BOYS ARE.)

Chops' grip on my arm tightens and for good reason. Be it a gift, or a curse...The Entity has ignited a corrupted and inexhaustible spark in The Doctor’s heart which allows him to generate electro-convulsive power at will. His insidious treatment corrupts the minds of those it touches. Victims shocked by the corrupt spark begin to lose their grip on reality and, with repeated exposure, inevitably succumb to madness. I have difficulty keeping my sanity as it is. This is a monster that toys with it for fun.

"we ain't here for your high and mighty bull, ya quack. so knock off the schtick."

Chops' take no shit attitude makes the Doctor sneer.

"❄✡🏱✋👍✌☹ ⚐☞ ✌ ✡⚐🕆❄☟ ❄☟✋☠😐✋☠☝ ❄☟☜✡ 👍✌☠ ☺🕆💧❄ 👎☜💣✌☠👎 ❄☟✋☠☝💧 ✌☠👎 ☝☜❄ ✋❄ 👌☜👍✌🕆💧☜ ✋❄ ☞✋❄💧 ❄☟☜✋☼ ☠☜☜👎💧📬 ✡⚐🕆 👍⚐💣☜ ✋☠❄⚐ 💣✡ ☟⚐💣☜📪 🕆☠✋☠✞✋❄☜👎📪 ✌☠👎 👌☜☹✋☜✞☜ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ☜☠❄✋❄☹☜👎📬📬📬🕈☟✡✍ 🏱☹☜✌💧☜📪 ☜☠☹✋☝☟❄☜☠ 💣☜📪 ✡⚐🕆 👍⚐👍😐✡ ☹✋❄❄☹☜ 💧☟✋❄📬" (TYPICAL OF A YOUTH THINKING THEY CAN JUST DEMAND THINGS AND GET IT BECAUSE IT FITS THEIR NEEDS. YOU COME INTO MY HOME, UNINVITED, AND BELIEVE YOU ARE ENTITLED...WHY? PLEASE, ENLIGHTEN ME, YOU COCKY LITTLE SHIT.)

Wow, this is awkwardly giving me TV high school drama flashbacks.

"this..."

I'm pulled more into view.

"ya said ya wanted to understand what makes her tick? well now's as good a time as any."

A look comes to the Doctor's eyes. A gleam I don't like.

"👎⚐ 🕆☠👎☜☼💧❄✌☠👎 ✋☞ ✋ 👎⚐🕆👌❄ ✡⚐🕆🕯☼☜ ⚐☞☞☜☼✋☠☝ 💣☜ ❄☟✋💧 ⚐🏱🏱⚐☼❄🕆☠✋❄✡ ☞⚐☼ ☼☜✌💧⚐☠💧 ❄☟✌❄ ✌☼☜☠🕯❄ ❄⚐ 💧✌❄✋💧☞✡ 💣✡ ⚐🕈☠ ☠☜☜👎💧📬" (DO UNDERSTAND IF I DOUBT YOU'RE OFFERING ME THIS OPPORTUNITY FOR REASONS THAT AREN'T TO SATISFY MY OWN NEEDS.)

Why did he have to word it like that?

"it's her soul. it's been touched by the entity. i'm sure a smart guy like you would love to check it out."

This resets the Doctor's mood into a more serious one.

"💧❄☼✌🏱 ☟☜☼ ✋☠📬 ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ ☼☜❄🕆☼☠ 💣⚐💣☜☠❄✌☼✋☹✡📬" (STRAP HER IN. I WILL RETURN MOMENTARILY.)

The Doctor leaves us and Chops pulls me to one of the five chairs.

"W-Wait a sec..."

"don't start actin' up now."

He shoves me into the seat and begins restraining my limbs...with oddly no effort from me to stop him.

"we don't need ya bein' a pain. not here."

"I'm not. I just want you to do something for me."

"i ain't doin'..."

"Promise you'll kill me if things get bad."

He pauses.

"don't be so dramatic."

"No, I mean it. I get the idea you know how bad things can get here. Just..."

"i don't make promises, meat."

"Then hold up to our deal! I have your back and you have mine."

He growls.

"I'll owe you for it. Nothing will be off the table. I promise."

"🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍📬📬📬" (PATHETIC...)

Fuck.

"☼☜💧⚐☼❄✋☠☝ ❄⚐ 👌☜☝☝✋☠☝ ☞⚐☼ 💣☜☼👍✡ 👌☜☞⚐☼☜ ❄☟☜ ☞🕆☠ ☟✌💧 ☜✞☜☠ 👌☜☝🕆☠✍ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧 ❄☼🕆☜☹✡ ✌☼☜ 🕈☜✌😐 👍☼☜✌❄🕆☼☜💧📬" (RESORTING TO BEGGING FOR MERCY BEFORE THE FUN HAS EVEN BEGUN? HUMANS TRUELY ARE WEAK CREATURES.)

Chops backs up as the Doctor returns wheeling in a worrisome looking cart, taking his time to set up some sort of equipment.

"👎⚐☠🕯❄ ❄☜☹☹ 💣☜ ✡⚐🕆🕯☼☜ ☞⚐⚐☹✋💧☟ ☜☠⚐🕆☝☟ ❄⚐ ☞✌☹☹ ☞⚐☼ 💧🕆👍☟ 🕈⚐☼👎💧📪 ☹☜☝✋⚐☠✍" (DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO FALL FOR SUCH WORDS, LEGION?)

Chops scoffs, dismissing and distancing himself from this.

"☟🕆💣✌☠📬📬📬" (HUMAN...)

And it begins.

"👌☼✋☠☝ ⚐🕆❄ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧⚐🕆☹📬 ✋ 💣🕆💧❄ ☜✠✌💣✋☠☜ ❄☟☜ ☜✠❄☜☠❄ ⚐☞ 👍⚐☼☼🕆🏱❄✋⚐☠📬" (BRING OUT YOUR SOUL. I MUST EXAMINE THE EXTENT OF CORRUPTION.)

"I..."

"she don't know how."

Okay, it looks like I don't get to speak for myself.

"✡⚐🕆🕯☼☜ ☺⚐😐✋☠☝✍" (YOU'RE JOKING?)

Doctor looks at me and I shrug, making him rub his face with a long sigh.

"☹☜❄ 💣☜ ☝🕆☜💧💧📬📬📬☠⚐ ⚐☠☜ ☟✌💧 ☜✠🏱☹✌✋☠☜👎 ☟⚐🕈 ❄⚐ 👎⚐ 💧⚐📪 👍⚐☼☼☜👍❄✍" (LET ME GUESS...NO ONE HAS EXPLAINED HOW TO DO SO, CORRECT?)

I nod.

"pretty much it comes out when she is or believes to be near death."

He approaches and presses a single static charged bony digit to my chest.

"☞⚐👍🕆💧 ⚐☠ ❄☟✋💧 🏱⚐✋☠❄📬 ✋💣✌☝✋☠ ❄☟☜ 💧⚐🕆☹📬 🏱✋👍❄🕆☼☜ ✋❄ ☹☜✌✞✋☠☝ ⚐🕆❄ ☞☼⚐💣 ❄☟✋💧 🏱⚐✋☠❄📬" (FOCUS ON THIS POINT. IMAGIN THE SOUL. PICTURE IT LEAVING OUT FROM THIS POINT.)

I feel like a child being talked down to while being told how to do something brand new yet expected to know already. I, resentfully, comply and close my eyes. Following the instructions as given. I feel his finger leave but the electric sting remains. In fact, it gets worse as time goes on. My fingers twitch and lock up trying to claw the armrests. A sudden flash gets my eyes to shoot open as pain strikes my exposed soul that is now being caught his is charged grasp.

"❄☟✌☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 ☞⚐☼ ✡⚐🕆☼ 👍⚐⚐🏱☜☼✌❄✋⚐☠📬" (THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.)

I don't get to say anything before he removes it and my body goes limp in place. Great! Now all I can do is watch. Watch as he takes it over to that weird cart...and suffer in silence.

"☞✌💧👍✋☠✌❄✋☠☝📬 ✌ 💧⚐🕆☹ ❄☟✌❄ 🏱⚐💧💧☜💧💧☜💧 💣🕆☹❄✋🏱☹☜ ❄☼✌✋❄💧📬 ✋ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎☠🕯❄ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✋❄ 🕈✌💧 ☼☜✌☹ ✋☞ ✋ 🕈☜☼☜ ☠⚐❄ 💧☜☜✋☠☝ ✋❄ ☞⚐☼ 💣✡ 💧☜☹☞📬" (FASCINATING. A SOUL THAT POSSESSES MULTIPLE TRAITS. I WOULDN'T THINK IT WAS REAL IF I WERE NOT SEEING IT FOR MY SELF.)

Chops looks at me, earning him my weakened glance, and then moves to witness the Doctor's work.

"how bad is it?"

"👍⚐☠👍☜☼☠☜👎✍" (CONCERNED?)

"*scoff* if she hollows away than i don't get my rights."

"☞✌✋☼ ☜☠⚐🕆☝☟📬" (FAIR ENOUGH.)

I can feel pricking. Sharp pricking.

"❄☟☜ 💧👍✌☼💧 ✌☼☜☠🕯❄ 💣✌☠✡📪 👌🕆❄ ☼✌❄☟☜☼ 👎☜☜🏱📬 ✌ 👍⚐💣💣☜☠👎✌👌☹☜ ☜☞☞⚐☼❄ ✋☠ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✋☠☝ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ ☞⚐☼ 💧🕆☼☜📬 ❄☟⚐🕆☝☟ ✌ 💧❄🕆🏱✋👎 👍☟⚐✋👍☜ ❄⚐ 💣✌😐☜ ☠⚐☠☜ ❄☟☜ ☹☜💧💧📬" (THE SCARS AREN'T MANY, BUT RATHER DEEP. A COMMENDABLE EFFORT IN RESISTING THE ENTITY FOR SURE. THOUGH A STUPID CHOICE TO MAKE NONE THE LESS.)

Doctor moves over to a cabinet and collects a small kit, letting me see my soul strung up with tiny hooks to hover over a bowl. I don't like this.

"✋☞ 💧☟☜ 👍⚐☠❄✋☠🕆☜💧 ❄☟✋💧📪 ✋ ☝✋✞☜ ☟☜☼ ☹☜💧💧 ❄☟✌☠ ✌ ☟✌☠👎☞🕆☹ ⚐☞ ❄✋💣☜💧 👌☜☞⚐☼☜ 👌☜✋☠☝ 👍⚐💣🏱☹☜❄☜☹✡ 👍⚐☼☼🕆🏱❄☜👎📬" (IF SHE CONTINUES THIS, I GIVE HER LESS THAN A HANDFUL OF TIMES BEFORE BEING COMPLETELY CORRUPTED.)

"ya sure?"

"❄☟✋💧 ✋💧 ☠⚐❄ 💣✡ ☞✋☼💧❄ ☜☠👍⚐🕆☠❄☜☼ 👎☜✌☹✋☠☝ 🕈✋❄☟ ❄✌✋☠❄☜👎 💧⚐🕆☹💧📬 ❄☟☜☼☜ 🕈☜☼☜ ⚐❄☟☜☼ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧 ✌☠👎 ☜✞☜☠ 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼💧 ❄☟✌❄ 🕈☜☼☜ ☹⚐💧❄ ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡🕯💧 💧👍✌☼💧📬" (THIS IS NOT MY FIRST ENCOUNTER DEALING WITH TAINTED SOULS. THERE WERE OTHER HUMANS AND EVEN MONSTERS THAT WERE LOST TO THE ENTITY'S SCARS.)

"ya mean this shit happens even to us?"

"👌⚐✡📪 ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ✌ ☞⚐⚐☹ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 🕈☜ ✌☼☜ ✌👌⚐✞☜ 💧🕆👍☟ ❄☟✋☠☝💧 🕈☟☜☠ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ ✋💧 ✋☠✞⚐☹✞☜👎📬 ✋❄ 🕈✌💧 💧⚐ ☹⚐☠☝ ✌☝⚐📬 👌✌👍😐 🕈☟☜☠ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ 🕈✌💧 💧❄✋☹☹ ☜💧❄✌👌☹✋💧☟✋☠☝ ☼🕆☹☜💧📬 ❄☟☜☼☜ 🕈✌💧 ✌ 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼ 😐☠⚐🕈☠ ⚐☠☹✡ ✌💧 ❄☟☜ 💧💣✌💧☟☜☼📬 ❄☟☜ 💧💣✌💧☟☜☼ 🕈✌💧 ✌👌☹☜ ❄⚐ 👎☜💧❄☼⚐✡ ✌☹☹ ⚐👌💧❄✌👍☹☜💧 🕈✋❄☟✋☠ ✌ ❄☼✋✌☹📬 ✋☠👍☹🕆👎✋☠☝ ❄☼☜☜💧📪 🕈✌☹☹💧📪 👌🕆✋☹👎✋☠☝💧📪 ☜❄👍📬 ✋❄ 🕈✌💧 ✌ 👌☜✌💧❄ ☹✋😐☜ ☠⚐ ⚐❄☟☜☼ ✌☠👎 ☜💣👌☼✌👍☜👎 ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ 💣⚐☼☜ ❄☟✌☠ ✋❄ 💧☟⚐🕆☹👎🕯✞☜📬 ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ 🏱⚐✋☠❄ ❄☟☜☼☜ 🕈✌💧 ☠⚐ 🕆☠👎⚐✋☠☝ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ 👎✌💣✌☝☜📬 ✋❄ 💧🕆👍👍🕆💣☜👎 ☜✌☼☹✡ ⚐☠ 👎🕆☼✋☠☝ ❄☟✋💧 👎☜✞☜☹⚐🏱💣☜☠❄ 👍✡👍☹☜📬 ❄☟☜✋☼ ☼☜💣⚐✞✌☹ 🕈✌💧 ✌☹💧⚐ ☞⚐☼ ⚐❄☟☜☼ ☼☜✌💧⚐☠💧📬 ❄☟☜✡ ☟✌👎 👌☜👍⚐💣☜ ❄⚐⚐ 🕆☠☞✌✋☼📬 ❄☟☜ ❄☼✋✌☹💧 🕈☜☼☜ ✌❄ 🕆☠☜✞☜☠ ⚐👎👎💧 ✋☞ ✌ 😐✋☹☹☜☼ 🕈✌💧 ✌👌☹☜ ❄⚐ ☼☜💣⚐✞☜ ✌☹☹ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ ☜☹☜💣☜☠❄💧 ✋☠ ✌ ☼☜✌☹💣📬 ❄☟✋💧 🕈✌💧 ✌☼⚐🕆☠👎 ❄☟☜ 💧✌💣☜ ❄✋💣☜ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡ ☼☜💣⚐✞☜👎 ❄☟☜ ☟🕆💣✌☠🕯💧 ✌👌✋☹✋❄✡ ❄⚐ 👍☹✋💣👌📬" (BOY, YOU ARE A FOOL TO THINK WE ARE ABOVE SUCH THINGS WHEN THE ENTITY IS INVOLVED. IT WAS SO LONG AGO. BACK WHEN THE ENTITY WAS STILL ESTABLISHING RULES. THERE WAS A MONSTER KNOWN ONLY AS THE SMASHER. THE SMASHER WAS ABLE TO DESTROY ALL OBSTACLES WITHIN A TRIAL. INCLUDING TREES, WALLS, BUILDINGS, ETC. IT WAS A BEAST LIKE NO OTHER AND EMBRACED THE ENTITY MORE THAN IT SHOULD'VE. TO THE POINT THERE WAS NO UNDOING OF THE DAMAGE. IT SUCCUMED EARLY ON DURING THIS DEVELOPMENT CYCLE. THEIR REMOVAL WAS ALSO FOR OTHER REASONS. THEY HAD BECOME TOO UNFAIR. THE TRIALS WERE AT UNEVEN ODDS IF A KILLER WAS ABLE TO REMOVE ALL OF THE ELEMENTS IN A REALM. THIS WAS AROUND THE SAME TIME THE ENTITY REMOVED THE HUMAN'S ABILITY TO CLIMB.)

Wait...Didn't I climb a tree in my first trial as well as the watchtower? Such a memory has Chops look back at me. Not like I can answer him. I only hope he doesn't mention it. My breath suddenly hitches. Something is digging into me.

"whatcha doin'?"

"❄☟☜💧☜ 💧👍✌☼💧 ✌☼☜ ☹✋😐☜ ✋☠☞☜👍❄✋⚐🕆💧 💧⚐☼☜💧📬 ☞⚐☼ ✌☠✡ ☟☜✌☹✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ❄✌😐☜ ☜☞☞☜👍❄📪 ❄☟☜ ✋☠☞☜👍❄☜👎 ❄✋💧💧🕆☜ 💣🕆💧❄ 👌☜ ☼☜💣⚐✞☜👎📬 ✋ 💣🕆💧❄ 👍⚐☠💧☜☠❄☼✌✋❄ ❄⚐ ✌✞⚐✋👎 🕆☠✋❄☜☠❄✋☠✌☹✡ ☟✌☼💣✋☠☝ ❄☟☜ 💧🕆☼☼⚐🕆☠👎✋☠☝ ☟☜✌☹❄☟✡ ✌☼☜✌💧📬 ☠⚐🕈📬📬📬☹☜✌✞☜ 💣☜ ❄⚐ 💣✡ 👍☼✌☞❄ ✋☠ 🏱☜✌👍☜📬" (THESE SCARS ARE LIKE INFECTIOUS SORES. FOR ANY HEALING TO TAKE EFFECT, THE INFECTED TISSUE MUST BE REMOVED. I MUST CONSENTRAIT TO AVOID UNITENTINALY HARMING THE SURROUNDING HEALTHY AREAS. NOW...LEAVE ME TO MY CRAFT IN PEACE.)

The annoyed arrogant tone Doctor has pushes Chops aside. He grumbles and walks off out of sight.

"✡⚐🕆 ☟✌🏱🏱☜☠ ❄⚐ 👌☜ ✈🕆✋❄☜ ☹🕆👍😐✡📪 ☟🕆💣✌☠📬" (YOU HAPPEN TO BE QUITE LUCKY, HUMAN.)

Really? I'm paralyzed while you do fuck all with my soul. How am I lucky?

"✋☞ ✋❄ 🕈☜☼☜☠🕯❄ ☞⚐☼ ✡⚐🕆☼ ☼✌☼☜ 💧⚐🕆☹ ✌☠👎 🕆☠✋✈🕆☜ ☺⚐✋☠✋☠☝ ⚐☞ ⚐🕆☼ ☼✌☠😐💧📪 ✋ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎☠🕯❄ 👌☜ 👎⚐✋☠☝ ❄☟✋💧 ✌💧 ☝☜☠❄☹✡ ✌💧 ✋ ✌💣📬📬📬⚐☼ ✌❄ ✌☹☹📬" (IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR RARE SOUL AND UNIQUE JOINING OF OUR RANKS, I WOULDN'T BE DOING THIS AS GENTLY AS I AM...OR AT ALL.)

So not because of me. Just what I have and what you think I am. I hate it...I hate it when people do this. I am not something so basic. You can't label me with just word of mouth or a passing glance. That is how THEY handle me. The users. I won't be used. I won't be taken advantage of. I won't be hurt again!

"🕈☟✌❄ ❄☟☜ 👎☜✞✋☹📬📬📬✍" (WHAT THE DEVIL...?)

It seems my angsty angst is stirring my soul. Something the Doctor doesn't care for.

"👍☜✌💧☜ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧❄☼🕆☝☝☹✋☠☝📬 ❄☼✌☠💧☞⚐☼💣✋☠☝ ☠⚐🕈 🕈✋☹☹ ⚐☠☹✡ ☟✌☼💣 ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧⚐🕆☹ ☞🕆☼❄☟☜☼ ✋☠ 💧🕆👍☟ ☞☼✌☝☹☜ 💧❄✌❄☜📬" (CEASE YOUR STRUGGLING. TRANSFORMING NOW WILL ONLY HARM YOUR SOUL FURTHER IN SUCH FRAGLE STATE.)

I am in less than a cooperative mood now and my wide-eyed leer at him is meant to make that clear. But the Doctor is in a zero-tolerance mood himself and comes at me with a glare that hurts to make.

"👎⚐ ☠⚐❄ ❄☜💧❄ 💣☜📪 ☟🕆💣✌☠📬 ✡⚐🕆 🕈✋☹☹ ☠⚐❄ ☹✋😐☜ ❄☟☜ ☼☜🕈✌☼👎 ☞⚐☼ ☜✌☼☠✋☠☝ 💣✡ ✋☼☜📬 💧⚐ ☟☜☜👎 💣✡ 🕈⚐☼👎💧📬 ☼☜☹☜☠❄ ✡⚐🕆☼ ✌☝✋❄✌❄✋⚐☠ ⚐☼ ☜☹💧☜📬" (DO NOT TEST ME, HUMAN. YOU WILL NOT LIKE THE REWARD FOR EARNING MY IRE. SO HEED MY WORDS. RELENT YOUR AGITATION OR ELSE.)

Dark rage. I can feel it building. Across the room, my soul flashes sporadically and the scars brighten their intensity. This displeases him and he rubs his hands together, building a surge of electricity.

"❄☟☜ 🕈☜✌😐 ✌☹🕈✌✡💧 ☟✌✞☜ ❄⚐ 👌☜ ☠☜☜👎☹☜💧💧☹✡ 💧❄🕆👌👌⚐☼☠📬" (THE WEAK ALWAYS HAVE TO BE NEEDLESSLY STUBBORN.)

With one hand, he palms my head and sends that charge through my system. My body jerks violently. Faint sounds escape my stiffened vocal cords. Tears begin to swell in my eyes and burn. He stops when the flickering of my soul ends and looks down upon my smoking form.

"✋ ☟✌✞☜ ☹☜✌☼☠☜👎 ✌ ☝☼☜✌❄ 👎☜✌☹ ✌👌⚐🕆❄ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧 ✋☠ 💣✡ ☹✋☞☜📬 ☟🕆💣✌☠💧 ☟✌✞☜ 👎✋☜👎 ✌❄ ✌💧 ☹⚐🕈 ✌💧 🗐📄 ✞⚐☹❄💧📬 ❄✋💣☜ ✋💧 ✌☹💧⚐ ✌ ☞✌👍❄⚐☼📬 ✌ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ⚐☞ 📁📬📂 ✌💣🏱☜☼☜💧 ☞⚐☼ ✌ 💣☜☼☜ 📄 💧☜👍⚐☠👎💧 👍✌☠ 👌☜ ☞✌❄✌☹📬 ✌💧 ✞⚐☹❄✌☝☜ 🖬 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ✠ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜ ❄☟☜ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ 👎☜🏱☜☠👎💧 ⚐☠ 👌⚐👎✡ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜📬 ❄☟☜ ✋☠❄☜☼☠✌☹ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜ 👌☜❄🕈☜☜☠ ❄☟☜ ☜✌☼💧 ✋💧 ⚐☠☹✡ 📂📁📁 ⚐☟💣💧📪 🕈☟✋☹☜ ✋❄ ✋💧 ✌☼⚐🕆☠👎 🗄📁📁 ⚐☟💣💧 🕈☟☜☠ 💣☜✌💧🕆☼☜👎 ☞☼⚐💣 ☞✋☠☝☜☼ ❄⚐ ❄⚐☜📬" (I HAVE LEARNED A GREAT DEAL ABOUT HUMANS IN MY LIFE. HUMANS HAVE DIED AT AS LOW AS 42 VOLTS. TIME IS ALSO A FACTOR. A CURRENT OF 0.1 AMPERES FOR A MERE 2 SECONDS CAN BE FATAL. AS VOLTAGE = CURRENT X RESISTANCE THE CURRENT DEPENDS ON BODY RESISTANCE. THE INTERNAL RESISTANCE BETWEEN THE EARS IS ONLY 100 OHMS, WHILE IT IS AROUND 500 OHMS WHEN MEASURED FROM FINGER TO TOE.)

Is this bastard really lecturing me right now? Everything hurts. Everything burns. I'm moving but not of my own accord.

"✌ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ⚐☞ 📂📁 💣✌ ⚐☼ 📁📬📁📂 ✌💣🏱☜☼☜ 🏱☼⚐✞✋👎☜💧 ✌ 💧☜✞☜☼☜ 💧☟⚐👍😐📪 👌🕆❄ ✋❄ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎☠’❄ 👌☜ ☞✌❄✌☹📬 ✌💧 🕈☜ ✌🏱🏱☼⚐✌👍☟ 📂📁📁 💣✌ ⚐☼ 📁📬📂 ✌💣🏱☜☼☜💧📪 💣🕆💧👍🕆☹✌☼ 👍⚐☠❄☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠💧 👌☜☝✋☠📬 ✋❄ ✋💧 ✋💣🏱☜☼✌❄✋✞☜ ❄⚐ ☼☜✌☹✋☪☜ ❄☟✌❄ 👌☜👍✌🕆💧☜ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄’💧 ☹⚐🕈 ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜📪 ✌ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ⚐☞ 💣✌☝☠✋❄🕆👎☜ ✌💧 💧💣✌☹☹ ✌💧 📂📁 💣✌ ❄☟☼⚐🕆☝☟ ✋❄ ✋💧 ☜☠⚐🕆☝☟ ❄⚐ 😐✋☹☹ ✌ ☟🕆💣✌☠📬 ☟⚐🕈☜✞☜☼📪 ❄☟☜ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ☠☜✞☜☼ ☼☜✌👍☟☜💧 ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄📪 ✌💧 ❄☟☜ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧😐✋☠ ✋💧 ☟✋☝☟☜☼📪 ❄☟☜☼☜👌✡ ✌👌💧⚐☼👌✋☠☝ ❄☟✋💧 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ☜☠❄✋☼☜☹✡📬 ✋☞ ❄☟✋💧 🏱✌☹❄☼✡ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ 🕈☜☼☜ ❄⚐ ☼☜✌👍☟ ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄ 👌✡ ✌☠✡ 💣☜✌☠💧📪 ✋❄ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ✌☹💣⚐💧❄ 👍☜☼❄✌✋☠☹✡ 👌☜ ☞✌❄✌☹📬" (A CURRENT OF 10 MA OR 0.01 AMPERE PROVIDES A SEVERE SHOCK, BUT IT WOULDN’T BE FATAL. AS WE APPROACH 100 MA OR 0.1 AMPERES, MUSCULAR CONTRACTIONS BEGIN. IT IS IMPERATIVE TO REALIZE THAT BECAUSE OF THE HEART’S LOW RESISTANCE, A CURRENT OF MAGNITUDE AS SMALL AS 10 MA THROUGH IT IS ENOUGH TO KILL A HUMAN. HOWEVER, THE CURRENT NEVER REACHES THE HEART, AS THE RESISTANCE OF YOUR SKIN IS HIGHER, THEREBY ABSORBING THIS CURRENT ENTIRELY. IF THIS PALTRY CURRENT WERE TO REACH THE HEART BY ANY MEANS, IT WOULD ALMOST CERTAINLY BE FATAL.)

He takes hold of my shoulders, temporarily ending my harsh twitching so my head doesn't bash itself.

"🕈☟☜☠ ❄☟☜ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ✋☠👍☼☜✌💧☜💧 👌☜✡⚐☠👎 📂📁📁📁 💣✌ ⚐☼ 📂 ✌💣🏱☜☼☜📪 ❄☟☜ 💣🕆💧👍🕆☹✌☼ 👍⚐☠❄☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠💧 ✌🕆☝💣☜☠❄ ❄⚐ ✌☠ ☜✠❄☜☠❄ ❄☟✌❄ 👎⚐☜💧 ☠⚐❄ ✌☹☹⚐🕈 ☼☜☹☜✌💧☜ 💧✋☝☠✌☹💧 ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ ☹✋💣👌💧 ❄⚐ 👌☜ ☼☜👍☜✋✞☜👎📬 ❄☟✋💧 ❄☜☠✌👍✋❄✡ ✋💧 ✋☼⚐☠✋👍✌☹☹✡ ✌ 👍⚐☠💧☜✈🕆☜☠👍☜ ⚐☞ 💣🕆💧👍🕆☹✌☼ 🏱✌☼✌☹✡💧✋💧📬 ✌❄ ❄☟✋💧 🏱⚐✋☠❄📪 ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄ ☜✠🏱☜☼✋☜☠👍☜💧 ✞☜☠❄☼✋👍🕆☹✌☼ ☞✋👌☼✋☹☹✌❄✋⚐☠📪 ✌☠ 🕆☠👍⚐⚐☼👎✋☠✌❄☜👎 ✋☠❄☜☼💣✋❄❄☜☠❄ ❄🕈✋❄👍☟✋☠☝ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄’💧 ✞☜☠❄☼✋👍☹☜💧 ❄☟✌❄ 🏱☼⚐👎🕆👍☜💧 ✋☠☜☞☞☜👍❄✋✞☜ ☟☜✌☼❄👌☜✌❄💧📪 🕈☟✋👍☟ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 ☼☜💧🕆☹❄ ✋☠ 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋☞ ☟☜☹🏱 ✋💧 ☠⚐❄ 💧🕆💣💣⚐☠☜👎 ✋💣💣☜👎✋✌❄☜☹✡📬 ☞🕆☼❄☟☜☼ ✋☠👍☼☜✌💧☜ ✋☠ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ❄⚐🕈✌☼👎💧 📄📁📁📁 💣✌ ⚐☼ 📄 ✌💣🏱☜☼☜ 🏱☼⚐👎🕆👍☜💧 👌🕆☼☠💧 ✌☠👎 🕆☠👍⚐☠💧👍✋⚐🕆💧☠☜💧💧📬 ❄☟☜ 💣🕆💧👍🕆☹✌☼ 👍⚐☠❄☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠ ✋☠👎🕆👍☜👎 👌✡ ❄☟☜ 💧☟⚐👍😐 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ☠⚐🕈 💧⚐ 💧☜✞☜☼☜ ❄☟✌❄ ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄ 🏱☹🕆☠☝☜💧 ✋☠❄⚐ 👍☹✌💣🏱💧📬 ☜✠🏱⚐💧🕆☼☜ ❄⚐ 💧🕆👍☟ ✌☠ ✌💣⚐🕆☠❄ ⚐☞ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 ☹☜✌👎 ❄⚐ 👎☼☜✌👎☞🕆☹ ✋☠❄☜☼☠✌☹ 👌🕆☼☠💧📪 ✌☠👎 ❄☟☜ 👍☹✌💣🏱💧 💣✌✡ ☹☜✌👎 ❄⚐ 👍✌☼👎✋✌👍 ✌☼☼☜💧❄📬 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋💧 🏱⚐💧💧✋👌☹☜📬 ☟⚐🕈☜✞☜☼📪 ❄☟☜ 👍☹✌💣🏱✋☠☝ 💣☜👍☟✌☠✋💧💣 ✋💧 👎☜✞✋💧☜👎 ✋☠ ✌ 🕈✌✡ ❄☟✌❄ ✋❄ ✋💧 💧🕆☼🏱☼✋💧✋☠☝☹✡ ☹🕆👍☼✌❄✋✞☜📪 ✌💧 ✋❄ 🏱☼⚐❄☜👍❄💧 ❄☟☜ ☟☜✌☼❄ ☞☼⚐💣 ✞☜☠❄☼✋👍🕆☹✌☼ ☞✋👌☼✋☹☹✌❄✋⚐☠📬 👍☟✌☠👍☜💧 ⚐☞ 💧🕆☼✞✋✞✌☹ ✌☼☜ 💧👍✌☠❄📪 👌🕆❄ ☼☜👎☜☜💣✌👌☹☜ ✋☞ ❄☟☜ ✞✋👍❄✋💣 ☼☜👍☜✋✞☜💧 ✋💣💣☜👎✋✌❄☜ ✌❄❄☜☠❄✋⚐☠📬 👎☜☞✋👌☼✋☹☹✌❄⚐☼💧 ✌☼☜ 🕆❄✋☹✋☪☜👎 ❄⚐ 💧✌✞☜ 💧🕆👍☟ 💧☟⚐👍😐📫✋💣🏱✋☠☝☜👎 ✞✋👍❄✋💣💧📬" (WHEN THE CURRENT INCREASES BEYOND 1000 MA OR 1 AMPERE, THE MUSCULAR CONTRACTIONS AUGMENT TO AN EXTENT THAT DOES NOT ALLOW RELEASE SIGNALS TO THE LIMBS TO BE RECEIVED. THIS TENACITY IS IRONICALLY A CONSEQUENCE OF MUSCULAR PARALYSIS. AT THIS POINT, THE HEART EXPERIENCES VENTRICULAR FIBRILLATION, AN UNCOORDINATED INTERMITTENT TWITCHING OF THE HEART’S VENTRICLES THAT PRODUCES INEFFECTIVE HEARTBEATS, WHICH COULD RESULT IN DEATH IF HELP IS NOT SUMMONED IMMEDIATELY. FURTHER INCREASE IN CURRENT TOWARDS 2000 MA OR 2 AMPERE PRODUCES BURNS AND UNCONSCIOUSNESS. THE MUSCULAR CONTRACTION INDUCED BY THE SHOCK WOULD NOW SO SEVERE THAT THE HEART PLUNGES INTO CLAMPS. EXPOSURE TO SUCH AN AMOUNT OF CURRENT COULD LEAD TO DREADFUL INTERNAL BURNS, AND THE CLAMPS MAY LEAD TO CARDIAC ARREST. DEATH IS POSSIBLE. HOWEVER, THE CLAMPING MECHANISM IS DEVISED IN A WAY THAT IT IS SURPRISINGLY LUCRATIVE, AS IT PROTECTS THE HEART FROM VENTRICULAR FIBRILLATION. CHANCES OF SURVIVAL ARE SCANT, BUT REDEEMABLE IF THE VICTIM RECEIVES IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. DEFIBRILLATORS ARE UTILIZED TO SAVE SUCH SHOCK-IMPINGED VICTIMS.)

Why couldn't I be fortunate enough to blackout? Why do I have to be aware of all this?

"❄☟☜ ☼☜🏱☜☼👍🕆💧💧✋⚐☠💧 ⚐☞ 💧🕆👍☟ ☟✌☼💣 👍✌☠ 👌☜ 💧🕆💣💣✌☼✋☪☜👎 ☹✋😐☜ ❄☟✋💧📬📬📬📂 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱 ✋💧 ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ ☺🕆💧❄ ✌ ☞✌✋☠❄ ❄✋☠☝☹☜📬 🗄 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ✌☼☜ ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ 💧☹✋☝☟❄ 💧☟⚐👍😐💧 👌☜✋☠☝ ☞☜☹❄📬 👎✋💧❄🕆☼👌✋☠☝📪 👌🕆❄ ☠⚐❄ 🏱✌✋☠☞🕆☹📬 ☟⚐🕈☜✞☜☼📪 💧❄☼⚐☠☝ ✋☠✞⚐☹🕆☠❄✌☼✡ 💣⚐✞☜💣☜☠❄💧 👍✌☠ 👍✌🕆💧☜ ✋☠☺🕆☼✋☜💧📬 ⌛📫📄🗄 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ☞⚐☼ 🕈⚐💣☜☠ ✌☠👎 🖲📫🗏📁 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ☞⚐☼ 💣☜☠ ✋💧 ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ 🏱✌✋☠☞🕆☹ 💧☟⚐👍😐💧📬 💣🕆💧👍🕆☹✌☼ 👍⚐☠❄☼⚐☹ ✋💧 ☹⚐💧❄📬 ❄☟✋💧 ✋💧 ❄☟☜ ☼✌☠☝☜ 🕈☟☜☼☜ ☞☼☜☜☪✋☠☝ 👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄💧 💧❄✌☼❄ ✌☠👎 ❄☟☜ 💣🕆💧👍☹☜💧 ☹⚐👍😐🕆🏱📬 🗄📁📫📂🗄📁 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ✌☼☜ ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ ☜✠❄☼☜💣☜☹✡ 🏱✌✋☠☞🕆☹ 💧☟⚐👍😐💧📪 ☼☜💧🏱✋☼✌❄⚐☼✡ ✌☼☼☜💧❄📪 ✌☠👎 💧☜✞☜☼☜ 💣🕆💧👍☹☜ 👍⚐☠❄☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠💧📬 ☞☹☜✠⚐☼ 💣🕆💧👍☹☜💧 💣✌✡ 👍✌🕆💧☜ ☟⚐☹👎✋☠☝ ⚐☠🖴 ☜✠❄☜☠💧⚐☼ 💣🕆💧👍☹☜💧 💣✌✡ 👍✌🕆💧☜ ✋☠❄☜☠💧☜ 🏱🕆💧☟✋☠☝ ✌🕈✌✡📬 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋💧 🏱⚐💧💧✋👌☹☜📬 📂📪📁📁📁📫 🗐📪🗏📁📁 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ⚐☼ 📂📫🗐📬🗏 ✌💣🏱💧 ✋💧 ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ ✞☜☠❄☼✋👍🕆☹✌☼ ☞✋👌☼✋☹☹✌❄✋⚐☠ 👎✋💧❄🕆☼👌✌☠👍☜📬 💣🕆💧👍☹☜💧 👍⚐☠❄☼✌👍❄🖴 ☠☜☼✞☜ 👎✌💣✌☝☜ ⚐👍👍🕆☼💧📬 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋💧 ☹✋😐☜☹✡📬 📂📁📪📁📁📁 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ⚐☼ 📂📁 ✌💣🏱💧 ✋💧 ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ 👍✌☼👎✋✌👍 ✌☼☼☜💧❄ ✌☠👎 💧☜✞☜☼☜ 👌🕆☼☠💧 ⚐👍👍🕆☼📬 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋💧 🏱☼⚐👌✌👌☹☜📬 📂🗄📪📁📁📁 💣✋☹☹✋✌💣🏱💧 ⚐☼ 📂🗄 ✌💣🏱💧 ✋💧 ☜✈🕆✌☹ ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ ☹⚐🕈☜💧❄ ⚐✞☜☼👍🕆☼☼☜☠❄ ✌❄ 🕈☟✋👍☟ ✌ ❄✡🏱✋👍✌☹ ☞🕆💧☜ ⚐☼ 👍✋☼👍🕆✋❄ 👌☼☜✌😐☜☼ ⚐🏱☜☠💧 ✌ 👍✋☼👍🕆✋❄📬 👎☜✌❄☟ ✋💧 ☝🕆✌☼✌☠❄☜☜👎📬 ❄⚐ 🏱🕆❄ ❄☟✋💧 ✋☠ 🏱☜☼💧🏱☜👍❄✋✞☜📪 ☜☹☜👍❄☼✋👍 👍☟✌✋☼💧 🕆💧☜👎 ☞⚐☼ ☜✠☜👍🕆❄✋⚐☠ 🏱🕆☼🏱⚐💧☜💧 🕆💧☜ ✌ ✞⚐☹❄✌☝☜ 🕆💧🕆✌☹☹✡ 🕆💧☜ 📄📪📁📁📁 ❄⚐ 📄📪📄📁📁 ✞⚐☹❄💧 ✌❄ 🖮 ❄⚐ 📂📄 ✌💣🏱💧📬 ❄☟☜ ✞⚐☹❄✌☝☜ ✋ 🕆💧☜👎 ⚐☠ ✡⚐🕆 🕈✌💧 ☜✠✌👍❄☹✡ ⌛ ✌💣🏱💧📬" (THE REPERCUSSIONS OF SUCH HARM CAN BE SUMMARIZED LIKE THIS...1 MILLIAMP IS EQUAL TO JUST A FAINT TINGLE. 5 MILLIAMPS ARE EQUAL TO SLIGHT SHOCKS BEING FELT. DISTURBING, BUT NOT PAINFUL. HOWEVER, STRONG INVOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS CAN CAUSE INJURIES. 6-25 MILLIAMPS FOR WOMEN AND 9-30 MILLIAMPS FOR MEN IS EQUAL TO PAINFUL SHOCKS. MUSCULAR CONTROL IS LOST. THIS IS THE RANGE WHERE FREEZING CURRENTS START AND THE MUSCLES LOCKUP. 50-150 MILLIAMPS ARE EQUAL TO EXTREMELY PAINFUL SHOCKS, RESPIRATORY ARREST, AND SEVERE MUSCLE CONTRACTIONS. FLEXOR MUSCLES MAY CAUSE HOLDING ON; EXTENSOR MUSCLES MAY CAUSE INTENSE PUSHING AWAY. DEATH IS POSSIBLE. 1,000- 4,300 MILLIAMPS OR 1-4.3 AMPS IS EQUAL TO VENTRICULAR FIBRILLATION DISTURBANCE. MUSCLES CONTRACT; NERVE DAMAGE OCCURS. DEATH IS LIKELY. 10,000 MILLIAMPS OR 10 AMPS IS EQUAL TO CARDIAC ARREST AND SEVERE BURNS OCCUR. DEATH IS PROBABLE. 15,000 MILLIAMPS OR 15 AMPS IS EQUAL TO THE LOWEST OVERCURRENT AT WHICH A TYPICAL FUSE OR CIRCUIT BREAKER OPENS A CIRCUIT. DEATH IS GUARANTEED. TO PUT THIS IN PERSPECTIVE, ELECTRIC CHAIRS USED FOR EXECUTION PURPOSES USE A VOLTAGE USUALLY USE 2,000 TO 2,200 VOLTS AT 7 TO 12 AMPS. THE VOLTAGE I USED ON YOU WAS EXACTLY 6 AMPS.)

He lets go and looks down at me, my twitching is slightly less crazy.

"✋ 🕈✋☹☹ ☠⚐❄ 👌☜ 💧⚐ 😐✋☠👎 ☠☜✠❄ ❄✋💣☜📬 💧⚐ ☹☜✌☼☠ ☞☼⚐💣 ❄☟✋💧📬 👎⚐ ✌💧 ❄⚐☹👎 ✌☠👎 ☠⚐ 🕆💧☜☹☜💧💧 ☟✌☼💣 🕈✋☹☹ 👌☜ 👎⚐☠☜📬" (I WILL NOT BE SO KIND NEXT TIME. SO LEARN FROM THIS. DO AS TOLD AND NO USELESS HARM WILL BE DONE.)

He returns to his work on my soul, confident that he won't be needing to discipline me again. This is hell. I'm a drooling broken rag doll that feels pain all over. Even my tears are of little comfort, they feel like acid rolling off my skin. Chops returns sometime later, probably heard the loud crackling of Doctor's electrocution, drinking what looks like a can of pop. Did he find a vending machine? Lucky fucker! The Doctor doesn't pay him any mind, so he shuffles around and looks everywhere like a paranoid sheep. Why so jumpy, bonehead? You're not the one being operated on and fried. When his eyes land on me he seems to stare a bit more intently than expected, maybe seeing something I can't.

"the fuck happened here?"

"✋ ❄⚐☹👎 ✡⚐🕆 ❄⚐ ☹☜✌✞☜ 💣☜ ❄⚐ 💣✡ 🕈⚐☼😐📬" (I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME TO MY WORK.)

This ticks Chops off yet he avoids bugging the Doctor. Instead, he approaches me while chugging what's left of his soda. God, what I wouldn't give to have that right now.

"ya look like shit."

Really? I couldn't tell, dumbass.

"pissed him off, didn't ya? what is it with ya and doin' that?"

This coming from the guy that made me give his knife fellatio.

"wanna know somethin' messed up? whatever he did to ya was him goin' easy. if he really was pissed, you'd be fried like overcooked bacon."

And that is supposed to make me feel better?

Due to fucked up nerves and steaming tears I haven't moved my eyes or blinked in awhile. The lack of attention his way has him moving to be in my face and staring into my pained orbs.

"ya didn't go overboard and make her brain dead, did ya?"

He ponders aloud.

"carryin' her ass back isn't somethin' i wanna do."

The Doctor pauses.

"🕈☟⚐ 💧✌✋👎 ✡⚐🕆🕯☹☹ 👌☜ ☹☜✌✞✋☠☝ 🕈✋❄☟ ☟☜☼✍" (WHO SAID YOU'LL BE LEAVING WITH HER?)

I had warned him of something like this happening.

"and what? ya expect us to leave her here?"

"✡⚐🕆 💣✋💧🕆☠👎☜☼💧❄✌☠👎📬📬📬" (YOU MISUNDERSTAND...)

The sound of building charge hits our senses and before Chops can react it's cast across the room, sending Chops flying.

"💧☟☜ ✋💧☠🕯❄ ☹☜✌✞✋☠☝ ☟☜☼☜📬 🏱☜☼✋⚐👎📬" (SHE ISN'T LEAVING HERE. PERIOD.)

I so freaking called it.

Not one to take a hit and flee, Chops gets back up. Standing his ground and snarling like a mad dog.

"ya think ya can take what's mine? nah, motherfucker, that shit ain't happenin'."

Now that things have escalated, the Doctor fully faces Legion.

"🕈☟✌❄ 👎✋👎 ✡⚐🕆 ☼☜✌☹☹✡ ☜✠🏱☜👍❄ 🕈☟☜☠ ✡⚐🕆 👌☼⚐🕆☝☟❄ ☟☜☼ ☟☜☼☜✍ ❄☟✌❄ ✋ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ✌✋👎 ✡⚐🕆 💧☜☹☞☹☜💧💧☹✡ 🕈✋❄☟ ☠⚐ 💣⚐❄✋✞☜ ⚐☞ 💣✡ ⚐🕈☠✍ ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌👎 ❄⚐ ☟✌✞☜ 😐☠⚐🕈☠ ✡⚐🕆 🕈☜☼☜ 🕈✌☹😐✋☠☝ ✋☠❄⚐ ✌ ❄☼✌🏱📬 👌🕆❄ ✌ ❄☼✌🏱 ⚐☠☜ 💣🕆💧❄ 💧❄☜🏱 ✋☠ ❄⚐ ☝☜❄ 🕈☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 🕈✌☠❄☜👎📬 💧🕆👍☟ ✋☝☠⚐☼✌☠👍☜ ✋💧 👎☜💧☜☼✞✋☠☝ ⚐☞ 🏱🕆☠✋💧☟💣☜☠❄📬" (WHAT DID YOU REALLY EXPECT WHEN YOU BROUGHT HER HERE? THAT I WOULD AID YOU SELFLESSLY WITH NO MOTIVE OF MY OWN? YOU HAD TO HAVE KNOWN YOU WERE WALKING INTO A TRAP. BUT A TRAP ONE MUST STEP IN TO GET WHAT YOU WANTED. SUCH IGNORANCE IS DESERVING OF PUNISHMENT.)

"*growls* bastard!"

Rage has Chops throw his blade at the Doctor. But the mad man doesn't move. He simply catches the metal weapon and electrocutes it, causing great pain to Chops.

"☼☜💧🏱☜👍❄ ⚐☞ ⚐🕆☼ 🏱✌❄✋☜☠❄💧 ✋💧 ✌❄ ❄☟☜ 👍⚐☼☜ ⚐☞ ⚐🕆☼ 🏱☼✋☠👍✋🏱☹☜💧📬 ⚐☠👍☜ 🕈☜ ☟✌✞☜ ☜💧❄✌👌☹✋💧☟☜👎 ✌☠ ☜☞☞☜👍❄✋✞☜ 💣☜❄☟⚐👎 ⚐☞ ❄☼☜✌❄💣☜☠❄📪 🕈☜ 👍✌☠ ☞⚐👍🕆💧 ⚐☠ ✋❄💧 ☜☞☞✋👍✋☜☠❄ 💣☜✌☠💧 ⚐☞ 👎☜☹✋✞☜☼✡📬 ☟⚐🕈☜✞☜☼📬📬📬❄⚐ ✌✞⚐✋👎 ☼☜☹✌🏱💧☜ ☞☼⚐💣 ⚐🕆☼ 💣⚐💧❄ ❄☜☠✌👍✋⚐🕆💧 💧🕆👌☺☜👍❄💧📪 ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ 🕆💧☜ 💣✌✠✋💣🕆💣 ☹☜✞☜☹💧 🕈☟☜☠ 🏱☼⚐👍☜☜👎✋☠☝ 🕈✋❄☟ 👎✋💧👍✋🏱☹✋☠✌☼✡ ✌👍❄✋⚐☠💧📬" (RESPECT OF OUR PATIENTS IS AT THE CORE OF OUR PRINCIPLES. ONCE WE HAVE ESTABLISHED AN EFFECTIVE METHOD OF TREATMENT, WE CAN FOCUS ON ITS EFFICIENT MEANS OF DELIVERY. HOWEVER...TO AVOID RELAPSE FROM OUR MOST TENACIOUS SUBJECTS, I WILL USE MAXIMUM LEVELS WHEN PROCEEDING WITH DISCIPLINARY ACTIONS.)

Chops doesn't look so good and I'm helpless to aid him. Legion isn't built to deal with the Doctor, a killer that can work in short and mid-range. At best Chops has speed on his side especially if he goes into Feral Frenzy, but two things are against him. One is that Feral Frenzy only lasts a short while. And two, the electricity generators in the room might enhance the Doctor's power indirectly.

"❄☟☜ 💧❄✋💣🕆☹🕆💧 💣🕆💧❄ 👌☜ 😐☜🏱❄ ✌👍❄✋✞☜ ✌❄ ✌ 👍⚐☠✞🕆☹💧✋✞☜ ☹☜✞☜☹📬 💧✋👎☜ ☜☞☞☜👍❄💧 ✌☼☜ ✞☜☼✡ ☼✌☼☜📬" (THE STIMULUS MUST BE KEPT ACTIVE AT A CONVULSIVE LEVEL. SIDE EFFECTS ARE VERY RARE.)

"*huff* fuck you!"

Doctor charges to shock the weapon again but Chops yanks it harder than the Doctor expects, regaining

it. With the blade back in his hands Chops gets ready for the Doctor's next more. A smart play since he's at the home-field disadvantage.

"✋☞ ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆🕯☹☹ 👌☜ ✌👌☹☜ ❄⚐ ❄✌😐☜ 💧🕆👍☟ ✌ ☼✌☼☜ 💧🏱☜👍✋💣☜☠ ☞☼⚐💣 💣✡ ☝☼✌💧🏱📪 ✌☹☹⚐🕈 💣☜ ❄⚐ ☼☜📫☜👎🕆👍✌❄☜ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧✋💣🏱☹☜ 💣✋☠👎📬" (IF YOU THINK YOU'LL BE ABLE TO TAKE SUCH A RARE SPECIMEN FROM MY GRASP, ALLOW ME TO RE-EDUCATE YOUR SIMPLE MIND.)

"if ya think you'll have a chance like that again, you're in for a hell of a bad time"

Wait...Again? Now I'm really sure these two have a bad history.

Doctor releases the charge across the ground in a wide blast. Lucky for Chops, he enters Feral Frenzy and the speed boost he gets allows him to miss the attack with a quick leap. Activating Feral Frenzy causes The Legion to enter a deadly rage...for ten whole seconds...unless he's got add-ons to increase the duration and shorten cooldown time but even then that's only by seconds.

"✋❄🕯💧 ❄✋💣☜ ☞⚐☼ ✡⚐🕆☼ ☞⚐☹☹⚐🕈🕆🏱 ❄☼☜✌❄💣☜☠❄📪 👌⚐✡✏" (IT'S TIME FOR YOUR FOLLOWUP TREATMENT, BOY!)

The Doctor does have unlimited ammo with his electric powers however he does have to take a few seconds to charge up each time. Chops knows this and his knife doesn't have such a drawback. But if he swings while in frenzy and doesn't hit anyone he will lose frenzy, getting disoriented as the rage subsides. So Chops uses the cover of all the clutter in the room to his advantage to keep from being vulnerable as Doctor follows, trying to get decent shots. I can't move to see everything but I can see what Chops is doing, it's a very smart move. He's keeping the Doctor's attention on him, luring him around the room in a complete circle. The Doctor doesn't realize the plan till Chops is near it...My soul.

"👎⚐☠🕯❄ ✡⚐🕆 ☞🕆👍😐✋☠☝ 👎✌☼☜✏" (DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!)

Doctor blasts Chops square on the back and he's slammed into a partition wall. By now frenzy has ended and needs a twenty-second cooldown, providing he doesn't have an add-on to shorten that. Monsters have fast recovery abilities and Doctor knows this. It's why he wastes no time to begin stomping on the smaller skeleton.

"✡⚐🕆 ✋☠💧✋☝☠✋☞✋👍✌☠❄ 🕈⚐☼💣✏ 👎⚐ ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ ✌☠✡ ✋👎☜✌ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ 💧✋☝☠✋☞✋👍✌☠👍☜ ❄☟✋💧 ☟🕆💣✌☠ ☟⚐☹👎💧✍ ✌ 💧⚐🕆☹ 🕈✋❄☟ 💣🕆☹❄✋🏱☹☜ ❄☼✌✋❄💧 👍✌☠ 🏱⚐💧💧☜💧💧 🕆☠❄⚐☹👎 🏱⚐❄☜☠❄✋✌☹✏ ✋❄ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 🏱⚐💧💧✋👌☹✡ ☟⚐☹👎 ❄☟☜ 😐☜✡ ❄⚐ ☜💧👍✌🏱✋☠☝ ❄☟✋💧 ☟☜☹☹✏ ✌☠👎 💧⚐ ☹⚐☠☝ ✌💧 ❄☟☜☼☜🕯💧 ☜✞☜☠ ✌ ☞☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠ ⚐☞ ✌ 👍☟✌☠👍☜ ✋☠ ❄☟✌❄ 🏱⚐💧💧✋👌✋☹✋❄✡📪 ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ 👎⚐ ✌☠✡❄☟✋☠☝ ✌☠👎 ☜✞☜☼✡❄☟✋☠☝ ❄⚐ 💣✌😐☜ ✋❄ ☟✌🏱🏱☜☠✏ ☠⚐ ⚐☠☜ 🕈✋☹☹ 💧❄✌☠👎 ✋☠ 💣✡ 🕈✌✡📪 ☠⚐❄ ✡⚐🕆📪 ❄☟☜ ⚐❄☟☜☼💧📪 ❄☟☜ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧📪 ⚐☼ ❄☟☜ ☜☠❄✋❄✡✏ ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ 👌☜ ☼✋👎 ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☹☹ ☹✋😐☜ 👎✋💧☝🕆💧❄✋☠☝ ✋☹☹☠☜💧💧☜💧✏ ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ ☠⚐❄ 👌☜ 👎☜☠✋☜👎 ⚐☼ 💣✡ ☠✌💣☜ ✋💧☠🕯❄ 🕈📬 👎📬 ☝✌💧❄☜☼✏" (YOU INSIGNIFICANT WORM! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA OF THE SIGNIFICANCE THIS HUMAN HOLDS? A SOUL WITH MULTIPLE TRAITS CAN POSSESS UNTOLD POTENTIAL! IT COULD POSSIBLY HOLD THE KEY TO ESCAPING THIS HELL! AND SO LONG AS THERE'S EVEN A FRACTION OF A CHANCE IN THAT POSSIBILITY, I WILL DO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN! NO ONE WILL STAND IN MY WAY, NOT YOU, THE OTHERS, THE HUMANS, OR THE ENTITY! I WILL BE RID OF YOU ALL LIKE DISGUSTING ILLNESSES! I WILL NOT BE DENIED OR MY NAME ISN'T W. D. GASTER!)

He has a proper name? I mean, it's dumb to think he didn't, but then why do the others just call themselves by the names the humans or the Entity gave them? Monsters make my brain hurt with the number of questions they stir up. But if that's the case, what's Legions' real names? It can't honestly be Bones, Chops, Boo, and Dead Eye...Can it?

Feeling his physical brutality was sufficient enough, the Gaster rubs his hands and charges up a large amount of electricity. Not sure they can actually kill each other but the power could be enough to incapacitate Chops for an unknown amount of time. However, Chops has the strength to throw his blade once more. The Doctor hardly moves to avoid the hit and is overwhelmed with smug superiority.

"✌ 🏱✋❄✋☞🕆☹ ✌❄❄☜💣🏱❄ 💣✌👎☜ 👌✡ ✌ 🏱✋❄✋☞🕆☹ ☞⚐⚐☹📬" (A PITIFUL ATTEMPT MADE BY A PITIFUL FOOL.)

"*strained* heh...wasn't aimin' for you."

Gaster turns with alarm to see the true target of Chops' attack.

"☠⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐⚐✏✏" (NOOOOOOOOOOO!!)

The blade impaled itself in my soul, a sly move aided by my silence. Gaster attempts to keep it from shattering but such damage is beyond even his skill. Needless to say, he's not happy about it.

"🕈☟✌❄ ☟✌✞☜ ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐☠☜✍✏" (WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!)

Chops picks himself up as I feel the cold embrace of death taking me.

"*grunt* remember, meat...ya owe me."

My eyes roll into the back of my head and everything goes black.

[AT THE SURVIVOR'S CAMPSITE]

Another cycle of feeding comes for the Entity, thus a new day. Five trials. Seventeen of the eighteen Survivors are called out for the hunt, some sent out twice. Five Monsters are sent out to sacrifice the human meat. The Entity being hungrier than usual typically does two or three trails per day. Something must be coming. Something it is storing extra soul energy for. The eve of Hallows is approaching. Soon...Very soon. The flowers will bloom once more. But not yet.

By what they guess to be night time comes around, the humans at camp are frazzled from the frantic trials and lack of prep time given. Most are glad it's over and they were only sent once. Others wish the lucky ones would go jump off a cliff. Tough one has been more annoyed than ever. One that's gathered information from the others that his lady wasn't sent to the trials. David King sits and stares into the campfire, doing something some of the others would doubt him able to do...think. Something doesn't feel right. His instincts tell him so. Why wasn't she back by now? She had to be held somewhere. It made sense. He didn't know a lot about her but he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't join the monsters willingly. She's a tough girl, not a killer. Maybe it was the Entity. Damn thing seems to toy with her more than the rest. Maybe it was trying to keep her as a monster to make her a permanent Killer. Well nuts to that! He ain't letting that happen. Granted, he can't run off to look for her without the chance of being attacked by one or more of the monsters. Not like he can't handle them. But there are the rare few that even he can not power his way through. Like that one that got him in the woods...Shape...that thing is like a tank. You can punch a tank but it's only going to hurt you more. Or the Huntress. He's never taken on a woman before in a real fight yet that freaky fish is solid muscle wielding hatches and an ax. Yeah...fuck that fish bitch and her stupid humming. Still, there had to be something he could do other than look into the foggy woods while pacing like a dog waiting for someone to come home. He just didn't know what that something was, much to the unease of the group.

Suddenly there's a shift of the wind. The fog appears to pool within the safety of the camp. They knew what this was, a human was dead and coming back. The dead always returning in fog while the living run back on their own, except the ones that escape in the hatch. Either way, David was quick to rush to the form emerging from the darkness. She was still for a few moments once her body reformed. But when she gasped to life, it was obvious that something happened again to shake her to the core. As much as wanted to do something, a part of him told him to give her a moment, and yet the other part of him wanted to...

"D-David?"

Why did his name sound good in her voice?

"Welcome back, Luv. Miss me?"

He never really had friends. Not real ones, anyway. He had an entourage. A group of sods enjoying the high life with his credit card. If you were to ask them if he was good with women, they'd laugh and tell you he's too much of a shithead to keep one for long. They'd be eating those words if they saw this. him offering his hand to her like a gentleman and she sincerely smiling.

"Yeah...I did."

She takes his hand and he figures it's now or never to seal the deal before something else happens to take her away. He pulls her to her feet and away from camp...into the woods. Not that anyone seemed to stop this.

"David? What are you doing?"

"No worries, Luv. Trust me."

He leads her not too far from the camp. Just far enough to be hidden by the fog but close enough to make a quick retreat if something is wandering about.

"Dude, what is up? Because I'm not in a good mood for messed up shit right now."

So something did happen. Better go about this with the utmost caution, care, and respect. So what pray tell is the move he aims to use? Well he goes for the very sweet...Grab the face and smooch move. Because that never fails to sweep the ladies off their feet and let her know she's yours. This couldn't possibly bite him in the ass.

...She breaks the kiss and punches his shoulder rather hard, enough to make her knuckles pop.

"The fuck are you doing?!"

Is...Is she serious? Has she been blind to his past advances?

"Ya 'ave no idea 'ow much I've missed ya."

She gives him a funny look.

"David, my guy, gonna be real right now. I like you. You're a decent guy and I respect you. But I was just royally fucked up and I'd thank you kindly if you'd just not hit on me for the next couple minutes. Please?"

Damn it, how can he say no to her for being honest?

"Alright. I'll lay off for now."

She frowns slightly.

"Wanna...Hold me for a bit?"

Compromise? Accepted! He takes her into his arms and she snickers thinking him silly. Yet she nestles into him, enjoying the comfort.

"This good?"

"Yeah. This is nice. ...Did you really miss me that much?"

He strokes her hair.

"Is that 'ard to believe?"

"I wasn't gone that long."

"To me ya were."

"Heh...That was cheesy."

"It ain't easy bein' cheesy."

"*giggles* Oh my god..."

She gives his cheek a quick peck.

"You're such a dork."

She's being affectionate? Maybe she's become comfortable now. This deserves a test.

"Luv..."

"Hmmm?"

This time he goes for a less forceful approach. A gentle tilt of the head, a soft caress of the cheek, a slow lean in for the kiss, and say something as fancy as his name.

"I want ya."

Brilliant!

She exhales from her nose and slips out of his hold.

"Sorry. But I don't know you well enough or have the feelings to do what you want of me. Besides...I'm not here just for you or your needs."

Damn it! Why is this so hard?!

"Fine. Ya want to know me better? Ya know I come from money, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I was disowned."

"...Why?"

"I beat the shit out of my old man."

"The hell you did that for?"

"Because the bastard was goin' beat my mum."

Her expression looks like she was hit.

"It was one thin' when 'e'd go after me. But I'd be damned if that cocksucker touched 'er. I'll never understand why she stayed with 'im."

"David...I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It ain't worth feelin' bad about."

"But..."

He goes for a kiss and sticks the landing...on her forehead.

"It's sweet of ya to care, Luv. Really it is."

If at first you don't succeed, sway them using tragic personal information of a sympathetic nature.

"It's your turn. I told ya somethin' to better know me. Now ya tell me somethin' to better know ya."

Her face blanks.

"There's nothing to really know. I'm as basic and boring as you can get."

"Really? Ya can't think of just one thin' ya can trust me with? Ya know I'm not one to blather on to anybody but ya."

"There's not much to tell that I haven't already."

"Come on..."

"What do you want me to say?! How I was conceived to save a failing marriage? How in the seventh grade three boys tried to assault me and all the school gave me for compensation were museum tickets, which, I still have back home? That I've attempted to end myself multiple times? And as of recent, that I'm a pawn in a twisted game I can't figure out how to play. There! That good enough for you?"

The heck is she going off for?

"Oi! Don't get your nips in a twist."

"Then don't hound me!"

"Look, thin's ain't that bad once ya get used to them. the trials..."

"I wasn't talking about the trials!"

Her body began to tremble and she held her head in pain, eyes tearing up. Maybe now wasn't the best time to try moving things out of the friend-zone.

"Luv, I didn't mean to..."

"No...No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to explode like that. Not on you. *sigh* I don't want to take things out on you. It's just...I'm so messed up right now."

Doing something smart, he lets her go. Better luck next time. For now she needs space and for him to be her buddy.

"Anythin' I can do to make ya feel better?"

She steps around a bit, fidgeting with uncertainty.

"Want me to leave ya be?"

She stops.

"Could we...stay here a bit longer? Maybe tell dumb stories for the hell of it?"

That made him smile.

"Sure."

He sits down and pats the spot beside him. Her attitude does a 180°, practically jumping to his side and getting all close. Maybe she was making it up to him for snapping. Because when he took the chance of putting his arm around her waist she didn't tell him off or move it.

"Sorry again for being a bitch."

"You're fine, Luv. I don't blame ya. Couldn't 'ave been easy out there with them monsters."

She rests her head on his shoulder.

"Can we not get into that, please?"

"Sure thin', Luv. Just relax and let me take care of ya."

A soft coo-like sigh leaves her.

"Thanks, David."

"Anytime."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you, I don't know, bring me out here to fool around or some junk?"

David has a choice here, he can either lie to play it cool or be honest...He picks the latter.

"Not gonna lie...Was hopin' to get some snoggin' action with ya."

She slaps his knee playfully.

"I so called it."

"Heh, am I that easy to read?"

"I'd say like a book but you're more of a comic strip, complete with pictures and action bubbles."

"But can ya blame me?"

"Nah. You've made it clear that you like me. Wanting more isn't something to feel bad about. Just let me deal with my crap and then I'll be okay with thinking about normal stuff...like macking on tough Brits."

A playful smirk comes to him. This is a different kind of fight, yet one he believes he can still win. She wants time? Time is all any of them have. He can afford to wait. You can bet on that. Always bet on King.

[ELSEWHERE IN THE FOG]

Chops finally made it back to Mount Ormond Resort and relinquishes control of the body to Bones. This was more stressful than he was willing to deal with for a moment longer. So his ghostly ass makes its way for the second floor to unwind. Meanwhile the other three try to deal with what has happened.

"well that went about as well as expected."

{it is not like we did not get the things we wanted out of it.}

Dead Eye muses behind his leader much to Bones' disgust.

"are you referring to the doc treating her or that shit you got chops to do?"

Dead Eye's grin stretches wide.

{both.}

Bones groans.

"that's exactly the kind of shit that makes me not give you the body."

{you act as though i do not get results. she needed to be taught a lesson. pets need to know their place.}

Bones rubs his sockets as Dead Eye chuckles to himself, moving to another part of the room.

{denial does not suit you, bones. you were having just as much of a good time as we were.}

Bones slumps against his seat.

"*mumble* freaks..."

{um...bones?}

Boo fiddles with his hands timidly.

"what?"

{uh...so...did the doctor do anything we went there for?}

A good legitimate question.

"from what i could tell. he scraped a bunch of junk out of those scars. if they didn't refill when she died then she's probably got some more time than she did before. which is good for us."

{because she'll be cooperative in trials?}

"that and it gives us more time to train her..."

{i knew you were into it.}

Dead Eye mocks and Bones snarls.

"train her to use her power, you crazy bastard!"

Dead Eye laughs to himself. Bones goes back to ignoring he exists, thankful that Boo was so normal by comparison.

{are you sure we can do it?}

"ugh...we don't have much choice. if she corrupts completely before we get our rights than we look like idiots for trying. and then we'll never get respected by those assholes."

{when should we start?}

Bones pauses for thought.

"let's give it a go the feed cycle after next. meeting up again so soon after this shit won't be good for either of us."

{sounds good.}

"and you're teaching her."

This shocks Boo.

{w-what?}

"you know damn well why. if it helps, i'll switch with you if needed."

{okay...thanks.}

"don't thank me. we both know we can't trust those two to do it."

{i don't know. chops was doing okay till...yeah...nevermind.}

{you fear that which you do not understand...}

Dead Eye pops up behind Boo and the poor guy jumps across the room.

{fear is the path to acceptance. fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to denial, denial leads to bargaining, bargaining leads to depression, and depression leads to acceptance. so while you fear me now, i know that one day...you will be just like me!}

{no! i'll never be like you!}

{search your feelings; you know it to be true.}

{no!}

Bones cringes. He's surrounded by insane dorks.

{hey, fuck-face...}

Chops calls out from above.

"what, ass-clown?!"

{...why do ya think the quack was collecting that soul shit?}

To that Bones had no answer. Gaster is a crafty enigma. His twisted logic can lead to many paths, most of which are insane and convoluted. Though what he said is something to dwell on. Can her soul really be their ticket out of here? So many questions. So little answers.

#undertale #dead by daylight #Lynsie #Anomaly

[confusedinfj]

How to tell what your *ntp is feeling... And help?

AKA: how to *nfj *ntps

Because I saw some asks on other blogs about this and wanted to try haha.

Edit: This seems to apply to all tps actually 😂

Starting

Check facial expression.

If forlorn and pale, *ntp is sad and PROBABLY DOESN'T KNOW WHY. Go to unknown feeling steps.

If angry, *ntp knows why their mad. If they're refusing to tell you, they're mad at you. Go to angry steps.

If happy, your *ntp will look calm and mildly oblivious. Don't attempt emotional counselling or you will produce angry *ntp.

If some other complex feeling, they will say 'Idk'. Go to unknown feeling steps.

If sad for known reason, you should probably know why too. If you don't, ask them and they'll just tell you. If they refuse to tell you they're now angry with you for not knowing. Go to angry steps.

If you know what they're feeling and they need cheering up for any reason, go to cheering up steps.

If *ntp is crying, go to EMERGENCY RESET steps. Sit tight.

A few tips

Be warm. *ntps respond well to genuine warmth and concern.

Speak softly. Everyone responds fell to this, but especially stressed Nps.

Be direct. *ntps don't wanna go to magic emotional fairy land, weirdos.

Be subtle. *ntps recoil if they sense you think you're better than them, so if you tho k you're gonna go in their and save the *ntp, you better pretend you don't think that.

Remember, *ntps have Ti. You can approach this problem and fix it through breaching their low Fe through Ti. Try talking about feelings as thoughts - they're basically the same thing anyway.

Try to use Fe or even Te to pull this off.

Vibes.

Eye contact.

Physical contact. Actually gives away some important clues...

Pauses. Very important to let the *ntp think.

Know when to stop pushing. It's usually when the *ntp shows all body language signs of pulling and looking away. Just give then a hug, say you love them or whatever, and leave them be for a while before trying again.

Unknown Feelings

Sit down calmly next to *ntp and look them in the eyes, study them for a few seconds. They will probably look at you with amused concern.

Ask them what's wrong outright, or if they're okay. They'll say 'Idk' or equivalent vague answer. Mbs even 'I'm fine' or 'nothing's wrong' while avoiding eye contact or looking depressed.

Touch them gently if that's normal for y'all. If they pull away you have a grumpy *ntp who probs needs you to step it up a notch. If they pull away at this point it doesn't necessarily mean they don't want to talk.

Just frown and say something like 'you don't seem fine'. After a pause, if they don't suggest something, make your own suggestion.

'Are you upset with me because of this thing I did today?' is a good place to start. *ntp will probs want to clear up if they're upset with you, so will be like 'nah, it's just this other thing.' Alternatively, they'll say 'I tho k I might be', in which case you can talk about that like normal. Good job for finding out!

If it's something else they're not specifying, remember: you don't always need to know everything. So your next question isn't for details, it's just: 'would you like to talk about it?' with an additional 'can I help?'

Here I must mildly split the types. From experience, the intp will neither talk nor ask for help, and they won't appear to have changed either, even if their vibe is a bit better to you. But when they're feeling a little better they'll be really appreciative and soft to you, so it's not useless. Just try to make life quiet and easier for them. Also from experience, the entp might want to talk or have help, or they might just start crying or something. It's pretty easy to walk them through from there but...

Avoid bailing the entp out completely. K, if an intp is crying and asking for help, do it. It's weird, they defs need it (Si grips are mainly an entp thing tbh). If an entp is doing it... Help them fix the problem themselves, because otherwise they'll hate you for it later. Entps can make their own chaos, but they don't like being treated like babies. This means you

Look into the entp's eyes and - being pretty harsh tbh - tell them to stop crying and outline what they should do. Then you leave them with a hug or whatever and they're usually all good. This does not apply to deaths and stuff like that. Be normal here 😂

Congratulations! You have worked out your *ntps feelings and have hopefully helped a little. Hopefully they're not in a grip and it's all over now.

Angry

If your *ntp is mad at you, they'll look mad and quiet and won't be telling you why. Here's how to work this out.

Calmly say, 'I know you're mad at me. Why?' if they don't respond, propose something. That'll usually get them going. 'NO, IT'S BECAUSE YOU DID THIS!' You're in pretty hot water if they're still not responding after this bait.

Explain how you can't fix the problem if they don't tell you.

Try to go back to before they got angry and try to view things from their perspective - it's possible they're in a paranoid Ne-Fe loop and have completely misinterpreted something you did. This is more likely to be the entp's problem. It's also possible you offended their Ti by disagreeing with them or telling them what to do.

Say what your conclusions are and clarify your intentions. 'I didn't tell you how to boil water because I think you're an idiot, I did it because I really like that pot - it was a gift from my deceased mother - and I really didn't want the pot to burn. I'm sorry if I sounded condescending'.

This will usually soften your Ti offended *ntp, so good job on fixing the problem! But what if this doesn't seem to be the problem, and nothing changes? Now assume a Ne-Fe loop. This becomes a long term problem, but to confirm, here we go.

Basically, you have to stop digging for the reason they're mad at you and briefly affirm you love them or whatever. This won't help if the *ntp is in a loop, because they become extremely paranoid. You're almost certainly not going to fix this problem in one sitting. Go google the loop problem later and enjoy your new paranoid *ntp.

Cheering up

This advice is generic, use some discretion obvs

Do something with the *ntp. Like, take them out. This triggers their Ne, they love it. But them a drink or something to eat while you're out. This will usually work immediately.

Try discussing something with them. Might not work if they're really flat.

Watch TV or a movie with them. They like tech tbh

Feed them. Usually works, unless your cooking sucks.

Hug them. *ntps only pretend to hate this. Only works if you're close obvs.

Yell at them to snap out of it and cheer up. Extreme, but often works for entps who are in self pitying Fi Trickster moods. Don't actually tell btw. Just remind them pity parties are pointless and illogical.

Compliment the *ntp, or do something thoughtful like writing them a letter. Always be genuine!

Give the *ntp a project. Not a chore. Ask them to build an Ikea thing or something haha.

Only leave the *ntp alone once these steps have failed. No matter how many times they ask, if you can get them to do any of those things with you, they secretly want to be fixed. If they absolutely refuse to do any of those things, leave them alone and be quiet. They'll come out when they're ready. And don't finish with step 6. Then they'll think you're mean and angry at them. Always compliment sandwich 6.

If your entp (specifically) refuses to cheer up after an extended period of time, they might be using Fi Trickster... Or they could be legit depressed, try to know the signs. If they're not actually depressed, you can go on and compliment sandwich 6 again, a little harsher this time. If you trigger a Si crying melt down you fixed them, good job 👏 Otherwise, send your little entp to the doctor 😷

If your intp (specifically) refuses to cheer up after an extended period of time, they could be in Fi Demon and are likely depressed. If you can't get them to the doctor cos they're being stubborn, you can follow internet suggestions and try fostering their low Fe - it'll help get them out of Fi if they're not actually depressed. This means basically treating them like a soft little *nfj baby for an extended period of time.

Emergency Reset

You'll know if you need to do this when either *ntp is SPONTANEOUSLY crying or when intp is looking wide eyes like they're crying on the inside. This is a severe Si grip and they're basically completely overwhelmed. Tl;dr = trigger Ne, but handle Si first.

Sit down, hold *ntps hands if you can and look into their eyes. Ask them what's wrong and if you can help. Follow through with these steps in addition to anything they say 🙃

Check your *ntps vital Si signs - make sure they've been eating and drinking. Force them to take a food and drink break if they haven't. Encourage them to take a power nap. Encourage them to take a 10 minute walk. Encourage them to shower and get cosy if it's later in the day (which it usually is tbh).

Give the *ntp a game plan. For example, if your entp has left some project till the last minute, help them organise the steps they need to get through to complete the task.

Ask the *ntp if they'd like you to do some of their work while they Si recharge (walk, eat, nap, etc). Don't do too much, or they'll be Ti offended.

After the Si recharge, encourage the *ntp to decrease their work load. Think outside the box about ways they can do this - it triggers their Ne and makes them feel back in control of life. 😊

Basically, mildly parent your *ntp for about an hour and they'll perk up. This works every time, because *ntps in grips or loops don't have melt downs this obvious 😂

#emotional support #enfj #infj #entp #intp #mbti #fun type posts #fun functions #cognitive functions #how to help entps #how to help intps #Estp #Istp #How to help estps #How to help istps

[theorynexus]

We now begin 51, which will likely take us to an entirely different perspective. Thanks, Monty Python!

On a random note, though... 

Man, this is fricking crazy, from a dramatic irony perspective. I do appreciate that Homestuck is written such that that spreads from not only the author’s possession, but to that of the audience via rereads.  As... macabre as this particular example is.

Finally, Dorothy is gone, and all that is left is the Witch (and her little dog too)?

Well, maybe not even that. Certainly, Bec’s powers are muted, and I wouldn’t be too terribly surprised if his instincts are too; on the other hand,they could be strongly contributing to this. This sequence strongly reminds me of the sequence wherein Jade’s destiny to become fused with him was first alluded to. “You eat a weird bug, and don’t even care,” and whatnot.  Certainly, 

Words slough from the busy mind like a useless dead membrane as a more visceral sapience takes over. Something simpler is in charge now, a force untouched by the concerns and burdens of the upright, that farcical yoke the bipedal tow. It now drives you through the midnight brush ...  as you and your new friend must claim the night with piercing howls moonward.

seems reminiscent to me of all of her thoughts of her former existence fading as she is beckoned by the call-- not of a moon, but of another reflection of the light of the sun: the Void-y remains that come with its demise. Obviously her “new friend” in this case would seem to refer both to Bec (who is a part of her, now, thus explaining the uniform motion) and through allusion, to the Alt!Calliope that her other version of herself had already befriended, who would be the one beckoning in the first place. It should also be said that shoes could be taken as a symbol of civilization, in this case, beyond just the obvious symbolism that is being pointed out to the viewer.  Regardless, whether this similarity was intended or not doesn’t actually matter. It’s just that this scene vaguely made me think of that.

What irony, considering this is coming from the one who just bewitched the Seer (which, I would just like to say, is honestly some nice narrative symmetry, considering this is almost exactly like what Doc Scratch did before him [not that I don’t still feel disgust toward him, even if this might turn out in Rose’s favor, in the long run]).                    Oh, yes, and by the way... very nice confirmation of the fact that the Green Sun Black Hole is Void-oriented. I appreciate that coming from an in-story source. (Even if you don’t connect emptiness with Void, which you should, the fact that the Ocean is connected with it is almost indisputable. That’s part of the reason why Rose’s quest was to bring life to the dead ocean by Playing the Rain. It was about using her inner Light to counteract her tendencies toward its equal opposite.)

Which is part of the reason why Alt!Calliope and Jade get along so well, and why there’s a connection between them, I’m sure. (Both of their lifestyles/life histories emphasized thematically their inner Space orientation. [This may also be why Kanaya lived in them middle of a desert, with no one but her Virgin Mother Grub to directly keep he company.])

Yes, way to downplay one of the core Aspects of reality just because it doesn’t necessarily always function in the way that perception would suggest it does. This doesn’t make it illusory, nor does it invalidate the continuum aspect of it:  that it is intrinsically relevant to how life persists and interacts with the world itself demonstrates the importance of this part of Time. It’s like suggesting an iceberg is an illusion just because you can’t see the depths hidden away below the surface (Void hides it from your eyes [read: Light is blocked]).   Gah, you are so bloody irksome and pride-projecting in your demeanor just because you managed to pick something up that the Trolls basically illuminated to the Beta Kids way back when they were all 13.  Congratulations.

Fool. (Oh, and I would argue that time continuing to be relevant conceptually, despite its non-linearity, helps to emphasize its importance as a pillar of reality. That it is an existence persisting independent of its consequent internal signifiers [entropy, {temporal} causality, direction] allows for it to play the very important role of acting as a medium for general interaction and consequence; particularly, it allows for the persistence and simultaneous activity of all possible states of being within its domain [e.g.: reality or the meta-narrative Existence within the context of MSPA, or whatever set of other works which would necessarily include all relevantly connected miscellany] which are additionally allowed for via the logical intermingling it has with the other Aspects.            In other words: Time is one of the two necessary present architectonic forces that undergird the Narrative.   Your suggesting that it is given disproportionate attention and that loneliness is therefore an illusion is just the sort of insulting, crass, and perspective-locked claptrap that I’d expect from someone who’s so enthusiastically embraced a departure from humanity, and who thus has lost mooring in the solid, political existence which sapient, physically-connected beings dwell in by nature.   I suspect that your distraction and loss of perspective will eventually come back to haunt you.  ) Yes, I realize that the Ultimate Self is a timeless construct, but this does not mean time is irrelevant to it or the limited forms it girds itself with when connecting to physicality. (On a random note:  I do appreciate his decision to call Aspects ideas.)

Along with the creepiness with regards to Dirk pushing thoughts into Jade’s head (which is honestly par for the course in Homestuck, and at least he’s mostly trying to remind her of something he believes she already knows, so it’s somwhat benevolent), we get this interesting snippet.  Seems he wants to foreshadow difficulties between Dave, Jade, and Karkat in the future.   I suppose the only logical question is whether Jade will break their hearts in turn.   Love is hard. It’s hard and everybody (with actual experience) understands.

Ha ha, “How much of Homestuck was actually illusion seen in the perspective of the characters involved, a la the kids’ rooms before Gamzee’s Chucklevoodoo curses were disrupted,” ha ha. On a more important note:   I very much appreciate Dirk’s well-arranged metaphors relating to time, to Calliope’s Muse-inspired-powered Spatial-influential music. Dirk is indeed quite bad at distracting hyper-focused people with thoughts he thinks they will reasonably find seem similar to thoughts she might have.

Hey, man, don’t give up. Your breaking from the narrative of trying to help her is making it seem like your nervousness is throwing you off, meaning we won’t know if your attempts to help her had any chance to succeed in general! Way to go, “hero!”

“Time is an illusion,” you say?   Yet here’s your narration, there’s Jade.  Oh!  There she goes, persisting to fly off into the dead sun, just as linear time would demand of her!  What’s wrong?  Couldn’t make the time to properly put your thoughts together or try until you got it right?   Gasp!         My word!  It’s almost like Time is pretty fricking important to the narrative and reality of the story!

HEEHEEHAHAHAHA!!!        Serves you right, getting spooked like that, you incompetent, over-confident knave!

... Now, let’s see how the rest of this goes, now that I have a better handle on my humours.

You’re dealing with the Grim Reaper, inspirer of great woe and terror, as well as happy children drawings and stories everywhere.  Obviously, you were overmatched. Perhaps you should have tried focusing on Jade initially, rather than John?  That might have given you a little bit more time.   I am reminded of a group of trolls who didn’t properly think through their attempts to mock and cajole those they perceived to be the artificers of their downfall.  Perhaps this will turn out as well.

Demiourgos, your pride showeth. Your composure runneth down and streaketh thine face like free-flowing ichor. Hubris, doth it become thee?   Thou reflecteth thine flaws, and by thy own hand. Revealeth thou not the weakness of thine breast with Rage-filled uproar?   A lion in thine face we see, but at this flickering of that glamour, a snake in masquerade is spotted. Foul wretch, I pity thee:  for it is truly painful to behold the disheartening of the ambitious, and the glorious in the midst of downfall. What do you fear?  What compels such panic into one normally so serene?

I suppose I should have known. A mechanist always fears uncontrollable variables.    (I do wonder if his fear is truly warranted, though. Certainly, things aren’t as bad as they could be, but there is much to be depressed about in these outcomes as they have emerged so far, you know?)

And thus, a new star was born?   Well, we’ll see.   I certainly do appreciate the physics of black hole mechanics being involved, though I am not 100% sure that this is accurate to how such an ultra-massive construct would actually work. I know super-massive black holes effect objects differently than normal ones, when they approach the event horizon, so it seems rather reasonable to guess that one the mass of multiple universes would behave a bit differently from either.  I do not know, however.  ... All in all, a pretty great page, I guess.  It was nice to see the Narrator lose control so badly.  A bit sad that the consequences of that were as they were, but I knew that this would likely be the case, regardless. I wonder when John and Terezi will be back in focus~ ... P.S.:  I am pretty sure that subtle interference with the narrative is the normal role of a Muse, and that her Mastery over Jade in particular makes a great deal of sense, given who Jade is. I wonder what has compelled her to speak in such a manner that her voice is actually visible in the text, rather than subtly bending it to her will as presumably has been the case over the course of Homestuck, generally.  Could it be that she did this specifically to teach the Narrator a lesson?  Shall we ever find out?

#Homestuck Spoilers #Homestuck Epilogue #Unreliable Narrator #Homestuck Theory #Homestuck Liveblog #Homestuck Aspects #Aspect Theorization #Alt!Calliope #The Narrator #Jade Harley #Green Sun Black Hole #Time Aspect

[ineffablecolors]

THE WIFE [2/?]

The Wife || Ch 2 ~ 5.9 k || Ch 1 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: Do check the notes on chapter 1. As for this chapter: vague mentions of past Emma/someone *cough*

She puts some of the cream on the very tip of her finger and contemplates it as if it might hold all the answers to her future.

“Congratulations.”

Emma tenses in her seat but manages to retain her composure enough to not jump out of it or, worse still, let out the curse that hits the back of her teeth. She forces her mouth up into what she hopes might partially resemble a smile and turns to her right.

The lady now sat next to her is what Emma supposes she might have become with the proper tutoring and an otherworldly seamstress. Her blonde hair is lighter than Emma’s and pulled up into one of the most fashionable styles of the day and her blue dress is the most flattering piece of clothing Emma has seen on a woman. Her smile is genuine but not overly warm.

“I’m Mrs Jones. The other Mrs Jones. Elsa Jones.”

“Oh.”

Emma didn’t know Liam Jones was married, known as he was for his business talents and immense dedication to the Jones Brothers shipping company, but now that she actually spares it a thought it makes perfect sense that he would be an equally successful family man. It doesn’t take much to see that Elsa Jones is nothing if not a success when it comes to choosing a bride.

Killian Jones it seems has fallen short of his brother not only in the navy ranks and business hierarchy but on the marital battleground as well. Emma can see herself from across the garden, sitting beside Elsa Jones, and she supposes it is much the same as hanging a plain white shift on the laundry line beside your wedding night garments.

The thought of wedding nights makes her back stiffen and she focuses her attention on the gems in Elsa’s rings as she takes a delicate bite out of her own piece of cake.

“I… didn’t really expect all this,” Emma gestures at the few tables scattered around the garden and the decorated arch she married Captain Jones under just… an hour ago?

It’s not a lavish party by any standard but it is definitely more than Emma imagined their marriage would warrant. She has yet to decide how she feels about this.

“Oh, the cake was simply unavoidable,” Elsa says with an almost conspiratorial smile. “Alice has too big of a sweet tooth. And so does her father, I believe, though he will most likely deny it.”

Emma blinks and wonders why the idea of a gentleman enjoying sugary treats sounds so outlandish to her. Then again—

“I’m not sure I— Regina has always abhorred sugar.”

Elsa glances over her shoulder at her grandmother and leans slightly closer to Emma. Surprisingly, the subtle intimacy of it doesn’t put her immediately on edge.

“Yes, I can tell,” Elsa whispers.

“Yes, Regina has always been very strict about maintaining her figure.”

“Oh, no, I mean that she does look positively bitter.”

Emma’s eyes widen but she manages to turn her snort into a less undignified cough. Elsa Jones – a perfect lady with a perfectly wicked tongue.

This family appears full of surprises. And the cake is quite delicious.

*****

She stands on the second step, her eyes shifting between the floor above and the corridor stretching away below her. The corridor which her husband will walk down any second now to take her up those stairs and to the bedroom they are meant to share for their wedding night and all the nights after.

She is certainly no warmer now, in the gloom of the broad staircase, than she was earlier under the summer sunshine. The coldness is nothing new but the way all her muscles are straining under her skin – as if preparing to propel her out of the nearest door or even an open window – is certainly adding to Emma’s almost perpetual discomfort.

It is paramount that she gets a hold of herself. A tranquil state of mind, it is the only thing that can help her now. Detached – she needs to be calm and collected and detached. There is nothing terribly out of the ordinary about the situation she finds herself in and she needs to realize that – the sooner, the better.

“Ready?”

She startles a little and looks down. Jones is standing at the foot of the stairs and looking up at her, illuminated by soft candlelight his eyes look truly bottomless and the circles under them are even deeper. He has a candle in each hand, the left one’s little plate carefully balanced on the wooden surface of his prosthetic. Instinct tells her to reach for it but she doesn’t wish to overstep some imaginary boundary in their very first minute alone. She is certain he has plenty of experience and can carry more than a couple of candles up the stairs of his home.

Maybe she is wrong or maybe – most likely – he just realizes that she needs something for her fidgeting hands and takes pity on her because he hands her the candle in his right hand before transferring the one on his left into it.

They make it up to the landing before she is certain she has a firm enough grasp on her courage. When she opens her mouth, she takes some pride in how firm her voice is, even if the strain behind it is plain to the ear.

“I believe it has been made known to you that I am not—”

“We can save discussions of what either of us is and isn’t for tomorrow.”

It’s not an order but it is a suggestion that she finds herself willing to accept. His voice is just as deep and husky as it was when they were exchanging marriage vows but it gives off a much different impression in the darkness of the still and quiet house. Emma thinks that’s what the voice of a man who has come back from a long and arduous journey must sound like. It is indisputable that she does not know all about being somebody’s wife but she knows enough about what men who’ve come back from a journey might expect to find.

She has always wondered what the difference truly is – physically, for men. Naturally, there was a time when she felt almost enraged at the notion – the conviction, that a woman touched is a woman impure, that she is somehow less.

Emma is less, by that definition. And by a few others. There may have been ways for her to compensate for that but she has not made the effort to learn what they are. She has remained caught in the horrible middle – no longer pure but not yet experienced.

It is the latter that makes her feet feel heavy now as she raises them to the next rung. She does not care about satisfying her husband tonight. She wonders if women ever do. Perhaps when they are truly in love, but then she wonders if that isn’t just another notion like purity with no true manifestation in the real lives of real people.

No, she worries for her own self and for that her inexperience is a burden as heavy as her impurity, if not heavier. She has laid with a man but twice. Each time hurried, prolonged not a second longer than it took him to reach completion. For such a pivotal moment in her life, the memory of it is an embarrassing blur but not enough so that she doesn’t now recall the discomfort, the fumbling and the pain and then not much of anything but the burn of friction.

That’s all she found in a man she had set her eyes on, a man who made love to her with words before she allowed him to do so with his body – both proved nothing like what she expected and even less like what he promised. And that man had been little more than a boy when it came to the strength of character and experience of body he had.

Killian Jones is a man. What is more, he is her husband and he does not have to lull her with pretty promises and coax her into his bed. She is his wife – his bed is where she belongs.

Her thighs tense and Emma curses silently under her breath as she feels the slightest tremble in her legs. She is surprised – almost mortified – to find herself on the verge of tears. Jones is a solid three steps behind her but Emma has already realized that her mind and body are sensing the approach of something that neither has a fond memory of.

She most certainly needs to get a hold of herself.

“Here.”

Emma turns back, realizing that she doesn’t really know where she is going and why Jones let her lead the way. He turns the knob on a door in deep grey and gestures inside with his candle without actually crossing the threshold.

“This is to be your room.”

Her—

“I trust you should have everything you might need immediately. Ruby will take you shopping first thing tomorrow. As soon as you are ready that is.”

Her room. Those two words together fail to make sense in the situation that the two of them currently inhabit, no matter how Emma turns them around. Tis two words, there aren’t that many different ways she can turn them.

“Alice’s room is right across,” Jones adds and she realizes he is still standing at the door – her door – illuminating the entrance but not actually entering. “And my own chambers are at the very end.”

He nods to himself and finally lets the arm holding his handle settle back at his side, his left is angled slightly behind him as if he is half prepared for a bow. Or hiding something.

“I—“

“If you need anything—“ he cuts off with a glance toward the end of the corridor where his room is apparently situated.

Her room. His room.

He nods again.

“Good night.”

She watches the wild flame of his candle move down the corridor with him. It’s when he is half a dozen paces away, his steps heavy yet barely audible and his form the only solid thing among the shadows, that she remembers he gave her a candle of her own to light her way.

*****

Her bedchamber is unnecessarily spacious. It is the first thing that crosses Emma’s mind as she lifts her head from the pillow in the late morning. The sun has climbed high enough that the light is winning the battle with the curtains – brightness filtered through slate blue makes the corners of her room much clearer than candlelight did the night before.

Her wedding night which – for reasons yet wrapped in the temporary cobwebs of sleep and the more permanent mystery of Killian Jones – she spent alone under three blankets, all in different shades ranging between blue and green. Most of everything in the room is soft shades of those two colours and little seems ill-chosen or out of place. Just the sight of the fireplace sends tingles of anticipation over her whole body.

Emma curls her toes and buries her nose in the white nightgown she found waiting for her the night before. It smells fruity and sweet like jam and, before she has truly decided to let her emotions reign for a moment, her eyes are already prickling for the second time in only so many hours. This time the feeling is much different.

She is as uncertain of herself and everyone in this house as she was when she first set foot inside it the day before, she is much more perplexed and still a fair bit uncomfortable. But Emma is no longer afraid.

*****

“About time.”

She has to give credit to the old woman, her words are just quiet enough that she can deny uttering them and just loud enough to make sure Emma hears her and all the judgement she can infuse into three syllables.

It is an admirable effort, certainly, but Emma grew up in a house with Regina Mills and her lady’s maid Zelena, her experience with judgement is on a level that, she is confident, is rarely achieved in the Jones household.

And she rather deserves the cook’s evil eye. After sleeping in a bed fit for a princess, she is tumbling down the stairs for breakfast at an hour befitting one. Her dress – Alice’s, if she has to make an uneducated guess – barely brushing her ankles and hanging a little off her shoulders, completes the picture of the careless and carefree lady who is not the least bothered with custom or court.

The image couldn’t be further from the subject. Emma has never been particular about observing the etiquette in every minute of her daily life but she certainly wished to make an effort and a hopefully less than disastrous impression on her first day as Mrs Emma Jones.

As it is, she rushes in to find Captain Jones in a corner of the breakfast table, plates and even his cup of tea obviously abandoned long ago as most of the space in front and around him is taken by papers and what looks like numerous logbooks.

“Good morning.”

He glances at her for such a brief moment that Emma is unsure whether she imagined the look or not.

“Morning.”

The cook – gods, she needs to ask the younger maid about her name, she knew yesterday that she will never remember it right away – comes in to pointedly pick up some empty plates and Emma decides to give her apologies and extend an olive branch in one swoop.

“My apologies, I— Well, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Did you have some sort of engagement in the morning?”

Emma furrows her brow in confusion. Jones’s eyes continue to follow the ink that shapes words and numbers under his skilled guidance.

“No. I… did not.”

“Then there was no need for you to be up any earlier and, thus, you are not late,” his blue eyes finally find hers and Emma is shocked by how different they look yet again, the morning light making them brighter and more vivid. “In addition, it is an impossibility to be “late” for much of anything while my daughter is residing under the same roof.”

Emma looks around and realizes that Alice Jones is indeed nowhere to be seen.

“And yourself?”

He blinks at her, plainly and powerfully taken aback.

“I— I wake much too early for you to concern yourself with that.”

Before she can puzzle out his surprise and formulate her reply, Jones has turned his attention to the cook.

“Mrs Lucas, a fresh pot and some warm toast, if you would be so kind.”

“There was plenty of warm toast an hour ago.”

“Indeed. Time has that pesky quality of cooling warm food. Hence, our constant race against it for a piece of hot bread.”

Emma watches the exchange with mounting amusement and apprehension. She cannot help but appreciate Killian’s quick acquittal and dismissal of her small misstep but she acutely feels the need to not incense Mrs Lucas any further. The look she gives her before leaving the room tells Emma that she has reached new lows in the old woman’s eyes in an alarmingly short time.

She swallows her worry and takes a seat at the half of the table still set for breakfast, and focuses on the more benevolent presence in the house.

Days ago – indeed, mere hours ago, Emma would not have considered the possibility of her future husband appearing “benevolent” in her eyes so soon after their vows were exchanged – if he ever did at all. But, looking at Killian now, she is hard at work to find any trace of malice or arrogance about him. It is hard work and work she does not wish to do.

Oh, he is far from approachable. Frankly, sitting at the opposite end of the same table, he might as well be a continent away from her, but even distant as he is, his presence is calming and solid. Solid, flipping through the pages before him and inking the tip of his pen with practiced ease, deep lines of concentration lining his forehead, he looks like he can probably hold most of the world on his slightly hunched shoulders. He looks like he does.

*****

“A good morning to all!”

Despite the late hour Alice does not carry that aura of haughty lateness and overindulgence that Emma worried about, she seems to bounce her way into the room much like the occasional sunbeam that refracts in the porcelain cups. There are pheasants on them and Emma has been tracing the tail of one while sneaking glances at the man across from her for the last quarter of an hour.

Alice slides behind her father’s chair and gives him a quick peck on the cheek before she circles the table again and sits down a seat away from Emma, smiling at her openly.

“Morning.”

Alice’s warm toast and fresh tea appear as if by magic without the captain having to so much as give Mrs Lucas a prompting look.

“When should I tell Peter to have the horses ready?”

She looks expectantly at her father and Emma instinctively follows her example. Killian looks up and tilts his head to the side.

“You should tell him to have the carriage ready first. Ruby is taking Emma shopping, I believe.”

“Oh, can I go as well? I want to find a new perfume for—”

Emma sees Alice glance at her from the corner of her eye and senses that she might have finished her sentence were it not for her presence. Emma doesn’t dwell on it, she has never had an ear for gossip.

“I thought you might wish to,” Killian responds to his daughter but looks at Emma and it takes her a long moment to realize the decision is apparently left to her.

“Oh, of course. If you wish to, I could probably use some help.”

“It’s decided then,” Alice claps her hands once and jumps to her feet.

“Finish you breakfast first, darling.”

A bread roll is merrily snatched up and carried away as Alice calls out for Ruby and Emma politely pretends not to notice Killian’s eyeroll.

“Emma, if you are finished with your breakfast…”

“Oh, yes,” she pushes her cup of tea away and raises to her feet, she is not sure she has anything to do while she waits for Alice and Ruby to be ready to leave but she can certainly channel her efforts into pretending to.

“Then perhaps we can have a word in my study?”

Or that.

“Of course.”

Her husband gathers some of his papers, leaving a few on the table with his inkwell and pen, and gestures for her to follow him. The further they go, the more the noises of the house seem to fade, the light getting more and more muted. He opens the door to his study for her and inside the silence is complete and the windows give off the impression that it is late afternoon rather than midday.

Emma stands perfectly still. The gloomier room makes goosebumps erupt over her flesh. Jones drops the papers in his hand on his desk and then himself drops into the chair behind it with a certain amount of relief. Her impression is that his prolonged presence at breakfast might have been a rare courtesy, prompted by Alice’s presence and Emma’s first breakfast as a member of the family.

“Emma, you don’t have to stand like a newly minted soldier.”

It’s probably the first time she has heard a trace of genuine amusement in his voice. She tries to loosen her muscles and sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk, carefully arranging her skirts and crossing her ankles.

“I want you to feel comfortable here.”

The knowledge that this is easier said than done sits heavy in her stomach. It has little to do with the house around her or the man before her but Emma is simply not sure she knows how to be comfortable.

“Is your room satisfactory? There are two more bedrooms which you can—”

“The room is lovely.”

Killian nods in a way that makes her think he doesn’t actually believe in her satisfaction but is content with the pronouncement of it.

“I’ve instructed Ruby to procure everything that you are unlikely to feel the need to choose personally but you can of course review the list with her. Feel free to purchase any clothes, handkerchiefs, perfumes, make-up and— whatever it is you might need or want today. Just leave my name and I will settle the bills tomorrow. What else?”

Killian seems to wrack his brain for any other necessities while Emma wonders at the trust of it all. Abusing his generosity is the furthest thing from her mind but she can’t help but notice that it would be very easy to do so, if one desired it.

“Jewelry, of course. I apologize for the pieces I sent with your dress. If I can be quite frank, jewels completely slipped my mind and under the press of time I resorted to what was available here.”

Sitting across from this man, Emma has to wonder that Liam Jones is supposedly the businessman of the family. The tone of his speech is exactly what she assumes befits a business deal, even if the content of it seems to be arranged much in her favour rather than his. Perhaps that is the key to it – Killian Jones doesn’t appear selfish enough to be a good businessman.

“Umm, K-Killian,” his name sounds rather monumental on her tongue but she takes some small measure of satisfaction and reassurance from the way it startles him as well – the business façade slipping slightly – she supposes his work associates do not address him by his given name but, even if she feels like one right now, calling her husband “Captain Jones” is one thing she is not willing to submit to. “The jewels were quite lovely and I do not… I really do not require any more at present.”

The jewelry actually fit her personal tastes better than the dress. The pieces are simple but elegant, just a bracelet and a pair of earrings. The bracelet especially she has fallen quite in love with – the little five-petal flowers inlaid with golden gemstones.

“Did they… belong to your wife?”

She regrets the question immediately. Killian’s shoulders stiffen perceptibly and he turns slightly away, any openness in his expression gone.

“No. All my late wife’s belongings were promptly sold.”

It’s a cold statement but his voice is even colder, as if taking responsibility for the words and aiming to make them even harsher.

“They were my mother’s.”

Her eyes jump back to his half-turned face with unmitigated surprise. The shot of guilt follows soon after.

“I will return them as—”

“There is no need for that. You are my wife. Who else should be in possession of my mother’s jewels.”

Alice, Elsa and a row of anonymous ladies in impeccable gowns measured just for them who would’ve made much better wives to Killian Jones parade before her eyes in the space of a single heartbeat. She manages to stop herself before she asks if the previous Mrs Jones were allowed the same familial privilege.

Killian clears his throat and turns to face her fully again. The businessman back in control.

“Ruby can show you all around the house whenever you ask. You can choose an apartment for yourself and any guests you might wish to have. Of course, you can come and go as you please.”

Emma blinks in surprise, she does not believe such a statement is usually proceeded by “of course” or made at all.

“If you wish me to attend any dance or dinner party with you, I request a day’s notice and if you wish to host any such, I’d like you to notify me a week or so before as well.”

The seconds tick by, Killian’s eyes have shifted to the world outside the window and Emma realizes his listing of her liberties has come to an end.

“And what is expected of me?”

Before stepping into this room she could not have envisioned asking this question so bluntly but, short as it has been, the time she has spent in Killian’s presence leads her to believe that directness and honesty might serve her best. She prays to a god she secretly doesn’t believe in that she is not wrong.

Killian’s eyes turn to her more shadowed and somewhat confused. He doesn’t seem to have a ready answer for her and she finds it extremely strange that he has not asked himself that question already.

“If there is anything— If there is an issue, I’d ask you to come directly to me with it.”

Who else would she go to? Already – perhaps naively but instinctively, she will rather come to him than run back to her grandmother. Emma wonders if Jones underestimates how alone she is and has always been.

When he lapses into silence again and steals a glance at the frankly frightening pile of papers on his desk, Emma figures she will have to navigate wifely duties on her own until a time when he decides to define those for her. She nods, raises from her chair and, after a slight hesitation, heads for the door.

“Oh, and Emma? Please, do remind Alice that she will have to fit whatever she purchases in her travel bags when she leaves.”

Her curiosity might have prompted her to ask about times when Alice forgot that essential detail on a shopping trip and the results thereof but, as it is, his mention of his daughter has a much different effect on her. She turns around and gathers her strength – it’s there, she knows, she hopes, she hasn’t called on it in a long time, has let it rest after all that she put it through but it’s there and—

And Killian Jones is smiling. It’s small and private and likely directed at his daughter’s imprudence rather than anything else but… her strength fails her.

“I’ll make sure she keeps that in mind.”

She tries to form a smile of her own but that fails as well.

*****

“Don’t put the kettle on yet, I think they’re off to show Emma the horses.”

Granny makes a displeased sound in the back of her throat and Ruby can’t help herself.

“She isn’t all that bad, you know.”

“You buy a dozen dresses together and now you’re thick as thieves?”

“It certainly wasn’t a dozen. She is quite modest and made very sensible choices.”

“I ain’t giving her credit for that. Making sensible choices is what women do.”

“All I’m saying, she isn’t spoilt or anything, doesn’t seem used to nice things and… I think she feels guilty for coming here with nothing.”

“As she should.”

“You know it couldn’t’ve been her choice.”

But her grandmother just shakes her head and kneads the dough in her hands harder, her sleeves pushed up as far as they will go. Ruby has never seen her sleeves slip down her arms – even they know not to get on the wrong side of Granny Lucas. They’re smarter than she is apparently.

“She likes him, you know.”

“And why wouldn’t she?”

Ruby barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Granny would sooner admit that her shortbread were inedible than that Killian Jones had a flaw.

“And how would you know anyways? Are you her lady’s maid now?”

Ruby huffs and blows an escaped lock of hair out of her eyes. There is nothing to do in the kitchen until the family comes in for tea and she feels restless whenever there is nothing to do.

“She kept asking me questions about him.”

“What questions?” the dough hits the wood hard and in the next moment her grandmother’s eyes are fixed firmly on her, something almost primitively protective sparkling behind her glasses.

“Oh, good Lord! When would be the most opportune time to slip him some poison? What questions. I don’t know. What kind of tea he likes, if he always gets up early in the morning – innocent questions!”

Granny scrutinizes her carefully before she grunts in reluctant acceptance and turns back to her task.

“You tell that girl nothing. She wants to know so much she can earn the knowledge.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair of you to take it out on her.”

“Many a thing in this life that ain’t fair, Ruby. When she proves herself to me, you can be sure I’ll do my damnest to protect her from that unfairness as well.”

*****

She is laboring under no illusion that Jones hasn’t noticed the reluctant way she is shuffling after him. The absence of her enthusiasm is thrown into even sharper relief against Alice’s vibrant excitement. The girl is quite a few paces ahead of them and Emma is not convinced her feet have touched the ground at all since they set out toward the small stables.

It’s the part of the Jones residence that Emma hoped to avoid as long as possible. Alas, after all the time Alice spent with her yesterday – picking fabrics and ribbons, sniffing perfume bottles and trying to determine the right style of hat that befits Emma – a thankless task in Emma’s opinion – when Alice started prodding her father to get the horses saddled again today, Emma felt compelled to join and indulge her as well.

Now she realizes she might have overestimated herself.

“Are you quite alright?”

She blinks up to find that Killian has fallen back into step with her. He looks concerned and uncomfortable over being so at the same time.

“Oh, yes, I’m perfectly—“ the “fine” sticks to the roof of her mouth and no matter how hard she prods it with her tongue, she cannot dislodge it from there. “Not entirely.”

She doesn’t know if she is more surprised by her own admission or by the fact that they just calmly continue walking forward. Then she thinks perhaps he didn’t hear her and she is almost glad for it.

“Is this about a fear of the animals or…”

“No. No, I used to ride. I liked— I loved it, truthfully. But then… I stopped. And now it’s been some ten years since I’ve sat astride a horse.”

It’s possibly the longest she has gone on talking since she got here and Emma feels both pride and embarrassment.

“Astride?”

Her head whips up to find him looking straight ahead and obviously struggling to suppress a smile. It’s only whether he is truly amused or mocking her that is unclear to Emma.

“Well, yes, I used to—“

At this moment, Alice comes toward them astride an elegant, impeccably white horse.

“So does my daughter.”

Neither mockery, not amusement, his smile is genuine enjoyment. Alice urges the beautiful animal closer to them, a slightly sheepish smile on her own face.

“Why, you two were taking so long.”

“Of course, darling. I have long given up keeping pace with you.”

Killian steps a little in front of Emma as he talks and for a moment she thinks he has simply forgotten about her presence. Then he glances back at her and she realizes, despite her insistence that it isn’t the horses she is afraid of, he has very purposefully positioned himself between her and the horse. It’s the stables that make a cold wave slitter down her spine, not the horses inside, but the gesture helps regardless.

She rests one hand on Killian’s shoulder and reaches forward to stroke Alice’s horse. The smell and feel of it makes her lips turn up slightly.

“Emma, meet Jolly,” she grins proudly down at her.

“She does look rather happy indeed. She, yes?”

“Yes. Papa’s is our lonesome gentleman.”

“Would you like to meet yours?”

Killian’s voice is close and she takes a step back to restore a respectable amount of space between them. Then she takes in his words. Emma has owned few things in her life – or so she thought before Regina showed her that she has very likely never owned a thing – and a horse has certainly never been one of them. She used to ride a lot but that was before, that was a different horse every time and never being quite certain if it will happily let her sneak a ride or throw her to the ground. On the inside, she is terrified and exhilarated in equal measures. On the outside, her nod is almost collected.

But another few steps are all it takes for the chill to come back and for terrified to start winning out.

“Killian.”

He turns around, one eyebrow raised in question – expectant but blessedly not impatient.

“Could you… could you bring them out?”

He tilts his head to the side, seemingly confused for a moment and she focuses all of her will power on not saying anything else and making it all even worse. For the life of her, she cannot comprehend how her mind talked her into asking, it’s probably the doing of her galloping heart.

But then Killian just nods once and turns around.

She should follow him. She is not a child and she most certainly doesn’t need or want to be treated as one. Except she is still frozen outside the stables and she did just ask him to fix it. He can’t fix it.

But he does bring the horses out.

His stallion makes her gasp, its black coat quite literally glistening in the afternoon sun, its muscles  rippling with undisguised power. If a horse was ever made to be ridden into battle, this one was, and he seems to know it too, looking disdainfully at Killian for the sedated pace that he is being led at by his bridle.

The other horse – hers, she thinks in wonder, appears almost as white as Jolly at first. Emma thinks it the sun is playing off its flanks as well until it stands just a few feet from her, only then does she realize that the golden tint to its coat is its own and not a trick of the light. And Alice’s horse is as near perfection as can be, and Killian’s is likely the most powerful animal she has seen with her own eyes, but her mare is the one that looks like a painting come to life, like it would belong in a museum, were it not for the energy buzzing around it.

“This is Roger,” Killian gives a tug on his horse’s bridle and the two seem to engage in a silent battle of wills for a few moments before the horse huffs and finally ceases its obviously impatient pacing. “And this… well, that’s for you to decide, I suppose.”

“She doesn’t have a name?” Emma reaches out to touch the horse like she did Jolly.

“She hasn’t had one here.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Not that much longer than you. A week or so.”

“Something summery then.”

It’s two days later when Alice brings a bunch of buttercups with her after a ride that she picks one.

Taglist: @bmbbcs4evr @laschatzi @darkcolinodonorgasm @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @courtorderedcake @passports-and-postagestamps @nikkiemms @winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @sherlockianwhovian @mayquita @cocohook38​ @aloha-4-ever @idristardis @snotelek @yasbio2015 @superchocovian @facesiousbutton82 @lawgeeks If you wanna be tagged in future updates (or if you want me to fuck off your mentions :D), just drop me a line ;)

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#captain swan #knight rook #cs ff #cs au #the wife

[sieben9]

“the final battle” impressions

{Quick request to anyone reading: I’m watching OUaT for the first time, and I want to avoid spoilers. So, if you want to discuss something spoilery, I’d be grateful if you could start a new post for that. Thank you!}

Ah Once, what am I going to do with you?

I mean, this episode was definitely an Experience™, that much is certain. Just… ::sighs::

Look, if I try to sum it up, I think the best I can do is “this was twenty minutes of a really good finale stuck inside a rushed ninety-minute wtf-fest. Also, those twenty minutes belong to a totally different season.

this is the sort of thing you’ve got to foreshadow at least a LITTLE

The acting was pretty damn good, though.

(Fair warning: don’t open this on mobile, there’s a ridiculous amount of pictures under the cut)

OK. So. Couple of things that I really liked up front, so I can gripe in peace later on. (And readers can skip whatever part they wish ; )

First, and I realise this is a weird thing to enjoy, but I loved how utterly despicable I found Fiona in this one. She may have hung around like a bad smell for most of the season without really doing much, but she sure stepped up her game for the occasion.

Seriously, if Rumple hadn’t killed her, I would have found a way. “Our son”, indeed.

Though, please, have some pity on the poor guy. At this point, he has killed both his parents, and one of them twice. That can’t be good for anyone.

oh look the wall robots are still there

And speaking of Rumple… dang, that was a good scene in the mines. What I loved most about it was that this was literally all him. Nobody would ever know what he did in there if he didn’t tell them, except for himself, and he still made the right choice. Despite being offered everything he ever wanted, despite being under the influence of his curse just as much as ever…

before you ask, yes, my mind did go Places

…and more literally than it’s usually shown. Well done, pal. I should probably be more excited about this, but despite the tense buildup, I feel like the scene kind of fizzled as a whole. Maybe because he already made the exact same choice earlier, and was just confirming that he really meant it, too. Still, it was a good moment, and I was very proud of this walking human disaster by the time it was done.

Some more on the topic of Rumple: congratulations on his acting skills. Rumple’s, not Robert Carlyle’s, specifically. Because there’s no way in hell I could have seen these photos…

…and kept a straight face. Honestly, I’m half convinced that they were a test by Fiona to see if he was awake after all.

Oh, and the book!

The book made it across! And you know why? Because Belle and her son have True Love, even if Gideon cannot remember that, because Fiona is The Worst. And Rumple worked so hard to make Gideon remember; it was heartbreaking to see. I mean, he had to do that for… what? Five hours? And he still couldn’t stand the thought that Gideon might believe his mother didn’t love him. It was a good scene, OK?

On a sillier note (but still unambiguously positive): Emma’s wardrobe came back for the finale!

I don’t know, it’s just nice to see.

Other things I loved a lot:

Any and all interactions between Regina and her now-settled other half. Just. Pure joy, even in the midst of the wtf-ery. And with the obvious standout-moment when the Queen goes and sacrifices herself to give the others that tiny bit of time they need to get back to their world and help Henry (and Emma, but I think we all know who the priority was in this case)

Just… damn. I’m still worried about this woman’s self-destructive streak in general, but this was a good moment. (It also helps that she got better. ‘cause that could have been really depressing otherwise.)

Oh, and since we’re speaking of Regina (or the Reginas, plural), I absolutely adored the speech she gave Emma. Just… I mean, I expect the hope speeches from Snow (and that one was pretty good, too), but this? I mean… wow. Please compare and contrast with season 1. Except you don’t have to, because Regina already did that, and it was beautiful.

Then we have an actual mirrored TLK (see below for a botched version…) in this very good moment:

Like, yes, I love bookends, and this was a great one. Calling back to the “holy crap why didn’t I see this coming” kiss in s1 worked surprisingly well, considering how little interaction Emma and Henry had this season, but there’s enough material in the show in general to make me buy into this. Like I said: sucker for bookends.

In general, I feel like this episode was at its strongest whenever re-focused on the family relationships between the characters.

And to close it out, the ending montage.

Just... it’s like Snow said. They get to live their happy endings now. Snowing finally have the time to be a proper family (and David got a dog!). Regina is accepted and loved by her people (and the Queen gets to have a completely “new adventure”, as Robin so aptly put it.) Snow can do what she loves and doesn’t have to fight all the time anymore. And Emma finally has a place in the world; one where she can settle and be comfortable and doesn’t have to be alone anymore... and I’ll just leave it at that. It’s a good ending.

And no, I haven’t forgotten it--obvious special mention to this bit here:

Yup. Killed me dead. And I died happy, thank you very much. They’ve been through so much bullshit, and now they can be together, and raise their son in peace, and won’t be really worried when he doesn’t stop growing, either.

I also want to give a special shoutout to the five six people who immediately made sure that I knew that 1) the kiss wasn’t scripted and 2) we, as a fandom, are extremely lucky to have Robert and Emilie. (For those who haven’t seen the interview in question, it’s here, and here)

The finishing dinner was nice, too, even if I’m not sure what the whole Last Supper imagery was supposed to do.

Listen, I’ve been going “just let them be happy!” for way too long to complain much when they finally are. Also, I could write an essay on the range of emotions Rumple goes through when he comes through that door and people are actually happy to see him and his family. Or about that look that passes between him and Regina, because I caught that and it made me cry! I don’t think either of them ever imagined they would really be this happy again when they first met and they’ve been through so much crap and just... guh. I like this. It’s a good closing shot.

And now, the rest.

Because frankly, this wasn’t a great finale. It wasn’t even that good of an episode. It was everything wrong with the 4B finale, only more of that.

For example: What was the deal with making Emma lose her belief? Since when was her belief required for the magical realms to exist? The only person who’s ever had even something approaching that function was Henry. She didn’t need to believe in magic to keep it alive, she needed it to break the curse.

And this was never set up as the Black Fairy’s plan. Not even a little. This came so out of left field, it wasn’t even in the same stadium! And it’s so frustrating, because this wasn’t a bad plot, as such, but there was no build-up, no real payoff, nothing. Or, let me put it differently: this was a perfectly fine plot resolution, it just had no business being attached to this season.

Everything felt rushed, there were about five dozen plot points, none of them with any time to breathe and somehow, we still got that terminally boring climb up the bean stalk.Sorry, David, you know I love you, but what was the point of that sidetrack? Nothing happened. There was no try-and-fail cycle (because there wasn’t time for one) and honestly, if you needed a handwave for how they got back from the magical realms, maybe you could have gone with a less time intensive one?

And that moment where Snow kisses David back to life? Yeah, unearned, again. And dear show: the cut-in from the first episode worked for the split-heart curse, because you were subverting it. But here? It just didn’t do anything. This wasn’t a parallel. David wasn’t cursed, he was crushed by a beanstalk.

And speaking of things that don’t make sense…

For the love of fuck. Her ankle? Really? This is such a cliché that even the slasher genre doesn’t do it anymore. And it’s a dumb cliché, too. It’s rooted sexism and it makes it look like you didn’t have any other ideas. I get it, you don’t want Belle with Rumple at that final point so she doesn’t influence his decision. Here’s a thought, then: let her stay behind for a good reason! Or, hell, if you don’t want to write a scene for her (the writers sure seem to be allergic to giving Belle any screentime), let there be a fork in the road! They don’t have the time to check each one, let Belle go one way and Rumple another. It’s still a lazy plot excuse, but at least it’s not the stupidest cliché in the book.

And one more thing…

::sigh:: I have such mixed feelings about this?

Because on the one hand: Gideon had a life that nobody would want. He was kidnapped, imprisoned, kept in the dark and abused for all of his twenty-eight years, and even if he got free, he would never get that time back. Nobody would ever choose that for themselves.

At the same time… Gideon died. The person I got to know over the last half-season is no more. He’s gone. And he never had any say in the matter. Hell, he didn’t even get to say goodbye. It’ just such a messed-up way to get a wonderful thing.

(Also, while I’m on that topic… yes, I did notice that Rumple didn’t recognise his very tiny son at first, and I realise that it’s because he’s never seen him before. It prompted a particularly long “oh noo…”, too.)

And finally…

… that cliffhanger/teaser, though, huh?

I have so many questions. Why was Henry in that monster forest? Why is he now in an apartment and doesn’t remember his daughter? When did he get a daughter? (Also, who with? Enquiring minds would like to know.)

So. I know, like, three things about s7, and one of them is the cast list. Please try not to spoil anything else, because that’s already way more than I wanted to know going in. Seriously, I’m a reasonably grown adult. I can deal with a couple of surprises.

#ouat #once upon a time #ouat the final battle #sieben watches ouat #sieben talks #ouat writing critical #anti cs #anti hook #(by implication mostly)

[artificialqueens]

Twist Of Fate - Ch10 - (Trixya) - katyahzamo

A/N: And we’re back! Sorry for making you guys wait for literally a month, but life got crazy for a hot second and here we are. This chapter is longer to make up for it, and the next one should come super soon! We have only 2 or 3 chapters left until the end, so thank you for sticking with me!

A reminder: Trixie is a hairdresser and Katya is a struggling photographer slash yoga instructor. Lesbian AU. Read the chapters on AO3 and/or come hang out on my tumblr katyahzamo. Comments are welcome and encouraged!

“I don’t understand, I thought you were fine with long distance.”

“It’s not just that, Pearl, it’s, I-“

“No, I get it. It’s not me, it’s you or some other bullshit you’re about to pull out.”

“Pearl-“

“No, I really don’t care. I just wish you told me before I fucking went around and changed half of my life because of you.”

“You said you wanted to stay in Boston to stay close to your friends.”

“Oh bullshit, Trixie, we both know why I stayed.”

They were standing on the opposite sides of the room, Pearl’s numerous suitcases between them a nice metaphor for the chasm that had opened half an hour earlier. Pearl, a generally laid back if not a little aloof woman was trembling now, her fingers holding a cigarette close to her mouth, the default disinterested façade bursting at the seams. Nothing else could be expected, after all, considering the fact Trixie just told her she couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore. Out of nowhere.

Silence stretched into eternity as Pearl smoked and Trixie watched her, not able to find the right words to make the situation okay. She knew she loved the other blonde, had a wonderful time with her for eight months they have been together, but also knew it was unfair to keep it up; especially with unresolved feelings towards another, shorter, much more chaotic blonde woman. She knew it was a horrible timing to break up, without a chance to talk it out with the clock ticking closer to Pearl’s departure, but Trixie knew that if she hadn’t done it now, she wouldn’t have found the strength to do it any time soon.

“I should go. Last thing I fucking need is to miss my flight.”

“I can still go with you.”

“No, don’t bother. I already got an Uber.”

“I’m sorry.”

Pearl didn’t reply, and didn’t let Trixie help with her suitcases. She slammed the door behind her once her ride arrived, the door to her own rented apartment that Trixie was supposed to move into while Pearl was on tour. When the surroundings fell silent, only sound the ticking of a clock somewhere in the living room, Trixie dropped on the couch and covered her eyes, finally letting a sob escape her chest, and then another one, and another, and soon enough she was a crying mess on a bunch of pillows that still smelled like her now ex-girlfriend.

The following morning she texted Kim to tell her she’d be squatting at her place for a little while longer, and Kim took her out for cupcakes and coffee before work to make her feel better. Dread hung low in her chest, and Trixie kept checking her phone between clients to see if Pearl texted her, even though she knew she wouldn’t. Pearl had never been the one to cause drama or a scene of any kind, good or bad – being in a public eye taught her how to be private, about her life and her feelings alike, which was one of the main reasons Trixie liked her in the first place.

.

.

.

Trixie avoided instagram like the plague for the next couple of days, knowing Pearl would be posting stories from her East Coast gigs, with hordes of beautiful women that seemed to follow her wherever she went. It’s not necessarily the jealousy that made Trixie avoid social media, it was more the guilt of how badly she handled the breakup itself. The only afternoon she spent on instagram was to go through Katya’s behind-the-scenes photos she’d tagged her in, and felt a little pang in her chest at a photo of Pearl looking off camera and at her, as she recalled.

By the time the end of the week rolled by, Trixie was sure that breaking up with Pearl was the right thing to do. Yet, the feelings in the following week were the most confusing mix of emotions she’d ever experienced in a long time. Her time was spent between crying and self-pity whenever she’d see something that reminded her of Pearl on one hand, yet her stomach would flip every time she saw Katya post on social media on the other. Katya had announced that she’s quitting teaching yoga for photography in an instagram post in true Katya fashion: all flashy and including bad photoshop Trixie knew was purposeful, and she felt her heart swell with pride, even though she couldn’t find it in her to congratulate Katya just yet, or talk to her for that matter.

When Katya messaged her first a day after, Trixie almost didn’t invite her for coffee and even berated herself for having done so when they almost kissed in Honey. Despite everything, Trixie did not know if whatever she felt for Katya was simply a result of months of fantasizing about her years previously, or actual, real feelings that had potential, if Katya even liked her back in the first place. The latter was still undecided, since reading Katya was like deciphering the binary code to a person who has never seen a computer in their life. It took all of her willpower to invite Katya out after that, and she played it safe, knowing that a fair was a place where they could have fun even if their date bombed. It would also be easy to play it off as a friendly outing if either of them realized that giving a chance to whatever feelings they had was a mistake.

When she kissed Katya in her car after the evening at the fair, and Katya kissed her back, all Trixie’s doubts about her own ever-growing feelings dissipated faster than artificial fog in cheap theater productions, especially when she could feel her heart and mind explode when Katya touched her anywhere and kissed her like that. She all but ran to Kim’s apartment after half an hour of making out in Katya’s car, and retold the events of the entire evening at the fair to an almost excruciating detail, so much that Kim had to egg her on when she got stuck on explaining the way Katya laughed when kids ganged up on her while they were driving bumper cars, how she held her tightly on top of the Ferris wheel, and how kissing her felt like no other thing in the entire world.

She did spare Kim the details of how Katya pressed her into the side of her car and kissed her neck until her knees felt liquid, the way her hands roamed over Trixie’s waist and squeezed her ass, or how breathy Katya’s whisper was against her ear when she said she was going to miss her; and how wet it made Trixie just thinking about it. Had it been any other person, Trixie would have told Kim about all of it, but the fear of this being a one-time thing still loomed over her as she got ready for Wisconsin and she did not want to jinx it, irrational as it might have sounded.

.

.

.

Being back in Wisconsin made Trixie feel suffocated more than all of the happenings in her personal life combined, and she was grateful Bob is in town too, even if it’s just for the weekend. She spent the first five to six days helping her mother sort out her late aunt’s clothes and possessions, one half going to family, the other to charity, just the way her aunt had wanted. She had no children or heirs in her name, so she had left all of her jewelry to Trixie - and that woman sure had a lot of it. It made Trixie cry, more than once, as she went through all the necklaces and bracelets she had let Trixie wear when she was a kid, back when she used to babysit her during long summer days when her mom and stepfather were away.

What made Trixie cry even more is the photo album she found in her aunt’s drawer, dedicated completely to Trixie and her siblings, since they spent most of their childhood in their aunt’s home, which was considerably bigger than their own and smelled of incense and lavender. Bob was in most of the pictures too, and Trixie decided to take one or two to give to him once they go out.

Talking to Katya, even if it’s just over text, helped the anxiety over being around family again. She made Trixie laugh with random photos of people from the street, crude stickers on street lamps or graffiti. They even talked on the phone once, the same night when Trixie found the photo album and was unable to stop crying until her throat hurt and eyes prickled. Katya asked her if she’s okay several times, and when Trixie assured her that she would be, they talked until three in the morning about life, death, universe and for some reason – clowns. Trixie found out then that Katya had an affinity for ghosts too, and made her promise she’d never summon one with Trixie in her presence. They never mentioned Pearl, not since that first day at the café, and it was mostly because Trixie still felt guilty over how they broke up and the fact that she’d been texting Pearl several days prior.

It’s not that Trixie planned to meet up with Pearl from the get-go, but she had seen that one of her gigs was in Chicago the weekend Bob was supposed to come. She had replied to one of Pearl’s stories on a whim, never expecting a response and had ended up surprised when it arrived. Pearl hadn’t been talkative, though she rarely ever was, but had agreed to meet up with Trixie for lunch on the day of the gig, to Trixie’s great relief. Bob volunteered to drive her to Chicago as both moral support and in need for some good quality lesbian drama, as he put it, even though Trixie didn’t share any of the details with him until the day of the trip.

Aside from the looming sense of doom, Trixie was looking forward to going on a small road trip with one of her best friends, especially since they live on the opposite sides of the country nowadays. She knew that the nervous knot in her stomach in the following days was made worse because she hid this piece of information from Katya, but none of the times they texted each other seemed right to put the information out there. Aside from occasional flirting, they didn’t talk much about what exactly it is that they were doing, and Trixie willed herself not to think about it too much until they see each other again. With that in mind, she decided that telling Katya about meeting Pearl can wait too.

Come Saturday morning, Bob picks her up bright and early and they barely speak until they’ve had coffee Trixie’s mom’s packed for the both of them. For some miraculous reason, her mother loves Bob despite him being an openly gay man, but she never asks him anything aside from how his parents are doing and what the weather is like in Los Angeles. As they pack up and stand in front of the car, Mrs. Mattel gives them both a hug and tells them to have fun in Chicago. Trixie has no intentions of telling her mother that she’s going to see her ex-girlfriend, justifying her trip as the only time she can celebrate her upcoming birthday with her best friend. Talking about anything remotely gay in the Mattel household has been out of the question ever since Trixie came out in her teenage years, and despite the hurt, she’d eventually gotten used to it.

“So, are we going to wait for Pearl outside of the club and scare the shit out of her or what?”

Trixie rolls her eyes at him, which he fails to see, having his eyes on the highway once they leave the tiny set of houses surrounding Trixie’s home.

“No, bitch, she knows I’m coming.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, I texted her some time after I landed last week, asked if we could talk. Told her I still had the keys to her apartment.”

“Tell me the truth, Mattel, did you steal that poor girl’s keys just so you can make her talk to you later?”

“Shut up, she left them after she ran out that night, and me in that apartment too.”

“Well, can you blame her? You practically dumped her an hour before her big tour without so much an explanation—“

“I was there Bob, thanks.”

This makes him laugh and he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder.

“You know I’m just messing with you. What are you gonna tell her, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anything but ‘I don’t think this is going to work’.”

“Right, because that went so well for you last time.”

“Exactly. I just want to make sure to have the closure, you know?”

“… so you can be with Katya.”

Trixie’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as she turns to him, glaring incredulously.

“I’m going to kill Kimberly.”

“Kim provides me with info you never tell me, bitch! When were you going to tell me you’re banging the hot Russian photographer? Finally, might I add?”

“Listen, we went out on a semi-date and kissed, it’s not like we fu—“

“So she’s the real reason for the breakup, right?”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Trixie, I know you better than your own mother knows you. How do I know? She made this disgusting ass coffee and didn’t even put caramel in it.”

Trixie laughs at that, her cheeks still burning since the Katya talk started. Her stomach is full of butterflies every time Katya is brought up, and her chest burns when she remembers how Katya took a photo of a sunrise and captioned it with It’s so quiet, you’d love it in their text thread that very morning.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Spill it, Mattel! I want all the dirty details!”

So Trixie tells him; starting with Adore and Bianca’s party and finishes with the late night phone conversation while the two of them pass Milwaukee and head south for Chicago. Bob stops her here and there for details, and Trixie feels like they are fifteen again, talking about their first crushes and trying to gauge for all the signs if their crushes like them back. When Trixie comes to the kiss, she doesn’t spare Bob the way she did Kim, and he lets out a long whistle, followed by a booming laugh.

“You’re so fucking whipped, I’m living for this!”

She doesn’t even try to argue with him, because he pushes onward, and before they know it they’ve reached Chicago, together with new levels of anxiety that Trixie starts feeling as soon as she becomes aware that it will be the first time seeing and talking to Pearl after several weeks.  A part of her is dreading a potential fight that might come out of it, but a bigger part of her is just ready to put all of it behind and move on.

.

.

.

Pearl waits for her in one of the restaurants just down the street from her hotel, a location she’s sent to Trixie who messaged her after she spent several hours walking around Chicago with Bob and taking pictures she would show Katya later.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They go in for a hug, but it’s short, and it’s awkward, and Trixie soon finds that Pearl doesn’t really look at her as she settles into her own seat on the other side of the table. When she does, though, Trixie can see that Pearl is not as angry anymore, just… indifferent. Trixie is used to indifferent, but never towards her. It’s somewhat of a relief, even though she knows Pearl is an expert of keeping the feelings of any kind inside unless she wants them to surface.

“How have you been?” Trixie chances after she’s ordered a salad and Pearl has ordered soup, even though neither of them feel hungry.

“Good. Busy. You?”

Short and to the point. It makes Trixie sigh, but she nods either way.

“I’ve been okay. Traveled home to get aunt’s stuff in order. Fully didn’t expect to see the entire family.”

There’s a shadow of a smile that fades quickly when Pearl doesn’t return it. Instead, she trails her fingers over the cup of coffee that’s been drank before Trixie arrived. She opens her mouth several times but doesn’t know how to start, and Pearl sees it, seemingly decides to let her struggle for a bit, before she speaks up.

“Why are you here, Trixie?”

“I came to talk to you. And give you your keys back.”

“And that couldn’t wait until I’m back in Boston?”

Technically, it could. Trixie purses her pink lips and moves the phantom strand of hair from her shoulder. Her blonde hair has been pulled up in a high ponytail, matching Pearl’s almost perfectly.

“I didn’t know when you were coming back and if you were coming back at all so…”

“And you couldn’t have given the keys to Adore?”

Trixie can’t pinpoint if the annoyance is fake or if she’s just poking fun at her, a slight cutting tone not entirely matching the way the corners of Pearl’s mouth twitch. Despite herself, Trixie laughs dryly.

“I’m not Adore’s favorite person right now, honestly, and I don’t blame her.”

“Why not?” Pearl’s head tilts to the side as she leans her crossed arms on her own side of the table.

“Because I broke up with you the way I did. And I totally get it, I deserve the cold shoulder I’ve been getting from our friends.”

“Trixie, listen-“

“Pearl, I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am for doing it the way I did. It was sudden, and it was after the most fun day any of us had in a while, and you didn’t deserve that bomb dropped on you before your big ass sold out tour. You fully couldn’t see it coming and there I was, fucking everything up.”

“Oh I saw it coming.”

“What?”

Trixie’s eyes bug out just a little bit, and the word comes out sharper than she intended, but it prompts a small smile on Pearl’s side. She’s forgotten how crinkles form around Pearl’s pale eyes when she smiles like that, but Trixie has been too preoccupied to think about Katya’s laugh lines in the past two weeks to get a chance to miss them.

“Trixie, I might be slow sometimes, and I fucking suck at math, but I’m not stupid. I know it hasn’t been the same for a while now.”

The unnecessarily aggressive heat climbs up Trixie’s neck and tints her cheeks pink. Pearl doesn’t give her a chance to stumble over her words, but continues.

“I’ve seen you slowly pulling away for at least a month before that night, but there were so many things going on that I thought it was just you being stressed out over your job and your aunt. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. So, when you broke it off that night, I thought about everything, some things fell in place and I couldn’t really hate you. Shit happens.”

If there was ever a moment where Trixie Mattel wished for a cigarette, this is it. The way Pearl talks about this in a nonchalant way after only two weeks opens the avalanche of emotions towards Pearl and their entire situation, and Trixie has a hard time keeping the sudden surge of tears. It’s not necessarily that she expected Pearl to tell her to go fuck herself, but a part of her can’t help but wonder if Pearl cared enough for her since she sure as hell doesn’t look upset right now. Trixie pushes that intrusive thought down, since hurting Pearl is the root of all her guilt, and seeing her not hurt as much weeks later should be a relief. Pearl lets her compose herself, watching her over the cup of coffee, until Trixie speaks again.

“I still think I didn’t do any of this right. Handling my feelings, handling work shit and I fully didn’t treat you right.” Her voice is a bit lower now, feeling her throat close and eyes cast down to her own hands. “I should have done it sooner, but you were having so much fun with the photoshoot and the girls and I… I just have a fucking terrible timing, okay?”

They both laugh at that, and Trixie’s chortle is somewhat teary and ends in a hiccup, but she looks back at Pearl and wipes a stray tear with a finger not to smudge her makeup.

“Look Trix, you did what you had to do. I don’t think I treated you the way you wanted to be treated, either. I wasn’t there for you, emotionally. We both held onto it for a lot longer than we should have. Going away gave me a bit of perspective on the whole situation, and I appreciate you for being honest. My pride might never forgive you for dumping me but… you know.”

She laughs that slow, dragged out Pearl laugh and Trixie thinks this is probably the most open she’s ever seen Pearl since they met. It makes Trixie realize the truth behind those words. Settling down in one place, with a huge house and a dog is something Trixie knows is the endgame for her, was never really an option for Pearl.

“You’re fucking amazing and any girl would be lucky to have you, Pearl. You deserve a great life.”

“I think you’re amazing too. You’ll find someone that will be more present for you, something I could never fully do.”

Trixie nods and they look at each other in silence for a little while longer, then Pearl speaks again.

“But thank you for coming down to see me. It’s more than any other girl’s ever done for me.”

The words cause Trixie’s bottom lip to tremble slightly again, but she smiles nevertheless.

“It’s the least I could do after letting you leave in an Uber with three of your suitcases.”

“Yeah, that was the worst thing any girl has ever done to me.”

The laughter is a bit lighter this time around and Pearl reaches out to squeeze her hand. Throughout the months they have been together, Pearl always had a calming effect on Trixie, who was a little dramatic about things and cried easily about anything, happy or sad. Realizing just how much she will miss Pearl as an everyday presence in her life is almost overwhelming, and a little bittersweet.

“Are you going to be back in Boston anytime soon?”

“Maybe, but not soon. We got several cities in Europe, Asia and Australia added to the tour so when that’s over, yeah. I still have some of my stuff there.”

“I’m proud of you.” Trixie then says, and Pearl smiles at her again, the initial coldness almost completely gone.

“Thanks. If you ever decide to come to one of the gigs, let me know.”

“Oh I fully intend to.”

The rest of the lunch goes by quickly, and they part with a hug much tighter this time around. Trixie feels the urge to cry again when she sits in Bob’s car, but this time it’s more in relief than anything else. The entire afternoon went much better than Trixie thought it would, and the knot in her chest that has been haunting her for weeks finally eased, letting her breathe again.

They don’t stay for Pearl’s gig, thinking it’s better to leave everything as it is for now. Bob drives Trixie back to Milwaukee instead and they have couple of drinks there before driving out into the country and towards their little hometown. When Trixie gets into bed at two-something in the morning, she sees Pearl liked some of the photos of home she’s posted. Katya texted her throughout the day too, the same way she always did, with a string of unrelated, random thoughts she had in her breaks from work, most of them to make Trixie laugh.

To Katya: Sry, been out with Bob all day :) :D

To Katya: I’ll show you pictures of us when we were babies when I come back :’)

Katya Zamo: I bet you looked cute like a baby

Katya Zamo: Unlike now

Katya Zamo: ;)

Katya Zamo: I hope you had fun

Trixie keeps her phone on her chest until it buzzes, and then laughs at the message.

To Katya: I hate you

To Katya: Yeah it was fun :D I miss Bob most of the year, I know you can relate

To Katya: With Violet

To Katya: Hey

To Katya: Remember when I told you to raincheck on that drink after that day when I came back?

To Katya: You probably don’t remember, I’m dumb

Katya Zamo: Of course I remember

Katya Zamo: What about it?

Trixie’s heart thuds in her chest as she smiles in the darkness.

To Katya: How about I take you up on that raincheck when I come back in 3-4 days?

To Katya: If you’re up for it? :) :) :)

The reply doesn’t come right away, and Trixie feels her stomach about to explode with the nerves when Katya’s dots seem to appear and reappear couple of times.

Katya Zamo: Of course, Tracy!

Katya Zamo: You still owe me a drink after you didn’t want to watch the fireworks with me

Katya Zamo: ;)

To Katya: Bitch, we both know why we didn’t watch the fireworks

To Katya: All your fault with the fucking F wheel

To Katya: But I didn’t hear you complain when you drove me home :) :p

Trixie is sure she will never get used to flirting with Katya or feel less nervous about it, even though they have been doing it consistently over the course of the week.

Katya Zamo: If you kiss me like you did that night I’ll never complain again

Katya Zamo: In fact, I can’t wait to do it again

To Katya: Me too

After the emotional rollercoaster of today its ending is not bad at all, Trixie thinks as she sends Katya kissing emojis. She is unsure if she can keep her eyes open for too long, even when the thought of kissing Katya again makes her want to squeal in excitement. After her talk with Pearl that afternoon, a long conversation with Bob all the while and crying on and off, Trixie realizes that there is nothing that is stopping her from pursuing Katya now. Half-asleep, she barely has time or energy to worry about how Katya was going to react when she tells her about seeing Pearl.  Until then, she has three full days of hanging out with family, and wishes her aunt was there so she can tell her all about Katya and Pearl. She knows she would have loved the drama.

.

.

.

Trixie looks down at her freshly manicured hands and notices that they are shaking slightly. Excited much? She glances at herself in the Uber driver’s rear view mirror, making sure that every single piece of her makeup and hair strand are in their place because they have to be. It’s barely been twenty four hours since she landed in Boston, but she and Katya made plans for these drinks days before, and Trixie is sure she hasn’t been able to sleep properly since.

After enduring an hour of Kim fixing her hair and makeup before leaving the apartment, Trixie knows she is barely minutes away from meeting Katya in front of the bar they were supposed to go all those weeks ago, when Trixie just came back from Europe. Despite telling Kim that she is not worried about seeing Katya again, sharing space with her and seeing those unbelievably blue eyes up close, Kim doesn’t believe her, nor does Trixie believe herself. All the chill Trixie prided herself in having when going out with women she crushed on was gone, and it is the first time she knows she will throw up the moment she steps out of her Uber.

She doesn’t.

What she does is inhale sharply when she sees Katya standing on the other side of the street in front of the bar, cigarette between her lips and eyes on the other side of the road, dressed in a see-through black shirt, unbuttoned enough to see her lacy bralette and a black, leather skirt to match. Wavy blonde hair is already falling past her shoulders and move smoothly every time Katya moves her head, and Trixie feels like she’s falling in a trance just watching her smoke.

When Katya spots Trixie she stubs her cigarette out hastily, and Trixie can’t help but blush when she sees how Katya looks her up and down, shamelessly checking out her tight thigh high blue dress with loose sleeves and a high collar. Blue eyes travel then to Trixie’s half updo, wavy blonde hair pulled back, and it looks like Katya is speechless for a second before Trixie hugs her.

“You’re… not pink.”

“Thanks?”

Trixie’s eyes shot up and she already sees Katya’s cheeks tinged with color, even when she laughs that absurd wheezing laugh of hers.

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You look stunning.”

“So do you.”

All Trixie want is to take another step forward and kiss her, but she’s unsure of it. Katya seems unsure too, but she does take her hand and follows her inside the bar. The place is dim-lit and the music is loud enough for Trixie to feel it in her chest but quiet enough to hear Katya when she leans over and asks her what she wants to drink.

They settle in a corner far away from the bar that is still semi-deserted, and fall into their usual rhythm of banter just seconds later. Trixie is relieved that even two weeks away after their kiss did not change a single thing in their dynamic, and is eternally grateful when Katya’s eyes tear up with laughter when Trixie tells her all about her family gathering shenanigans and uncle Peter who got so drunk he fell off the porch and into a pile of horse shit. Literally.

“Where the fuck do you live that you have horse shit right outside of your house?”

“Honey, it’s the middle of fucking nowhere, Courage-the-Cowardly-Dog deserted. Of course we have horse shit wherever you go.”

The only change Trixie does notice is how Katya’s knees are bumping into her own and how she touches her, more than she ever remembers her doing, her long fingers gripping Trixie’s wrist and knee more often than Trixie can keep track of. By the time she has her third glass of gin and tonic, Trixie gets visibly flushed every time Katya’s hand comes remotely close to her thigh, and lets almost audible whimpers when she feels Katya’s lips against her ear upon repeating something Trixie doesn’t hear the first time around. Katya seems to notice the effect she has on Trixie too, and seems to double the frequency, all with the shit-eating grin on her face and eyes that spend time traveling between Trixie’s dark ones and her pink lips.

“So are you ever going to tell me why you’re not pursuing a music career?”

It’s past ten thirty, the bar’s gotten crowded and Trixie feels tipsier than she wanted to be, but the nerves of having Katya so close took the best of her. All she can think about is wanting to kiss her so badly, take her out back and eat her out until she cries out her name brokenly…

“Earth to Trixie?”

“Hm?”

Katya leans forward, putting a scathingly hot palm on Trixie’s lower back, making her shiver, and repeats the question.

“Oh, I don’t really think I have the time and energy for that. Plus, I’d eventually have to move to L.A., and I hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?”

“It’s really hot, and everyone’s trying to do the same thing you do, and only a handful of people succeed. I don’t think I’m ready to face that kind of a failure.”

“I don’t think you’d fail.”

Trixie blinks and notices that Katya’s come close but did not move away like she did every other time. She can smell the faint scent of her cologne, mixed with cigarette smoke and Georgia peach soda and feels her heart skip several beats, causing her to giggle nervously. She sees Katya’s eyebrows shoot up at the reaction, but grins that brilliant grin of hers in return.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just like you.”

Katya’s face lights up like the thousand suns at that reply and Trixie’s heart does several other somersaults, going hand-in-hand with the butterflies that are doing the Macarena in her stomach.

“You do?”

“Mhmm.”

In the next moment she feels that same faint cigarette and soda scent on her own lips before Katya kisses her and she kisses back. The hand on her lower back grips the fabric of her dress a little bit and Trixie’s hand reaches up to run her fingers through Katya’s waves. Despite the kiss being slow, and brief, they are both out of breath by the time they pull back.

“I like you too.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

They both descend into loud laughter after that, but Katya’s hand remains on Trixie’s lower back for the rest of the evening, and she leaves several kisses on her jaw when she leans over to speak into her ear, turning Trixie’s legs to jello every single time.

“You’re… walking home?”

They are in front of the bar an hour later, at Trixie’s request they go get some fresh air since she feels lightheaded from the mix of Katya’s kisses, the crowd inside and five glasses of gin tonic she’s had in the span of several hours.

“Yeah, I live just down the road. That building over there.”  Katya points with her index and middle finger that are holding the cigarette. The air of the late summer evening is cool, but warm enough that neither of them need a jacket to stand outside.

“You’re not afraid someone’s… you know, gonna rob you or something?”

“You’re such a country girl.” Katya replies with laughter in her voice, mixed with affection that reignites the heat in both Trixie’s stomach and in the back of her neck.

“Yeah excuse me if daily news of shootings aren’t a reason to fear walking home alone in the middle of the night? Well, that, and I watched Friday the 13 last night.”

“Fair enough.” Katya nods and chuckles, looking out on the street as if she’s considering something, before turning to Trixie.

“You were taking an Uber, right?”

“Yeah, I wanted to. Why?”

“Well, maybe you can walk with me to my building and I can take you?”

“Oh now she scared!”

“Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you.”

The sincerity in Katya’s voice makes Trixie pull away from the wall she was leaned on and takes Katya’s hand, pulling her closer. The fact that Katya wears flat boots and Trixie heels puts her to a height advantage, and Katya has to stand on her tiptoes when she wraps arms around Trixie’s waist.

“Maybe?” Trixie teases, arms around Katya’s shoulders and noses touching.

“Definitely.” With that, Katya closes space between them once again, their kisses languid and lazy at first, until Katya loses patience and walks Trixie back into the wall, hands gripping tightly at her waist and pinning her back into the brick. Trixie lets out a soft sound into Katya’s mouth once their kiss deepens, and hips roll against Katya’s pelvis unconsciously, causing the other to growl appreciatively.

“Katya-“ The sound is closer to a whimper now and Trixie is absolutely dripping wet even from the smallest contact.

The sound of her name makes Katya open her eyes and look at Trixie, pulling back slightly.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh god yes, just…” Not here.

It seems like Katya understands what Trixie wants to say and nods, stepping back but holding Trixie’s waist just the same.

“Let’s walk?”

“Yeah.”

The walk to Katya’s apartment is five minutes long, if even that, but all Trixie can think of is how slick her own thighs are and hopes Katya doesn’t see just how aroused she feels even after that one kiss. It’s pathetic, really, Trixie thinks, more pathetic than any other time she hooked up with a girl. On one hand, she wants to take it slow with Katya, even though it took fucking ages to get to this point. On the other, she just wants Katya to pull her in an alley to fuck her senseless and let her eat her out, in that particular order. She is leaning towards latter but the look on Katya’s face is unintelligible, even though she laughs and points out little things on the street she’s noticed after a couple of months of living in this area, her face at ease as if she doesn’t have a single care in the world.

By the time they reach Katya’s building, Trixie is ready to explode, trying to put all the blame to the alcohol for making her this irrationally wound up, but when Katya’s fingers gently brush down her jaw that she kisses moments before she kisses her lips, Trixie knows it’s all Katya.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” She rasps out, not wanting to invite herself upstairs in case Katya needed a break, even though her own puppy eyes probably say more than she can.

“Me too.”

There are a several beats of silence and Trixie cannot bring herself to say goodbye. Katya’s thumb is stroking up and down her side, and even the feeling of fabric against her sensitive skin makes Trixie want to scream.

“Trix, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you broke up with Pearl less than a month ago and you maybe wanted to take things slow but…”

Trixie’s stomach turns at the mention of Pearl and the fact she still didn’t tell Katya about seeing her last week, but Katya is still speaking and she forces herself back to present.

“… but I really want to invite you upstairs.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, yes, I want to come upstairs with you.”

Their next kiss knocks the air out of Trixie’s lungs and they keep kissing, on and off all the way inside of the building, in the elevator, and on their way to Katya’s apartment. The walls inside the long, narrow hallway are somewhat falling apart, but Trixie notices none of it as her lips brush the back of Katya’s neck when the other fishes for her keys impatiently and struggles to unlock the door.

Once inside, Katya kicks off her boots and doesn’t wait for Trixie to do the same before she pins her to the wall again, slamming the front door closed with her foot.  Her lips find Trixie’s lips, jawline, the pulse point on her neck that she bites impatiently. Trixie can barely find air to breathe and her eyes roll in the back of her head, which she tilts to the side to give Katya space, all the space she wants and needs since Trixie can’t think about anything but Katya’s roaming hands. Those fingers trace the curves of Trixie’s hips and hike under the hem of her dress and pull it up, until is bunched up on her waist.

“Is this okay?” Katya whispers against the red, splotchy skin of Trixie’s neck, fingers gripping Trixie’s thick thighs that are almost shaking with anticipation. She wants nothing, nothing more than she wants Katya. Right now. As soon as possible.

“Fuck yes.”

Her fingers grip the hair on the nape of Katya’s neck, egging her on, hips rolling impatiently, giving her permission to do whatever the hell she wants. Katya obliges quickly, and Trixie can feel how her long fingers trail towards her inner thigh while the other hand steadies them both, propped against the wall.

“Shit, Trix, you’re so—“

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence for Trixie to know that Katya is aware just how ready she is. Maybe she does finish it, but Trixie can’t focus on anything but their heavy breaths, the way Katya leaves sloppy but hot kisses under her jawline and how her fingers hesitate for but a moment before they press into the fabric of her panties, now completely ruined by Trixie’s arousal.

“Please, Katya-“ She pleads, dragging her free hand down Katya’s spine, and then up, gripping here and there, until Katya pulls the thin fabric down Trixie’s thigh and lets the lace hit the floor when Trixie shimmies out of it. She feels cold for just a second, but then Katya’s fingers find her clit and start stroking slowly, deliberately, getting to know and learning Trixie’s response to everything she does.

“This okay?” Katya hums when their lips meet again and Trixie can’t speak, overwhelmed by both feeling Katya’s gentle touch and her heart thudding in response of having her this close to her.

She simply moans in response and it’s encouragement enough for Katya to slip her fingers inside her, first one, then two, then after several thrusts the third one, finding a steady rhythm that has them both tangled into a grinding, moaning mess. She can feel Katya’s free hand grab under her thigh and Trixie hooks her leg around the back of Katya’s, giving her more access, her moans becoming louder and more frequent with every thrust.

The way Katya gets her off is not slow, it’s not gentle or pretty, but her fingers do wonders as if this is the thousandth time they have done it, pounding her into the wall and whispering words Trixie cannot understand into her ear. It doesn’t take long for Trixie’s moans to become uneven and broken, sounding louder in the silence of Katya’s small apartment, and her thighs shake more violently every time fingers pump in and out of her. When Katya brushes her thumb over Trixie’s clit and starts moving it in circular motions, Trixie cries out her name, the heat pooling in her stomach for the entire evening exploding deep in her core and tipping her over the edge. For a moment, the entire world freezes and all she can hear is her own voice mixed with Katya’s heavy breaths and the loud beating of her own heart that skips twice when she comes.

Her arms finally wrap around Katya’s shoulders and she kisses her again. Her hips twitch into Katya’s until they come to a complete halt and she whimpers a little when Katya pulls out her fingers and licks them off casually. That shit-eating grin back on her face even though her hair is messier than usual and her bright red lipstick smudged across half of her cheek. Trixie thinks she’s, quite literally, the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Fuck, that was-“

“It was.” Katya responds, still fully pressed against Trixie even though she did pull back down Trixie’s dress, and they don’t move for several moments. Trixie is grateful, since she is aware that her knees might buckle if Katya lets her go. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Fuck off.” Trixie knows that she probably looks anything but, with her makeup smeared all over her face, mixed with sweat, and she doesn’t even try to think about how  disheveled her hair must look like. Her words make Katya laugh, then run her fingers through Trixie’s tangled hair when she kisses her puffy lips.

“You are.”

“You’re just lucky these lights are off.”

They laugh again, and Trixie feels like she’s coming to her senses. The walk to Katya’s apartment and the orgasm she just rode against Katya’s fingers completely sobered her up. The giddiness, however, just increased in intensity, especially now that she’s regained her breath and stepped away from the wall once Katya moved to the small kitchenette to get water for both of them.

There is no light in the rooms save the kitchen one, but Trixie navigates to the small washroom, nearly screeching at her own reflection in the mirror. The mascara and eyeliner are either smudged off completely or slightly melting down her face, her lips completely nude and swollen from Katya’s kisses. Other than that, though, she looks like she’s just  run a marathon and won it.

“Katya?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any makeup removers here?”

“I have some wipes by the towels!”

Trixie shakes her head and laughs, but decides it’s better than looking like Bozo the horror clown. She wipes the remaining makeup from her face and splashes herself with water, the reality of being in Katya’s personal space hitting her like a freight train and making her dizzy with happiness. She finds herself burying her face in her hands as she pees, holding back giddy laughter.

Trixie Mattel, in her late twenties, feeling like a highschool girl in love for the first time.

“In the bedroom!” Katya calls for her once she steps out of the toilet and takes off her boots, then pads in semi-darkness towards the only source of light, even though it’s still dim.

“Are you telling me that you’re actually a vampire and that’s why there’s no light in this ho— Oh.”

Katya has her back turned to her, but even in the room that’s dimly lit by the bedside lamp, she can see the toned muscles of her shoulderblades, cut off by the bralette that’s still on, and then continuing down the muscular back and to lace black underwear, ass and thighs looking like they were sculpted by the gods themselves.

“Oh wow.”

The sound of Trixie speaking from inside the bedroom makes Katya turn around. She has pulled her hair back in a messy ponytail, strands falling down her face and her lipstick still smudged. It takes all the will in the world not to pounce at her there and then.

“What is it?”

“You’re fucking ripped.”

The awe in Trixie’s voice and the fact that she can’t pull her eyes away from Katya’s visible abs send Katya into laughter that Trixie doesn’t really notice. All she wants is to run her tongue across that beautifully shaped, toned stomach.

“That’s hot yoga for you, mama.”

“Where can I fucking sign up?”

Trixie finally lifts her gaze to Katya, and they both grin at each other, all of the reluctance and insecurity from the beginning of the evening gone in a puff of smoke. She lets Katya take her by the hand and turn her around, lets her unzip her blue dress and slip it to the floor, lets her unbutton her bra and gape at her breasts as if they are the first pair she’s ever seen. Trixie, usually insecure every time a new girl sees her naked body, feels completely at ease when Katya’s fingers trail down her front, over the tiny stretch marks on her tits and stomach, and she’s laughing by the time Katya leads her to the bed and gets her to lie down, completely naked.

“You’re like a renaissance painting, holy shit.”

The compliment is so odd and so… Katya, and Trixie could cry at how lovely she is. Katya crawls up her body to kiss her again, and Trixie uses the time to get the bralette off of her and tosses it aside, feeling her cheeks still burning at how Katya’s eyes and hands worship every single inch of Trixie’s body she can reach.

Trixie, in turn, lets her own fingers run up and down Katya’s front, fingers pinching Katya’s hardened nipples and grinning when she hears her gasp. She tries to think of all the things she could and will do to Katya, but the other blonde beats her to it. Her lips are already replacing her hands, kissing the red marks of her neck she’s left in the hallway, trailing down her collarbone, chest, and taking one of Trixie’s nipples in her mouth, evoking another soft sound from Trixie, then another, and then she’s moving to her belly and settling her lithe body between Trixie’s bent legs.

“Happy birthday to me.” Trixie whispers, looking down at how patiently Katya’s lips kiss her lower stomach and the inside of her legs, taking her time this time around, making her more excited for returning the favor immediately after.

“It’s your birthday?”

She didn’t expect Katya to hear it, but now she’s smiling, head lifted from the fluffed pillows.

“Yeah. I turned older half an hour ago, when you fucked me into oblivion against the wall.”

Katya laughs, and Trixie shivers at the feeling of her breath between her thighs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t really celebrate it. Now can you please eat me out? It’s homophobic to make me suffer on my birthday.”

Katya grins at the feigned pout, running her thumb over Trixie’s inner thigh and kissing her pubic bone, causing Trixie’s hips to jerk upward.

“Yes ma’am.”

Happy fucking birthday to her, indeed.

—–

#katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #trixya #trixya fic #katyahzamo #lesbian au #slow burn #mutual pining #twist of fate #Smut

[haphazardlyparked]

the Exchange

regret everything part one  (prequel here)

“Have you heard?” the Dowager asks, obliquely, from her chair behind the secretary’s desk. Sometimes she sits in on Kan’s meetings, acting as his secretary and relegating his actual, useful secretary to the unobtrusive standing table-desk in the corner of Kan’s small audience study.

Kan looks up from the briefing he’d like to tear his eyes out over. The Dowager has an impeccable sense of timing. Setting the briefing aside, Kan rubs tired eyes and asks, “Heard what, Mother?”

“The Samrans want to send an ambassador.”

“The Samrans call me the devil spawn of a tyrant and a tramp. Begging your pardon, Mother. Why do they want an ambassador here?”

“Am I the tyrant, or the tramp?”

“Both, I think,” Kan guesses. “Last I heard, they were claiming you grew me in a test tube, and that Father was paid for his donation.”

“How creative,” the Dowager laughs. “They still want access to our trade alliance. They've asked a bright young group of exchange students to make their case for them, you know. And I’ve heard Samran is a popular language choice for the impressionable youth of the Institute these days.”

Kan’s eyes narrow. “I approved that program hoping it would change Samran minds about us. Instead, they seem to like enticing our children into their camp while still hating my guts.”

“And mine,” the Dowager reminds Kan, her mouth curved into one of those sly, amused smiles. “I can't allow you to throw yourself a one-man pity party, darling boy.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Kan drawls.

“I couldn't abide such a pathetic event.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Kan repeats, more flat this time.

The Dowager flaps her hand at him twice -- you're welcome, you're welcome -- and then says, “Anyway, darling, I brought it up because I moved your meeting with the southern councilmen. Those exchange students should be here in about ten minutes.”

“What?” Kan’s secretary hisses from his corner. “Dowager, I didn't --”

“-- It’s fine, Sem,” Kan assures the other man. “Please send the councilmen my sincerest apologies--” Kan doubts his mother observed such niceties “--and offer them a visit to one of the Hovering centers. I’ll see these students now.”

The students are early, ambitious things that they are. They're mostly second and third years from the High Institute, but their leader is a recent graduate Kan recognizes.

“Sadura, isn't it?” Kan asks, before any of the party can introduce themselves.

The boy Kan saw on his last day at the Institute is taller and has grown out of the stork-like limbs of his youth, and is clearly surprised by Kan’s memory.

“Lord Kan,” Sadura says, bowing politely. “Yes. I’ve recently joined the junior diplomacy department.”

“You did well on those exams, it seems,” Kan comments. Government positions require fives on a majority of Institute exams.

At his secretary’s desk, the Dowager arches a brow at Kan — she never forgets a face. Kan, who learned that from her, ignores her pointed look. He doesn’t need his mother’s judgement to tell him what he already knows: where gangly Noki was a cute boy Kan teased like a younger brother for the short window they had spent together, the young diplomat Sadura is tall and slender, with skin darker than Kan’s, determined pale eyes, and more or less exactly Kan’s type.

“Sir,” Sadura says, almost shyly. But Kan sees something else under that hesitance, something that wants. “I took some good advice, and was inspired to do better.”

Adorable. Ambitious. The advice definitely didn't come from Kan.

Kan smiles, and leans forward in his chair. “And so you have,” he congratulates Sadura warmly. Then says, carelessly, “Now tell me, diplomat, what arguments has Samra stuffed you full of and sent you to deliver?”

Sadura’s pale eyes narrow, sharp and angry. He straightens indignantly, hiding his shock behind stiff politeness.  “Lord Kan,” he says coolly, all hesitance and deference of the moments before gone. “I am here with my own opinions, built on my broad range of experiences and interactions in Samra. You’ll find that each of these students has developed their own opinions based on their own experiences too. We’re none of us mindless propaganda mouthpieces.”

Sadura nods to the oldest of the students, but he does so stiffly, like an angry cat with its back arched. The student’s eyes widen in surprise -- Kan suspects Sadura had planned to say more, perhaps extol the virtue of the exchange program a little, before introducing the students.

“Lord Kan,” the first student says, recovering from her surprised. Her voice is little high-pitched but otherwise respectful. “Sir. I am Abat Hona. I’m a third-year, and one of the current exchange students.”

Kan waits for Abat Hona to go on. She does not. After the expectant silence continues for just a beat too long, Abat Hona nudges the kid next to her, who jumps a little.

“Uh, Lord Kan, sir, my name is Abat Mal. I’m a second year, and also an exchange student, along with my sister.”

The other three students -- another pair of siblings, and another Sadura who looks like a younger, female version of the diplomat Sadura -- take their turns introducing themselves, while Kan wonders if it’s wise that so many pairs of siblings are being sent over to the Samra. Are the Samrans sending siblings back? It’s something that hasn’t been mentioned in the filtered reports that finally make it to his desk. Perhaps it’s time to look into the High Institute again. It has been nearly five years since he’s graduated.

“Don’t we have any only-children at the Institute these days?” the Dowager asks critically, leaning against the secretary’s desk with her chin propped in one of her palms. “Whatever happened to selfish, spoiled, ambitious little brats? Really, I think they would benefit most from such an exchange program.”

“I’m right here, Mother,” Kan says, and the Dowager favors him with a brilliant smile.

“They like siblings, madam,” Kan’s actual secretary, Sem, pipes up, “Because Samra places a great deal of emphasis on the family unit and family values.”

Kan reads between the lines and shares a look with his mother. “Ah, yes, family values,” she says. She turns her eyes towards the ceiling and adds in a murmur, “It’s a good thing I hypothetically had that alleged test tube destroyed.”

“Mother,” Kan complains. He remembers walking in on his parents in the act, and knows perfectly well that no test tubes or syringes full of genetic material were involved in his conception.

“Actually, madam, sir,” Noki interjects. He’s still stiff and annoyed, but confident now in this subject. The confidence looks good on him — he stands straighter, chin raised so all the narrow angles of his face are on display, and Kan should probably stop ogling him and pay attention to what he’s saying. “The problem is not the idea of the test tube -- for you know Samra allows union between any two consenting adults, regardless of the childbearing capabilities of either party. The issue the Samrans have with the Dowager is rather one of fidelity.”

Noki doesn’t stutter or stumble with ums or ahs as he tries to figure out the best way to phrase something so delicately; instead he relies on formality and ultra-proper language that gives him the time to choose his words wisely. The Samrans must love him.

“Thank you for the explanation, Sadura,” Kan grins. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that tiny issue of fidelity.” Kan may have only walked in on his parents once, but he walked in on his mother with various lovers at various other points in his life (and regretted it deeply each time.)

“You’re going to have to be the responsibly monogamous one, darling boy,” the Dowager says, with mock sympathy.

“Please, Lord Kan.” It’s Abat Hona again, who looks quickly at Sadura for approval before continuing. “The exchange program doesn’t select siblings specifically, but it does tend to be a self-selecting process… Um. But that’s not the point. Samra really wants to improve relations. They’re ready to send a single, only-child ambassador, as a gesture of how they’re willing to adapt a little to fit in with the alliance’s norms.”

“An ambassador?” Kan repeats, brows rising in feigned surprise. “Since when were we talking about an ambassador?”

“Sir, it’s in the proposal we’ve submitted for the yearly Congress,” Sadura steps in quickly. “The exchange program as a whole will be advocating for the establishment of a Samran ambassadorial position in Tasak.”

“Weren’t you all going on about bilateral trade last year? Is an ambassador a downgrade or an upgrade for your cause?”

At last year’s annual Congress, a stuffy old government official had argued, in the most anesthetizing language available, for the opening of trade talks with Samra. Since Samra bans the purchasing or sale of a good three-quarters of Tasak’s technology exports, and regularly insults its ruling family, the Congress had clapped and laughed at Kan’s swift rejection of that nonsense.  

“Sir?” asks Sadura.

“An ambassador,” Kan repeats. “Is proposing an ambassador your acknowledgement that last year’s idea was utter shit, or are you doubling down on this whole thing with Samra? Come at it from a different angle, get any foot in the door, so to speak, and soon we’ll be two happy neighbors?”

The young diplomat doesn’t frown this time, but Kan can tell he’s offended.

“Sir, the inclusion of an efficient, civilized society into our trade alliance can only benefit the alliance as a whole. And the development of diplomatic relations between two societies which could mutually benefit from each other should be a foreign policy priority that would hopefully result in increased economic and social ties.”

“So it’s not just bilateral trade you want,” Kan translates coolly. “The ambassador is just preliminary step to to get Samra into the alliance.”

“Lord Kan,” one of the other students tries, “last year the Exchange had hoped a bilateral trade deal could be an objective starting point on which to build better relations, and potentially open accession talks between Samra and the whole Tasak Trade Alliance. But Samra understands the need to re-introduce themselves to our coalition of nations, and know they will have to make concessions to earn this privilege. Samra is ready to repeal their ban on the majority of Tasak tech in exchange in preparation to enter the alliance, and we at the Exchange are all hoping that more Tasakese will be interested in learning about Samran craftsmanship and agricultural practices.”

The student says Exchange with a capital E, like it’s something more than an educational year abroad. Kan hides his interest behind a smirk, and drawls, “Are they ready to apologize for their insults to my mother?”

The Dowager snorts. “Darling boy, there’s no need to be uppity on my account. I’m perfectly willing to shake hands with people who think I’m a tramp.”

“And a tyrant,” Kan reminds her cheerfully. “All right, Exchange students,” he continues, adopting the capital. He smiles widely at the Institute kids. “I accept your application. I’ll see you all on the Congress floor in three weeks’ time.”

The students look at him, stunned by the quick approval; even Sadura, the full-fledged diplomat that he now is, is a little surprised. Also a little suspicious, like he thinks Kan has given in too easily. Kan winks at him.

“Thank you for your earnest advocacy,” Kan dismisses the group politely. “Tasak’s future will be a good one, as long as our youth keep pushing for positive change.”  

“That is very kind, sir,” says Sadura. “On behalf of the exchange program representatives--” and now he says it with a careful lowercase, an educational program and nothing more “--we thank you as well. Students?”

As a group, they nod and say their polite words and leave Kan’s office. Sadura, the last one to go, turns and bows formally.  

“Thank you, Lord Kan,” Sadura says with grave politeness, “for your objectivity and wisdom.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Sadura Noki,” Kan advises him. “Maybe I’m hoping to see you all crash and burn again.”

Diplomat Sadura doesn’t squeak and flee like young Noki did all those years ago. This Sadura straightens from his bow and appraises Kan carefully, pale eyes sharp.

“Sir, I’m not sure you mean that,” he accuses at last -- and then leaves before Kan can defend himself.

(next - part two)

tagging: my list of (1) one @gingerly-writing who loves dialogue and politics and has been my cheerleader even though i’m kind of a shit <3 

#regret everything #sorry part one got long #and kinda boring #but there is snark! #because kan is an asshole #challenge accepted 2k18 #writing #alternate universe #kan and noki

[tyramir]

I get that Bioware’s primary two babies -- Mass Effect and Dragon Age -- are all about player choice and experience shaping their own narrative. But I also don’t understand how people fail to learn the lessons inherent in the narrative itself.

Lots of spoilers incoming.

In Mass Effect, all organic life within a certain level of advancement is being threatened with extinction by a machine race known as the Reapers. During the course of three games, you see that Not All Machines Are Bad. There’s the Geth, which started off as your enemies, but as you played, you realized it was just one faction of the Geth collective. And more, you realized that the Geth were acting in what they felt was self-defense. They believed that organic life, particularly the Quarians who made them, would inevitably try to destroy them. And this is seen in ME3, when the Quarians, against anything resembling sense, launched an offensive against the Geth.

But what’s more, you have EDI, a squadmate and friend. You see her learn, grow, question her programming, and evolve. She makes jokes. She falls in love. She is no different that organics.

In the final choice of the game, you are offered four options through a Macguffin Device. Refuse to choose (resulting in total extinction of all advanced organic life in the galaxy) is among them, but is .... rarely picked by anyone. The other three are Destroy All Synthetics, Control All Synthetics, and Synthesis. 

Destroy wipes out most advanced technology in the galaxy. It will kill all the Reapers. This is good, because the Reapers are Bad Guys. They not only want to wipe out all advanced life in the galaxy, but they do so in a cyclical nature. They’ve wiped out countless civilizations before humanity every appeared. But this also kills the Geth and EDI.

People love to pick this one because it’s the only choice out of the three where Shepard lives. Certainly, almost all ME fanfic I’ve read has had this ending picked. And I just don’t get it.

Yes, Shepard lives. But at the cost of the Geth, an entire species, and your friend, EDI. It’s beyond selfish. I can’t fathom it. But so many people blindly pick this one, either because they want Shepard to live, or because they failed to learn the lessons of the series and refuse to accept any time of machine, even a self-aware one, as “alive.”

The second option is Control. By dispersing Shepard’s consciousness, Shepard gains control of the Reapers. Shepard, as we know him/her, is destroyed, and in so doing becomes a god-like awareness that is in control of what was formerly the enemy. This Shepard can then enforce “good” across the galaxy.

Honestly, this ending gives me fucking chills. You become the villain of the story. Congratulations. You’re a monster. 

The last ending is choosing hope. Shepard, a human whose body is made up of nanites and so many cybernetic implants due to plot reasons, is the closest thing to a true machine/organic hybrid as you can get. In Synthesis, Shepard is broken down, his/her essence analyzed and copied, and this template is sent out across the galaxy. Everyone, organic and machine, becomes a synthesis of the two. From there... you have to hope things will work out. That the Reapers will see this evolution as non-threatening, as something akin to them. It’s a gamble, but ultimately, we know on some level that it works. 

But most importantly, in this ending, EDI is the voice of the epilogue. And EDI thanks her friend for giving her the gift of “life.” 

And I look at this... and I just don’t understand how anyone could ever choose another option. 

And then there’s Dragon Age. Let’s skip right to the meat.

Solas. Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf.

Since the trailer dropped, I’ve seen a mixed reaction. Half of the people are terrified for Solas. The other half are bloodthirsty, and want to kill him.

And I just don’t understand that second group.

Don’t they understand? Don’t they know what Solas is? Solas is the great hero of his time. But he was also the hero who failed. The hero who had a number of bad options, but couldn’t stand idly by, and took one. He refused the status quo, and he demanded change. Demanded it so hard that he broke the world itself to see it happen.

And now he’s woken up, and he’s seen how badly he’s messed things up. How much he’s hurt the world. No one else knows, because they’ve never known anything differently. This is the way the world is to people thousands of years after the fact. 

But Solas remembers. And he looks at everyone, and .... it’s difficult to explain. So I’ll use a comparison.

We can all agree the Doctor from Doctor Who is a good guy, right? Or at least, someone who always tries his best.

Look at him after the Great Time War. After he “destroyed” the Daleks and the Time Lords both. There was a great necessity in it. It had to be done. But he regretted it with every fiber of his being. At the time, we believed that billions had died because of his actions. 

Now, yes, a lot of his “damage” has since been undone by a retcon, but ignore that fact for a moment. Try to imagine a universe where the Doctor actually had eliminated his people and the Daleks in one go. And they were both gone, forever.

Now imagine if he’d done this, and then come across another option. One where he saved his people, or at least some of them. Saved a piece of Gallifrey itself. But to so do, he had to shake up the status quo again. Maybe do so in such a way that it hurt others.

It’s easy to think he’d never do it. That he’d choose the Right Path. But are you so sure?

Imagine if, by using the Moment, the Doctor had mentally or physically crippled every form of life out there in the process of saving them. Forever damaged them. And a thousand years down the line, he can now save a fraction of his people, and as an added bonus, heal this damage he’s done to others.

Never mind that they don’t know there’s damage any longer. They’ve never known anything else. Think on all that, and ask yourself -- how is Solas any different?

Solas is a man who railed against injustices, and by doing so, kicked over the board and changed things forever. And he looks at the world now, at its lost beauty, at his people dying of old age -- something that had never happened before -- at his people no longer having one foot in the Fade at all times... There’s no where to hide from it. Even the sky itself is a reminder of what he took from the world. 

I look at this tragic, complicated man, and ... I just don’t understand how anyone could do anything but pity him. Why hate? Would you have done better in his position? Would you have robbed the world of something truly wonderful, and come to a grey slate and say, “Eh, good enough?”