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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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Inevitable (Prologue) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!)

Prologue Word count: 2.2k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: I’ve had this story in my head for months and I’m glad I finally got to put this into writing! This little family was such a joy to write, and I thank the sweetest soul, Ava @btstannies for letting me gush over this trio and hyping me up everyday! Also, my baseball knowledge is pretty shallow so please forgive me!

Listen to: Walking By by Something Corporate

Series Masterlist || Next

“We’re here.”

The deep voice cuts through the numbness you feel, blowing life into your body that’s chosen to block out the pain for now because you know after this, it’s going to hurt a lot more.

You taste iron on your lips. You feel the sting in your eyes. You see the crescent nail marks on your palms. Then you slacken your jaw and try to breathe.

“You can cry, you know?” But Taehyung knows you won’t. Not in front of him. Not in front of the man whose heart you’re about to break.

Your best friend knows you, knows you’ll only cry when you’re alone - under the covers, in the shower, on your bedroom floor. You don’t let anybody see you like that. It makes you feel like you don’t have control, and control is the one thing you need to have right now.

“I will.”

“You also don’t have to do this.”

But Taehyung also knows you still will. It’s a decision you made on your own and he knows you well enough that nothing - no one - will make you change your mind.

“I need to.”

He hums; it’s a battle he won’t win. So he exits the car, opens the passenger seat door, and pulls you out. “I’ll be here when it’s over.”

When it’s over. Over. That’s what it’ll be after this.

You ring the doorbell and hear the faint footsteps get louder. The door opens and joyful onyx eyes greet you, a contrast to your tired brown ones. He takes it for something else, perhaps stress, since he doesn’t say anything about it.

Jungkook pulls you in a hug and you will yourself not to bask in his sweet scent, not to let his soft giggle on your neck and peck on your cheek and whisper of “I missed you” make you forget why you’re here in the first place.

He tugs you inside the apartment, the one the team offered him because he couldn’t abide by the university dorm’s curfew, being that he trains too early and finishes too late. It had been a blessing to you both, as in the course of your over two years together, you’d taken advantage of the privacy and solitude it provided.

You can’t imagine what it would give him after this.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy. All these calls with the Dodgers’ owner, then manager, then coach. You think they’d all just call at once but they’re in different cities, I guess,” he shrugs and turns to you. “They’ve been excited,” he continues, his smile reaching his eyes.

It’s never pained you until now.

“As they should,” you try a smile. “They’re lucky you signed.”

He chuckles at this. He’s always been amused at your oblivion with how these things work. He’s lucky he even caught the eye of a scout, lucky they even paid attention, lucky that the LA Dodgers wanted to give him a shot with their AAA affiliate team in the minor league.

If he’s even luckier, maybe he can get to the major league in three years; two would be a miracle. It’s what he’s worked so hard for, it’s why the decision to move thousands of miles away was a no-brainer. Not everyone gets a chance to play in the most popular baseball league like this.

But Jungkook doesn’t know any better, doesn’t know that you know how these things work. You wouldn’t be doing what you’re about to if you didn’t.

“I’m glad you called, though,” he says, nerves teeming with excitement at his news. Well, proposal. It might be a difficult sell with you but he knows it’s not impossible.

It came to him one day, in the middle of a conference call with the owner who kept raving about his soon-to-be home.

“Oklahoma City is great, Jungkook. You’re gonna love it there,” the man had said. Jungkook wasn’t completely sold on the city but he knew you’d enjoy the museums, knew you’d enjoy watching the OKC Thunder play - you were always more into basketball than baseball, anyway.

Everything had been so fast - from the meetings to the contract-signing to the planning of his move to the US - but he couldn’t imagine starting his life there without you and he just knew he had to have you there with him.

He could help you find a job or you could do freelance work; what he’d earn could be enough if you both plan things out well, he thought. He was smiling like an idiot during that call, thinking about the next phase of your life together and he couldn’t wait to tell you.

You’d been caught up with your final projects and school events and he’d been caught up with his papers but you’re here with him now.

“So I was thinking and—.”

“We should break up.”

You say at the same time. For the first time, his wide eyes mirror yours - sullen and dark, but glassy, too because he did not just hear you tell him that you two should end this.

Everything had been going so well. You’d been so excited when he got signed to the Minor League, was celebrating with him in all ways you both knew how. There were no talks about breakups, no ending things. It seemed like a given that you’d both stay together; long distance relationships are hard but there are ways to manage. He knew that. He thought you knew that, thought you felt the same, too.

He stares at you, unable to make a sound, to form words that would be remotely close to what he wants to say. His heart is breaking by the second and you stare back at him. There’s no sign of guilt. You’re not taking it back, you’re not saying anything.

“You don’t mean this, ___. Tell me you don’t mean this.”

“I do,” you sigh. “I just think it’s best if we end this.”

He wishes you had not said anything at all.

“Why?” He stammers, willing himself to face whatever fucked up reason you have for wanting to break up. It doesn’t seem real. He’s suffocating with how forward you are, with how unbothered you seem while he feels his world slowly crumbling. “Did I do something wrong? Do you not love me anymore?”

“I just don’t think it’s gonna work out.”

“We haven’t even tried. I mean, I’m not leaving yet, we have a few more months to figure it out.”

“It’s months enough to get over this so we can move on. It’ll just be harder then. We know it’s gonna happen anyway,” you lie.

You see the shock on his face, the disbelief in the words coming out of your mouth. This isn’t the woman who he laid in bed with just a week ago, naked, giggling, kissing him.

“Babe, you can’t do this. I want you—no, I need you to be with me,” he continues, voice strangled, the thoughts of asking you to come with him drifting away.

“I don’t.” It’s another lie, but it’s one you need to tell.

You’re uncompromising, resolute in your decision. Your almost emotionless face - tightened features and completely dry eyes - is a contrast to his. You can’t break. You can’t back out from this.

He muffles his cries, heart breaking at the coldness of your words.

“You’re all you need, Jungkook,” you continue. “There’s nothing else I can give you that you won’t get there.” Another lie. You know that no one could love him as much as you. It’s why you’re doing this.

“Don’t do this to me, please.”

“Don’t do this to me, too, Jungkook. You have an entire life to live out there. You’re the one leaving and I’m supposed to just stay here and wait for you? Until your dream is enough? Live my life in limbo until we can be together again in god knows when? Expect that video calls will make up for the distance? What about me and my own life? What about my needs?”

It’s messed up but that’s what you do when you love someone, right? You hurt them? And you let them go?

You can only hope that one day, he’ll understand; that one day, he can forgive you. That one day, he’ll accept that you had to do this. It’s that hope you hang onto - that you’ll hang onto for years to come - just so you won’t fall apart. It’s only that hope where you can derive your strength from because you’ll have to be strong for someone else now. Someone who isn’t him.

“We— we can work it out. We’ll try, okay?. We’ll figure something out.” He stutters, still unbelieving that this is happening, that he is begging you to be on the same page with him, begging you to fight for this with him.

“But what if we can’t? What if it becomes too much? You know what it would take to make it and I can’t hold you back, Jungkook. My life is here, my family and my friends are here. I have a job waiting for me, so you can’t hold me back either. It’s unfair to both of us.”

He’s looking at you, desperate to find a crack, to find an opening. But there’s none.

“Baby, please—” he cries, arms out to hold you but you step away, as if his touch could burn you. His heart is already shattered, why are you still breaking it? What’s left to break when you’ve taken everything away from him with just your words?

“Jungkook, think about it!”

“I am, and you’re not making sense! I know we haven’t really talked about it—“

“Exactly. Because there’s nothing to talk about. You don’t need baggage when you’re over there, you can’t be thinking about anyone else, especially one who isn’t there. You need support and more patience and understanding and… I can’t give you those. Not anymore. I’m tired. I’ve been tired. It’s gonna be even more tiring when you’re gone.”

The lies don’t stop but you know they’re necessary, that this is how you convince him, that this is how he lets you go.

Jungkook doesn’t think there’s a worse way that you can hurt him. He’s always admired your decisiveness, but right now, he hates it, hates everything he loves about you - how strong you are, how persistent you are, how uncompromising you are. Your words are ice, as cold as the December evening. You’re unmoving and he knows you well enough that you won’t take it back.

“Fine,” he relents. “You want to break up? Then we break up.” He wipes the tears off his face, trying to be brave, trying to salvage the remaining dignity he has left. “We end this right now, like you want.”

This is what you came here to do. This was the goal. And you’re absolutely broken.

You turn away, knowing any more second of looking at his clenched jaw, balled up fist, and unblinking eyes will make you give in, will make you take everything back.

“Don’t reach out, okay? Don’t call. Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he states. “You wanted this.”

You nod because he’s right. You’ll lose all rights to him after this. He’ll get over you, he’ll be okay. You’ll let him know the truth when the time is right.

“Goodbye, Jungkook. Good luck out there. Your father is very proud of you.”

You turn and head out the door, the bang not as loud as your shattering heart. And just like that, it was all over.

You stand motionless outside his apartment, unable to make a step to make it all final.

You hear a thump. Then a sob.

“Please, don’t go,” he whispers, as if he knows you’re still there, and even during the final moments, he’s still begging for you to change your mind. It’s faint but you hear it and you step away this time before you walk back in and take everything back.

Taehyung starts the car as he sees your figure approach. You head to the back, behind the driver’s seat, a hand over your mouth to suppress your sobs.

“You can cry now,” he says, as he steps on the gas and turns up the volume of the radio until it drowns out your sounds. You let yourself go and weep, throat aching at the force of it all, chest tightening at the overwhelming emotion of what you’d just done.

It hurts not like you expected. It hurts even more.

You ground yourself before you lose more of you as the seconds go by and cradle the soon-to-be-there bump on your stomach.

You need to let them know it wasn’t their fault, that they’re a blessing either way, but that it’s just hard right now. You don’t want them to feel the grief, the ache of a love that had to end, the love that created them.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” you whisper and trust that this tiny little being can hear your words. “But we’re gonna be okay, alright? Mama’s gonna be okay.”

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

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from-the-dark-past · 3 years

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Interview with Anders Ohlin in The Black Metal Murders: English translation

Translator’s note: Black metal-morden (English: The Black Metal Murders) is a radio documentary from 2017 produced by Radio Sweden (download). It’s about Mayhem and the Norwegian black metal scene in the ‘90s and contains interviews with Jørn “Necrobutcher” Stubberud, Kjetil Manheim, Eirik “Messiah” Norheim and Anders Ohlin (Pelle Ohlin’s younger brother).

Here, I’ve translated the parts where Anders Ohlin speaks into English (from Swedish). I’ve added time-stamps and short descriptions for the different sections of the interview.

I am working on translating the interviews with Necrobutcher, Manheim and Messiah and will post them soon.

1:51 - 6:35 [Talking about him and Pelle getting into extreme metal]

Anders: We’d started listening to hard rock and it was… We’d, like, worked through all of those… Judas Priest and Iron Maiden.

Narrator: It’s the mid-1980s in Västerhaninge, a suburb of Stockholm. Pelle Ohlin lives here. He plays in the extreme metal band Morbid and his stage name is Dead. Pelle has introduced his five-years-younger brother to hard rock. Together, they’ve worked through all of the main bands.

Anders: And you, like, hungered for this… This Other.

Narrator: The ‘Other’ that younger brother Anders is talking about is extreme metal; music that is faster, darker and harder. A progression of hard rock. Music that isn’t easy to get your hands on at this time. Anders is in his early teens and has gotten his first girlfriend.

Anders: It was my first relationship and it was super-exciting, and I was at her house, she lived in Jordbro, which is, like, the neighbouring suburb.

Narrator: Anders’ girlfriend’s older sister has an LP that Anders simply must show his older brother Pelle.

Anders: It was, like, you knew it was good music, and it was that Destruction record.

Narrator: Anders sees the German death metal band Destruction’s cover and it’s enough for him to understand that this must be good music. [...]

Anders: This. This here isn’t Judas Priest and it isn’t Iron Maiden; it’s something else. I’ve got show this fucking record to Pelle.

Narrator: Anders nags [his girlfriend’s older sister] to borrow the LP. He’s allowed to, but only for the day, so he bikes home in the rain from Jordbro to Västerhaninge as quickly as he can.

Anders: And it was like [excited noise], like a cartoon; the evil wolf, their eyes bulge out and we both ran -- because we hadn’t heard the LP, only seen the cover -- ran to the record player och then Mom walks up and is like: ‘Stop! You’re forbidden from using the gramophone.’ And it was like, fucking hell, is it going to die here and then we explained to Mom -- ‘This is an extreme record and we’ve borrowed it for the day and it’s going back tomorrow,’ -- and Mom was super-harsh and was like: ‘It doesn’t matter. [...]’ And then we started negotiating and agreed that we could record the LP onto cassette [because you don’t need volume for that]. So, it was on full-blast the entire night and we recorded it and stood bent over the record scratches and were like,‘Shit, this is good stuff’.

Narrator: Pelles hard rock style stands out against the usual sweatpant-Bagheera-jacket [style], not least the music.

Anders: The ideals that existed at that time were that you were supposed to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which neither he nor I did [laughs]. You were supposed to be handsome and cool and have some fucking helipad on your head.

Translator’s note: Anders is talking about a flat-top haircut commonly referred to as a ‘helikopterplattafrisyr’ -- helipad haircut -- in Sweden. Think H.R. Haldeman. I’m not sure what the English term for this haircut is.

Narrator: Anders and Pelle are apart of a small subculture; extreme metal, with subgenres such as trash metal, death metal and black metal, which provokes with its satanic and morbid symbols. Pelle’s band Morbid pushes the limits of what music can sound like. With his stage-name Dead, Pelle sings on the demo December Moon. The new subculture is not embraced by the adult world.

Anders: Like, we faced this fucking cultural oppression as hardrockers. It was that time-period… And especially if you wanted to do something that was worse than hard rock; it was completely judged.

14:52 - 15:53 [Talking about Pelle being bullied]

Anders: He was beaten at school and to such an extent that he actually died for a while, or however you put it.

Narrator: There’s an explanation to Pelle’s obsession with death. At 13, he was bullied at school and once, he was beaten so badly that his spleen burst. Pelle’s brother Anders Ohlin tells the story.

Anders: He was beaten to death and had some near-death experience as he was laying in the hospital and he kept coming back to that all the time, and I think you can see that as some sort of theme in his songs too. Like, it’s always about the fact that he was actually there and touched something that he doesn’t know what it is, and that was the engine in all that. He was definitely [at the bottom of the pecking order] at school, precisely because he was a bit… He had his special... his special style and was, like, uncompromising, and that was what singled him out, I’d say, markedly from other teenagers.

18:07 - 18:30 [Talking about Pelle’s depression]

Anders: He would neglect to eat, just to get a cassette tape out or arrange a gig somewhere.

Narrator: Anders Ohlin, Pelle’s brother.

Anders: To be a bit harsh, I think that the others gave up at some point. And that’s my personal interpretation. That he suddenly turns around and notices that he hasn’t got the gang with him. And I think that destroyed him.

21:50 - 22:30 [Talking about Pelle’s suicide]

Anders: At first, I was actually really pissed at him… Or, like, angry, enraged. I thought that he’d abandoned us -- which he has. That it was so shitty of him; to just take off and leave this big fucking abscess to the rest of us that just kept growing and growing as the years passed.

Narrator: Christmases become especially painful for the Ohlin family, because that was the time Pelle usually came home.

Anders: No one felt good on Christmas Eve. It was like a fucking ghost all Christmas. Brutal. So, I remember that I couldn’t celebrate Christmas at all for a very long time.

1:06:39 - 1:09:31 [Talking about how he and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him and his life today]

Anders: All of his Swedish friends see him as this exuberantly happy guy that spews ideas and is funny and has a sense of humor and stuff. Then, it’s like a line is drawn when he goes to Norway and they see him as introverted and mysterious and, like, difficult. And that’s two opposite images.

Narrator: The Pelle Myth is associated with a lot of darkness and death but that’s not how his brother Anders and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him.

Anders: I think that’s been the devastating part, but it, like, helped him build… strengthen that myth. It’s hard being that funny dude and saying that you’re, like, Satan. It’s hard, it becomes, like, silly.

Narrator: Anders is often reminded of Pelle. Usually because of happy memories but also because of that image that he is fighting to remove; the image that Øystein took of Pelle’s corpse which spread because it became the album cover of a Mayhem bootleg, Dawn of the Black Hearts. The image lives its own life on the internet.

Anders: It’s difficult. It’s very difficult.

Narrator: Pelle’s fans often want to become Facebook friends with Anders; he receives 3-5 friend requests per day. Sometimes, the people sending the friend requests have themselves shared the image on their social channels.

Anders: You say you want to be my friend yet you have an image of my brother from when he’s just killed himself and like… body parts all over the wall. Would you think it was okay if I had an image of your brother like that? ‘What,’ they excuse themselves. ‘Oh, fuck, I’d forgotten that I had that image, that’s… Of course, I’ll remove it and I’m ashamed.’

Narrator: When Anders asks people to remove the image, most do.

Anders: I’m terrified for when my children will start to Google those images… Øystein’s parents inherited the rights after Øystein died and [Øystein’s dad] has destroyed the images and I’ve received the rights, gotten to take over the rights from Øystein’s dad, so if anyone uses them in any form is printed media, I can sue the shit out of them.

Narrator: It’s a small comfort every time one of Pelle’s fans tells Anders how much Pelle means.

Anders: Most often, they have some story. They tell me how they’ve had a tough period in life and how they’ve, like, really been at a crossroads or something and feel that they received guidance from Pelle’s music. That warms -- That makes you happy. That really warms your heart.

Narrator: Pelle’s grave is well-visited and every now and then, there’s a handwritten letter or a box of snus by it.

#mayhem #the true mayhem #per ohlin #pelle ohlin #per yngve ohlin #jorn stubberud #necrobutcher #kjetil manheim #eirik norheim #manheim #messiah #black metal #black metal history #true norwegian black metal #lords of chaos #my translation

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belphegorbillickin · 3 years

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(Realistically In-Character) Yandere Headcannons (& What kind of GN!MC triggers it.)

(CW!): Mentions of sexualization of fictional children and SA in Levi's section with a clearly marked start and stop. Mentions of Asmo's canon behavior and dialogue.

(Lesson 14-16 spoilers)

This is less about forcing the brothers into specific tropes and more like what the brothers would be like in worst case scenarios if MC hadn't softened them up enough. It still could be them in particularly bad situations even after the fact in some cases. Or, things they'd do in bad ends if the game had actual routes.

Lucifer:

An emotionally scarred naïve, pushover MC that's always being dragged into dangerous situations sets him off. You've gained his affection, but not necessarily his respect.

A MC like that ends up becoming an odd combination of a Lilith replacement (regardless of gender, it's about how different the role is from his literally and figuratively demonic brothers) and a romantic interest.

I don't think I need to remind you what happened to her or what happened when he thought he'd lose Belphegor to Diavolo do I?

For all his boasting what he thinks is best for you isn't necessarily going to actually be best for you, but so long as you stay in a relationship with him he'll never respect your complaints.

He's far too used to being the uncompromising "father" figure and you remind him too much of a child regardless if you're past your thirties or you're seven feet tall and have more curves/muscles than the most ridiculous anime characters.

He's easily thousands of years old and the literal embodiment of pride, it's hard enough for demons close in power and experience to go against him.

Even before then he was an angel meant to guide the other angels and “ignorant humans" and alike.

He'll only truly believe your complaints if you leave him and stay gone until he apologizes and promises to change.

Which honestly might not happen before you die even with your expanded lifespan.

Not just because of his pride, but because he has a good chance of realizing how much of a danger he is to you once separated.

In fact even if you try to stay with another brother he might try to force you into the human world permanently "for your own good."

Whether you're terrified of him, Belphegor, or worse both, he feels responsible for your state even if you get over it eventually.

He didn't talk Diavolo out of this, he "chose" you, he locked Belphie in the attic, he let his pride in his magic cloud his judgement, he couldn't stop him from killing you, and he's almost killed you himself several times. Hell, he's completely sure he's killed you in worse ways in alternate universes.

Diavolo's timing was far too convenient for it to not be true.

Beel may be the visible protector, but he's the "true" protector who makes sure Beel is even around to protect anyone else. It's only right that he "protects" you from his brothers when all but two have tried to kill you.

(Even Asmo seems seconds from killing you if you choose the wrong answer after they find out you freed Belphie. He definitely would've tried if it wasn't after his pact with you imo.)

Regardless of whether they have the best intentions or not Lucifer always does what he thinks is best and this kind of MC isn't one he'll ever listen to as an equal.

He's all too eager to let you hate him so long as he believes you'll be safe.

Mammon:

He's kind of the odd one out in that he actually becomes worse the more self sufficient and stoic you are.

If you don't need his protection he'll quickly start to feel useless and unneeded no matter how much you reassure him.

This causes him to panic and absolutely spam you with gifts, sending him even further into debt. If you try to refuse them, even for his own sake, you just make it worse.

At the same time he'll be constantly stealing from you even if he hadn't been before.

He needs it to feel close to you, but then he feels bad and tries to return the really sentimental gifts back to you playing it off as you losing them.

If you figure it out (he's truly trying to deceive you, not the blushy tsundere nonsense or fun heists) and yell at him for it that can either be the end of the relationship or the start of his spiral.

Deciding to forgive him for it, regardless of how much you yell at him, is just enabling him at this point.

Rather, the longer you stay away before coming back the more desperate he'll be to make sure you never leave.

If you don't figure it out what sets him off is the rush he gets when you look at him gratefully for the first time. It's better than any win at the casino and he knows he's gotta play it smart.

He doesn't steal big things often anymore, it'd lose effectiveness if he did, just things like pencils and hair ties to feel close.

It starts off relatively innocent and well intentioned. He begins to pry into your deepest fears and traumas, intent on protecting you from them the best he can.

No mere human can win a serious game of luck against the avatar of greed, much less resist the pull of the second most powerful brother using all he's got against them.

Don't worry though, he just wants information from your family and friends.

Unless he finds out they were to blame, but sweet, stupid Mammon would never be able to murder MC's loved ones and cover his tracks like that without blurting it out right?

But eventually returning items doesn't work anymore.

You're back to your stoic, independent self and you've never needed his protection once. He needs your gratitude more than anything.

It starts off small. "It's basically just like a surprise haunted house," he tells himself.

You're dragged on adventure after adventure "gone wrong" with him. If you refuse he's more than happy to bring the danger to you.

Mammon just wants you to depend to on him, to see him as irreplaceable instead of the first step towards his brothers. Not to leave you with lasting trauma.

Although if you're still trying to avoid depending on him, maybe something is better than nothing...

Leviathan:

The worst MC for him is a cheater, but instant death isn't much of a character analysis.

The second worst is the kind of person that lies to make other people happy or indulges others even if they don’t want to.

The kind of person that doesn't like clubs, but lets Asmo drag them there anyway or lets Beel eat their food before they're done.

Even a doormat is less dangerous because at least they'll show signs of resentment.

Not only is a genuinely kind but unable to stand up for themselves MC completely unrelatable to him now, it's also a harsh reminder of his past.

That used to be him and the more he tries to understand the more painful memories and resentment from that time come up. It's especially bad if they're too afraid to say when something is bothering them.

Not okay with explicit sex and nudity in what you thought was only a slightly lewd anime?

(TW! START)--- Incestuous undertones? Explicit rape scenes with no warnings? Oddly sexual noises, poses, outfits, and behavior from a "loli" that's explicitly a child? ---(TW! END)*

He's so deep in weeb hell that despite all his complaining about how everyone hates otakus he doesn't even bother looking things like that up before watching with you.

None of his male "friends" online have ever cared. Very few people in his community care, much less stop watching because of it.

In his mind if you like anime and/or anything more than Nintendo or casual games just like him you'd either just ignore it, know the signs, tell him ahead of time, or at least tell him the second it starts.(**)

He genuinely can't imagine hesitating to complain for any reason and he's not good at empathizing even by demon standards.

He has no social skills (besides manipulation) whatsoever and the very little experience from genuine friendships before becoming a hikkimori faded long ago.

He needs someone with firm boundaries. He doesn't have much faith or trust on the best of days with all the assurance you can give him.

If he can't trust you to tell him when you don't like him or don't want to do something he'll never trust you period.

If you can't say no to things you hate then how can he trust you to say no to dates or stop yourself from falling in love?

He's already at his limit when it comes to fighting his sin. This isn't him not trying hard enough or not getting enough reassurance. The amount of envy you see is actually his carefully controlled release.

Give him any reason to doubt you when your behavior is already so alien and unpredictable to him and he'll pop.

If you don't break up it most likely ends in him killing you in a jealous fit if he can't make sure you never interact with anyone else ever.

Considering that's fairly unlikely with Lucifer and his other brothers in general around... Well, you might want to say your goodbyes.

(I believe he was worse than Satan was in terms of pure destruction for a long time. I mean, he does just casually summon a mythical beast (easily enough to do it in his sleep too, literally) and wrecks the house often without a single apology.

He gets pathetic punishments like being banished to his room when he never wants to come out of it too.

It's why Lucifer introduced otaku culture to him in the first place and lets him get away with so much despite not being one of his favorites like Mammon or the twins.

(Go here (tumblr) or here (AO3) for my expanded headcannons on Leviathan immediately after the war.))

The third worst partner for him is someone that's just as eager to a be an anti-social shut in as him.

It doesn't matter if you're not that into what he's into or even just using him.

If he's pretty much the only one you hang out with regularly and you take every chance to be alone he'll start to see you as the perfect partner in the most unhealthy way.

No one can steal you away if no one can get to you.

He won't even be that devastated if you refuse to talk to him. A life size poseable figurine with unlimited outfits he can rant to is fine too.

Although it may sound contradictory he wants you even more if he has competition, so long as you avoid them.

Not much fulfils his sin's needs like getting “something" someone else wanted.

If he starts sneaking out of his room and going outside so you don't you have to you know something big is going on.

It might not be the improvement you and his brothers seem to think it is.

It's much worse if you're a "tsundere."

You don't actually have to be one, but if you say complain about the worst parts of anime/otaku culture while still liking anime and etc. he'll see you as one.

Try to keep your feelings to yourself because a demon bf seems dangerous or you're insecure? Tsundere.

Get jealous over anything that steals his attention even once? Tsundere and completely in love with him.

Jealousy is pretty much the only love language he accepts without question.

Once you're past the point of no return he becomes completely delusional in regards to your feelings.

Run away? MC you don't have to do all that for his attention.

Although it may seem less dangerous you've been thrown from the frying pan into the fire. No matter how violent or insulting you become he just applies anime/VN logic.

There are far too many abusive tsunderes for him to see it as anything but an expression of love and demons are already naturally violent.

Even things that really piss him off like destroying his collection make him see you as a badly trained puppy that needs discipline and love.

Death may be painful, but is being controlled by him for the rest of your life and never seeing anyone else really that much better?

Satan:

(I’ve expanded on yandere Satan here, click on this for a significantly better, and longer, set of headcanons!)

I honestly can't see canon Satan exhibiting much “yandere-specific behavior.” I feel like he's much too self aware to justify it to himself or get delusional and much too controlled to do it while thinking clearly.

Yandere isn't really yandere specifically without the delusions or at least some uncontrolled, irrational behavior imo.

I can however see him be part of a typical abusive relationship wherein he lashes out with rage, but I'm really uncomfortable writing that personally. It's way too close to home for me in a way that yandere doesn't.

Besides, I believe canon Satan would immediately break up with you the first time he seriously hurt you if he had any real affection for you at all.

He probably wouldn't even stay friends if you kept pushing to get back together in a way that made you sound desperate and "okay with" the abuse.

Saying things like you "love him enough to tolerate it" or saying you can change him and deal with it until he's better for example would turn him off.

Asmodeous:

Already canon, just check out his reaction when you say you were thinking of someone else while being with him after the Belphie reveal.

(MAJOR TW! START!)--- He canonically threatens to commit necrophilia on MC's corpse and implies he'd sexually assault them while they're alive too. IDC if it's "just a threat" or not, it's too much for me not think of that every time he pops up. ---(MAJOR TW! END)

I can't realistically see a snapped Asmo not doing some extremely dubious actions at absolute best, if he doesn't just murder them, so I can't bring myself to write about it.

It's not like it’s impossible for the other yandere brothers to do something similar, but you can remove it entirely and make them completely asexual and their motives don't change while Asmo's center around it.

I reject canon Asmo's extremely serious flaw and give him other ones in addition to his selfish behavior, but it's still impossible for me to not see it for a yandere scenario.

Honestly, I genuinely think Asmo just straight up murdering them in a fit of rage is the most likely scenario anyway.

He doesn't seem like the type to keep himself from killing them, purposely or not, after losing control and I think he'd be too socially aware to believe he can just kidnap them and have it all work out if he hasn't snapped.

Beelzebub:

It might sound odd at first, but I see Beel as a lot more likely to exhibit full on yandere behavior when you accept Belphie's offer to date both of them.

Belphie isn't above trying to manipulate him with subtle reminders of Lilith's demise if he's really concerned about MC and Beel only wants to see the best in his twin. He doesn’t want to hurt Beel, but if he thinks it’s the only way...

He's an absolutely terrible influence when he suggests ways to "keep MC safe." He's already canonically mentioned running away from his brothers with Beel and MC.

Beel loves all of his brothers, but I can't see him ever choosing anyone over Belphie.

Not after loosing Lilith, who he also choose Belphie over.

Again, Beel's a pretty straightforward demon who likes to think the best of Belphie and has a huge amount of guilt for not realizing he was locked up. It'd be very easy for Belphie to manipulate him into something.

He might not even need to however. It's canon that Belphie and Beel feel what each other feel, literally. They're not real life twins, they're two halves of the same soul.

Think of them more like if someone had cast a spell on Cerberus that caused the heads to separate, but they all still shared the same psychic connection rather than being like human twins.

Which means Beel will be able to feel every time Belphegor feels overprotective, worried, jealous, and his suffocating feelings of love just like he canonically feels his stomachaches and sadness.

All it takes is a few accidents or close calls (that may or may not be orchestrated by Belphie) and he might start to agree with him on some things before Belphie starts trying to convince him in earnest.

He definitely doesn't want to lock you up or anything, but what's the harm in making sure one of them is always with you?

What if you got attacked or had an accident and couldn't call them or they couldn't get there in time?

What's so bad about staring down every demon and shady sorcerer potential threat that looks at you?

It's not like he's hurting anyone, he's just getting ready to in case they do. He's the family's protector and you need it more than anyone.

He's always there to cheer you up with your favorite food when no one wants to talk to you anymore.

He's not sure why they're being so rude and it makes him even more annoyed and suspicious when someone acts differently than the new normal.

Rather than being worried about losing you emotionally he's worried about losing you physically.

He would be the type to be genuinely trying to protect you from harm rather than using is as an excuse.

Beel would prefer to see you leave him for someone else if that's what really makes you happy than get hurt or even die.

If he truly believes you're safer with someone else he won't try to keep you from them and might even encourage you to leave him.

In extreme scenarios he'd rather have you hate him than let you die, but it probably won't get to that in most cases because he'll only go full yandere without Belphie if you let him be suffocatingly overprotective.

Unless you're an absolute dumbass with no sense of self preservation and/or are always getting hurt he'll back off the almost second you tell him to in the beginning.

It's hard to hate him anyway when he "protects" you from the outside world so sweetly and sorrowfully, letting you abuse him as much as you want so long as you don't hurt yourself.

Especially considering it's basically a game of good cop bad cop with Belphie.

Also considering what he says when MC is leaving Devildom, “They say “You are what you eat.” Which means I’d be you, so we’d be together forever,” he’s definitely the kind of yandere that eats you afterwards.

He talks about not being as hungry when he’s happy (emotional binge-eating) and how he’s “hungry for love” (thematic akin to “lusting for” power), but he’s very literal otherwise when it comes to food despite him saying it so casually.

He’d never intentionally kill you, especially not just to eat you, but if you were already dead there’s no way he wouldn’t eat you, let’s be real.

Belphegor:

Last, but definitely not least is the main canon yandere.

I've already gone over him a bit in Beel's space and everyone who's made it past the spoiler already knows what he's capable of. I want to focus on what makes him unique.

It's not often that you see a yandere that not only actively wants you to date someone else, but almost seems happier when you do so than when it's just him.

You raise intimacy not by saying you like him, but that you like his brother when the game gives the chance to confess to or reject everyone.

I believe part of that is because of the whole "two halves of one soul" that share everything deal they've got going on, but I also think part of it is his him trying to worm his way into MC using the path Beel made.

It could just be coincidence, but I find it important to take note that Belphie asks you after you say you like Beel despite the fact that a lot more Belphie fans like Beel than the other way around.

The things that attract people to Beel over his brothers are mainly his honesty, kindness, and "purity." Things Belphie lacks.

Don't get me wrong, Belphie's always tied for my favorite at worst, but he's very manipulative, obsessive, a bit of a tsundere, a vengeful murderer that literally laughs at his brothers' horror, and is very “lustful” and aggressively into PDA despite insulting his brothers for it. It'd make a lot more sense for it to be the other way around.

So again, it could be coincidence, but it's also perfectly in-character for him to try to get at Beel's partner and hope that Beel can convince them to like him too. If only so he isn't left behind.

He already does something similar by convincing MC to help him make up with his family.

After all there's no real requirements for it, you don't actually have to flirt with Belphie or have high intimacy scores to get it.

But if it was him first Beel probably wouldn't ask and Belphie may or may not try to convince MC to date Beel too.

On one hand he does genuinely seem happy about sharing (honestly the creep sounds a little too happy about it sometimes,) but on the other hand he can be pretty selfish.

Personally, if Beel had strong feelings for MC and he knew they wouldn't freak out at the suggestion of a closed poly relationship, I think he definitely would.

I feel like he also sees it as insurance. Even if you get mad at him or tired of him you still have Beel tying you to him and Beel would never leave him. That it gives him a chance to win you back or at least be near you and get Beel's secondhand happiness.

It also has the potential of being a bit of a threat. Breaking up with only one of them would be super messy and probably ruin it with the other.

In other words unless you really hate him it's too risky so you might as well just let him worm his way in. Because if you do really hate him it means Beel is really likely to leave you and you'll be completely alone.

Which then allows him to turn Beel against you completely or manipulate you into coming back using that as leverage.

It lets him get away with a lot more than he otherwise would, but in this case he'd probably use those chances to isolate you instead of hurting you for any sadistic reasons.

He doesn't need anyone but Beel and neither do you in his opinion.

As for the worst MC, I believe it'd also be an antisocial shut-in without a huge sense of self-preservation.

It makes him feel less jealous at first, but then it makes every interruption and interaction with his brothers seem even worse in comparison.

Belphie's always been clingy, but between losing Lilith and being kept away from Beel he's become almost panicky from untreated PTSD.

He never really feels satisfied, he just gets greedier every time you give into him when you don't want to.

With a "normal," at least slightly social MC he already knows he can't just immediately rip you away from the people you're with regularly. It keeps him distracted and lets him feel like he's making progress.

Being a shut-in makes it very easy for him to isolate you from his brothers and convince Beel you wouldn't be too lonely with just them.

A suicidal MC or one not particularly concerned about losing their life also worries him, regardless of how mad you were at him.

He knows all too well how easy it was to manipulate and kill you and yet you don't even seem to look out for yourself.

He's not one to downplay that being the "Lord of Emptiness" and traditional symbol of depression.

He's driven countless humans to suicide through a lack of sleep and constant nightmares and suffers from depression himself.

He knows the signs better than any other brother, better than any angel and most therapists really.

He's not losing someone else, not even if you hate him for it. He'll gladly play bad cop with good cop Beel if that's what it takes.

You're not that happy here anyway, maybe you'll be happier without his annoying brothers and outsiders dragging you away from him.

He knows you're not the social kind anyway.

If you're only dating Belphie he's still too lazy (and maybe just the slightest bit too sane) to try to drag you off somewhere, convince Beel, and deal with the fallout.

If he thinks a romanced Beel is already halfway convinced to come along however...

If Belphie's lazy ass starts getting you things all the time without you asking so you don't have to leave the house do yourself a favor and beg Diavolo for protection.

You're on the Bad End path and there's not much you can do to stop it.

Either you don't change much and Belphie's already started trying to convince Beel, or you suddenly develop an active social life and he panics thinking you're trying to leave him.

Good luck MC, you're going to need it.

*Levi stans might hate me for this (I mean I am one, but), tbh my real life experiences kind of taint my perception of him. I mean he canonically has a child-form Ruri-chan body pillow and a (presumably) adult Ruri-chan 3D breast mousepad.

Regardless of if it's adult Ruri-chan or not, it's still got certain implications even if I know Solomare is probably doing it to avoid making Ruri-chan feel even more like a love rival.

**To be perfectly clear, I do not condone this type of victim blaming at all. I absolutely hate it actually and actually pissed myself off when I wrote it tbh, but I've had to deal with this kind of thing constantly when interacting with male anime fans and I like to write with some semblance of “realism.” It’s more comforting to me than the alternative.

It's fully intended to be a serious flaw. I'm sorry if it wasn't immediately clear, but I didn't want to break character to preach (even more than I already did.)

#yandere headcanons #Obey Me Yandere #Obey Me Headcannons #Obey Me Imagines #Obey Me Belphegor #Obey Me Beelzebub #Obey Me Lucifer #Obey Me Leviathan #Obey Me Satan #Obey Me Asmodeus #Obey Me Mammon #Obey Me #yandere #imagines #obey me headcanons

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

Text

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

***

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

***

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.

#my fics #tomarry

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alsanderecho · 3 years

Text

Tales of San Derecho: The New Press Secretary

The formation of a whole new state from the parts of two others should have been a surprise for the nation after a national election but it wasn't. Its new boundries encompassed part of southern California, as well as land in Arizona. There was very little fuss about its existence for the general public, as if it had always been there.

But there were those who did ask questions about how this new territory came to be. Some of them traveled to the newest state in the union, seeking the answer. These are their stories, along with those who found themselves now residing in the state of SAN DERECHO...

====================

"Shannon, something strange is going on."

The reporter looked with one raised eyebrow at Sheila Gerrolds, his editor. The both of them work at the Q-News, a website dedicated to reporting on national events and international happenings important to the LGBTQ community.

"Strange, how?"

"I mean, do you remember Joaquin Guerrero?"

Shannon had to think for a few moments before he remembered the outspoken gay Latino activist, which immediately struck him as being wrong somehow. Hadn't he done an interview with him during last fall's gubernatorial election in San Derecho?

"Y...Yeah. But not until you mentioned his name, Sheila. That's...weird."

"Exactly my point, Shannon. And he's not the only one..."

The editor rattled off about a dozen more names, and memories of these gay and lesbian activists flooded Shannon's memories. And again, he was at loss at how he could have forgotten them, considering some of them had been long-time friends/

"What's going on here? Where did they all go?"

"That's what I want to know. Over dozen of the most prominent LGTBQ activists go missing on the West Coast over the last year and no one is raising a stink about it? There's a story here, an important one."

Shannon nodded in agreement, his mind already honing in on who might be responsible for these disappearances.

"And you think the new governor might be involved somehow."

"Precisely. You know what his platform was during the election, and now some of his biggest critics are missing? It just stinks to me."

"Right, I get it. Guess I'm going back undercover..."

Sheila nodded, aware that her best reporter had spent a good portion of the election last year infiltrating a certain candidate's campaign. Despite the success of getting on the inside, the whole thing hadn't turned up any actionable material.

"Yeah, but I want you to be careful. We don't know what is really going on here."

"I get it, but we've got to find out the truth. And maybe, we can bring this bastard down once and for all..."

====================

Getting an invite to the governor's mansion had been pretty easy, as Shannon's cover identity was intact and uncompromised. Still, he was being careful, as this whole thing was more than a bit like walking into a hungry lion's den carrying chunks of raw, bloody meat. If the governor or any of his people got even a hint of who he really was, it could go very bad for him very quickly.

Maybe that's why he waited in the car for so long before finally mustering his courage to approach the front door and ring the bell. The wait for an answer seemed to drag on forever until the door clicked open. Standing there was the governor's chief of staff, Jonathon Grey. Dressed in a dark grey suit, the man was the very image of the hyper-conservative types that the chief executive of the state San Derecho liked to surround himself with.

"Ah, Mr. Jones. So nice to see you again. It has been awhile, hasn't it?"

Shannon nodded affirmatively. He hadn't been this close to Grey since election night, and he was trying to ignore how attractive he found the man. It was a little bothersome because he reminded him of someone else...

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I needed sometime to figure out things after the election. But now, I think I know what I want."

"Excellent. The governor will see you in his study."

This surprised Shannon, who hadn't been aware that the governor even knew who 'Shane Jones' was. Every instinct the reporter had was screaming this was a set-up of some kind, but it was not something he could walk away from. Because despite the danger, it was an opportunity to get even deeper inside this crooked administration and find out what happened to his friends...

"Lead the way then."

====================

The study was a comfortable room with oak paneled walls and high shelves stocked with numerous leather bound books. In the fireplace, flames crackled and suffused the room with a flickering glow of yellow light. Shannon was ushered inside by Grey, who remained outside but closed the doors behind him. An almost faint click told the journalist that he had been locked in as well. He took a few cautious steps into this den of conservatism until a voice called out for him to "take a seat."

Said seat was in a thick leather chair with a high back and wings on either side of its occupants head. It was set in front of a dark oaken desk behind which sat the governor himself, his fingers steepled and a grin on his face. On his desk was a framed picture of him and his blonde wife. Shannon couldn't quite recall her name before his host spoke.

"Shane, welcome. So glad you've come for a visit. Can I offer you a drink?"

The gray-haired politician motioned to a small bar set into a wall behind him. Shannon shook his head to say no as the governor seemed amused at the response. The older man's expression then became serious.

"Now, can we dispense with this pretense, Shannon?

The millennial reporter was caught off guard by his real name being spoken aloud by the governor. He tugged nervously at the maroon sweater he wore, trying to laugh it off. But the man behind the desk wasn't having any of it.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence or that of my staff, Shannon. We've been aware of your true identity and the website that employs you for quite some time now."

"I..I..I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I said to NOT insult me, Shannon."

The gay journalist shuddered slightly, as the governor's voice resonated with a surprisingly arousing air of authority. He had to keep his head about himself.

"Alright, fine. I am who you think I am. Do you know why I'm here?"

"Of course. You're here to investigate what happened to my most outspoken critics in the LGBT community. I did wonder how long it would be before you or your editor would notice. Anyone really..."

Shannon said nothing, trying to remain focused on his surroundings. If this man was this free with his words, then this had to be a some sort of trap...

"Please, please. Do relax. I'm perfectly happy to tell you everything."

"Is this some sort of trick?"

"No, it's merely the truth, Shannon. Isn't that what you really want to hear? The truth?"

Shannon nodded, feeling a calm settled over himself. It was strange, but the words coming from the Governor's mouth seemed to be the source of this new tranquility. The smile of the older man's face confirmed it.

"So, shall we begin?"

====================

Shannon sat there, dazed. He wanted to get up, and flee this place but for some reason, he found himself just sitting there listening to the Governor talk.

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Shannon. All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective and understanding..."

The reporter nodded numbly in agreement.

"This modern world is losing touch with its past. Things were so much simpler before all of this social justice nonsense overtook everything. Black and white, right and wrong. Don't you think?"

Another nod, but it was accompanied by a rippling of Shannon's clothes. His sweater seemed to moving of its own accord, the material clinging closer to his body now. Sudden, it pulled itself so tight that it ripped apart at the shoulders, and revealed that underneath were the sleeves of a crisp white button-down dress shirt that hung a little loose on his arms.

"A simpler time....black and white...right and wrong...man and woman..."

The part of the sweater that remained was fluttering as most of it split into two thin straps that looped over his shoulders, reconnecting into a y-shape via a triangle of brown leather from which another strap clipped its to the back of his jeans. In the front, the new suspenders settled into place as brass snaps clamped down Around his neck, a heavily starched collar unfolded itself, sending a line of buttons down the front of the dress shirt. A rustle of fabric revealed that the last piece of his old sweater had curled itself under the collar and knotted itself into a long tie.

"Black...White...Right...Wrong...Man...Woman..."

The words battered into Shannon's head, as he tried to understand what was happening. He was afraid as he could something or someone stirring in the depths of his subconscious, drawn to the power of those words. If he'd only realized that his fear was only going to quicken the pace of his transformation...

====================

"You're not the first to hear my message, Shannon. Far from it. And you won't be the last, But I digress a little. I did say I'd tell you the truth, didn't I?"

Shannon couldn't respond, his body frozen as new changes begin to effect him, this time below his wait. The jeans he'd been wearing were shifting, denim softening into a light blend of cotton as blue was leeched away and replaced with a dark brown. Crisp creases snapped into place down the front of the developing trousers.

"You see, I didn't always have this...influence over people. I'm not sure where it came from really but it showed up when I was just starting my political career. I discovered that my words had an effect on people, especially those who disagreed with me. Not only did they come around my point of view, but some of them actually completely changed!"

A leather belt slid into the loops at Shannon's waist and tightened itself as as if locking him into his fate.

"Do you remember Lizzy Dion? Probably not, I suppose. She was my opponent for mayor during my first re-election campaign. A very outspoken advocate for gay rights, and a tough debater. That old bag really had me on the ropes during our first head-to-head if I'm being perfectly honest. Might've beaten me too, but oddly she disappeared before election day."

The governor chuckled a little, as if at some private joke before he stood up and came around the desk to seat on its corner. Shannon wanted to curse at him but...why? After he'd done a lot for this reporter, hadn't he? He didn't realize he was starting to grin.

"Of course, I'd soon meet my beloved Lisbeth and she became my first real supporter in my rise to the office I currently occupy. The perfect politician's wife really."

Shannon nodded in agreement. The governor's wife was a real smart cookie, and quite the looker too. He blinked, not sure why he found a woman to be attractive, let alone that woman. But his cock? It knew what it liked and that blonde matriarch really got its attention!

"Getting back on track, with my wife by my side, I ascended the ranks of the Republican party swiftly. I had a great staff as well, picked up all along the way. You'd be surprised how many times I got asked where I found so many loyal and dedicated people..."

The clothes which had been hanging a little loose on Shannon grew more fitted now, as his lanky frame began to fill in with muscle. It was still lean, but now held more strength than one might expect. His butt tightened up, as his old sexual practices were wiped away. He'd do a lot for a story but letting someone get past his backdoor? Never!

"Like me, boss?"

"Exactly, my boy. How are you feeling now?"

"I feet great, boss. But I'm still a little confused about why you're telling me all of this..."

The governor grinned at the still changing reporter, who was coming along nicely. The fading Shannon's feather and poofed hair was starting to slick itself back, darkening from brown to black in the process. His once smooth chin had squared itself out, and the first signs of his trademark five o'clock shadow were gracing with each passing moment.

"Just a little refresher, son. After all, you're working on my next address to the state, right?"

The reporter nodded enthusiastically. He'd been working on a real firecracker of a speech for the governor. His grin widened to reveal a set of white teeth that seemed to sparkly. A thump came the floor next to him, where his smart phone had been pushed out by his transforming pants. It had shifted and twisted, glass splintering into nothingness as it became a leather-covered notepad out of which stuck his favorite pen.

"Good, good. Now where was I again?"

"You were talking about your loyal staff, boss."

"Right. I don't know what I'd have done without you or Joaquin..."

Looking up from his notepad and the notes he'd been busily scribbling in it, Stanley Journo stared blankly at his employer and mentor as the strange name crossed his lips, A shrinking part of who he used to be seemed to be rallied by its mention.

"Who, boss?"

"Jonathan?"

"Oh...right."

And just like that, that last bit of Shannon faded away as he realized what had happened to Joaquin Guerrero. But the man sitting in the chair now didn't really care about that anymore, because he had more important stories to cover.

"That's should be enough for the speech, boss, I'll have it on your desk first thing in the morning."

"Great, Stanley. But I do have one more task for you tonight. In your capacity as my press secretary, I need you deliver a message for me..."

The governor pulled out a tape recorder and presented to the retro-styled journalist. The snarky grin was now permanently plastered on his ruggedly handsome face, as he tilted up the fedora resting on his head.

"Whatever ya' say, boss..."

====================

Sheila had not left the offices of the Q-News, her concern for her best reporter telling her that she needed to be here just in case. But she didn't even notice that she could no longer recall that reporter's name as she spoke to her girlfriend on the phone.

"Listen, Elle, baby. I'm gonna be home late tonight... It's a big story and I'm waiting for...

A knock on the door caused Sheila to jump out of her seat a little. As she finished up on the phone, the door swung open to let in a tallish lean man dressed in a dark grey vest and brown slacks. A cigarette hung from his lip while a old-fashioned press pass rested in the band of the fedora that rested atop his slicked back do.

"Heya, Chief. I got a scoop you just gotta hear to believe..."

*CLICK*

"You see, I think there is someone inside you who wants to come out. A better you, a hetter you, Sheila... All you have to do is listen to my voice, and let it guide you to a new....perspective."

#gaytostraight #liberaltoconservative #transformation #mental change #reality change #retrofied #SanDerecho #TheGovernor

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shabre-legacy · 3 years

Text

Nyaisa’s final Coruscant Scene

I technically should have written this scene after the rest of Nya’s Ord Mantell and Coruscant story, but it was in my head and wouldn’t leave so I could write anything else. So here it is. Takes place just before she leaves Coruscant for Taris.

Warnings for: Verbal abuse and minor violence towards a partner. Most of the language is below the cut. (doesn’t get away with the behavior)

The walkway between the senate and the nearest Coruscant spaceport was long. Had it always been this long? It hadn’t seemed so the last three times she’s made this trek, but still...Nyaisa couldn’t tell when it had gotten so kriffing long. She moved with purpose. They might not have to run this time, but that didn’t mean they had time to waste.

Her squad followed a step behind. Jorgan on her right, sniper, experienced, good instincts, tough and uncompromising, but willing to give advice, very grumpy. Ikhirr Jhasis walked to her left. Same training as hers, a frontal assault and search and destroy specialist. also a sergeant, good friend from the academy, Cathar, efficient, good-natured, kind, tough, likes pranks, dislikes Jedi.

Both these men answered to her; which she still found strange. Only a few days ago she’d been a sergeant and a new transfer. Now she was a lieutenant and CO of her own spec-force squad. One with a seemingly impossible reputation to uphold, as if she needed more challenges. She’d do it of course. This wasn’t a matter of can or can’t. It was a matter of duty. Even if she couldn’t, she would.

As she crossed the interior of the hanger, she noticed a familiar face waiting for her. Nordan Allgard, an army lieutenant and her boyfriend of 3 years, currently on leave on Coruscant before shipping out to the outer rim in 4 days.

She had prepped a message for him during her shuttle ride and sent it as soon as she set foot on the planet. Nya told him about her transfer and promotion, her new command and new CO, she’d even told him that she would be on Coruscant. Thank the stars for secure intra-military communication. She did make sure to note that while she was on planet, it was for debriefing and work and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be here or if she’d have time to see him. No point in getting either of their hopes up.

He hadn’t responded. Days of running around Coruscant, rescuing the senator, making their way back, all the meetings she’d had to attend. Days he’d had her message and no response. He hadn’t ignored her like this in years.

It was a bit odd and out of character for him to come to see her off on a mission at the spaceport. Nevermind how he found out she was headed here in the first place. That was secure spec-ops details. Not available to the regular army personnel

Part of the appeal for both of them was that they understood each other. They both had their own reasons for being soldiers and they both understood that for the other and for themselves, the job would always come first. It had been that way since their academy days. It made what time they were able to spend together all the more special.

Honestly Nyaisa knew how lucky she was to have found Nordan. As a soldier, she was fantastic, but as a person, well, she could acknowledge her faults, she was difficult. She was arrogant and cold and brusque. Her time in the refugee camp had given her abandonment issues, Mirial, a hero complex. Not knowing her father meant she had massive daddy issues. Add to that the fact that she was obnoxious, talked too much, had no sense of humor, an awful temper and an obsession with weapons and thus with death and frankly, she was surprised that Nordan had stayed as long as he had. She’d probably never find anyone else that would put up with her and her moods.

He was standing in the doorway of the hanger between the lounge and her ship. Coruscant’s sunlight dripping through his auburn hair to shine like pure gold, and making his face tattoo fade. He looked every bit as handsome as he ever had. But there was something off with him. Something in the glint of his dark eyes she could barely see, something dark in the crumpled way his uniform sat, in the way he stood rock still, face hard set as they approached. She’d only seen this look on him a few times, he was furious.

She didn’t have time for this! As much as she wanted to sit down with her lover and let him talk about what had gone wrong this time, and fix it, and comfort him. She couldn't. The mission was too urgent.

She altered her path slightly. Moving just enough she’d be able to squeeze his shoulder as she passed. She knew Ikhirr enough to know he’d move.

However, instead of letting her pass by when she approached without slowing. He stepped directly in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. “We need to talk now.” He said, his voice low and angry in a way that had never been directed at her before. His eyes scanned her face, pausing briefly at the new, still healing scars across her jaw and neck. Instead of concern, there seemed to be almost disgust. When had he become this angry at her? What had she done wrong this time?

“Sorry Allgard, no time, I’m on duty and shipping out.” She spoke sharply, but was careful to have no edge to her tone. No use in making this worse, but hoping to remind him she was working, and spec force, and in front of her squad and other soldiers littered around the hangar.

“We’re talking NOW!” he growled at her.

She narrowed her eyes. She put up with a lot from him because she knew he loved her, but this was crossing a line and delaying a General’s orders.

She didn’t have time to waste on anything unnecessary. She barked quick orders over her shoulder. “Jhasis, get onboard, stow your gear and start running inventory in the galley and medbay. Jorgan, start those preflights. I want off the ground soon as control clears us. Start inventory on the armory soon as we lift off. I want full reports by the time we hit Carrick.”

Her men, ever professionals, saluted quickly and stepped around heading towards the ship. As soon as they were a few steps away, Nyaisa lowered her voice and started to step away herself. “I don’t have time today, Nordan. Garza gave orders and they’re time sensitive. We can talk later, but right now I have to go.”

As she stepped past, he grabbed her arm, yanking hard. Nya was pulled to a halt and harshly spun around to face him. “You bitch.” He spat “Do you know what you’ve done? How much you’ve humiliated me?”

“The only thing I’ve done is be exceptional at my job and get a promotion. If you’ve heard otherwise, someone’s lying to you. Let go of me!” She yanked her arm away and glared at him. What had gotten into him?

“Do you even understand what kind of shit I put up with from you.” The anger, the hate in his voice, he could be nasty sometimes, but he’d never spoken quite like this. She must have really screwed up somewhere. “I mean, I let you stay with the army training, I let you join ground troops instead of taking an administerial position where you belong, because it made me look good. My family, their friends, I could introduce my army girl and we were the very picture of republic loyalty. But this shit. This is too damn much.”

Was...was he seriously angry she got promoted? And Let her? She’d joined the army herself, she went where she was ordered and fought where she was ordered, what part of that was ‘let’?

“What the..”

“Shut up and listen!” He roughly cut her off before she could even reach the middle of her sentence

“I let you go around like you’re so good and so tough, when you’re really just a pathetic bitch who tries too hard and everyone knows it. And this is how you repay me? By running off and getting into the most famous squad of the republic?”

He was...He was actually angry about her transfer to Havoc! And where had all this venom and cruelty come from. She knew he liked to show her off, but she’d thought it was because he was proud of her. And these nasty comments. It wasn’t the first time he’d said such things, but never with such hate in his voice. He just wanted to help her become better. This was something else and it was starting to make her angry.

“Then to top that, you just couldn’t accept that I was the better soldier. You had to try and one up me, again. You just had to get yourself a promotion and a command. Do you even comprehend how humiliating that is?”

“You’re out of line, Nordan. If you have a problem with my success that’s your problem, not mine.”

He growled again and took a step closer to her, using his height to try and intimidate her. “I told you to shut up. I’m not done. Now, on top of everything else, which I might have been able to forgive eventually, you decided to go and disfigure yourself with those hideous things” he gestured roughly at her new scars. The ones she’d gotten surviving an imperial ambush while deep inside an imperial base, alone and betrayed. While yes, they were a little ugly, new scars always were, she wasn’t ashamed of them. Soldiers got scars, that's just what happened. And while the memory of the circumstances still stung, she was proud of them. They meant she’d survived something that should have killed her, and that was something she refused to let Nordan make her feel bad about. Why did he always try and make her feel bad about everything she did?

“HEY!” He reached out and grabbed her jaw, shaking her head roughly. She knew her squad had stopped and started watching the moment he’d raised his voice and the other soldiers were staring too. “Pay attention when I speak to you.” He forced her head to look directly at him instead of off to the side, where she had been staring so she could think. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go back to the oh so special General Garza.” The disdain that dripped from his voice on her name was unnerving. “And you are going to resign your command effective immediately, you’re going to resign from the army completely. Then you are going to go to my room at the Cantina and we’ll see if I feel like forgiving you.”

Nyaisa was done. Somehow, his attempts at giving her orders, pulling her from the job that was her life, forcing her to abandon everything else that meant anything at all to her, the things for which she’d dedicated her entire life, it broke something. She could see him for what he was now. A bully and a weak man who’d spent the last 3 years desperate to control her. “NO!”

“Excuse me!” the look in his eyes darkened more, if such a thing were possible.

“I said No. I will not resign. This is your problem, not mine. I have a mission I’m going back to. We will talk about this later.” She’d have some strong words for him, but he needed to cool down first. A few hours and he’d realize how foolish and inconsiderate he was being. She was sure of it. Then they could talk about his behavior and his control issues.

Crack!

Her head snapped to the side as a stinging pain exploded across her face. He had slapped her! He had straight up backhanded her across the face! Not only did he dare to raise a hand against her, but he’d done it in public! In front of other soldiers! In front of her squad! The men who were supposed to take her orders! Fury like she’d rarely felt exploded across her chest and as he raised his hand to strike her again and likely yell at her, she acted. Grabbing his arm as he swung, she spun him around and jammed his arm into a lock with just enough force that she knew he’d feel it. He’d know he was a single movement away from broken bones. She leaned in close and spoke loudly enough for those on their feet starting to hear, for her squad that had rushed back towards her to hear. “You do not get to hit me. You do not give me orders. We are done. You come near me ever again for any reason other than a direct order from a superior and you will face a lot worse than an armlock. I am not your toy. Never have been, never will be.” She shoved him away from her, hard enough that he stumbled forward and fell as she turned and holding her head high started towards her ship.

“You alien whore!” She could hear Nordan spit behind her. “How many people did you spread your legs for to get that promotion. Did you fuck Tavus that first night or did you at least wait a day.”

Nyaisa could feel the tension around her as she passed Jorgan and Jhasis. She saw Jhasis’s fists clenched out of the corner of her eye. He was ready to beat the man. One more insult and the rules of military interactions, rank and his rather impressive self control would cease to matter. “Jhasis, Jorgan, fall in.” She strode to the ship and opened the door. Focusing only on getting inside and out of the gaze of these soldiers, away from Nordan. She could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She thought he’d loved her. She just had to hold it together enough to get off the ground and make the jump to hyperspace. Then she could close the bridge.

“How long did it take you to hit your knees for Garza, bitch? You…” As the door opened, Nordan cut off his sentence. She turned to see the two Cathar striding away from Nordan who was again lying on the ground, this time holding his nose and glaring as they walked up and as she stepped aside, they moved silently onto the ship. She stared for another moment as Nordan lay there on the ground holding his nose surrounded by the other soldiers staring at him in disgust. How had she ever thought of him as anything more than a pathetic worm with apparently massive issues? And as much as it hurt, she knew she’d be glad to be rid of him someday. She turned her back and left him in the hanger as she stepped inside, walking quickly past her boys. The tears pressed harder against her eyes. She moved around the corner and started to the bridge, quickly wiping at her eyes for the second she was ahead of them and out of sight. “Get to work, I want off the ground in five.” She’d handle this when she got a little privacy. How she was so stupid to fall for him, the aftermath and reports she’d have to file for what had happened, all of that could wait till they hit hyperspace and she’d left this disaster far behind.

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otomesations · 4 years

Text

Kei scene - Retranslation

Context:

SPOILERS FOR THE LATTER PART OF KEI’S ROUTE

Kei and Ichika have a scene where they make out in chapter 6, and there seems to be some ambiguity within the English-reading community as to how consensual it all is, how pushy Kei is being, and whether they do or don’t… erm… bring it home.

I think the Japanese version makes it clear that it is consensual, that Kei is being quite considerate in his Kei way, and that they do bring it home.

I also thought it would be an opportunity to discuss a few of the scene’s themes - many of which are present throughout Kei’s route and additional content.

So I did a translation pass on the scene and changed the bits that felt inaccurate in theme or meaning. I explained some of the big differences below the translation.

In bold, the parts that I changed from the original localisation.

Translation:

KEI: “More importantly, we can’t really make out if your brother comes home early.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “I’m just kidding. I’ll wait until you’re completely ready.”

ICHIKA: “... No. You don’t need to wait.”

KEI: “Huh?”

ICHIKA: “I… I also want to make out with you.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times.

ICHIKA: (M-Maybe that was too sudden.)

But it was sincerely how I felt.

These might be our last moments together. That was all I could think about.

KEI: “Are you serious about that?”

His hand gently reached for my cheek.

The touch caused my shoulders to tremble slightly, but I kept my eyes fixed on his.

ICHIKA: “... Yes.”

Then we inched close enough that I could feel his breath on mine…

ICHIKA: “O-oh but wait, just a moment. There’s something I want to ask you first.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki hung his head, clearly disappointed by the sudden interruption.

KEI: “... Ichika. Don’t you think you’re teasing me a bit much?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry. But I really need to ask.”

Our faces were still very close, and his eyes invited me to continue.

ICHIKA: “Erm… Okazaki, what do you like about me?”

Although he had confessed his feelings to me, I had turned him away in that moment, and I hadn’t quite believed what I’d heard.

After learning his past and sharing our feelings I thought we’d finally become close, yet…

ICHIKA: (Somehow… I still can’t quite believe it.)

The affection that he had for me was unmistakable. But I was still sure he only viewed me as an ideal.

KEI: “... There are a whole lot of people that I can say I like.”

ICHIKA: (...?!)

Suddenly, he dropped a bomb on me and my mind just froze.

KEI: “I like Yanagi’s team, Yoshinari, my friends in the force, and even girls I see walking by, I guess. I like a lot of people I think are good people. But… I can’t really say that I’ve ever gotten attached to anybody.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “Even when people confessed to me and went out with me, I was often told that things were different from what they expected. ‘I’m not special to you.’ ‘I’m just another person in the crowd for you.’ … Stuff like that”

ICHIKA: (I think I can understand that)

KEI: “However, you’re the only one who’s special to me. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not about liking or disliking you. You’re someone that I need to live. …Now you’re the proof of my being, you’re my identity.”

KEI: “Isn’t it normal to want to touch that person, or keep her all to myself?”

While he talked, his fingers touched my cheek. The gesture was completely gentle, and I could feel the warmth from this fingertips. It conveyed his feelings much better than his words did.

KEI: “Back when you were mad at me, I thought that I should’ve done a better job hiding it from you. Maybe I should have said my death wish was a joke, and that I just wanted you to feel safe. Yeah… I could’ve lied to you and kept using you. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I wanted you to accept me for the person I really am.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I was rendered speechless by his complete honesty.

I’m not special, my being is not important to anyone else - I was sure that I and everybody else had felt that way before.

ICHIKA: (What should I do? I’m so happy.)

This was more than love or romance - what he wanted was my being.

It made me so happy that I shivered.

KEI: “So, what do you like about me?”

ICHIKA: “Eh…”

KEI: “I was happy to hear that you like me, but it’s still a bit of a wonder to me. You got that angry for my sake, and you even said that you’d rather sacrifice someone else so that I could live because you didn’t want to lose me. I don’t think I’m worth that much. … To be honest, I can’t honestly believe that you actually feel that way. After all, you didn’t like me that much at first, did you?”

ICHIKA: “...”

The sudden question troubled me. I had been attracted to his kindness at first. He was warm and gave me peace of mind. He put a broad smile on my face and made my days gentle.

But he was stubborn and uncompromising. He could be cold and lived by his own rules. He’d ignored my feelings and stubbornly wanted to die for his own satisfaction.

ICHIKA: (When I think about it…)

ICHIKA: “What DO I like about you…?”

I unconsciously let that slip.

KEI: “Should you really be saying that in front of me?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry… But I’m the same as you. What I like about you, or dislike about you… I dislike everything that isn’t a part of you. I need your being.”

KEI: “Hehehe. So there are still things that we can’t believe or understand about each other. Yet we still want to be together. Doesn’t that feel pretty special to you?”

ICHIKA: “... It does.”

When we put it that way, I could agree with it.

KEI: “If it’s hard to put into words… wanna try this?”

ICHIKA: “Huh? Try what?”

I tilted my head, unsure what he meant. But in the next moment…

ICHIKA: “Eh?”

My world turned upside down, and I saw stars.

Eventually, I realised I had been pushed down.

Above me, he was smiling calmly.

KEI “Do you dislike it when I do this?”

ICHIKA: “...”

My heart was pounding. This was unfair. Right now, I was feeling… vexed.

ICHIKA: “It’s vexing… But I don’t dislike it.”

Rather than dislike… I felt happy.

When I nodded, Okazaki chuckled.

KEI: “Then, there’s your answer.”

ICHIKA: “You said you were going to try something, but isn’t this a little extreme?”

KEI: “But you understand me now, don’t you? If it was meaningless, I wouldn’t want to do this. Forget about like, dislike, all the small stuff. Right now I just want… you.”

ICHIKA: “...!”

KEI: “If you dislike this even a little, then just refuse me. But if you feel the same way I do… Then please accept me.”

ICHIKA: “... You’re mean.”

Unlike the gentleness from before, our hands held each other so tight it hurt.

He looked at me with hot, passionate eyes, and lovingly ran his hand through my hair…

ICHIKA: (And yet there’s no reason to refuse.)

KEI: “Before, I said there are a lot of people I like, but I rarely find anyone I want to be mean to.”

ICHIKA: “I don’t know… You’re pretty mean to Yoshinari, too.”

KEI: “Yeah. That’s just my way of showing him I care. Obviously, my feelings for you are different. I want to be kinder towards you than anyone, but at the same time, I want to put you on the spot.”

ICHIKA: “I remember Shiraishi saying you’re a selfish man.”

KEI: “Yeah, didn’t you know?”

ICHIKA: “You’re good-looking but bad on the inside.”

KEI: “Heh. That’s right. But it’s your fault for getting involved with this bad boy, so won’t you resign yourself to it?”

Okazaki’s fingers touched the nape of my neck.

There was a slight click as his fingertips landed on my collar.

KEI: “They’re listening now, aren’t they?”

ICHIKA: (He’s saying that at a time like this?!)

KEI: “I’ll never hand you over to the likes of them.”

He threw these provocative words at them.

I knew that I wouldn’t be killed as long as I had some use for Adonis. But now that Okazaki was being targeted, my mind was in turmoil.

KEI: “Don’t break our promise, or I won’t forgive you.”

He said that with an infinitely gentle smile, as if he could see right through my heart.

ICHIKA: “...Okay.”

I couldn’t stop my voice from cracking.

KEI: “If you don’t want to let me die, then don’t run away from me.”

He whispered those words into my ear. They sounded as if he was casting a spell.

ICHIKA: (He’s so unfair.)

I thought that, but contrary to those words, I was filled with overwhelming love for him.

I was unable to take my eyes off his bewitching smile. In truth, perhaps I should resist this. But…

As he had said, no matter how we tried to make each other understand with words, we’d never be able to fully express ourselves that way.

KEI: “I don’t want you to think of anything else. I want to be the only thought on your mind. Because the more you crave me, the more I want to live. Ichika… Be only mine.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I wanted him to take everything. Just for now, I didn’t want to let go of this hand.

That was the only thing I was sure of.

With acceptance and anticipation, I clasped his hand tight.

Comments:

The major translation issues:

They translate いちゃいちゃ at the beginning as “steamy” stuff when Kei uses the word, then as “flirting” when Ichika uses it. It means the same thing in both cases, which is to make out, and is clearly physical. She’s not being coy. She states from the beginning she wants them to fool around.

When he pushes her down, the localisation again uses two different translations for the same word, 悔しさ: “humiliated” and “embarrassed”. Both are wrong. The first one is SUPER strong and very shocking to read, and implies that she’s feeling degraded. That’s not what it means - that nuance is not in the word at all. But it’s not as light as just “embarrassed”, either. What it means is along the lines of “vexed” or “mortified”.

In general, they use different translations for the same Japanese words that are used in close proximity, and often in dialogue. The problem is that it a) breaks the flow of dialogue and b) breaks the themes of the scene. In fact, during the whole scene, Kei and Ichika are picking up on each other’s words and riffing off each other constantly. Among those words are “making out” (as we established), “mean” (that they bicker back and forth on, teasingly, as foreplay), and many smaller bits of dialogue. But more importantly, the big theme of this confession is that they go beyond and discard the concepts of 嫌 and 好き (dislike and like). Instead, they affirm their connection to each other’s being or essence (存在) and their way to reach that connexion is beyond words - by merging those beings in a, well, more direct way, which is what the whole conversation leads to on both sides.

Part of that theme is Kei’s confession. In English they make Kei say that she’s “the reason I’m alive”, which sounds like he’s grateful she brought him back from the brink. But that’s not what he says. He means much more than that. He says that she’s his 存在証明, which sounds more like “proof/justification of my being” (reusing the same kanji for being as I mentioned in point 3 above), and seems to be often translated as “identity”. Kei boy doesn’t mince words lol :D

There’s an unexplained translation mistake at the end. In English Kei says “If you want us to live together, you have to want to live too.” That’s not what he says at all. He says “The more you want/crave me, the more I want to live,” which makes more sense thematically tbh.

#collar x malice #cxm #kei #kei okazaki #okazaki #translation #spoilers #romance #otome #otome game #visual novel

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goodfortune-au · 3 years

Text

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 18: Face It

He pulls back from her.

“What’s wrong my sweet?”

She is nothing in that moment but inconsolable, the static shock of something she can’t control gripping her in a crushingly electric vice. She flinches away from his touch and snivels into shaking hands, able to do little else but hiccup in sheer misery as it all comes flooding back to her. Suddenly she’s reliving that afternoon down in the archives, but it’s not the pleasant euphoria of being kissed for the first time; it's the mortal terror, it’s the sick, wrenching feeling in her stomach as she watched something primal and savage at its core, something raw and animalistic, the sight of a boy being consumed alive by a monster. The snapping and crunching of bones in her memory makes her cringe. She’s bawling into her palms now, sniffling and sucking in greedy breaths of air between pauses. He shifts from the top of her to her side, shushing her, stroking her hair.

“Angel, sweetheart, you must tell me what’s wrong. Pennywise is worried…”

He knew. Oh, he most definitely knew. He’d been waiting for this moment in something of a stirring anticipation, for weeks, months, eons. It had come now, the moment of truth, where she would finally confront the revelation of who he was and come to terms with it. She may not come to terms with it immediately, but she would eventually. For now, the time had come for him to be entirely truthful with her. He would stand firm, he would answer her questions, he would offer her a willing shoulder to cry on should she desire it. He hoped more than anything that she would not reject him, that she would not run from him completely. He didn’t want to have to do things the hard way.

She doesn’t even know where to begin, she’s simply blindsided by the sobriety of the realization, that not even the exhilaration of kissing something she held so dear could keep her from confronting what she had been so ardently avoiding. She’s silent, processing her thoughts as much as she’s able to, but they’re a roiling, stampeding mess inside her head, chaos simply reigning free in the recesses of her suffering mind. She finds that dwelling on it just makes her start crying again, she’s wailing even harder now as he strokes a gentle hand down her back. She simply keeps crying, recoiling into herself, crumpling into a heap as she sits up and she refuses to look, refuses to make the association, the final nail in the coffin. An eternity seems to pass as she simply bawls into her hands. Pennywise gives her the space she needs to process her thoughts, to speak in her own time as she gains the will and courage to do so, and then slowly but surely those sobs taper into silence. Hiding there, she finally whispers to him.

“Y-You… You killed them, Pennywise.”

He’s silent too, and then he speaks. He does not patronize her. He does not pretend not to know of what she talks about. He is simply honest.

“...Yes, I did.”

She sucks in a hitching breath and sniffles. She’s quiet again, letting him rub her back, succumbing to his gentle touch in such a desperate time of need. It comes into her head like a resonant gust of wind, overpowering all other intelligent inquiries in its fury.

“...Why?”

Such a simple question. It’s posed so brokenly, there’s mourning in her tone. He is not unsure of how to answer; he had been having this conversation in his head for centuries, after all. He observes the way her face is red, no longer from the thrill of their romantic rendezvous of before but rather from her own pitiful, disconsolate weeping, observes her posture, hunched over and shoulders slouched in her grieving. Her hands have sunk to her legs now but they’re clenched; she avoids eye contact with him and her stare is rooted to her feet. Her breathing is still choppy but she’s taking long, deep breaths now. They shudder up through her chest and make their way out through her trembling lips. He looks at her sadly and continues soothing strokes down the small of her back. His voice is gentle.

“...Because they hurt you, Angel.”

Her eyes would have widened at that if she’d had any of the energy, but all she can summon is another hiccuping sob. She’s plainly miserable at such an explanation, it does nothing but bring a torrent of guilt crashing down over her. It leaves her soaked to the bone, wretched and shivering, huddling inward for warmth that didn’t exist now. Because… Because they hurt her. How could she possibly contend with such culpability? So much pain, so much misery, so many people hurt, and all because they had made the fatal mistake of crossing her. That was the reality of it all, and she hated it. She wanted to hide away from it, from him, from the town, from all the pain and suffering but still she faces it, knowing that the time to run had long since passed.

“On Halloween.” She croaks, her voice small and fragile. “I...T-Took the kids out trick or treating. We got harassed by some boys, one of them beat me up and threw me off the Kissing Bridge. I… I heard something attack him, and the next day he was missing.” She sniffles again and pauses, almost as though she’s afraid to pose the question. “Was… Was that you?”

He stares at her, unblinking. “Yes. It was.”

She swallows and continues. “...On New Year's Day, I tried to buy a doll- that doll- from Secondhand Rose,” She says, gesturing weakly to Pepper on the shelf. “The owner got mad at me and threatened to call the cops. I was thrown out, and the next day he was missing too. Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“ Why? ” There’s a hint of anger in her voice. Anger and hurt.

His voice is stony and uncompromising, like a towering brick wall resistant to wind and sleet and rain. “Because he was no different, Angel. They all had one thing in common, my dear, and that was threatening you. I can’t abide that. I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.”

His… Mate. Had it been any other time, her stomach would have fluttered at the word, but now, despite it all, it only churns with disgust. He can see the way the emotions shift on her face, and his hand moves from her back to stroke the slope of her jaw.

“Angel-”

“Pennywise, no! ” She cries, jerking away from his touch. Tears are welling up in her eyes again. “I can’t… I can’t…! ”

His hand catches hers as she makes to get up off the bed. He stares up into her, his eyes a furious red-rimmed gold, but his tone is as even and soothing as ever.

“...You can, Angel. I know you can. Listen to me.” He pulls her back down, slowly, gently, and she obeys his direction, ever submissive, ever docile even in her exacerbated emotional state. He’s firm. “I didn’t want to have to take them, but they offered me no choice. They hurt you.”

She starts to sob again, but it's angry sobbing now, no longer sad or pitiful. “But did you have to kill them? God, Pennywise, I… I didn’t want this, I… I wanted your protection but I… D-Didn’t want them dead. ” She hides her face in her free hand and weeps. “That’s too far, this is too far. ”

“What would you rather I do? This is who I am, Angel. I need to eat just like anyone else, and they needed to be taken care of. This was the only way to solve both problems.”

This is necessary. This is the only way.

And just like that, she’s quiet. It starts to come up in her head like looming storm clouds with the promise of rain following shortly behind. It’s something she cannot ignore, cannot put off any longer. It’s been building up in her mind all year, ever since that fateful September day, every time the town grew quiet, every time another disappearance cropped up on the news or in the paper or by word of mouth or through those dreadful missing posters. All she had wanted was to know, all she wanted was to ask-

“W-Why? Why him?”

Pennywise is silent too. He favors her with a look of wistful remorse.

“I didn’t… Mean to take him, my love. He was… The first one I found, when I woke up.”

That much was true, Pennywise hadn’t meant to take him at all. Had he known, had he the slightest inkling of what that boy meant to Angel and those brat children, he would have taken someone else. He would have sated his hunger on the next unfortunate child to cross his path. But there was no going back on it now. It was the luck of the draw, he supposed. But it had the potential to be the greatest test of her loyalty, for after all, if she lacked the moral fortitude to hold him truly accountable for the death of Georgie, what was to stop Pennywise from getting away with greater misdeeds in the future? Nothing, that’s what.

“When you… W-Woke up…?” She asks, puzzled amid her heartbreak. He takes her other hand, and squeezes them both as he looks into her eyes.

“Yes, my dear...” He sighs. “I live in cycles.”

“L-Like… Like a cicada..?”

“Almost. I spend many years, dormant, in hibernation. I sleep, I think, I dream, and then I wake. I feed, I return from whence I came, and then the process starts all over again.”

“...Twenty-seven years.”

He pauses, and cocks his head. His perfectly coiffed hair bounces lightly about his face. “Yes. Sometimes twenty-seven, sometimes more.”

“I… Read about that. In that book I lost.” She says numbly. “I… I didn’t know it was… I didn’t know that you…” Tears streak down her face.

His grip on her hands is firm and comforting, and as she’s held captive by his stare, those eyes dissolve from red-rimmed gold into passionate blue.

“...Time has never meant much to a thing like me.” He admits, brushing a gloved thumb over hers. “I see more in one year than one of your kind sees in a lifetime, and it… Doesn’t strike me as all that remarkable. But…” He says, and he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. He cups her cheek and smiles. “The second I knew you were coming, the moment I knew I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, I felt… Different. Like everything I’d ever known was put in a whole new light. Have you ever felt like that, Angel?”

She doesn’t answer him, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him either. She doesn’t avoid his stare, she doesn’t recoil from his touch, she doesn’t lose her temper. She just listens.

“...I spent so much time sleeping and feeding, my love. I spent so much time doing the only thing I was ever good at, and sometimes it grew tiring, but no matter how sick of it I got, I kept going, because I knew that you were coming, that one day you’d be by my side. I waited so long for you, darling. You were the thing that kept me going...”

There it was, the butterflies again. It starts small, like flickering embers from a long-dead fire, but it’s enough to ignite sparks of a new flame, and she feels that wonderful warmth starting to course through her veins again. But no. No. He’s… He’s a monster. He’s… The thing haunting Derry. He’s the reason for all the misery and despair in the town, he’s the scourge, the pestilence on the land. He’s… He’s the reason all the innocent children... He’s the reason that Georgie…

“...You were meant for me, Angel. Don’t you understand? The stars have aligned just for our union. Your soul was brought into existence just so we could be together. I love and embrace you just as you are... Can you do the same for me? Can you accept me for who I am?”

That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. Angel hadn’t done anything wrong, she was simply the victim of rumors and vitriol from her peers for reasons she had no control over. But Pennywise... Pennywise eats people.

....But Pennywise needs to eat too.

Stop it. Stop it. It’s not an excuse. He could eat animals, or vegetables, or anything other than people. It’s not an excuse.

But what makes people any different? What makes them special?

What makes you special?

Fresh tears well in her eyes. She’s so conflicted she has no idea what to think. She loves him, she’s loved him practically since the moment she laid eyes on him. And he loves her. She’s spent the better part of a year utterly consumed in him, she had so badly wanted to feel his touch for so long, so long that it was painful. The gifts had meant so much to her, his presence had meant so much to her, his protection had meant so much to her. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in such a place, when she had nothing in the world to keep her company other than a cat and a handful of kids, it had made her feel safe. It made her feel safe to know that she was somehow impervious to whatever was threatening everyone, when she herself had grown up feeling threatened her entire life. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before, it... Made her feel special. But now, all she feels is cheated. What of her fairytale, what of her perfect happy ending? Whatever happened to that, her dashing prince to whisk her off her feet? Did that dashing prince even exist anymore? He was right there in front of her, favoring her with a dreamy blue gaze, the same blue gaze she had fallen in love with, but all she can think about is the way those same eyes had looked at her down in the archives when she had found him, the way his horrific mouth closed ever so slightly to reveal them, hidden within unsightly wrinkles on his face. And what of the fate he so often spoke of? Was she simply damned to spend the rest of her life with a monster? Is that truly the best she could do? Was she so utterly repugnant that nothing else would settle for her?

“No.” He says darkly, and she startles herself out of thought. When she comes out of that haze she notices his eyes are amber again, and they glint in the darkness of the room. Almost dangerously, but... No. Never around her. That wasn’t the right word. Fierce? Protective? Defensive?

“Don’t you ever think you’re anything less than perfection.” He says, and he squeezes her hands again. “You are radiant, Angel. You are the sunspot in my world, and a truly beautiful compliment to everything that I am. You were meant, made to be my counterpart, the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, and I will not have you disparage yourself in such a way when you were made so flawlessly just for me.”

Her mouth is almost agape as he speaks, all she can think about in that moment is how she can see the passion in his eyes, the flavor of the words he speaks, something fiery and bold. All she can think about is the way it makes her feel despite all the horror and revulsion. Warm and secure and... Happy. It’s all there in her mind, the picture-perfect aspects of their relationship; the first gift he had ever given her, the second, the third, all the times he’d been there to comfort her in her grief and every single compliment, every much-needed boost to her self esteem that came straight from his lips. The nights he spent holding her and consoling her, making her feel desirable, making her feel wanted when nothing else ever had. The love and affection he had given her when she felt so low, reciprocating such passionate feelings so as to nurture and grow their flourishing bond. The vow of protection he had given her from that very first offering, how he had given his word to keep her safe, keep her and the...

“W-What about... Your promise...?” She asks weakly. For all she knew he might have forgotten about it completely, or had chosen to disregard it. She didn’t know what to think or believe anymore.

He scoots in closer to her on the bed and cups her cheek again. Their legs are touching and he’s so warm. The look in his eyes is real and genuine, it touches her very soul.

“...I promised. You are safe. Pennywise swears it.”

But… What about...

She tries to blink back the tears but they fall down her face anyway, the sight of him fading to little more than blurred lines in her misty eyes. She can still see the sadness in his face, his brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he looks into her, and she almost wants to look away but she can’t. She can’t. All she can do is hold his stare, exist with him in this timeless moment. How conflicted she is, but as time goes on she’s seeing less and less of the bad until all that’s there is the love, the devotion, the urge to be with him overpowering everything else. Angel knew she wasn’t hypnotized anymore; that had long since worn off, but in its place had come a slight shift in judgment, a desire to rationalize. The will to understand. It was all so horrifying to her, what he’d done, and he’d even lied to her in a fashion, but some reprehensible part of her didn’t care. That part of her wanted so badly for things to go back to normal, for her to be able to keep what she had, to ignore this, all of this. And as time went on, that part of her was starting to slowly monopolize her consciousness, make it the only thing that mattered. How selfish, how utterly repugnant of her, to not only condone the actions of a monster, but actively want to stay with him despite those actions. What kind of person did that make her? She didn’t even want to know at this point. But despite the dissent in her mind that train of thought is starting to take precedence; the longer she sits there looking into his eyes, the longer she reflects on his words and his promise, the more at ease she feels at the thought of keeping his company. It ignites some kind of passion, a fire within her, a desperate, helpless desire and without another thought in her head she moves toward him.

She lands on his lips again as she burrows her body into his chest, taking immediate comfort and security in the way he embraces her without hesitation. He’s kissing back, he’s chasing her every breath and she loses herself to it, loses herself in his scent and the sound of him, the rolling growls that shudder through her like an earthquake. Her lips tremble as she clings to him, her eyes are squeezed shut as she follows through on this earnest and spontaneous display of passion. Pennywise is all too eager to reciprocate, deepening it as he takes her head in his hands and pulls them back onto the bed again. Every kiss is met by another in quick succession and they keep feeding into one another until the world around them is dizzy and delirious. It almost seems as though she is helpless, cornered prey being swallowed whole by a vicious predator but there is an equal give-and-take between them, minutes ticking by quickly as they offer themselves up to the capricious pursuit of absolute pleasure. She’s pushing it all away, she’s choosing not to think about any of it as she flees toward the protection of her guardian angel, toward the sublime sensation of warm, wet lips against hers and the promise of more delights to come. For better or for worse, she’s trying to create her own bubble now, a replacement for what had been so tragically lost, convinced in her own frantic mind that the only possible way to cope with what had been done is to simply pretend that it wasn’t there. Disregard it, brush it aside, ignore it. Ignore it just like everything else. She is merely a passenger on a raging river of denial, letting the current of the rapids carry her safely over jagged truth and reality. She coasts along smoothly, opening her eyes to a lush blue sky and feeling the wind flit through her outstretched fingers, but then her raft hits a snag. It jarrs her, throws her off course, and the momentum almost tosses her mercilessly to the crags but she clings to the security of what’s familiar, the security of what’s comfortable and reassuring. She almost thinks she’s in the clear until that massive realization capsizes her again, and she comes up from the water sobbing, choking and coughing as she shivers on the beached remains of her shelter. And there is the sun, bright and inviting as always, to offer her warmth in her most desperate time of need. Pennywise does not attempt to try and preserve the moment. He does not try to talk her out of her own emotions. He just takes her into the breadth of his arms, simply shushes her gently.

“...I juh-just w-want.. All this, to g-go away...” She weeps quietly into the silk. “I just... I juh-just want...”

“Shhhhhh.... Shhhh, my poor, sweet girl... It will all be okay...”

There in his arms she falls asleep, feverish sobs ebbing away into sniffling silence with time as he croons her softly to sleep. She tries to believe him. She tries so hard to believe him.

~~~~

The first thing she realizes when she wakes up that next morning is that her head hurts. The second her eyes flutter open and she’s brought back into the waking world, it's the throbbing, dull ache in her temples, that ever-present pain that’s not enough to be excruciating but just enough to be a constant nuisance. She’s not perplexed as to the onset of this pain; she remembers last night. She remembers how she felt, how she spent the better part of an hour crying herself to sleep in his arms in the hopes that if she tired herself out she might feel better about it in the morning, might be able to deal with the horrible news and just move on from it. No such luck so far. She nuzzles into the plush softness of her bed with a groan. Pennywise is gone as always, but he’s left Pepper and a mound of pillows in his place, and as she looks down at the doll’s vacant, felt-detailed expression she can almost feel him looking back into her. Studying, calculating, examining her tear-stained face and blood-shot eyes. She doesn’t know how she feels about it, so she places the doll back on her shelf, pops a couple ibuprofen, and tries to forget about it.

Sunday was a day Angel spent trying to forget across the board. It was all there now, out in the open, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Pennywise... Pennywise eats people. He’s the one responsible for all the missing children. He’s responsible for Patrick, he’s responsible for Georgie. And... He’s also the thing Angel has spent the better part of a year loving and idolizing. Her protector, her guardian, her almost sole source of happiness. The thing that brought her out of one of her worst depression funks by far. He’s spent so much time showering her in affection and gifts, building her up, enriching her life. He’s given her reason to hold her head up higher everyday instead of cowering in the safety of the shadows. He’s given her fulfillment in an area she’s felt painfully inadequate in her entire life, nursed wounds that she thought terminally untreatable. And he seemed to do all of this out of nothing more than love and passion for... For his mate.

I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.

As she thinks about it, a low, churning nausea settles in over her stomach to compliment her headache. Pennywise had... Pennywise had killed for her. She... She was the reason behind a handful of the disappearances. The thought made her positively sick. She hadn’t asked him to, it hadn’t even occurred to her that... That he... She’s shaking like a leaf as she watches TV, trying so desperately to put it out of her mind that she’ll settle for anything. The channels offer her no solace, it’s simply news and static. She doesn’t even touch Channel 27, knowing that she simply couldn’t bear to see his face, not right now. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to feel him, she didn’t want to hear his voice. She knew if she did all her thoughts would suddenly become real again, and she couldn’t cope with that. Not right now.

She tried to pass the time in other ways but found that everything she tried, she was reminded of him. She’d sat down at the dining room table to draw with her favorite Edward Gorey book (Amphigorey Too), but found that the illustrations contained within struck up too much of a resemblance to Pennywise’s shapeshifted forms in her mind. So, finding her appetite for art soured, she turned to cooking next to sate another, but realized far too late that, in her absentminded haze, she’d started making shortbread, the very first thing she’d ever given to him to sample. She then abandoned the dough to the fridge for the time being, and took up a pencil with an old legal pad to do some writing, but all the words that would come to mind conjured images of him, images of his tall, imposing stature, images of his fiery red hair and remarkably striking golden eyes,

(images of razor-sharp teeth and a long, gapingly huge maw snapping up the lifeless carcass of an innocent boy)

She’d shaken her head, shuddered, and simply put the pad away. She couldn’t even, for the life of her, take her trumpet out, because it had been him that inspired her to take up playing again after so much time in the first place. He was the reason she had the confidence to finally improvise again after letting the sword rust for so long in its scabbard, he was all the encouragement and the only audience she needed to come back out from hiding. But not now. Now he was a deterrent to all these things. Now, against all odds, he was the antithesis of all that had coaxed her out of her shell. This revelation made her want to hide again, and this could not bring her greater displeasure.

She had eventually given up on all creative endeavors for the day, choosing instead to take to the grocery for some shopping in an effort to take her mind off of things. When she’d gotten dressed, she avoided anything that reminded her of him, wouldn’t even look at the chocolate box that housed all his dozens of offerings, would instead keep her eyes mostly rooted to the floor while she was getting ready. She’d left behind her pearl heart and black silk sweater, even her bell necklace and had closed her closet door so as to avoid the judgment of all the clowns on her shelf, staring at her with eyes much more critical in her mind than ever before. In the past she’d liked to pretend that Pennywise could see her through the eyes of those figurines, keeping a protective watch over her from far away, but now the thought simply made her queasy. She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror before she leaves; she couldn’t afford the inevitable self hatred that would come at even the sight of her own face now. She simply moves on, shutting her bedroom door behind her. Mayor Jello meows at her melodramatically when she strides into the living room but she doesn’t pay him much mind. He could be rather attention-seeking sometimes, and right now she didn’t have any attention to spare.

The grocery turned out to be no more comforting than the walls of her house, as it would seem no mere change in scenery could assuage the racing thoughts in her head. Angel perused the shelves in a way that could only be described as tense and strained, half-expecting his voice to invade her head, an arm to pop out from behind a shelf to wave at her, phantom hands stroking down the curves of her body as they had so often done before. But no such occurrences. It was actually rather quiet and undisturbed at the store today; usually there was a crying child or a stingy customer making a scene at the registers, but by all accounts it was actually rather tranquil and still. This turned out to be a curse rather than a blessing for her, as with all the lack of noise, Angel was rather confined to the disquiet inside her head, no immediate distractions to demand her focus and take her away from the pressing moral dilemmas plaguing her consciousness. She tried so earnestly to forget it, counting the tiles on the floor in front of her, humming along to a tune of her own imagining so as to occupy her mind with something else. It actually seemed to be working so far; she felt it all melt away from her thoughts for the time being, and she had kept it up even as the people around her scrutinized her with muted disdain. One thing could definitely be said for all of Pennywise’s encouragement and praise, and that was that, slowly but surely, Angel had moderately regained her ability to shrug off the condescension of those around her. So she kept her head up, humming still along the way, but her humming tapered into self-conscious silence when she realized what her melody had transitioned into without her notice.

Oranges and lemons

Say the bells of St. Clements...

She clears her throat and falls into the unsettled quiet once more, reaching for a bag of chips off a shelf. When she places them into her cart the plastic crinkles against the metal lattice, but in her mind she almost thinks she hears those familiar bells jingle along with it. She looks around, almost paranoid, but there’s nothing. No one. As she finishes packing her groceries into her backpack, she totes the cargo home, trying to use the fresh air to her advantage in yet another ill-fated effort to relax. She’s still conflicted, torn to the bone, as even with all her efforts to banish him from her conscience a part of her is still pining for him. She wants his lilting, lullaby voice, his gentle, soothing touch, she wants him to come back to her. As much as her rational mind was glad for the absence, there was that pesky, emotional side of her mind that wanted more than anything for him to return and bring with him that warmth, that comfort that had brought her back from utter despair and misery. She tries so hard to quell it, push it down, knowing that now wasn’t the time to be emotional. Now wasn’t the time to be rash or illogical, she needed to think about this, all of this, carefully. It hadn’t even been a day, for Christ’s sake.

But she couldn’t deny the oddity of his lack of presence, couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange of him to be so quiet. He’d gone positively radio silent on her. For the better part of half a year, he hadn’t let her know a moment’s peace in such delightful ways. He had been lavishing her in love and attention ever since that epochal Valentine’s Day eve, had progressively increased his presence in her life until he was with her everyday practically from start to finish. He had almost insisted on it, even as Angel would bashfully ask if she was getting in the way of anything else he had to do. He had always insisted. Why then, was he so worryingly nonexistent now, even as one day turned into another, and another after that? He hadn’t come back the following Monday, or the Tuesday after that. He hadn’t been holding her hand on the way to work or whispering to her whimsically through her shifts, hadn't been visiting her in the evenings or singing her to sleep in his arms. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want him to come see her, she didn’t want him to show his face after what he had done, but there was that frustrating little part of her again, crying out for the comfort of his embrace. As she lay in bed at night she would try so hard to cozy up to her pillows and forget it all, but she’d wind up tossing and turning all night long. And all the while she would be waiting for that moment to strike, when he would come back to her and she’d be faced with that moral dilemma once more, the one she’d so cravenly chosen to shirk that Saturday night in his arms. She truly didn’t know whether or not she would run to him if she did see him; she didn’t know how she felt, even after it had been all she’d been thinking about for days on end.

She knew how she wanted to feel. She wanted so badly to feel the anger, the righteous fury at having been lied to. She wanted to let it well within her and bubble over the surface; she wanted to explode. He had courted her for so long, garnered so much of her trust and dependence, and he had left out the one crucial little detail that might give her pause. As far as she was concerned, she was well within her rights to be angry. But she couldn’t be. Despite this, despite all of this, Angel wasn’t that kind of person. It didn’t make her any better or any worse than anyone else, but it definitely wasn’t an advantage either. Angel rather hated herself for this quality, for… Not being able to stand up for herself and her feelings. It made her feel spineless, it made her feel weak. But at the end of it all, it was something she couldn’t help any more than she could help herself breathing. She had been hurt, and she wanted to return that hurt, but she couldn’t. No… Pennywise had hurt her, and he had hurt so many others, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. It was something ingrained that she couldn’t rightly explain.

She kept telling herself she needed to get a grip, that she needed to move on from him. As the days progressed and his absence persisted, she would tell herself this with increasing desperation, that she was better off without him and that she didn’t need him to live a fulfilling life. She had wanted it all to go away, hadn’t she? Maybe he’d listened to her, maybe he’d given her what she asked for. He had helped get her back up on her feet, and she had enjoyed the brief time they’d spent together, but now the time had come for her to find something else to help ease the pain of living. It was an agonizing thought, sure, but perhaps it was the stark reality of the situation. It had been all she could think about for days as she continued her routine; as she ate, slept, and went to work it was the only thing on her mind. While at first she had started out paranoid of finding him following that… Unfortunate revelation, she was growing increasingly unnerved by his disappearance, and now more than ever that emotional part of her was starting to weigh heavily on her conscience. She… She wanted to see him.

As time went on, something else curious had made itself apparent. The disappearances had stopped. Angel had been wary at first; the first week of his absence she had chalked up the downward trend to timing, knowing full-well that occurrences in the past seemed to crop up anywhere from within a few days of each other to more than a week at times. The longest gap amounted to a little less than a month with no missing children to speak of. There was no conceivable pattern to it, it almost seemed erratic at times. Angel hadn’t known what to make of it back when she didn’t know the truth of the situation, and now she could only surmise that Pennywise’s hunger must fluctuate depending on his mood. Come to think of it, there seemed to have been far less disappearances when Angel was in an especially bad way. Things seemed to stagnate during those weeks, and would almost appear to tick back up again once she found herself in better spirits. What made things different now, however, was the feeling of it all. It was something in her gut insisting to her that none of it was the same as before, that something had changed. She could only liken it to those weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, when she’d been so utterly scared and isolated and cold that she had cried for him. This was like that, but the absence of warmth was getting to be that much more soul-crushing. The lack of disappearances seemed to communicate to Angel one thing, and that was that Pennywise wasn’t here. Pennywise was gone.

Maybe he was dead.

No, she can’t even let herself think that. Despite it all, despite what he’s done and what it’s done to her, she still can’t wish such a thing on him. It’s so frustrating that she wants to scream. Reasonably, Pennywise is a thing that deserves to die. He causes death and pain and suffering; he’s a blight, a plague to Derry. He lied to her through omission about who he was, so he must surely know that his actions are despicable, right?

...Well, no.

Despite her own mental resistance she starts to entertain a different train of thought. Pennywise has lived for an amount of time she can’t rightly account for, he’s seen an incalculable number of lifetimes and experienced more than she could ever possibly comprehend. He has… The properties of something otherworldly, something… Possibly alien. He’s… Not even close to human. Why then, is she trying to hold him accountable to human standards, human behavior? What gives her any sort of right? Pennywise is... Something different. He’s clearly some kind of apex predator, something higher on the food chain. She wouldn’t disparage a tiger for eating a rabbit so, in the same vein, how could she disparage him for feeding in his own way? Maybe he didn’t tell her who he was out of fear, fear that she wouldn’t understand. Maybe his intentions really were good.

No. No. He eats people. He’s a monster.

But he needs to eat too. That’s all she keeps telling herself. This is necessary. This is the only way. Humans are no more special than any other animal on the food chain, and this is what he eats to survive. She needed to make peace with that or it would drive her insane. So what if a few children, a couple adults here and there went missing? It’s not as though he’s picking off the entire population. Most of the kids in Derry were little shits anyway.

But do they really deserve to die for that? Did those kids in the library deserve to die for what they did?

She didn’t know, she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know as she continued her shifts everyday, didn’t know as she did prep work in the kitchen alone or watched TV or as she laid in bed contemplating all the various angles of her situation. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him. What he’d done, what it had meant, if he would come back. She didn’t know. And it was starting to hurt her. She’d shrugged it off before, or tried to. When Pennywise had gone silent, she’d first interpreted it as him giving her space, breathing room to process what she had discovered. She’d thought he was giving her a break from it all, but as each day passed and his absence became more prominent she started to fear that may not be the case. She feared that her reaction might have put him off, that it made him want to leave. That, in a sick, twisted way, he was giving her what she had asked for. She would try so hard not to cry when she thought about it. What if she had scared him off? What if she was too hysterical to deal with and he’d simply gotten sick of her? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time she’d been abandoned over such things. What if he really didn’t love her? What if he never had?

It was sick and wrong, but as days turned into weeks the atrocity she bore witness to was slowly de-escalating itself in her mind. It was as though the seriousness of the situation grew more and more dull the further away it got from her mind’s eye, and now all that was left were the bits and pieces she could vividly remember. She remembers it, the creaking in the steps as she walked down to the archives, the old, dusty smell of the room pervading her senses, the way she had froze in place when she laid eyes on it for the first time. But she also remembers the sweet words, the gentle, soothing touches, and his eyes. The way he’d looked down at her and how she felt so warm, the way she couldn’t breathe when he’d said those three perfect words to her for the first time. Now more than ever she could remember those things, comfortable memories in such a desperate time of need that soothe her in her unbearable loneliness. Memories of what they had been together ever since that first bouquet of sunflowers, ever since she had first laid eyes on him on that silly little television show and fallen in love with him. She clung to it all and let the rest fade away.

As the month of June progressed, Angel had abandoned any notion of trying to ignore his gifts and inversely began to hold on to them with increasing desperation. She thought of them as her last lingering connection to him, and out of desolation insisted on keeping at least one of them on her person at all times. Again had come the aura of unease, the feeling of some kind of vague and imminent danger, and she needed the illusion of safety to keep her from insanity. So she’d brandished her belief in these so-called good luck charms, the good fortune imbued in all these little offerings, and used them to make herself feel secure. Without the explicit protection of Pennywise to keep her out of harm’s way, she had to be her own guardian angel now, and that meant holding herself up straight regardless of everything that might try to beat her into the ground. She held on to her bell necklace in a vice grip and wore it just about everyday at this point, starting to hope that Pennywise’s intentions in this gift might hold true, that he was there with her regardless of her absence simply because she wore it, that she thought of him as she did and kept him in her heart. She wore her silk sweater every evening when she came home from work, would imagine his hands trailing over her form as the cool fabric clung to her curves.

She took Pepper with her everywhere she went. The doll had admittedly become something of a comfort object for her in the same vein as Pennywise, who had been a comfort character for her in the throes of a deep depression in the past, back when his only concrete existence was through the syndication of the Derry Children’s Hour. The doll brought her a sense of tranquil ease. Every time she looked into its whimsical googly eyes she would feel warm inside; it wasn’t the same warmth as what she would feel with the otherworldly presence of Pennywise, but it was an acceptable substitute for the time being. It certainly helped her to feel more at home in some uncertain and unfamiliar terrain, and even instilled in her something of a strange maternal feeling, an instinct she couldn’t put words to. She wanted to look out for the doll and make sure nothing happened to it; it had, after all, been a dear gift from Pennywise, it could even be argued that it was something of a surrogate child of some kind, something he had given to her to better emphasize her role as a possible... Mother to his children. Despite the hopelessness of the current situation she allows herself some small amount of contentment at the prospect, finding that she rather liked the idea of possibly starting a family with him. It was a happy thought that kept her dread at bay, kept the residual thoughts of the revelation of his true identity in the back of her mind where it belonged. But it was not without its own share of melancholy, as it only seemed to accentuate his current absence and make her further in tune to her own feelings on the matter.

As the days wore on she was progressively starting to become consumed with thoughts of him at every waking moment of the day. It was starting to get to her, truth be told. She was far past the horror of finding out who he really was, had even started to let go of the anger she wished she could feel and the betrayal of having been lied to. It had all been replaced with worry, with concern for his absence, with longing for what had been lost in the process. She wanted to feel his touch once more, wanted to find him waiting for her when she walked in the front door after a long day at work. She wanted to hear his voice and sway with him in his arms, talk with him, laugh with him. She wanted the old days back of laying with him in bed, cuddling until the exhaustion of the long hours finally overtook her and she fell asleep in his hold. She wanted to kiss him and feel his lips against hers, wanted to drink in the sublime sensation as she demonstrated her purest love and devotion to him. The nostalgia alone was enough to erase all the negativity from her mind and brainwash her all over again, except this time it was all of her own doing rather than the pull of his cosmic influence. As awful and wrong as it was, she wanted him back. She sometimes ruminated on the state of her own personal morality for such desire, knowing who he was and what he had done, but in her loneliness she didn’t care anymore. It made her irrational. It made her blind to everything else. She even thought it romantic now, the prospect that Pennywise had protected her from those boys, from Patrick and the shopkeeper, and found that she rather liked the idea of being impervious from the danger of all that would threaten Derry. It only made her yearn for his presence even more.

It was getting bad now. She worried for him, she feared for him. Where had he gone? Where had he gone? There was nothing but silence in Derry now, the disappearances had stopped, she heard nothing from the Losers, she was all on her own. Though the peril of the beast had become nonexistent, she felt ill at ease nonetheless as she carried out her business from day to day. While she was concerned for Pennywise she was just as concerned for her own wellbeing, knowing that if anything happened to her now she would likely be helpless to stop it, would be left at the mercy of anything that wished to attack her, another Patrick or more of the same ilk as those nasty boys. She missed him terribly, so terribly in fact that she was beginning to talk to him now, often out loud or in her mind as she carried out her tasks or as she watched TV at home. She would ask him where he was, how he was doing, if he was safe. It was a compulsion she couldn’t rightly control, it was an impulse, an instinct. She knows she has no reason to worry for him; Pennywise seemed to be a relatively powerful creature, so some part of her doubted that he was dead, but she mourned his absence all the same, sick with distress at the thought that he could be hurt. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to look after him, she wanted to keep him safe. It’s been weeks, June is winding to a close, and she could not feel more isolated, more powerless. It’s starting to wear on her mental health and she’s getting worse again. She kept talking to herself, kept neglecting her health. She was begging him to come back to her, but still she hears nothing. It seems as though he might have abandoned her completely.

It’s on the precipice of July now, and Angel could not be more miserable. It’s worse than it was just before Valentine’s Day, exponentially worse. She’s feeling abandoned, she’s feeling lost and worried sick. She can’t bear to reach out to the Losers, she doesn’t want to bother them. Besides, what could she honestly say? How would she even begin to explain herself and her situation? She was all alone in this, she knew that. All she could do was try to cope, but that was getting harder by the day. Work was grueling, being at home was even worse, as she had very little to do that didn’t remind her of him. When she wasn’t talking out loud to him, beseeching him to come back, deluding herself that he was somehow listening she spent her time sleeping, trying to waste away the hours in an attempt to pass the time painlessly. But it was getting bad, oh yes it was. She was so plainly wretched now, so battered and beaten by his disappearance that she could do little else but pine for him. She cried for him every night now, as she laid in bed she would start to sob into her pillows, hug them tight to her chest and heave shuddering little whimpers in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was starting to get an urge again, a nasty one, a terrible, dreadful, awful one, one she hadn’t had in ages, and it was taking everything she had not to succumb to it. But the days grew harder and harder still, and on the 2nd of July, a Sunday, she truly couldn’t take it any longer.

She’d come home from errands that day positively exhausted from having put on a face during the duration of the outing; she lets the facade collapse and mutters brokenly to herself as she walks dejectedly through the front door once more. She kicks off her Doc Martens and sets down her bag, and just like that the tears well in her eyes again. It seemed like all she was doing was crying lately, and she felt weak for it but she couldn’t stop nonetheless. She berates herself for it, she hates herself for it, she wants to do something nasty and abominable to herself for being so weak and spineless. No, she wouldn’t kill herself. She was much too cowardly for such a thing. It was much too permanent an action, and Angel feared the permanent. So she reaches for something else, something in the form of a sharp little cutting tool stashed away in the depths of her bedside table drawer, something she often used for making patches, but something she used more often still for a deed she never spoke of aloud. Something horrid and appalling, something disgusting and vile that was best kept hidden. She felt she deserved it, felt she deserved the pain and the shame. She wanted to feel the catharsis of it, wanted to feel the stinging of it, an action so disgraceful that she would drown in the self-hatred. As she sits in the living room, trembling and anticipating the feeling of what’s to come, she lets the silence of the room turn to static in her ears as she hikes up the front of her shirt and brandishes the instrument close and with intent against her stomach. A single tear drops from her face onto her thigh and she’s about to make the first cut, but then there’s a knock on her front door. She stops, puzzled. Who could that possibly be? Numb, she stashes the tool underneath one of the cushions on her couch and pauses at the door, then takes a deep breath and opens it. The Losers are there, all six of them, and they look serious and grim on her front stoop.

��C-can we come in?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

#pennywise #daddywise #chapter eighteen #face it #it 2017 #it chapter one #pennywise x oc #pennywise x angel #good fortune #tw sh

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islamthewayforward · 3 years

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Hazrat Umar (radiyallahu anh) - The Second Caliph of Islam

Hazrat Umar -radiyallahu anh- [634-644]

Before he was enlightened with the light of Hidayet, in the darkness of the ignorant, when he was a cruel person; He received the prayer of the Messenger of Allah and his eyes and heart began to open to the light of Islam with the influence of the Quran, which he listened to in his sister's house with anger. Umar, the son of the Jahiliyy, was now tearful, his heart full of compassion, and bent before the Truth.

Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) Love For Hazrat Umar

Hazrat Umar, who was likened to Hazrat Musa by our Prophet with his uncompromising and graceful structure; He had a mind, success, and genius who developed in the content of revelation. As a result of divine inspirations, many times his expressions were related to the verses of the Quran.

Our Prophet stated the following in his expression:

“Among the ummahs who lived before you, there were those who were inspired by them. If there is one of them in my ummah, it is undoubtedly Umar. (Bukhari, Ashab as-Prophet, 6)

His exposure to the truth in this way, to him; He was instrumental in giving him the nickname «Faruk» distinguishes right from wrong, good from bad, and right from falsehood.

In the words of our Honorary Prophet (PBUH), The wrath of this blessed person, whom the devil changed his way when he saw it, and whose language and the truth was put into his heart by Allah was directed only to the enemies of Allah.

In the face of truth, he would immediately show obedience and surrender in the face of an order or a sign of Allah and His Messenger.

The following incident reported by Ahmad bin Hanbal is one of the most beautiful witnesses of this:

One of the Numerous Loyalty Samples

Hazrat Umar radıyallâhu anh- was going to the Friday prayer one day during his caliphate. While passing through the wall of the house of Prophet Abbas, two drops of dirty water dropped from the groove on the roof - probably for cleaning - onto the robe of Hazrat Umar.

The caliph was bored and he reached out and dropped the gutter with his hand so that it would not drip on anyone else. Then he changed his robe and came to the mosque.

By referring to this event in the Friday sermon he gave, he said,

“–Community, you are doing wrong things. When I was coming, I was going through the wall or something. Dirt dripped from a gutter on me; I pushed it with the back of my hand and dropped that groove. " said. His word had just ended that Hazrat Abbas jumped out of his place and;

“–O Umar, what did you do? I saw it with my eyes; The Prophet (PBUH) himself placed that gutter there with his own hands. " said.

Hazrat Umar collapsed into the pulpit. What happened to him to spoil something that the Prophet (peace be upon him) had put forth! Immediately he recovered.

“Vallâhi, I will put my head against that wall. You, too, will step on my head with your foot, and you will put that groove back with your hand. ”and made up for his mistake by doing as he said. (See Ahmad b. Hanbal, el-Musnad, 1/210; Ibnul-Cevzi, Adjati's-safve, 1/285)

On the other hand, Hazrat Umar was very forward-thinking and fussy in order to preserve the religion. Praised by the Prophet as a door that does not allow mischief, Hazrat Umar (radiyallâhu anh) was visited by people and the tree under which his companions gave allegiance to the Prophet of Allah (PBUH) before the Musalaha of Hudaybiya at the time of his caliphate. When he saw that it was being imposed, he cut down this tree in order to mean that the ignorant would be caught in the poison that he had a divinity.

The Caliphate Of Hazrat Umar

One of the most important qualities of the caliphate of Hazrat Umar, who trembled out of fear of Allah and lived-in conviction, despite his high spiritual position and being heralded by the Prophet of Allah, was his unique justice.

The Emir of the Believers, who were called Umarul-Adl in the meaning of “the very thing of justice”, felt responsible even for the wolf that would plant a lamb near the Tigris.

After Hazrat Umar -radıyallahu anh- took office, he was in sorrow and anxiety due to the weight of his profession. Huzaifa saw him in this state and learned the reason for his sadness - radıyallahu anh-;

"–That's what hurts you, goddamn we'll fix you once we see you doing something wrong," he said.

Halif was very happy about this, he repeated his words Huzayfa -radıyallâhu anh- with an oath and;

"- Praise be to Allah, among you, among the companions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and peace, be upon him, there were people to correct me when he saw my mistake." he said thank you. (Ibn-i Abi Shayba, Musannef, VIII, 154)

The fact that he went to Damascus with his slave and his camel in turn and came to the city on foot, despite all the insistence of his slave, went down in history as an example of justice, humility, and brotherhood. In the middle of the night, he ran to the rescue of the silent cries of the poor and the poor with his food sacks in the streets of Medina.

In the period of Hazrat Umar, the land of Islam; It had expanded to the borders of Iraq, Damascus and Egypt. A large number of spoils had been obtained. However, Khalifa had agreed to receive only an allowance from the treasury. Because he is with everything, in the footsteps of the Messenger of Allah and Hazrat Abu Bakr;

On the Way of Two Friends

He was running his life half hungry, half full of trouble, sometimes borrowing.

The notables of the Companions were saddened by this state of the caliph. They wanted to increase his salary. However, it was very difficult to tell him about this issue and to convince him. For this reason, they requested our Prophet's wife Hafsa, who was also the daughter of Hazrat Umar, to submit this offer to her father.

Hazrat Hafsa -radıyallahu anha- opened an offer to his father to raise his companions' salary for the caliphate and save him from boredom. Thereupon, Hazrat Umar -radıyallâhu anh- reminded his daughter Hafsa of the past;

"-My daughter! How were the Prophet's food and clothing? " asked.

Our Hafsa Valley;

"- It was the amount of Quran (enough for scarce opinion)." When he gave his answer, Hazrat Umar explained with the following elegant example that the wisdom of his life in hardship was to obey the Prophet of Allah and his predecessor, Hazrat Abu Bakr, in return for the abundance of treasure:

“–Two friends and that I am like three passengers on an equivalent road. The first one of us had a machine. The other took the same route and got the first. Thirdly, I would like to reach my friends. If I go too high, I can't keep up with them! Or wouldn't you want me to be the third on this road? " (Sehbenderzade Ahmed Hilmi, Tarih-i İslam, Vol . I, p.367 )

In the end, he drank the sherbet of martyrdom with the wish of a spotless and white life in the footsteps of his two friends and was buried in Rauza-i Mutahhara next to his two friends.

Hazrat Umar Quotes

How wise are the words of this great Companion, who is a sharp sword that separates truth and evil from divine inspirations;

“Wisdom is granted to an individual who leaves an excessive amount of talk.

Humility is granted to the heart of those who leave the gaze too much.

The taste of worship is granted to those who stop overeating.

Whoever leaves much laughter is granted majesty.

Honor is granted to those who leave humor.

A love for the hereafter is granted to those who leave the love of the world.

He who ceases to deal with someone else's shame is bestowed with the correction of his own faults.

The person who abandons research and incarnation in the state of Allah (which is beyond understanding) is granted salvation from discord. "

"The person I really like the most is that one who informs me of my shame and flaws." (Suyuti, Tarihu'l-hulefa, 30)

Someone was praising another person next to Hazrat Umar. He spoke of him in a reproach. Hazrat Umar asked him three questions:

a. Have you ever traveled with him?

b. Have you ever dealt with a transaction like trade?

c. Have you been neighbors to him morning and evening?

When the person says "no" to these three questions, Hazrat Umar:

"I swear by Allah, who is not any god but Him, you don’t know him!" (Al-Ghazali, Ihya)

Kadı Şurayh wrote a letter to Hazrat Umar and asked how he would rule. Hazrat Umar said:

« Judge by what is in the book of Allah. If you cannot find it in him, judge according to the sunnah of the Messenger of Allah. If not in the book of Allah and the sunnah of His Messenger, judge with the decrees given by the righteous. If you are not among the judgments made by the righteous, you can judge if you want, stay back if you want! I am of the opinion that it is better for you not to stand back and make a judgment.

“Don't dress women too beautifully. If one of them has a lot of clothes and nice ornaments, they will like to go out. " (İbnu'l-Cevzi, Menakıb)

“To correct people, you must first correct yourself. The most ignorant of the people is the one who sells his afterlife for someone else's world. "

“Be strong without violence, soft without showing weakness! "

The Final Thought

Let us make us one of his servants who can reflect the smiling face of Islam with his knowledge, wisdom, lust, justice, humility, and all praised moral virtues, by dispensing personality and character.

Amin!

#hazrat umer #Umar farooq #Second caliph of Islam #Hazrat Umar

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malkumtend · 4 years

Text

I Like Your Laugh. (A CrowSquirrel AU Fanfic) - Chapter 2.

When the sun began to dip beneath the face of the hills, the group eventually settled to rest near a withered tree stump, sat atop a mound of earth over facing a field of tall grass. They had hunted within the tall grass, each at a time, returning with a small vole or mouse that would last until morning, and had begun to settle down before going to sleep.

Or at least, tried to settle.

Squirrelpaw lay isolated from the group, slowly chewing on her vole but not enjoying it in the slightest. Her stomach still felt empty and uneasy, despite being full enough. Her green eyes dimly looked at nothing in particular, too occupied in her thoughts.

She still couldn’t shake off Brambleclaw’s words, the evident bitterness he had shown clung to her like a cloud of fleas. He didn’t even bother to look at her since, not even a word to say to her. She hazily took a quick glance at him, and sighed, wounded. He was still facing away from her, talking to Feathertail.

‘Looks like he’d rather talk to a different clan over me.’ Squirrelpaw thought, her brow furrowing. It was stupid, Feathertail had been the nicest cat out of the group after all, but Squirrelpaw couldn’t help feeling a twitch of annoyance ruffle her fur.

Suddenly feeling watched, she looked around further and found Crowpaw watching her. His cool blue gaze was unreadable, clear with thought, but Squirrelpaw only felt a venomous irritation bubble at his sight. After how much of a pain he had been that morning she was in no mood for anything to do with him. It was his fault Brambleclaw thought she was nothing but a fight seeking cat after all. If he hadn’t been such a self-absorbed flea-pelt she never would have even spoken to him!

She scowled hatefully at him, watching his eyes fill with surprise, but soon returning her glare. Squirrelpaw didn’t break her stare though, glaring until he turned away, returning to his mouse with a huff.

Squirrelpaw felt a twinge of satisfaction at not breaking first, but it soon made way for her sadness at her clanmate to return. She turned away from the Windclan Tom with a growl, tearing off another piece of her vole. “Stupid runt.” She hissed through her full jaws.

“Do I even need to guess who you’re talking about?” A soft voice meowed.

The Thunderclan apprentice swallowed with a jolt, turning to find Feathertail laid down next to her with a friendly smile. Squirrelpaw flushed; how had she not been able to notice the Warrior approaching her? The ginger molly offered a small smile back, whiskers dropped sheepishly.

“You heard that?”

Feathertail giggled, “Kind of hard not to. What has he done now?”

“Just staring at me.” Squirrelpaw exhaled with a frown. When Feathertail said nothing, Squirrelpaw looked to find the Riverclan cat staring down incredulously.

“That’s it?” Squirrelpaw nodded and Feathertail let out a gentle laugh. “Wow, he doesn’t need to do much to annoy you, does he?”

It was clearly well meaning, but Squirrelpaw still found herself frowning. It was like Feathertail was treating her like an inexperienced apprentice. “I just don’t like him. He’s so miserable and rude all the time.”

“Oh, Squirrelpaw, you’ve only known him two days.” Feathertail purred.

“And all he’s ever done is start fights!” Squirrelpaw retorted, her tail fur spiking in agitation. “And yet, I’m the one being blamed!” The cat lay her chin over her two front paws, seething into the ground but her voiced was laced with upset.

“Squirrelpaw,” Feathertail’s tone smoothed tenderly, “No one is blaming you for anything.”

“Tell that to Brambleclaw.” Squirrelpaw mumbled under her breath. Feathertail still heard it though and pressed her silver pelt against the smaller cat. Squirrelpaw slowly faced the gentle Warrior, her stiff expression breaking slightly under the uncompromising kindness that glowed off the cat.

“I think Brambleclaw’s just stressed, Squirrelpaw.” Feathertail suggested, she let out a brief laugh. “We all are, really. Everyone’s anxious about this journey. Maybe he’s just not taking it as well as the others.”

“He practically said he didn’t care if I went out on my own!” Squirrelpaw objected, her eyes flashing with anger.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.” Feathertail meowed. “You’re his clanmate, of course he cares. He was just in a bad mood.”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes returned to the ground, still plastered with a frown. “Maybe, but he doesn’t need to take it out on me. I care about this journey as much as anyone else.”

“I’m sure you do, but,” Squirrelpaw could practically hear Feathertail think carefully about her next words. “It doesn’t really help if you and Crowpaw are constantly fighting.”

Squirrelpaw groaned, “It’s not my fault if he’s as pleasant as a thorn in the paw!” The ginger molly swiped her tail in his direction. “I’m not just going to let him act like he’s better than me when we’re both apprentices!”

“He’s like that with everyone, Squirrelpaw, not just you.”

“Exactly!” Squirrelpaw raked her claws along the dirt, imagining she was clawing the fur from Crowpaw’s smug grin. “He doesn’t have even a little respect for anyone but himself! He’s an absolute pain!”

Feathertail listened to the girl, turning in Crowpaw’s direction momentarily, contemplating the apprentice’s words. “I think he’s just lonely.”

Squirrelpaw scoffed, “Lonely! It’s his own fault if he is, it’s what he gets for being so hostile to everyone!” He certainly never acted like he was sad in any way; all he did to her was scowl and insult the others. That was a funny way to make friends!

“Well, maybe he’s just upset that doesn’t have his friends here with him.”

“You think he has friends at all?” Squirrelpaw smirked.

“Squirrelpaw, he’s the only one here who doesn’t have someone close with him.” Feathertail purred, her eyes flickering with sympathy. “Think about it, I have my brother with me, Tawnypelt has her brother, and you have your clanmate. He doesn’t have anyone.”

The Thunderclan apprentice paused, she had never thought about that. She found herself imagining how she would feel if she was the only Thunderclan cat in a group of cats from a different clan. It certainly wouldn’t be pleasant. Even if Brambleclaw was acting like a mouse-brain, he was still her clanmate, and there was a good level of trust in that alone. Crowpaw was alone in a way; not his clan or family were with him on this journey.

Squirrelpaw reluctantly felt a strange sympathy overcome her momentarily, but it faded as soon as it stuck. He still had no right to be such a fox-hearted mange pelt! If he had ever tried to be nice to Squirrelpaw, she would have gladly treated him with the same respect, but he didn’t, so she had no reason to feel sorry for him!

The ginger apprentice sniffed roughly, “He’s still a bee-brain.”

Feathertail sighed, her tail running gingerly across Squirrelpaw’s pelt. “All I’m trying to say is that I just think you could try being nicer to him.” Squirrelpaw nearly choked on the final bite of her vole.

“How can I be nice to him if he insists on being so difficult all the time?” Squirrelpaw complained.

“Well you two can start by trying not to get in so many arguments.” Feathertail chuckled.

Squrrelpaw was indignant. “Well he can maybe not start so many in the first place.”

“If he’s the one that starts them, don’t bite back, keep your pride. It’s not worth it, trust me.” Feathertail meowed, pressing against the apprentice friendlily. Squirrelpaw looked up at her. So just basically ignore him? That sounded fine to her. Sure, she hated the thought of that smug tom feeling like he had the last word over anything, but if it meant that he would be the troublesome one in the group instead of her, she supposed it was worth it.

“I can do that, but I don’t think he’ll suddenly stop being a pain, Feathertail.” Squirrelpaw admitted.

Feathertail nodded, an exhausted expression in her eyes. “I don’t either, if I’m being honest,” She conceded, but returned to looking down at the cat with a simper. “But at least I know I’ve tried my best to be kind to him.”

Squirrelpaw shook her head, she didn’t even think such a cold cat like Crowpaw could have any idea of kindness, from what the others told her, he was only here out of reluctance rather than care for his clan. How could she possibly get along with such a furball?

“I’ll try, Feathertail, but I pretty much know it won’t do much good.” Squirrelpaw meowed, lying her head on her paws with a yawn. The silver warrior smiled, playfully flicking Squirrelpaw across the nose with her tail.

“Well, at least you’ll have tried.” It sounded like such a simple answer, one without any merit, but Feathertail had a way of making it sound like the plain truth. Squirrelpaw couldn’t help a smile come across her muzzle. The uneasiness in her stomach settled a little, replaced by a wave of peace.

A sharp snap of grass cut through the air, both molly’s looking in the same direction to find Brambleclaw approaching them, his eyes glazed over, but focused on Squirrelpaw. The uneasy twist returned to her gut, along with a nervous twitch along her spine. She attempted to draw her eyes from him, but his presence lingered over her like a thunderstorm. She really didn’t want another lecture right now, especially when it was looking like she was making an actual positive impression.

Soon, the Thunderclan warrior loomed over the pair. “Hello, you two.” He said curtly, almost polite, “I’m sorry if I’m cutting in on anything, but Feathertail, may I please speak with Squirrelpaw, alone?”

No! Squirrelpaw’s mind yowled. Whatever it looked like Brambleclaw was going to say, it didn’t look good. She gave a pleading look to Feathertail, but the warrior just gave her a small smile before rising up with a nod towards Brambleclaw.

“Of course.” Brambleclaw nodded back politely. Feathertail began to pad away, giving one last comforting look towards Squirrelpaw. It will be okay. “I’ll see you later, Squirrelpaw.”

Squirrelpaw smiled back thinly, her gaze returning to the ground as she was left with her clanmate towering over her. She felt her throat go dry again, apprehensively sniffing as she awaited Brambleclaw’s inevitable harshness.

The brief moment of silence seemed to pierce the apprentice like a wound. Brambleclaw cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice softer but by no means friendly. Squirrelpaw looked up cautiously, his amber eyes were narrowed but they didn’t seem angry at least. She nodded gradually.

“Good.” Brambleclaw’s gaze drew around the clearing awkwardly, “Listen, I, um… I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Squirrelpaw tensed. What else did they have to talk about? “…alright?”

“I… I may have been a little… hard on you.” Squirrelpaw’s eyes shot towards him, he looked uncomfortable, his muzzle in a thin line as he assessed his words over. “Look, don’t get me wrong, you shouldn’t have been fighting so much! But, I may… was probably a little over the top in the things I said.”

Squirrelpaw’s tension melted away, suddenly replaced by a tight grasp of anger that clenched her heart. “A little!” She hissed.

Brambleclaw frowned at her tone but resigned himself with a sigh. “Yes.” He drawled. “I am glad you’re here. It’s just been a stressful day, and you weren’t helping with the constant arguing…” Noticing Squirrelpaw’s muzzle contract, Brambleclaw held his temper back and carried on smoothly. “But I was still too harsh on you, and… I apologise for that.” He straightened himself up, looking slightly pleased with his generous apology.

Squirrelpaw was still reeling though. He’s glad I’m here! Yeah, probably because he still thinks I would have betrayed him to Firestar! What about that? Wasn’t he going to acknowledge that? Wasn’t he going to say that he actually trusted her?

By the way he stood there awaiting her response, it looked like he thought he was finished. Squirrelpaw held herself back from shaking her head, there was still a lot she would have liked to hear from him. Even if he had acknowledged his harshness, he still didn’t look like he wanted to explore just what he had said to her. Her claws sank into the dirt, her tongue already pulsing with venomous words she had to say to him.

Then she paused and thought about Feathertail’s words.

It wasn’t worth it. What good would it do to put him down a step? Nothing at all. She didn’t have to stand around moping over what he should have said, and what he did say. Squirrelpaw could move on.

Squirrelpaw forced herself to look up at the tom. “Okay, thank you.” She wouldn’t add that she forgave him, because she didn’t, but she’d do her best to hold that back.

Brambleclaw perked up with a satisfied smile, “Thank you.” His pompous grin made Squirrelpaw’s fur bristle with irritation, she flicked her tail bitterly. “But please, just try not to get in anymore fights, alright? I understand that Crowpaw is difficult, but we need to get as far as we can tomorrow. So, try not to get involved in anymore stupid fights.”

The Thunderclan apprentice glowered again; he still spoke to her like she was a kit. Still acted like she was some foolish puffball. “I understand.” Brambleclaw must have missed the grit in her jaws because his tail whipped her pelt proudly. Squirrelpaw hated it.

“Great!” Brambleclaw exclaimed, “Thank you for understanding!” Squirrelpaw flicked her ear dismissively, licking her front paw to remove any attention from the warrior.

“Of course.” She said absently.

The silence that followed made it clear to Brambleclaw that the conversation was over, he frowned again, but he couldn’t risk any more tension. “Okay well… would you like to sleep near me?” He offered.

Squirrelpaw sighed, she was still irked by the cat, but it would probably be best to make it as best she could. She did want things to be better between the pair, after all. Maybe this would make it easier for her to move on from what a mouse-brain he was. “If you’d like.” She rose up to the smiling warrior, walking beside him to a patch of grass near the rest of the group.

The anger and betrayal still boiled in her gut, leaving her with a heavy irritation. Still, she knew she had to try and move past it. All she had to do was try to avoid anymore fights with Brambleclaw and they would get along fine, she just had to rise above the times when he was being unfair. Prove she wouldn’t let his temper get to her. Oh. She frowned. She also had to try and be… nice to Crowpaw, even when he was in his familiar frosty mood. That would be harder. Because when he talked down to her, it was like he was talking down on her clan.

She took another glance towards Crowpaw, he was laid down, ready to sleep, but Feathertail was standing next to him, talking with him. His ears were flat against his head, scowling, argumentative, but keeping his voice hushed. Feathertail just smiled on at him, her lake blue eyes were cool on his form as she spoke calmly to him. Squirrelpaw shook her head, inwardly scowling at the tom, whatever good Feathertail saw in him, she would never understand.

She settled nearby, curling herself into a ball and yawning. Brambleclaw had been right about one thing, they did have a long journey ahead of them, and she needed whatever rest she could get.

Brambleclaw nestled close to her. He was close enough that his huge figure radiated a gentle warmth. It crawled over Squirrelpaw like sweat from a hot day. “Good night, Squirrelpaw.” He yawned.

“Good night.” Squirrelpaw said back. She couldn’t bring herself to mean it.

#warrior cats #warriors #warriors au #crowfeather #crowpaw #squirrelflight #squirrelpaw #brambleclaw #feathertail #fanfiction #otp #crowsquirrel #new prophecy #wc au

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2ofswords · 4 years

Note

for your analysis meme: clara

This is going to be so much fun and so very tough, because Clara is such an amazingly complicated character! God, I love her so much but part of that is because she is very ambivalent and hard to describe. She is one of these characters where you can find an opposite trait for every other one she has (which is kind of the point of her). Also: I still haven’t played the Changeling route in Patho1 and I have a stronger understanding of the Patho2 universe… so bear with me. I will try my best to analyse our favorite saint.

their biggest strength

I needed to think a while about this one and the term that stuck with me was attentive cleverness. Because I really couldn’t decide if I wanted to call her attentive or clever and luckily these two can be combined into something, I find pretty precise for what I want to describe. Clara is very clever and has a lot of knowledge that not really anyone else in the patho-universe can gain (or at least the amount of it, people share bits and pieces). She is the healer most aware of the meta-narrative and at least in routes that aren’t hers is telling you either that she knows more than you do or straight out telling you something, you needed to know (and probably didn’t want to). As is obvious by her focus on hands and talking her main skill is also interaction with other people… but I think a lot of it comes from the fact, that Clara is a good listener. Which seems to be counter-intuitive because listening is assigned as Artemy’s domain in the artbook, but I think the other word used – rhythms – is pretty important here. Artemy’s skill is finding connections, intuit solutions as well as similarities and differences (there is a reason he realizes his similarities to Aglaya’s description of the inquisition) and gaining cultural knowledge that he then transforms into practical and usable abilities. Clara’s “listening” is more about singular people’s well-being and personal struggle. (She is like a good therapist. If your therapist wanted to convert you into a sacrificial religion. ^^) She interacts with her surroundings directly and attentively. I mean, she is very well informed very early on without really having a live before that or at least not in town (again, I did not play the changeling route yet and do not know her origins or how ambiguous they are kept at the end. Either way, she arrives in town at the beginning of the game and navigates her way pretty well.) However only calling her attentive sounds like the trait is a passive one which is not something I mean. Both her personas as a saint and a thief use her knowledge that is gained by being attentive in unconventional ways and/or for unconventional means. As noted in the beginning, Clara is very clever and that in combination with her noticing even small discrepancies and listening to people makes her able to peek behind the curtain of the game in the first place. It also helps to get yourself into places people normally wouldn’t want a teenage girl to be and Clara knows and is fully willing to use this ability. It is both the reason why she knows so much more about the greater scope of the disaster and also why she always seems to be able to get into any place she wants to. By the way, just as an afterthought: Of course that ability doesn’t come and is in fact enhanced by empathy. I do not think, Clara is listening to people only to use them and to gain information. You can genuinely be willing to listen to someone and still use the information you get out of these conversations. Listening carefully and actively engaging with other people is a great part of that strength!

their greatest weakness

Does “not being able to hold a knife when the town wants you dead” count as a weakness? Okay seriously, I have a really hard time to put what I consider her weakness into one expressive term. So I will talk about it first at length and then we will see. What caught my mind first was ironically Clara’s problems with communication. That might be the case because, yes, I still haven’t played her route, so I am working mostly on her ways of communication with the other healers. But Clara really has a lot of strong points that she has trouble getting across or acknowledged. Sometimes that is definitely not her fault and one of her problems is, that she is not taken seriously by other people. But trying to persuade someone to their cause and emphasizing the reason with an elaborate monologue how the other healers are demons. Daniil was genuinely asking, why you wrote your letter about your destiny, it’s fine! Same happens in Pathologic 2. Saying someone to stay put when they are in a pretty bad spot already is not a bad idea and Artemy is pretty open to both warnings and clairvoyance in general but saying. “Nope, do literally nothing even if you know you want to, I am a better doctor anyways” is… yeah hurting him in his professional pride isn’t exactly a smart move. Often it feels like she really has a chance to explain and the other healers would probably listen but then there is just a terrible miscommunication. (Which is a thing for all of the healers but Clara I-am-going-to-call-your-father-a-horrible-person-while-we-are-at-his-funeral Saburova… Look, it might be true but it is also hilarious.) But putting communication skills here would still be weird, since… you know… she is pretty good at communicating in different ways! And also all three healers are pretty prone to miscommunication albeit in different ways and for different reasons… So I think we have to dig a bit deeper still… So why is this happening and hindering her? There are multiple reasons to come to this conclusion. One I would call childlike stubbornness. (Which btw. Is also one of her strengths, but… it is Clara, everything is also its opposite. God I love her so much, she is just so hard to describe, it’s amazing!) Even with all of her wisdom and cleverness… Clara is still a child. As she should be, it makes her so much more interesting! But she also has this childlike quality of just… assuming people will completely understand and accept what she is trying to see and getting frustrated the moment it doesn’t happen. This is one of her contradictions. She is so very attentive, and she can touch other people with her hands as well as her words, but she also is inexperienced and doesn’t really know a lot about the world or about how to socially approach people which can be a big problem, if she desperately needs someone to listen. The other argument would be about her role in the plot and the way she regards her own role as well as the other healers. She is the most aware one and she does indeed know a solution to the dilemma of the story (if we do not conclude that this is a three way battle, but I exclude my thoughts about the factions themselves for this. She definitely though knows how to get rid of the town vs. polyhedron conflict) but this also puts her in direct opposition to both healers. Which… you know is completely fair and not a weakness. But, she is very uncompromising about this and while all of them are – at least when they are not the main protagonists – Clara is the most unmoving and also uncompromising of the three, telling everyone always very directly how she things the others are shit. Which again, is very justified but becomes a big problem when she needs help and makes it harder for her to express her own thoughts, even if they are very justified and might even help all parties. Speaking in riddles and of concepts beyond something we would see as our reality surely doesn’t help there either.

a headcanon about their childhood

Oh dear, tbh I am not even sure how metaphorical she just crawled out of the earth at the beginning of the game and if she even has a proper childhood… I think it is pretty literal but there are allusions in Patho2 that she actually has a past? At least she speaks about it and I guess it can be as made up as real. (A classic Clara move ^^) And having no defined past is kind of a big thing for her so… sorry, no childhood headcanon here.

a headcanon about their future (if they have one)

Again, I am not really sure if she stays in town or leaves with Block and I have read fanfiction with both, so I am not sure if there is a consensus in fandom either… If she stays in town I imagine her still being with the Saburovs but I do not know, if I really like this headcanon, since abandoning your newly found orphan in the middle of a plague is really something that should revoke parent rights… But on the other thing the position among the mistresses seems to still be pretty defined at least in the endings in Patho 2. I like to see her travelling with Block at least for a while. Maybe not at the front, that would be just… bad. But she also seems like the person who would just poke their head around at random intervals and nobody really knows, when she will get back and somehow Clara still knows exactly what is going on in town… Still she also seems pretty bound to the place and she has business there… it’s a tough call. She will definitely fire up the rivalry of the mistresses by a lot though. Probably even if she is just there for a second, she would definitely sow some mischief between Capella and Maria! Another triad of petty politics for her! Yay?

a small detail/scene that leaves a great impact

Oh dear, every scene she is in is just so impactful! (Also never knowing which Clara is with you right now (if there even is a difference) doesn’t make this easier...) I really like her quest in Artemy’s run, where she is upset about not knowing what exactly she is in the first place… but that is not really a small details or scene. Same goes for the cathedral and her offer to meet the inquisitor together with Dankovsky to stand up for that whole disaster. Which is still a really heroic but also not really a small scene and there is nothing to talk about there aside from “man, is Clara brave and set on doing the right thing!” I also think the letter about her ending is really interesting because it is just so out there and giving all of her bound a demonic nickname is just so over the top, but tbh all of the ending letters are very… passionate. So this might be more the games writing even if they lampshade it and talk to each other like the other one is the only healer in town who wrote a completely insane letter… But I digress. While I love Clara’s Patho1 design, I will say that I love her shaved hair in Patho2 and the commentary the artbook has for it. Seeing it as a sign of sickness or a deliberate mark of sainthood is just so on point for her! It is a really nice visual piece for her characterization and I also think putting the beany on top of it makes it even better. It is contradicting but firstly she deliberately kind of tries to hide her own contradictions (I mean, it is not part of her! It is just the sister, she is wrong!), which is also a nice added detail. Also, she might combine contradicting elements, but god, she is doing it with style!

their philosophy/worldview (or part of it) described in one neat little sentence

I am throwing the towel! How should this even work with Clara??? She has different philosophies and worldviews! Also, I think they differ a bit between the first and second game. The first one aligns a lot with the humble faction from what we hear but in the second game her dialogue alludes more vaguely to touching and changing people and not necessarily to “The right people must die for our world to continue” which is most of what I heard from her. Hm… How about: A saint’s duty is to touch the immoral and diseased, thus one can never rid themselves of all dirt. I am not that happy with this one, but… at least it has the whole touching other people thing in it and it is about good people not being pure, which also is a theme with her. It still sounds a bit judgemental and I don’t really like this emphasis of the “dirtied” but… I mean this is what Clara talks about in her letter, so I still think it fits, even if I would dare to say that she shows a lot more compassion than this sentence shows.

#pathologic #pathologic clara #the changeling #Clara Saburova #Which tags are we using for Clara???

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bluehhj · 4 years

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listen to me — chapter 47

LISTEN TO ME — 0047

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.8K

Just before nightfall, as the sun was casting its last orange rays over the city, Yoorim and Woojin returned to the hospital. This time the reception was full, which resulted in more work for the nurses behind the reception desk. Luckily, they didn't have to stand in line to ask about Jinah and Jisung — although Chan had been spending all afternoon sending very detailed messages to the group they created in the messaging app —, as Seungmin was finishing talking to a lady, probably going over a diagnosis, and, when she said goodbye, he soon approached the pair.

"Shouldn't you be gone now?" Woojin asked and Yoorim watched the intern's tired expression, who didn't seem to have the slightest intention of taking off his coat and going to rest.

"It's fifteen minutes before my shift is over," Seungmin pointed out, laughing softly. He might as well pretend to be busy and idle until he could leave the hospital, as Woojin suggested, but his sense of responsibility wasn't that foldable. "If even Chan hyung, who should have left at four, is still here, why am I going to stop working while I still can?

"Woojin has to stop thinking that everyone is uncompromised just like him," pinned Yoorim. The oldest of the three was so used to having similar adjectives attributed to him that he didn't care. "But anyway..." her hands seeped into the pockets of her dark sweatshirt, cold. Although spring was approaching, the cold of winter was still bothering a lot. "Is Jisung feeling better or is he still the same?"

Seungmin bit his lower lip uncertainly. "You better see yourselves."

Personally speaking, Woojin hated hospitals and avoided them as much as possible. He thought everything smelled of alcohol and medicine and he also repudiated the strange feeling of sadness hanging in the air like a mist; so, many details of the corridors Seungmin led them through purposely went unnoticed.

"Nobody said anything else about Jinah?" he asked as they entered the elevator. Woojin had no idea how half of the university already knew what had happened, and that worried him. The way the news was spreading was completely distorted from the original, and even he, being gossip most of the time, was careful not to say anything that could be interpreted even more erroneously.

"She's still the same," Seungmin said ruefully. "Looks like her parents will arrive today."

Yoorim never understood what it was like to feel genuine parent-child concern, but she could imagine how sad and desolate Choi's parents were at that moment. Though she didn't quite understand love, either, she could put herself in their shoes and think about what it would be like to see her father or Hyunjin in a situation similar to Jinah's, and only the distorted image caused her an agonized uneasiness in her chest that extend all the way to Jisung's room.

Seungmin opened the door carefully, and just like the other two times, Han showed no interest in looking up from his own legs wrapped in a blanket. Jisung's expression remained indifferent and all his actions were almost as slow as the serum dripping into his veins.

"So far he hasn't spoken to anyone but Hyoyeon, and that was before he knew about Jinah," Seungmin whispered. "You can try, but I don't know if it's going to do much good."

Yoorim stepped forward and nodded to Chan, only then noticing that he was there with a college book on his lap. Then she stopped at a comfortable distance from the bed and reached for a chocolate on the empty nightstand. "You can eat when you feel like it," she offered, aware that it must be bad to settle for the dull hospital food alone. "It's your favorite."

If Jisung liked it, he didn't make a point of moving a muscle to demonstrate. Yoorim wasn't upset about that. She had known Han long enough to understand his way of dealing with pain. As when breaking his engagement with Chaerin, for example, Jisung closed himself and arrogantly dismissed anyone who tried to approach. Here, however, everything was so exponentially stronger that he could not even utter any cursing whatsoever, and that was what really worried Yoorim. Suffering in silence was synonymous with drowning in your own ocean, alone.

"I suck at giving advice, you know that..." Woojin began, serious as it rarely happened. "But I think you have to think positive... According to my general knowledge of our friendship contract, I imagine you have already blamed yourself and been desperate because you're full of negative thoughts. And I also know that a coma is far from just a cold, but perhaps not as bad as it seems," he paused, checking Han's features to see if he was not accidentally making things worse, but Jisung remained neutral. "I can't tell you "relax, she'll wake up in a moment", because no one knows when this will happen, but nurturing the hope that everything will work out is much better than nurturing frustration in thinking it won't... Jinah needs you more than you need her, Sung. You have to be fine to help her out of this."

"I never thought I'd say that in my life, but I agree with Woojin" Chan got up from the couch and hugged the book to his chest. "Several studies point out that the line between consciousness and unconsciousness is thinner than you might think. I don't know if this is the case with Jinah, but there are people who go into a coma and still hear what others say and even respond in their own way. It's a way to help revitalize some damaged parts of the brain and it does very, very well."

"Don't interpret what we said as if we were trying to stop you from suffering, that's not it," added Yoorim. "You can and should suffer a lot, it is completely normal for that to happen, but giving up on believing is not an option, okay? Alright we don't even know what you are thinking right now and maybe the idea of giving up hasn't even gone through your head, but if this pessimism was there at some point, I ask you not to listen to it, oppa. It'll be all right and period."

Jisung didn't answer, but Seungmin noticed as he began to wiggle his fingers absently, perhaps pondering. The intern was still not comfortable enough to speak to Han as directly as his friends did, so he decided to just watch. After all, Seungmin was absolutely sure that Jisung didn't like him — and it wasn't as if he had no reason to do so, after all. Both approaching at the time of the accident didn't mean that the disagreements were set aside and now they were all friends. Seungmin couldn't forget that.

"Visiting hours have changed and I didn't know?" almost all eyes in the room turned to the door when a lady arrived with a white suitcase in her hands. She was clearly one of the hospital's most experienced nurses, and her smile was so tender it made others want to smile, too.

"It was my mistake, Mrs. Baek," Seungmin apologized, though the woman seemed to be just kidding.

"It's fine, dear," she waved a hand in the air, dismissing Kim's concern. Then she entered the room and left her briefcase next to the chocolate that Yoorim gave Jisung. "Only now I need to change this boy's bandages. By the way, weren't you two supposed to go home?" pointed to Chan and Seungmin. "Especially you, Chan. They said you could leave a long time ago."

"I'll be right out, just waiting for someone else to arrive," the future doctor replied, smiling small. "Be well, Jisung. You guys too."

Woojin and Yoorim returned the smile and Chan waved at the nurse before leaving. Seungmin also said goodbye quickly when he received a message from Chaerin, who would always pick him up at the end of the day, saying that she had arrived. The Canadian was going through the same dilemma as her boyfriend, and although worried, she didn't know if it would be good for Jisung to have her so close all of a sudden; so she was content only to ask and send positive thoughts to both Han and Jinah.

When Mrs. Baek opened the bag full of cotton, medicine bottles, bandages and a multitude of other products to make a good dressing, Yoorim chose to give Jisung more privacy, while Woojin didn't want to risk fainting if he saw blood, and so they went toward the waiting room on the floor, not far from the bedroom. Halfway through, Kim snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, and Heo knew he was about to ask something.

"What did you think?"

"He needs some time," Yoorim answered after a few seconds in silence. Woojin didn't need to be completely clear for anyone to understand that she was referring to the way Jisung was acting. "That took everyone by surprise, it really is a bit astonishing for anyone."

Woojin nodded and said nothing more about it. If he himself who had not even spent so much time with Jinah had been affected to the point that he could not even work without his mind often flooded with the same subject, then, Jisung must have been a complete mess.

The matter came to an end early when someone entered the waiting room with the speed of a rocket. Yoorim felt sick to realize that it was Yeji. It got worse as she grew closer, and Heo could feel the intensity of her angry glare, which, from so many people, was aimed solely at her.

"The analysis of the fingerprints found on the ring that caused part of the accident is now ready," she used her firmer tone of voice to emphasize each syllable, not even offering a good night before throwing the bomb. "They're all yours, Yoorim."

Woojin gasped as Yoorim went pale as a sheet of paper. Everything turned in Heo's head and she couldn't even express a reaction before Kim finally stopped coughing.

"What do you mean, you crazy?!" Woojin didn't take respect for authority very seriously when it came to Yeji, but, this time, she didn't care and just shoved a paperwork into Yoorim's chest.

"The evidence is there."

With trembling hands, the youngest of the three pushed the papers away from her chest and ran her teary eyes over the photos and paragraphs filled with relevant information contained in the sheets. The report proved that yes, the fingerprints were hers, but it made no sense! Millions of questions screamed in her mind, so deafening that she couldn't even tell them apart.

And without even letting her try to find herself in the confusion, Yeji, her voice dripping with camouflaged pride, pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her uniform pocket and finished announcing:

"Heo Yoorim, you are under arrest for attempted double murder."

a/n: first, I need to apologize. I should have posted yesterday, right? but well, yesterday there was a big rain and I ended up without internet all day, so that's why. but now here is another chapter for you guys!

and what pissed me off the most in the last chapter was the lack of depth in jisung's feelings, although it was planned long ago. it is my intention not to focus too much on everything he's feeling at the same time, because not even himself knows, and that is where there's the return of a character aka love of my life to try to help jisung. but anyway the description was horrible and I hated that ending.

in compensation, I liked today's chapter and this is a miracle!!!!!!! #protectheoyoorim

and well, don't forget that I love you guys so much, ok??? see you in the next chapter <3

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