#unreliable narrator ofc

[bored-platypus]

swim in circles (sniper! tim)

au where tim's parents get kidnapped by obeah man earlier on but they survive. and he becomes a sniper. :)

inspired by @yjcorefourenjoyer's sniper! tim idea, who graciously let me run around in their sandbox. :D

Turns out, when you leave your child alone without a parental figure for months, you can’t integrate yourself back into their life and just pretend all is normal.

You never wanted to parent me before, Tim wants to scream. Why are you even pretending you care now?

But he says none of it, swallows it down his throat dry where it resides in his chest, thick and cloying like a good son. His parents narrowly escaped being killed. Tim is being selfish because he isn’t used to this. It’s fine.

Jack wants him to transfer to a nearby private school and live at home instead of boarding school so he and Mom can keep an eye on him, fine. Tim can adapt, take advantage of the fact that he’s home more to take pictures of Batman and Robin. 

So Tim is twelve years old when his father brings him to a shooting range and puts a hand on his shoulder. Some good ol’ father-son bonding, his dad claims. His dad is too scared to admit what the true purpose is; so Tim won’t be defenseless in case he’s kidnapped.

But it doesn’t matter whether his dad verbalizes it or not: Tim knows, so there’s no point in saying it out loud.

(For a brief moment, he thinks of becoming Robin, of fists and swinging staffs and acrobatics. Of following Batman’s no-kill rule.)

It’s a silly thought. Tim’s parents are very much alive, and his reality is this: gunpowder and cameras and slow, choking patience. Tim is athletic, but doesn’t exactly make a point to get into fights— if he’s attacked, he would have the best chance with a gun.

But for the next few months, Tim drowns under his father’s expectations and his mother’s worried and guilty gaze. The knot in his chest tightens until he struggles for air, and Tim needs something, needs to get out of the house, needs to do something other than follow Batman and Robin because his parents keep checking on him in the middle of the night.

Tim flounders, kicks fruitlessly at the waters until another weekend, when his father brings him out again and he adjusts his stance, aligns his handgun, and waits until his hands are steady.

It doesn’t take long until he speeds through a fire safety certificate test and all but owns his father’s 9mm pistol.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tim breathes.

It’s a hobby his father supports and something his mother, who sits in her wheelchair, loosens the furrow in her brow for. Before he goes, she quietly brushes her hand over his hair. Remember your gun safety, Tim, she says, and he nods before heading out for another lesson.

Really damn good, his instructor says, and Tim smiles, because his arms are getting used to the recoil and Tim has one of the highest accuracies among all the teens in the class, even if he takes a little longer than everyone.

But it’s no matter: Tim has experience with being patient.

It doesn't take long for Tim to start bringing his handgun out with him while he goes birdwatching. It takes even shorter for Tim to start eyeing the bolt-action rifles jealously, thinking of how much farther he could take it, what he could do. Eighteen years old, he chants, eighteen years old.

Except when Tim turns thirteen, Jason dies. Batman grieves his son’s death in a way that leaves Gotham a bloody, destructive swathe of pain. And Tim can’t just watch, anymore. He goes to Dick, pleas in his mouth, begging him to see that Batman needs a Robin. 

It doesn’t work. And now Two-Face has Bruce and Dick, and Tim has nothing but his 9mm pistol and the location of the Wayne manor. Alfred looks down at him, lips pursed in hesitation, and Tim knows, knows that Robin doesn’t use guns, knows that it would be an abomination to Bruce’s values and Dick’s legacy but he doesn't know what else to do. 

“Please,” he begs.

Surprisingly, it is easier to convince Alfred that he can protect himself with a gun. Tim suspects that Batman will have a different reaction.

–

Bruce and Dick are safe, Two-Face is safely in jail, and Bruce looks at his guns with poorly concealed suspicion and apprehension. And that’s the crux of the matter: Tim uses guns, Robin does not. Tim cannot be Robin, not with his parents so closely around and his only method of protecting himself being a lethal weapon. The worst part is, it all feels like a waste. The hours at the shooting range, his father’s proud smile, his rising accuracy rates, and it sucks, because Tim doesn’t want to feel this way. 

Tim never meant to be Robin. But he needs to become Robin now and Tim has never trained in hand-to-hand combat or swung a staff before. His way out has become another trap, and Tim has never shot a dart gun before, nor is it sustainable to use tranq darts. 

Funny. Tim never seems to be given a choice. But he can’t complain, so he does the next best thing. Tim throws himself into convincing Bruce, tries to prove that he can be Robin, even if he’s fighting a losing battle. There’s really only one way Bruce will accept, and Tim knows it. 

He screams until his voice is hoarse after Batman nearly dies, but he can't be Robin, not until he gives up Tim Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake holds tightly onto a hope that isn't sustainable, thinks of his father who looks at him in the eye and makes him promise that he'll keep his life over everybody else's.

TIm is selfish and he’s drowning again, but so is Gotham.

–

“Tim.”

His dad looks angry, flickers of worry shining from behind his eyes. Tim knows he’s been acting suspicious: too many bruises on his legs and cuts on his arm, coming home later than usual.

Tim shrugs self-deprecatingly. 

“Please, dad? I know it’s not what you want but it’s getting to be a lot and I need to move around my schedule to fit in more.”

“Tim… This wasn't brought on because the boys in your class have been roughhousinging you because you’re better, right?”

“No! It’s not, it’s not,” Tim shakes his head, face burning with mortification. That would be so embarrassing. It seems so juvenile, quitting because he was bothered by the envious comments, rather than quitting because he wanted to take on a vigilante mantle that had a fifty percent mortality rate to make sure Batman didn’t go off his rocker. 

Tim is so grounded when his dad finds out. His father sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Tim guiltily shrinks under his gaze. 

“You spent so long practicing,” his father accuses. There’s the hidden panic Tim was expecting. “I really thought you were into it, Tim.”

Tim flinches. 

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, trying not to feel like he’s wasted so much of his and his father’s time. “I’m just not that interested anymore and…”

And the truth is, Tim hates this choice. But it’s still his decision, to pick up Robin and put down Tim Drake. He goes for the low blow.

“Let me make my own choice for once, okay? You always want me to do this and that and I’m trying, but I want some space to figure out what I like instead of just balancing what you want in favor of what I want.”

His dad freezes, frustration playing out over his features, but Tim knows he’s won this one. 

“I’m going to check up on your mom. I don’t want to talk about this tonight, but we are talking about this.” I can’t stand talking to you right now.

It’s fine, because Tim has won. 

The situation will blow over, and Tim will prove that he can protect himself in other ways, to both his father and Bruce.

And once again his reality shifts: swinging fists and lies and the fast, spiraling rapids of life.

He thinks of steady hands and the quiet click to the loud bang of a gun. He will wait it out, he foolishly thinks. He has practice being patient.

a/n:

so basically this could go a NUMBER of ways, holy. i had so many plans that i derailed and thought over and whatnot

i originally was going to go for tim being a sniper wayyy earlier, like shooting bruce with tranqs post-jason death (which, by the way, tim would've gone through SO many hoops for that, dude is way too tiny to pass as over 18 and has to be a pretty damn good liar to his parents), never becoming robin (prob would've become a vigilante, just with guns)

but oh man in this version i haven't even GOTTEN to sniper! timmy yet...

also! discussed another cool idea with my wonderful beta @pinkcowzz about reverse robins where tim comes back from the dead as a sniper would also be fun. there are many ways that this au could branch out lmao

#tim drake #sniper! tim drake #tim drake is a huge liar lmao #unreliable narrator ofc #red robin #tw gun #plot bunny spinoffs #my writing #title from the song hope by roar #btw i know nothing about guns #so if anything is inaccurate please tell me lmao #jack drake #janet drake #bruce wayne #batman #lots of metaphors for drowning #weirdly felt like it fit sniper! tim ig? #might finish this up with more parts... eventually #somehow stuffed twenty motifs in here #lowkey wanna post a reverse robins snippet of this au

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

i hate being right

#(*these tags were abt spoilers for ch 243 aka ness's flashback) #IT WAS SO OBVIOUS LIKE NESS SEES KAISER THROUGH ROSE COLORED GLASSES #OFC FROM HIS POV HIM AND KAISER HAD A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP #theyre both unreliable narrators oh my god this is peak im afraid #bllk #bllk manga #bllk spoilers #ill post more a bit later once i fully formulate my thoughts

[prince-liest]

You inspired me to write! And I got up to 2k words for the first time ever when it comes to writing for myself... but I'm struggling a bit 😅 Do you have any advice about narrator POV and how you use your verb tenses? It's like I have no idea how you manage to "head-hop" while still being an omniscient narrator so smoothly & effortlessly. And verb tenses. if I write "was" one more time I might pop a gasket lol. any help is appreciated <3 have a good one!

First of all, that's freaking amazing! 2k is a lot, congratulations! That might sound weird coming from me considering how many words I put out, but I 100% remember the struggle of being newer to writing and hitting multiple thousands of words for the first time - I'm so happy for you!

Second of all: I actually write exclusively in third person limited POV, not third person omniscient! Even though I'm writing in third person, the narration is fully from the perspective of the point of view character, which I personally enjoy a lot because it allows for a lot of unreliable narration and also characterization through how their train of thought manifests (choppy, stressed, dreamy, etc). That's why when I'm writing from the point of view of character A, for example, any assumptions about character B's motivations are what character A is thinking, not an omniscient narrator informing you.

That said, you still have to head-hop specifically to write the actual visible actions and dialogue of the second character, and that's actually the most recent thing that I used to struggle with in writing specifically because I got most of my initial writing experience doing roleplay where I was only ever responsible for one character's thoughts and actions at a time.

Honestly, the main thing I can say is that it gets much, much easier with practice. When you start out, it will genuinely just take you longer to switch from the mindset of one character to another! I used to take character notes to put together little snapshot profiles of character headspaces to re-orient myself between the characters I was writing when I felt like I was getting lost. They included things like a few traits to keep in mind, behavior mindset, and snippets of dialogue that I thought were very representative. I don't use these anymore, but I do still do things like rewatch episodes or reread portions of books when I'm learning new characters to orient myself to their personality. It's like code-switching to me nowadays.

As for verb tense: I was a consummate Homestuck, so I started out writing in second person present tense, hahaha, and while I've adopted the third person POV (and believe me, this took adjusting), I've kept writing in present tense as a personal preference. I like it because it makes things feel more in-the-moment as they're happening, because there's less grammatical fuckery involved when describing the past vs the present, and just because I'm used to it. That said, past tense is more common and stands out less to people, and I think that you are finding all of your "was"s a lot more noticable than a reader would! People generally don't really notice the tense of what they're reading once they get into the flow of it.

#ask #personal #Anonymous #my writing #writing advice #I also tried to switch to past tense and kept fucking it up #like genuinely switching tenses halfway through a paragraph and not noticing at ALL #and unlike writing in second person POV it didn't seem like an actual issue wrt readability so I just stopped trying #long post #I hope this was at least a bit helpful! #I've honestly never written an omniscient narrator so I'm afraid I can't be much help with that #I'm too much of a sucker for unreliable limited narrators haha #I love how telling a narration can be about a character's mindset #also side note my oldest fic on AO3 which is a little Soul Eater oneshot from 2015 is in second person hahaha #A RELIC #(ofc I have some fantroll stuff on there as well but that's SUPPOSED to be second person)

[quaranmine]

firewatch au is an interesting story because mumbo is such an omnipresent non-character. it doesn't matter if i characterize him correctly or not, because his character isn't ever present to exert change in the story. the only thing that does matter is grian's rosy, absence-defined ideals about who his best friend was. every single thing we learn about mumbo is filtered through like 12 different layers of love and grief and denial until he's on a pedestal so high nobody can see the truth. his character is almost solely defined by what someone else says about him.

in doing this, grian also inadvertantly strips away all the little mistakes and mishaps that are part of mumbo's agency and part of him being a real person until he's perfect. and all this idolization ends up making it worse for grian in the end, because he actively avoids engaging in any theories that suggest mumbo might have made a mistake or gone astray. there's clear dissonance between reality—grian knows mumbo got lost and is searching for him—and the way grian lashes out at anyone who suggests something that clashes with the perfect ideal of mumbo in his head, including getting lost. mumbo should be a character in his own story, but grian won't let him be.

instead he wraps his desire to find mumbo into a weird sort of side quest where he's just as interested in finding someone else to blame as he is finding mumbo. he spends the same amount of time trying to figure out exactly where it all went wrong during the search as he does actually searching for mumbo—even after he knows the general area mumbo was last in! it's a puzzle and he can't put anything to rest until he solves it. he's trying to force logic into everything so he can cope with it. because if he doesn't find someone or something to blame, then he has to face the reality that sometimes things just don't make sense. if it makes sense, he can solve it and fix it. if it doesn't make sense...then he just has to live with it, and he doesn't think he can.

#fw au drinking game! take a shot every time grian says something abt Knowing mumbo or makes a bold statement of what mumbo would/wouldnt do #his mindset is so contradictory at certain points. a lot of what he says doesnt make total sense or falls apart under scrutiny. #and that's on purpose! grian is not a reliable narrator in this fic. he's a guy who is Going Through It who needs help. #theres several parts of the fic where he's so logical about things that it loops back into being illogical #cause he's got huge blindspots he can't/won't look around. he selectively excludes things he doesnt want to think about. #this story is more of a study on grief than it is a mystery :( #also dont get me wrong! i am not saying grian is Always incorrect in his characterization of mumbo. they Were besties ofc #it's just that you have to read everything he says about mumbo with the acknowledgement that his grief #has smoothed away every flaw or painfully human bit #and only left a certain limited picture of mumbo left #combine that with his intense desire to only see things that fit within his set beliefs? you've got a recipe for an unreliable narrator #hc_firewatch_au

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 16

this is byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

just a note that i probably won't be updating chapter 17 until two weeks out (doctor stuff next week). apologies in advance for the cliffhanger

byakuya is kind of a shit defendant ngl. like buddy you have to get the jury to believe in you? if you dont want the guilty verdict??

makoto is doing his best here

@digitaldollsworld sjdfkdsjflkd

Content warning tags: not sure. but byakuya spirals into anguish if that's something you're not into, slight suicide mention?

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Makoto’s voice echoes through the chamber, cracking through the air like a gunshot. It stuns Owada into silence; it draws all eyes to him.

Byakuya can’t even turn his own gaze away. Makoto has his fists clenched at his side, and stands tall and determined. Commanding the trial once more.

“Byakuya wouldn’t have killed Chihiro.” He says firmly. “And, Byakuya wouldn’t have been able to replicate Syo’s crime either.” He says it with such conviction that Byakuya can’t help to feel that irrational relief again, that comfort he could take in Makoto’s support.

“Can you explain?” Celeste asks, and Makoto nods stiffly.

“First…there’s the matter of location. It just doesn’t make sense, considering what we know.” He says his words steadily, carefully - laying out a careful foundation. “Me and Chihiro left the library at around noon, and went around the first floor, right? We found Hiro in the laundry room first.”

Hagakure nods, finger rasping along his chin. “Yeah, and we talked for…what, ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?”

“Right. And then we went looking for Mondo and Taka…we found them cleaning up in the trophy room.” Makoto's face turns to Owada and Ishimaru, seeking affirmation. “Chihiro wanted to talk to you guys one at a time, so Mondo, you came with us to the cafeteria, because you wanted to get something to eat.”

The only response that Owada gives is a grunt, but it’s not outright denial. So Makoto continues:

“I don’t remember exactly how long Chihiro spent there, but I know he left before one. We already knew where Taka was, and we knew that Chihiro wanted to go talk to him next. So there wouldn’t have been any reason for him to go to the second floor!”

“Ah, but.” Celeste cuts in. “What is the proof that Byakuya did not go downstairs? It’s hard to justify the library as the place of death, but is it not possible that Chihiro was killed on the first floor?”

“That would have been difficult. There were only so many places he could go where no one else would have noticed, or that he had access to.” Kyoko points out. “If Kiyotaka was in the trophy room, he would have had a direct line of sight of the stairs. Kiyotaka, did you notice Byakuya going downstairs at any time?”

She turns towards Ishimaru now. The Ultimate Moral Compass, their apparent de-facto leader and head of class, is dead silent. But his head turns in a slow shake-

“Don’t use my bro as an excuse!” Owada interrupts, again, and Byakuya finds himself with a mouthful of fresh blood, as he bites down on his inner cheek in frustration. “He’s injured, see? You expect him to give a testimony after he took a trophy to the head?”

Just how injured is he? Ishimaru seems to be standing steadily. In fact, other than his uncharacteristic silence and the bandage on his head, it was hard for Byakuya to discern if there was any difference in him at all. But there’s some slight awkward shuffling around him, as the others react with sympathy.

“...You okay, Taka?” Hagakure asks, gently. Ishimaru is still, before nodding once, jerkily. “Um. Okay, then…”

“E-even so!” Makoto’s stutters a bit, thrown off for a moment. “We can’t confirm that Byakuya did go downstairs at all!”

“But it’s not like we can confirm that he didn’t?” Yamada points out, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, I don’t mean any disrespect, Mister Togami - but I did take note of where everyone was around the time the body was discovered, and everyone else has alibis - so is there anyone who can vouch and say that you were in the library the whole time?”

Byakuya can only click his tongue sharply, turning away. Of all the people to want to get a dig at him, and suddenly try to be useful… ”Toko was with me. Twenty minutes before the body was found.”

He stares expectantly at Syo, who crosses her arms, tilts her head, and then shrugs. “Sorry, she’s really zonked out. Down for the count and all that, y’know?”

The one time he needed her! He scowls, but he can’t be bothered to waste time on her anymore. He turns back to Makoto. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking from here, but Byakuya can hear a soft tapping, the slight bounce of his leg against the floor. 

“Putting location aside, we also have to consider motive, right?” Makoto says. The confident edge in his voice is almost gone. “The interaction he had with Chihiro isn’t necessarily enough to implicate him. If anything, that would have made it harder for him to get Chihiro alone…he wasn’t exactly, um, nice when he said all that stuff…”

Byakuya almost rolls his eyes. He had been plenty nice at that time; but that was not important at the moment.

“It’s true, Chihiro was…kind of a scaredy-cat, right? I mean, before today!” Hagakure says hurriedly. “And no offense Togami, you’re kinda the loner type…except for with Makoto.”

“Shut up and make your point.” He growls, and Hagakure throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just saying you’re not the easiest guy to talk to, man!”

“I don’t try to be.” But Hagakure had brought up a good point. “I’m not interested in being friendly with any of you. That included Chihiro.” That wasn’t a lie, technically. Up until this point, his relations with Makoto and Chihiro were made out of necessity and mutual gain. “He did tell me his secret earlier, but Makoto was present during that time. Other than that, we have had no other interactions.” 

That was more of a lie. He was purposefully omitting mention of their conversation in the bathhouse the other night. But it was fine, since he doubted Makoto would betray him now, and the one person who was aware of it - Toko - was apparently too caught up in her own head to disprove it.

“And that was also when you told him to try confessing his secret to the rest of us?” Celeste asks.

Why was she doubting him? He scowls at her. He needs the rabble to leave him alone already. “Yes.”

“How interesting.” She has her hand pressed to her lips again, an action that reminds him oddly of a self-satisfied cat. “Pray tell, at what time did you speak with Chihiro today?”

By the sound of her voice alone, Byakuya has the distinct sense that he’s being toyed with. Being lured to a trap. Even without ever being able to see Celeste’s face, he had always been aware that she was someone to tread carefully around, simply by the way she used words alone. Like laying mines in a field.

But there’s no way for him to answer this question without drawing suspicion. Silence would be even more damning. “Why do you ask?” He replies, carefully. He can’t tell, but he thinks Celeste might be smiling.

“You said earlier that you and Chihiro had no other interactions,” She sounds almost amused, despite the gravity of the situation. “I have a confession of my own to make. Even though it violates our ten-PM rule, I sometimes like to take walks after hours. I quite like the ambiance of the reduced lighting, and the feeling of being entirely alone.”

The sudden tangent catches him off guard. Apparently, he’s not alone in that aspect. “Um…Celeste?” Makoto’s voice is hesitant, confused. “What does this have to do with the trial…?”

“Well, as it happens, there are certain things that get revealed in the night-time that are otherwise unseen during the day.” She tilts her head playfully, and he feels a sudden sense of foreboding. “And late last night, perhaps after midnight, I do happen to remember seeing Byakuya and Chihiro leave the bathhouse together.”

The reaction is instantaneous. All around him is a clamor of shock, but he can barely make out individual words. His own ears are ringing slightly, as he tries to parse what Celeste just said.

“T-t-t-together?!” Yamada gasps, almost comical in his surprise. “B-but, I thought, with Mister Naegi-!”

“Boy-on-boy?!” Syo shrieks, practically jumping at her stand. “How obscene!! And such an unexpected pairing-?!”

“Scandal? In my school?!” Monokuma wails, thumping at its head with its paws “Oh, I knew I should have pushed abstinence harder! Where did I go wrong?!”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” Owada snaps. There’s a catch in his voice; he seems thrown-off too, his previous attitude shaken by the sudden reveal. “You bastard…you better have a good explanation!”

Byakuya stays silent. His head is a buzz of meaningless sound.

“Wait, wait! Stop!” Makoto is waving his arms, trying to settle the noise. “That - Celeste, do you have any proof to back this claim?”

And she, the Ultimate Gambler, hums in amusement. “What proof can I offer? I did not take a picture. And it’d be pointless to describe what they were wearing.”

The absurdity of that statement draws him out of his shock. “Then why mention it at all?!” He snaps, and she giggles, infuriatingly.

“The two of you seemed to be on friendly terms last night. Why do you assume that I am not trying to assist you?” There’s a soft clack as she sets her hand against the railing, her nails tapping against the wood. “I hope you will forgive me for accidentally eavesdropping, but I did hear you suggest to Chihiro some advice regarding strength, no? It was surprising at the time, but it’s reassuring to know that you have a heart of flesh.”

She sounds like she’s smiling at him. He can only glare. Queen of Liars, indeed - he’s underestimated her. It feels like he’d been misjudging many people recently.

“...When you say ‘advice’, do you mean that was when Byakuya told Chihiro to talk to us individually?” Ogami asks, and Celeste just nods.

“Then, he did that with the intention of killing Chihiro from the start!” Owada spits venomously. “When has that guy ever been nice? And why else would he lie about this to begin with!”

“Mondo, seriously! This is just circumstantial!” Makoto tries to say, but he’s lost his assertiveness. He’s overwhelmed quickly, as the others begin their own speculation.

“It’s…really hard to say it’s Syo, huh?” Asahina wonders aloud to herself, almost regretfully. “It’s also hard to say it’s Byakuya, but…”

Shut up. His head hurts. He needs to think. He presses the ball of his palm to his temple, and finds his hand slick with sweat.

“There’s no one else who seems suspicious,” Yamada agrees. “If we consider all the evidence, and the, ah, love triangle…maybe, it was a crime of desperation? To frame Miss Fukawa so she would leave him alone…?”

Shut up. It was loud. They were so loud. He needs to think, he can hardly hear himself, his own thoughts. He couldn’t rely on Makoto anymore, but without him he had nothing left but himself.

“Maybe we should just ask him directly!” Hagakure shouts with bravado, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Hey, Byakuya-”

“Shut up!” He screams back.

The room falls silent. All he can hear is his own breathing, labored and harsh. His head is pounding, ringing in time to his beating pulse; he keeps his gaze fixed on the wooden beam beneath his hands, a flat strip of brown. He’s not sure what looks they’re staring at them with, but he doesn’t want to know.

A few pieces of weak, awkward, circumstantial evidence, and a reputation of being unsocial - was that really all it took? Had he fallen so far that this was all it took?

“It’s not me,” His voice is distant and unfamiliar, shrill with fury. “I wasn’t the only one aware of Syo’s murders. I wasn’t the only one on the second floor. All the evidence is weak at best, and clearly placed to frame me. Are you all stupid? Or just suicidal?” He casts his gaze around at each of their faces, as blank and empty as ever. “Isn’t there one other person here without an alibi? One other person who would know about Syo, other than me?”

“Byakuya-” Makoto says, but it’s so soft he ignores it. He points at Kyoko, who doesn’t even flinch. A statue of lilac marble.

“When the body was found. You were there.” He sounds insane, even to himself. The last, desperate floundering of a doomed man. “ ‘It’s reminiscent of that serial killer,’ but how would you have known that? Explain yourself, Kyoko Kirigiri!”

Kyoko doesn’t move. He can’t tell if she’s shaken at all, or if his words have had any effect. “I read the case file for it in the library a while ago,” is all she says, simply. “As for my whereabouts during the time of the murder, I was also on the second floor. I was investigating the bathrooms.”

“Alone, I’m presuming? And do you have any proof?

“I have no alibi that can be supported by another person.” She admits easily, as if he weren’t accusing her of murder. “As I said earlier, at the time of death, I was investigating in the boy’s bathroom. The only one who might be able to confirm that I had ever been in that room at all, is Toko-”

“And me!” Syo interrupts, sounding genuinely offended. “Gloomy might’ve been the one who collapsed on you, but I was the one who woke up to your mug staring me in the face!”

“-Furthermore, Makoto investigated the bathroom separately.” She continues. “I will let him describe what was found there himself.”

Byakuya turns to Makoto. This was a prime opportunity - surely, Makoto had found something, anything at all - 

“...The sinks and taps in the second-floor bathrooms were all dry.” He starts, slowly, hesitantly. “And- there wasn’t anything that could have been the murder weapon. There was also a lot of dust, so it wasn’t a place that was recently cleaned, and considering the time period in which Chihiro could have died…it’s just not likely.”

And that was it. Byakuya clutches the railing to keep himself upright.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Owada’s direction. A breath of triumph, maybe, before he asks Monokuma to start the vote - or a gasp of surprise, at how easy it must have been. How defenseless Byakuya is, hardly amounting to anything.

The thought makes him lean a little more against the railing, his arms trembling. He thinks he might puke.

“But,” Makoto raises his voice again, and Byakuya clings to it, like a drowning man to a buoy. “There’s one more reason why it can’t be Byakuya. The way the word ‘bloodlust’ was written is…it’s too perfect. It matches up too much with Syo’s handwriting from previous cases.”

“It’s not that hard to copy someone’s handwriting?” Asahina starts to say, but Makoto shakes his head.

“It…it’s not something that Byakuya could have done.” He sounds…strained, somehow. Uneasy, hesitant - If Byakuya didn’t know better, he’d think that Makoto sounded guilty - “It’s impossible for him to have done this, because…he’s blind.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #looved writing celeste here she's the worst ever #i did mock trial in high school and i really do not envy makoto here byakuya would be the woorst person to defend for #guy that needs to avoid a wrongful accusation and the death penalty: hey jury. you're all fucking morons and should be dead #also was not planning on making the trial this long its gonna be another 2 chapters at least #but. in my plan to write this fic with a blind protagonist. i neglected to consider the fact that he would be an unreliable narrator #physically incapable of providing all the details. so. ofc the trial would be long af #thpff

[aurorawest]

Sometimes I show my wife discourse posts, and her go-to response has become a bone dry, “That’s a long and important sounding sentence.”

#today’s discourse was about Loki (ofc) #and also unreliable narrators

[zeb-z]

qBad this, qForever that, when did everyone forget about unreliable narrators?

#like listen. alright. bbh I get it. but the feeling he’s feeling of being soooo targeted and that the system is already corrupt is like #he’s taking it incredibly personal yknow? and I respect it. I also agree with his general view of not wanting leadership w federation backin #In the first place yknow? but like everyone look at me and level with me. qBbh is such a hypocrite and I won’t hear another word of it ofjsj #qBad apologists I see it I get it but like. to say everyone has had this coming and bad is treated so poorly on the server like?? #have any of you seen half the stuff bad pulls? have any of you met foolish even entirely unrelated to bad??? y’all are acting like bads - #- getting the foolish treatment rn. which is how qBad is feeling! but guys! unreliable narrator come on now!!! #and the thing about qBad is that he is all about pushing other people’s buttons but when it comes to him? he can’t always handle it. there #are exceptions to this rule ofc but he can be quick to react. if this was a rule specific about say foolish? #or Roier even? Cellbit? bad would jump on the chance for the ‘meme’ #he’s aggravated about the presidential position in the first place and is feeling targeted and is going 0-100 #which is the classic qBad and I respect that! it makes him a fun character! hes just an unreliable narrator and we all gotta remember that #idk man #Cellbit’s convo with him about the electoral process really shows that if you were watching one of their POV’s #the chair bit was salt in the wound to be clear and funny as hell but everything else #I dunno I just have been seeing a bunch of takes that are like I get it I see your passion. but qBad isn’t this saint you make him out to be #anyways I cannot wait to see what comes of this ✌️ #edit: forever isn’t immune to this either btw! but he’s trying at least #mcyt #qsmp #bbh #q!forever #z speaks

[serregon]

I hate the Borgias show not because I’m clutching my pearls over the incest but bc Lucrezia is so interesting to me but the most mainstream depiction of her just takes ahistorical slander at face value

#like there’s a lot you can do with unreliable narrators and the rumor mill and stuff #and not just ‘’well one historical source said this so obviously it’s true’’ #and tumblr ofc reduces her to she fucked her brother!!!!😱🤯👀🥵 #mostly the people who think incest is hashtag Deep and use the word noncon

[thebumblecee]

Mini rant ahead: there used to be this thrill when someone commented on my fics like omg yay I hope they liked it but now when I get the email it’s more oh god what are the complaining about now

And it always something and it’s usually pernickety nonsense.

“I don’t think xyz would have done this.” Okay..

Write your own.

Or better yet if you want exact canon just watch the show boo. I’m not your gal for that I love twisting canon to make it fit my end. I love playing with characterisation. I am a maniacal puppet master cackling everytime I make them fight or cry or fuck.

If you don’t like that not sure what you think telling me is going to accomplish lmao

#cee speaks #well Cee rants #it’s still amazing to see lovely comments but they’re far and few some times #this is being over indulged by my anxiety as well ofc I am an unreliable narrator in my own life #and maybe it’s out of pocket to say but we’ve really let people get drunk on their own opinions #like your opinion on my fic isn’t actually that important to me than you think it is random critic

[icarusgf]

i read yellowface yesterday while in this cute italian cafe w free wifi and cheap coffee and it actually changed my life

#i read the pdf so i took screenshots and copied lines that affected me but ohhhh my god #rf kuang truly knows exactly how young queer asian women in the us nowadays r .. prob bc she is one .. but like it was truly insane #also ofc how unlikable the main protag was and how she wrote from that white “liberal” “woke” unreliable narrator pov soo well

[a-koschyei]

he could be whole. he could be both koschei and ivan.

#working on this carrd like.... hm maybe i will full send into this conspiracy and say his pre-war name was ivan in his deathless verse too #which ofc he no longer goes by and never will again #but i love this take and the unreliable narrator vibes of it all #from the fairytales and also koschei's own black book that definitely was a fanciful & metaphorical depiction of his history #bc why would he ever send likho to teach marya the true history of things when his whole deal is hiding ugliness behind magic #and that leaves room to blend some elements of his winternight bg into some plots here too #also the rest of that passage has me losing my mind but will refrain from spiraling further in the tags aksjdha #♔ . ⧽ lore * 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰

[hua-fei-hua]

also i love unreliable narrators a normal amount

#been reading 'the basic eight' which is the debut novel of the guy who wrote asoue and is smth i've been wanting to read #for a while now for 1. being an epistolary novel 2. a satire 3. set in high school and 4. having an unreliable narrator #and it's sooooo fun trying to figure out where the cracks in flannery's story are and what she's trying to make look like the truth #and also the parallels btwn certain characters' relationships is fucking riveting #the book was published in 1999 so the story takes place in the 90s so every so often i'm taken out of the narrative by that #at least twice-- once when they didn't mention 9/11 when having a dinner party on sept 11th (and then i was like 'OHHHHHH. RIGHT.') #(lol consequence of being born in 2001) #and another time when flannery mentioned being able to figure out the time by looking in an almanac for that day's dawn time #and for a moment i was like 'huh? but you could just google--RIGHT.' and never have i ever been more acutely aware #of my own blind spots and assumptions and the tech i take for granted bc i grew up with it and it's kinda awesome actually #and you can get the sense that the writing is dense w/meaning in the same way asoue was also dense with meaning #packed with classical references and lines that seem throwaway and then come back again later like AAAA #i love the way flannery's obvious unreliability makes you actively think abt everything presented in the novel as you're reading it #i love how you can never quite tell what's being presented as unedited journal and what's being rewritten in the future #and perhaps i'm easier to fool about this bc i write in my diary in a similar manner where it feels like it has narrative structure #but i also try to be completely honest about who said what and when and so when flan the narrator does deliberately remind us #that she's editing this in post and ofc that couldn't have happened in the moment i'm like 'oh! right!' #anyway yeah just love it bc it feels like an extremely engaging read; it's like a pumpkin full of meat for my enrichment #花話

[unproduciblesmackdown]

you always knew marble hornets is good b/c fr from 2010 on the Many fans &/or the particularly Enthused &/or Dedicated &/or Lasting fans was noticeably to us all like hmm tending to be many people who are big fans of aLex Guy from the tunnel rip Brian Tim Questions Investigations Answers....i presume it still skews that way. i.e. Tastehavers i.e. Marble Hornets Is Good b/c it can resonate with queer experiences unlike horror that straight people are like "Hell Yeah truly this is good" about, which is a waste of everything

#sort of half pondered / rhetorically questioned / some theories floated at the time like hm why Is this a bunch of gays transgenders etc.... #but also just correctly taken as a stamp of quality and nobody is exactly pressed about it #marble hornets #certainly nothing particularly heterosexual is going on or even has too much of a medium & space to go on #certainly there is Not any particular backdrop of ''''normalcy'''' whether via We Are All So Straight or anything else #certainly there Is a lot of ''so this guy is looking for or thinking about or trying to successfully connect with in 1 way or another #Another Guy'' but of course like the queer experiences / context Resonance isn't just ''could these Same Genders kiss or whatever'' #in this & in all things always fr.... #again that first of all there is never a backdrop / context / assumption of Normal World Normal Guy Normal Life #what there Is regarding that is pretty distant & bare bones. glimpses of ''yeah no matter what That's an interruption of your life'' #like i said that like the way things are presented kind of everyone always is figuratively wandering alone in a wintery forest #there's a lot of not just solitude but Isolation / alienation / disconnect. that there's a continuous Mystery where also our protagonist/s #are trying to piece together things like not just a sequence of events but the resultant narrative. ''solving'' the identity & Role of #other parties here & also their own. us as the audience invited to do that too b/c it's always unreliable narrators / protagonists & b/c #[it's not really an arg!! it's not really an arg!!] but ofc b/c we're Meant to have room to be Analyzing & Theorizing & discovering info #b/c markedly the [so: what's going on. what is that literally? what is it figuratively? as a theme?] is even more open ended for us with #people pointing out the resulting flexibility. it can be pretty much whatever. there's kind of rules but what if not really? what if: and #what can you do about it anyways? and: and what works best is people finding the rare & isolated person who already knows firsthand what #is going on &/or will go ''hmm yeah idk that resonates'' if you try to discreetly venture to see if so. but even then you're just a few or #just two people & at any time you could be endangered / attacked just kind of because. we could go well beyond 30 tags but like ofc as #also in all things it won't be Thee entire consummate queer experience b/c that doesn't exist & also it doesn't all have to fit perfectly #into a metaphor when [what does even if one was deliberate? & it wasn't deliberate here like & this will all represent lgtbq times] #but anyway one can see how ''well something's sure going on here. kind of increasingly encompassingly / intensely''....a classic #like tim's right also as in calling all marble hornets enjoyers skinamarink is a good time. do i think it's meant to be about [everyone & #their mom (lol) who points at it & goes That's A Tuesday. Yeah regarding growing up in a household as an abused/neglected child] Prob Not #yet (a) lotta room for interpretation (b) word of god knowledge being (i) invoking a Child's Perspective (& physical pov even) b/c of in #fact trying to evoke / being inspired by the like abstraction of childhood nightmares & (ii) saying it's basically hansel & gretel okay so #we have a the witch(tm) but who also in said story may be implicitly an antagonistic / mistreating human ''false'' parent anyway.... #interesting! (that is to say it's easy to suppose combining these elements = thee mundane horrors well represented for once in our lives) #& alternate ''theories'' seem p literal the Coma Dream the Hell Fr like ok both have any basis but cmon. how to beat the skinamarink.mp4

[jrwiyuri]

"net zero information gained" is actually a phrase that can be used to describe literally all of johnny's sections in house of leaves. tell me nothing king!! and what you do tell me is graphic descriptions of vaginas or blatant lies!!

YEAHHHH!!! New favorite guy ever unlocked!!

#Snake Answers #truly awsome #it’s so fun in my head at least cuz it’s like he just blatantly admitted to changing part of the book #how much has he changed? #is this even really all of the writing there is? #like? yeah he is honest about lying that one time but who knows what he’s done #that’s what’s goin thru my mind rn.. #like already ofc there’s unreliable narration playing but it’s layers upon layers now #very fun. cant wait to see what other dumb shit he says

[chaotic-iguana]

Refuge | chapter one. 

prologue/previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist 

chapter one: tainted homecoming

wordcount: ~1k summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? what if just another mundanely late night at the office on the night of the outbreak separated them for a decade? warnings: fear, panic, passing out, reconciliations, estrangement, unwanted touching (not joel ofc), slightly unreliable narrator because she isn’t doing too well, angst boys i just binged good omens and i have thoughts ^tm. a/n: so, this was supposed to be out two days ago. life got in the way, unfortunately. kinda bummed me out because i was SO excited to share this but didn’t get to finish it on time and yada yada anyways. its here now, as usual please let me know what you think!!

When you gasped awake, you’d been moved from the harsh tile of your shop to the worn couch you kept on the first floor. Your jacket had been taken off, leaving you in your flimsy tank top. The room was uncharacteristically dark - a menacing omen looming over your head and shrouding your senses in a sense of danger as you came to a realisation.

There was someone in your kitchen. Multiple someones. 

Eerily familiar voices were whispering rapidly from behind you; hissed exchanges you had to tilt your head to make out. Your panic from before had melted away, and in its stead was the cold emptiness you had taught yourself. Sheer focus honed by the desperation to stay alive. Who the fuck are these people?

“…didn’t tell me she was with ya, could atleast’ve told me she was alive…”

“…hardly gave a shit, don’t fuckin’ lie to me now…”

“…married?…”

“…didn’t know you were that much of a family man…”

Your fingers inched towards the pencil on the coffee table before you, body tensing up not to let the couch groan. Thoughts racing at a speed just beyond your grasp, brain struggling to catch up with what you were hearing, forcing you straight into a fight-or-flight response. Tucking the pencil into the palm of your hand tightly, you silently inched to the ground, crouching to shuffle to the edge of the sofa and crane your head to catch a glimpse of whoever the hell was sitting in your home. 

Taking in the scene, you felt a laugh bubbling in your chest for the first time in years. Fate’s cruelty makes for masochistic amusement, does it not? 

Before you sat a ghost. One that had haunted you day and night; one whose smile, eyes, hands, mouth, everything lingered in your memory like a scent from your childhood sticking in the back of your mind - never quite there, but never quite gone, either. Like a word you wouldn’t dare voice that sitting smug on the tip of your tongue. 

When your eyes met his, everything else turned into static. An afterthought. Air was punched out of your lungs, your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, eyes blinking quickly to let the illusion dissipate. Except it didn’t. You could barely comprehend anything beyond him; barely realise that someone was behind you with his hands under your shoulders and his chest pressed against your back. The arm wrapping around your waist and the bullshit placating words whispered in your ear failed to register, too. 

Your last moments before the blackout flashed through your mind - Fred’s curiosity as he told you about Jackson’s new residents. Tommy’s brother - Joel. If there was someone with him, it had to be Sarah. You hadn’t even let yourself think of his name all these years, let alone wonder whether or not he was alive. It was easier to convince yourself you didn’t have time to care. Easier to convince yourself that you had the strength to slide your eyes two inches to the left and see your daughter again, too. Suddenly, your clothes felt too tattered, your hair too tangled. The jut of your cheekbones and the tremble in your fingers just felt too inadequate to face them again. 

Didn’t he once say my smile could light up a room? 

Even my laugh has a bitter edge to it now. 

You doubted you’d ever find it in you to crawl back to that version of yourself again. The one you had been when you had it all, when you had them with you. Radiant, carefree, so openly loving. 

She had been your first kill. You had ripped her to shreds, just so no one else could. The ache of loneliness had then made a permanent home on your shoulders, and you had welcomed it if only for the protection it offered. 

You blinked, and the moment shattered just as suddenly as it had come. Air rushed down your throat, making you choke as you clawed at the arms restraining you in a frenzy, but they refused to budge. A grating voice was in your ear, telling you to just calm down, baby, foul breath fanning across your cheek. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the scraping of a chair rung out and heavy, swift footsteps making their way and coming to a stop before you, a hulking figure looming over you and your captor. 

How the hell was he still so…big? 

What the fuck had he been eating?  

This had to be a nightmare. This cannot be real. Tommy would have told me if he was alive, because Joel would have reached out. It’s just a dream, I need to wake up. Just a second shy of your plan to attempt pinching yourself -  in what you considered a fool-proof test to see whether or not this was, in fact reality -  you were wrenched out of the grasp of the man behind you, a larger, more firm pair of hands gripping your wrists and pulling you to put himself between you and the man who- no fucking way was that Fred. No goddamn way were his hands just all over you, his voice trying to calm you. 

A wild panic began taking over your senses - the fight-or-flight instincts returning with full force. And as if even after all those years he could still feel it, Joel stood unyieldingly like a physical wall between you and the idiot. The idiot who was currently yelling about his “relationship” with you in your husband’s face. 

A snort and high-pitched giggle sounded from behind you, the adrenaline forcing you to turn and locate the source immediately. When you finally looked into the eyes of your girl; the one you had desperately hoped to see again for the past decade and a half, your heart stopped. Cold dread dropped heavy like stones in your gut as pure fear burrowed into every single cell in your body. 

This isn’t my fucking daughter. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopblues22, @breakfastatjoels dividers are my own!! series taglist: @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin

#the last of us #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us x reader #tlou hbo #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller self insert #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #husband! joel miller #husband!joel #ellie tlou #ellie williams #tommy tlou

[mournings-stars]

nothing changes

final and part 3 of the prelude to my orpheus and eurydice angst fic "doubt comes in" parts two and three (if you would like to read chronologically these come first) part five/finale (a semi-alt ending)

includes: heaven lucifer ofc, a little lore, some blending of greek mythology, still a little, if not more ambiguous than before, luci is still a hopeless romantic but a little unreliable in the narration aspect, the fluff is basically over I gave yall a warning on the last part but here's my formal apology... especially since lucifer calls you humility

tags: @lxkeee @viannasthings @majonla @sapphirecaelis

Suddenly, Lucifer was holding the world in his arms. 

A Virtue, asleep in his bed, held to his chest. The very same Virtue he’d admired for so long, sleeping soundly in his embrace as if it were the greatest comfort. 

The night of the Celebration, you left after a single dance, going to his home for dinner, where he had the bouquet you gave him on display in his dining room. It was a fight to leave, Lucifer suggesting you stay as he reluctantly walked you toward the door, eventually relenting and letting you kiss him goodbye when you said you’d see him the next day. 

And the next, and the next, and so on and so forth, nearly every day being spent together now that you both knew how you felt. You never ran out of things to talk about, and getting to see him was the highlight of your day. Especially when he came to Earth to help you work. 

The more time he spent with you, the more he wanted to move with haste and plan an immortal future together; marriage, children, living together, but he had to stop himself, remind himself that you had all the time in the world to move as slowly as you wanted, and a single kiss wasn’t grounds to take off from. For all he knew, you kissed him because you were drunk and only cared for him as a friend. 

Which was enough. He’d take whatever care you were willing to give — and this, a night together, was more than enough. 

But his loud thoughts woke you up, feeling that he was awake and mumbling, “sleep, Luci.” 

He smiled at the way you sleepily said his name, forgetting half of it. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, your wings stretching before wrapping around him and gently draping over him as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, right above his heart. 

How soon was too soon in deciding you’d fallen in love?

He’d asked Sera, who’d lifted his ban from the seasons changing the moment he came to the meeting room to announce that he would tell you depending on her answer… one day. “I’ll wait a hundred years.” To beings like you, that was nothing but a blink of an eye, making her laugh. 

“You may want to tread carefully,” Sera warned. “You know how Virtues are; sometimes, they abandon you.” Everyone knew the stories of Chastity, Kindness, Charity, or Patience, leaving someone broken-hearted. “They can’t love one thing more than another — and they’ll never love a soul more than they love the Earth. It’s what they were made for.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said, shaking his head. “We have free will. Virtues, even if they're born for a purpose, have it, too.”

“Yes, but that free will will never come before their duty,” she said simply. “I’m not telling you that you shouldn’t love Humility — Do it. Love and be loved.” He nodded, warm mood returning to him with Sera’s heartfelt blessing. “But don’t put all of yourself into that love, Lu. You could end up with nothing, while Humility takes it and moves on.” At his silence, she continued, “Have you ever seen the way nature itself fights for a Virtue’s attention?” He thought back, the way animals came to you despite a predator or prey being near. Plants blossomed brighter as you walked by. Winds sang, and the sun beamed while rivers rushed and dived to a fall, a pool of water at your feet. “You have it now, but Humility loves it all equally. You will be loved just the same. Not more or less, but equal; equal to that flower you wear, to a hare she finds needing her help, to the grass and dirt that hare walks across… You can’t expect more.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly, easily. 

“And you can never hurt Humility — I’m warning you to respect a Virtue’s duty, to not expect what one can’t give you—“ Lucifer could argue with that, but he held his tongue. “—and I’m also giving my blessing.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

Perhaps, he never should’ve headed her warning. 

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t, but a warning like that could only do one thing; doubt comes in, planting a small seed in his mind that he couldn’t shake, thinking of Sera’s warning every time he was with you and wondering how you truly felt about him. It was to the point that even you noticed. 

You’d asked him to come down to Earth with you, taking him to a large pond at the base of a waterfall where a pair of ducks circled. He had been happy to see them, realizing you’d taken notice of a golden duck he had on display despite him never showing you. 

“Is everything alright, Luci?” You’d made it a habit of calling him that, first doing it as a joke after he teased you about it, but the joke seemed to stick. 

He smiled, huffing a laugh. “You're perceptive.” You shrugged. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded, waiting for him to continue, but there was a beat of silence. You placed a gentle hand on his, but he took it away. Then he quickly took your hand again, making you chuckle. 

“You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” He gave a reassuring smile, then sighed. “Is it true? Virtues love every living thing equally?”

“Ah,” you laughed, “you spoke to Sera.” He nodded. “The other Virtues didn’t leave the angels they loved because we love everything equally — it’s because they expected something they couldn’t give.” You pursed your lips, unsure of whether this would soothe him or push him away. “Yes, it’s in our nature to love all living things equally, but we don’t love them the same. I could never love a soul the same way I love a river,” you said like it was ridiculous to think so. “Or an animal the way I love another angel. It may, theoretically, be equal, but is an angel equal to the wind?” He shook his head, threading his fingers through yours. “So, I may be sinful in saying this,” you joked, “but that would mean I love you more.”

He took it as an explanation rather than a confession of your feelings, a relieved smile coming to his face before he brought the back of your hand to his lips to kiss gently. 

When it came time to transition spring into summer, you let Lucifer help, singing the melody together and flying over Earth as you watched it change. Flowers blossomed and gave you ripe fruits to taste, greenery grew bigger and fuller, and animals basked in the sun as you sang. 

All of Heaven could hear your harmony, reveling in how beautiful it was, and how as you sang it, they could feel your warmth — your love. 

A love so bright and warm it could burn for eons. A song, so beautiful, that when you sang it the world came into tune. 

The song of love.

That was what they began calling it. Hundreds of summers, hundreds of winters. Autumns and springs. For hundreds of years, the two of you sang the song in harmony and Sera’s warning began to mean less and less to Lucifer. 

But doubt comes in. 

Hundreds of years, and your relationship stayed the same. Hundreds of years, and you never told him you loved him. Hundreds of years, and at the back of his mind he knew why. 

Hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds of years, and humans were brought to the Earth. 

The Earth began to change. Your song was hardly needed, and you frequented less and less. Your animals were hunted and your plants were cut down. You could feel every death, every life leaving the Earth. Your power weakened, and your will to do anything about it weakened with it. 

“It’s how the world must be,” Sera told you when your grief caused rain on Earth at times where it should’ve been calm. “It’s a part of life, Humility.”

“I understand that, just…” You couldn’t articulate your feelings, giving her the perfect opportunity to tell you,

“As a Virtue, you should love and feel for these humans as much as you do for the life you create and care for.”

“You’re right…” All the other Virtues understand, so why couldn’t you? 

Lucifer said it was because Earth was more than just your job. You cared for the mortal world like no other angel did, and that was what he loved about you. It’s why you were so good at what you did. 

And as he told you this, he took you to a garden in Heaven. Plants you’d created and cared for lived endlessly, and most importantly, the animals you felt leave the mortal world were immortalized there. They recognized you, coming to you like they had on Earth and making you happier than he’d seen you since things began changing. 

Lucifer watched the sullen mood you’d been in wash away, and slowly, you began to spend all of your time in this garden.

And doubt comes in. 

To him, you didn’t seem to care whether or not he was with you in the garden, so he left you alone. Day and night, you spent it alone in the garden and he spent it alone in your shared home, falling asleep and waking up without you. 

He busied himself with unnatural creations, spending time in his office, working the days away like he used to. You’d come throughout the day, hoping to see him. You’d make lunch and call out to him, but he never seemed to notice. You spent the days alone, opting to go to the garden he showed you and wishing he were there with you. 

He started to think, to doubt; It wasn’t that the other Virtues couldn’t give the angels they loved enough, it was that they had all the time in the world to do so, to have them wait while they provided and cared for the Earth. They may have loved them more, but that love could be stretched endlessly.  

Before, time was endless on Earth. It was why the seasons needed you, why you never feared the loss of your creations, and why you could say you would love him more. Now, there was a cycle, an order of things, and a hierarchy. All living things you cared for would one day manifest with you in Heaven, where time was once again endless — His immortal life was endless, and he’d always be there for you. You could stretch your love for him as long as he’d let you, while you tended to the garden he showed you. 

So no, he wasn’t equal to the wind, but now he was equal to, if not less to you than, a manifested soul. 

You could never love him more. How could he expect you to?

And Lucifer went down to Earth, in hopes to feel what you felt, to understand how you could feel plants and animals dying. To see how much it changed. 

But he came across someone — a woman. Sera told him she was named Lilith after the beautiful flowers you made bloom, in hopes to lift your resentment of what she and the other elders created. 

He left before she could see him, taking a lily with him. 

He made his way to the garden, finding you there and tending to the plants. 

He cleared his throat to get your attention, making you turn. The smile you gave him made his heart race and wings flutter, you looked so undeniably happy that he was there. He should’ve just come to you like he usually did, he thought regretfully. He had no reason to doubt you when you looked at him that way.

“I brought you something.” He held the flower out to you, watching you take it with so much care. “I went down to Earth today… It hasn’t changed as much as you thought.”

“Really?” You asked hopefully. 

“New life comes every spring,” he told you. “It feels more alive than ever… Though it could use your touch.” He watched your smile grow as you looked down at the flower, twirling it in your fingers. 

“Maybe we can go down together next time.”

“I’d like that.”

How could he have convinced himself to doubt you so heavily? Why would he, so easily, trust the doubt in his mind more than you?

“I was hoping you’d come here,” you told him after a moment. “I — well — I was hoping I’d get to thank you for showing it to me. I know you’ve been busy with work, but I wanted to tell you: this place helped me feel connected to nature again.” There was a moment of pause before you joked, “I can’t say I’m not glad you didn’t see how weak I was, though…” He’d never heard you speak so quiet and unconfidently, masking it with a flat joke as you refused to look him in the eye, but he heard every word, feeling even worse for what his mind began to tell him. “I understand why you left after you showed me this place… If you want to be alone after the way I reacted—“

He cut you off, quickly bringing you into his embrace. His wings wrapped around you and his head tucked into your shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.” You sighed, hugging him back and dropping the flower to the ground. “I thought you wanted to be alone.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d rather be alone with you.” 

You spent the night together in your home, preparing dinner and enjoying the night like you used to, and the next morning he went with you to the garden. Only to find that an animal had eaten part of the lily you dropped on the garden floor. It looked weak, too sick to even move. 

“They’re poisonous?” You asked him, in shock that you didn’t know the changes that happened to your own flowers. You went to the animal to try to use your abilities to heal it, hoping those hadn’t changed, too. 

“I didn’t know…” He tried to say, but you didn’t respond. “I can help—“ he reached for the animal and you turned away, wings flaring to put distance between you. He took a shocked step back, scrambling to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to bring… poison into your garden, Humility—”

“I know,” you said weakly, doubting. 

“It’ll be okay,” he told you. It was already dead, he couldn’t remind you.

Again, “I know.” You knew, and that was why it was so upsetting. Not even in death could a soul escape suffering. How was that fair?

“Let me help. Please.” But he was met with silence, not even a response of you shaking your head. 

Instead, a gentle breeze began to blow, a song flowing through the garden. The same song you’d sung for hundreds of years. As it continued, the winds got stronger, flowers bloomed brighter, plants got taller, and the little animal in front of you perked up and scurried away. 

There it was again. 

He wondered if Sera was right, if he truly did distract you. If you’d done nothing but tend to the garden and your power had recovered more than he ever could’ve helped you to do, there was no doubt. 

“Why are they changing everything I create?” But he didn’t hear your frustrated question. “Can everything I care for now be hurt?” He didn’t hear your voice break as you begged for an answer, hoping that he, as a Seraph, would know and tell you if he did. 

But he didn’t hear anything over his own doubtful thoughts. All he saw was you get up and walk away from him, wings wrapped around yourself to bring yourself comfort as if he’d purposely brought poison into your garden. 

He took what was left of the flower and left the garden, once again going to earth. He’d find you something else, he decided. He’d make sure you knew he didn’t bring you a poisonous flower on purpose. He’d make sure you didn’t resent him, like you resented the humans and the way the Earth changed. 

He’d make sure he knew every change that was made and make sure it couldn’t upset you. He’d make sure you never pushed him away like that again—

“What a beautiful flower.” He paused, looking ahead of him to see that same woman once again. “It’s poisonous, you know?” Lucifer looked down at it. He knew now. “It can be hard to tell, but I can show you the ones that aren’t — though, I thought angels would know.”

“A lot has changed,” he muttered, surprised she was speaking to him. 

And perhaps that was where it started, where he began to learn about this new Earth through her, under the guise of relaying the information to you.

But he never did. 

Instead, he kept coming back. He didn’t retrieve anything for you, but he spoke to her every time. He listened to her cry and comforted her if he could. 

He found a friend in this woman; in Lilith… And then he found something more. 

He showed her his creations, something he’d never shown you, and he beamed at the way she appreciated them, eyes full of wonder. He spent the night with her in The Garden and showed her the warmth of the moss covered cave, where they sat and talked just as you’d done. Only she lied next to him where you sat so far away. 

And then she told him she loved him. 

Something you never said. 

But you didn’t have to. You showed it;

in the way you stayed up and waited, waited to apologize for pushing him away, for walking away and getting so upset. In the way you fell asleep in an armchair in the living room and woke up when he came home in the morning, not even noticing you and going up to his study. In the way you greeted him warmly when he came down, though he didn’t give you time to apologize. In the way you held him like he was what you treasured most, like he was something you didn’t want to lose. In the way you asked to see what he was working on. In the way you let him leave. 

In the way you let him tell you he was in love with someone else. 

“I didn’t realize it until now — all I wanted was to get more knowledge of the Earth, to bring to you; to show you I cared,” he gave explanation after explanation as you stood in the garden he showed you, and you thought you should’ve questioned why you were spending the evening together. 

But he suddenly stopped, shutting his mouth and pausing to look over you. 

He’d never seen you cry. Not once. He’d seen you upset, he’d seen you overjoyed, he’d seen you devastated just months ago, but he’d never seen you cry — and to think, the first time he did, it was because he was making you cry. Because he hurt you. 

He tried to reach out, and this time you didn’t push him away. It was worse. Your arms hugged your shoulders and your wings wrapped around yourself as you stared at the ground, taking a cowering step away from him. He wished you’d turn your back on him, spare him from seeing what he’d done, but you didn’t. 

There was a long silence as you urged yourself to calm down, breathing slowly. 

Finally, you said, “I don’t fault you for falling in love.” His throat tightened as you finally turned away from him. He was wrong. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. Not like this. “I want you to be happy. If this is what makes you happy then… Then, I’m happy for you.” 

“But I did give you a chance to leave,” you wanted to remind him, but he spoke before you could, “Don’t lie to me,” he said, begging and sounding completely defeated. You’d never lied to him before, but he knew you were now. “I know you—”

Instead you reminded him, “Then you know that I love you. I always have… I should’ve said it more than I did, I know, but I never thought you’d doubt me.”

And he could hear it over and over; your reassurance, and your confession. You told him long before he ever told you. 

“But,” you mocked his silence, resentment he knew you would eventually feel for him seeping into your voice as you said, “you know how Virtues are.”

Sometimes, they abandon you.

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