#with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious

[groenendaelfic]

Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

#it was editing this #or throwing myself a pity party #because for the first time ever #I could attend all the Eurovision events live #with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious #so clearly I'm boycotting it all #and that's the easy choice #no pity party for me #hello editing #I'm not saying Simon is staying at the Hilton Garden Inn #but I'm also not not saying that #yes Faroe Gone will have a happy ending #faroe gone #young royals #young royals fic #fic snippet #wilmon #fic update

[helloalycia]

𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: when you stumble across Jackie after she's just broken up with her boyfriend, you feel a moral obligation to make sure she's okay. Naturally, that turns into something more.

warning/s: none.

author's note: it physically pained me to write soccer instead of football for this lol, a few 'football's might have slipped in out of habit. But yeah, hope you like this! it's a three parter and jackie taylor deserved better oops

also y/bf/n = your best friend's name

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

My fingers fumbled for the catch at the back of my camera, opening it up and revealing the freshly wound up film. As I grabbed it, I barely had chance to think about my next move before the door behind me slammed into my back, knocking me forward and making the roll fly in the air momentarily.

"No!" I yelped, reaching out to catch it before it could hit the concrete stairs and roll away into oblivion.

"Shit, sorry," someone said with realisation as I caught the roll and sighed with relief.

Gripping the roll tighter than ever, I closed the camera and let it hang from my neck as I turned to see who it was. "It's fine, maybe I should stand somewhere other than the entrance to unload my– shit, are you okay?"

My brows furrowed with concern at the sight of Jackie Taylor, the captain of the girl's soccer team. Her presence wasn't what concerned me, but rather the obvious tears on her face that she awkwardly tried to wipe away when our eyes briefly met.

"Yeah, I'm–" she started, but was interrupted by her own sniffling, and she completely turned away in an attempt to collect herself.

This was the opposite of the Jackie Taylor I'd come to know over the years. Having witnessed her rise into captain as I photographed the team's success – the Yellowjackets – for the school paper had given me enough time with her to know she was usually a happy, confident girl. I'd never seen her cry like this before, especially not at school.

"What happened?" I asked gently.

She shook her head, forcing a smile. "Nothing, I just– I broke up with Jeff."

I wasn't sure what to say at first, familiar with her boyfriend but knowing they were known for having their breaks here and there. Still, this looked worse than usual.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I finally spoke, chewing on my lip. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head, straightening up suddenly. "No. But do you know when the next bus arrives? I was supposed to get a ride home with him, but–"

"No, er, I don't really get–" I started, but amended, "I mean, I can check, but–"

"Forget it," she said with a sigh. "I'll figure it out. Thanks."

Without another word, she walked past me and down the steps. I watched her, debating whether or not to offer her a ride since I knew for certain I'd never seen her catch a bus in my life, and it was well after school hours so they might not even be running now. There was also the fact that she was clearly upset, and my conscious wouldn't rest easy knowing I'd left her alone.

"Jackie, wait," I called out to her, pocketing my film canister and jogging to catch up to her. She stopped, turning around, and I pulled out my car keys. "I can give you a ride."

A little surprised, her hazel eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. C'mon."

She silently followed me to my car, getting into the passenger's seat as I did the driver's. It was never awkward between us before, but our exchanges were always limited to greetings, soccer talk or photo ops. Now however, there was a slight tension in the air, mainly because of her situation. She didn't speak except for when she told me where she lived, and after that, I didn't speak up either, not wanting to pressure her into sharing if she didn't want to.

"Thank you," she muttered halfway through the drive, and I glanced over at her to see her watching me apologetically. "Is your camera thingy okay? Whatever I knocked?"

"The film, yeah," I assured her. "No worries. It was just the roll from the baseball game yesterday. So pretty low value considering they always lose."

It was a poor attempt to make her laugh, since it was universally known that the school baseball team were below average, especially compared to the Yellowjackets, but it seemed to work as she let out a quiet chuckle. I smiled, glad she was cheered up a little.

"Well, sorry anyway," she added politely.

I shrugged. "No harm done."

Another silence fell upon us the remainder of the drive to hers, but it wasn't awkward any longer. Once I pulled up outside her house, I tried not to let my amazement at how huge her place was show. I'd always known she was rich, but this was another level.

"Thanks for the ride," she spoke, pulling me from my stupor.

I met her gaze, expression softening slightly. "You gonna be okay?"

She nodded, and I had no choice but to believe her.

"Okay then. Well, see you tomorrow, Jackie."

She smiled a little before getting out the car and heading inside. Despite her feigned confidence, it was obvious she wasn't happy, and I only hoped she would feel better tomorrow. Whatever had happened between her and Jeff hadn't been like the usual, not judging by the state of her.

The next day after school was when I had chance to properly check on Jackie. I was at the Yellowjackets' practice, shooting for the yearbook, and she was there too.

"You gonna make us look good, right, Y/L/N?" Nat, one of the players, asked when she saw me heading on the field.

"Always," I returned with a smile, and she grinned as she jogged away to get started.

My eyes scanned the field before I spotted Jackie by the goal, using the post to stretch. I subtly approached her, not wanting to draw too much attention in case she hadn't told anyone about the breakup.

"Hey, Jackie," I greeted her, making her pause from her stretching. "How are you doing? Y'know, about the yesterday thing?"

She smiled gratefully, nodding. "I'm good, Y/N, thanks."

I wasn't sure if she was telling the truth, but I also didn't expect her to confide in me, so I simply nodded.

"Good, well... if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks," she said quietly, smile fading a little. "I appreciate it."

I gave her a genuine smile. "Anytime."

And with that, I left her to it, feeling a lot better knowing I'd at least offered up my help.

The Yellowjackets' soccer game was after school at the end of that same week, and I was paying them a visit beforehand to wish them luck and also gift them some candid portraits they'd asked for a few weeks ago.

When I let myself in their locker room, they were pretty much dressed in their uniforms, some helping each other out with braiding their hair back or engaging in some pre-game superstitions. It always made me smile because they never failed to hype themselves up and it showed.

"Heeeeeyyyyy! Y/N's here with our close ups!" someone shouted, and everybody cheered as I rolled my eyes playfully.

First on the pile of photos in my hand was Van, who I found searching in her locker whilst singing along to a song that was blasting from the stereo in the corner.

"There's my favourite goalie," I greeted, and she laughed as I handed her the photograph in a plastic wallet. "For you. The one you liked in the paper, right?"

She straightened up when she saw it, smile brightening on her face. "Oh, hell yeah, this is so badass! Thanks, Y/N!"

"No worries," I said dismissively, before moving around the room to hand out the rest of the photos.

Everybody seemed pleased with what they got, which was always reassuring to hear since it was supposed to be my best skill.

"Last but not least, Jackie," I said, finding the team captain by her locker, fixing her hair in the mirror that hung inside.

She flashed me a smile as I handed her the photograph. In it, she was mid-kicking a ball into the net, scoring a goal for the team.

"Y/N, I love it," she said with gratitude, eyes taking the whole image in before looking up to me. "Thank you."

I held out another photograph, earning a confused look from her. "It's a little bonus photo. Thought it might cheer you up after everything."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, before accepting the photo and studying it. This one was a photo I'd taken at the Yellowjackets' last game, moments after they'd won. Jackie was cheering with her teammates and I'd managed to take the perfect picture of her as she was surrounded by them, a grin on her face, eyes bursting with excitement. It was probably my favourite of the two.

"You didn't need to..." she started, but stopped herself. And then she surprised me with a hug, wrapping her one free hand around my neck. "I really appreciate it."

Before I could even think to hug her back, she pulled away to give me a heartwarming smile.

"Anytime," I told her, acutely aware of the mild butterflies in my stomach from her gaze, but that was merely because I wasn't stupid and Jackie Taylor was very pretty. "If you're ever thinking about you-know-what, just remember. At the end of the day, he's just some guy."

Her smile widened and then she let out a laugh. "Very true. I won't forget."

I smiled, nodding and taking a step back. "I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Good luck tonight. Not that you'll need it."

"Be sure to get my best side," she joked, turning her head to the left.

I laughed. "Jackie Taylor doesn't have a bad side."

She winked playfully, and I left her to it as I headed out to the field to get ready to photograph tonight's game.

As expected, the Yellowjackets won and I got a lot of good shots in of their winning goals. Even though a lot of the photos were similar to others I'd taken, I didn't mind it as it challenged me to try out different things with my camera, like messing with the shutter speed or even using a double exposure to create cool effects.

After snapping some final shots of the team celebrating on the pitch, I moved out the way of the friends and family who were there with them and focused on changing the roll of film in my camera. Just after rewinding the current roll and opening the back of my camera, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder unexpectedly. Startled yet again, my hands twitched and the roll flew up and out the camera. I managed to catch it before it could fall into the grass, and turned around to find Jackie failing to stifle her laughter.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to scare you again," she said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," I said sarcastically, stuffing the roll into the canister in my pocket. "It's only the winning goals on film."

She sighed through her nose, her lips pursed into an amused smile. "Sorry. I came because the girls wanted a team photo."

I gave her a knowing look. "On it."

After gathering the team together and replacing my film, I took a few photos of them with their medals and trophy before my job was officially done for the afternoon.

"They come out good?" Jackie asked afterwards, as I put my camera away.

"I'd like to think so," I said sarcastically, making her roll her eyes lightheartedly.

"So, the party tonight," she started, piquing my interest. "You're coming, right?"

I quirked a brow. "Huh?"

"It's at the usual spot," she added.

I pursed my lips, unsure how to tell her that though I knew what she was talking about and I'd always been invited, the post-soccer game party wasn't my thing.

"You don't usually come, do you?" she caught on, crossing her arms with amusement.

"It's not really my scene," I admitted.

"Well, d'you wanna perhaps make a change tonight?" she asked, pleading with her eyes. "I'd love to see you there."

I wasn't sure why she suddenly wanted me there – maybe because I'd been extra nice to her recently and she felt she owed me? And I also wasn't sure if she knew the effect she had on people when she gave them her whole 'innocent doe-eyed' look, but maybe she did since it seemed to work.

"Fine," I gave in reluctantly, making her grin. I nodded to my best friend, Y/BF/N, who was sat in the stands as she made notes on tonight's game – she was a journalist for the paper. "Can I bring Y/BF/N?"

"Duh," she said like it was a dumb question. "You're both always welcome."

I nodded. "Okay, I guess I'll see you tonight."

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with her usual Jackie mischief. "See you tonight."

"I'm so glad Jackie convinced you," Y/BF/N was saying with excitement as I drove us to the deserted clearing where the party was being held. "I've always wanted to go to one of these things, but you always say no."

"I've literally never stopped you," I said, giving her a sideways glance.

"I couldn't just go without you," she said, in a somewhat sweet way which made me feel guilty for never going to one of these things with her.

"Well, feel free to go crazy tonight," I said with a slight smile. "I'm driving."

"Oh, you bet I will," she said eagerly, making me laugh.

When we got there, the party was in full swing. A bonfire was set up in the middle, with a lot of people from our grade hanging about. Some were dancing, drinking and chatting away, celebrating the Yellowjackets' win. As Y/BF/N and I passed a few of our classmates to reach Jackie and the team, I was reminded why parties weren't my scene, but sucked it up for Y/BF/N.

"And there she is!" Nat shouted, spotting me first and pulling me in for a side hug. "When Jackie told us you were coming, I could swear she was bullshitting."

"It's good to see you too, Nat," I laughed.

"And Y/BF/N is out tonight too," Lottie noticed with a smile. "It's nice to have you both here."

"Anything to support the team," Y/BF/N played along, making everyone laugh. "Now, what's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?"

As Nat tugged her away to find her a drink, Jackie approached my side and nudged me gently.

"I'm glad you made it," she said, eyes doing a once over of me which admittedly made me nervous. "You look pretty. And it's the first time I've seen you without a camera, who knew it was possible?"

I rolled my eyes, though a smile ghosted my lips. Judging from her stifled grin, she was impressed at her own joke.

"You want a drink?" she offered, already about to leave and grab me one, but I shook my head politely.

"Thanks, but I'm designated driver tonight."

"Me and you both," Shauna said, raising her cup of water.

I cracked a smile as Jackie looked back to me hopefully.

"Okay, well how about a dance?"

I tried to hide my surprise, unsure if I could handle dancing with the Jackie Taylor without freaking out. No, I wasn't insanely head over heels for the girl, but yes, I had eyes and knew I'd get nervous dancing with a flirt like her.

"Maybe when a good song comes on," I settled on the safe response.

She studied me curiously. "Hmm. And what's a good song?"

I listened to the music that was on now, definitely not my style, and truthfully answered, "Definitely not this. Maybe some [your favourite artist]?"

She sighed defeatedly. "Your lucky day. I don't think anybody brought that tape."

I shrugged playfully. "Shame."

It was her turn to roll her eyes, feigning annoyance, but she got me a cup of water nonetheless and I stayed to chat with her, Shauna and a few others in her team. Y/BF/N returned with Nat not long later, and conversation soon changed from the soccer game to the paper. I didn't mind, enjoying talking to them about it all, as did Y/BF/N, but then a few of them were after some more fun 'party' stuff, and headed over to get a little more drunk.

Shauna and I, designated drivers as we'd established, stuck together for most of the evening. She watched as Jackie danced the night away with the others, and I watched as Y/BF/N had the time of her life, flirting with some of the jocks. By the time an hour and a half passed and my social battery had completely drained, Y/BF/N was pretty drunk and I knew we had to leave.

I said my goodbyes to Shauna before finding Jackie to the do the same. She wasn't as drunk as Y/BF/N, but definitely tipsy. As soon as she spun around, a massive grin fell on her lips and she hugged me.

"Okay," I said with surprise, receiving a lot more hugs from Jackie Taylor this past week than I had in my life. "I've gotta get Y/BF/N home now, Jackie. Just wanted to say goodnight."

"Thank you for coming," she said, pulling back with a drunken smile, but alert eyes. "And for the photos you gave me. And in general, for being a really great friend."

Yep, definitely bordering drunk.

"Thanks for inviting me tonight," I said, patting her arm before letting go. "I... liked it."

Okay, maybe not, but she was trying to be nice and I had to return the favour.

Jackie Taylor wasn't stupid though, even in this state, and a quiet chuckle from her told me all I need to know. "You owe me a dance."

"One day, maybe," I breathed out, glancing at her.

She smirked. "I'll take it."

Jackie had always been friendly with me around school, but since that week, it was as if she made more of an effort to be. Whether it was saying hi to me in the hallways, smiling at me between classes or chatting to me more whenever I was taking photos, she was more involved in my life. I didn't hate it of course, but it was something new.

One weekend, I was running some errands around town when I decided to finish up at one of my favourite coffee shops and treat myself. Armed with my purse and current read, I headed in and ordered myself a mocha with the intention of settling in the corner of the store and having some 'me' time. Of course, when I collected my drink from the counter, a familiar voice called my name and I spun around with furrowed brows.

To my surprise, it was Jackie waving at me from her table by the window, seated opposite Shauna. It felt a little rude to ignore her, so I headed over and smiled at them both.

"Fancy seeing you here," Jackie said with a grin, before motioning next to Shauna. "Join us?"

I glanced at Shauna, who had a welcoming smile on her face, so I replied, "Oh, er, thanks. Good to see you guys!"

As I took my seat, I left my bag next to me, expecting my reading time to become nonexistent now that I'd joined the two soccer players.

"We're not bothering you, are we?" Shauna asked considerately, making me smile with amusement because she was so different to an oblivious Jackie.

"Nah, you're good," I assured her, before looking between them. "What are you two up to then?"

"Oh, just having a girls day," Jackie answered, leaning back in her seat and flashing me her signature smile. "How about you?"

"Just running some errands," I said with a shrug. "Picking up some more film, getting some stuff for my mum, not much."

"So, I take it you finished the English assignment due tomorrow?" Shauna asked.

"Oh, yeah, got that done weeks ago," I said like it was a silly question, and then I saw the look Shauna shot Jackie and realised. "Wait, you haven't finished it?"

Jackie scoffed playfully. "Oh, come on, of course I have!" When Shauna kept staring at her, she continued, "I just need to write the conclusion."

"And the introduction," Shauna mumbled.

"Okay, yes, fine," Jackie gave in. "But it'll be done!"

I quirked a brow at her. "You not even worried? Mr. C isn't known for his leniency."

"Oh, Mr. C does not scare me," she said with assuredness. "Besides, I reckon I can talk him into giving me a two day extension."

I exhaled, trying not to laugh. "Of course you can."

I was convinced that there wasn't something Jackie Taylor couldn't do, and judging by the satisfied smile on her lips, I think she knew it too.

The three of us stayed there as I finished my coffee, and continued to sit there chatting about all sorts. I'd never really hung out with them properly outside of school, so I was oddly surprised with how well we got along.

Eventually, Shauna checked her watch and was sorry to interrupt our fruitless conversation about the rumours regarding our Chemistry teacher and IT teacher hooking up.

"I'm sorry, guys, but I gotta shoot off," she said with a slight frown.

"Oh, no worries," I said, straightening up, ready to leave the booth so she could leave.

"Aw no, really, Shauna?" Jackie said with a pout. "It's not even been an hour!"

"Hey, I'm not stopping you from staying, but you'll have to catch the bus home," Shauna replied with a chuckle, making Jackie scrunch her nose with disgust.

As I got up, letting Shauna stand, I realised what the problem was and looked to Jackie. "I don't mind giving you a ride."

And just like that, her smile returned. "Really?"

I shrugged. "No biggie."

"Awesome, thanks, Y/N," Shauna said gratefully, squeezing my shoulder. "Can't have Princess Jackie stranded without a carriage."

I laughed as Jackie rolled her eyes at the insult, and Shauna tried to hide her smile as she said her goodbyes.

"It's not that funny," Jackie stated, when she saw the smile still on my lips.

"It kind of is," I said with a breathy chuckle.

She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at me lightheartedly. Now that we were alone, I figured now was a better time than any to properly check in on her.

"So, how have you been doing?" I asked carefully. "Since the whole you-know-what?"

Unlike the last time I asked her a few weeks ago, she actually seemed to be doing a lot better, no hint of sadness in her eyes. "Pretty good. Think I might be over it now. You know how boys can be."

I hummed, awkward smile forming on my lips as I suddenly distracted myself with whatever was going on outside the window. I failed to remember how observant Jackie was though.

"Wait, have you never had a boyfriend?" she asked with surprise, leaning forward slightly.

I settled with shaking my head, and she tried to make me feel better by shrugging and sipping her milkshake from the straw.

"You're not missing out on much," she assured me.

I couldn't help but snicker, shaking my head, though grateful for her attempt at putting me at ease. "That's what people who've had boyfriends usually say."

She smiled, cheeks dusting pink when I caught her out, and now it was my turn to assure her.

"It's fine," I said nonchalantly. "Boys are gross anyway."

She snorted with amusement. "Amen. It would just be easier to date girls, wouldn't it?"

I was surprised she'd said that, staying quiet for a second too long, and her eyes widened with realisation.

Suddenly embarrassed, she stuttered, "Oh, you like– I mean, you're– you're a–"

"Lesbian?" I finished with an entertained smile. She nodded awkwardly, and I confirmed, "Yeah, but I don't exactly go around shouting it out. People don't tend to react well when they find out."

She exhaled softly, eyes flittering around the table nervously. "Oh. Well, I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about."

I shrugged, soaking in a flustered Jackie for a little longer, holding in my laughter. Truthfully, it was very amusing watching her figure out the best reaction because I knew she was harmless. It would have been easy to embarrass her a little more for fun, but she was clearly going through it with her deep pink cheeks, now matching the colour of her lips.

After a moment of collecting herself, her hazel eyes met mine in an attempt to return to normal. "So, are there any girls you're interested in?"

It was impossible not to laugh now as I gave her a questioning look. "Really, Jackie?"

She nodded quickly, eyes returning to the table. "Right. Sorry."

I giggled at her expression before changing the subject, knowing it would definitely make her feel better. Despite my confidence in my sexuality, a small part of me hoped she wouldn't treat me any different after finding out, and thankfully, she didn't. We still chatted like usual, enjoying each other's company, until she finished her milkshake and it was time to head off.

It might have been the sugar from her milkshake, or just her plain inability to sit still, but when I was driving home, she wouldn't stop messing around with the radio stations, trying to find a good song.

"Oh my god, you're driving me insane," I finally said, making her stop.

"Not my fault the radio is garbage," she said in a knowing tone.

I rolled my eyes playfully before nodding to the centre console. "I have some cassettes. Find something you like and please stop breaking my radio."

She smiled cheekily before doing just that, flicking through the tapes I had. Finally, she decided on some Mariah Carey and managed to keep quiet the rest of the way. Occasionally she'd hum along, but I much preferred that over her touching the radio a million times.

When we reached her house, I pulled up outside and offered her a smile. "Was cool hanging out with you and Shauna today."

"It was," she agreed, before grabbing her purse and resting her hand on the door handle. "We should do it again sometime."

I shrugged, not minding, and her smile widened before she got out.

Leaning her head down to look at me through the open window, she added, "Thanks for the ride. Again."

I cleared my throat, a smile ghosting my lips as I said, "In the wise words of Shauna Shipman, we can't have Princess Jackie stranded without a–"

"Ass," she mumbled, leaving before I could finish, but a smile crossed her expression as I laughed to myself.

I suppose hanging out with Jackie Taylor wasn't so bad.

#jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor imagine #ella purnell #yellowjackets #yellowjackets imagine #jackie taylor x you

[ziggyevenstar]

i feel like i’ve been consuming so much cheesy media these past years and i’m turning into someone i used to think is basic and has zero personality just because she enjoys whatever it is the next girl does. and i’m fine with it, im proud. it feels liberating. to finally allow myself to like stuff just because. i mean dostoevsky and kafka are great (no doubt) but sometimes that’s not what you need. like you have too much “serious” going on in your life already and what you need are some feel-good romance books, some cozy fantasy or your emotional support fanfictions. if that means i have bad taste well, okay. i also don’t feel bad now when i like stuff that i know are just really horrible— like “seriously trashed on goodreads” horrible. like ‘shiver’ for example. that book was horrible. but at the same time i like looking at it on my shelf, i like flipping through its pages. it’s horrible and i like it because i was once around 13 years old who frequents fullybooked just to look at a copy of ‘shiver’ and now after more than a decade i finally own the trilogy.

the ‘love & gelato’ movie was horrible too (but the book was great!) but i like it because that scene where lina leaves the house in the middle of the night alone in italy to eat some pastry and read her mom’s diary gives me so much comfort. so i watch it— over and over again

the bridgerton books i read were pretty bad too because of the men and their red flags. but i know netflix will fix those— so i enjoy the romance, and the simplicity and beauty of a woman marrying a rich and handsome man (because the women in these books deserve to be taken care of). so i allow myself to fangirl over colin bridgerton even if i think it’s corny and cringey to do so

i might just like the new trilogy of star wars. yes, i think it’s horrible. yes, i think disney should stop milking the star wars franchise. yes, i think they ruined luke skywalker. yes, i think they shouldn’t have made it. but i think i like it a little bit now— not because of the plot but because i read and loved a book (love hypothesis by ali hazelwood) that was initially a reylo star wars fanfic.

the ‘summer i turned pretty’ was bad. really bad. the book series and the tv series. but i like it because the summer vibes (plus all the taylor swift songs that play in the background) puts me in a really good mood (except for when i kept screaming at the book for belly to use her brain).

i think books aren’t meant to set your moral values (can you imagine if it does and you’re reading ‘lolita’). they’re meant to entertain and make you think. you set your moral values. if a book entertains you in whatever way and for whatever reason then it’s already done what it’s meant to do, even if it’s not great plotwise, even if it’s mainstream, even if it bleeds of twisted morals. ever since i saw it like that it’s been easier to like things and not judge (i mean i still struggle with not judging colleen hoover fans but we’re getting there).

if what i enjoy about a movie isn’t the plot but the vibe, i’m still allowed to like it. if what i enjoyed about a book isn’t the storyline but the feeling, well then i love it.

this probably sounds so trivial but as someone who used to be so image conscious, this is not nothing. i try to play this game now where i ask myself “do i really like this or did i just think it’s cool to like this? do i really NOT like this or did i just NOT allow myself to like this because i thought it was uncool” and it’s been fun

#dear mr tumnus

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo angst #this is so bad :')) #i kinda gave up at the end fuck #i literally hate this so much whats wrong with my writing #is it just me or does it suck idk #im going night night

[razorblade180]

Interdimensional Moms: Bonus

Part 4 here<-

After many tears and tissue boxes, all members of team RWBY had finally stopped crying. Blake was the best off with her eyes a little red while Ruby was the complete opposite. The girl’s face was still rather red and her eyes were puffy. She hadn’t even completely stopped sniffling yet; much like tear marked partner. Yang on the other hand rested her head on the table. She had cried hard enough to giver herself a minor headache. She was completely drained.

Yang:Ugh, this blows! I thought this was gonna be a fun learning experience.

Blake:We definitely learned. It just so happens we had to poke at some.... extremely sensitive topics.

Weiss:I’m all for looking inward and self reflection but I’ve had my fill.

Ruby:Same. Should’ve kept the summary light.

Yang:No, I’m glad you got that off your chest. We just need a way to lighten the mood.

Blake:.....I kicked Weiss’s butt in a tournament.

RWY:......What?

Blake:During the time spent training for Salem, another tournament was held between the schools. It had team matches and singles. I kicked Weiss’s butt in my fourth round. It was a good day.

Weiss:How is that lightening mood!?

Blake:Listen, it was a big deal! I never thought I was gonna win the whole tournament but I really wanted to beat you. I love you but your head gets a little big when you’re on a roll for too long; plus I just really didn’t want to lose. I always felt a bit of rivalry between us.

Yang:Hehe, is that you’re way of saying “It would look bad to lose to a Schnee?”

Blake:Well it would!

Ruby:Hehehe.

Yang:Wait, does that mean we went back to school?

Blake:Yeah. It was pretty comforting. There was definitely a lot left to learn.

Yang:Weird. School kinda faded into the background.

Ruby:I went back to school. We all did actually. It was fast tracked by roughly a year but it was fun. We all got to pose in caps and gowns.

Weiss:Damn! I should’ve went back just for that. Unfortunately I was busy making rent and learning how to properly preheat a oven.

Yang:It’s like two buttons.

Weiss:Gas stove, and six years out of date.

Yang:Awww, you had to learn the hard way. I’m surprised and thankful you never left the gas on.

Weiss:There’s an alarm for that. Also I’m not irresponsible! Anyways, I mentioned similar tournaments earlier. I didn’t participate much but enough old videos of me in them were enough for to really light a fire under my kids. For awhile I was a bit concerned that they were just following a trend but they really love it. They used to always go around playing like knights when they were tiny.

Ruby:Carmine was a little different. She definitely always tried doing things I could but nothing got the girl jumping like seeing Yang’s horses or new ballet shoes. There wasn’t a morning when I didn’t hear a vase fall over or seeing her spin like a top. Carmine still hums some old routines when she isn’t paying attention.

Yang:Not too many memories of Yujin when she was pint size. But I do remember that wild child always loved using my bandannas for everything! Napkins, capes, ropes; anything but an actual bandanna. I used to get a bit upset with the napkin one but she’d always look at me with her big eyes and crazy hair. I never stayed mad.

Weiss:Softie.

Yang:She was like a pudgy puff ball! Fat cheeks and wholesome smiles. Ah! So adorable!

Weiss:I used to always have at least one of my kids on my hip when I was out and about. I think the media has a magazine amount of pictures of me at the park kissing my babies. Summer liked tummy rubs. She’d never go to sleep without one. Some nights I’d sing too but start to doze off so Jaune would have to take over.

Yang:*smiles* Speaking of Jaune.....

Ruby:No.

Yang:You don’t even know what I was-

Ruby:Were you about to suggest we compare our Jaune’s in the bedroom?

Yang:*red*......Well not just the bedroom! What’s the harm!? I just wanna know if he’s consistent across the board. No need to get detailed.

Weiss:You really never change no matter the world.

Yang:Can’t change greatness. It shows in any form!

Blake:He’s pretty compliant and accommodating. The benefits of being his first when I had prior knowledge I suppose.

Ruby:Don’t answer!

Blake:Why not? I’m comfortable with it.

Yang:Don’t listen to those two Blake. They’re just a bit more embarrassed since Jaune has literally been their one and only.

Blake:Huh, I never thought about it like that. Jaune would’ve been the first person you two opened up to on such a level; especially Weiss.

Yang:That’s still hilarious. All the protesting and somehow you found yourself stripping for the guy.

Weiss:Shut up! I already know! It was....I.... *blushing* emotions ran really high.

Ruby:An entire mental rollercoaster of thoughts and firsts happening all at once. Anxiety was high.

Yang:Heh, so you could say that Jaune Arc-

RW:Got through our walls. Hardy har har.

Yang:Shit, I am the same in every universe. Well I don’t have any reservations about it! *grinning* He makes me feel special every time!

Blake:Bottom.

Yang:I’m ignoring you.🎶

Ruby:Hehe, sounds about right. He...might make me feel a bit special as well.

Blake:Switch.

Ruby:How can you just guess off of that!?

Blake:It’s a gift.

Weiss:......

Blake:*smiling*

Weiss:Leave me alone.

Blake:I don’t know what has you embarrassed. You told us you’ve slept with everyone here except Ruby! I knew you were repressed but geez.

Weiss:For your information it wasn’t my idea! It was yours!

Blake:Not surprising. Let’s switch the topic. How is this other child of mine? Can’t picture me having a daughter.

Weiss:Veronica is very sensitive. Even if she tries to act like she isn’t. One time when she was tiny, a soccer ball hit her straight in the face and she sprung up saying “I’m fine!” Then you took her behind the bleachers to patch her up; tears all on her face. It both breaks my heart and very adorable to see her act fine while her ears are folded back.

Ruby:Your other son Kovu was a bit of cry baby. Partly my fault. Carmine kept beating him up and making fun of him.

Blake:What!?

Yang:Ha! Wait, that’s my kid too. How the heck!? Are you telling me you raised the rowdy child and I got the baby?

Ruby:Yang you’re a baby. I’m like twice as rowdy compared to you. A nevermore got worked day one at school.

Weiss:She has a point. You cry the most out of any of us.

Yang:Wha- that not- how....shut up! *pouts* I’m not that touchy.

Ruby:Kovu is a sweetie and not a cry baby. Carmine is just a little mean when she tries to care about others. She beat him up in an attempt to make Kovu give up dreaming about being a huntsman. That way he wouldn’t be in such a dangerous job. Reasonable logic but you know, a little over the top. Almost broke his arm. Boy did I chew her out. All it did was make him want to try harder.

Yang:Fantastic. I shouldn’t expect less from my own blood. I bet Yujin would like him. Which reminds me, anybody have kids in relationships?

RWB:We’re working on it.

The three women paused briefly before laughing at their meddling. Yang could only admire and fear her friends.

Yang:Should I be scared for your children?

Blake:Lucas needs someone to break up the routine in his life. I’m not saying he has to date her, but it would put a smile on my face.

Ruby:Carmine takes after me, not really thinking about stuff like relationships much. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t at all. Carmine tries her best to not act like she’s a teenaged girl with teenage wishes. But everyone sees right through it. I’m fine with her not being in one but I would like if she acknowledged that it’s okay to just....ugh, be normal! Why can nobody have normal knees in my life!?

Weiss:Nick likes Valerie who tries to deny she likes him by liking Summer, who doesn’t like her; while Veronica crushes on Nick who obviously has conflicting feelings.

RBY.....

Yang:Why is it always complicated with you?

Weiss:How is this my fau- okay it is a little bit.

Blake:Where do you stand?

Weiss:I think Valerie would be lovely for him.

Yang:What’s wrong with my baby girl!?

Blake:Yeah!?

Weiss:One, not yours. Two, have you met who I’m married to? Can’t really say he’s wasting his efforts. Though I wouldn’t be upset with Veronica. I think those two might be good for each other.

Blake:Any other bombshells people got?

Ruby:......

Ruby:Ilia is happily married.*sips coffee*

Blake:Oh that’s wonderful! I’m glad she found a loving wi-

Ruby:*smirks* To Sun.

Blake:....*stands up* I need, champagne!

A bottle of champagne poofs into existence with several glasses. Blake immediately pours everyone a glass before raising hers into the sky.

Blake:Ruby Rose, today you’ve erased guilt upon my conscious. I’m happy there’s one world where it seems all of my good exes get over me.

Ruby:Are the Ilia and Sun where you’re from miserable like Yang!?

Blake:No, but they kinda fumble in actually going for relationships. It just always makes me feel a little bad.

Yang:You can technically count two worlds. I’m fine, Ilia is dating a pretty secretary, and your one evil ex is now raising a morally good family.

Blake:You’re right! This calls for a double toast! To alternate universes! *puts glass down*

Weiss:Haha, aren’t you gonna drink it!?

Blake:No I’m still recovering; but how could I pass up the opportunity!? Man I wish I could attend that wedding! I don’t know if I’d be a bridesmaid or the best man!

Yang:You’re just gonna steal Neptune’s thunder like that?

Blake:Hey, Sun and I have taken bullets for each other and stab wounds. I think I deserve to be a little greedy and say I ride or die for that man just a little harder than Neptune.

Ruby:Geeeeeez Blake! Haha, I didn’t even tell you about the baby.

Blake:*visble excitement* Excuse me!?

RWY:*raises glass* Cheers.

Blake:CHEERS! What’s he like!?

xxxxx

Aero:AAAACHOOOO!

Carmine:Eugh! Cover your mouth! I don’t need to get sick.

Aero:Damn! What happened to uh I don’t know, “bless you!?”

Carmine:*pulls out tissues* Happy?

Aero:Where...why are those in you book bag?

Carmine:It’s flu season.

Aero:....I can’t tell if you’re the coolest person around or just a second mother.

Carmine:I can be both. My mom is arguably both but don’t tell her that. It’ll make her month and she’ll hug me too tight.

Aero:Bitch, you love hugs. Stop being difficult.

Carmine:Mmmm nah.

Aero:I feel bad for your mom.

Carmine:I feel bad for yours.

Aero:Hop off. You’re so childish.

Carmine:And yet you love me.

Aero:*red* In your dreams!

Carmine:It would make your day if I dreamed about you,wouldn’t it?

Aero:I hope you dream of spiders.

Carmine:We do not joke about that! *grabs him* Aero I will beat you up if I dream of them tonight! That’s just mean!

Aero:Stop crying ya baby. I could’ve said they were- ow!

Sun:*hitting him* Shut up and just kiss something! We’re trying to watch a game.

Aero and Carmine:We don’t like each other!

Jaune:With all do respect, that’s a lie. But please by all means Aero, continue not touching my daughter if you know what’s best for you. I don’t wanna have to fight you and your parents right afterwards.

Sun:Ilia would kill you.

Jaune:Yeah! That’s why I don’t want the fight! Much like Ruby, she’s short and terrifying. Her size holds the rage.

Ilia:*peeks in* Who’s talking shit?

JASC:Nobody, we love you!

Ilia:.....Got my eyes on you four. *holds Garnet up* and this one; the most well behaved in this bunch even with no nap.

Garnet:*fussy grumbling* I’m a ball of rage!

Ilia:You wanna nap?

Garnet:Yes!!!

Ilia:See, behaved. *walks away* don’t make me come back out here.

Carmine:....So do you like me because your mother is also imposing?

Aero:This is it, my evil origin story. It begins today.

xxxxx

Ruby:I admire his patience.

#rwby #the void #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #carmine arc rose #aero amitola #ilia amitola #sun wukong #rwby ships #rwby lancaster #rwby whiteknight #rwby dragonslayer #rwby knightshade

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

What’s In A Name (momceit fic)

Rating: teen

Word count: 4863

Pairings: all platonic (except for one bit at the end that you can ignore if you want)

Warnings: Remus typical stuff, graphic threats against animals (that he takes back later), minor body horror (? He gives himself an extra finger, I don’t know if that counts), one (1) sexual innuendo. Roman being a bit of an asshole

——Start——

Well this is an interesting development, Logic thinks to himself as he watches Creativity stalk around the room, inspecting every nook and cranny as if the Dark Sides are going to be lurking in between the books in the bookcase.

This morning — five minutes ago to be precise — Logic, Morality, and Creativity awoke on the couch in the Dark Side’s common room. To make matters worse, the three of them had been transformed into cats. Creativity was a pure white Persian, Morality was a soft gray Scottish Fold, and Logic himself was a Siamese.

There hadn’t been any sign of any Dark Sides lurking nearby, nor any indication as to how the three Light Sides had ended up here as cats, but Creativity still insisted on inspecting their surroundings. Logic was fine with letting him, and instead preferred to make his observations from the relative safety of the couch before expanding out to the room beyond. Morality, it seemed, was not too concerned about anything other than the fact that he was a cat, preferring to groom himself and bouncing around the couch cushions excitedly.

“My brother is behind this! I know he is! This foul trick has his name written all over it!” Creativity hisses. Interestingly enough, Logic can understand him perfectly despite the fact that Creativity is speaking in cat language, and Logic had not known cat language before this point.

And Logic has to disagree with his hypothesis that The Duke is behind this. The Duke may be chaotic and impulsive, but this ‘prank’ is far too harmless to be his style. They are not in any immediate danger despite being in unfamiliar territory, there is no trace of gore, nothing R-rated about any of this really. It’s Logic’s opinion that the perpetrator of this predicament is not Creativity’s ‘twin’.

But Logic isn’t about to tell Creativity that. Creativity will get there on his own, given time.

“Isn’t this cool, Logic?” Morality bounces. “We’re adorable, and so cuddly! Do you want to cuddle, Logic?”

“This is not fun, Morality!” Creativity chides from his position inspecting the coffee table. “We are in enemy territory! We could be attacked at any minute!”

“What’s going to attack cats as cute as us?” Morality asks, innocently.

A subtle clicking — somewhat reminiscent of someone walking in heels, but not quite — comes from the top of the stairs and Morality’s question seems to be answered as something comes their way.

Creativity strikes a protective stance against whatever is coming down the stairs. Logic, too, feels a bit of apprehension about whatever is coming their way as it clearly isn’t something walking on human legs, though it does sound like it is something that is walking down the stairs.

Morality clearly does not share his companions’ concerns as he skips past Creativity and bounds towards the stairs to greet whatever is coming down. Creativity hisses a warning at him, but it falls on deaf ears.

Morality makes it to the stairs and looks up to greet the thing coming down, but as soon as he sets eyes on it, his posture changes from excited to terrified.

“SPIDER!” He squeaks as he shoots back past Creativity and scrambles under the couch.

Spider? Logic thinks. How can a spider make such a loud noise?

His questions are answered a second later as a rather large, rather spidery form reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“Kitty?” It asks.

A second glance proves that it is not, in fact, a giant spider, but rather a young boy - maybe about five - that happens to have four rather large spider legs protruding from his back that he seems to be able to walk with. On his spider legs, the boy’s human legs dangle about a foot and a half off the ground, making his total height around five feet, shorter than any of them are in their regular forms, but significantly taller than them as cats.

Other than the four spider legs, and the six smaller black spider eyes underneath his regular human eyes, the boy looks about the same as Thomas did at that age, with a few differences here and there that every Side has, such as the fact that his hair is purple, and has heterochromia, making one eye green, and the other inhumanly purple. Either way, it’s clear that this boy is a Side. And a rather new Side at that.

Logic doesn’t remember another Side forming, but he supposes that if this Side started out in the Dark Side, Deceit likely wouldn’t have informed them of his existence.

“Kitty?” The boy asks again. He looks around the room and seems to catch sight of Logic and Creativity for the first time. “Thwee kitties!”

Despite the obvious excitement in his face, the boy’s voice stays calm and quiet, as if he’s making a conscious effort not to scare them. Interesting behavior for a child.

“Begone foul creature!” Creativity hisses at the new Side even though the boy can’t understand him.

Logic just watches him curiously. They don’t know who he is or what function he serves, but as he’s just a child, it’s unlikely that he is of any threat to the three of them, even in cat form.

The boy looks startled by Creativity’s hostilities, and seems to realize for the first time that he’s standing on four long spider legs rather than his two human ones.

“Sowwy,” he says softly as he slowly lowers himself onto his human legs and folds his spider legs up against his back. For a second, Logic thinks the legs will just rest against his back, but the legs actually fade all together, and a moment later, the extra eyes do too.

Curious. Logic knows that Deceit has snake scales that cover a large area of his skin, and The Duke has tentacles that can solidify into arms and legs when he wants to, but he doesn’t know of either of them being able to hide their animal traits completely. Perhaps it is unique to this Side.

Creativity continues to take an aggressive stance, so the boy carefully gives him a wide berth as he makes his way over to the couch.

“Stay away from them!” Creativity growls as the boy slowly peaks under the couch.

“I’m sowwy I scawed you, kitty,” the Side apologizes to Morality. “Cweativity says my spidew wegs are cweepy, and I know not evewyone wikes cweepy.”

“I have never seen this Side in my life!” Creativity huffs dramatically.

“I believe he means your brother,” Logic sighs. It comes out as an audible meow, drawing the boy’s attention to Logic, the only cat that doesn’t seem disturbed by his presence.

“Hewwo,” the boy says to Logic. The boy blinks once, slowly “I love you.”

Logic’s brain stutters at the admission. The boy had, of course, probably just learned somewhere that that was how to show affection to a cat, and didn’t not mean to say that he loved Logic, but still…

Logic returns the gesture. “I love you.”

“LOGIC!” Creativity yowls.

The boy ignores him in favor of extending his hand towards Logic. Logic flinches a little and the boy stops moving his hand. The hand is a few inches from Logic, palm down, close enough that Logic could easily stretch his head out to touch it, but far enough away to not be in his personal space.

After a moment, Logic stretches his neck out in order to sniff the proffered hand. The boy stays perfectly still, watching Logic carefully, hope shining in his eyes. Instincts take over and Logic licks the boy’s fingers before nuzzling his head against the hand. “I trust you.”

The boy gasps, delighted.

“LOGIC!” Creativity yowls again, and again, he is ignored.

“You’we a nice kitty, awen’t you?” The boy asks as he starts moving his fingers to scratch at Logic’s head.

Logic can’t help but move his head, trying to maximize the pleasant contact. “Please never stop petting me.”

Being a cat must be different than being a Side. Usually, Logic isn’t overly affectionate, and is often uncomfortable with the casual contact Morality and Creativity often initiate, but as a cat, Logic can’t seem to get enough contact.

“Oh!” The boy exclaims in shock, his fingers stutter over Logic’s head for a moment before returning to their previous rhythm. “Hewwo.”

Logic opens his eyes to find that Morality has left the protection of the bottom side of the couch in favor of sitting directly in the boy’s lap. The boy offers his free hand to Morality the same way he had with Logic, but Morality skips sniffing it and goes straight for headbutting his hand.

“I’m sorry I was scared of you, kiddo, you’re not scary.”

“Morality! Not you too!” Creativity laments. Logic honestly can’t see what issue Creativity could possibly have with the young Side. He gave fantastic scratchies, why would anyone have a problem with him?

Vaguely, Logic registers the sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs, but he’s much too preoccupied with the boy petting him to really care.

“Halt foul snake!” Creativity hisses.

Logic flinches as he finally registers that a second Dark Side has entered the common room, but is quickly calmed and distracted by the boy continuing to pet him.

“Anxiety,” Deceit says, sounding a mixture of amused and concerned. “Where did you find these cats?”

“Mama! They was in the wiving woom when I came down!” The boy - Anxiety? - says happily. “These two is nice! That one’s mean. Can we keep them?”

Creativity huffs indignantly. “We’re not pets!”

Deceit chuckles. “You even want to keep the mean one?”

Anxiety nods seriously. “He’s theiw fwiend.” He says, as if that is reason enough to keep a cat that clearly doesn’t like him.

Deceit chuckles again, and somewhere in the back of Logic’s mind he realizes that he’s never seen Deceit be this genuinely nice to anyone, even The Duke.

“We can’t keep them until we try to find their owners, my little spiderling.” Anxiety’s face drops in disappointment.

“They have ownews?” He asks quietly, hands stilling.

“No, no, we’re all yours!” Morality purrs, headbutting Anxiety’s hand so he’ll continue petting them.

“MORALITY!” Creativity hisses. He’s moved fully under the coffee table in order to best protect himself against the two Dark Sides.

“They might,” Deceit answers gently, pulling one glove off and holding his naked hand up seriously. “I’ll go ask the neighbors after breakfast, but if the cats aren’t theirs then I promise you can keep them.”

“Yay!” Anxiety yells loudly, startling Logic for a moment. Morality doesn’t seem at all perturbed as he continues to push into Anxiety’s hand.

“What’s the shortstack cheering about?” The Duke asks as he suddenly appears by the television. “Did my brother bite the dust? Or maybe Thomas has finally decided to go to Walmart wearing nothing but a speedo!”

Creativity hisses at him.

“CATS!” The Duke gasps. “Ooh we can peel their skin off to see their muscles and internal organs and just peel them apart piece by piece until they’re just a kitty cat skeleton!”

Morality flinches at the idea.

“NOOOOO!” Anxiety screeches, suddenly pulling Logic and Morality as close to his chest as he can. “NONONONONONO!”

It takes Logic perhaps a little too long to realize that Anxiety, true to his name, is having an anxiety attack, but his air is rather restricted at the moment so you can’t really blame him.

Anxiety’s breathing is shallow, and labored as he inhales and exhales around his screams; black tears run down his face, and a few drip onto Logic’s head, probably staining his cream fur gray; and he’s shaking violently and uncontrollably. And being in his death grip, Logic is quite uncomfortable, and Morality seems to be panicking almost as much as Anxiety is.

“NONONONONONONO!”

“Fix this!” Deceit hisses at Dark Creativity.

Dark Creativity seems to stumble over himself for a second before deciding on a course of action. He slides to the ground in front of Anxiety, which only causes the young Side to grip the cats tighter.

“Hey, uh, Anxy?” He asks, uncharacteristically soft for him. “I was just joking, I’m not gonna hurt the cats, I swear.”

“You’re- you’re not?” Anxiety sniffles, tears never slowing, but his breathing evens out a little bit.

“I’m not,” The Duke promises.

“Pink pwomise?” Anxiety asks, tears finally stopping.

“Double pinky promise!” The Duke declares, holding out his hand that seems to have two pinky fingers on it. Logic’s pretty sure the hand only had one pinky finger a moment ago.

Anxiety giggles and lets go of Logic so that he can wrap one of his pinkies around both of The Duke’s. “No take backs.”

“None at all, else penalty of death!” The Duke crows happily. “So do the cats have names?”

“He can’t name the cats until we figure out where they came from!” Deceit scolds from the kitchen where he’s preparing breakfast. “We don’t want him to get too attached!”

“Of course not!” The Duke yells back before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But do they have names?”

Anxiety giggles and answers just as quietly. “This one is Wogan!” He says, running a hand from Logic’s head all the way down his body.

Logic blinks slowly, then closes his eyes and pushes his head into Anxiety’s hand. “This is acceptable.”

“This one is Patton!”

“I love it, kiddo!” Morality — Patton — purrs even harder than he already had been.

“And that one's Woman!” The Duke turns to look at the Persian cat underneath the coffee table. Creativity hisses as soon as The Duke makes eye contact.

“Not very friendly is he?” The Duke asks. “I’m not allowed to hurt him either?”

“Nope!” Anxiety declares happily.

“Breakfast!” Deceit calls from the kitchen. “Don’t bring the cats to the table!”

Anxiety pouts, but he does as the older Side instructs and leaves Patton and Logan on the couch. “I’ll be wight back.”

“Take your time, kiddo! Eating a healthy breakfast is important!” Patton meows after him.

“Are you two insane!?” Roman hisses as soon as Anxiety and The Duke are gone. “We aren’t pets! We can’t just live here as his cats forever!”

“I believe Roman is right,” Logan concedes. “We cannot fulfill our functions in this manor, which would be very detrimental to Thomas.”

“But Anxiety loves us,” Patton pouts at the same time Roman hisses “that’s not my name!”

“Regardless of Anxiety’s feelings, we must put Thomas’s well-being first. It is our job, after all,” Even as Logan says it, a funny feeling fills his stomach. He hypothesizes the source to be guilt over taking away the cats that Anxiety so clearly loves, but there’s nothing he can do. They are Sides, not cats, and they have functions they must maintain to keep Thomas alive and happy, and Thomas is always their first priority.

“But Anxiety will be so sad if we just disappear,” Patton continues to protest, but Logan can see in his eyes that he knows Logan is right.

“Who cares what Anxiety thinks?” Roman snorts. “He’s not our friend! He is one of them, a bad guy. He may be a child now, but anxiety is a bad thing. It ruins creative whimsy, prevents people from going after opportunities, and is an all around bummer! We shouldn’t be nice to the source of misery!”

Patton begins to cry in earnest now, loud pathetic mewls leaving his mouth as he does.

“-I’ll go check.” Someone says from the dining room.

“Someone is coming,” Logan warns, causing Roman to tense, but Patton doesn’t stop crying.

“What’s wrong, kitty?” Deceit walks into the room, crouching carefully in front of the couch.

Roman hisses and darts back under the coffee table.

“Is he mean to you?” Deceit rubs a gloved finger against Patton’s head comfortingly. “Where did you come from, hmm? The imagination? Surely you’re not Creativity’s creations, but maybe the other Creativity? Or do the Light Sides keep cats now?”

Deceit continues to rub at Patton’s head, and eventually, the moral Side relaxes into the touch.

“I’ll have to give you back, won’t I? The Light Sides hate us enough without us stealing their cats… Anxiety is going to be so disappointed.” Deceit sighs, pushing himself up into standing position. “It can totally be helped, I suppose. I can definitely conjure convincingly lifelike cats, and Creativity has a knack for creating… child-friendly creatures.”

Deceit continues to mutter to himself as he makes his way back to the breakfast table with the other Dark Sides.

“At least he’s taking us back to our side,” Roman grumbles as Deceit walks away.

“There is still the problem that when he goes to the Light Side, he will not find anyone,” Logan points out as he begins grooming himself, stopping a moment later to ponder that instinct.

“I don’t want to go!” Patton whines.

“I am sorry, Patton,” Logan apologizes. He decides to just give into his instincts and begins grooming Patton instead. “But the best thing for Thomas is for us to be back in our proper place, in our proper forms.”

“Can I go wiff you to the Wight Side?” Anxiety asks, alerting the Light Sides to the approaching Dark Sides.

“I’m sorry, Anxiety,” Deceit says. “But I would prefer you not meet them yet.”

“Why?” Anxiety asks. He returns to his previous seat by the couch, and absentmindedly starts petting Patton when the Moral Side climbs back into his lap.

“Because the neighbors can be…” Deceit pauses to consider his next words.

Logan finds himself very curious to see what Deceit thinks of them. He’s never thought about it before. He views Deceit as a necessary attribute, but as a Side, Logan finds him to be overly dramatic and difficult to deal with. He views The Duke as a harmless nuisance as the Side has no real control over Thomas’s actions, only some thoughts, but he knows that Patton and Roman view him much more harshly. He’s never stopped to consider how the Dark Sides view them in return.

“...mean,” Deceit finally says.

Patton visibly deflates, no doubt hurt that he hasn’t been as nice to the Dark Sides as he could have been.

“SLANDER!” Roman hisses.

“Oh,” Anxiety says quietly. He stares at Patton, still seated in his lap, before turning back to the older Side. “Then why awe we giving them theiw cats back?”

“Don’t poke sleeping bears,” is all Deceit says.

“Always poke sleeping bears!” The Duke insists. “They get super mad and try to bite your hand off! It’s fun!”

Anxiety stares at The Duke with a mixture of fear and nausea.

“Thank you, Creativity,” Deceit drawls. “That was very helpful.”

“Do the Wight Sides bite?” Anxiety demands nervously, looking frantically between the two older Sides.

“Only when they’re being k-”

Deceit snaps and one of The Dukes hands flies up to cover his mouth, effectively cutting off whatever he was about to say.

“No, darling,” he sits on the ground and opens his arms. Anxiety considers the offer for a moment before removing Patton from his lap and snuggling up as close to Deceit as he can. “It was a figure of speech. The Light Sides do not bite.”

“But they’we mean,” Anxiety says quietly.

Deceit suddenly has four more arms that he wraps around Anxiety.

Logan startles. He hadn’t realized that Deceit had six arms. Perhaps he should try spending more time with the Dark Sides as there were clearly several things about them that he was unaware of.

“So am I,” Deceit hums. Personally, Logan isn’t sure how that is supposed to be reassuring, but Anxiety seems to think it is.

“You’ww be back?”

“Of course, spiderling.”

“Okay,” Anxiety whispers. He pulls away from the hug and immediately runs upstairs, never looking back at the cats.

Deceit watches him go with a sigh. “Why did you have to come here?” He asks the cats rhetorically.

“Sorry,” Patton tries to say, but Deceit only hears a meow.

Deceit sighs again before scooping Patton up with one pair of hands. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

He grabs Logan with a second pair of hands, and finally grabs Roman with the third pair. Roman struggles, but Deceit keeps a tight grip on him.

Logan is smarter than Roman. While Roman struggles and ensures that Deceit has a tight grip on him, Logan fully allows Deceit to carry him, lulling the lying Side into a false sense of security. As soon as Deceit enters the Light Side of the Mindscape, Logan makes his move.

With his cat agility and flexibility, he pushes off of Deceits chest, easily breaking the unsuspecting Dark Side’s hold, and darts towards the stairs as quickly as he can, making it to the top before Deceit finally registers what had just happened and starts yelling after him.

“What the- GET BACK HERE!”

Logan ignores him as he runs for his room, theorizing that he’ll be able to change himself back into his own domain.

The door gives him slight pause as he realizes that he’s unable to open it — only mentally though, physically, he’s still running straight towards it. Luckily, the door responds to him, and a cat-flap that he’s quite sure has never been there before opens allowing him entrance.

Almost immediately, Logan is back in his proper form, necktie and all. Just as I suspected.

After a quick look in the mirror to make sure that he is fully presentable, Logan sinks out to the common room where he can still hear Deceit yelling after him.

“Deceit,” Logan appears behind Deceit, causing the lying Side to startle, and involuntary hiss escaping his lips as he quickly spins to face the newcomer.

Logan makes sure to give him a suitably surprised yet reserved look, as if he had been unaware that Deceit was in the common room.

Roman takes advantage of Deceit’s shock to escape his grasp as Logan had earlier. Roman runs for the stairs, but this time, Deceit just lets him, choosing to focus on Logan instead.

The Dark Side is quick to retract his extra arms, and mask his surprise with indifference, and Logan politely doesn’t mention either.

“We didn’t find these on our Side and we weren’t wondering if they were yours,” Deceit sneers, holding Patton out towards Logan as if the cat disgusted him, though Logan is well aware of the lie.

“They are, thank you,” Logan says, accepting Patton from Deceit. “Creativity and Morality have been searching for them in the imagination all day.”

Patton squirms in Logan’s arms until Logan allows him to climb onto his shoulder.

Deceit’s eyes narrow, and Logan realizes, a little too late, that Deceit can tell when someone’s lying. “There should have been three cats.”

“The third cat didn’t run away as soon as we got here, and isn’t lurking around here somewhere,” Deceit answers, mercifully letting the lie go

“Well thank you for returning them, Deceit, it was very decent of you,” Logan says. He thinks the comment is innocuous, but Deceit immediately goes on the defensive.

“Right, because the bessst we can do is desssssscent,” he hisses, his snake features becoming more pronounced with his aggravation. “Heaven forbid we ever do anything nisssssce.”

“I did not mean-”

“Goodbye, Logic. It’sss been sssso much fun.” Deceit sinks out before Logan can respond.

“I suppose that that did not go as well as I had hoped,” Logan says to Patton.

Patton meows and licks Logan’s nose.

Logan blinks. “You are aware that I know that you are not a cat, correct?”

Patton meows again.

“Is he gone?” Roman calls as he comes bounding down the stairs, back to his normal self.

“Yes, Roman, Deceit has left.”

“Okay, first of all Teach, just because Anxiety called me that doesn’t mean it’s my name. Second of all…”

Patton jumps off Logan's shoulder and makes his way to his room, at a slower pace than either of the others had gone.

He has so much to do.

~~~

Deceit does his best to school his features before returning to the Dark Sides’ common room. It would do no good for Anxiety to see him upset. He doesn’t want Anxiety to be afraid of the Light Sides, doesn’t want them to have that power over him already.

Once he’s got his face under control, he enters the common room. He’s greeted by the sight of Creativity sitting criss cross on the couch, Anxiety in his lap. Both of them are clearly waiting for him.

Anxiety’s eyes fill with tears as soon as he sees Deceit some back without the cats. Creativity frowns.

“They belonged to the boring Sides?” Creativity asks with a pout.

Deceit nods. He makes his way over to the couch to pick up the now sobbing Anxiety from Creativity’s lap.

“I’m sorry, spiderling.” Deceit says, wrapping all six arms around the child.

Anxiety wraps his arms around Deceits neck, and seconds later, four spider legs wrap around the rest of him.

Hours later, after Anxiety has finally settled down for his nap, and Creativity has gone to the imagination to vent his anger at hapless figments, there’s a knock at the door.

Deceit stares at the door for a moment in shock. No one’s ever knocked before. No one visits them. The Light Sides hate them, and even if they did want to visit, they’d never deign to knock.

Another knock.

Deceit shakes himself out of his thoughts to answer the door.

It’s Morality. He gives Deceit a wide and genuine grin, while hiding something behind his back.

“Hi Deceit!” He greets, bouncing on his toes with barely contained excitement.

“Morality, I was definitely expecting you.” Deceit says, feinting nonchalantness.

“I wanted to thank you for bringing the cats back! So I made you something!”

“Yes I obviously require payment for being nice, thank you.” Deceit rolls his eyes, he doesn’t need anything from them, and honestly, he doesn’t want anything from them. He’d prefer to just move on from this debacle and never think about it again.

“It’s not payment,” Morality grins like Deceit had been telling a joke. “It’s a gift! For you! Because you’re paw-sitively purrrrr-fect!”

Morality shoves a cat-shaped pillow in Deceit’s face, and all he can do is blink at it stupidly.

“I made you three!” Morality continues. “One for each cat!”

Deceit takes the proffered pillow — gray with bright blue eyes, like the nice cat — and Morality pulls out two more pillows that resemble the other two cats.

“That’s- um…” For once, Deceit’s silver tongue is failing him. He has no idea what to say.

“Mama?”

Not now, Deceit begs internally. Why does Anxiety have to choose now to wake up?

Anxiety approaches normally, but Deceit can tell the second he sees Morality, because he quickly ducks behind Deceit’s legs.

“Hey, kiddo,” Morality says gently as he lowers himself to his knees so that he’s level with the young Side. “I just wanted to thank your mama for returning my cats earlier. I cat tell you how happy I was to have them back, so as a thank you, I made these purr-fect pillows, would you like one?”

“That’s the same joke twice,” Deceit mutters, but Morality ignores him.

Morality holds out the Siamese pillow to Anxiety. Anxiety looks up at Deceit, and Deceit — unable to see how this could possibly be a trap — nods.

Anxiety quickly snatches the pillow from Morality and hugs it close to his chest.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

Morality smiles. “No problem, kiddo. It’s the fleece I can do.”

Anxiety lets out a giggle, and Morality’s grin grows

“A fan of jokes I see! Well then, why did the chicken cross the road?”

“Why?” Anxiety asks quietly, voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

“To get to the other Sides!” Anxiety stares blankly at him, and Deceit smirks at the failed joke. “No? How about, what’s a ghost’s favorite fruit?”

“What?”

“Boo-berries!”

That one gets another giggle

Morality grins and holds out the third pillow. “You can have this one, too, if you want it.”

Anxiety doesn’t even look at Deceit for approval this time before he grabs pillow from Morality and attempts to hold both as close to his chest as possible.

“Anxiety,” Deceit says as Morality straightens up. “Why don’t you go show Creativity your new pillows?”

“Okay!” The kid cheers, taking off without another word, two cat pillows in tow.

“Thank you, Morality,” Deceit says once Anxiety is gone. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” Morality smiles. “I wanted to! So I did.”

“I will admit, I’m not sure what to do when receiving a gift,” Deceit admits, surprised at his own honestly.

“Well I’ll just have to fix that, won’t I?” Morality says brightly. He pulls Deceit into a tight hug, but lets go before he can even begin to process that. “Bye Dee! I’ll see you later!”

And then he’s gone. Leaving Deceit standing in the doorway clutching a soft gray cat pillow.

Fuck, I’m GAY!

——End——

Taglist (if you voted B then you’re tagged)

@queen-of-all-things-snuggly

@pixelated-pineapple

@selenechris

@angelofthedark2005

@remus-sanders-is-amazing

@quietmob

@the-bones-fall

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #momceit #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #kid virgil #janus sanders #remus sanders #pre aa #unsympathetic roman #a little bit #more like pre aa typical roman #my writing #thursday writes #mociet #minor moceit #long post #i dont know how to do the cut

[wisteria-lodge]

lion primary (bird model) + slightly burnt lion secondary

Hi there! I’m a fan of your sorting posts, and of your kind and insightful way of supporting people in finding out more about themselves. So naturally I’d be very interested in your take about my own sorting, if you’re game! :)

I won’t talk much about my Secondary, because now that I’m starting to unburn my Lion seems very clear to me, even when my explosion-prone Badger model still tries to get in the way of that clarity sometimes. The more interesting riddle is my Primary. So far I’m operating under the working theory that I am a Lion with a very strong Bird model - or is it the other way ‘round?

The supposed dichotomy between “thinking” and “feeling” in many of the more binary personality models has always bugged me, so it’s no wonder this is the area where whenever I feel like I’ve decided on who I am (for now) a new question mark pops up (so much fun!).

If ‘thinking’ and ‘feeling’ doesn’t work for you as terminology, it might help to think of Lion as leading with subconscious reasoning, and Bird as leading with conscious reasoning.

Instead of trying to formulate a cohesive text, which would have gotten even longer, I’m putting together an associative list of thoughts and stories that kept turning up while I was trying to figure out my Primary.

A very Lion primary way to solve a problem, not gonna lie ;)

- I think I got my Bird model from my father, who made quite an effort to teach me to look at things from all angles. As a child, whenever I got in a fight with this friend I had, he would sit me down and ask me to put myself in my friend’s shoes. It was hard, because a lot of the time my friend was being unfair to me and I actually could have used some support, someone to tell me that it was not okay to treat me this way. But I’m still immeasurably grateful for my father’s lessons, through which I’ve learned to understand peoples’ motivations and gained an understanding for the complexities of every conflict. He also taught me to doubt, to look closer, to not just believe the first thing I see, or want to see. To this day I still consider my ability to pin down the relevant factors of a situation before I make judgments one of my strengths.

That definitely sounds like a very strong, beloved Bird model.

- Whenever I had to write an essay at school or uni, I first had to come up with some aspect about the subject that I really cared about, even could be passionate about. (I am passionate about many things, so it was usually possible to find some connection to that.) Then I would use the essay to discuss this aspect in great detail, ending with a polemic flourish. I had the time of my life doing that; meanwhile the text would structure itself magically in relation to the issue I had chosen to focus on. Whenever I tried to write without such a focus, I’d get bored, stressed and the text would be of a much lower quality.

- Something similar happened in oral exams at uni: Only when I got the opportunity to bring a discussion paper (a few pointed statements regarding the exam topic) which I could then debate, I was able to recollect all the important details I needed for that. If I just had to report on the topic or answer questions, I often got confused, to the point of drawing a complete blank.

Linking things to emotion and passion - thinking with emotion and passion, basically - is a Lion primary thing. Especially if doing that makes you feel safe & comfortable & effective & happy.

- Even as a teenager I was very interested in philosophy, ethics and moral decision making.

I love teaching philosophy to teenagers. It’s the perfect time for it, they are so into it, and if it were up to me I would absolutely make it a required class.

I picked up certain philosophical ideas and concepts that I liked and integrated them in my belief system (yes, I know how very Bird that sounds).

I had my mind blown by Genealogy of Morals in high school, and I still won’t shut about Eichmann in Jerusalem. But what was so staggering to me in high school was… here are these ways of thinking that are possible and allowed. The fact that here they are in words in front of me made me a great deal more expansive.

Now that I think about it — I don’t remember adjusting my beliefs as in any way traumatic back then. The shift from a belief in the Christian God to Mother Goddess to my very own brand of agnostic paganism was smooth, natural.

Now that I think about it… I would describe myself as a mythic relativist (which is a term I just made up.) Systems of belief are metaphors, and they’re metaphors trying to describe and say something large and beautiful about what it means to be human, and what it means to live a good life. And since we are all human, they are all attempting to describe the same central, indescribable thing in different ways.

I feel this very deeply, but it took me a long while to be able to articulate it.

I constantly reevaluate, and I adapt.

You stop reevaluating and adapting, might as well be dead.

Still, there are some basics I’ve kept with me that just make too much sense to me to give up, and some that perhaps I keep because I just really like them and I’m kind of attached to them.

… somebody’s thinking with Pathos :)

- I’m a constructivist at heart, so that makes it much easier to tweak the content of my beliefs while staying true to the principle that we (socially) construct our reality, and (my take on this): that I choose what kind of world I want to live in, and according to that I make choices which are the most likely to create that world.

- At uni I attended a seminar about the development of moral judgment and action. What I remember most clearly about it is how much it bugged me that the other students didn’t seem to understand that morality always depends on the perspective. Even though I had definite moral convictions that I was ready to fight for, at the same time it seemed obvious to me that theoretically there could be a justification for every kind of moral guideline; it depended on your principles and the world you wanted to live in.

A human after my own heart.

I wanted to understand these different perspectives, not talk about empty categories like “right and wrong” or “good and evil” that meant nothing to me. I still feel that way.

Absolutely. I don’t use alignments when I DM Dungeons & Dragons. I mean, I can list evil *things* but that’s not the same thing as defining *being evil.* I want to know WHY these people did these evil things.

It just seems so impractical and complicated to base a conversation on those broad categories that don’t have any definition people can agree on instead of referring either to defined principles (in order to explain what good/ bad is *for you*) or consequences of certain actions, and whether you want them/ accept them/ don’t want them.

Oh that’s a fun discussion. Asking a highschooler to define “evil.”

(and then they have to figure out what moral systems Jigsaw, Pinhead, the Joker, and Bane all subscribe to.)

- Between “the Revolutionary” and “the Grail Knight”, I would love to be the former, but I’m clearly the latter. I’m someone who questions, not someone who knows.

Take my archetypes with a grain of salt, they are supposed to describe characters. (Who are different from people - but still useful, because they are attempts to describe us.) I actually want to write more about the differences I see between the way fictional secondaries are written and the way real-life secondaries work.

And just “knowing”... is dangerous. That’s how Exploded Lions happen. 

There are a lot of causes I find worthy to fight for, but I haven’t committed to any one, which so far I’ve attributed to my Burned Secondary (How do I do things?).

Sounds about right.

If I’m honest, though, it feels a bit strange to really, really fight for anything. I’d rather contribute to the cause by keeping an eye on whether we stay aligned to our values on every level of the fight, not by storming sightlessly in front of some army. (I got polemic again, didn’t I? ;))

So after all this Bird talk, why do I think that I’m a Lion?

… that was the Bird segment?

- I trust my intuition. It has never steered me wrong, with one exception: My Primary burned for a time when I first understood the concept of privilege and internalized bias, which was coincidentally at a time when I also went through a lot of changes in my personal life. Like many people unaware of their own privilege, I had thought of myself as “one of the good ones”. I learned that even with the best intentions I could cause great harm without even noticing it. This then also happened to me in a relationship, when I was already confused, hurt and more than a bit burned. It seemed like I couldn’t trust my intuition anymore, but I also couldn’t figure out intellectually what to believe, because I felt mentally overwhelmed by all those new concepts, all of which put my previous convictions into question. Which Primary burned then?

Been there, done that, it’s brutal. It sounds to me like a Lion dramatically changing direction - that’s what I mean when I say that it *hurts* when a Lion changes their mind. Birds see their past selves that thought wrong as almost different people. “I wasn’t aware of my privilege then, now I am, and can take steps doing forward.” But if you’re a lion it’s like… I *should* have been aware, and the fact that I wasn’t says something terrible about my moral/emotional calibration, and THAT has to be put right.

- I felt like everything I had learned about the world and myself didn’t count anymore. My concepts and my strategies didn’t serve me anymore. So I started to rebuild everything from scratch, this time with less pride and more practicality.

Yeah. That’s some Lion recalibration. With a Bird Model, to help.

- Anyway, I trust my intuition. It contains my experiences, instinct and all my accumulated unconscious observations of the situation, and it’s very reliable. Usually I use it as an important source of information which I try to back up with data/ understanding, but when push came to shove and the apparent facts would contradict what my intuition told me, I would be unable to set my gut feeling aside. I wouldn’t follow it blindly, of course. But I would never just go against it either. If the voices of my unconscious and conscious mind don’t align, I keep poking at the issue until they do. If I absolutely cannot come to a satisfying conclusion, I go with my gut. Since I know it usually knows what it’s doing, I’ll find out the reasons for my feelings later. (Weird, says my inner bird who is busy compiling these examples.)

I’LL FIND THE REASON FOR MY FEELINGS LATER. What a perfect way of articulating what is perhaps the central experience of being a Lion primary.

- Probably I’m just both, you know. Some interesting lion/bird-chimaera. I like it.

I read you as a pretty clear Lion Primary, Bird primary model. But as always, the decision is very personal.

- I have a weird way of processing information: I read/ hear it, work to understand it, work to connect it to existing knowledge in my mind, then my beliefs, my existing knowledge and my feelings about it all wind around each other, grow into each other, some dissolve together, becoming a swamp which then nourishes the plants of new ideas and connections that grow from it.

You grok it. And that’s not weird.

I often can’t remember where certain knowledge came from. I can’t take it out of a memory shelf and tell you about it. I usually remember that I’ve read a certain book and whether I liked it / it influenced me, but I won’t exactly remember what was in it, even if it was important to me. Because all that information is already processed/ digested/ transformed into something new. It’s much easier to access my memory swamp intuitively than consciously.

and you seriously had like… any doubt that you were a Lion.

In intellectual discussions I tend to get stuck because I just can’t remember enough of the details (for my satisfaction), just my conclusions about the topic and how I feel about it.

I’m inclined to think that not accessing the details is either a secondary thing, or an entirely unrelated processing thing.

What do you make of all this? I’m very curious!

:)

[On an unrelated note, I’d like to specify the compliment I made at the beginning of this post. I’m really impressed with your ability to pick up on what people need, not just what they say they want. As a counselor this is a skill I try to hone, so I know how difficult it is to not get too distracted by the story people tell and miss the more subtle cues. You have a powerful combination of perceptiveness, insight and so much kindness, which you use to effectively support people who have questions, are in distress or confused. You don’t generalize. You don’t judge. You see the people who talk to you.  I love that you’re a teacher, because I can see you’re using the influence that gives you in a way that contributes to making the world a better place. Fellow Idealist, I’d like to give you a High Five for that, if I may. :)))]

I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a better compliment. Thank you.

#submission #sortinghatchats #lion primary #lionpri #bird primary vs lion primary #philosophy stuff

[sidespromptblog]

Between the Mask: End

One, Two, and Three

Warnings: Panic attack (Virgil), Crying (Virgil), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, and Awkwardness. 

Summary: Roman confronts Janus about how exactly Roman should act around him, after being told by the others that both being nice and mean to him is wrong. Only to discover that, after everything he’s been through Janus isn’t the person he portrays in front of everyone else.

AO3 LINK 

Word Count: 2871

This could not have been more awkward if they’d tried, it was scarily resembling the first time that Thomas had ever brought over his boyfriend to his parents house. Except this time it was just Janus, and Virgil staring holes right through the other side’s head in a silent attempt to slay him where he sat.

So all things considered… not bad.

“So Janus…” Patton tenderly broke the silence that had been sitting amongst them all as the others poked and prodded at their food, only nibbling morosely at the food that had been dished onto their plates. If anything, Patton hoped that a light conversation would ease the tension of the room, even if it was with Janus.

“Logan told us that you made some suggestions on what he should change in his wardrobe? Are we allowed any hints about what might be changing? I never knew you to be very conscious about what we wore before.”

A quick flicker of Janus’ eyes from his food, to Patton, to Logan, and then back to Patton was the only hint of surprise that Janus gave away. Both at the topic of conversation and the fact that Logan had felt the need to even tell Patton of all people that much. Although… he did suppose that in order to get a little, one must also give a little.

“Yes,” A tiny proud grin curled on Janus’ lips as he set his fork down. “I’ve taken up knitting as of recently, and I wanted Logan to model some of the scarves and sweaters that I was planning to make. If he liked any of them I wanted him to be able to keep them, if it made him happy to do so. I’ve already started on my first set of socks,” Janus proudly admitted, his chest puffing out a little at the thought of the cozy midnight blue socks he had painstakingly knitted over the past few days. They weren’t anywhere close to being finished since he was actually making them instead of summoning them, but… it felt nice to work hard on something that someone else could enjoy like that. “Logan picked out the color himself.” He also added softly, a tiny genuine smile playing on his lips.

Virgil merely huffed silently, ignoring the overly wary look that had come from Logan at the motion whereas the tension seemed to bleed out of Patton’s shoulders at that. A much more relieved look on his face as the moral side found it much easier to relax after that, where Virgil found it to be just the opposite.

It was clear to him at least that Janus was just playing some kind of game to get Patton on his side so that he could-

“Have you tried crocheting?” The question came easily enough, and thus the topic of conversation had been started almost as easily as breathing, but even so, with that one question it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of Virgil’s lungs.

Something that seemingly went unnoticed as Patton smiled more easily.

The normal and casualness of the conversation made the tight feeling inside of Patton’s chest loosen at the look of excitement that bubbled up in Janus’ eyes, excitement that Janus was clearly having to tamper down as he readjusted himself in his seat eagerly leaning forward. There were no lies here, and there was no false bravado and slyness like there was in the courtroom. Just… genuine happiness and conversations between two people who could be friends. It made Patton understand all the more just how Logan was easily able to talk with Janus outside of the scope of Thomas, and just how Logan was able to relax around Janus. Janus was… smart, really smart, but there was no denying the level of comfort that the dishonest side practically oozed when he too was feeling comfortable. It was almost like…

The warm hearth of a fireplace.

“I have,” Janus popped a cherry tomato into his mouth, chewing quickly before swallowing. “But crocheted clothes are often times more still, and they’re better suited to blankets and hats, or even curtains if you’ve got a lot of dedication.” Janus gestured to the beanie sitting snugly on his head, only letting out a few wisps of his curly hair. “So while knitting is more challenging, it's better suited to that purpose even if I don’t quite understand it yet. It’s good to challenge the mind every now and then. That’s how you grow after all.”

The clatter of silverware stopped whatever Patton was going to say next.

All attention shifted over to the source of the noise, as Virgil’s hands landed solidly on the table with his plate rattling from the motion. The look on his face wasn’t that of the disbelieving anger he had aimed at Logan mere hours ago, or even one of hate like he had in the courtroom, but one of honest relief and disbelief at the same time. His fingers dug into the wood of the table, his knuckles scraping against it as he clenched his fists as the anxious side took in one deep shuddering breath after another. He looked rather shocked to say the least, well… shocked was a rather tame way of looking at Virgil’s reaction.

“Virg-”

“You’re crocheting again?” Virgil cut in before Patton’s worried exclamation could go any further, as if needing to hear the answer and assure the others that he wasn’t angry all at the same time. There was a desperate pleading look in his eyes, one that barely showed the tears that were welling up in his eyes like a sink on the verge of over flooding.

His breathing hitched for a moment, as Janus answered with three simple words:

“I never stopped.”

It was with those words alone that the hardy anxious side cried, the tears spilling over with ease as he slumped back into his chair as if all of the strength had been knocked out of him. Honestly, none of them had ever seen Virgil cry before, he had always been rather aloof when it had come to expressing or even partaking in emotional moments with all of them. Happy to join in on the fun and good moments, but always so quick to withdraw when it came to sad discussions about his own emotional state that didn’t involve his own anxieties as Thomas’ residential anxiety.

In a last ditch effort to hide the state of his own emotional turmoil Virgil pulled his hood down to cover his eyes, although it did almost nothing to hide the dark mixture of tears and eyeshadow that had already made their way down his face already. If anything it only made it that more shocking to see the other side like this, being so careless as to cry in front of the others.

It was a massive shock for all of them.

But none more so than Janus himself.

The hurried scraping of the chair told Virgil that Janus wasn’t wasting any time in getting to him, just the sound alone reminded Virgil of a time when things had been different. When his caplet and hat didn’t exist, when the most flown thing that Janus had ever owned was a blanket that he kept constantly draped over his shoulders for no reason other than the fact that it was comfortable. He had thought that Janus would be okay without him, that if he were to go to the light sides to be listened to… Janus would be fine, and yet..

He had looked so different when he had finally shown himself to all of them.

The warm person he had grown up alongside might as well have been killed and replaced with the snarky vile person who had slapped Logan’s hand over his mouth the moment the logical side tried to reveal him to Thomas too soon. And the worst part was…

He had no idea what had happened to him, and he could only assume that him leaving had done it.

For good.

“Virgil? Virgil can you hear me?” Soft warm hands cupped his cheeks, as thumbs gingerly brushed away the tears that had made a mess of his face. Through the blurring of his eyesight it almost appeared to be Patton who had come to his rescue, however, blinking hastily up at the person his vision cleared enough to show him the worried face of Janus staring down at him. Fear, concern, and terror all mixing into one big emotion on the dishonest sides face, as the ungloved hands soothingly brushed his messy bangs out of his face. “Virgil?” Janus softly repeated, the snide tone that he had used the last time he had seen Virgil lost, and one of warmth replacing it as if he had never gone to begin with. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The side in question hated the weakness that welled up in his chest at the warmth in Janus’ voice, it made him feel soft in his hands, like putty ready to be molded for whatever purpose. It felt genuine and.. and just so damn nice, like sinking into a warm back after a long day out in the cold snowy weather.

He hated even more how his bottom lip trembled, and more tears snuck their way down his face only to be brushed away by Janus’ fingers.

“Why did you change?” Virgil croaked out, he wanted to scream and shout this question, to seize Janus by the front of his shirt and shake him until he got his answer. But the emotions clogging his throat made it practically impossible to do much more than whisper, “You changed so much since I left… what happened? Why are you so different? Do you.. do you hate me?”

It would make sense, Virgil constantly acted like he hated Janus after he showed his face to Thomas. But after the other side’s personality seemed to go through such a drastic change… how could he not? It was like whoever was parading around in Janus’ skin loved to rub it in that he wasn’t the same anymore, that he was gone and that he would never go back to the way that things were before. All he wanted to know was why, and just how this had happened to Janus. Was it him? Was it Remus? Or… was this the person that Janus had finally become after having to deal with him for far too long?

He hated who Janus had become, and he hated not knowing why even more.

All was silent around the table, with Roman and Logan trading looks between the two of them and Patton looking as if he’d love nothing more than to quell whatever pain was inside Virgil. Although he knew this time.. this time it was up to someone else to deal with that emotional turmoil now, it was his turn to watch and provide support from the sidelines.

A heavy kind of sigh left Janus’ lips, “Virgil…” He mumbled softly, stooping down even lower so that he could wrap his arms around the anxious side, allowing his chin to rest right on the other’s shoulder leaving his mouth right next to Virgil’s ear. “I… Can’t.” He guiltily mumbled out, he wanted nothing more than to blurt everything out to Virgil, especially seeing how his “change” had hurt the anxious side so much. But he couldn’t, not like this in the very least, not with Patton watching and certainly not in such a desperate kind of moment. He needed everyone to be calm when he explained everything, so that it could all be explained correctly without any kind of misunderstandings.  

Regret boiled in his gut as Virgil’s eyes filled with a hurt kind of betrayal stilling the anxious side completely. The fingers that rested on his back dug almost painfully deep as it clenched the fabric of his shirt, as Virgil chewed angrily onto his bottom lip. That alone told him that Virgil wished to do more, to scream, yell, and tear into him. But he held back, if only by digging his fingers in deeper in an attempt to tame to his famous temper from doing those things.

Regardless, Janus endured it.

Janus’ voice was no louder than it needed to be for Virgil and Virgil alone to hear the secret that was finally coming to light. “I promise,” Janus’ arms squeezed Virgil a little tighter, a grimace appearing on the dishonest side’s face. “I can’t tell you right now, but I will soon, it’s just…” Janus relaxed slightly as Virgil’s grip on him eased just the tiniest bit. “I am quite scared, both of your reaction as well as Patton’s and Thomas’. But I’ll tell you why, you just.. you just have to trust me a little.”

Virgil wanted to shout at Janus.

Not only had Janus almost burned all of his bridges with Virgil, but it had hurt all of them a lot. And for what? Virgil had started to hate him, he had almost convinced Thomas to never ever take what Janus said as any kind of value. He had tried his hardest to fight back against Janus, he had tried to stamp the other side down before he could ever get the chance to tell Thomas any kind of thing. And for what? For the sake of being the bad guy?!

Oh...

Oh.

The bad guy…

He had been the bad guy once hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

He’d tried to use fear and intimidation to make Thomas listen to him for once, when he had first shown himself to Thomas he’d scared the man so badly that he had tried to use Roman to get rid of him. Roman who now was looking at him from across the table with a wary kind of understanding in his eyes, he had to have known. It was impossible for him not to, not the with the kind of looks he was shooting Virgil right now. Maybe he hadn’t known right off the bat, but when Logan had revealed he had been talking to Janus, Roman hadn’t been at all surprised. He had even attempted to defend Janus when he hadn’t even been there, as well as when Virgil had been talking badly about him.

He’d known.

It was hard not feel a sense of betrayal washing over him, after all, in the past he had been much closer to Janus than Roman and Logan ever was. They knew something that he definitely didn’t about Janus, and it was something to do about how Janus seemed to do a complete 360 in terms of personality. Especially with how coldly Logan had defended Janus from Virgil, only to be backed up by Roman. They were all in one big secret that was being kept from him, a secret that was well within arms reach right this very second.

However, before he could fully allow the stinging betrayal to hold any sway over his heart…

A part of him felt as if Janus was justified in this and that… that Virgil should have known well before all of this had gone down in the first place.

He had been where Janus was after all.  

He had walked the same path as Janus almost a year beforehand, he knew what it was liked to be shunned by everyone around him. He could have helped, he.. he should have helped instead of relying on his gut instinct that had proved him wrong multiple times.

“So which one was it?” Virgil dryly croaked in a whisper, feeling Janus’ startle he quickly elaborated. “I have the feeling that you were dead set about going in for the long game. So… was it Roman or Logan that urged you to give it up?” It had to be one of the two, or even both of them. Janus was a patient person, to the point where he could spend months let alone years trying to do something.

It wouldn’t have surprised him in the least.

Janus chest rumbled with a tiny uneasy laugh, “It was actually Roman,” He softly admitted, feeling the creative side’s gaze burning through his back and scorching Virgil. “He actually busted into my room one night to confront me after our last… altercation involving my name. Scared me shitless at the time too, I thought he had come to take off my head or something...”

“Oh really?” Virgil’s eyebrow dangerously quirked upwards, as he locked eyes with Roman. The dark rolling sensation only slightly satisfied when Roman glanced away from him, “So when exactly are you going to tell me what he knows? Or for that matter, let me into your room?”

Something warm blossomed in Janus' heart at Virgil's question, it reassured him, in just the slightest little bit that when he told Virgil the truth… the anxious side wouldn't hate him for it and that perhaps they could once again be friends.

"Anytime." Janus gradually raised his voice, finally allowing Patton and the others to hear what was being said between them. "My door will always be open to you Virgil. It always has been."

#patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil angst #janus angst #ts sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides #ts sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic

[just2bubbly]

Kidnapped?

Masterlist

Summary

"Goodness, where are we?"

"How am I suppose to know?"

"It's your palace. You live here, not to mention you have a computer in your brain to figure out. Any more reasons?"

What happens when you get kidnapped in your own palace? Bizarre!

More bizarre if you happen to know the kidnapper.

Ship: Kaider

Words: 2.8k

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Cinder's Perspective-

"Goodness, where are we?" Kai questioned, his voice a bit higher than usual showing his panic.

"How am I suppose to know?" she retorted, her eyes trying to adjust to the pitch-black darkness around her.

"It's your palace. You live here, not to mention you have a computer in your brain to figure out. Any more reasons?" he cited.

"Yeah," she said dryly. 'Why did being near Kai rob her of her senses?!' her mind seemed to ask herself.

"I don't know," she stated after having done her best at trying to locate their position.

"What?"

"I have no idea where we are!- This place is off the records," she said explaining their situation.

"Are we kidnapped?" he proposed.

"Why would someone do that?"

"We are very important people. You are the Queen of Luna. I am the Emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth. The question is why would they not?" he said, matter-of-factly.

"We have been at peace for over a year with Earth. The Lunars have taken a liking to the new way of life. I don't think they would kidnap us," she tried to argue- nonetheless, her mind convinced her to believe that they were kidnapped.

What better reason to come up with other than kidnapping when one finds themselves in a dark chamber?!

"Then we are trapped," he suggested as she had discarded his previous sensible idea of being kidnapped.

"Probably" She stayed silent unable to think about any sane reason to be stuck in a dark room.

"We are stuck," he announced to which she nodded for having nothing else to say.

"Are you sure this place wherever that is- is in the Palace?"

"I guess so- minutes ago we were walking near The Throne Room. We have to be in the Palace, unless-"

"Unless we were knocked out and don't remember anything about it," Kai completed.

"I don't think we were knocked out," she commented.

"And why would that be?"

"My brain did not signify anything about 'System Reboot'- besides I don't think anyone of us remembers about waking up!" she explained her line of reasoning.

"Uh- okay!"

"Do you have your device?" she inquired, her brain seemed to have dawned upon the bright idea of contacting one of her friends.

"No, it's my room- I left it behind. What about yours?"

"Iko wanted it for something," she said, losing hope of seeking any sort of help.

"Do you think we are kept as hostages?" she speculated aloud.

"I am not sure. The last time I was kidnapped it made more sense," he said, using sarcasm at a time where it was least expected.

"Yeah and I was the kidnapper," she said dryly.

As her survival instinct kicked in, she examined the room and it did not look like it was a prison cell. It had no way to escape, neither a window nor a door. She wondered how they had ever entered it.

Kai sighed and sat, his back against the wall- pulling the black-tie that he was wearing loose and opening the collar button of his dress shirt.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, trying to keep her voice distinct.

"Making myself comfortable. I barely have the energy to remain standing for another minute," he confessed, as he rubbed the sole of his palm into his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she queried, suddenly very conscious about checking his health.

"I don't know, I'm tired and haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Moreover, this dark room is not really helping my case!" he conceded.

She thought of how she had not noticed his fatigue since he had landed on Luna. He really did his best at hiding his weariness from the onlooker.

"Are you going to stand there all this time?" he demanded, making her come sit beside him. They sat in silence not sure about where to start the conversation from. However, the silence felt comfortable, almost serene if not for their setting.

"I feel like we are trapped here," he proclaimed after what felt like a sufficient amount of time had been spent in silence.

"Thank you for the observation Kai, I thought we were having a party here," she added, her every word strong with sarcasm

"Oh really!" he exclaimed with fake disbelief. They stared at each other challengingly- none of them ready to back down until they recalled their scenario. Kai looked away making sure to groan in frustration. Always the responsible one.

"I mean- I don't think we are kidnapped or taken hostages-"

"Enlighten me then why we are here?" she snorted failing to understand him.

He glared but elaborated, "I guess we lost our way and are just trapped in some room which happens to be off records."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, why would they kidnap two people madly in love with each other?"

"What does loving each other have anything to do with kidnapping?" she asked incredulously.

"Come on Cinder if you were kidnapped won't I be drastic to find you and vice versa- we are stuck together-"

"Kai, although I appreciate the gesture of you being desperate to find me in case I was kidnapped, you have watched too many romcoms and sitcoms. Whatever your line of reasoning is, it suits some drama better than the condition we are caught in." she tried her best to explain this to him without trying to chuckle at his dorkiness.

"Besides, how do you even get time to watch dramas?" she asked, trying to figure out how Kai had free time when she seemed to be drowning in paperwork all the time.

"I have a day off just to watch romcoms," he said with so much conviction she believed him there.

"Really? You are allowed such privileges?" Now he really had her attention- an entire day off! Cinder had had to work on Christmas as well.

"No just kidding," he interrupted before she could ask any more questions. She looked at him shocked and muttered something under her breath that made his lips quirk up.

"Kai, besides there are other people to be worried about you. I hope they don't think the Emperor of Eastern Commonwealth got kidnapped on Luna."

"Cinder, they won't think Lunars kidnapped me or you for that matters," he said trying to assure her.

"You never know! The look that Prime Minister Bromstad was shooting my way, makes me believe he wanted something like this to happen to question my moralities!" She huffed in frustration as she failed to keep her nerves in check.

"Do you think they would have started searching for us?"

"They better be- Thorne would definitely notice me when he does not find someone to annoy," She joked trying to calm herself down while trying to think about good reasons to explain this situation.  Apparently, 'lost in my own palace' was not the best option she had.

She thought about how she was going to justify her and Kai's absence in today's meeting- but that was really not the worse part. The graver part of their absence would be the murmurs that would go around among the world leaders as she and Kai would enter the conference hall-provided if they ever left this forsaken place. Not to mention the rumours that would question her among her own court, once all the leaders would return back.

Words stopped coming out of her lips unable to keep the conversation going, as her mind tried to grasp the after-effects of this activity.

They had been together under the same roof after a year and all they had to said to each other were formal pleasantries. They had been in the presence of each other for the last 9 hours 27 minutes (let's not address the seconds) and their words had have been nothing but distant. Seldom they went about their duties using satire to converse better except it felt a bit too awkward to be normal and considered casual.

Although Cinder had talked with him on comms numerous times, meeting him in person after a year felt different!

Whoever said long-distance was hard-was very very correct!

Cinder had run so many scenarios of her greeting Kai for over a week- thinking about all that she would have to say in the limited period of 3 days. Alas, reality had been very disturbing. She had very stupidly stumbled over her words in an undignified manner over the sight of him. Thank goodness and all the stars for she had not blurted something more idiotic unfit for the Queen of Luna. When their gazes had met, she was going crazy by just thinking about him and now as if fate was rewarding her for her own stupidity-she had no idea what to say to him stuck in a room alone. Uh!

"I missed you," he blurted out of the blue. It was so unexpected, she contemplated if he had said that just to fill the infinite void of silence between them.

"You missed me?" she challenged, knowing very well that it was not the best thing to say. The appropriate answer would be ' I missed you too." Cinder was never the one to be following rules- hell, she had worn trousers suited with a dress shirt to her own birthday party instead of the classical ball gown she was supposed to.

Even if she would not admit it loudly, she felt happy hearing those words -never having the joy of hearing them from anyone else.

It was the first time someone had said those very said those words aloud to her. Iko never had a chance to miss her as she was constantly with her. She had known Kai and the others for over a year only throughout which the idea of rebellion and their unforeseen, sudden deaths was constantly looming over them -so words of missing each other had never been vocal.

She had a chance of saying 'Miss you' to Peony uncountable times but even then that had never happened. Cinder had never gone very far away to be missed by anyone. Until now.

He nodded and she cursed the darkness wondering if Kai's ears had turned pink.

"Is that so hard to believe?" he asked, failing to keep the concern out of his voice.

"No," she muttered and softly added, "I missed you. Beyond your wits and imagination-"

Unsure if had heard it or not but as she felt him take her hand and move closer to her ear she knew he had heard her. His lips were at her ears and the sudden contact made her shiver in excitement.

"I can imagine- you know having experience with- missing your aunt and all. "

She knew it without being able to see that he was smirking- without caring about how rushed, reckless and rash her actions were - her lips were on his and as if he had anticipated such a response out of her, he was kissing her back without a moment to lose. It felt good to have him near her- just moving her hand through his dark black hair while he held onto her other hand- her cybernetic one. It was not much of symbolism but she felt assured that he wanted her- whole- with her cybernetics, just like she wanted him. It had been mere seconds since their lips but she was already out of breath. Her lungs were burning from the want of oxygen just like her heart that had gone warm with desire.

She moved back to breathe yet she was just millimetres away from him- their foreheads touching. Their eyes locked and the next second they were doubling over with laughter-vibrant and clear.

The kiss was brief yet sweet filled with assurance and hope but it felt like it had broken all spells of awkwardness between the two. This moment was so full of love and happiness, that she wanted to bottle it up and drink from it again and again once Kai would be gone. Her worries were forgotten for a while, as she took in his lean frame, his long hair that fell over the copper-brown eyes that looked like they were looking through her soul as if she was some sort of art.

"I missed you," she whispered in the crook of his neck meaning each word.

"Me too!"

She inhaled his scent- closing her eyes as she took in the exhilarating smell of cedar and sharp mint.

"Cinder?"

"Kai," she whispered back.

"Look," he told.

'Hmmm"

"We are no longer inside the room"

"What?" she said her eyes opening to look around- it was true. She was not in some dark room, she was a few feet away from the Throne Room.

She whirled around not trusting her eyes, "How is this even possible? We were trapped just now and now-"

"You don't sound so happy?"

"What?! I am obviously happy but-"

" Is being trapped with me so bad?"

"Kai! No-"

Realizing he was just playing around with her she huffed and glared at him while he settled for a grin. He was going to be the end of her!

"Kai, Be serious! " she ordered her voice commanding. However, her eyes held no anger only bewilderment.

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"Oh yeah- I completely forgot. I got caught, more like trapped somewhere near the left of the Throne room. Can you figure it out for me? The place is like some sort of magical room it appeared out of nowhere and it was gone."

"Hmm..sounds interesting!" Iko mumbled, her face full of concentration as her slender fingers tapped on her chin as if thinking deeply.

"Were you alone?" she inquired.

"Ac-actually there was someone else with me." She was not sure if she wanted to share details of her time in a dark room with Iko but convincing herself she admitted, "Well, I was stuck inside with Kai."

As if this piece of information was very vital, her eyes sparkled as they changed their colour to bright, joyous, warm yellow.

"A private place- no disturbance," she said pointedly.

"What?"Cinder asked confused over her remark of 'private place'. The smirk on Iko's pretty face made Cinder suspicious and then it clicked together- like a painting kept inside water becomes clearly visible once the water goes still.

"Uh! Sorry, I was just thinking about a few things-" he said, his eyes glossed up with emotion much similar to wistfulness.

"Are you feeling nostalgic Emperor Kaito?" she proposed, not quite sure about what Kai was remembering.

"Probably yes," he admitted his head turned to look at her among the company of her friends.

"You have memories attached to this place. I can only imagine the young Emperor grieving over the loss of his first wife. I hope your heart has found peace without my aunt around."

"It has been a hard year but I have found solace without dear Levana," he said with such a grieved tone that it was almost convincing if not for his eyes that were twinkling with humour and mirth.

"Let's hope you have a good time in my abode, Emperor."

"That I would surely have," he said with a smirk playing along his very pretty and tempting lips which was followed by a wink.

"I guess we have had enough flirting for the evening. Now if you two would move-"

"Captain why would you disturb them? They look so adorable together" Iko squealed casting a look of love towards her.

"Aces, If they had continued I would have thrown up," Thorne complained earning a glare from everyone around him especially Cinder who was on the verge of strangling him for having disturbed their moment.

"Thorne, they are not being adorable now that you have disturbed them," Iko whined to an amused and proud looking Thorne.

Forgetting the two who had very unapologetically interrupted their exchange, Cinder whispered, "Next time somewhere bit private, unlike my throne room. How about that Emperor?"

He cocked his head and agreed, taking a pause as if pretending to think about it, "Your wish is my command, My Queen."

It made complete sense- the room appearing and disappearing while her schedule was clear, with no one but them on the floor while they were trapped. Later, she was secured after quality time spent with Kai. It was obviously Iko, she should have known.

"Iko," she yelled as her friend slipped away from her chambers.

"You asked for it," she shouted back.

And like perfect timing Kai, walked along. She supposed that this was part of Iko's plan as well.

"What did you ask for?" he asked, coming to stand beside her while she rested her head on his shoulder.

"That room- it was Iko all along!" she offered.

"Apparently it was not just Iko- it was Iko AND Thorne."

Her friend was going to get a hell lot of yelling later but right now Cinder was thankful for what she had done.

___

A/N: Okay, the entire book series has the phrase 'Miss You' said only 4 times. I drift a bit away from canon in this part of the fic because Cinder did say 'miss you' to Peony while she was in quarantine and to Kai while he was leaving for Earth after the revolution. Even he had said those very words to her before Thorne dropped him off to New Beijing.  I just choose to avoid those moments, probably because those words did not carry much meaning in the heat of the revolution. I believe Cinder feels guilty for never having expressed her thoughts of fondness for Peony in the pandemic- type of society that they lived in, where life was not exactly what I would call guaranteed.

And well Angie aka @gingerale2017 - Thank You for the request. I know I took  too much time to revert back to it (I think approximately 4 months) but I did not really find a nice plot until now and I have made a few changes just to align with my ideas- so if you were expecting something different... I'm sorry! It felt wonderful writing this! :)

Thank you again! <33

Be sure to reblog or comment if you like it!

I do take prompts for TLC (ship- Kaider), so if you want to you can hit me up with them!

Taglist: @cinderswrench @gingerale2017 @linhcinder686 @shellyseashell @ladyvesuvia (Tell me if you wanna be added/removed)

#just2bubbly writes #jsut2bubbly fics #the lunar chronicles #tlc #kaider #kaito #linh cinder #selene blackburn #carswell thorne #iko #fic #fanfiction #kidnapped? #luna #cinder #marissa meyer #oneshot #comfort #fluff #when friends help you too much #brotp

[that-spider-witch]

On the topic of Book!Edward Hyde

Or rather: The topic of his existence (or lack thereof).

Browsing through the J&H tag, I’ve seen a lot of book readers be spiteful of every single adaptation of the character and its pop culture version because it misses the moral of the book: That Hyde and Jekyll were just one and the same, and that Jekyll was the one doing all the bullshit that went down and that Hyde was just a mask to keep his reputation intact.

Most of these rants go on to imply or outright accuse of any author doing the split personality take on the plot to have never actually read the original book, or that Edward Hyde never existing is something that the book leaves loud and clear, something irrefutably canon.

Having read the book too, I’m here to say: Yes and no. You could read the book and still get a “two character, one body” impression from it. Allow me to explain...

While the plot of “Jekyll is Good, Hyde is Bad” is truly bullshit and the very thing that the original novel rips into pieces, whether Hyde could be considered to have a will of his own is a little more ambiguous and it can actually be interpreted either way.

Note that I’m using the word “will” and not “personality”: Hyde is still Jekyll, they both have the same personality, but while Jekyll is a rational human being, Hyde is Jekyll but without the strings of societal norms, morals and impulse control holding him down.

Book readers who go by the take that Hyde never existed also claim that the book is very clear that the changes brought by the formula are just external: Jekyll is completely himself the whole time and “Hyde” is just a mask.

And this is true... At first. Depending on how you interpret Jekyll’s unrealiable narration, “Hyde” actually slowly develops something of a will of his own as Jekyll’s evil nature, given a body of its own by his dumb experiment, continues to develop.

Here’s a fragment of how Jekyll describes the experiment and the very first transformation:

“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”

“Edward Hyde” (who at this point still doesn’t truly exist as his own being and it’s just a mask for Jekyll to use) is evil because Henry Jekyll himself is evil. But while Jekyll-as-Jekyll has good personality traits as well as bad, Jekyll-as-Hyde is just everything that Jeyll finds evil about himself and nothing else. This paragraph also states very clearly that Jekyll’s intentions were never good.

If this was the only instance in which anything along the lines of “two characters as well as two appearances” was mentioned, then yes, there would be no room for debate on the whole “Hyde is just a fake identity and nothing else” because there wouldn’t be evidence of the contrary. It would be clear text.

Except that Jekyll, unreliable narrator that he is or not, also gives us evidence to support the theory that Hyde, while still not being a completely separate split personality on his own right, does develop a certain awareness of himself and a will to act somewhat separate from Jekyll’s. 

Of course, this all still falls on Jekyll’s own fault, and even if we consider Hyde as something of an alter, he’s still nothing but the scapegoat that Jekyll uses:

“The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty. Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.”

Something all book readers will be familiar with is that Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when writing about most of Hyde’s actions, while also mentioning both Henry Jekyll and Hyde on third person. Jekyll tries to dissociate himself from his crimes this way.

But... Whether also done by Jekyll to still reflect guilt from himself or not, the text also refers to Hyde as having a nature of his own, albeit one irreversably connected to Henry Jekyll’s own hidden desires.

“Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them. Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde was indifferent to Jekyll, or but remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father’s interest; Hyde had more than a son’s indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.”

There’s a clear divide here, with Jekyll and Hyde having something of a different outlook on life, something that outright doesn’t make sense if we are to consider Edward Hyde as just Jekyll’s alias. 

Something to note here is that the divide between the two personas is not of a moral nature, but something much more mundane and selfish: To Henry Jekyll, his social status is everything, and his main drive to keep transforming into Hyde again and again is to enjoy a life of sin without repercussions. To Hyde, said social status can go to hell for all he cares, but still keeps the ruse because his concealment is ultimately necessary for his continued existence, something that the narration will go back to later.

After this point of the book, which is when Jekyll goes to sleep and wakes up transformed on his other body the next morning, the doctor becomes scared and goes cold turkey for two months, having decided to stop being Hyde forever and return to a normal life. It doesn’t lastlonger than that: Hyde returns not because he takes control, but because Jekyll turns himself into Hyde on purpose once again, by his own free will.

“I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.“

Something fun to note here: Jekyll describes Hyde, and/or himself when he’s Hyde, as being comparable to a child. First by merely noting that Hyde’s body is younger than Jekyll’s, then by comparing him to a “son” and Jekyll as the “father”, and now comparing the murder of Danvers Carew to a child breaking a toy. 

Speaking of the murder, Jekyll is 100% guilty of it: Even if Hyde was a completely different being with his own traits and goals, which he is not, Jekyll would still be responsable by virtue of willingly going through the transformation again like an idiot.

That being said, the text continues to give Hyde some semblance of personality:

“Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.“

From this point on, everything goes to hell: Henry Jekyll is relieved that now that Hyde is a wanted murderer, he now has no choice but to stay as Jekyll and leave that sinful double life of his finally behind (”Jekyll is the Good half” my ass!). But, surprise surprise! He starts to transform unwillingly, and now he needs to constantly drink the potion to stay as Jekyll. 

Fun fact: Do you remember which thoughts are the ones that trigger the first unwilling transformation after the murder?

“I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I was once more Edward Hyde.“

The thought that he, too, was just like any other man. Something that his Hyde half knows as a fact, but that Henry “I’m superior than all these lazy peasants around me because I’m rich... I mean, because I have active good-will” Jekyll considers undignified, and therefore, cruel or evil. O Sweet, sweet Victorian hypocresy.

And it is from here on out that the narration acknowledges Edward Hyde as being his own character somewhat, somehow, at least as part of Jekyll’s conciousness.

After the transformation and the visit to Lanyon:

“My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly. I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.”

“Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.“

“He, I say—I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.“ 

“When I came to myself at Lanyon’s, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours. A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.“

It’s curious how Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when looking back at Carew’s murder, and yet it is just from here on out that he’s oh so repulsed by Hyde than he uses He/Him pronouns for him. 

And, most of all, when he has locked himself up:

“The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order. His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide, and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity, he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was himself regarded.”

And what immediately follows is my favorite part of the book:

“Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.”

This petty behavior of supposedly destroying and vandalizing Jekyll’s stuff to spite him is mentioned yet again just a few sentences later,along with the following line:

“This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.“

This assertion from Jekyll that, as far as he’s concerned, he will be already dead when he transforms for the last time, is what closes the book:

“And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.“

If taken at face value, these lines actually paint Edward Hyde as being somewhat able to think his own thoughts and do his own actions, while still just being the childish, “ape-like” part of Henry Jekyll’s mind. Emphasis on childish, not evil, the evilness is all on Henry. Edward Hyde is still nothing but Henry Jekyll’s psychological scapegoat, and the one that Jekyll technically leaves behind to deal with the mess he himself created by “dying”.

I’m not trying to get more people to interpret the book this way nor am I saying that the ”Hyde is not real and Jekyll is a lying bitch” take is actually wrong, because it is not. I’m just pointing out the book could actually be interpreted differently by different readers, and they’d still have sentences in the book to back their interpretation on.

Now, if we could all stop hating and throwing shade on every content creator out there who “got the book wrong”, that’d be peachy. 

#let people have fun. its not that hard. #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #edward hyde #henry jekyll #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #literature #gothic lit #this came out longer than I thought it would be

[jasperwhitcock]

equinox | chapter 07 –– “a cruel god, a wrathful goddess”

here is chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but it seems 10/10 times my tag does not work, so that is a fun mystery for me to solve.

oof... sometimes u get distracted and then ur sister gets married and then u get unmotivated & d*pressed and forget to update ur fanfic for over three months... my bad y'all... sorry for the wait hehe. i hope it is worth it. again, i'm so thankful for the comments & i read them all. i get too shy to respond, but i WILL. i just need to talk myself up first. i love u. thank u. hehe. ♡♡♡ merry christmas/happy holidays if i fail u again before the 25th. i WANT to update more frequently. my catchphrase these days is "i'm trying my best," so... i'm trying my best.

this is for the sweet anons who slide into my ask box & ask me questions abt my fanfic. and for taryn, who consistently reminds me that there are people wanting to read this seeing as she is one of those people, kim, who i am so desperate to impress that i began working on a new chapter once she started to read my fanfic, and kae, because without her, this fanfic would never have existed in the first place. i love how i'm writing this as though it's the intro to an actual book when it's literally just chapter seven. ok, i will shut up now so u can read. love u. again.

07 A CRUEL GOD, A WRATHFUL GODDESS

In great contrast to the noisy ambience of the other students in the hallway, we were silent on our walk to our shared biology class. I wondered how conscious Edward was of the stares and whispers focused on our proximity to one another, but my guess was that he was very much conscious of it. I intentionally ignored glancing in any direction that I sensed one of my siblings’ presence, although I figured it was mostly paranoia driving me to feel as though we were about to cross paths. Holding my breath to more easily walk beside Edward left my senses impaired to the ability to pinpoint their location. 

I was lucky that for the majority of my immortal life, I’d managed to escape unwanted attention. But now, it seemed that precious luck had finally run out. Maybe embarrassment had been creeping up on me, maliciously building itself up all these years, waiting until just the right moment to rear its ugly head and exact revenge that immorality had stolen its favorite object of humiliation to torment. But here it was, ensuring that I was finally catching up on feeling awkward and out of step, a feeling I experienced for what seemed like the entirety of my human life. I thought once I’d been changed, I’d never feel this way again, but becoming misaligned with my family made me feel bashful to parade my defiance in their faces. I had operated better under no scrutiny as a mortal and was surprised to realize that that still held true as an immortal as well. Because though there was now never a struggle of staying upright or a risk of tripping over my own feet, that didn’t prevent me from feeling self-conscious as I walked beside Edward. Although for different reasons –– it was too mortifying to consider what my family might make of what my actions suggested about my feelings towards Edward.

And yet still, I would put up with the ridicule and disapproval of my siblings if it meant I could listen to Edward speak his silly philosophical theology, his questioning of god and existence, for just a few more hours. If I were going to be teased over Alice’s visions regardless, I might as well find out what I can about this pretentious boy before I leave him alone forever. If only to understand why his moving to this small town threatened to warp my own future so much. In losing night and in losing death, there were so very little anomalies in the endless amount of time I’d been given. So what would it hurt to allow myself to fixate on this minuscule difference in my life for just awhile?

It could hurt Edward, a more selfless part of myself reminded me. If indulging myself was playing with fire, I was being justly punished with the way flames were efflorescing the inside of my dry, burning throat.

If a god did exist, why would it make sense for such a being to craft someone like Edward with his perceptivity, and send him off to this small town, home to a secret such as ours? If a god did exist, why it would be fair for such a being to craft someone like Edward, someone who tempted me both in bloodlust and in curiosity, and send him off to this small town, home to the very vampire who desperately wished to kill him most? If a god did exist, if our kind had fallen short of heaven, I could understand why sending Edward into our path –– and more specifically, my path –– could be some kind of punishment. But what I couldn’t understand is why a god would allow someone as innocent as Edward to be endangered for the sake of bringing a sinful, undead creature to justice. It seemed the only reasonable explanation would be that a god probably did not exist. 

And how could there be? I was on the precipice of falling into temptation with every step further in the hallway and every question he asked and answered. I could never not be very much aware of the fact –– especially now with his body merely inches from my side and his sweet fragrance blooming both deliciously and relentlessly in the air. And even as I impossibly withstood the lure of his blood, how was I meant to ignore the irresistibility of his mind and how inexplicably concerned I was to understand it? It seemed like a very cruel experiment of free will and knowledge –– far too cruel to allow much room for the kind of god Edward hoped for.

I frowned as I realized that this experiment wasn’t that of a cruel god’s but that of a cruel vampire, and I felt very much like a vampire as the sound of his heartbeat was so appealing that it made my mouth water.

“Do the stares bother you?” Edward spoke quietly to me as we weaved throughout the hallway. Easily distracted, his question was able to pull the more civilized parts of myself together, though this was probably also in thanks to my choosing not to utilize my sense of smell. I found it funny that at least one of his thoughts had been in a similar vicinity. But of course, the rest of his thoughts were probably free of all consuming agony and struggle. For all his curiosity about morality, to inflict this existence upon him would probably devour him in misery. At least as a human, despite whatever conclusions he may come to, there was still some hope to be had for an afterlife. This thought should have been dark and depressing, but because it made Alice’s vision seem like a complete hoax, I almost found it funny. How would Edward ever end up like me?

“Oh, no,” I swallowed the venom in my mouth. “I live for attention.” I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze flickered over to me, the ever present half smile appearing on his face at my joke. My answer came out so comfortably as though I was used to this, when in reality, the student body for the most part had grown accustomed to ignoring me. And, of course, there was nothing comfortable about the demanding, aching dryness in my mouth or the burning in my nostrils. “How about you?”

“Likewise,” he joked, laughing. “This is interesting –– their fascination. I understood their interest on my first day because I’d guess a new addition to the student body in a town this small is something of a rarity, but today, walking by your side is garnering even more attention. Is it a once in a lifetime opportunity to have Bella Cullen walk you to class?”

“You’re just so observant, aren’t you?” I rolled my eyes, though the corners of my mouths pulled up despite myself. “And I’m not walking you to class. I’m walking to a class I just so happen to share with you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I think they’re just surprised because they’re probably under the impression that I don’t play nice with others.”

“And do you?”

“You tell me,” I replied, pausing to face him beside a wall of lockers next to the entrance of our biology classroom. As he stopped beside me, a gust of air from a passing student walking hastily down the hallway sent his scent reeling into me at an unfortunate moment where I’d chosen to breathe in. My muscles tensed to spring, and I desperately anchored myself to the floor as my mind fell into disarray.

“Nicely enough,” Edward winked naturally as though we’d been the best of friends since his first day. The demanding thirst was intruding on my awareness, and the desperation for something wet and hot and delicious in my desiccated throat was so dizzying that his voice sounded as though it were underwater. With an effort as though I were swimming through drying cement, I resurfaced, just barely proving my dominion over the desire. I focused on his voice so that it’d become clearer, forcing myself to take another excruciating breath in and exhale the fire out. “I will say I am honored to be the exception –– to be plucked from the masses by the renowned, reclusive Bella Cullen.”

With torturous effort, I snorted as though I wasn’t fighting everything within me to keep him alive. I breathed in again heavily, allowing my body to become a pyre so that I could speak. “Alright, that’s enough. Stop saying my name like that. And you’ve lost the privilege. I am never walking you to class again,” I rolled my eyes even though my joke could very much be the truth. The bunching of my muscles, the twitching of my hands, and the fierce pain in my throat reminded me of the fact. Before he could point out the contradiction of what I’d previously clarified, I sighed. “Let’s take this quiz.”

His pretty green eyes were alive with mischief and enlightened with what must be more answers to questions he hadn’t outright asked me as he turned to enter the classroom. I followed behind him towards our shared table.

Air from the vent rushed out, thrusting the scent of his blood wafting into my face again. I paused for an indistinguishable moment as I battled agony, murderousness, monstrosity. Holy fuck. What was I trying to prove! Was it really worth this? Swallowing hard, I sat beside him as though nothing happened. My suffering was so great that Emmett could have brutally ripped my arm off, he could have beat me with it, and I wouldn’t have noticed nor felt a thing. I could have been set on fire, and it’d feel like sinking into a cool pool of water on an even cooler day. I was already burning alive, my body acting as a furnace, and I was imprisoned inside it.

Without intending to, I sighed aloud, exhaling as though it would smother the flames. It was a stupid, attention seeking thing to do. Humans sighed to expel air or express some sadness or relief or exhaustion, so when my family emitted an audible breath, we did so as a means of blending in. But to breath out in a way to clue Edward into the fact something was plaguing me… it was a stupid invitation for more questions. And these were questions I had no intention of sharing the answers to. I felt his eyes on me, but before he could say anything, Mr. Molina began passing out quizzes face down on our lab tables as students continued to pile in from lunch.

“Alright, class. Today we have a pop quiz–– oh, come on, guys, don’t groan. You will have the opportunity to make corrections after these have been graded. This is just an assessment of what you’ve retained from this unit so far. You will have the entire period to complete–– thanks for joining us, Mr. Patterson, glad you could fit my class into your busy schedule. Why don’t you take your seat? –– You will have the entire period to complete your quiz. If you finish early, feel free to get a head start on this weekend’s homework! I’ve written the reading down on the board. Aw, I’m sure you’re all moaning because you’re disappointed at how light of an assignment it is because I just know how very excited you all are to continue your passionate pursuit of studying biology. Alright, now that everyone’s settled–– wait a minute––”  Mr. Molina paused, raising his pointer finger in the air, his eyes squinted in anticipation. Three seconds later, the bell signaled the beginning of class. “Begin!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward reluctantly turn away from me. In an elegant script, he wrote his name at the top of the paper and began his quiz. I turned away from him to look at my own paper, preparing myself to uncomfortably hold my breath for the next hour. The difference this made in my thirst was almost insignificant, but enough so that it gave me a tiny more leverage in my control. I smoothed out the pucker on my forehead with the eraser from my pencil, accidentally snapping the rubber off against my face. 

Absentmindedly, I began to breeze through the assessment, circling the correct answers, but my mind was more absorbed in the warmth of sitting beside Edward. Aside from the affliction of doing so, it was too pleasurable to have sat beside him so often and for so long today. I enjoyed the toastiness like a lizard basking in the sun. It made me recall the muddy human memory of laying out on a blanket in my backyard beneath my beloved blue Arizona sky, hiding beneath the small shade of a book. Not the blistering heat of a summertime Phoenix sun, but the warmth of the first day of spring. But the heat of Edward’s body alone was enough to fill my mouth with venom, so I tried to refocus my attention onto my quiz.

When I turned to the last page of questions, a motion beside me diverted my concentration once again. I peeked over, turning my head slightly in Edward’s direction to see what it was. As he thought over one of the questions, his right hand was moving peculiarly as he lifted and dropped down his long fingers almost as though he were impatiently tapping each digit one by one along the tabletop. Except the movement was more exact and calculatingly random. Engrossed, I watched as his his soft, fragile skin rippled over the muscle, the tendons appearing and disappearing with every bizarre movement. It took me a moment to make the connection between the large grand piano in his home and the motion of his hands. I realized he was miming piano movements while he thought through his answers. There was something both weird, funny, and endearing about this. I smiled to myself, not having the required oxygen to quietly laugh.

I felt his curious eyes flicker over to me and watched peripherally as he raised his eyebrows. I shook my head, biting down on my lip to unsuccessfully fight the smile, and returned to completing my quiz.

I finished a moment later and impatiently waited another ten minutes or so before I could turn in my work. I tried to ignore Edward for this small period of time at least, mentally reading myself the opening chapter to Wuthering Heights. Even though the words were committed to my memory, it was still never as good as actually reading from the book itself.

Once I’d decided an appropriate enough time had passed, I stood up to walk my quiz to the completed basket on Mr. Molina’s desk. Even having waited, I was still the first to finish the examination.

“Thank you,” the teacher whispered without breaking his focus away from the crossword puzzle he peered through his glasses at. I breathed in now that I’d placed some distance between myself and Edward, gladly facing the cool, fresh air from the vent.

“Neophyte,” I whispered back now that I’d replenished my oxygen supply.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, his slightly aged face confused.

“Neophyte,” I repeated. “Eight across, two down.”

I took in one last clean breath and walked back to my seat as he tapped his pen across the squares of the space, mouthing his count of the letters to check if the word fit.

As soon as I took my place in my seat again, Edward stood up to walk his own quiz to the basket.

I wanted to watch him, but instead I forced myself to unzip my backpack and retrieve the biology textbook.

Busying myself with the assigned chapters, deciding to actually read them so as to not feed into my invasive Edward obsession, I couldn’t help but listen as Edward too placed his own textbook on the countertop.

I heard the scribble of pen on paper as he began to write what I imagined were notes until his large hand slid the paper over to me beneath the wall of my hair spilling over the desk. Well, I wouldn’t ignore him if he was the one deciding to bother me.

You know I’m pretty certain that cheating is a violation of the student handbook, but I’ll let you get away with it just this once.

I turned to glance at his face to see if he were serious. His eyes were warm and inviting, his mouth in the same crooked smile.

I took the piece of paper and looked around for my writing utensil that had gone missing somehow. My eyes zeroed in on a suspicious, tiny pile of wood dust on my side of the desk. When had I brutalized my pencil? He held his hand out to offer his own pen, and I accepted it, carefully plucking it from his fingers without making contact.

I wasn’t cheating. You were doing something funny. And what do you know about the student handbook? You’re new.

I slid the paper and pen back to him and watched as he combed a hand through his bronze hair, reading my response. The smile grew wider as he construed the biting tone of my note. 

Can I be let in on the joke? Edward wrote, turning to look at me once he was done. Again I was prisoner, though this time not to my own body. I was momentarily held hostage by the beauty and warmth of his light green eyes. I was understanding more and more the attraction the other students had for him. If I had a soul, it was as though he were staring straight into it.

I recovered, placing my hand atop the desk and then wiggling my fingers as though I were weaving my way through a very complicated piano piece.

Oh, Edward mouthed, immediately understanding. He silently laughed and placed his left hand to his forehead briefly as if to hide his face in mock embarrassment. The ink from the pen spilled onto the paper as he began to write again.

In my defense, there’s research that supports classical music puts students in a heightened emotional state, making them more receptive to information and helping them focus.

That’s very nerdy of you. I scribbled back, the corners of my lips pulled upwards.

I know. As I read the words on the notebook paper, we both laughed a little too loudly for the quietness of the room.

“Please remain silent for your classmates still working,” Mr. Molina stage-whispered from his desk, his eyes still fixated on the crossword puzzle.

It’s a bad habit. Edward tacked on to his message. I beamed. I knew a thing or two about bad habits today. I was appreciative of this silent conversation on paper; it made it easier to be beside him without needing to breathe to speak aloud.

What were you playing? I scrawled.

Clair de Lune. Edward wrote back. His thick eyebrows raised as my eyes lit up, and he continued writing. You know Debussy?

My mother used to play a lot of classical music around the house. It was one of my favorites.

It’s one of my favorites, too. Edward’s eyes were a little sad and lost in thought, and he smiled softly.

I was shocked by the change in expression and weirdly desperate to return the brightness back to his eyes. The burn in my throat was almost forgettable in the face of my concern. Almost, but not quite. He turned his head down to write on the paper again.

You said Rosalie played piano. You never learned? He turned to look at me, his expression curious. I shook my head and shrugged, reaching for the pen.

I didn’t think I had the coordination for it. While this was true for the time I was human, it wasn’t true now. Still, even though my days stretched into endless nights, I hadn’t yet devoted time to any instrument as an immortal.

Edward read the paper, his long pointer finger tracing the line beneath the words as he did so. He held his large hand out, and I dropped the pen into it.

I’ll show you sometime. Edward half smiled at me, his eyes sweet and earnest.

Knowing I shouldn’t be allowing him to think making a plans with me was an option, I reached for the pen to tell him that it was alright, but I froze as he suddenly moved to drop the pen and take my hand. Though he should have been the one hesitant and cautious as though approaching a dangerous, wounded animal, I held perfectly still as though he were the danger, and I needed to play dead for protection. You can’t play dead if you are dead, I thought to myself. 

My body tensed as my hand was enveloped in the heat of his much larger palm, uncertain as to what he was doing. My muscles screamed at me as I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, terrified of myself.

A shiver rippled through him as he felt the chill of my frozen fingers, and I twitched the hand in his possession, wanting to yank it away to protect him from the iciness but not wanting to alert him with the swiftness of the motion.

He smiled mysteriously at the spasm as though he somehow expected it. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but didn’t want to risk breathing. My control could too easily be lost. Besides, I was scared that if I were to open my mouth, I’d end up screaming.

I felt him push slightly and realized he wished for me to curl my fingers, so with great concentration and the acute awareness of his fragility, I moved my stony hand into the shape he directed, my fingers curved slightly beneath his like a relaxed talon. I didn’t like the shape; it was odd and inhuman and made me think of the violence I could cause.

But it wasn’t a claw. Because once my hand was positioned the way he wanted, he began to slowly place pressure on my fingers, and I dipped and rose them accordingly to carefully move with his. I watched as the two of our hands together played what I imagined must be the opening chords to Clair de Lune.

The disconcerting emptiness in my chest soared at the bizarre pleasure of this touch, and a weird sensation tickled my scalp, moving swiftly down my spine to my entire body. 

My muscles tightened violently and then relaxed, sending a shiver to ripple through me. It was too much pleasure and too much pain as my throat ached and I leaned into the warmth.

Embarrassed and not wanting to push my luck, I cautiously pulled my hand slowly away. He lifted his hand to allow me to escape as though I couldn’t just break his hand to do so, a half-smile pulling on his lips. I pretended not to notice the goosebumps on his arms.

See? he mouthed before deciding to whisper. “You could do it.”

I forced myself to smile and then turned away for the rest of the hour, trying to keep from doing anything stupid like looking at him or killing him. I’d completely forgotten where we were.

When the bell finally rung, I collected my things atop the desk hastily. Edward reached for my backpack and held it up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured as I dumped my books into the bag. Before I could take it from him, he slid it onto his back and nodded his head once for me to go forward.

Feeling awkward, I turned and allowed him to follow me to the door. I was lucky to walk in front of him, taking the opportunity to breath again as the vent blew out in front of my face.

Exiting the classroom, I paused for a second when I saw Emmett waiting for me across the hallway rather than his typical spot beside the wall of lockers next to our shared Spanish classroom. Even though I was well aware of the fact I’d been dangling my irresponsibility in their faces all day, I still felt as though I was being caught in the act.

Emmett’s eyebrows raised as his golden eyes watched Edward follow behind me, carrying my backpack. I crossed the hallway reluctantly towards my big brother.

“Hello,” I greeted him, avoiding his eyes. I felt smaller than ever beside him with my head down, and yet not small enough as I wished to disappear.

“Hey, little sis,” Emmett began uncertainly, though I glanced up to see his full lips were beginning to stretch into a smile that I didn’t like. “Who’s that with you?”

“Uh…”

“I’m Edward Masen,” the lanky human boy introduced himself confidently as he stopped beside me. “And you must be––”

“Emmett,” my brother interrupted, grinning as though he always so comfortably interacted with humans. This was all too weird, but he looked to be enjoying it far too much. His desire to mess with me and his confidence in Alice’s visions seemed to override the abnormality of speaking to a student so amicably. I watched as he breathed in and shot me a meaningful look. I grimaced.

I opened my mouth to put an end to this torturously awkward interaction, but Emmett interrupted again.

“It’s nice to see you made a friend,” he began, an evil glint in his eyes as he watched my face. I was confused as to where he was going with this because our entire family would come across as misanthropic to the rest of the school, so why should it matter to him. He turned his attention to look at Edward who was closer in height to him. “You know, we worry about her––”

“Okay, let’s go to Spanish,” I cut him off quickly. “Edward, can I have my bag, please?”

Without looking at him, I reached for my backpack as he offered it and threw it over my shoulder, heading down the hallway. It was a massive relief to put some distance between myself and Edward. My thoughts were clearer, and I could breathe freely.

Emmett burst into laughter, his guffaws booming in the hallway. Several students paused in fear making me concerned about Edward’s reaction to my giant of a sibling, but I relaxed when I heard Edward chuckling along with him.

“Um, see you,” Emmett said to Edward before his steady, near silent footfall followed after me.

Even moving at a lethargic human pace, he caught up to me quickly.

“That wasn’t funny,” I grumbled.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emmett chuckled, ignoring my question.

“What the hell are you doing? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know. That was weird, but not as weird as you playing with your food.”

I hissed quietly.

“Damn, I’m kidding, Bells. But seriously, what are you doing? What happened to your high and noble speech about doing the right thing and staying away from the kid? I thought Esme was about to produce real tears. It even softened Rose.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me about Rosalie right now. She’s been giving me dirty looks all day. It makes me feel awful. I already feel bad!”

“Well, I don’t really care what you do either way so––” I looked at him questionably. “I mean, sure, I want you to do the right thing, whatever that means. I don’t want you to feel miserable. But on one end, I didn’t really mind so much what happened to me.”

“Rosalie did,” I countered.

“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly.

“Anyways, I’m not having that conversation. I wasn’t talking to him today to test whether or not he’s worth it. That’s… unethical.”

“So what were you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned in answer.

Emmett laughed.

“You’re weird these days, Bella.”

“You’re weird everyday,” I quipped back before sighing. “I don’t know. He’s weird, too. I guess… I’m not making any decisions, at all, but if Alice told you what she told me… wouldn’t you be curious?”

Emmett thought it over. “Yeah, I think so. But I also don’t think I’d have even made it to this point,” he admitted. I winced.

“It’s kind of unfair for me to care more about satiating my curiosity and dance with the devil this way, right?”

“Well…he may not know it, but isn’t it more so that Edward’s the one dancing with the devil?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, frowning as we walked into our Spanish class. “I guess it is.”

I made the decision to avoid thinking of Edward for the remaining hour of school. I paid very little attention in Spanish, returning to the familiar mind-numbing boredom that classes had been prior to the last few days. Now that it was in stark contrast to the sudden life breathed into my time at Forks High School by my fixation with Edward, the tedium was no longer something dealt with indifferently and sluggishly. Now, it left me feeling restless, and it almost pained me how laborious it was to sit through a life I wasn’t an active participant in. It was nowhere near the pain of dealing with the excruciating thirst I had around my bronze-haired lab partner, but it almost tampered with my thoughts more knowing I’d feel less miserable if I spent this time analyzing every word Edward shared with me, every fluctuation of his tone, every glint in his perceptive eyes, every expression on his pretty face… But I was becoming too obsessive. The same hunger for adventure that made me fall in love with reading must be what was leading me to so treacherously, so impetuously dive into exploring this insignificant and yet cataclysmic difference in my life.

As though it had a personal vendetta against me, time moved even more lethargically than it ever had before, but finally, the bell signaling the end of school rang. Emmett’s eyes shot a concerned look at me as I rose from my seat too quickly, and I immediately felt embarrassed again. The cautious reminder in his expression made me feel childish as Emmett was never one to care much about bending the rules. 

“See you at home, I guess,” he shook his head, giving me one last look that seemed to suggest I’d lost it.

“See you,” I mumbled, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Leaving Emmett behind to wait for Rosalie, I weaved through the crowded hallway and out to the parking lot. Students were bundling together and squealing at the chilling air as tiny, fluffy snowflakes fluttered down from the overcast sky. The floor of the parking lot was almost as glassy as yesterday as the rain from this afternoon had melted into a thin layer of icy mush. Though there was hardly enough snow for a decent snowball fight, some of the rowdier students were bundling up a pitiful pile of snow to form pathetic snowballs in their fists.

I nearly skipped to the pearly white vehicle parked beside Rosalie’s overly conspicuous crimson car which was forming a small crowd of admirers. Leaning against the trunk of the car, I watched the front doors of the school to look for Edward.

The tangle of reddish-brown hair was easy to spot because of its strange metallic tint as he strolled out of the building with Naomi, the student who’d provided him with the information about my family on his first day. He had his coat folded over his arm, revealing how form fitting his light tan turtleneck was. He truly was a very attractive boy. It was odd that I hadn’t really paid much attention initially. With his dazzling face and tall, lean frame, Edward was pretty enough that for the vampires who searched for exquisitely beautiful humans to create into even more stunning immortals, he could probably be a contender for someone to collect.

Thinking of how Emmett questioned my motives today, I quickly banished the idea of Edward as an immortal from my mind, even if it was only a hypothetical inspired by my observation.

Edward paused, asking Naomi if she could hold on to his backpack for a moment. When she grabbed it, he pulled on his long black coat, and fiddled with the collar. Recollecting his backpack, he slid it onto one shoulder, then rubbed his hands together, blowing the warm air from his mouth to heat them up. Thinking of the sweetness of the smell of his breath made me remember to take in swallows of fresh air before he made his way over to me.

As he was distracted momentarily, I watched as a stray snowball flew towards Edward’s head. I was overcome with the urge to intercept it in the event it may hit him too harshly and knock him to the pavement, but flying across the parking lot inhumanly fast twice in one week was probably not the way to go about correcting my mistakes.

The soggy snowball crashed into Edward’s hair, exploding into shards of ice and water that slid down his prominent cheekbone. I laughed aloud at his shocked expression as the curtain bangs framing his face were immediately drenched, darkening his hair into a brown color. Once he’d realized what happened, his face broke into a good-humored smile.

“Holy shit! Sorry, Edward!” The classmate who had thrown the snowball with poor aim called out.

“No worries!” Edward called back. He shook his head, chuckling as he wiped the water from his face. As he laughed, his eyes found the space where I waited and brightened seeing that I, too, was enjoying the moment.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told Naomi, who was too beside herself in tears of laughter to reply.

Edward sauntered over towards me, and I inhaled deeply as a fortuitous whisper of wind blew from the tree line. I held onto the notes of crisp eucalyptus, fresh snow, and cedar wood, trying to distract my mind from the offensively mouthwatering scents approaching me.

Edward was a coordinated human, but even he lost his footing on the icy pavement. His body slid forward for a moment, but I stepped towards him to close the space between us and caught him by the elbow.

He looked up from his boots against the frozen parking lot into my eyes, startled momentarily at the swiftness in which I had appeared. Then, his full lips lifted into a crooked smile that creased his astonishing green eyes into half moons. I let go immediately and took a big step back to ensure a safer distance between myself and the warmth of his fragile body. It had been a risky movement, but somehow in comparison to yesterday, it didn’t seem to matter as much. I figured our classmates were too involved in their gawking at the details of my sister’s car or their feeble, slushy snowball fight to notice, and oddly, I didn’t care that Edward had seen. It was beginning to feel too late to keep up certain pretenses.

Although, it wasn’t too late, and it shouldn’t feel that way. I reminded myself I still had every intention of leaving Edward alone once I’d figured out what was so compelling about our paths crossing that had Alice’s visions spiraling in a confusing jumble. I took another step back slowly.

“Thank you,” Edward said, his eyes humored with another secret he didn’t seem willing to share. “You keep saving me.”

“Well, let’s not make this damsel in distress thing habitual,” I snorted, turning so that he couldn’t see the smile forming on my face. I felt shy about showcasing any comfort or happiness in his presence now that I was reminded of how fleeting this experimental friendship was, but I wondered if subconsciously I wanted him to catch me in my misery and ask me to explain, though I wasn’t certain why I wanted to sabotage myself like that. I opened my door and turned to look at him again. “You coming?”

Before he could answer, I dipped into the driver’s seat, and breathed in one last time. Well, once this was all over, I could finally stop inhaling dramatically as though they were truly my last, dying breaths. The air was mostly clean of his scent, but I knew that regardless, the heat of his body would be enough to disrupt my comfort and control. As the thought crossed my mind, I painfully swallowed back the venom pooling beneath my tongue.

Edward swerved through the crowd obsessing over Rosalie’s car and opened the passenger door, sliding into his seat. As he placed his backpack on the floor and fiddled with his seatbelt, I made sure to adjust the air conditioning so that the heat could warm Edward from the frigid Forks air. Though for me, just being in his presence made the intimate interior of the car feel as though I were again sitting by his fireplace.

“That’s a beautiful car,” he murmured. “Is it an M8?”

“Uh, it’s a BMW?” I asked uncertainly as though he’d spoken another language.

Edward grinned as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t want to make me angry. Rosalie would have loved to answer all his questions if he too had an interest in cars. Would have loved to, if she wasn’t deeply offended by my actions or if I had any intention of Edward meeting any more of my family members.

“Ready?” I bit my lip as I forced out any inconsiderate plots of murder that threatened to distract me from being a defensive driver.

“Mhm,” Edward answered.

I reversed out of the parking slot slowly, but as I looked in the rearview once I’d straightened out, I saw the fleeting image of Rosalie’s exquisitely beautiful and exceptionally angry face. I quickly readjusted the mirror to remove my sister’s reflection and sped out of the parking lot in a way that could have taken out a few unlucky students if I didn’t have above average years of driving experience.

Peripherally, I watched as Edward’s thick eyebrows raised, but he decided not to question me. Once we’d reached the main road, I slowed my speed so as not to rush through this time, even though I knew for his safety and my sanity, I should. As I drove, his right hand moved in odd shapes again against the arm rest of the passenger side door as though he were playing piano once more.

I decided to bite and use up some of my limited air supply.

“What are you playing?”

“Clair de Lune again,” he replied. Then, he began to hum the melody aloud for me as he moved his hand.

I thought to offer to play the song for him through the speakers, but I decided against it as I listened to Edward’s soft, velvety voice hum beautifully through the song, breaking the silence.

The ugly, slush-like falling of snow transformed into a falling of rainwater, and Edward’s voice was orchestrated by a lovely symphony of raindrops.

Before his voice could weave into the more involved moments of the piece, Edward stopped.

I looked over at him, curious for the reason as to why. His face was turned away from me so that all I could see was his untidy bronze hair as he gazed out the window. I pulled in front of his driveway and parked against the curb.

Miraculously, I’d made it again. Carefully, I inhaled through my nose to experiment with my control. The sweet bouquet of the boy’s blood was potent and even more mouthwatering than usual from the snow turned rain that’d wet his hair. I hadn’t considered the possibility that he could smell better than before, and I kept myself from groaning aloud as I dug my nails into my own palms. The tingling sensation in my nose was as though I’d sniffed some powerful chemical, the burning sensation in my throat as though I’d taken a long drag of a cigarette. But more painful. More demanding. Desire, need flew from my core out towards my extremities, and the beating of his heart pumping the blood through his body drummed loudly in my ears. It seemed to move through me, my frigid body almost twitching with every pulse, ready to lunge forward and crush his neck to my lips.

“What was your mother like?” He asked me suddenly, his voice soft. Edward turned from the window to face me, and I was bewildered by the intensity of his expression. His eyes were light and beautiful against the gloomy grey of the sky, and they squinted slightly as though studying my face like this information was absolutely essential. But this was not what stunned me, as I’d already seen the severity of this expression before in our ephemeral time together. It was the unexpected vulnerability of his stunning face. The more time I spent looking at him, the more I realized how beautiful this human boy really was. And it seemed a great tragedy for this beautiful boy to harbor such devastation in his eyes.

Whereas previously in his presence, my thoughts had become incoherent due to a lapse in control, now my thoughts were incoherent in distress and desperation to understand what had gone wrong and how I could fix it. I was momentarily dumbfounded, but I pulled myself together after the soft sound of a few droplets of rain against the roof reminded me that he was waiting for an answer.

“Well, she looked a lot like me, but prettier,” I began stupidly. He raised his eyebrows. “Or at least, she used to look a lot like me, and I used to look a lot like her. I don’t so much anymore.” It’d been so long since I’d really spoken about my mom, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I knew I should have made some comment about whether or not she looked like Esme or Emmett since our story made us siblings, but I didn’t want to taint the rarity of sharing who she was with a lie.

“She was more outgoing than I am,” I continued, thinking through the foggy memories I held onto from my human life.

“That’s difficult to believe,” Edward teased quietly, his lips curving into a half smile.

I laughed, listening to the melodic sound of it, thinking of how it symbolized how very much different I was now from the human girl my mother knew.

“I was always very shy,” I smiled, before speaking up again, caught in the echoes of my past. “She was brave and irresponsible and slightly eccentric. And she was a very unpredictable cook!”

I laughed aloud again thinking of some minor explosions in our tiny kitchen and some questionable dishes. Edward laughed too, but when our laughter faded into the falling of the rain, my smile faded.

“She wasn’t perfect,” I admitted. “I think I recognize now that she was very fallible. I worshipped her when I was younger, but when I think back, I do see how in some of the ways she raised me, I was done a disservice… I grew up too fast. When she died––“ I sighed, feeling insincere and guilty about perpetuating this lie when I really should have said when I died, “––Esme became more of a mother to me, and even Rosalie’s been more traditionally nurturing than my mom ever was… But still, she was my best friend.”

“You miss her,” he murmured simply. I met his gentle eyes.

“Yes,” I bit my lip.

“How old are you, Bella?” Edward asked. “And not the formulaic, theorized version where you were born in your thirties. How old are you really?”

I tensed, wondering if he was asking this again because he’d taken note of how I didn’t directly answer this question the last time he asked.

“Seventeen,” I answered automatically.

“You don’t seem seventeen,” he responded, reproachful.

The tension left my body at the tone of his voice. I smiled again easily.

“Sorry?” I asked, biting my lip to hide the smile, unsure of how to respond.

Edward chuckled and the subtle crinkles by his eyes lit up his face. “Well, I wish you’d been given a happier, normal childhood.”

“I’m fine,” I shrugged, brushing it off. “I hardly remember most of it, and what I do remember reminds me that I probably didn’t have much chance at a normal childhood to begin with. I was terribly shy, remember.

“I did do girl scouts, though….Oh, and ballet briefly,” I admitted, unsure as to why I was volunteering so much information about myself. Wasn’t the purpose of me sitting here to uncover information about him?

“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled up.

For an odd moment, I felt betrayed by the flush of my cheeks before I realized there was no blood rushing to my face. I blinked, bewildered by the peculiarity of this long buried instinct to become frustrated with my easy blushes when I hadn’t blushed for years. I felt self conscious as I wondered what Edward saw reading my expression to so perfectly decipher my feelings.

“I was very uncoordinated,” I dismissed his question as I fought the urge for my hand to flutter to touch my cool cheek.

“Now that truly is difficult to believe,” Edward half-smiled. “I can’t imagine I’ve seen anyone as graceful as you.”

I laughed aloud at his compliment, though I didn’t doubt his sincerity. I knew this was true of myself. It was true of all of our kind to appear fluid and effortless, but still, no one had ever applied the word to me. My vampiric poise was irrelevant and unimpressive to my family, and the very few humans brave enough to overcome their nerves to compliment me typically found their words to fail them.

“You’re very odd,” I beamed.

“What do you mean?” The bronze-haired boy asked, again wanting to be let in on the secret. While I had an insatiable thirst, it seemed he had an insatiable curiosity.

“How old are you really? Your word choice is bizarre for someone your age, you know.”

“Oh,” he laughed easily. “Well, I’m actually not seventeen. I’m eighteen. But I’ll try to strictly adhere to a more teenage vernacular, so I can compliment you in a more acceptable way from now on.”

I looked out at the dim light of the brewing storm, my smile fading as I decided that I should probably allow him to escape me before I did something I’d regret. But I knew I wasn’t resolved enough to completely leave him alone. He made me monopolize too much of the conversation, and I wasn’t satisfied with what I knew about him yet.

I sighed aloud, and Edward, too, looked out at the rain darkened sky.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked hopefully, making the assumption that our conversation was coming to an end.

“Yes,” I promised reluctantly. My eyes flickered back over to his pretty face, studying the lines of his strong jaw, his chiseled cheekbones, his full lips, committing this inconsequential face to memory as I silently resolved that this should be –– and would be –– one of the last times I’d allow myself to be this close to him. Tomorrow may well be the very last.

Likewise, as though his thoughts were in the same vein, his beautiful green eyes studied my face as well, though he did so in that mysterious way of his where he looked at me as though hoping to read my mind.

He sighed, then collected his backpack. Edward opened the door, stepping out into the bitterly cold weather. A shiver ran through his lanky body, making my body tense with perverse excitement. I cringed away from the deadly instinct and swallowed against the dryness of my yearning throat.

Edward’s tall, lean frame leaned down to peek into the car.

“Goodnight, Bella,” he spoke softly.

“Goodnight, Edward,” I almost whispered, gazing into the beauty of his dazzling green eyes.

Edward smiled his half smile, and closed the door, escaping into the building torrent of rain.

I gasped in relief at his absence, then stiffened realizing how the cab of the car was still heavily perfumed with his scent. I took in another deep breath, forcing myself to confront the burning thirst again, willing myself to manage it. I sighed as I hit the gas, making Edward disappear behind me.

  Both my control and the rain pour strengthened significantly as I turned onto the long drive leading to my house. I grimaced as I wondered how I’d face my family and explain the complete reversal of what I’d promised to do. I didn’t have time to consider for much longer as suddenly, a figure appeared instantaneously in the drive. I slammed my foot on the brake immediately in shock at its appearance, not wanting to total yet another car against one of my siblings.

I peered through the windshield, unable to see through the complete downpour that submerged my vehicle as though it were underwater. It was annoying for my perfect sight to be obstructed by anything, rainwater or even the transparent windshield because of my eyes’ desire to focus on the microscopic scratches.

The car violently screeched against the muddy pavement, and it looked as though we would have to bid this car goodbye until the figure hidden by the storm placed their hands out on the car roughly and forced it to a stop. The tires screamed in protest, and the metal groaned as it warped into the shape of the palms. I listened as it unnaturally bent again in a piercing moan as the figure fixed the indentions they’d created.

My windshield wipers swatted away a flood of water. Finally, I could make out my sister Rosalie, her hair dripping wet down her back like a supermodel who’d just emerged from a pool on the cover of Sports Illustrated. Her exquisite face was absolutely furious.

I gulped, feeling like a child who’d just been discovered sneaking home past curfew.

I felt uncertain as to what to do and why she’d chosen to stop me here. Surely she could wait for us to be under the cover of the garage before she chastised me. Not wanting to be drenched by the rain, I revved the engine to ask her to move aside, but the car didn’t inch forward against her strength. Beginning to feel annoyed, I revved the engine again loudly and for longer, but still, she didn’t move.

“Rose,” I hissed as I hit the brake again so that the car could roar viciously in the storm, only to be cut off by the voice of my adopted mother.

“Girls!” I couldn’t see Esme through the obscured glass behind the downpour, but even with the barrage of the rain, I could hear her lithe steps run furiously to the front porch. “Please!”

Rose’s head snapped up to look in Esme’s direction before turning to glance unhappily back at me. She stepped aside, and I sped into the garage, parking the car hastily.

I exited immediately and went to expect the damage to the front of the hood. It was only a minuscule bend from having been pushed and prodded back and forth, and I was positive Rosalie could make it look like new, though why it had been necessary to punish the car was beyond me. It wasn’t even mine.

I wheeled around once I’d heard the near-silent steps of her run, a wave of anger making me forget my guilt.

“Are you insane?!” I demanded.

“I could ask the same of you, Bella!” Now free from the obscurity of the rain, I could see in perfect detail the stunning fury of her glorious face. Her golden hair had been darkened by the rain, and it was slicked back effortlessly, like a glittering waterfall down to the middle of her back. She looked like a wrathful god, but I couldn’t find it in my stubbornness to care about how valid her anger may be.

“Okay, but did you have to take it out on the car? What did it ever do to you! You couldn’t have waited another twenty seconds to confront me? Well, you have my attention now, Rosalie, so say whatever it is you want to say!”

“You’re just unbelievable, Bella!”

“He’s not going to say anything, Rose! We already talked about this yesterday. You heard Alice! He’s not a threat to you and Emmett, so I don’t understand why you’re taking this so personally.”

“Exactly, Bella. I heard Alice. Which is precisely why I fail to understand as to why you wouldn’t understand why I’d take it so personally. After all these years of sisterhood, how can you not understand how I feel about this?”

I frowned, my forehead puckering, but still, I retained my anger. She huffed, continuing.

“If it was an inevitability, I’d understand. However, it hurts me deeply that you recognize the choice that you have. The choice that Edward has. And still, you’re willing to play with his mortality as though it were a game, when I never had that choice.”

I froze, the realization dawning on me that she was right. No matter the ways in which I tried to justify my actions or spin my intentions, she was right. Another part of my mind acknowledged that while I was aware of right and wrong, I wasn’t certain that what was right would be enough to keep me away anymore.

We stared each other down much like we had yesterday. Only today, rather than anger, her face was contorted in hurt, and mine was contorted in hopelessness.

“But… you found Emmett when he was still human…” I weakly protested, selfishly trying to highlight the irony, though I knew it was pointless as I wasn’t advocating for Edward to be changed either. That was too complicated a thought to wrap my mind around. But whatever may happen –– and I was still very much aware of the worst of possibilities –– I didn’t want my sister to hate me for it.

“He was dying, Bella,” Rosalie whispered. The anger on her face had completely faded, and in its place, pain marked her eyebrows, her full lips, her golden, sad eyes. In her sadness, she looked like a work of art, like one of those paintings of a weeping saint. “It’s not the same.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I felt as though I was at an impasse, both with myself and with Rosalie. Because I knew the promises I’d made and broken, but I knew the promise I’d made to Edward today, and I had no willpower, no desire, and no intention to break that promise.

“You may not feel anything for him now,” Rosalie began, her eyes intently fierce as they bore into mine to warn me. Only this warning felt significantly more horrible than I’d imagined it may be, because it wasn’t made in anger, but in desperation and love. “But if Alice is right, you will. And it seems to me a horrible way to repay someone you love to steal their life, their future, their soul from them. You should leave him alone now while you still can, because once you love him… it’ll only hurt more one way or another. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your existence. I know I have.”

And with that, Rose turned, her face cold and sad, and she left the garage.

#equinoxjw #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance #twilight au #twilight fanfic #the twilight saga #twilight saga #twilight #edbella #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella fanfic

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 11

Rating: Mature Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language, Seduction Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

What a night.

The throbbing in your head was unyielding as you woke. Blinking your eyes in a daze, you rubbed the last remnants of sleep away with your fists before rolling onto your back with a groan.

Pained and disoriented, you eventually forced your eyes open, squinting into the red-tinted glare from the window. Sunlight had been a thing of the past. Instead, Hell was lit with fire and brimstone, which cast a permanent crimson glow throughout the Seven Rings.

Relieving a sigh, you murmured to yourself, "It was just a dream," before pressing your face into your pillow, noting how strangely familiar it smelled. It didn't smell like you. Where had you smelled that before? The scent was masculine, similar to woodlands mixed with rain and spices. 

You knew that smell. 

Flinging yourself upward, you choked on your breath in horror as you took in your surroundings, now wide awake. 

This wasn't your room.

Last night's events came crashing down on you like a ton of bricks, the effects similar to that of a cold shower, sobering you instantly.

Panic was coursing through your veins as your mind raced, trying to make sense of how you had gotten from the library to his bed, your memories seemingly lost. A sob wretched from your throat as you began to recall the assault, confusion and terror prevalent in the mix of emotions you were feeling.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart!" The Radio Demon emerged from the shadows in the far corner of the room, approaching you with an amused expression. "How are you feeling?" 

Instantaneous rage boiled to the surface, fracturing any hopes you had in appearing calm or indifferent to obtain the upper hand. "How the fuck do you think I'm feeling?!"

Alastor cocked a brow. "I would presume that you are experiencing a... oh, what's the word they use these days? 'Hangover'?"

If looks could kill, he would have been slain on the spot. Alastor appeared to be almost taken aback by your hostility as he examined your livid expression. Unshed tears threatened to spill over as your breath quickened. It was clear now what exactly you were feeling. Used, disgusted, and angry.

Had you not been so distracted by your own suffering, you might have noticed the apprehensive tilt of his head or the subtle concern in his gaze. Granted, it was difficult to truly determine anything that he was feeling behind that damned smile that never seemed to leave his face. It wasn't in his nature to be nurturing or caring in any way, so why would he even bother at this point? At least, that's what you told yourself.

The demon approached you, extending a helping hand. Wrenching yourself from beneath the blankets, you scrambled from the bed and took a defensive stance in front of him, cradling yourself with one arm while the other was outstretched, warding him off. "Don't. Touch. Me." It was a struggle to keep your tone steady as you swallowed back the tears in fear of appearing weak. Instead, you were forceful, your eyes blazing as you wished for nothing more than to watch him burn in the deepest, darkest pit of Hell. 

Confusion was etched in his features along with a hint of admiration. As he had openly admitted during your prior conversations, he enjoyed your brazen and stern disposition. You weren't a pushover by any means, and it was one of the reasons he took a liking to you.

"My apologies if I startled you. I was simply trying to aid you out of bed." His voice was infuriatingly calm. It enraged you that he could so easily appear unaffected. It was just another nail in his coffin lid that you intended to shut him in for the rest of eternity.

"After what you did to me?! You think that you can just assault me and then be all helpful ?! Like nothing happened?!" 

"...'Assault'?" he dragged the word out like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm not following." 

It was a knee-jerk reaction. Drawing your arm back, you swung it towards him forcefully, fully intent on punching him square in the jaw before he caught your first effortlessly in a gloved hand. "Hmm. It appears that we’re getting nowhere. You'll have to forgive me for what I'm about to do, my dear."

Before you could retaliate, he used your current position to drag you forward, catching you off-guard so that you unintentionally fell into him. "Now, let's see what's troubling you," he murmured, securing you tightly against him. He then placed his other hand on the top of your head while his eyes glowed with power as he sifted through your memories, just as he had done before when you had first arrived.

Unlike the last time, and much to your horror, you were fully conscious as he sought what he was after in your mind. Last night's occurrence was something that you wanted to repress and keep locked away deep in your subconscious, and yet there you were, watching it unfold before your eyes like it had happened all over again. 

For the first time since you had met him, his smile faltered. The edges of his ever-present grin turned down into a downright scowl. Gone was the amiable optimism and amused goading. The displeasure that crept into the Radio Demon's face was vivid and fierce. His hold around you tightened, numbing your skin under the pressure.

When he finally released you, he said nothing, his expression implacable as you stumbled back, hating that you had to relive last night's experience for his own amusement.

Except he looked far from amused. He looked downright murderous. The air around him crackled threateningly with static as his eyes flickered in and out of their horrifying dial-shaped irises, giving you goosebumps. 

Catching himself, as quick as his smile faded, it had returned to its natural upward state as he digested what he had just seen, contemplating his response.

Finally, he spoke, his eyes dark and piercing. "What happened to you," he spoke slowly and dangerously softly, the underlying rage palpable, "Will not go unpunished." 

Releasing a disbelieving huff, you barked back, "Are you delusional? What makes you think that-" 

"Stop. Talking." His voice had taken on a vicious edge as he took a step towards you, his hands folded tightly behind his back in restraint. "Listen to me carefully, precious. It wasn't real. It was a farce. It appears you've fallen victim to quite a potent Mickey Finn. Your ignorance as a living and breathing human has been taken advantage of, and the salacious activities that you believe occurred were no more than an outlandish hallucination."

Your eyes widened, searching his face for any indication of deceit. It couldn't have been your mind playing tricks on you... could it? It had felt so real...

Distracted by the revelation, you hadn't noticed that he had closed the gap between the two of you and was now within arms reach. "As I have mentioned countless times before, I have no intention of harming you. Take comfort in the fact that I do have morals, limited as they may be, and I would never force myself on anyone. Any part of myself," he emphasized, probably referring to the tentacles. Awkward. 

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that." Your voice came out barely above a whisper, the intensity of your stare expressing your feelings more than words ever could.

After a moment of reflection, he answered, "No, I suppose not." He looked almost disappointed behind his sinister smile. "Perhaps I can prove it to you."

Terror urged you to run, but curiosity kept you in place as he loomed above you, somehow rendering you paralyzed as he reached out to you yet again. This time, you allowed him to make contact as he trailed a finger along your shoulder, testing the waters. "Summon my shadow." 

Eyeing him skeptically, you scoffed, "And why would I do that?"

You wanted to defy him, purely out of spite, but the look on his face convinced you otherwise. Without further protest and finally putting your practice to use, you concentrated on making his staff appear. With a wave of your hand, it manifested in your arms. It was thrumming with magic, making your skin tingle beneath its touch. You didn't think you would ever get used to that.

"Okay?" you sneered, still not understanding what that would prove. "What does your shadow have to do with anything?"

He glared back at you, as if insulted by your implied cynicism. You stiffened, even though you knew his tactics were always meant to unsettle and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction, you couldn't help your small reaction.

"He sees what I see," he finally divulged. How vague.

Rather than push him for more answers, you knew that he would decline until his shadow was present. Closing your eyes, you beckoned for the creature to come forth and reveal itself before the both of you. 

The microphone perched at the top of the staff shook for a moment as a layer had peeled off from the stem, curling around your fingers before expanding and forming into an eerily-shaped mass of transparent sable, eagerly glancing back and forth between its masters.

The Radio Demon stepped forward, his formal posture never wavering as he nodded to the shadow, communicating with him telepathically. The creature's grin grew sickeningly more sinister as it registered the unspoken commands.

Without warning, it leapt at you, surrounding you in darkness. Before you could even scream, your vision blurred and you were suddenly transported elsewhere.

"Hey, Al. You gotta minute?"

That voice... It sounded familiar, but you couldn't quite place it yet. 

"Why, for you, Husker, I have an eternity." 

Wait a minute. This happened already. You remember this. 

As your vision cleared, you released a breath when you saw yourself standing with Charlie and Vaggie talking together in the hotel lobby. It was then you realized that you were viewing the memory from another perspective that wasn't your own. It was Alastor's.

His line of vision switched focus from you over to Husk who had beckoned him away from the scene. The two of them walked into an adjacent room, which appeared to be the kitchen.

Casually leaning up against the wall, Alastor gazed at Husk expectantly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Husk's voice was harsh and accusatory. 

"Why, I haven't the faintest-"

"Cut the bullshit." 

Tension filled the air as Alastor's eyes narrowed at Husk's equally threatening glare.

Not waiting for a response, Husk continued, "You've never shown interest in anyone. Ever. Not unless they were a means to an end. So what's the deal, Al? Why are you infatuated with the girl? What are you planning? It can't be anything good." 

"I'm just being hospitable," the Radio Demon explained with thinly veiled facetiousness. "As you can well imagine, this has been quite the adjustment for our young friend. Come now, Husker. Is it a crime to provide comfort and aid?"

"You've never cared about anyone before, let alone their comfort levels." 

"That's not entirely true," Alastor countered, raising a finger to emphasize his point. "I often find delight in causing incredible discomfort ." 

The cat demon rolled his eyes before taking a deep and calming breath. "You know what I meant, you arrogant bastard. I'm not gonna stand here and argue semantics with you. Tell me the truth, or I'm outta here."

Alastor flexed his fingers in warning, which Husk had immediately noticed, but refused to back down. You noted that he was either incredibly brave, or had no regard for his own life as he challenged one of the most feared demons in Hell. 

"I have never lied to you, Husker." Just as the cat demon opened his mouth to argue, Alastor held up his hand to silence him. "I will admit that I am not always an open book, but I've never been untruthful. Not to you, old friend." His tone was wry but you weren't sure if he was joking, and by Husk's expression, neither could he.

Alastor outright laughed at his friend's scowl, angering the feline further. "I shit you not, Al. If I find out that you pulled me outta nowhere just to watch you sabotage the chance of returning a breather to where she belongs, I'll hurl you straight into the Seventh Ring myself."

The Radio Demon inclined his head, eyes crueler than you had ever seen them. "I hardly think that’s necessary," he replied coldly. "I'm surprised at you, losing your head over a girl. Here you scold me for supposedly showing uncharacteristic interest when you yourself are expressing abnormal compassion. I believe that's the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"

A growl erupted from the cat. "I haven't lost my head! I'm just tired of inadvertently helping you fuck people over! I'm old and was happily retired until you 'volunteered my services' here. I don't really care about what happens to the girl. I care about what happens to me when the other overlords, or worse, Lucifer finds out what you're up to. Because I know it's something. I've known you too long to buy into your bullshit."

Alastor was picking at his sleeve now, showing no interest whatsoever in their conversation any longer. "Curiosity killed the cat, Husker," he chided, a warning masked with malevolent pleasantness.

Husk's eyes flashed. "I'm already dead, you sanctimonious prick."

"Calm yourself and have a drink, my friend," Alastor insisted. With a twirl of his finger, a bottle of booze appeared on the counter next to the cat. Husk eyed it with interest before ignoring it, which must have taken a lot of willpower from what you knew about him. "You cannot fool me. I know that somewhere behind all of that fur and loathing is a heart, bitter as it may be." 

"I lost the ability to love years ago," he spat.

"And yet, here we are, having this discussion."

"Al, be straight with me," Husk practically pleaded. "Whatever insane plan you are concocting up in that certifiable brain of yours, don't get in over your head. I know you think you're indestructible, but you're not. Don't be an idiot." 

"I've indulged this conversation long enough. Trust me, my feline cohort. When the time is right, all will be revealed. Until then, be mindful of my privacy." His expression was downright feral, actually making you concerned for Husk's well-being.

Rather than be intimidated, Husk sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. "Fine, Al. Have it your way." 

Alastor was quiet for a moment, eyeing what was probably one of the very few friends that he had with consideration before he spoke again. "Must we argue? Come, you must show me how you managed to achieve a Full House with a joker in your hand. I'm sure it's a delightful tale."

Time somehow sped up during his retelling of his evening. You witnessed as he and Husk engaged in friendly banter while Husk showed off his poker and drinking skills. Though there was still a touch of hostility in the air, they were able to enjoy each other's company regardless. It was almost endearing to see Alastor enjoying himself with someone he considered a friend. 

The other thing you had noticed was that it had been hours that they spent together, which would have been while you were supposedly being assaulted in the library. 

After a few hands of poker, the two decided to pack it in for the night and were headed to their rooms. That's when they heard groaning coming from the library as they passed. 

"The fuck was that?" Husk asked aloud, his words slightly slurred from his excessive intake of alcohol. 

"Hmm..." Alastor hummed aloud. "Let's investigate, shall we?" 

Opening up the door to the library, they found you sprawled on the floor, unconscious and smelling very strongly of liquor. 

Husk chuckled at your inebriated state, having been in that situation many times himself. "Musta had a tough day. This wasn't your doing, was it?"

Alastor seemed offended by the accusation. "I assure you, I had no part in this." He tsked in disapproval, shaking his head in pity at you. "I suppose we should assist the poor thing." 

Husk narrowed his eyes at him. "Be careful, Al." His words had a double meaning. 

With a knowing smirk, the Radio Demon bent down and gathered your limp body in his arms as he lifted you with ease. "Sleep well, my friend," he called over his shoulder as he carried you effortlessly up the stairs, completely surpassing your room and continuing down the hall to what you had assumed was his own. 

He then used his powers to pull back the sheets on his bed before laying you down with uncharacteristic tenderness. You released a hiccup as you settled in, making him grin. 

Tucking you under the covers, he paused for a moment to stare at you as he stood tall next to the bed. His eyes took in every part of you before he hesitantly brushed back a piece of hair covering your face. He then grabbed a book from his nightstand and retreated to the far corner of the room, where he sat in a lounge chair, and silently began to read his book, seemingly perfectly content.

None of it made sense. If Alastor wasn't with you in the library, who were you with? Why would they trick you and make you think you were assaulted by Alastor? Also, why was Husk so worried about you? Better yet, why would Alastor just reveal to you his private conversation with Husk? Could you even trust that any of it was real? Wait... where did Alastor sleep last night? Did he even sleep? What was going on?!

The room suddenly went dark, pulling you out of the vision and throwing you back into the present. 

Alastor's shadow retreated from you, hovering beside you with a proud and equally wicked grin. You released a breath that you didn't realize you were holding as you forced yourself to meet Alastor's expectant gaze as he waited for validation. 

Underlying his suspicious demeanor and behind his obvious machinations was the undeniable fact that he was telling the truth. You couldn't explain how you knew. Something in the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know.

"T-that was... I mean, I can't... " The words were caught in your throat as you came to terms with what was right in front of you. "I could have sworn it was you..." You had to look away then, shame and embarrassment making your face flush.

"Hardly a complimentary comparison," he jeered spitefully. "So you assumed I was a sexual deviant intent on having my way with you after rendering you incapacitated?"

You looked up then and immediately wished you hadn't. Judging from the thinly-veiled darkness in his expression, he was genuinely insulted, and it made you sweat under his heated gaze.

"It was the work of a coward," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I hold myself in a higher regard. Should that be something I wanted to engage in, I would do so without the need to hinder your mind."

The surge of excitement that went through your body at his words made you sick. Even after what you had experienced, regardless of the fact that it wasn't even him that did it, something inside of you craved that part of him. You were demented. You were gross. You were-

"Don't think I haven't considered it." 

Your head shot up, your feelings of self-loathing interrupted by his admission. 

"C-considered what?" 

"Making you mine." 

Sucking in a breath, you tried to quickly collect yourself, desperately trying not to let him show the affects his words had on you. "You... you've already tried."

"Hmm, not quite," he cooed, taking a predatory step toward you. 

"Why would you even say that?" you stammered, trying to make sense of him. "I know that you don't have romantic partners. Intimacy doesn't interest you. We've already been through this." 

"Indeed. However, it interests you." 

"I mean... yeah. But first of all, you’re a cartoon. I don’t even understand the mechanics of our anatomy here. To be honest I’m not really sure if I want to go down that road. Even if we could… uh… do stuff, I can’t imagine that you would get any satisfaction out of it. No one wants to be used like that-"

"You presume to know what I want or what I will obtain from an amorous endeavor with you," he cut you off, still approaching you. Whether you were too stubborn or too terrified to move, your legs had refused to operate. It was probably the latter. "You see, I enjoy pleasure in many different forms. Engaging in physical intercourse for my own gratification? No. I do not fancy that in the slightest. Making you squirm and watching you beg, completely at my mercy when I make you come undone by my own hands? Undoubtedly."

The words didn't even get a chance to sink in before he descended upon you. Without warning or waiting for permission, his head dipped and he kissed you.

His lips were firm and soft against your own as he devoured you - as if he had something to prove. The kiss had been quite different from the awkward turned hungry one you'd had before. It took you by surprise in a way it shouldn't have. Then again, everything Alastor did took you by surprise, and you weren't sure if you were ever going to understand him or his actions. 

Acting on instinct, you clutched his jacket, drawing him closer to you as he responded in kind, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you closer while the other cupped your cheek. You felt him smirk against your lips, like it was the kiss of a victor.

Reality slowly came crashing down, causing you to break the kiss, pulling back with a sigh. Alastor rested his forehead against your own for a brief moment, though you suspected it wasn't to catch his breath. Your body was still quivering, much to your chargin, so you stepped back to distance yourself. He released you without complaint, his crimson eyes locked onto your own as you collected yourself.

You had hoped that a change of subject would alleviate some of the intensity of the situation. "So, um... who would want to make me think it was you in the library last night? What was the point? Who has that kind of power?"

His posture stiffened so suddenly, it caught you off-guard, his face losing all traces of its earlier effervescence. The malignant veil was back in place and as terrifying as ever.

"I cannot yet say for certain," he began, the hostility in his voice evident as he smiled saccharinely, his eyes black voids in his pale face. "But I have an idea of where to start." -------------------------------------------

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1 @letmefallalone @libellule2001 @aceisbase

#imaginary fanfiction #hazbin hotel imaginary #hazbin imaginary #hazbin husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #husk

[tsarisfanfiction]

Too Far

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere.  It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint.  Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.

It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct.  Episode tag for 3.06 Life Signs.

“Virgil, can you come to the den, please?”

Scott’s voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

“Is it a rescue?” he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it.  “I’m doing some maintenance on Two, so it’ll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch.”

“There’s no rescue.” Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing.  It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn’t place it.  That was concerning, but he couldn’t just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit.  Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.

“Then… can it wait until I’ve put the panels back?”

The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke.  Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.

“Five minutes, Virgil.”

But not so urgent it couldn’t wait?  Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn’t messing anything up.  It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott’s odd request.

Except it wasn’t a request, was it?  As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from.  It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they’d done something big brother didn’t approve of.  He hadn’t instantly recognised it because Scott hadn’t directed it at him in…

Virgil couldn’t actually remember.  Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry.  That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.

What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?

Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott’s summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad’s stricter side nestled unpleasantly in his chest.  Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.

Just like Dad.

Virgil wasn’t scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of disappointing Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.

Scott was sat at Dad’s desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him.  Virgil couldn’t see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn’t important.  What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.

Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother.  Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.

But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still Scott at that desk.  Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.

“You called?”

Muscle memory – old, old muscle memory that hadn’t been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk.  With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller.  He didn’t feel taller.

The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.

The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn’t even know what this was about, yet.  There was love in them, because it was Scott and there was always love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he’d had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.

Anger. Frustration.  Disappointment.

Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate.  It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.

Scott didn’t say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn’t.

If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking.  Virgil didn’t like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.

But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn’t cruel.  The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.

An awful choking sound emitted from the desk’s built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn’t.  It was one Virgil had heard many times before – too many times before – but this one was different.

A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they’d all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.

He didn’t need the sound of Alan’s panicked “Virgil!?” to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.

The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.

“I-” he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…

Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence.  An excuse.  That’s what he’d been leaping to, but there were no excuses.  Not for that.

“Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only,” Scott finally said.  The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had nothing on what was dripping from his big brother’s words now.  “Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we’re on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide.”

He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this.  Hell, even John tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.

“Still,” Scott continued, “there are some jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can’t believe I’m having to remind you, of all people.”

He winced involuntarily. “I know, Scott, I’m sorry.  That was out of line.”  It hadn’t seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.

And to do it to Alan, of all people.  His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission.  For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he’d gone and compounded it…

“Virgil.”  Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again.  His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment.  “I’m not the one you need to apologise to.”  Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them.  “But we need to talk about this.”

Need to talk?  Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to talk about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.

The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded.  Punished.

“Virgil, why did you do that?”

“I-” he started, but broke off.  Why did he do it?  Adrenaline wasn’t the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too.  Fear that he really was going to die; that he’d just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body.  But that still wasn’t the reason, was it?  Not really.

Scott didn’t push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer.  But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn’t know and was waiting for him to work it out.  His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.

Virgil swallowed.  “I…  I wanted to be like Dad.”

The words surprised him as much as they did Scott.  Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.

Worry.

“Like Dad?  But, Virg-”

“Captain Taylor’s always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way,” he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them.  “How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they’d get into.  How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt’s buckle and landing on Mars in the first place.” He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott’s wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place.  “And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do.”  He didn’t mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn’t break, not even for Scott.

Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control.  Scott’s disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.

He also still looked like Dad.

“Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows you’re Dad’s son.  And John, and Alan.  Hell, even Gordon.  I just wanted Captain Taylor to see I am, too.”

He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom.  Even if they didn’t look alike, he’d inherited her temperament and love of music.  They never looked at him and saw Dad.

“I just wanted to be Dad’s son,” he admitted.  “I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now.  I terrified Alan.  It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone’s expense.”

His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.

“Virgil…”  There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder.  He knew that weight – he’d felt it time and time again.

“It was stupid,” he repeated, the words thick in his throat.  “I shouldn’t have done it.  But… Captain Taylor said he’d be proud of me.”

The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.

“Of course Dad would be proud of you,” Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear.  Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother’s shoulder.  “Don’t ever think that he wouldn’t be.  You don’t have to be like him, Virgil.  You just have to be like you.”

On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.

But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place.  This wasn’t about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.

And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he’d realised.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the blue shirt.  “I messed up.”

“You’re only human,” Scott reminded him.  “We mess up, and we learn from it.”

Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, ever going to make again.

Scott’s embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother’s turn to make an appearance.  He couldn’t put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother’s hold, and Scott let him.  Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott’s sides.

Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting Dad, he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn’t feel quite so small anymore.

“I need to talk to Alan,” he said, hoping Scott didn’t notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother’s name.  Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.

It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn’t quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil’s shoulders.

“You should,” he agreed. “But you should probably clean up a bit, or you’ll scare him.”  It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.

Nodding, he turned to leave the den.

“And Virgil?”  There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again.  Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn’t really happy, even if it wasn’t sad.  Just honest. “Even Dad was only human.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #too far #thunderangst #thunderfluff

[mirach]

Good Omens recs

Here are some of my all time favourite stories, but be warned that my taste is rather specific and can get into darker themes. I especially like hurt/comfort focused on Aziraphale, but that’s not the only thing you’ll encounter in this list.

The Strong Tower by @aziraphalelookedwretched  (M, 41,458)

After the failed executions, a vengeful angel takes it upon herself to neutralise the threat presented by Crowley and Aziraphale.

All stories by BuggreAlleThis are wonderful even if they get very dark in places. There (almost) always is comfort that’s more than worth the hurt and I love them all, but this one remains special to me as one of the first stories I read in this fandom and awaited every update eagerly.   

White Walls and Dead Air by BabyHoldMyFlower (G; 3,382 words)

It’s after the fourth day that he decides he hates God. He’s too tired to hold it back. Too miserable. Too busy dying. He knows he’ll go back on it later. He knows that he’ll repent later, and he’ll mean it, he thinks, once he gains some perspective, but there is nothing that could stop this bone-deep agony from churning and rising into something ugly. He’s not supposed to feel this way. He’s an angel, he really shouldn’t be thinking these things. Blind obedience is what they were created for. It’s in this moment that he can admit to a flaw in the Almighty’s design. If she wanted soldiers, she shouldn’t have given them the capacity to love.

Beautifully written and bittersweet, with lovely wing grooming and insights into the characters.

A Demon Would A-Wooing Go by @shinyhappygoth (G; 301 words)

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.—Good Omens

Filk of "A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go".

I just love a silly take on a silly folk song that was actually referenced in the book, okay?

Flaming Sword by Bookwormgal (T; 8,576 words)

A dark shape in the not-quite-empty darkness. Dressed in black robes. Humanoid. Skeletal. Then wings unfolded. Angel wings, but not ones of feathers. Wings of night. Wings that Aziraphale could sense more than see in this strange place. And even if the thin thread didn't truly exist except as a concept to better understand what was happening, one skeletal hand rested on the weakening connection. Waiting patiently.

Azrael. Creation's Shadow. The Angel of Death.

"Oh," he said quietly, his voice swallowed by the emptiness.

Aziraphale remembered what happened. He remembered moving. He remembered the blade sliding in, sharp and sudden. He remembered pain. And then…

"I died, didn't I?" he asked.

I like the exploration of the theme of self-sacrifice here. This is just my personal pick from several of my favourite stories from this author.

Courage by Anonymous (E, 21,595 words - WIP)

Ten years after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell want to punish Aziraphale and Crowley for their treason.  Gabriel decides that the perfect way to punish both of them is to torture Aziraphale and force Crowley to watch; Hell agrees to the plan.  Aziraphale and Crowley are kidnapped from their South Downs cottage and taken to a neutral location; Aziraphale is tortured and raped and Crowley is forced to watch; they are then returned home, Aziraphale critically injured.  

This is the Prologue (the first three chapters; all of the violence is confined to chapter 2, which can be skipped).  

The real story begins in chapter 4; it’s the story of how Aziraphale and Crowley recover from the trauma.  They are both profoundly traumatized; it takes a long time, but they work through it together, and their marriage recovers.  There will be a happy ending.  

Aziraphale and Crowley heal each other.

This story is a WIP, but it already got to the part where things are getting better. It’s very (very!) heavy, but absolutely beautifully written, it’s giving me goosebumps.

Love Seeketh Not Itself to Please by die_traumerei (T, 14,645 words)

After Aziraphale is left gravely injured by a summoning, Crowley must take him to heaven and bargain with the angels for his life. It doesn't go as he'd expect. 

A hurt/comfort story that’s focused on the comfort part, really satisfying to read!

Evolution by @lady-divine-writes (M; 1,455 words)

Five times Aziraphale wasn’t the most confident Dom, and the one time it finally clicked. 

Again I’m only picking one story, but there are so many more from this author that I love! I bookmarked this one because I don’t usually see Aziraphale as Dom, but here he is fully in character and gets there through conscious effort, and it feels very empowering.

The Longest Night by @charlottemadison42 (series rated T-E, 34,747 words)

The night the Apocalypse doesn't happen, an angel and a demon share a bus bench on the way home to face their fates. This is the story of their evening spun out line by line, all the little moments that carried them through the night they knew might be their last.

A wonderfully written series giving a detailed account of the night before the trials, complete with drunken talk, with wonderful grasp of the characters. Again just a personal pick from the stories by a really great writer.

Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? by Kat_Rowe (series rated G-M (so far), 48,057 words so far)

Now that they're independent of Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale and Crowley become even closer. Friendship eventually turns to romance, and emotional intimacy to physical. (Slow-burn friends-to-lover fic series.)

A very gentle series starting with wing grooming and continuing through the exploration of a relationship in which one of the partners (Aziraphale) is asexual.

Fancy Patter on the Telephone by @hotcrosspigeon (G, 12,854 words)

A series of telephone conversations between Aziraphale and Crowley during the Lockdown.

They get steadily more desperate and ridiculous as the weeks go on.

Featuring a moping demon, a teasing angel, a pub quiz, an explosion, extraordinary amounts of alcohol, a bubble bath, awkward flirting, several love confessions... and an ill-conceived bet on who can last the longest without seeing the other.

What could possibly go wrong?

HotCrossPigeon is an amazing hurt/comfort writer who writes absolutely delightful Aziraphale ahurt/comfort from Crowley’s spot-on POV, so definitely check their other stories as well, but I just had to pick this one that’s actually humorous and doesn’t contain even a drop of blood because I couldn’t stop laughing with it.

Feathers by @29-pieces (series rated G; 23,247 words)

Pre-Apocalypse shenanigans. In this AU, when an angel and a demon fight, the victor customarily takes a feather from their opponent signifying victory over them. Usually followed by killing them, naturally. But sometimes the defeated angel or demon is left alive, minus a feather, so that everyone KNOWS. Neither Crowley or Aziraphale ever took part in that sort of thing because it's really just a mean thing to do.

A series of three stories, two with hurt Aziraphale and one with hurt Crowley.

5 Times Aziraphale was Almost Discorporated and One Time He Actually was by @charliebrown1234 (series rated T-M; 29,011 words)

This series is an absolute match for my need of Aziraphale hurt/comfort, just like their more recent story Ex Infirmitas, Sinceritas. One of the authors I’m subscribe to and read everything they write.

The Whole Sky Fell by @thepaisleyelf (T, 9,692 words)

“Okay, Aziraphale, out with it,” Crowley said finally. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale blinked. He suddenly seemed very interested in looking anywhere that wasn’t at Crowley, fiddling with the napkin in his lap.

“I don’t -- I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”  

Aziraphale really was a terrible liar. Under other circumstances Crowley might have found it charming, cute even, but his concern had been growing ever since he’d picked Aziraphale up for breakfast that morning....

Same as above, Turcote just knows what I love to read. Definitely check their other stories as well!

Desperate Ground by @desperateground (M, 55,883 words)

After they prevented the apocalypse and escaped execution, Crowley and Aziraphale thought they were safe from the machinations of Heaven and Hell. But there are still some demons with scores to settle - and since the angel and demon have made it clear to the world how far they're willing to go for each other, Hell has plenty of leverage on them.

A breathtaking story with torture and unwavering loyalty of the characters to each other.

***

And if you find these recs to your taste, then you might also enjoy

Back to the Roots by me (M, 90,946 words)

"We always knew it would end. Like mortals know that they'll die." Crowley closes his eyes, finding the stare of his own reflection unbearable. "When you're immortal, you can afford to pretend and hide and go slow. And then, when you finally figure it all out, it turns out that what you have can end anytime. It's unfair..." ---------- The morale in Heaven and Hell is low after the failed Apocalypse. Punishing the traitors (effectively this time) seems like a good idea to raise it for both sides - the angels would see what awaits them if they dare to disobey and the demons could just use some fun. And then there is someone else as well - someone whose grudge is even more personal. 

Also torture and unwavering loyalty, breaking the characters and then putting them together with great care. This is the darkest from my stories, so if torture is not your thing, you can check my other ones (mostly Aziraphale hurt/comfort too).

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens rec #hurt aziraphale

[chrisemrysfics]

After my post on Wangxian and unconditional love, among other things, I realized I forgot all about a source of unconditional love for Wei Wuxian: the Wen siblings and remnants.

Here is the thing: first, Wei Wuxian had a few years with his parents, he barely has memories, yet he remember the sense of happiness, joy, and the love of his parents, both for each other, and for him.

Then, he lose them, and faces the streets. And then he’s picked by Jiang Fengmian, and brought “home”... and right away there’s an issue with Jiang Cheng and puppies. Yu Ziyuan also shows displeasure.

Jiang Yanli shows care for him, while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian make peace, however, from here on, Wei Wuxian is under constant disapproval by Yu Ziyuan.

And I believe Wei Wuxian is not blind to Jiang Cheng being hurt by what his mother says, and the apparent not-care his father shows. But he says it and I believe he’s right: Jiang Fengmian is lenient toward Wei Wuxian because Wei Wuxian is not his son. What appears as indulgence, is simply that he doesn’t care all that much past what Wei Wuxian is bringing to the clan.

He doesn’t seek his safety: he could have chosen to make Wei Wuxian stay to Lotus Pier rather than let him go to Nightless City, but he didn’t. He even said “he can choose”, which make him wash his hands of responsibility and make Wei Wuxian own up to his own fate. And his last words to me nailed the confirmation: he doesn’t give any word of care, he only echo what Yu Ziyuan said: protect my children.

Wei Wuxian grew up knowing he’ll be scorned by Yu Ziyuan regardless of whether or not he’s truly at fault, and knowing Jiang Fengmian doesn’t really care, as long as he’s around, he let him do what we want, knowing Wei Wuxian is loyal to the Jiang and to his children. Jiang Cheng express it awkwardly, but his attempts at “taming” Wei Wuxian “hero complex” is that he recognizes no one else is trying to stop him from harming himself (including his father). However, because Jiang Cheng let himself be influenced, he doesn’t show unconditional love, Wei Wuxian knows he cares, but Wei Wuxian also recognize Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand him.

This leave only Jiang Yanli that he can be himself with. We understand he feels safe with her, to show his true self, that he know he’ll be love without condition, because it is to her, and only her, he asked such a thing as “why does someone like someone else”. And that’s why his hesitancy to tell her anything about the three months disappearance is so heart-breaking, and she can be seen being worried still: for the first time, he doesn’t tell her.

And this shows how he views himself. For the first time, he thinks there is finally something that might be the one think Jiang Yanli won’t accept. That he’s become something that finally is where she draws the line. No one else before her truly showed any unconditional love, and he’s terrified what will happen if he let her see who he has become.

And it explain why he push away Lan Wangji: he knows Lan Wangji values are righteous, to Wei Wuxian, if Lan Wangji disapprove of him, it means he’s something that cannot approved of. Which then reinforce the idea that he cannot show Jiang Yanli what he’s become.

In the end, he’s traumatized, and scared to be rejected by the two people he cared for the most. He knew he felt pulled to Lan Wangji, he cared for him, he knew in his heart he valued him, just like he values Jiang Yanli. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable, and he got rejected, it would break him. So he didn’t take the risk.

All of that to arrive to the Wen siblings.

And the important thing I realized is that it never was a question of owing each other anything.

Wei Wuxian met Wen Ning, and showed kindness to him, which is pretty clear Wen Ning rarely, if ever, received, outside of his sister and the branch of their family. Its enough for Wen Ning to want to come when he hears about Lotus Pier, and willing to help them.

When Wen Qing enters the scene, she knows the risks, but there is a vital factor that made her decide to let them stay hidden and recover: her brother. Yes, she is a healer, however, it was risky to allow this, except, this was someone who inspired loyalty in her brother, someone who treated her brother well. Someone with a brother that was hurt.

Then, Wei Wuxian asks her to do the surgery, and she refuses. She knows what this will mean, and the thing is, I do end up thinking he’s not blind to how he’s been treated. He had to develop his own moral compass because either he’s scorned no matter if he’s at fault or not, or he’s “indulged”, or he’s not understood. He cares, and he sees himself as owing everything to the Jiang, but I feel like he knows how it can sound like. Wen Qing refuses because she isn’t certain he truly realize what he is asking, or she questions how willing he is, past any conditioning. But he insists, and she sees something that let her know that he does know what he is asking for.

Ultimately, Wei Wuxian is still misunderstood when people think his choice is because he’s been conditioned: yes, of course, we can understand someone shouldn’t have to sacrifice himself, that they shouldn’t have to “pay back” in such a manner... except no one asked. No one forced him to do this. He looked at his brother, and decided he didn’t want to see him like this. Wen Qing refusing meant he had the occasion to rethink his choice. He still chose.

That’s why they also speak of not owing anything to each other: Wen Qing chose to help them, and Wei Wuxian chose to go through the transplant. They understand the risks they took for each other, they had each other life in the other hands (if WWX and JC are seen, its death for WQ, if WQ fails, its death for WWX).

And that’s why they don’t seek each other, they owe nothing to each other, understand where they stand in the war, and trust each other has continued to follow the path of their heart. Wen Qing didn’t betray her values as a healer, nor did Wei Wuxian betray his own values.

However, Wen Qing ended up desperate, and there was only one person she knew had values she could trust: Wei Wuxian. She knows what she is asking out of him, but just like she didn’t leave Wei Wuxian and his brother to their own fate, Wei Wuxian would not leave her and her brother to their own fate. Just like he chose for the transplant, she knew Wei Wuxian would choose what is true to his heart.

And so they end up in Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian once more doing a sacrifice, yet it is done out of his own choice, the refusal to betray his own values (be it that it was the care for his brother back then, or the protection of innocent now). And here is the thing: Wen Qing knows about Wei Wuxian’s core.

And the Wen Remnants are well placed to fear him, distrust him, be unkind to him, but they don’t. More than that, they welcome him as family. He becomes family to them, and they become family to him. No one judges him, they all see him, and none of them disapprove of him, and they care for him.

To me, Wei Wuxian only ever had two things that were truly his: his demonic cultivation, and the Wen Remnants as family.

He says it himself: he owes spiritual cultivation to the Jiang. But demonic cultivation? He chose to not die, to resist, to survive, to return, to continue following his own values, and developed his own tools for it. He saw the scorn of others, but knew his heart, and stayed true to it. Everything “bad” about him was his trauma, not his cultivation (proven as to how he is, after his death and return).

And the Wen Remnants, they became his family. The Jiang siblings are his family of adoption, but the Wens were the family he, himself, adopted. They were to him what the Jiang Clan was to JC: the people he would protect, the one he placed first.

If JC and/or JYL had no one else to turn to, WWX would have protected them too. But JC had a whole sect, and JYL was part of it. More than that, the best protection was to distance himself, the Wens already had a tainted reputation, like his own, but not his siblings (and same for LWJ). He couldn’t take that risk.

And the strength of his heart and values show when everything goes extremely bad: he accidentally kills JZX, he doesn’t manage to protect/save the Wen Siblings, and still he doesn’t outright slaughter everyone, he attacks after being provoked. He also stop when JYL show up, but because someone else tried to kill him, he sees her protect him and die to protect him... just like the Wen Siblings.

And he just effectively lost the last, and first, sibling who has loved him unconditionally. The Wen Siblings knew all about his lost core, while JYL knew about him in many ways. Loosing all three of them, effectively meant he lost the three people who knew him best and loved him without condition.

Is it so surprising that his psyche broke there? He went mad with grief, the trauma catching up to him. Then he finds himself conscious again, away from Nightless City, not knowing there is still one person who loves him.

And what does he decide to do? Break the seal. Now, I realized a thing: he didn’t die from breaking the first half. The accounts are confusing on purpose, but he himself is seen thinking about how he broke half of it, but didn’t have time to break the second before the Siege happened.

This means he knows how to do it without dying... or he was already half dead.

Then he looses the Wen Remnants, he’s Sieged by the whole cultivation world, including his own brother. There’s no Lan Wangji in sight, leaving him uncertain whether he doesn’t deserve to die in Lan Wangji eyes, or if he’s not even worthy of Lan Wangji being present. Or if its a last kindness, to not be part of the people who attack him.

But Wei Wuxian has lost everything, everyone, his own brother is here with hate and grief in his eyes, Wei Wuxian knows there is greed behind the Siege, and so he finishes what he started: he destroys the seal.

And to this day, I am still convinced there was no backlash, but rather, a last command, either conscious, or one he didn’t realize he made but born of how he was feeling.

However, because he never returned as a vengeful ghost, this make me consider that, for all his death was violent, he died with a peaceful heart.

He knew his own heart and values, and he followed them to his last breath. He knew the greed and blindness of the cultivation world, but what would he do? Kill them all? Be what they claimed he was? No. And then, to him, he caused the deaths of people he never wanted to: JZX and JYL. To someone who gave his core because he considered he owed it to the Jiang, what will he give, if he consider he owed to repay the deaths he caused?

He chose, died with peace in his heart because he followed it to his last breath.

And I wonder if the corpses “eating him” weren’t eating the resentment within him. That’s a whole other headcanon to develop.

But yes, all of this to say: the Wen Remnants were WWX family, the Wen Siblings became his siblings, and WWX remained true to his heart up until the end.

That’s why he didn’t return as a vengeful ghost, and why he was calm and level-headed when he returned. It also strongly imply his temper and so-called “lack of control” were due to his trauma. Yet, this just goes to show how strong willed he is, to both survive the Burial Mounds, and never loose himself, and show that he is truly the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, because he never lost himself through it, and still mastered it.

#wei wuxian #wen qing #wen ning #mdzs #mo dao su zhi

[faustrinus]

Family (wolfstar)

Everyone has impulses. Like the sudden urge to eat ice cream or listen to a certain song- it depends. There are also different types of impulses, productive and useful ones and dumb ones, the ones that you know you will regret after doing it but you do it anyway.

Sirius has had a handful of dumb ones, maybe enough to start considering it as a part of his whole persona. But after running away from his family and receiving that not so delightful letter from his mother, something has been keeping him awake. 

We have removed you from the family tapestry. It read on the paper, big letters at the end assuring him that what he had done couldn't be undone, no turn back. It's not like he was interested in ever going back to that place, but knowing that he was eliminated from the most important thing the family had, a symbol of tradition and honour- although expected, it wasn't a nice feeling what invaded him. It was the total opposite.

Since he was young, his whole personality was the fact he was a Black. People didn't take the time to get to know him because they assumed all the members from the House of the Black were the same, cold and maniac pure-bloods. The first surprise was Sirius getting into Gryffindor and not Slytherin, but even like that people still had prejudices, sometimes he found himself sitting extremely straight, hearing footsteps and feeling panicked, or normalizing behaviour that was in fact... abusive and toxic. 

The marauders showed him a lot of things, helped him get better at being himself. 

But he couldn't show them all he wanted to, it was overwhelming to remember. That was why he didn't tell them about the letter or the words his own mother used to call him- that remained a secret, and it didn't feel right. Especially considering what he had in mind. 

A dumb impulse, one of the worst you could think of.

He had to get back to the Black house and confirm he was removed from the tapestry, he had to see it. One thing was reading it and having the benefit of the doubt and the other one was having it right in front of you. He had been planning since the letter arrived, writing at what hours he knew the family left the house, where Kreacher slept while he knew he was alone, the easiest way to enter, everything. He wasn't an organized person, but this was a matter of life or death.

If they saw him, they would kill him, no doubt. They were near to do it more times he was able to admit.

Now, going alone seemed like the perfect idea. He would go in, see the tapestry and then go, nothing more. But that house was not only that, it was hell, it brought memories so dark and terrifying that just thinking about being alone at that place made his heartbeat ten times faster. He needed someone around to stay grounded, at least somewhat peaceful.

James was too clumsy and curious, he would touch everything he was interested in or probably would try to hex something in the house as an act of revenge. Even without asking, he just knew Peter was probably too scared to go, and he wasn't going to force him.

Remus was a good option. He and Sirius had this weird more than friends thing going on- but it was fine, they were comfortable with it and their friendship remained the same, except for the kisses and couple stuff they were afraid to name. Remus could calm him and make him laugh even in the tensest situations. 

So it was Remus. 

He was there, reading peacefully as the sun hit the window. Maybe he was too concentrated to notice, but Sirius had been looking at him for more than twenty minutes without stopping.

Or maybe he did notice but was waiting until Sirius could gather all the guts he needed to say whatever was going on his mind. Remus was patient about it, he was conscious of how pressure could affect people, so he didn't do it. 

After five more minutes, Sirius finally got up from the bed, walking a little in many directions, nervous about how to explain the fact he needed Remus to offer him moral support while facing the trauma he had thanks to his parents. Not a very light to say. 

"You're okay, Sirius?" Finally, Remus asked, lowering his voice as he spoke, not wanting to bother anyone that was taking an afternoon nap, "You know I'm here for you, right?"

Sirius smiled, taking a deep breath. The crumpled letter found rest in his pocket, where he constantly played with it to distract himself, "Yeah, I know."

Remus nodded and turned back to finish his book, one of his hands tapping the space empty next to him, a sign from Sirius to sit down and maybe relax a little to talk better. He did. He sat and breathed a few times, Remus was taking it all so calm and normal that it made Sirius felt like it was something normal, something he shouldn't be worried about- it helped a lot the attitude the werewolf took to make him comfortable. 

"I need your help with something."

"What is it?" Remus closed the book, leaving it in a nearby coffee table they had to play table games. Sirius glanced at it, it was the third part of the novel the werewolf was reading- Sirius knew it because Remus couldn't stop talking about reading it, he was pretty quiet and sarcastic most of the time, but when it came about his favourite books, he could talk for hours.

"I need you to come with me to my house."

"Your house?"

"The Black family house."

As intuitive and perceptive as Remus was, he definitely didn't catch quickly what the shorter boy meant. He stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if what he heard was correct. 

"...Why? Didn't you run away from there?"

Sirius sighed, "Yes, I did, but-", he stretched out on the couch, trying to look casual, "I forgot something important."

"What?"

"Don't you think you are asking too many questions?"

Remus shrugged, "Well, what you are asking for is not the most normal thing, you know. You ran away from that place, why would you ever come back? and you were planning your escape from months, how did you forget something? it doesn't add up, Sirius."

"Yeah, I knoooow, but," Sirius looked at Remus, shiny eyes to convince him, "I need to go with someone."

"James?"

"Too clumsy and curious."

"Peter?"

"Too afraid."

"...Lily?"

"Oh, c'mon, Remmy."

"Fine", he mumbled while blushing thanks to the nickname, "But you have to tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"Why do you want to go, because I don't buy any of the I forgot something bullshit."

Sirius got up the couch, ignoring whatever Remus said at the end, "Sounds great! We go tonight." And then he was out of the room, sprinting down the hallways without looking back not even once. Remus rolled his eyes and decided to take a nap, maybe that way the intrusive thought of what the hell Sirius was planning to do would stop bothering him.

The time at Hogwarts was different for every student. The younger ones were amazed by every little magic trick (especially the muggle-born students) and would love attending to their classes, perfect uniform and all the materials in hand. The older ones were... different, Sirius was the perfect example for it when he found himself searching for his favourite quill in an old trunk just minutes before he and Remus would leave the school to go to hell...willingly.

"Forgot something at the last moment again?" Asked Remus teasingly, in three steps he was already hovering over Sirius, analyzing the paper the boy had in his hands, "Is that a map of the house?... and a blank parchment?"

"It does say something, but it isn't important right now."

"You are keeping a lot of secrets lately..."

"Well, I'm not the one that was receiving love letters from a Hufflepuff girl last Monday..."

A huff left the werewolf's mouth, "It's not like we are together... couple kind of together."

"...Do you want to?"

As the words left Sirius's lips, a few voices could be heard walking into the common room, everyone was getting ready to go to sleep. It was the moment to take the invisibility cloak and get going before anyone could notice. They shared a resigned look like telling each other we will talk about it later. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and Remus grabbed the cloak, bending down to let the fabric cover him perfectly. Being tall wasn't that fun when you needed to be subtle.

They left the castle when the moon was already adorning the sky, realizing that a cold and silent night was giving them a not-so-welcoming embrace. They proceeded in silence until they reached Sirius' motorbike that was hiding in the woods. It was a birthday gift from James and of course, it had been intervened with magic. Remus absolutely despised flying in that thing, but he was already involved in the whole thing, wasn't he? the only option was going forward. So he breathed deeply and got on it, his chest against Sirius's back.

"I hope you got over your fear of flying."

"Make it quick or I'm going back to the school."

Did everything resemble a cheesy movie scene? It did. But Remus couldn't deny he felt comfortable as long as he didn't look down, and Sirius was a pretty good driver considering they hadn't died yet. Seeing the two of them like that made the werewolf understand that he was afraid of the word couple, but he wasn't afraid of being with Sirius, it felt natural, almost instinctive. 

If everything went well, maybe someday he was going to tell him he wanted them to be something official, with a name, with kisses shared in the back of the class and holding hands under the table.

"Almost there."

In a matter of seconds (or maybe minutes, being conscious of the time while you were holding onto the person you liked was hard) they were slowly descending into the dry land of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Not a single soul was on the street when they finally touched the ground, and the only people at sight were silhouettes in the windows nearby, most of them doing stuff like watching tv or sleeping cosily in their partner laps.

"Here we are... The Honorary House of Black."

"It 's... dark."

"Yeah, don't expect a lot of bright colours."

As Sirius went up the stairs (wand in hand), his motion was almost automatic. A quick move and some whispered spells opened the door like it was the easiest thing in the world, it was at least for him- he was raised there, he knew all he needed to know about the old place.

"We have to be very quiet, just follow me."

Remus nodded while slowly closing the door and followed Sirius, trying to not get distracted by everything that was going on there. All the walls were decorated with big portraits of the family members, the Slytherin symbol all over the place. 

With each stair they passed, more tense Sirius felt. Tons of memories were coming back at the same time, reminding him that this was probably the last time he would go visit that house, or even get close to it. He didn't miss it, but the melancholy was still there.

One look at the tapestry and you're gone. Just one look, that was it.

"So...what do you think about it?" he asked.

"I don't know what I was expecting... but it wasn't this. You grew up here?"

"When you are a kid everything is a little bit scarier, but I got used to it. Now... It just seems normal."

"There are domestic elf heads on the walls-"

"That is not the worst."

With every portrait they left behind, Sirius started to get more nervous, grasping his wand as if his life was depending on it. Remus didn't have any idea on what to say, so he just stood closer, and when they finally reached the room that made Sirius gasp softly, Remus placed one of his hands on Sirius's shoulders, feeling the tension, "You're okay?"

"Yeah. This is what I wanted to see."

Remus followed the images in the tapestry. It was big and it was clear what it represented, the honour of the family. It had thousands of people the werewolf had never heard Sirius' name before, all of them looked... almost evil.

And where it read "Sirius Black" there was nothing. Just a mark, like as if it had been burned, the name was blurred and it looked like whoever did that did it with resentment.

"She really did that."

Remus arched an eyebrow, "You knew...?"

Maybe it was time for the secret to get out.

"My mom- Walburga sent me a letter a few days after I ran away. It said a bunch of disgusting things, but the most important one was this. She removed me from the tapestry," He muttered as his fingers touched softly the place where his face used to be, "The tapestry is a big symbol in the family, it has been here forever and I will probably be until the end of times. It's... kind of a big deal, so I wanted to confirm she actually did it." 

"How... do you feel about it?"

"Fuck's sake, Remus... I don't know. I never thought this would really happen, my whole identity was being a part of this atrocious family. I don't know who I am without the Black last name."

"You are better," He assured, now his both hands exerting pressure on the shoulders of the shorter boy, "You don't need a recognized last name to be something in life. You are you, and that's enough."

Sirius mumbled a thankful "you're the best" at Remus and took out the blank parchment he had before from his pocket, analyzing. 

"What is that for?" The werewolf tried to see something on the parchment, but it was still empty.

"Who is that for. Is for Regulus, he always comes here to see the tapestry."

Sirius placed the parchment on where his face used to be, sticking it with a spell, "He is going to read it before she can, I know it. And is going to make him hate me, because if he doesn't he is going to lose his mind here."

"Sirius..."

"I don't have a family anymore... well, maybe I never had one to start with, it's not a joyful feeling to be completely honest, but it's okay."

"You have us, we are your family." 

And we will forever be.

“Just… no more secrets.” “I promise.”

#wolfstar #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar headcanon #wolfstarfanfic #Harry Potter #HarryPotter #regulus black #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #sirius #jamespotter #Lily Evans #harry potter fanfic #harry potter headcanon #lgtbq pride #gay #writing #fanfiction