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ponds-of-ink · 5 months

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Sing The Ghosts A Christmas Carol- Chapter 5 (“The Last Visitor [And A Sudden Interruption]”)

Here it is! The preultimate chapter! What in the world are William and The Spirit of Christmas Futurs going to encounter?

William gulped. “Spirit, please pardon me,” he sputtered out, tugging at his collar once more. “I promise my look of resistance was not because of you. It was related to other matters that were already on my mind.”

The Spirit remained at its post. It gave no answer.

William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ah, right,” he resumed. “How could I forget? You are supposed to be as silent as the grave. As ‘dead as a door nail’, if I’m right to use the phrase in this context. You literally cannot talk, unless there is an exception to be made here.”

The Spirit said nothing. It only leaned over the desk, as if to analyze its “listener”.

William retreated a step. “Yes, Spirit, you are seeing things correctly,” he continued, attempting to keep a firm tone. “I am absolutely unprepared for what’s to come. If you had arrived before the rest, then I would have proudly stated that I will be escaping and plotting revenge against Goldie and her fellow tormentors. But, after all of these other specters, my mind is spinning with the most horrible conclusions.” He paused to stabilize his breathing. “However, I will not—and cannot—let that deter me,” he concluded solemnly. “I see now that I need to learn the lessons you want to teach. Lead on, Spirit, before I feel the urge to say otherwise.”

The Spirit’s long cloak dragged across the floor as it trudged to the left doorway. It turned its head slowly, keeping it there until William was right beside it. Then, with a wave of its arm, the world changed instantly. They had arrived at the Main Street from the last travel, but now the sky was gray and cloudy. People in heavy winter coats rushed past, completely unaware of the ghosts’ presence. All was dreary, but not completely miserable.

William surveyed the streets. “I know this is off-topic,” he said, shuffling his feet. “But what happened to the market? Molten Fred— The previous Spirit mentioned a market was set up here.”

The Spirit raised an arm, its large sleeves covering the pointing hand underneath. Its hooded head stared at William, as if telling him “Go over there if you want answers”.

William obliged, nervously strolling in the direction he was told to go. A red paper box, chipping with age, soon caught his eye. He walked in front of it, then leaned in front of the murky glass case. He skimmed the display, dodging headlines in bold print and advertising that would have made the marketing part of him shiver. At the very bottom of the page, an answer finally announced itself: “Freak Snowstorm Hits Downtown, Annual Market Cancelled”.

Though disappointed, William breathed a sigh of relief. “And here I was starting to worry that this Mimic fellow was the cause,” he laughed as he returned to his guide. “At least it wasn’t as horrendous as that. What a sorry picture that would paint!”

The Spirit didn’t lower its arm.

William’s heart dropped. He glanced back at the red box. “Spirit,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together. “I’ve already read the paper. It’s nothing but local events that, as far as I can tell, only concern those in the vicinity! The one clue I’ve found is that the date is Christmas Day… Well, I presume a year from now. Unfortunately, no one’s bothered to give me a calendar for my office back home.”

The Spirit lowered its arm. It stepped aside, then pointed to the sidewalk.

Guessing its intentions, William wandered to the Spirit’s side. The area shifted instantly, making the man lose his balance. He fumbled back-first into the snow-covered lawn of a suburban home. The Spirit wordlessly turned to him, then lifted its ill-fitting arm once more.

“Forgive me if this is out of turn,” William huffed as he gingerly moved into a sitting position, “but you are being very impatient for a Ghost of Christmas Future. I know there may not be much to see here as opposed to Scrooge’s travels, but we should at least take a moment to process what has happened.”

The Spirit lowered its arm a little, but it refused to stop pointing.

William stared at the Spirit. “I… assume we have very little time regardless?” he asked, his bitter tone softening. “As in, you aren’t in complete control about how much time we have?”

The Spirit’s head lowered. It’s free hand adjusted its cloak. Somewhere, deep within that void, a silver chain hung around its “neck”. And, on that chain, there hung a dark hourglass with red sand. Red sand that was one-thirds at the top and two-thirds at the bottom.

William’s pupils shrank. “Ah,” he said in a meek, hoarse tone. “I see. M-My apologies, then.” He then sprang to his feet, hurrying back over to The Spirit. “Lead on, Spirit,” he finished in a still-frail tone. “I’ll try to simply watch and learn from now on, no matter how ‘fast’ these lessons may seem. Perhaps… being silent as you might benefit us both.”

Though it put an arm on the man’s shoulder, The Spirit still said nothing. It led William down those same streets he took only mere minutes ago. Except now the houses were either barren or simply furnished with string lights and leftover decor. No wishes of goodwill. No other displays that blinded or dazzled the eye. Not even the candy cane lane at “the A’s” house survived the apparent neighborhood changes.

Come to think of it, that house didn’t have any decorations. Or a car. Or even faint footprints in the snow. It looked abandoned almost, as if it’s occupants vacated months ago. In fact, given what Molten Freddy warned, it probably was vacated months ago. Without prior warning, if William was understanding the tell-tale signs correctly.

While William’s solemn face contorted into a growing sense of terror, the Spirit gestured yet again. This time, it was to the side of the house. William’s protests died before they even finished forming in his head. With trembling steps, he walked towards the window. He stopped as soon as he reached it. He peered over his shoulder. The Spirit had not changed its position. With a heavy sigh, William phased through the room.

Gregory’s bedroom greeted him on the other side, though now it was much more solemn. The cartoonish bedspread was swapped with a plain black cover. The desk was throughly cleaned, though a few papers laid scattered on the ground. Any other furniture seemed to be devoid of the charm they once had, though William couldn’t remember any of them at all.

Spotting the door now propped open, William’s eyes brightened. “Perhaps Gregory had to leave, but Vanessa stayed,” he thought as he crept to the door. “Maybe the boy got lost out- of-state and his parents came by to pick him up. Or perhaps he found some loving foster parents after the whole Cassie Accident. Just because Gregory’s gone and the bedsheets are as black as a funeral procession, that doesn’t mean…”

His inner voice trailed as he took in the scene before him. The front room was as barren as the bedroom. In terms of larger furniture, it only housed a TV, a dingy green couch, and an empty bookshelf. Outlines of items like a clock and hung pictures showed themselves, but there was no telling if these belonged to Gregory or Vanessa.

William’s fears only worsened as he continued his tour. Room after room, the results remained conclusive. Everything truly personal had vanished, leaving only the “typical” decor and furniture behind. There was no life in this place, both literally and figuratively. Only a shell of who used to live here.

Reeling from this discovery, he hurried back into Gregory’s bedroom. He scrambled onto his hands and knees, crawling towards the scattered papers on the floor. Through misted eyes, he inspected the new drawings that were available. One contained Gregory and Vanessa sitting on a grassy hillside in dark-colored clothing, their faces hidden from view. Another showcased The Mimic wreaking murderous havoc on random strangers in equally random locations. A third, more scribbled than than rest, relayed the many, many horrific scenarios that laid before them both. Ghosts of Cassie and several others hounding them at bedtime, Vanessa gripped with guilt in front of the Soring-Bonnie imposter as well as some puzzled officer, and a worn-down Gregory having to explain to a school board the many atrocities he had done— To name a few that stood out with its bold marker strokes.

Lastly, amid all these heartbreaking revelations, one final sketch remained to be observed: An ink drawing of Vanessa and Gregory sitting on the front porch of this very house. Their hands are cuffed by chains. Their expressions are resigned. Shadows peer in from the bottom of the page. Both of Molten Freddy’s ill wishes came true.

Meanwhile, the Spirit stood beside the window. It tilted its head to and fro, as if wondering what was taking its companion so long.

Thankfully for it, William crawled back out not a moment later. He fumbled onto the cold snow, gripping his head with his hands. Muffled, yet horrible, noises followed shortly after.

The Spirit loomed by his side. It watched him in complete silence.

A feeling of being watched sent a tear-stopping chill down his spine. He slowly rose to a sitting position, soundlessly mouthing some variation of “sorry”. Then, before the specter could respond, he rose to his feet and hobbled to its side. His eyes focused on the snow beneath their feet. He remained mute, even as The Spirit stared at him. His only sign of anything, really, was a solemn nod.

The Spirit’s hood bobbed up and down. The cold and bitter outdoors transformed into a lightless, large room. All was dark, save the glow of the two ghosts. William glanced around the room, then looked to his guide.

A small golden light shone from inside The Spirit’s hood. It raised its arm, making sure its coal-like paw could be seen as it pointed. “Go that way,” it instructed in a hushed, almost child-like voice. “Hurry.”

William ran towards a pair of towering shelves, being needlessly careful with his navigation of this new room. He skimmed each box’s label as he went past. Servos, circuit boards, spare blueprints, bits and bobbles of metal parts… All of these shelved items aided him as he tried to figure out just where exactly he was. His mind moved from the realms of speculation to something a bit more concrete. This, from what he could gather, was a warehouse for some technological wonder. Why else would the selves stretch until they were almost as high as the ceiling?

At the end of this towering, makeshift corridor, a wooden desk greeted the puzzled man. He crept towards it, looking to and fro. Just in case someone decided to beat him to it.

His eyes focused on a neatly-stacked pack of files. Though nothing was written on the tab, something was telling him that these contained the information he needed. Perhaps it was instinct leftover from Gregory’s house. Maybe it was just absolute curiosity. Whatever it was, it compelled him to open the top file and read it. Inside were notes on official-looking documents. Reports, points of discussion, and all the other jargon he could decipher. Jargon that, as he quickly put together, was being spewed out by Fazbear executives. The much more recent ones, at that. Funnily enough, they seemed to be just as naive and incompetent as the ones he last talked with. What with all the technological mishaps, lack of regard for both costumer and employee, and the completely unashamed money-grubbing. “What an actual bunch of Scrooges,” William scoffed in his mind, mere seconds before the urge to self-reprimand kicked in. He wasn’t here to mock the company he helped found, after all. He was here to… Well, he wasn’t sure just yet. That’s why he had to keep reading these reports. Maybe even scrutinize them, if needed.

He poured into the files, skimming through most of the pages. More failures of the current company became evident. The Mimic started to emerge from vague shadows, though its story was definitely being told backwards. A tale of woe, deception, and countless lost souls laid itself out before him— Scattered though it was. And, as he neared the end of the stack, two questions lingered in William’s mind: Who or what could create such a twisted, yet artificial mind? And what did any of this metallic being’s scheming have to do with him?

He opened one of the last files in the stack. To his surprise, a lined-paper note hung by a paper clip. His eyes habitually squinted at the faded writing. “‘Status report.. nineteen eighty… something’,” he mouthed, managing to read most of the top line. “…’Caught an endo- skeleton watching some employee playing Hide and Seek with a kid. Tried to lead it away, but it refused to move. I just gave up and left.. Somebody ask Dave if he saw it next time.’” His eyes widened at the name ‘Dave’. He double-checked the full date.

His heart sank to his stomach.

“Dave Miller,” he muttered hoarsely, shutting the file with a trembling hand. “My old alias…” He set the item down, then backed away slowly. His hands cupped his mouth like he was about to spew the most putrid bile. “It watched me,” he thought, shaking all over. “It practically took notes from me without even knowing! Without even me knowing! I… I created this Mimic!“

He turned to bolt, but the spirit stopped him. “Oh, Spirit!” he cried, gripping the figure’s hunched shoulders. “I’ve done worse things than I thought possible! Why did no one tell me about this whole Mimic situation sooner!?”

The hooded figure raised its head. It adjusted its cloak, making sure the hourglass was visible. All of the sand was now at the bottom. “Your time is up,” it hissed, its voice nearly identical to its listener’s.

All went dark around them. The figure lowered its hood, revealing a fully robotic head. It snatched William by the arm, then clamped a red cufflink onto his wrist. It repeated the same process for the other wrist and the throat. It backed away as two other cufflinks dug into the man’s ankles like vengeful snakes.

William yelped in pain and fell to the ground. “Are you the Spirit I just left mere minutes ago?” he asked, battling the searing pain from the cuffs. “Or are you an impersonator looking to override the conversation? Speak, I beg you!” The robot stepped forward. “I am here to claim what is left of you,” it answered, looming over its captive. “Suffer now, like all who have stood before me.”

“Y-You are not The Spirit of Christmas Yet to Be, then?”

The robot ‘scowled’, as if annoyed by William’s persistence. “Yes,” it replied in a spliced voice, snatching him by the collar. “And now, your fear will consume you.”

Floating red chains latched themselves onto the cufflinks. They tugged harshly, knocking any embers of arrogance out of William. His fingers dug into the void to no avail. He tried to cry out for The Spirit of the Future, but the chains drove an ominous mixture of familiar pains through his body. Gut-churning screams from the past rang through his mind, though only briefly. His outstretched arm fell limp. All of his fury dampened into a self-loathing whimper.

The chains stopped pulling. The robot (who William was certain it was The Mimic itself) towered over the mourning wretch. “Cry all you want,” it insisted coldly, lifting its hood back over its head. “It did not save the others. It will not save you.”

In a final act of strength, William gripped the hem of The Mimic’s cloak. “What if all this horrid crying was a symptom of remorse?” he inquired in a frankly pathetic tone. “What then?”

“You will not be spared,” The Mimic snipped, raising his hand as if to signal the chains to keep fulfilling their duty. “You will not be saved.”

William struggled against the chains once more. “Mimic, listen to me!” he cried, battling the searing pains once more. “I have seen a horrific future! You will triumph when you, no doubt, were never intended for such world domination. A feat of yours I alone am responsible for— And yet, I don’t want it! I don’t want to plunge both you and the entire world into a spiral of hatred, distrust, and despair! No one needs this, not even I!— Do you understand me!?”

The Mimic turned its back towards him. A low scoff lifted itself from some other voice- bank. “It is time,” he answered wearily. “The lake will make you suffer. Suffer like so many of the others.”

William quickly peered over his shoulder. A bright red lake shone in the void. And the chains were dragging him straight to it.

“Spirit! Mimic!” he shrieked out. “Whoever is left out here! Show mercy! Have pity! Give me the chance to change—“ The chains practically forced him into the water, cutting his pleas short. He sank deeper and deeper. His body succumbed to tiredness at last.

But his mind was not so easily vanquished. It swam through memories of long ago. Desperately tearing through pages and pages of recalled passages from A Christmas Carol. All of the key scenes flickered through his vision. Every section he committed to memory for one reason or another. He dug until, miraculously, Scrooge’s words at the graveyard resounded in his ears: “Oh, tell me that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

These words jolted all of the energy back into him. He forced himself upright, then opened his eyes. To his surprise, he wasn’t just greeted by reddish water. Around him flew small, ‘whispering’ balls of light, much like the ghosts he encountered long ago. Below him was a scarlet void contained many chains that furiously spun. And, right in front of him, his arms and legs freed from their restraints (though the cuffs still bound him tightly).

While he wasn’t completely sure if this meant anything in the grand scheme of things, he took this as a sign to continue where he left off. “What I want now is vastly different!” he cried, alerting several of the ghostly spheres. “I want, for lack of a better phrase, is to help people somehow! Just think: A world in which I use my powers and what acquired knowledge to truly benefit others. Imagine, if one soul here can! Families reunited instead of being torn apart by preventable mishaps! Fazbear Entertainment getting their own Scrooge-like intervention and finally wisening up! I could… even aid Gregory and Vanessa if I needed to…” His voice trailed. Harsh reality crept back into his mind. There was no hope in him helping the ones he harmed— intended or not. Every aspect of this shared past had been etched by his own hand.

One of the ghostly spheres halted its routine. It floated towards him, emitting a warm pink glow. A soft voice seemed to echo in his ears, though no mouth was visible. “Everything is okay,” it ‘said’ as it landed on his hand. “I am still here.”

William looked at it with a sense of wonder. He would have asked if it was Elizabeth, but the words fell limp on his tongue.

“You have to swim closer to the surface,” the sphere explained in a stern, but child-like tone. “It’s the only way you can buy enough time.”

William nodded. “But what about you?” he asked weakly, blinking away some tears before spotting the rest of the lights fly above him. “Your friends seem to be beating us both to it.” “Just lift me upwards,” it explained further, bouncing on his finger a little. “I can catch up just fine.”

Now a little assured, William raised his hand towards the surface. The pink light joined the rest of its group. Its cheerful giggling faded away with it, leaving William alone once again.

However, William didn’t let this make him lose hope. Even as he fought the chains for control, he still managed to near closer and closer to the surface. His mind relayed the rest of Scrooge’s pleas to the Spirit of Christmas Future all the while, practically making it his own vow of reformation. He would remember all the lessons these Spirits had taught him— And not just the Spirits! The lessons he himself had learned during these decades of torment would not be shut out. And, if it were possible, he would be able to apply the same mercy he had been shown to others. Especially towards those who were forced to recreate his death-causing experiments.

Unfortunately, as he clambered onto the edge of freedom, none of these words were the ones he gasped out. “Oh, let me scrub this horrific legacy!” was all he could yell in his hysteria. “Let me sponge the redness from these waters!”

But the plea fell on deaf ears (if there were any ears to hear). With greater strength, the chains pulled him back into the water. He let out a final, heart-wrenching scream as they rapidly forced him into the depths below. The entire world became tinged with red, followed by absolute darkness.

#william afton #other characters mentioned #fnaf fandom #fnaf fanfic #lefty fnaf #mimic fnaf #angst #heavy angst #well #for one of these guys anyway

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shadowjokerao3 · 1 year

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Another batch of magical girls! Magical Girl Fredbear Evan, Magical Girl Puppet Charlie, Magical Girl Lefty Henry, and a remade of Magical Girl Ennard Michael.

#bad at art #digital art #no judgement please #fanfic art #fnaf au #michael afton #the marionette #evan afton #magical boy #magical girl #why did i make this #is this considered fanart?#fnaf magical girls #fnaf lefty #fredbear #golden freddy #ennard

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catpop2 · 1 year

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Callous Freddy is looking a lil more..

Spiffy

#fnaf art #fnaf fanfic #fnaf security breach #fnaf funtime freddy #lefty the bear #michael afton #callous freddy

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n7inky-fanfics · 2 years

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After stopping Dragon's Breath and disbanding the Inquisition, Lavellan takes a moment to take stock of the situation and Cullen worries for her.

#fanfic #dragon age inquisition #female lavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullen rutherford #leftie is gone #what the future may bring #comfort

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bubblegumlefty · 10 months

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🎶 Chapter 22 of Music To My Ears is officially published! 🎶

Enjoy everyone! 🥰

#wwe #world wrestling entertainment #jeff hardy #elias samson #wwe fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #lefty's fanfic #fanfic update #music to my ears #j/e ship

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godhasforsnakenme · 2 months

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BOOK REVIEW 📖

Last year I kept track of the series & films I watched; this year I've decided to keep track of whatever books I read! So this one is for the month of January – I'll share these sometime after the month is over, or if I read more than one book during the month, I will do their reviews as soon as I finish the book :)

#ben picks up reading again #dania rambles about shit #should note that this is not spoiler free (don't give much context but still)#i would read it again just to catch all the parallels and symbolism #chose to read this on libby bc of the option to highlight and keep notes in one spot bc jfc I would've annotated tf out of a physical copy #doing this completely from my phone and made my own little template because I couldn't find any good ones for free #what else ummmm oh right this is like a basic answer/question and I ramble off topic but still within some type of margin #read that fanfic I recommend really since I feel like it's better written aka maybe I just like it more bc it has a happy ending #and it includes all the same problems that the characters of the original book went through (for the most part)#anyway 4/5 stars and not 5 bc like I got tired of clare's pov bc it felt like there was no different between #the varying ages we get once we reach her at like 12 and up #henry also affected this bc like he's likable but so stupid and shouldve studied paradoxes or something to solve his problems #again rambling it needs a fix it but blah blah not really their suffering is a main point of the book :)#yeah so structured like a traditional one but I focus on not so traditional aspects bc I have a way of analyzing things #as if I have an essay to write on it lmaooooo #these are handwritten bc I like to keep track in case it worsens due to my cubital tunnel affected wrist #(im a righty; lefty on the other hand has carpal tunnel but that only affects when I do hand on projects like pottery or painting)#I'm giving free trivia/lore about myself here lol

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paleprincessturtle · 3 months

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hi would love to see a harvey specter fanfic that had some angst but ends in a nice fluffy moment!

Hi! Thank you so much for the request. Hope you enjoy this one!

Cakes and Flowers

You always knew that Harvey had zero to no patience. So when he abruptly asked you to marry him in the middle of the week—Tuesday night, to be exact—as much as it was such a surprise, you always knew Harvey couldn't wait that long to live up to all the romantic things he planned on how to propose to you. So there it was: Wednesday morning, you suddenly became a lefty. Everyone was thrilled, to say the least, and more puzzled as to why you left work on Tuesday evening not engaged and came back the next morning totally glowing from being someone's fiancée.

It was only the third day of you being engaged. You were cooking dinner while Harvey sat by the island, and some documents spread in front of him. "Is that the Winchester case?" you asked as you chopped up some carrots. "Yes," Harvey answered as he nodded. "Need help?" you asked as you rounded the island to stand beside Harvey. You wiped your hands on your apron and leaned down to get a better look at what Harvey was reading. As you read what was on the documents, you felt Harvey's eyes on you. Watching you intently with a mere distance between the two of you. "Let's elope in Vegas; we'll go first thing in the morning tomorrow," Harvey said as you turned your head slowly to face him. You looked deeply into his captivating brown eyes, searching for any glimpses of jokes. No. You know him too well; he was being serious. "Harvey?" you chuckled in disbelief at what he just proposed the two of you should do over the weekend. Harvey took your hand as he stared at you, eyes full of love, full of passion. "I don't want to wait any longer; marry me tomorrow; be my wife." Harvey took your hand and gave it a chaste kiss. You smiled down at him, he waited for your answer.

No, you didn't cave into the puppy's eyes that Harvey pulled the whole night AND the whole weekend. You finally convinced Harvey that on their wedding day, you and Harvey must've wanted your closest friends and family to be there. You convinced Harvey that he was making a rash decision that he would regret later. Despite all the convincing you successfully did, Harvey only gave you 3 months to prepare for the wedding. It wasn't like you wanted a big wedding anyway. But a wedding is a wedding, and you wanted it to be as perfect as it could get. Upon this request, you also successfully made Harvey promise to help you with the wedding preparation. Harvey couldn't care less about the venue, cakes, or dress you wear. You could wear a burlap sack, and Harvey would be as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. But you still wanted to involve Harvey in this; it was his wedding day too.

That day, Harvey had to pick you up from a client's office since you had to be there at their board meeting. It was already pouring even before Harvey arrived. You sighed as you saw how bad the rain was, and there you saw Harvey's car. You could just call Harvey to tell Ray to go get you an umbrella. To think again, you were sure that Harvey would fetch you himself. You stayed there for a full minute, contemplating the distance from the entrance door to Harvey's car. You could use your bag. You glanced down at your bag. Oh, the pretty leather. But you decided not to bother Ray or Harvey. So there you were, in your pencil skirt and high heels. Ready to run. Just as you stepped into the rain, you felt your phone buzz. It must be Harvey, you thought. But there was no way in hell you would stop to pick up whoever was calling you. As you opened the door, Harvey was ready to scold you. You could see it in his face. You were drenched. It was far, but it was raining cats and dogs. Harvey was about to open his mouth, but you raised your hand at him as you tried to fish out your phone. The buzzing was persistent. "Hi Evelyn," you answered, phone between your shoulder and ear. "What? No, I already told you I wanted my bouquet to look neat while giving wildflowers. What? No, no, no. I told you, white and soft pink. No, not peach. Have you ordered it?" You listened with the little to no patience left in you. Thank God she hadn't ordered anything. "Haven't I told you to run this by my fiancé? I was in a meeting the whole afternoon." Again, you listened to your wedding planner. You turned to look at Harvey and the information Evelyn gave you. "Okay, Evelyn. You got everything covered?" You exchanged goodbyes after Evelyn told you she had everything under control. You just stared at Harvey as he raised his eyebrows at you. "What is it?" Harvey asked; he seemed oblivious. "You told Evelyn the roses at our wedding would be peach and white?" you asked in disbelief, especially after you briefed him on what to say when Evelyn called to make sure about the flower arrangements since you wouldn't be able to pick up her call. "I said soft pink, she asked peach, and I said yes. I thought she knew colors better than me, so I just said yes." Harvey answered nonchalantly. You sighed as the growing pain in your temple throbbed. "You didn't even try, Harvey!" You raised your voice at him. Harvey watched you as you rubbed your eyes. "Hey, I'm sorry. Okay? I thought it was the same color, and it was my fault that I didn't check on it. I'm sorry, okay?" Harvey took both your hands as he kissed them. You looked at Harvey with teary eyes. You never wanted a big wedding, but you wanted this to be perfect. Couldn't Harvey just understand that? "Oh, my sweet sunshine, don't cry. Please, I'm sorry." You felt the tears were impossible to hold as you started sobbing. Harvey took you in his arms and got his clothes wet in the process. "It won't happen again. It must be tiring to prepare for this wedding in such a short time. I'll be there for you, okay? I won't happen again."

But, of course, it happened again. Harvey Specter would do whatever Harvey Specter wanted.

You were at the venue, waiting for Harvey. You two were supposed to do cake tasting today. Along with the food selection and the floor plan, basically everything. It was just three weeks before the wedding, and you felt like everything wasn't going as planned. You felt like there were still a million things to do. It was your third glass of champagne. You saw Evelyn grow restless as she made sure of the floor plan. You checked your watch again. He was supposed to be here at 6. It was 8. You felt like you were about to cry. This seemed like your wedding, not your and Harvey's wedding. You walked over to Evelyn and apologetically asked for a reschedule. Evelyn, who probably saw the unshed tears of frustration in your eyes, kindly agreed.

It felt odd walking through the hallway, not in your working attire. It was always dresses, blouses, shirts, skirts, pants, and high heels. Today you were just dressed in a knit sweater, jeans, and loafers. It was a little over 9 pm when you reached Harvey's office. Harvey didn't even acknowledge your existence until you walked inside and sat on the sofa. "Sunny? Hey, I thought you were at home. Is everything okay? I'm a little busy here." Harvey then stood and walked over to you. You stood up abruptly before he even reached you. Harvey stopped, and just then he saw that you'd been crying. "What's wrong?" Again, Harvey tried to step closer to you, but you took a step back. "Cakes, floor plan. Ring a bell?" You could hear Harvey curse under his breath. "I swear to you, I forgot." Harvey was about to reach for you, but you raised your hand. "Like you forgot everything else regarding our wedding! Every fucking thing!" you shouted at him, but your voice came out hoarse. "I wanted this to be perfect, Harvey. For you, for me," a sob escaped as you messily tried to wipe the tears with the sleeve of your sweater. "You were adamant about proposing, about getting married; now that we are about to get married, you suddenly acted like none of this matters!" Harvey stood still as his heart broke, seeing you in tears. "You know what?" You took the heavy ring from your ring finger and put it loudly on the coffee table. Harvey watched you in horror. "If you aren't even ready for wedding preparations, forget ever being married. Being married will take more than flowers and cakes." With that, you left. Not turning back even when you heard Harvey calling out your name.

You quickly went to Harvey's apartment to take your apartment's keys. You couldn't remember the last time you stayed at your place. After moving in with Harvey, your apartment seemed to cease to exist.

But the thought of being alone in your apartment seemed depressing. So you walked around Central Park. You developed the habit of twirling your engagement ring when you were thinking. As you walked around, you were unconsciously about to twirl the ring, but it wasn't there. For a second, your heart stopped beating. Then you remember taking it off. You found a nearby bench and just sat there for, God knows, how long.

You finally decided to go to your apartment. It felt odd not to go to Harvey's. It was just a little over 11 when you opened the door.

"Harvey?"

You said in disbelief as you saw Harvey, still in his suit, standing over your dining table. His back was facing you; he seemed to be arranging something. Upon hearing your voice, Harvey jumped a bit. "I didn't hear you coming." Harvey smiled as he saw you. But his heart clenched when he saw your face all blotchy from crying. "What are you doing here? How did you know?" you questioned him as you walked further inside. You saw some plates; dome-shaped lids covered those plates. "When I got back, you weren't there. When I checked, your apartment's keys weren't there. So I figured you'd be here." You nodded at his explanation. "What are those?" You pointed to the dining table. "Come, sit with me," Harvey said. He offered you his hand while he waited for you to take it. But you walked past it as Harvey sighed. The two of you sat side by side. "I knew I missed the cake tasting. So I called Evelyn, and she helped me arrange our own cake tasting." Harvey said as he opened the lids one by one. You saw the familiar cakes you saw earlier. But you could see that these were fresh slices. "I messed up, again," Harvey turned to you as he took your hands. The warmth of his hand, the sincere look on his face. You cried again. "I'm sorry, I really am. There are no justifications for what I did. I will say nothing, but I'm sorry. I regret everything I did. God, when I saw you take off the ring, I thought I was about to drop dead." Harvey cleared his throat as his voice wavered. He then chuckled dryly before continuing, "I thought I lost you forever. How am I going to live without the only source of sunshine in my life?" His thumb caressed your tear-stained cheek. "I'm sorry too; I wasn't supposed to be so childish, leaving just like that," you whispered as you leaned into his touch. "No, it was never your fault. You are tired, and I didn't even try to help you." Harvey gave you a small smile, and you smiled back at him.

"I don't know," Harvey started, his mouth still filled with cake. "This one and this one," Harvey pointed at the black forest and chocolate truffle. You were too full of cakes to think about which one was which. Instead of taking bites, you and Harvey ended up finishing like 2 slices of each cake. "But you know what?" Harvey pointed a fork at you, and you just raised an eyebrow at him, too full to say anything. "I like the vanilla with fruit ones." You nodded. "Yeah, I like that too. So, is that the one we're choosing?" Harvey looked deep in thought. "If you like it, then yes." After Harvey heard you mumble a yes, he made a note on his phone. "What's that for?" you asked. "I gotta call Evelyn tomorrow to tell her that we've decided on the cake." He looked up from his phone, and you smiled at him. He smiled back at you and gave you a peck. "And I've rescheduled the food tasting, and we can also see the floor plan and everything tomorrow at 6. Does that work for you?" You smiled widely at him as you nodded. "Okay, awesome." He typed some more on his phone before he finally looked back at you. "We need to do one more thing." Harvey chuckled as you groaned. "Don't fret," Harvey said as he smeared icing on your lips. "I need to eat the rest of the cakes off of you."

MASTERLIST

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagines #harvey specter fan fiction #harvey specter x reader #suits harvey specter #suits tv #harvey specter imagine

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aeroranger100 · 12 days

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Beach Date

This is probably the sloppiest SonAmy sketch I made, with all the smudges and everything...oh, the curse of being a lefty...😅

Despite that, I think this still turned out okay. This is just one of many dates Sonic and Amy have after the events of my fanfic. Enjoy! 😊💙🩷

#sonamy #amy rose #amy rose fanart #amy rose the hedgehog #amy the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x amy #sonic fanart

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

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I’m this anon who asked about radical feminist/trans debates. I appreciate your response and those of your commenters, particularly @elfwreck who described a long evolution of discourse that I’ve missed. I’ve not been intentionally dense…just a woman and working mother who’s been busy as hell for about the last 15 years and focused on getting through the day. I’ve always supported gay rights, never gave it a second thought. With my kids older and more time on my hands, I started exploring fanfic and have been drawn in. One thing led to another and I find myself down tumblr rabbit holes with women raising questions about girls sports and the dangers of HRT for teens and whether lesbians are allowed to not like dicks, with responses that generally amount to “die terf”. I start researching online and find academic papers and news articles, but find essentially a similar message to you and your commenters: “radical feminists are obviously wrong and not to be taken seriously”. No addressing the questions I’ve seen raised. I get the point—one side is indefensible and I missed the boat on seeing the discussion play out many years ago. I suppose I was looking for a short cut through social media which feels silly in retrospect. Regardless, the radical feminists are out there making intellectual arguments across social media on a range of topics, including men in general, misogyny, porn, prostitution. In all likelihood the post that first pulled me in to their viewpoints related to the imbalance between women and their husbands with respect to child raising, housework, and expressing anger over daily aggravations, which rang completely true to my personal experience and that of other women I know. Likely why I now find myself caught up in fanfic escapism. Anyhow, I’ll dig in deeper to academic literature on the intersection of women’s rights, gay rights, and trans rights because I finding myself caring to know this history now.

It happens.

A lot of the roots of current feminist debate are in the Feminist Sex Wars of the 80s. Those were about differing ideas around protecting women and the implications of pornography.

(TBH, part of how very old arguments are able to rear their ugly heads again is that this shit is old enough that the youth weren't born yet during those debates.)

While not about trans stuff per se, some of the ideas about embattled women whose territory is being encroached on link back to there. The "argument", to the extent that the anti-trans side has one, tends to be about defending women's spaces. Many of these arguments are coming from a place of genuine fear. (Maybe not realistic fear, but I believe them that they're traumatized and reacting accordingly.) Some, however, are malicious indoctrination.

There have been efforts (sometimes admitted to publicly, often not) to literally infiltrate young lefty spaces with this kind of rhetoric. It's the queer and female youth version of gamer boys getting indoctrinated by the alt right. So people on my blog have very limited patience for anything that gives this shit the time of day.

I don't think there's a particularly good shortcut since it's the culmination of decades of fighting.

But where I'd start would be by saying that a lot of the arguments sound good on the surface but boil down to "Have you stopped beating your wife yet?" traps.

If someone on social media is still hung up on "But BDSM is abuse! A woman cannot meaningfully consent because [bullshit we fought about in the 80s]", we have nothing to say to each other.

The anti-kink and anti-trusting people when they say they consent attitudes tend to go hand-in-hand with suspicion of trans people and refusal to let people define their own identities.

Misogyny and unfair work distributions are absolutely real, but there's a certain "war on women" rhetoric that's about as legit as the "war on Christmas".

The "other" side agrees about a lot of the basics, like the fact that a lot of dudes really need to hold up their end of relationships better when both partners work and nobody should be solely in charge of the house.

But some feminist classic like the comic You should've asked is not on "The Feminist Side" as opposed to "The Trans Side". Regular feminism doesn't take issue with trans people. Lots of regular feminism accepts that women are kinky and horny and like impure things.

These feminist basics are often used as a strawman ("Our opponents disagree with this basic idea they clearly do not actually disagree with!") and as camouflage for much stupider ideas, like the notion that trans women would choose to be a demographic that gets murdered in bathrooms a lot. It's not cis women who are in danger from trans women! That's complete horseshit.

A lot of the talk of embattled lesbian space actually means "Oh no, some butches came out as trans men eventually, and we have to acknowledge bisexual women now".

Re the HRT thing... Yes, there are dangers to prescribing kids and teens hormones. A family should go into the process with a clear understanding of the effects on bone density and such. These risks can be managed the same as menopausal women manage bone density risks. These are not horrific and unknown problems: they're commonplace medical issues we've dealt with before in other contexts. They don't have to be a big deal unless a kid has some pre-existing bone disorder or something.

The part the transphobes don't tell you is that the biggest danger to trans teens is suicide.

Depending on which study you look at, something like 80% of trans youth have serious suicidal thoughts and maybe half make an actual attempt. Lots of teens have issues, but these rates are staggeringly higher than for cis peers, even cis gay peers who also tend to have higher rates than cis het teens.

Forcing someone to go through the body horror of the wrong puberty is... well... not great for their mental health. So a lot of medical professionals are understandably eager to treat kids and teens early because of the huge lasting mental toll. Taking hormones early can also result in an adult body that passes better. And perhaps people shouldn't have to pass as cis to be treated how they want to be treated, but we live in the real world.

Some people do start treatment and then regret it. That's reality. But it's a small percentage, and the issue is often that they're nonbinary and weren't presented with any options other than cis of their assigned sex at birth or transsexual in the 90s sense where you want the full top and bottom surgeries and you're still very binary. I know people who've detransitioned to a degree, but they're not like "Ah yes, I was 100% cis and a fool!" There was generally something going on, just something harder to pin down.

(In fact, most of the "evidence" of people regretting transition are from contexts where the only way to socially transition and get your government ID changed and so on was to do the full medical transition. The regretters would most likely have preferred something in the middle but were not allowed access to what they needed by punitive laws.)

A bunch of alarmist dickheads want to tell you that trans youth don't know their own minds and that everything will be safer and healthier if they just wait to get treatment. In most cases, this is completely untrue.

There used to be far more psychiatric roadblocks to getting physical medical treatment. What the haters want is for these to return. But they didn't deter trans people back then, and they're not going to now.

Re the dicks thing... People roll their eyes because it's such an old canard. Nobody thinks lesbians should be required to like dicks. Nobody thinks lesbians should be required to date trans women either.

But lots of trans women get bottom surgery and don't even have a penis. In any case, whether they get surgery or not, reducing them to a body part is the kind of bio-essentialist nonsense feminism normally strives to debunk.

These arguments boil down to "Have penis, will rape".

Re sports... Trans women don't end up being the issue. In practice, when there's a lot of scrutiny, what happens is that black cis women are seen as literally not female enough and racist shitheads demand that their hormone levels be tested and they be branded Not Female for testosterone levels or something.

Whatever this kind of regulation is intended to do, in practice, it establishes a correct way to be female, and that way is to have a body that conforms to a particular "feminine", white beauty standard.

The athletes who end up being attacked are sometimes intersex, which they may not even have known. Sometimes, they're just taller and stronger than other women. Often, they don't look normative enough to a bunch of creeps because they're too black.

The assholes cover it up with a good line of patter, but that's where this ends: treating black women like freaks.

The bottom line is that anti-trans supposed feminists try to pretend they speak for feminists in general and that there are two major sides locked in conflict.

In fact, they're fringe weirdos who've gained new prominence, particularly in the UK with the backing of JKR, and the rest of the feminists are over here going "This shit again? Jesus!"

I don't waste time debating their "intellectual" arguments on social media for the same reason I don't debate eugenics-preaching racists or fundie religious nuts.

Hence the lack of good resources on "both sides".

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ponds-of-ink · 1 year

Text

Shattered Dreams but Intact Teacups (Followup/Part 2)

It’s finally here! Took longer than I thought, but I finally got it done! :D

In case you are new/need a refresher, here’s Part 1. In case you’re busy, though, the TL;DR is basically: Scraptrap tries to look good for Scrap Baby’s tea party through illusion disks and the plan backfires miserably. Now Scrap Baby/Elizabeth, while playing her tea party character, has to show him that she’s absolutely okay with him showing up sans-disks.

(@uwu-scraptrappy, get ready. I dunno what feels this part’ll give you, but I have a feeling it’ll give you some.)

Scrap Baby looked back at Lefty. Her mind flipped through the pages of her childhood memories (or, well, what was left of them). What fairy tale logic could she use here could she used to “cure” Princess Trapeze [and make Daddy feel better, of course]? What kind of ‘curse’ were they supposed to lift, anyway? A Beauty and The Beastie kind? A Cinderella-But-The-Fairy’s-Really-Mean type? Frog Prince? Little Mermaid…?

…Baby’s eyelids widened. “Blackbear, can we talk in private?” she asked softly, tilting her head towards a corner of the room.

“Sure thing, M’Lady,” Lefty replied in-character, already making her way to their intended spot. She waited for Baby to arrive, then asked the inevitable question: “Do you have a plan to cure her?”

“I do,” Scrap Baby answered, her tone fluctuating between pride and uncertainty. “But there’s one thing I need advice on. Advice that I think you can give.”

Lefty’s eyebrows raised. “All right, what is it?” she asked in turn.

“Do you think we can get a prince to give her a true love’s kiss?”

“Not really,” Lefty responded solemnly, shaking her head. “If Trapeze’s story is as sad as she makes it to be, I don’t think anyone’s even given her a hug— Let alone a kiss on the lips… Or the cheek, if that’s more reasonable for her.”

Scrap Baby’s eyelids lowered. Her shoulders slumped. “Well, I don’t think you’d count for a prince, Sir Black-Bear,” she muttered. “You’re just a knight.”

Lefty nodded. “And kinda glad about it, actually,” she admitted weakly. “I really don’t want to waste a true love’s kiss on someone I’ve only known for a few minutes. What if I find someone I actually love and I need to break them from a sleeping spell?”

“That’s fair,” Scrap Baby agreed morosely. Her pupils slowly drifted to and fro, as if skimming through the memory that brought her to this train of thought. Her furrowed “brows” relaxed as something eased her. “But I’M still an option,” she resumed, her voice regaining its typical confidence. “Of course I count, I’m a princess! If ‘true love’ can count for us, then maybe I can break it myself!”

If Lefty were a human, one would have definitely been able to see a cold sweat forming on her forehead. “That depends on how the spell-caster defined ‘true love’ when giving the curse,” she sputtered out uneasily. “If he meant romance, then PLEASE don’t even think about trying. It just won’t work with anyone other than who she’s supposed to marry to later. If he meant the kind of love that families or friends have, then sure I guess. Even the love you show when helping out a stranger in a rough time might work, if the wizard was that merciful.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Lefty sighed. “You can try, but I dunno the specifics of this ‘true love’ thing,” she summed up gently. “Just smooch her on the cheek or something, just to be safe.”

“I already had something in mind,” Scrap Baby assured warmly, turning her head towards Scraptrap’s face and arms lying on the table. “I saw Cinderella’s Prince do it once.”

Confident in her plan, Baby quietly glided back to the table. She stopped besides Scraptrap, towering over him even as she tried to look more sympathetic and gentle with her posture. She stood there for a few seconds, analyzing the poor wretch before her. Then, as carefully as she could, she pulled out his good arm and slipped the ring back on. This was the only “warning” she gave before planting her best prince-like ‘kiss’ on his hand.

To her surprise, Scraptrap was quick to respond. “What was that for?” he asked, quite frankly more shocked about the ring being back on his finger than the ‘smooch’ itself (though, not knowing the exact context, that did come out of nowhere).

Scrap Baby smiled sheepishly. “I… thought this would count as a ‘true love’s kiss’,” she explained as she lowered his hand back down. “You know, the usual way a curse like yours is broken.”

Scraptrap’s puzzlement melted away. He rolled his (would’ve been reddened) eyes and sniggered to himself. “I’m sorry, Princess Melodica, but I’m afraid mine doesn’t work like that,” he said, returning to being properly in-character. “In fact, I’m not quite sure if there is a cure other than these two trinkets.”

“Oh,” Scrap Baby answered, mild disappointment seeping in.

“But at least you made her stop crying, Your Highness,” Lefty chimed in, moving to Scrap Baby’s side. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve probably broken her real curse just by being this caring. Loneliness like hers must be considered a curse too, if you think about it long enough.”

Scrap Baby tilted her head at Lefty. “Really?” she asked the bear, clasping one of those black plastic paws in her mismatched hands. “But what about her—?”

Lefty cut in with a gentle shush. “That’s a spell to break another day,” she answered warmly. Then, she looked over at Scraptrap. “Besides, Princess Trapeze,” she continued in that same tone, “there’s an expression in my family’s kingdom that should do you well: ‘Fairer be the heart of gold and pearls than the fairest with dainty curls’… Or something like that.”

Scraptrap turned his face away as if flattered, but his expression showed otherwise. “B-But I don’t think either of those things apply to me,” he stammered, unsure if that was in-character or an unintentional expression of… potential guilt.

“I’m not talking total perfect—“ Lefty started, but stopped herself with a frustrated grimace. “Oh, never mind this whole part! I’m not good with summing up stuff like this. That was my dad’s job. I’ll just say that you’ll get better in due time if you’re not being extremely dumb, okay? Like, evil wizard-type of dumb.”

Scraptrap snickered at his companion’s outburst. “Okay,” he grinned as Lefty stomped back to her seat. “I think I understand. Thank you very much, Sir Black-Bear.”

“You’re welcome, but whatever,” Lefty grumpily murmured, crossing her arms and lowering the metal bowl over her head like a cowboy ready to sleep in his favorite rocking chair.

“As for you, Your Majesty,” Scraptrap resumed, turning his attention back to his glowing-eyed hostess, “I would like to thank you for your attempt. I don’t think anyone has actually tried to figure out an antidote before. Well, anyone besides me, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” Baby replied proudly, giving her guest her best curtsy. “I just thought I should try to help.”

Scraptrap removed the ring from his finger. “Speaking out of character for moment,” he spoke up, trying not to cringe at his own natural hoarseness, “I have to ask: Why did you do it, really? You could have easily made Princess Melodica politely excuse Trapeze from the party and carry on with her knight friend as if nothing happened. Why did you choose such a… considerate option?”

Baby’s faceplates twitched. Her roller skates shifted aimlessly in place. “Well, I didn’t want to make Melodica mean,” she explained, giving him her best ‘pout’. “It just didn’t feel right after what y— Trapeze said about being lonely.”

Trap nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds reasonable,” he muttered, picking up the ring and holding it in his hand. Then, as he started to slip it back on, something stopped him. He set the trinket back down with an uneasy expression. “I suppose now my only concern is…” his voice trailed as his eyes caught his murky reflection in that magenta crown. “Do you think…?”

His voice trailed again. His pupils remained fixed on that tinted ‘mirror’. Echoes of unseen, taunting voices rung in his mind, causing him to wince even more than usual. With each insult faintly recalled, he inspected his more ghastly features. The gash on his forehead (which itself was a source of ridicule enough already). The uneven eyelids that made him look dazed if he wasn’t paying attention to his emoting. The ghostly pin-prick irises that made his sockets look like metallic eyes. And this was only covering the parts one would notice if that disproportionate head didn’t—

A clawed arm gently shoved the crown away from the rabbit’s view. “Do I think what?” Baby asked softly, almost managing to lean down to his eye level.

“D-Do you think the same applies to me?” Scraptrap sputtered out, the cooling fan in his robotic suit spinning at top speed. “Do you think I look… passable? Or at the very least not nauseatingly vile?”

Baby blinked. “I’m looking at you right now, aren’t I?” she asked in return, tilting her head to one side.

Scraptrap nodded slowly.

“And you know how I get when I see something I really don’t like.”

That got a chuckle out of the old rabbit. Oh, how could he forget? A moody little arm cross here, a sulky turning her back away from the hated object there, or even just an outright cry of disgust and a pinching of her nose— Well, if she was still the little girl he raised and not an almost eight-foot animatronic.

“So it has to mean something when I look at you and don’t do that,” Baby insisted, holding her dad’s good hand in her own. “Yes, you aren’t pretty and shiny as Circus Baby used to be, but neither was Patchwork Patricia! Or Mr. Frankenstein when I invited him for tea! Or—“

“I think he gets the point, Baby,” Lefty cut in, her tone wavering between annoyance and enjoyment.

Scraptrap acknowledged Lefty’s interruption, then returned to the matter at hand. “And I think that point is…” his voice trailed for a moment as he processed his conclusion, “…you do not think that I’m absolutely repugnant.”

Scrap Baby nodded firmly. “You are not a pug or an ant or a peanut,” she said with (over-confident) authority. “You are my daddy and I’m not going to kick you out for being a Franken-bunny. I don’t care what anybody else says to me later about letting you stay at my tea party without that fancy watch on— It’s my tea party, and you’ll be staying right here… if you want to.”

Minor skewing of the word ‘repugnant’ aside, the sentiment itself made Scraptrap beam in spite of the suit’s lowered rabbit ear. “I think I will stay,” he said as he slipped the ring back onto his finger. “Thank you so much, ‘Your Highness’.”

Scrap Baby giggled. “You’re very welcome, Princess Trapeze,” she responded, straightening her posture. “Now, let’s see if we can get this tea party back on track.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lefty remarked, lifting her second hat above her eyes. “All this reassuring was great, but I was honestly starting to fall asleep.”

The same couldn’t be said for Michael and the technician in the security office. The technician looked away from his static-ridden “TV” to see Michael pacing in one part of the room. “Guess this is a ‘like if you cry every time moment for you, huh?” the technician grinned sheepishly. “You look like you’ve just finished the latest season finale for The Immortal and the Restless.”

Michael stopped pacing. “Just change to a different camera, would you?” he asked quietly. “I need to know how the rest of the building is doing.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Afton,” the technician answered, switching from one camera feed to the other.

#scrap baby #scraptrap #lefty the bear #michael afton #fnaf fanfic #fnaf 6 #part 2 #tea party #more fluffy than last time #i sure hope so #otherwise i’m gonna flip a table metaphorically #also #elizabeth #sweetie #I know you’re trying but like #think it’s gonna take more than a fairytale kiss on the hand to fix your dad’s suit lol

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