#& the she has the gall to ask me to stay longer so she can see me how about both of you fuck off

[thebendsbyradiohead]

i hate my stupid father so fucking much holy shit this fucker has not stopped bitching about how many dishes & cutlery i use while cooking & how he has to run the dishwasher every day (THE HORROR!!!) as if i’m not cooking food FOR HIM TO EAT i should just let him starve to death instead that would serve him right

[malamiteltd]

Day 17.1 – More Back and Forth

Shooting the Breeze

Sketch and Heather had just finished their breakfast. As Heather cleared off the kitchen table, Sketch decided to go outside. He stopped at the end of the walkway and looked around the vicinity.

“Anything unusual out there today, Sketch?” Heather asked loudly from inside.

“Nope,” Sketch replied. “Everything looks the same as yesterday.”

Heather exited the house to join him. “That’s a bummer. Maybe today’s the day we check out the Void.”

Sketch shook his head. “Probably not the best idea.”

Heather looked a little annoyed. “Oh, come on, Sketch, we’ve discussed this before! That weird house taunts me whenever I look at it.”

“I know. But I told you about that foresight I had the other day. And it’s signaling me not to go there just yet.”

“Why, though? What’s supposed to happen?”

Sketch suddenly caught sight of something approaching from Copper’s house. “Uh-oh, this might be it.”

Heather looked over and quickly recognized what was approaching. “Dr. Raz. And it looks like she's got our friends tagging along.”

Dr. Raz stopped before Sketch and Heather, with Copper and Broom following behind with looks of uncertainty.

She nodded to the Tokarus. “Greetings, you two.”

Sketch nodded back. “Hello, doctor. I’m guessing you’re giving Copper and Broom the same evaluation we had?”

“That’s right. And considering they’re natural-born beings, the exam will have a lot more to evaluate. Blood samples, X-rays, pulse readings, et cetera.”

“How bad was your exam, Sketch?” Copper asked. “I’m a little worried…”

Sketch shrugged. “It wasn’t terrible. But it did take a good amount of time, and it sounds like yours may take longer.”

Dr. Raz raised her finger. “That does remind me, Mr. Tucker… I was hoping you and Mrs. Britannia might do me the favor of looking after Bits while I’m examining these two.”

Sketch was a bit surprised to hear this; Heather, even more so. “Wait, looking after Bits?” Heather asked. “Why can’t he stay in the lab with you? It didn’t seem to be a problem during our exam!”

“Well, as I mentioned yesterday, I had hoped the evaluation and discussion I had with you two could help him realize or remember something about himself, since you’re Creations as well. That’s not so likely to happen with Copper or Broom, and I’m worried Bits may make them particularly uncomfortable.”

Sketch scratched his head. “If you say so.”

“So back to the question at hand,” said Dr. Raz. “Am I able to entrust Bits in your care for a while?”

Sketch smiled. “Well, I don’t see–”

Heather suddenly grabbed his shoulder, stopping him mid-sentence. “Sketch, can I speak to you in private for a moment, please?”

Sketch was confused. “Wha? Um, sure. Excuse us for a moment, doctor…”

Heather led Sketch across the street to the other block, a sizable distance from the others. Once she stopped walking, she crossed her arms and looked at Sketch with an aggravated expression.

Sketch was a little concerned. “What’s the matter, Heather?”

“Sketch, I’m still mad at her about yesterday. She had us bending over backwards for her research and wouldn’t even bother with any of our questions. And now she has the gall to ask us to babysit for her?!”

“Heather, calm down,” Sketch replied, holding his hands in front of him. “I don’t think there’s any real problem looking after Bits. He seems like a good kid, even if he is a little excitable…”

Heather leaned closer. “Sketch! Bits is not the issue!”

“Heather, stop!” Sketch said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

Heather looked to Sketch, who stared into her eyes with a serious expression.

I think this is the opportunity my foresight was leading to, Sketch said through telepathy. Just follow my lead, and I think you’ll get where I’m going with it.

Suddenly Heather's expression changed from frustrated to slightly confused. After a quick glance across the street, where Dr. Raz was curiously watching, she hesitantly nodded to Sketch, and the two headed back to where the doctor was waiting.

“Sorry about that, doctor,” Sketch said, smiling. “Anyway, I think we can look after Bits for you.”

Dr. Raz smiled and nodded. “Excellent! I’ll let him know as soon as I arrive home with these two.” She turned to Copper and Broom. “Come along, please.” And they headed off to Dr. Raz's house, where Holly was waiting by the front door.

Sketch placed his hands on his hips as he watched them walk away. “Hope she doesn’t treat them too rough,” he said.

Heather turned to Sketch, still a little confused. “So what exactly is on your mind, Sketch?”

Sketch turned his head slightly to Heather. “Honestly? I’m a little curious about Bits myself.”

Heather shook her head. “Well, you heard Dr. Raz…his mind doesn’t seem to fully function. I doubt he'll give us a lot of answers if we start asking him questions.”

Sketch nodded and looked back towards Dr. Raz's house. “Very true. You know…it's a shame the doctor doesn’t have a way to directly look into his mind.” He looked back to Heather and smiled. “She seems awfully desperate to figure him out…”

As Heather heard this, she started to put the pieces together. She understood what was about to happen, and she grinned back at Sketch. “…You sly dog.”

Sketch then noticed Bits leaving the house, running at full sprint. “Here he comes.”

“Wow, he moves fast!” said Heather.

When Bits got close to the two Tokaru, he jumped and stamped his feet to stop himself. He almost lost his balance, but saved himself from falling. “Hey there, Sketch! Hey, Heather!”

“Hey, Bits!” said Sketch. “You sure look excited to hang out with us.”

“Well, yeah! I mean, I’m hanging out with two genuine superheroes!”

Sketch blocked a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Superheroes? I dunno about—”

Heather suddenly bumped his side with her elbow. “Oh, hush, Sketch! Take the compliment!”

Sketch sighed. “Alright, fine. But I'm not really sure what the game plan for today’s gonna be. I mean, Dr. Raz kinda sprang this responsibility on us, so we don’t really have anything prepared.”

“I have an idea!” Bits said, raising his hand. “Maybe you guys can show off some of those moves you were talking about yesterday!”

Sketch raised an eyebrow. “Our moves?”

“Yeah! You remember: the Beam, the Buster, the Saber…all that stuff! It all sounded so cool!”

“I’m surprised you remember all that.”

Bits scratched his cheek. “Honestly, me too! Whaddya think?”

Sketch crossed his arms. “I dunno, Bits,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I think Dr. Raz would probably want to be here to see it if we started doing that.”

Bits began to sound desperate. “Aww, come oooonnn! I don't wanna wait that long! Razzy's gonna be busy with those weird aliens for most of the day!” He clasped his hands together in a begging gesture. “Come on, guys, pleeeeaaase?”

“I mean, I don’t see a problem with that,” said Heather. She then turned to Sketch. “What do you think, Sketch? Should we give him a demonstration?”

Sketch thought for a moment. “…I think I've got something better.”

Bits looked intrigued. “Better?”

“Sure!” Sketch replied. “I mean, it's one thing just seeing it all in action. But what if I told you there was a way to witness it from your own point of view? You know, as if you were the one pulling off those moves.”

Bits was confused. “What do you mean by—wait… the Tokaru Bond?!”

Heather turned to Sketch, looking rather impressed. “Oh, that’s good.”

Sketch nodded to Bits. “Yes indeed! When we bond together, we can pull off the moves and it'll feel like you're the one doing the moves yourself!”

“OMIGOSH THAT SOUNDS AWESOME!!” shouted Bits, with stars in his eyes.

Heather started to think. “I suppose the next question is which of us should bond with you… I mean, Sketch knows how to pull off the Saber.”

“True,” Sketch replied, “but you can pull off the Ballistic Buster. That would be cool to show him.”

Bits raised his hand again. “Hey! You think it's possible for both of you to do it?”

Sketch and Heather looked at each other. “Well, technically, yeah!” Heather replied.

“But you remember when I tried bonding with Copper,” Sketch said with concern. “It didn't work too well.”

“Well, maybe it was because he was an alien. We still don't know. But I'm willing to bet it works a lot better on a Creation!”

Sketch sighted a little. “I suppose there's only one way to find out.” He turned to the eager green rabbit. “We'll each need to hold your hands for this, Bits.”

“Oh…okay!” Bits extended his hands to Sketch and Heather. They each grabbed a hand, and then held each other’s.

“Alright, here goes…” Sketch and Heather closed their eyes. Noticing this, Bits did the same. “Tokaru Bond!”

Suddenly there was a bright flash. In an instant three figures were reduced to one; what remained was a small blue rabbit with long hair and three tails: two dog tails with a rabbit tail in between. The rabbit opened his gold-colored eyes and started looking around.

“Guys…? Sketch? Heather? Where did you go?”

We're here, Bits.

The rabbit was startled. “Whoa, what was that?! Sketch?”

We're speaking to you through your mind!

“Heather? So wait, did the Tokaru Bond work?”

Looks like it! Things seem to have worked perfectly. Take a look at yourself and you'll see.

The rabbit looked at himself and was astonished by the many changes. “Whoa…this is wild!”

When we bond together a lot of our appearance is reflected on the bonded form.

“It’s kinda weird hearing you guys without…you know, hearing you guys. I feel like I’m the only one actually speaking. Well, speaking out loud like this tends to get weird.” The rabbit was startled, noticing he was speaking beyond his control. “She’s right, you’ll be hearing your voice saying what we’re saying, just like this.” The rabbit panicked. “AHH! THAT’S WEIRD, DON’T DO THAT!!”

Just as we thought. We’ll stick to just mental chat.

The rabbit scratched his head. “So…if this is all three of us mixed together, what would we call ourselves?”

Usually we try to mix names together to some degree. If it were up to me…I’d call us ‘Hitch.’

Hitch? That’s not bad, Sketch.

It gets the job done. But enough about that…you’re probably itching to see some of our moves…right, Bits?

“YES I AM!” said Hitch excitedly.

Then let’s not wait any longer! I think we’ll start with the Tokaru Beam…a quick burst of energy from the forehead. We’ll need to focus towards the sky so we don’t cause any damage.

“Why not just aim at one of the trees?”

I don’t think Stern would appreciate that.

Hitch scratched his head. “And what will I need to do?”

You just relax and let us do this. You can experience how this whole thing feels, and who knows? Maybe you’ll realize an ability or two of your own!

Though I suppose if you do want to get involved, you could shout “Tokaru Beam” for us to do the move.

Hitch turned his head towards the sky. “You mean like this? … TOKARU BEAM!”

Suddenly a beam of power burst from Hitch’s forehead. The beam traveled incredibly far, and he could even see it looping from behind, making it seem like more beams were fired at once right above him. Hitch was flabbergasted.

“WHOOOAA!! THAT WAS CRAZY!!”

Yeah, imagine how we felt when we first learned to do that.

“Again! TOKARU BEAM!” And the Beam fired from Hitch’s forehead once again. “THAT IS SO AWESOME!!”

And that’s just one of the basic moves! We’ve got other skills to show here too! How about the Buster?

“Yeah!” Hitch then had an idea. “Hang on, can I do this one while flying? I feel like that would make this so much cooler.”

Sure thing! You take us up, and we’ll help get the Buster working.

With that, Hitch summoned energy from Bits to lift himself off the ground, above the height of the tallest tree in the Blocks.

You feel that, Heather?

Yeah, it’s not quite where I was expecting to sense it.

Hitch was confused. “Sense what?”

No worries, Bits, we’ll talk about it later. Now, for the Buster, you’ll need to hold out your hand.

Hitch outstretched his arm and held his palm out flat, as though he were halting traffic. “Like this?”

Perfect! Now watch...

In an instant, a small ball of light emerged at Hitch’s hand. “Whoa! Is this the Buster?”

It’s a small one. Keep holding it in front, we need to charge a bit more.

Hitch held his arm out again, and slowly but surely, the Buster became half his size. “WHOA! It’s gotten HUGE!”

One more thing to do now.

“Huh? Oh, right—TOKARU BUSTER!”

The Buster suddenly shot itself away from Hitch’s hand toward the distance.

Alright, now close your hand into a fist!

Hitch did just that, and suddenly the Buster burst, creating a massive explosion in the sky before disappearing.

“YEAAAHHH!”

So, Bits! How does it feel?

“OMIGOSH IT’S AWESOME! I had dreams of being able to do stuff like this!”

That’s interesting…

“It is?”

It is, kinda. Again, we’ll explain later. For now, let’s keep going…Heather knows a crazy trick we could pull off with the Buster too.

“SHOW ME!”

. . . . .

Dr. Raz and Holly looked at the images on her computer. Various X-rays and images were on display, all bearing Copper's name in the corner. Some showed bones, some showed blood vessels and nerves. A few showed only images of Copper's tail.

“Interesting,” said Dr. Raz. “There’s a lot to a Teijru’s physiology that I’ve never really seen before anywhere else. I’m not too surprised that the nerves are so numerous and the mind is built a little differently…the whole concept of fervor that Copper explained makes it sound very complex.”

“Indeed, Doctor,” replied Holly, “but I think I need to address his mental health.”

“I’m not surprised you’re concerned… I've been seeing a lot of signs. Generalized and social anxiety, possible neurodivergence, major depression…”

“That last one I find the most concerning. It reminds me a little of–”

“That's enough, Holly,” Dr. Raz interrupted, sounding a bit upset. “I can't do much about mental conditions; I can only note his current state. Speaking of which…”

They both looked over to the table in the center of the lab, where Copper was sitting. He had his arms crossed, looking down at the table – occasionally at Dr. Raz – with an angry expression.

Dr. Raz sighed. “It seems he’s still in a bad mood. And things were going well until his attitude changed…now he refuses to answer anything. Why does he suddenly feel the need to make this complicated?”

Holly suddenly looked upset. “Doctor, YOU are the one who made it complicated. Copper’s been wanting to ask you something since the whole exam started. I even noticed he was raising his hand for a good three minutes for the opportunity. But you have been actively ignoring and avoiding his question, and he's obviously noticed.”

“Holly, there’s nothing he—”

“I know you’re still nervous about people asking about your past and personal life, but you shouldn’t ignore him like that just because you THINK that’s what he wants to ask about. Now his trust in you is broken, and I can’t blame him for being upset.”

Hearing this, Dr. Raz thought about the situation for a minute. She then nodded. “Very well.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her notepad, and presented it to Holly. “If I can't find out the answers, then perhaps you’ll have better luck.”

Holly was confused. “Doctor—”

“Broken trust is incredibly difficult to fix,” Dr. Raz added, “and I’m not blessed with that sort of skill. So I’m placing MY trust in YOU, Holly, to talk to him. You’re more equipped for regular conversation; I only ask that you please help me finish Copper’s evaluation.”

After a moment, Holly hesitantly took the notepad. “Very well, doctor.” She then walked over the table where Copper was sitting. “Hello, Copper.” she said, bowing slightly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be filling in for Dr. Raz for the rest of these questions.”

Copper raised an eyebrow as he examined Holly. “That's a terrible disguise, doctor.”

“I'm not Dr. Raz, Copper. I'm her assistant, Holly.”

Copper shook his head. “I don’t believe you. All you've done is taken off the coat and the glasses.”

“I suppose if Dr. Raz did the same, we would look identical…” Holly said to herself. Then she had an idea. She put Dr. Raz’s notepad in her pocket, sat next to Copper, and extended her right arm. “I’ll give you proof. Grab my arm and summon your fervor.”

Copper was a bit confused at this suggestion. “A-alright…” He grabbed hold of Holly’s forearm. He looked up to Holly nervously, who looked back with a gentle smile. Slightly assured it was okay, Copper channeled his fervor through his hand through Holly’s arm and sensed the inner workings. “Oh…machinery.”

Holly nodded. “That's right. I can assure you, Dr. Raz has no mechanical parts.”

Copper began to manipulate Holly’s hand, moving it in different directions. The fingers then began to move as well, grasping and wiggling. Meanwhile, Dr. Raz was watching from afar, intrigued by this phenomenon. Copper looked up to Holly, who showed the same kind expression she had before.

“You seem…very calm, considering I’m able to move your hand and fingers like this.”

“Because I trust you, Copper,” she replied. “And I wish for you to trust me as well.”

Copper stopped moving Holly’s hand. He thought for a moment about what she said, and eventually let go of her arm. He wasn’t sure how to feel at the moment.

“Now…I believe you had a question for Dr. Raz,” Holly said. “I may not be her exactly, but I’ll do my best to answer on her behalf.”

Copper looked a little surprised. Then he looked frustrated. “…Why are you two really doing this?” he asked. “I can’t imagine this is all just for the sake of curiosity.”

“In fairness, Dr. Raz’s curiosity is what gets her motivated,” Holly answered. “When she’s intrigued, she pursues the interest relentlessly. It’s partly how she got to know Bits, after all. But she wants to use the information she’s gathering as a reference point for everyone. This way, if something happens to anyone, it will be easier to assess the problem and fix it.”

Copper sighed. “I guess.” His eyes darted to where Dr. Raz was standing. “Or she could use that information to learn how to overpower us…or even kill us.”

Holly was shocked. “Copper, we don’t–”

“You two are looking for a LOT of info,” he continued, even angrier. “all to figure out our statuses. Our strengths and weaknesses…everything you’d need to figure out the correct way to threaten and manipulate each and every one of us so she can assume control of any situation.”

“Copper, no! That’s not what this is for!”

Copper’s face became flushed, and his voice became louder. “You can’t convince me that it COULDN’T be used for that. And I think she WOULD do it if it’s convenient enough. She’s a control freak, ready to exploit weaknesses to make someone bend to her will…”

Dr. Raz wanted to say something, but held herself back. She made her way to the kitchen area to make a cup of coffee.

Holly grabbed Copper’s hand. “Please, Copper…I know she seems to have some of those tendencies, but I assure you, she’s not doing it for the sake of harming anyone. I know it’s probably hard for you right now, but I want you to trust her.”

Copper was skeptical. “Someone as secretive as she is…that’s a big ask. “

Holly nodded, looking away. “…I know.”

Seeing Holly react this way, Copper realized she might be struggling with Dr. Raz as well. This somehow helped him calm down a little. But he recalled seeing the two discussing something at length while he waited for them to resume the examination…

“Well, what were you two even talking about over there?” he then asked.

“Just the results of the physical evaluation,” Holly replied. “To our best understanding, everything seems to look okay. But, I did address concern regarding your mental health.”

Copper closed his eyes and sighed. “I know I’m messed up…”

“I was particularly concerned about the signs of depression you exhibit. You don’t hesitate to put yourself down and you refuse to believe any compliments you’re given. It is rather worrisome.”

Copper looked upset. “I’m not going to delude myself into thinking I’m better than I actually am. And I don’t want other people to make that assumption either.” He looked down at the table. “I’m just…trying to keep their expectations realistic.”

At this point Holly was very worried. She looked over to Dr. Raz, who was busy stirring her coffee. Then she turned back to Copper, who leaned his head into his hands. He didn't want to look at anyone.

“…Copper…” Holly asked cautiously,  “This…might be a touchy subject, but…have you at any point contemplated suicide?”

The coffee stirring stopped. Dr. Raz was motionless.

Copper slowly nodded his head. “Yeah…a few times.”

Holly struggled to think of what to say next.

“…I even attempted it once.”

Dr. Raz turned her full attention to Copper. Even she began to show a little concern.

Holly gently placed her hand on Copper's shoulder. Copper sheepishly looked over to her, expecting a look of disappointment. But she only appeared worried.

“Would you be willing to tell me what happened?” she asked gently. “I'll keep it confidential if you prefer.”

Copper hesitated to answer at first. He was already starting to regret what he said. But when he looked back at Holly, her gentle expression seemed to put him at ease. He put his hands on the table and took a deep breath. “Well…Broom already kinda knows about it, but…I don't know how the others will react, so…”

Holly nodded in understanding. “Of course. I promise.”

Copper took another deep breath. “Okay…so…one night I…had difficulty sleeping. I had a bunch of bad memories circulating in my mind, and…it was becoming unbearable.”

“Bad memories?”

“Yeah. Times when I got bullied…times when I let my friends down, or my family down…” Copper’s hands started shaking. “Times where…I just couldn’t do anything right…”

Holly held his hand. “Okay, I see what you mean now. So these bad memories were going through your head…?”

Copper regained his composure. “R-right, I wasn’t able to sleep. I ended up going outside, and I…made my way to the park in the middle of town. I sat down on one of the benches and tried to…cope. But it was getting overwhelming. It didn’t feel like it was ever going to stop…and it was really starting to hurt. And…I knew even if it did finally ease off, it would probably come back some other time and hurt just as much…or worse. I couldn’t stand it…”

“Didn’t you try asking someone for help? I remember you mentioning you had friends back on Kheji.”

“I didn’t want to bother them. It was very late at night and…chances are they were all sleeping. I didn’t want to wake them up because of some internal issue I couldn’t really explain. It would’ve made me sound insane…” He rubbed his face for a moment. “So I had to deal with it myself. It was my problem, and I wanted it to stop. I wanted to just…disappear. And it seemed like the solution was to just…disappear. If I did, I’d be one less problem for them to worry about…and the memories I struggled with would be gone too. So I spent a good amount of time thinking about what to do. And…eventually I settled on using the Crimson Chimney.”

“What is the Crimson Chimney?”

“It’s the name the folks in Crimson City gave to the volcano just outside of the city limits.”

Holly looked surprised. “Volcano?! You–” She quickly calmed down. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“So I took the walk up to the edge of the volcano’s mouth. It was pretty hot, and I could see the magma floating around inside. I…took a moment to think about what I was about to do. Naturally, a part of me wanted to back away…but…I was so convinced what I was doing would solve the problem…and…I eventually jumped in. I had my eyes closed, and I braced myself for whatever was gonna happen next.

“But…I suddenly hit solid ground. I opened my eyes and…well, I couldn’t understand it. I landed on a large, floating platform of obsidian. It was warm to the touch, but not burning hot….”

Shocked, Dr. Raz wanted to say something. But she stopped herself.

“How is that possible?” asked Holly. “Nothing should have been able to—”

“I know,” Copper replied. “And I didn’t even recall seeing anything floating around when I looked in. When I was trying to figure out what might’ve happened, I eventually made a possible realization…Orichalcum.”

“What’s ‘Orichalcum?’”

“There’s a firm belief on Kheji that a spiritual presence rests within the core of the planet, and it uses mysterious abilities to keep everyone alive. We’ve named it Orichalcum, and no matter how much others have tried, there’s no logical explanation for how certain things are possible on Kheji…I mean, Kheji itself allegedly shouldn’t have life on it considering it's so far from the sun.”

“That’s bizarre,” said Holly, puzzled by this information. “So…this was some form of divine intervention?”

Copper shrugged. “I figured Orichalcum assumed I fell into the volcano by mistake. But…I eventually got up and dusted myself off. I looked for the closest edge of the platform and began to run towards it, essentially trying it again. But…suddenly the platform shook and tilted as I got closer, and I fell over and found myself rolling away from the edge. And whenever I tried to get up and try again, the platform would jostle itself enough to make me fall again. It was actively keeping me from doing it…I was pretty much trapped.” Copper started tearing up. “And…eventually I just lay in the middle of that platform, just wondering…why?”

Holly shook her head in disbelief. “Wow… You weren’t severely hurt when you were in there, were you? The inside of a volcano is incredibly intense!”

“It was pretty hot, like I said. But other than the moments I fell down, I didn’t really sustain any major injuries. Even if I did, I was at least able to heal them up pretty quickly.”

“That’s incredibly lucky.”

“Depends on who you are, I suppose,” said Copper, sighing. “Anyway…I guess I fell asleep at some point after that…but I woke up to a bunch of voices yelling to me. I looked around and saw my friends up by the edge of the volcano mouth. They had lowered a long chain down to me to help me get out. I wasn’t able to speak…I felt…hopeless and humiliated, just watching them from below. I didn't want them to see me… But eventually I grabbed hold of the chain and held on tight as they lifted me up, keeping my eyes closed most of the way. When they pulled me out I saw a bunch of the soldiers from the Crimson Army there holding the other end of the chain.

“My friends were all embracing me and asking if I was okay, but the army’s commander – his name was Pyrite – he walked up to me, looking upset. He yelled at me quite a bit…told me what I did was asinine, and how he couldn't fathom why I'd ever do something so dangerous…” Copper started tearing up. “And…I remember him yelling…'Have you lost your mind?!'” He turned away. “…And…I broke down at that point.”

Holly rubber Copper’s back. “I’m so sorry, Copper…”

Copper wiped his face. “My friends told Pyrite to leave me alone, and they took me back home. But…apparently Pyrite ordered two of his soldiers to guard me outside my home. I wasn’t allowed to leave my house for two whole weeks, and they’d regularly enter and check to make sure I was okay. I barely had any privacy, and…all that time I was feeling miserable. Apart from the embarrassment I felt after all that, I felt like I severely failed at what I tried to do…I wanted the bad memories to go away, and I wanted my friends not to worry about me anymore. But now I had to live with those bad memories…plus one more, and my friends were now more worried about me than ever…”

Copper placed his head in his hands again. Things became silent for a minute.

“…I wonder how the others are doing back on Kheji…” Copper added.

“I imagine they’re fine,” Holly answered. “There is another you there thanks to the divergent portal situation, and I’ll bet they’re making sure you’re okay.”

Copper looked sad. “I don’t want to think that I’m bothering them, or looking for their attention. I feel like I’d be…like I AM a pest they have to deal with all the time…”

Holly shook her head. “I don’t think they see you that way. Besides, from what you told me about that abduction situation, you’ve become something of a hero…especially to Broom. It’s obviously a good thing you survived, or he probably wouldn’t be alive today.”

Copper looked at his hands with uncertainty. “I guess…”

Suddenly he noticed a bottle of water being placed in front of him. Confused, he looked to find Dr. Raz at the table. He picked up the bottle and examined it a bit.

“What’s this for?”

“Something for you to drink,” Dr. Raz replied. “It’s bottled water.”

“Uh…thanks, I guess…” As Dr. Raz walked away, Copper grew skeptical. “Why are you giving me this?”

Dr. Raz stopped. She looked over her shoulder. “I… want to apologize for…treating you the way I did, Copper.”

Copper was a bit stunned to hear this. He looked at the bottle, then at Dr. Raz. He had mixed feelings about the situation, so he struggled to respond for a moment. But eventually he began to open the bottle.

“…Thank you for apologizing…”

[redrobinhoods]

seconds and years | the calm

AO3 Link | 1,800 words (approx) | Prologue, Chapter 15, Chapter 18

Chapter Summary: Riyo, Fox, Wolffe, Thire, and Ilven prepare for the assault on Chiron as Twenty-Two meets with an imperial officer.

“How much bacta can we legally purchase?”

Riyo raised her brows at Wolffe.

“We might need it.”

Riyo glanced out the window of the small pharmacy at their ship sitting on the landing platform, space stretching out behind it, before turning back to Wolffe. “It’s your call.”

“I’ll get six packs. With the ones we have left on the ship, we should be able to treat a few injuries if necessary.”

Riyo looked down into their basket of bandages. “This feels surreal.”

“This feels normal.” Wolffe said as he dumped the bacta in. “This is less than what our medics carried during the war.”

“There were a lot more men in the fight then.”

Wolffe chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“We set?” Ilven asked as he rejoined them.

“Almost.” Riyo answered. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Ilven practically grinned. “I did.”

“So, you really picked Seeley?” Fox asked as he poured himself and Thire a glass of whiskey. “Of all the men on Coruscant!”

Thire chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “I know. It wasn’t planned. I saved his life, we started growing closer, sparring together. Next thing I know he’s confessing his feelings for me in my office and I found that I wasn’t opposed to the idea of being with him. Everything escalated quickly from there.”

“You’re happy?” Fox studied Thire’s expression closely as he spoke.

“Yes. He makes me feel safe. I don’t remember much about my execution, but I do remember feeling safe, even then, knowing he was beside me.”

“I understand. When I was shot, Riyo was with me. She held me. If I had to die traumatically, selfish as it is, I’d want her to be there again. I want her to be the last thing I see in my life.”

Thire met Fox’s gaze before turning his eyes down to the glass before him. “This life isn’t for them.”

“But they chose it.” Fox reached over to clasp Thire’s hand. “And we’re all in far too deep now.”

“Being on the Emperor’s most-wanted list will do that, I suppose.” Thire said with a small smile.

Now it was Fox’s turn to laugh. “Yes, it seems that way.” Then his face fell into a serious look. “What did you do that he would do all of this to you?”

Thire bit his lip, swirling his drink in his hand. “I know his dirty little secret. He ordered your assassination. I suspect you figured it out as well, he put the mole in the Senate. He was part of some larger conspiracy. But I don’t think either of us figured out which side he was playing, the Republic or the Separatists.”

“Whichever side, he won.”

“Yes, he did.”

“So why not outright kill you, like me?”

“Dunno. I think Vader may have played a part. I’m a good clone, I’m easy to manipulate. Vader has dirt on me, I have dirt on him. It seems to be a reoccurring pattern with the officers he chose for his personal guard. I’d like to know what dirt Vader has on Twenty-Two, he trusts him completely.”

“Who was Twenty-Two?”

“I don’t think that matters anymore. I know that he worked with Vader often during the war and that he killed his Jedi. We never talked about our legions or names from before.”

“Are all your PT numbers formed from the middle two digits of your CT number?”

Thire frowned. “Fox, don’t go down that road.”

“He was my classmate.”

“Was, Fox. Even with the ineffectiveness of reconditioning, you are no longer yourself when you become a purge trooper. The role of the purge troopers is to hunt Force sensitives, not Jedi, Force sensitives.”

“By Force sensitives, you mean children.”

“And babies.” Thire threw back his cup to finish his drink before reaching for the bottle to pour another. “Bly cracked. Galle stayed. I knew them. I recognized Bly and he used Galle’s name when it was just officers.”

“What happened to Bly?”

“I don’t know the details. There were reports of a Force sensitive Felucian. He and Galle were sent. Only Galle came back. He’s the First Sister’s right hand now. They also knew each other, back during the war. Vader seems to like preserving old relations when possible.” He took a sip of the new drink. “It’s nice for them, actually. Makes it feel like very little changed. I know he’s happy.”

“Is Twenty-Two happy?”

“No being who works directly under Vader is happy.” Thire laughed suddenly. “I don’t know if you ever noticed, but he brings the mood down.”

Fox couldn’t help but laugh with his brother. “Oh the old dark and brooding doesn’t bring you joy?”

“For some reason it doesn’t.”

“Defective.”

“We are all so fucked in the head.”

“Comes with the territory.”

-

When Twenty-Two arrived on Chiron he was ushered quickly to a conference room where a lone stormtrooper commander stood.

“You came.”

“I serve the Empire.” Twenty-Two responded as he took a seat, kicking his feet up onto the table. “And I was in the area. I understand that this facility is not operating to its standards.”

The commander remained standing. “That is my understanding as well from my arrival yesterday. The natives are restless and attacks have increased since the defection of the previous heads of security.”

“I am aware of the defection.” More than the commander knew. “Do you suspect more?”

“No, sir. But my analysis from yesterday has indicated several faults in our security due to recent poor oversight. I fear a local rebellion may take advantage of these weaknesses.”

“What role do I and my men play?”

“The base commander believes that a purge trooper presence will deter these attacks while we repair the faults.”

Twenty-Two tilted his helmet. “Does your commander understand the role that I serve in the Empire?”

“He understands your reputation, sir. He also believes that your men’s training in lightsaber combat will be required. The Chironians have acquired IG-100 electrostaffs.”

“You’re outgunned.” Twenty-Two stated.

“I fought in the Grand Army of the Republic, as did you. You know what those weapons are capable of and you know that the caliber of the natborn stormtroopers isn’t up to par.”

“That’s a lofty assumption.”

“Am I incorrect?”

“Not at all.” Twenty-Two stood. “My men were dispatched from Mustafar yesterday. They will arrive in five days. We will provide local support and put out operations to identify Jedi in this region until the Emperor deems our presence to be no longer necessary. The Empire will provide.”

The commander crossed the room to shake Twenty-Two’s hand. “Praise the Emperor. We welcome your presence, Commander.”

“Call me Twenty-Two, Commander Jek.”

-

“Have you ever handled a blaster?”

“A rifle, but nothing this small.”

“Okay.” Wolffe nodded as he thought. “It’s a bit different, but, I’ll show you the basics.”

Ilven took a seat by Thire as he watched Wolffe and Riyo. “I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?”

Ilven pressed the pill bottle into Thire’s hands. “I went through your FITREP, found what they were giving you. There’s more under our bunk.”

Thire looked at Ilven, speechless, before embracing him. “Thank you.”

“Gotta maintain operational readiness.”

They broke apart as Thire jumped when the stun dart hit the edge of the target Wolffe had set up on the fridge.

“She’s a natural!” Wolffe proclaimed.

Fox walked in a few seconds later with a grin on his face. “Farmgirl.”

“Waterboy.” She shot back.

“Let’s work on multitasking while shooting next.” Fox leaned up against the doorframe. “We need a name for the ship.”

“Oh gods.” Thire groaned.

Fox pointed a finger at him. “Don’t bring that attitude, this is a really important discussion.”

Wolffe adjusted Riyo’s form. “The Wolf.”

“Absolutely not.”

“The Scrap Heap.” Thire suggested.

“That’s rude.”

“Scrappy.”

“Don’t bully my ship, Thire! Ilven?”

“The Ship I. Then you adjust it if you get another ship.” He took in Fox’s look of disappointment. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Riyo pursed her lips as she fired again, hitting the outer ring of the target. “How about The Misfit?”

Wolffe nodded and looked to Fox. “It’s insulting, but correct.”

Fox looked to Thire and Ilven, who nodded their approval. “The Misfit it is then.”

-

“Bacta production?” Twenty-Two continued down the list before him.

“Up to standard.”

“Stim production?

“Standard.”

Twenty-Two took in Commander Jek’s body language as he spoke next. “YMC-delta production?”

“Standard, but production is decreasing as requested by Lord Vader.”

“Explain.”

“We are to produce a stockpile then cease production until it is deemed necessary again.”

The purge trooper production was slowing down.

“Very well.” Twenty-Two set down the datapad. “You are aware of the importance of this facility, are you not, Commander?”

“Sir, every facility in the Empire is important to maintain control and expansion of the Empire.”

“A stock answer but correct.” Twenty-Two took in the empty room around him. This was the same room he had met Wolffe and Commander Seeley in. “What was your prior station, Commander?”

“Saleucami. I headed an investigation into chain code fraud in the system.”

“Your background is security then?”

“More of the enforcement aspect but I’ve picked up a few things along the way.” He paused before speaking cautiously. “If the records are correct, a purge trooper commander accessed our systems last month using a technique developed by the Coruscant Guard. Is he able to aid in our investigation?”

“He’s dead.”

Commander Jek’s posture deflated. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Twenty-Two let the silence fill the room before pressing the matter. “If I were you, I’d stay away from any previous associations with the Coruscant Guard. As you understand, their reputation was tainted by the previous commander of the guard. It does not bode well to the Empire.”

Commander Jek raised his hand to cradle his forehead as he took in Twenty-Two’s words. “I understand, sir.”

-

The five beings sat around the kitchen table, looking at the hologram displayed before them.

“Riyo, Thire, Ilven; you guys take the security room. Ilven and Riyo, watch the displays, make sure we’re not detected by patrols. Thire, you copy everything you can about YMC-delta from the system.”

“Can I delete things too?

“Go crazy. Fox and I will break into the production center and take as many vials of YMC-delta as we can. We don’t know how many doses we’ll need, and we don’t know if we’ll meet more brothers in the future who may want it.”

Fox nodded in agreement with Wolffe. “We’re really doing this.”

“Look,” Wolffe pointed a finger at Fox. “After all of this, I want a niece. Unless Riyo says no, I respect her opinion.”

Riyo smiled. “Thank you, Wolffe.”

“We’re all clear?” Wolffe looked around as everyone nodded. “Good. Get some sleep, minimal snoring tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going to have some fun.”

[kaunis-sielu]

Locked In: 2

Steve watches silently as you pack a bag, he can’t believe this is what brought him to you. To his Omega. He doesn’t like that the Alpha next door is lying to you, telling you he’s a Beta but an Alpha knows another Alpha and there is no lying to Steve’s nose.

“I’m ready.” You tell him and Steve nods before gesturing you ahead of him. “What should I do about my stuff?”

“Anything super valuable you could hide or take with us if it’s small. Otherwise I’d take some photos just in case.” You don’t take anything else but you do take some photos then lock your bedroom door.

“Okay, I think that I’m ready.” You tell him softly and Steve isn’t sure if you’re uncomfortable with him or if it’s just the fact that he’s an Alpha that you don’t know very well. You start the walk back out to one of the fire pick up trucks that he’d driven here. He doesn’t want to startle you but he does feel kind of like an ass only carrying the axe.

“Alright, you want me to carry that for you Honey?” He asks and you shake your head no, it breaks his heart that you seem so nervous around him. “Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m just, not used to being around Alphas.” You tell him in that same quiet voice, you do live in a building that doesn’t allow Alphas and Steve can’t help but wonder if there’s more to that decision than just the comfort of being in an Alpha free location.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable-” He says and it almost physically pains him to say

“No, no it’s just the fact that Brock is living there and lying about not being an Alpha is concerning. If you were able to pick him out so quick how doesn’t Drax know?”

“I don’t know about that but I think I know why I was able to pick out the other Alpha so quickly.” He doesn’t want to freak you out but he’s also fairly confident that you’re his Omega and if the other Alpha was a threat Steve would know quickly.

“Why?”

“I think you know Omega.” He says as the Alpha he’d smelled before comes swaggering toward you. When he notices Steve his defenses go up and you take a half step closer to Steve, so close that he can feel your body heat against his side.

“Hey, who’s this?” The Alpha, Brock you’d called him, asks stepping too close to you for Steve’s liking.

“Um, this is Steve.”

“You safe Buttercup?” Brock asks and Steve frowns. This guy is asking you if you’re safe from him? He’s not the one that’s been lying to you about his designation this whole time.

“Yea, I’m good. Just going to stay somewhere else for the night. Had a problem with my door so if you don’t mind just keeping an eye on it I’d appreciate it.” Brock nods but frowns up at Steve who meets eyes with him and doesn’t look away.

“Sweetheart why don’t you head to the truck? I’ll be right there.” You don’t argue but you do look at Steve suspiciously. He gives you a little smile but waits until you can’t see him before turning on Brock.

“I know what you are.” He warns, “I will be reporting you.”

“I’m a Beta.” Brock has the gall to lie to Steve and Steve sneers at the other man, before grabbing him and pinning him against the wall. “I am not a violent man, but I will protect my Omega until my dying day and if that means beating the shit out of you I’ll do it.”

“Your Omega?” Brock sneers back at him.

“Did I stutter?”

“Since when is she yours? I have more claim to her than you do. I’ve been around her longer. She trusts me.”

“She’s not an object to be claimed.” Steve snaps and Brock glares up at him, “You will leave her alone. Am I understood?”

“Fuck you.”

“Great.” Steve says shoving the other Alpha, then stalking away. He knows that Brock isn’t really stupid enough to come after him while he’s carrying an axe. When he rounds the corner of your building he can see you sitting in the passenger side of the truck, your anxious gaze meets his and he can see you visibly relax. Steve puts the axe in the back of the truck then climbs in, your scent is invading the space and god it’s the best thing that he’s ever smelled.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly as he starts the truck.

“Yea Honey, I’m fine.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” He asks with a glance over at you, you’re watching him with wide, soft eyes.

“Confront Brock.”

“I don’t like liars and I don’t like Alphas who make Omegas uncomfortable. I feel like I have to protect you, so I did.”

“So, it was just because of me?”

“No, but it was heavily influenced by you.” He admits and you sigh softly, “I’m sorry if that bothers you but I won’t lie to you.”

“Thank you.” You say quietly, “I, you make me feel safe.” You admit softly and Steve’s heart races. He didn’t know it would make him feel so proud that you look to him to keep you safe.

“I’m glad.”

“You are my Alpha. You should make me feel safe.” You’re so confident about the fact that he’s your Alpha it nearly floors him, instead Steve just glances over at you and grins before holding out his hand to you. You take his hand, weaving your smaller fingers through his and Steve can’t help but press a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

Tag list:

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[forcefulkitten]

controlled substance

[chrollo lucilfer x fem! reader]

summary: your date night with Chrollo goes well until someone slips something in your drink. Mr. Lucilfer will make sure to take care of you exactly how you request.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, aphrodisiac, oral sex, anal sex, squirting, rough sex, double penetration word count: 3,197

author’s note: if you’re not comfortable reading about someone being drugged, please skip over this fic. mentions of a spiked drink, as well as the reader being inebriated from drinking and an aphrodisiac will be in this story.

It’s a beautiful night, the stars filled the sky and the moon casted over your city. There’s a light air surrounding you and Chrollo as you make your way to a small bar to unwind. You’re dressed in a little black strapless dress, heels clicking on the floor with every step you take. Chrollo’s looking handsome as he usually does, dressed in a perfectly fitted black suit instead of his accustomed coat and attire. You both couldn’t deny how badly you wanted to cancel this date and stay in after seeing how sexy one another looked, but a few drinks wouldn’t hurt, right? The build up is always as enjoyable as the pleasure you’d give eachother later, and you both liked to savor the moments anyway.

You’ve been begging for Chrollo to have a bar date with you recently. The atmosphere of drinking good alcohol, hearing other laughing people and feeling carefree in an establishment was all you’ve wanted to experience with him after he’s been busy for a few weeks. He preferred the 5 star restaurants, quiet up-scale dining, while listening to soft orchestra music and looking into your eyes. You didn’t mind, but wanted to pick something different just for the experience. Chrollo always made sure you enjoyed yourself whether you were at an overpriced restaurant, taking a walk in the park or eating takeout on your couch. As long as he was there, it didn’t matter where you two were.  

Making your way into the bar you both agreed on for tonight, you found your way to a small two person table in the back. Both of you preferred to be separated from a crowd, not directly in it. Ordering two drinks, you both stir up mindless conversation about whatever comes to your head. This goes on for a while, the two of you not even keeping track of how many drinks you’d ordered already. Chrollo has a good alcohol tolerance, but you’d been matching his every drink and not being diligent with your water intake, so you were more feeling it more than he was.

Two hours, many different conversations, seductive touches between the two of you and an abundance of drinks later; Chrollo excused himself to the restroom. Your soft hands skimming up and down his thigh, eyes ogling him and lips curling into the smile he couldn’t get enough of took a toll on him. He needed a break to gather his composure, fighting the urge to take you right there in the bar bathroom. 

Making his way back to your shared table, he notices that you’re not there anymore. He scans the entirety of the place and finds you sitting at the bar area, an empty seat to your left with your clutch on it, saving him a space. There was a drink waiting for Chrollo, and you had a drink in front of you as well. Laughing with the bartender, you don’t even see the man to your right slip something into your glass. Chrollo is making his way to you, pissed off that you’re not aware of your surroundings and that this bastard really had the gall to drug you. The bartender and your conversation was hilarious, and she raised a cheers to which you raised your glass and gulped it down fully. Had he been seconds quicker, he would’ve been able to stop you. Chrollo was cursing himself for being so unrestrained that he had to step away to the restroom in the first place. 

Stepping behind you, Chrollo messes with your hair with one hand to distract you from him grabbing the arm of the man next to you who spiked your drink. Twisting and snapping the mans arm discreetly, the man jolts up in pain and Chrollo gives him a death glare that expresses to him clearly what Chrollo just witnessed. With a broken arm and whatever fucked up plan he had thrown out the window, the man stumbled out of the establishment without catching the attention of the other customers.

You finally turned your attention to Chrollo, giving him a gentle smile and handing his drink to him. Thanking the bartender and getting up, you grabbed your clutch and made way back to the table you and Chrollo shared, him following suit. 

Back at your table, Chrollo’s face is stoic and your drunk mind wonders if he’s disappointed that you ordered more drinks without letting him pay. “We should be heading out soon.” He said, eyes piercing and cold. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed that you weren’t aware of what happened, but he knew it wasn’t your fault. His anger at himself is really what made him brush it off as anger with you. “Something the matter? I got us another drink because I felt like I had been sitting down for too long.” Your voice was timid, it made him feel crushed that you could sense he was upset. “So, can we just stay a bit longer?” You pushed, and he reluctantly agreed with a nod of his head. He had some time before you would begin to feel the affects of whatever that asshole slipped you, so he decided to let you have a bit more fun before insisting that it’s time to leave. He ordered you a water, ordering himself another drink after finishing the one you ordered for him at the bar because he knew that he would need it. 

Eyes looking heavier than normal, the feeling of you touching him with excessive need and the vulnerability in your voice when you asked him if you can suck his cock mid conversation, he knew you were in the first phases of feeling the affects. Chrollo started leading you out of the bar, walking the many blocks back to your apartment. You felt hot and just wanted Chrollo to make out with you right there. You didn’t question the way your body was telling you something was wrong, lying to your drunken mind that this is the affect Chrollo has on you. Stopping you mid thought, Chrollo began “That guy next to you at the bar slipped something in your drink while you spoke with the bartender. It’s my fault for leaving you alone, but I need you to be more aware of what’s going on around you. Tell me, how are you feeling right now?” You weren’t even registering his words at this point. You felt drunk is all, what the hell is he talking about? The cool breeze hitting your body sent shivers through your body and straight to your core. The click of your heels walking turned into dragging for some steps, your hold on Chrollo’s arm was so tight you would fall if you didn’t have him to brace yourself on. He took mental note of this and waved a cab down.

Sliding yourself into the cab, Chrollo got in after you and sat behind where the driver was seated. You were trying to get his lips on yours, and after a bit of a struggle he caved in and you both started making out. Your moans echo in the cab, and Chrollo feels horrible for the driver. Your hands are feverishly trying to undo his zipper and belt buckle, you whine “Please Chrollo, I know you want this as much as I do.” He does want this, his cock is rock hard and he can’t deny how adorable and flustered you look. But you’re drunk and some idiot drugged you. It just feels wrong to give in to your advances. Pulling up to your apartment, Chrollo hands the cab driver way too much money for the ride because of the trouble and brings you upstairs.

You’re already pulling your heels off before you reach your apartment, hugging Chrollo from behind while he unlocks your door because you’re too far gone to do anything at this point. He goes straight for your fridge and gets some ice and water into cups for you both. You sit on your kitchen island, him right in front of you on a bar stool that matched your kitchen island in height. You gulp the water down like nothing, and he watches in amusement. You’re so cute to him, your blushing face meets his eyes and he gives you a wink before drinking his water. 

Spreading your legs right in front of him, he notices the wet spot on your panties. You hike your skirt up some more, inviting him without using your words. “Everything okay?” He questions, trying his best to ignore your efforts and act as if he doesn’t know what you need. Laying back on the kitchen island, you wiggle your panties off and toss them to the side. Your pussy is soaked in your arousal, Chrollo’s eyes shifting between your face and your cunt. You bring your fingers down to your slit, coating them in your juices before swirling over your clit. “You’re really just going to watch?” You teased him. “I think I will. You’re quite the movie all on your own.” His words were riddled with amusement, but he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to fuck you right at this moment. You pulled your dress down to reveal your breast, fabric bunched around your stomach which was the only part of you covered right now. Leaning back, you ran your fingers through your hair while continuing to play with yourself. Juices slipping down your cunt, wetness seeping down your ass and onto the counter. You moaned out Chrollo’s name like your favorite song, and right before you were going to cum he grabbed your wrist and stopped you. Pulling you by your hips towards the edge of the counter, Chrollo’s lips sunk right into your sopping pussy and began to work you back to your orgasm.

He told himself that he would only make you cum and back off while your drunk and high state wore off. Dragging his tongue from your slit up to your swollen bud, he began sucking on your bundle of nerves and it worked your orgasm back up. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you bucked onto his face and he knew he didn’t have much time to enjoy how sexy you looked and sounded wrapped around his face. He continued swirling your clit with his expert tongue, and brought two fingers into your cunt to pump in and out of you. He snaked his hand down his pants, pumping his throbbing cock in his other hand. He was so caught in a lustful state that he didn’t even notice that you were tugging his head away because you’d already came all over him, and he continued his assault on your sweet clit. He slowed his licks and sucks down, still pumping himself with one hand and holding you down with the other while he chased his own high. You were intoxicating to him. He needed this as much as you needed him. 

You sat up, his mouth still on your pussy as he looked up at you confused and you caught sight of his hand in his pants. The sight sent you to heaven and back, him red in the face with a tinge of embarrassment and his hard cock peeking out of his suit pants. Fuck, one look with your pleading eyes and his resolve was gone. He helped you off the counter and you leaned against it, backside towards him. Rubbing your ass against his cock, it took him no time to find his way into your sopping cunt. 

You braced your hands on the edges of the counter while Chrollo thrusted into you, feeding every one of your clouded desires. The way his cock felt in your cunt, the tip of it hitting your cervix and the feeling of him pulling all the way out before slamming back into you was euphoric. Your legs felt like spaghetti trying to hold yourself up against his strong body doing a number on you. He leaned into your shoulder, biting you and causing you to whimper out. All of your senses were amplified. The squelching noise of your cunt rung in your ears, the sting from the bite on your shoulder ached, the scent of both mixed arousals in flooded your nose, you closed your eyes to try and ground yourself. Chrollo noticed your legs trying to buckle and the way your arms fought a useless battle against holding you up. 

Picking you up and sitting you onto the bar stool, he thanked himself for picking the backless ones when he picked furniture with you. Your ass and glistening cunt hanging off the back of the stool, he was in the perfect position to continue fucking into you, giving you both the release you wanted. Before he can position himself back at your entrance, you desperately called out “Don’t stop. Please, I feel so good.” You’re so adorable to him, convincing yourself that he was going to stop impaling you on his girthy length. No love, he’s taking care of you. 

Shit. He knew you felt amazing, it was evident to the both of you. Who was he to take that away from you? Especially when you begged so nicely. He slowly entered your cunt again, the new angle even more pleasant for the both of you. His thrusts were deeper and slower now, but still with force. He wanted to engrave all of your noises in his mind, the feeling of your tight walls milking him deliciously. Placing open mouthed kisses on your neck, you turned your head to meet his lips sloppily. Your essence still on him, he tasted of you and you were enamored. Your hands were holding onto the edge of the counter, his strong ones now over yours and he doesn’t let up on destroying your pretty little pussy. Somehow all of this still isn’t enough for you, you try meeting his thrusts and he takes the hint that you want more than what he’s giving.

Bringing a hand on your shoulder, he pulled out of your cunt and swiped slick onto his fingers. Inching his cock back in, he brought his soaking fingers to play with your ass. Your hole was puckering against him, inviting him in. He started only with a thumb, seeing how you’d react to the new feeling. You rutted against him harder, whimpering and moaning words that he couldn’t quite make out. “Tell me what you need and I’ll help you better. Use your words.” His voice was honey to your ears and you would’ve drowned in it if he gave you the option to. You grew frustrated with his teasing. Chrollo knew exactly what you wanted, but he needed to hear it before he continued. He already felt bad that you were so inebriated, and needed to know that this is really what you desired before continuing. “For fucks sake Lucilfer, I want you to fuck me in my ass. Do I have to say it?” The irritation in your voice didn’t go unheard, and he chuckled at your frustration. You only called him Lucilfer when you were pissed off with him, but now you sounded like an angel even with anger laced in your tone. 

Chrollo continued prepping you to take his cock in your tighter hole. A thumb first to stretch you out, then swapping for a finger, then two, until you were taking both deft fingers easily. He fucked into you like this for a while, while his cock was dipping in and out of your wrecked cunt. If this were a normal day you would’ve been so overstimulated, but right now this felt perfect. He pulled out of your pussy, and gathered your essence onto his erection before inching himself into your ass. 

You were so tight, your hole had a vice grip on his cock. Chrollo could’ve busted right then and there, but held on so he could leave you completely fucked out and happy. He leaned directly onto your back, his hands on your sides gripping the bunched dress around your torso. Your breast leaning against the cold counter, your nipples loved the sensation of brushing against it. Chrollo’s heavy breathing in against your back sent shivers down your body. He picked up the pace and began thrusting into your ass with force that would leave you sore for the next week. The coil in your stomach was tightening, there was too much pleasure. Your perky tits hitting the counter, his cock in your tight ass and your clit rubbing against the stool was becoming too much. “Baby I think I’m gonna cum” You cried out and Chrollo smiled against your back, peppering kisses all over. “Cum for me then beautiful. I’ll stop fucking you right now if you don’t.” His threat was empty, if you didn’t cum on your own he would’ve brought his fingers to make you cum himself, but you didn’t need to know that. You listened to him so well, feeling your pussy start to tighten against nothing, you stood off the stool quickly and kicked it off to the side. Chrollo chuckled at your eagerness as he was buried into your ass standing behind you now, you toying with your clit with one hand and him twirling your nipple with one hand, his other on your shoulder pushing you down. Face pressed against the counter, your orgasm was stronger than you expected. You let out a loud mix of a whimper and a yelp, the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had washed over you. Trying to catch your breath while your ass is still being plowed into from behind, you knew Chrollo was close to his release too. His thrusts weren’t as precise, his breath hitched and groans escaped his lips more freely. “You just squirted my love. You messy, naughty girl.” You could’ve came again at the sound of his voice in your ear. 

Chrollo continued thrusting into your ass, while you rutted against him softly. Fatigue washed over you, and feeling him cum ropes into your abused hole made you bite your lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of you. You pressed yourself further against him gently, milking him for everything he could give you. He pulled out, a wet pop sound as he did so. 

You turned around to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck. Chrollo kissed you passionately before picking you up bridal style and bringing you over to the shower. He ran the warm water for you, allowing you to clean yourself up after the fun you two had tonight. You were no doubt tired, as was he. He made sure to clean the mess you two made in the kitchen before jumping into the shower with you as well. The night was uneventful after that, the two of you falling asleep naked in your bed, you sleeping off the rest of that foreign drug in your system. Chrollo regretted not being able to kill that bastard earlier for what he slipped into your drink, but he was happy to be here to take care of you. 

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous

((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))

“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”

Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.

“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.

“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”

“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.

For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.

Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.

“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”

“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”

“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.

She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.

He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.

——

Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.

“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”

“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.

There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”

Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”

Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”

“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”

“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.

“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.

“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”

“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”

Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”

The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”

Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.

As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”

Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.

The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.

“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”

“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”

“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”

“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”

“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”

“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”

“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”

“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”

“And the children?”

Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”

They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.

The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.

He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.

The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.

“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”

Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.

He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.

Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.

His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.

Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.

Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.

He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.

His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.

Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.

Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.

Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.

“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”

“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”

A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”

Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.

“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.

They were the grey eyes of a man.

Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”

When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.

Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.

The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.

The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.

Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.

—————

It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.

Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.

She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.

That was all.

Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.

"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."

Alberic said nothing. What could he say?

“You didn’t tell me.”

He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”

“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”

She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.

“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.

“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”

“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”

“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.

Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.

“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.

She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.

“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”

“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”

Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.

[fruityutas]

requested ~ no

not proofread

wc: 2.3k

genre ~ fluff, highschool au

synopsis ~ badboy!jisung is smitten with you after catching a glance of you on the first day of school, so the dreamies help him to make you his by the end of the year

warnings ~ fighting, cursing, underage smoking (don’t smoke children!! Or adults just don’t smoke in general)

note ~ this is a continuation of something another blog wrote! i got full clearance from them to write this and i’m finally getting around to it! @itsarealshitshow thank u again for letting me do this!! here’s the original post :)

“so what’s the plan for today, sung?” haechan says a little too loud for jisung’s comfort. the younger looks about, bug-eyed, for people who could have heard. “dude, that sounded like we plan on killing someone.” haechan just shrugs and pops the gum in his mouth. jisung shoves the boy lightly, causing him to choke. sniggers erupt from the group of boys that sit in the farthest corner of the lunchroom. the dreamies are what they call themselves, though everyone finds it a bit funny. “what was that for, you brat?!” haechan’s friends erupt in laughter, causing the nearby table to look over. the table that just so happened to be where your friend group sat. jisung makes eye contact with you and smiles. you send a timid one back before your friends roll their eye at the group’s antics and begin to leave. yeri takes your arm and pulls you away from the table before you can say anything about it.

science drags on so you ask to use the restroom to see if you can find jisung in the halls. not the most educated choice but you have to at least speak to the boy. the hall pass in your hand is your ticket to getting out of trouble with any teacher, and the excuse of you being new. passing the rows of lockers proves no sight of the boy you seek until you get to the last ones near the back entrance of the school. There was jisung and his friends at the end, talking about some game while huddled around what you presumed to be a switch. you stop abruptly, which causes your sneakers to squeak. all six of the boys look up at you with eagle eyes. you’re a deer caught in headlights and not a word is uttered for a good minute. “you better not rat us out, goody two shoes.” haechans’ the first to speak. you shake your head and walk up to them. “i’m skipping class too so it really wouldn’t bring me any luck to do that.” they all look at you confused. “yeah yeah why would i skip class i get it. i’m looking for jisung, actually.” the boy in question turns red as a tomato and starts to stutter. the others snicker at his flustered state. you turn to jisung and smile sweetly. “i know my friends are always rude to you guys but i wanna get to know you. sorry for their behavior, also. they don’t know when to keep to themselves.” your face is now red as well, mostly because up close, jisung is absolutely breathtaking. “that’s for sure.” haechan’s mumble makes its way to your ears but is quickly muffled by jaemin smacking his arm.

in the next few weeks, you got a lot closer to jisung and his friends much to your friends’ dismay. “they’re all trouble, y/n. why do you hang around them?” you roll your eyes at her. “they’re just high school boys, they literally laughed at a fart noise the other day. they aren’t any harm to anyone.” she scoffs at you. “i thought you’d be at least a little smarter than this, but apparently not. i can’t be friends with someone who hangs out with unscholarly people.” you’re taken aback at her statement. “whatever yeri, if you don’t wanna be friends anymore then i don’t care, have fun being a bore.” you hurried away before she could say anything back to you. you were glad she didn’t want to speak with you anymore, all she ever talked about was school. you needed to find jisung.

in the next few weeks, you got a lot closer to jisung and his friends much to your friends’ dismay. “they’re all trouble, y/n. why do you hang around them?” you roll your eyes at her. “they’re just high school boys, they literally laughed at a fart noise the other day. they aren’t any harm to anyone.” she scoffs at you. “i thought you’d be at least a little smarter than this, but apparently not. i can’t be friends with someone who hangs out with unscholarly people.” you’re taken aback at her statement. “whatever yeri, if you don’t wanna be friends anymore then i don’t care, have fun being a bore.” you hurried away before she could say anything back to you. you were glad she didn’t want to speak with you anymore, all she ever talked about was school. you needed to find jisung.

you knew to find him in the back of the gym around this time of day. it was oddly quiet in there today, probably due to them not wanting to get caught for the third time this week. “jisung.” a small reply was heard along with the laughter of his friends. you walk over to where they were sitting and sit next to jisung. you lean against his shoulder and he reads you instantly. “what’s wrong?” you sigh and shuffle to get more comfortable. “yeri and i are no longer friends. all she does is be rude about the fact that i’m hanging out with you guys and i got tired of it. so she said she didn’t want to be friends with me and then she called me dumb! the audacity of her.” all six boys bust into giggles. the look on your face is unamused, and the boys only laugh more at it. “listen, y/n, she was probably right about us. we are trouble. i bet you didn’t know jisung beat up some kid yesterday because he was talking about you.” you snap your head to jisung, who is sheepishly looking down. “he was saying gross things! i can’t let someone speak of you like that, y/n.” you sigh and force him to look up at you. “jisung, you don’t have to protect me.” he pouts cutely, “but i do! i have to.” you blush at the thought of him protecting you. “but why?” now it’s jisung’s turn to blush. “i like you…” it comes out as a mumble and you almost don’t catch it. the boys whoop and holler while the two of you sit in each other’s flustered presence. you scoot closer to jisung and whisper in his ear, “i like you too, you know.”

the next days are filled with teasing from the group and sweet gestures from jisung. holding hands in the hallway, kissing at your locker (which more often than not turns into making out in the janitor’s closet), and him buying your lunch.

“y/n!” an unfamiliar voice rings in the hall and all of you turn to see a guy running up to you. you recognize him from your science class, but you’ve never really spoken with him, so you’re just as confused as they are. “this is for you.” he turns to look at the rest of the group with a look of disapproval before turning back to you. “uh, thanks i guess. what’s your name again?” his face flashes disappointment before returning to a happy one. “ilhoon, from science class?” you nod in agreement before he winks at you and walks down the hall. “what the fuck was that?” jisung’s deep voice grumbles in his chest, the vibrations reaching you due to his figure hugging yours. “i honestly don’t know, sungie. lemme read this note.” you open up the letter and begin to read out loud. “this is for your eyes only, cutie. i know we haven’t spoken much, but i want to get to know you so how about we go on a date?” jisung scoffs at that. “the way this kid thinks he’s getting a date with you. i’ll take care of it baby.” you point him a look. “park jisung, i can handle my own thank you. i’ll just tell him that i’m dating you and he’ll back off.” jisung stays silent but rolls his eyes in response.

jisung keeps seeing that kid in the hallway, and everytime they make eye contact, he receives a scowl from him. the gall this kid has, to think that you’d go on a date with him. finally managing to corner him, jisung asks what he thinks he’s doing. “i’m trying to ask y/n out, park. now get out of my way.” scoffing, jisung yanks the boy’s arm. “now listen here, she’s taken. by me. so don’t even think about it ilhoon.” “i’m not scared of you, ya’know! you think you’re tough but you’re not.”

“i think you should shut up if you know what’s good for you.” haechan’s quick response makes his presence known, along with the rest of the dreamies. ilhoon rolls his eyes. “this is between me and jisung, brat.” haechan tsks at the boy, “well, you asked for it kid.” ilhoon looks confused before a harsh punch is delivered to his cheek. his head whips around from the force and he doesn’t have time to recover before jisung is swinging his other arm at him. a sickening ‘crack!’ is heard by the group as the boy wails in pain. “definitely a broken nose. good job sung.” jaemin pats him on the back as they walk away. jisung looks over his shoulder and yells out, “don’t talk to y/n again, got it?” he doesn’t bother to acknowledge a response from ilhoon.

lunch is busy as always, though the table that your little group sits at is in the back corner of the lunchroom. it provides a nice space away from everyone else where you can all enjoy each other’s presence. “jisung why the fuck did you break this kid’s nose?” your harsh voice cuts the air as soon as you are close to the table. his face goes pale while the rest of the boys burst into laughter. “i, he was trying to get with you! i’m your boyfriend and he was talking shit about you being with me!” you sigh in guilt and scoot yourself close to him. “sungie, you’re my boyfriend ok? i don’t want to date anyone else. i just don’t want you getting in trouble.” he blushes at your words of affirmation and nuzzles his head into your neck. the rest of lunch goes by smoothly, and before you leave the boys go out to smoke (even though you always nag at them to stop). “how many times have i asked you guys to stop killing your lungs?” laughs all come from their mouths as they walk past you. jisung gives you a slightly guilty look before joining his friends in their endeavors. you sigh and stand with them until they finish, which doesn’t take longer than 10 minutes. jisung walks you to your class before heading to his, a sweet gesture he always did.

word got around that he broke a kid’s nose, and he does get into trouble for it. three days suspension and four days of detention after that. you know he will be skipping detention just as much as the principal so you fail to understand why he was even given detention.

the first day he’s out was boring to you, but you went to his house right after school with the other boys and got to hang out. the second and third days were boring as hell, but the day jisung returned was very… interesting. Jisung hadn’t entered the classroom yet this morning, so you sat alone next to his desk in the back. ilhoon enters the classroom and searched for someone, and when they aren’t there he heads straight for you. “hey y/n.” you give him a blank-faced look. “uh yeah?” he smirks a little, though it’s hard for him presumably because of the broken nose. “now that park is ya’know, facing the consequences for being an asshole, do you wanna go on a date?” you almost cackle in his face, but you keep it to yourself. what in the world is he thinking? “listen ilhoon, since apparently, you didn’t get the memo that jisung punched onto your face, i’m gonna have to spell it out for you. i do not want to go on a date with you, and i never will. you really could’ve avoided getting your nose fucked up if you had just realized that not every girl in this school wants to fuck you.” he scoffs at you and grabs your arm, squeezing rather hard. “listen here, brat. you’re not so bad as you think you are just because you’re dating jisung. so i’m gonna ask you again. are you gonna cooperate with me or do i have to train you to be a good girl?” he’s suddenly jerked back, and hard. the collar of his shirt chokes him and jisung slams him to the ground. while he’s gasping for air, jisung leans down close enough to breathe on his face. “listen here, brat. my girlfriend is not a dog to train, and more importantly, she isn’t yours and won’t be. ever. so stop trying, and if you ever so much as breath in her direction wrong i will do so much more than break your stupid fucking nose, got it?” ilhoon nods so fast you think his brain is knocking around in his head before he gets up and sits in his seat. jisung scoffs at the action and sits down, taking your arm in his hold gently, checking for injury. “are you ok baby? he didn’t hurt you did he?” you shake your head before kissing his nose for reassurance. “no, i’m fine, thank you.” he pecks your lips before turning to face the board, just in time for the teacher to walk in.

maybe jisung was a bad influence, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. and in the end, jisung did get you to be his way before the end of the year.

[justasimptm]

The Bride C7

The walk to the village he doesn’t let a moment go quiet, poking and prodding, making jokes or inappropriate comments. His favorite is to tug on the laces of my corset, never enough to undo any of the knots, but just enough to make me jump and glare at him. Everytime he does it he lets out a hearty laugh at the look on my face, puts his hands up in surrender and swears he’s going to stop, only to do it again minutes later. I try to keep myself out of his jeering, far enough ahead he can’t reach me with his hands and far enough he doesn’t see the flush that coats my cheeks as he whistles at me. As annoying as it is, he does keep it at least mostly respectful which does soothe my fraying nerves some.

“Say, sweetheart, is that a new corset? I don’t think I’ve seen you in it yet, and I definitely would remember,” He calls out, voice dipping down an octave. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I shouldn’t, but this time he takes my silence as an invitation to continue. “If you ever need help getting into it again-or getting out of it, you know where to find me.” That pulls a sharp, quiet breath from my lungs, surprise causing me to whirl on him, jaw dropped and eyes wide. He couldn’t have behaved for a few minutes longer, we were on the outskirts of the village, so close to the end of our journey. The smirk laced across his lips tells me he is expecting me to ignore him again, to turn back and finish this.

I can’t tell which makes me boil more, that assumption, or the fact he had the gall to say something like that to me, knowing who I am and who my mother is. He steps closer, bordering on too close but far enough not to be rude, tips his head down slightly and stares at me over the rim of his glasses, waiting for me to do something. As smoothly as I can I close the gap, completely entering his space, having no more than a few inches between us. He freezes slightly as I reach up, calmly pinching the arms of his glasses and pulling them down off his face, leaving us eye to eye. I smile sweetly, tucking the arms in and then into the collar of his shirt, patting his chest with two gentle bats. I pretend I don’t notice the firm muscle under my palm, or the way his breathing hitches slightly as he tries to hold still.

“And what, exactly, makes you think I would ask you for that kind of help, hm?” I whisper, cocking my head to the side, “I’m sure that if that’s something I wanted, I could find someone more, how can I put this, experienced.” His eyes narrow, “Maybe you can find a toy in the gaggle of sad little ducklings we’re taking today. I bet if you ask real nice Mother Miranda might let you keep one.” The teasing tone in my voice is more than obvious, and I know he hears it, but he seems finally stunned into silence. Taking this as a victory I back up, grinning at him before making towards town to finally put an end to our less supervised trip. I make it roughly two steps before his hand latches onto my wrist, jerking me slightly off balance. Enough to wobble but not enough to crash down or into him. My eyes snap to his in a fraction of a heartbeat and I have no words to describe the look I find embedded in his. It’s the oddest mix between ego, surprise, and fire, and it sends tendrils of fluttering through my stomach.

“You should be careful how you use those pretty words of yours. Don’t need you getting in any trouble you can’t handle.” He states gruffly, briefly flickering his eyes down and back up before dropping my arm like I burned him. “Come on. We should get this done before your mother worries. We both know that we don’t want that.”

The rest of our walk towards the square is finally quiet. Heisenberg stopped pulling on my strings, physically and metaphorically, and part of me is wishing the silence wasn’t so harsh. It feels like it’s drowning in rejection, stinging and unforgiving. The excited chittering of our soon to be unwilling experiments helps drown it out, they keep to themselves mostly, but I can feel the way they side eye us. We don’t typically interact with them in a group like this, Mother Miranda tells them that they’ll only see us if she has something special for them. They think this is going to be an honor, and how blissful it is to be unaware of the horrors waiting for them at that church, in Moreau’s laboratory. To them Miranda is a God, my mother and the others their protectors who they only hear whispers of when we need more of them, they are so so naive of the monsters we really are.

God I envy that. The flaming jealousy streaks through my chest before I can stop it and I know my face has soured. Unable to tone it down very much I elect to keep my face forwards, walking at the beginning of the pack, a few paces in front of everyone. Heisenberg’s taken up the back, I know it’s to keep his Lycans at bay, but part of me thinks it’s because he wanted to be separated. I catch a breeze of one of the girls speaking. It’s too quiet to make out fully but she sounds so happy. What a fool.

Mother Miranda greets them all joyously, opening her arms and thanking them all for joining her. They nearly collapse to their knees at the sight of her, a flood of thanks and awe soon floods the still air. She takes a few moments with them all, taking down their names. They think it’s so she can address them, but really it’s for their labels so she knows who was the most successful. As she reaches the end of the line she tosses a nod at the two of us, as we hover by the door unsure of if she is expecting us to stay or not. She asks them all to thank us for guiding their passage, for keeping them safe from ‘the devils’.

Our murmur of praise is much shorter than hers was, very clear they’re only doing it to please her. None of them spare us another glance as she dismisses us. The air is smothering as we step back outside, just the two of us again. I hesitate for a split second and he sighs, choosing to break the silence.

“Let’s go sweetheart. Gotta walk you back up to Castle Doom.” He mutters, motioning with his hand for me to start walking. The way he says it is defeated, like he has no interest in doing it but he has no choice. Stubbornness flares up inside my chest and I have to fight a snarl as I roll my eyes.

“You don’t ‘gotta’ do anything, Heisenberg, Just go back to your fucking factory doing whatever the hell it is you do up there. I am more than capable of walking myself.” My voice is filled with anger, shaking with it in fact and he is visibly taken aback. The fact he’s acting like I’m a child that needs babysitting absolutely burns my core. He doesn’t have to watch me, make sure I don’t fall down and get a boo-boo. I have more than enough ways to protect myself.

I don’t give him a chance to argue back, to tell me that he does in fact need to escort me back, because Mother Miranda can’t risk something happening to the source of her progress. Yet another thing I have to exist for that isn’t myself or my choice. Instead I let the fluttering beats of my rage turn into the beats of wings, swarming from my full form into my mass of moths. Vaguely I recognize the sound of his cursing as I take off towards the castle. Everything feels so much calmer when I’m like this, simpler. Just move the wings, keep the destination in mind and trust in myself to get there.

I make it to the gates before I force myself to reform. Mother doesn’t like seeing me like that. Says I should use it for emergencies only because it leaves me more exposed between the fact I’m literal bugs and the time it takes for my body to set back. I push the heavy iron gates open with a resounding creak, surely announcing my presence to everyone inside that I’ve returned. My feet barely step over the barrier when I hear him shout my name from behind me. Why couldn’t he just leave, I wonder, especially if he is oh so concerned about my safety. He calls out to me again, closer this time, but I set my pace with purpose, not slowing or stopping when he curses again. Steeling my bones as I hear the gate slam back shut loudly so I don’t jump. I know my mother is waiting for me inside, ready to ambush me, to push me for every last detail to make sure I behaved appropriately. With some luck, hopefully my sisters will be off somewhere, tormenting some poor servant so I don’t have to deal with them immediately as well. Given how frayed my nerves are, I don’t entirely know how well I would be able to keep myself from doing something I would be punished for. But honestly, after all of that, it might be worth it just to blow off some steam.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy

[chim-aera]

seasons

Spring, with rose bud lips and halos of thorns pries youth from my shaking grasp with their slender, dewy hands.

they leave me no wiser then I was when Winter held the throne. I believe the biting cold and silver lashes are kinder. frost held sympathy, while I seek out beauty in petals and the soft dappled sunlight, alas, I fail to find it.

spring leaves me feeling lost. and soon, without warning, summer waltzes near.

his gleaming crown and freckled face bring solace to so many, but I am not one who is favored by the Shining Monarch. he looks to me with disdain, a forlorn, wretched creature in his eyes. the gall a slithering thing of moonlight must have to ever attempt at being holy. of ever being favored by the gods of the day.

with a callous smile stretching across gilded, flawless features, I am dragged cruely into the earth. face down and weeping. skin swollen and burned, gold trickles from my wounds and from my twisted mouth. he watches my suffering, patiently, intently. It is not cruelty, really. how can one expect a Divine to ever sympathize with a lowly mortal. finally, he departs, but ever so slowly.

I remain where he had left me, broken and and silent. waiting for my tears to either crystallize, or somehow melt into my skin like liquid gold. they fail to do either, so I simply allow them to stain.

"regret, shame, and agony.

pitiful mortal. all alone. who could love you?

for where in others there are lilacs and sapphires, in you there is but belladonna and bloodstone. oh, how you tried. tried to dye your soul with the deepest ochre. to adorn your aching head with sunrays, and spread wonder when you speak. ignoring the blood trickling from the corner of your mouth, you can never be what you don't even know. how can someone love, if they've never even felt it for themself?

for no mask, no matter the fancy, can stay on forever, foolish one. and you are left alone, with your shadows, and spirits.

flee little nightmare.

flee."

I contemplate it really, but I am nothing if not stubborn. and inside, I am waiting still. if she can find me, perhaps, just maybe. I can make it out alive.

I wait quietly. roots tangle into my veins, and the dark womb of Gaia keeps me still. maggots and beetles trace and skitter along my skin. I begin to lose hope, but I hear her. I hear her.

and slowly, I raise my hand from my earthen shelter.

she smiles, she is distant, and tired. but there. I shake away the loose soil from my person, and struggle to extricate my body. Matron releases me, eventually, and I stumble like a newborn fawn to meet who i have been agonizingly anticipating.

her hair is longer than I remember, grey tinged with the faintest auburn. her face is traced with lines, like the delicate drawl of an expert cartographer.

I run to her,

"It has been so long child." she says to me,

her gaze is knowing, she sees my scars, both healed and new. but she does not berate, she simply brushes the caked tears and sediment from my pallid skin. I breathe, for the first time in what seems like centuries.

"how did sleep treat you?" I ask her,

she shakes her head, young pinecones and dying leaves tumble from her braided locks.

"none more cruel then the times before."

I nod.

cinnamon, vetiver, and amber. stronger then before, graces my body. fragrant and glinting. it makes me feel older somehow. but I am, with age comes wisdom supposedly. but Father Time, Kronos, Great Terror where is my all-knowing?

Autumn brushes my hair behind my ears, she senses the shame, the fear, the poison. but my crooked grin, and the space between my teeth only ever fondly reminded her of a jack o' lantern's smile. and my squinting eyes were never dead or hollow to her, but bearing resemblance to woodsmoke, silver and frigid.

I collapse at her feet, and sobs rack my body, I am simply too tired to bother. she comforts me still, touch cold and gentle.

"you know Owlet, the moon cannot shine like the sun, nor do they wish to. they both shine separately, in their own hues and luminescence.

you cannot truly become what you are not, in your heart, you will always remain.

fox grins, and raven feathers, black cats and burning scrolls, I do not see the matter.

you, nevertheless, are whole.

forgive yourself, you are wiser then you were before. remember that not only does the night sky point us to our fates, but the darkness forces us to embrace what is blinded by the sun.

life is a duality.

find your joy, dearheart.

and keep your soul".

she leaves a kiss on my forehead, and wraps me in umber, brass, and mahogany. the earth tips and tilts as cold breeze tinges the air. but somehow I feel warmer.

Fall leaves me feeling fuller, taller, wiser. I look outwards to the horizon, and catch glimpse of Winter's silver scalp.

time moves ever forward.

I think I understand,

somehow, I'll be alright.

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (11)

*That took longer than expected. Had to rewrite the beginning like five times cause I hated how it kept turning out. Bleh! But we got it now! Should have the next and final chapter of this mini-fic out soon! Love ya and enjoy!*

~~~

As the years passed I found myself growing even more attached to Neverland. I had called it home for years already but after Peter told me he loved me it felt more permanent. I guess a part of me was always sort of waiting for my father to show up one day and take me away. Worried that he would return and ruin the peace and happiness I had found on Neverland.

He was the last person I had ever loved before he abandoned me. As much as I hated him there would be nights when I’d sit in my hut and his face would come to mind. The sound of his voice singing a lullaby to me that I only half remember. I would sit there simmering in my hatred and feelings of betrayal but down deep in my soul there was a twinge of sadness. Memories that feel more like dreams reminding me that for as angry as I was at him there was a time that I loved him. He was my family. My papa…

But that’s all gone. He left me. Traded me. I have a new family now. I know real love. Unconditional love.

Peter loved me exactly as I was. He never asked me change. He never forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. We had fun together. We told each other everything. He knew my deepest darkest secrets and in turn I was entrusted with his. He held me close and kissed me softly. HIs arms were the safest place I had ever known.

He was patient with me and despite how badly he may have wanted to escalate our intimate relationship he never pressured me. If anything he may have been too cautious but given what he knew of my history I didn’t blame him. I’d rather he be courteous than to just assume he’s okay to take what he wants from me. So when the day came that I knew I was ready I asked him to make love to me. He had been so nervous and I couldn’t help but tease him a bit despite my own nerves. It felt nothing like the first time I had sex. It was so much softer, slower, and all of my partner’s attention was solely on me. It felt like love.

After that first time things got a little intense. We may have made it our mission to christen every inch of the island. Soft and sweet love making in the meadows to hard and rough in caves, there was nothing more we cared about. Peter didn’t even return to camp for an entire week once because we were too wrapped up in one another. His body became as familiar to me as my own.

That isn’t to say that we didn’t drive each other mad either. There were days where I wanted to throw him off a cliff and he wished that I had never set foot in Neverland. For as stubborn as the both of us could be the fights never drove us apart for long. We would come back together and everything would be right with the world until we got annoyed and started another fight.

Through all of it I worried though. From what Peter told me all that time ago, he’s dying. He creeps closer and closer to death and there’s nothing I can do to help him. I ask for details, I ask if there is anyway I can help, and Peter tells me it is not for me to worry about. He assures me he has it all under control. That sentiment loses some of its reassurance when he comes to me shaking and pale as a ghost. It’s always after he visits Skull Rock and looks at the hourglass ticking away his life.

One of these such nights he found me at my camp and held me close for a long while not saying anything. Not that he had to. I just wish there was something I could do to help. I hate seeing him like this.

“My love?” I whispered. Peter sat between my legs with his head resting on my chest and his arms wrapped around me. “You need to tell me if there is some way I can help you.”

Peter sighed. “I told you, my pearl, there is nothing about my situation that you need to worry yourself over. Now be sweet and keep playing with my hair. That is helping immensely.”

“I feel like I should be doing more though,” I carded my fingers through his hair, “I don’t want to just stand idly by while you…” I couldn’t finish the thought. “I want to help you.”

“You already are.” He gazed up at me with those clear green eyes I loved so much, “I don’t need you to fight or search or anything like that. I want you exactly where you are now. I want to know that you are safe here, waiting for me. That is all I need.”

“But--”

“Hush now,” he kissed my palm, “You worry yourself so easily. Things are already in motion. I will be safe and far from death by the end of the week if things go according to plan.”

“What? Why haven’t you said anything before?”

“Because I fear it may stir up painful memories for you. The Truest Believer will be here soon and I have a plan for when he arrives. You are not a part of it and that is how it is going to remain. Do you understand?”

“But I can help!”

“My love, my precious pearl,” Peter smoothed a finger across my bottom lip, “You already are. I want you right here where I know you are safe. Stay here. That is how you will help me.”

“But I could do so much more.”

“I don’t need you to do anything more.” He kissed me gently, “Now please, can you obey me in this one thing? I need you to trust me on this. You do trust me, don’t you, my love?”

“Of course I trust you.” I sighed, defeated, “But you will let me know if you need me to do more, right?”

“Of course,” He laid his head back down.

The night the Truest Believer arrived I didn’t see Peter at all. He told me he would be gone from my side for the majority of the time the Believer was on Neverland. It wasn’t unexpected but the sting of loneliness crept in still.

After the first night without Peter I became restless. Despite Peter’s warning to remain at my camp I decided to take a short stroll through the jungle. There were adults running about somewhere trying to rescue the boy Peter had. It is such a big island though and I know every inch of it. What were the odds that I would run into one of these adults? Still, I strapped my sword to my hip just in case. Adults or not Neverland was still plenty dangerous, especially at night.

I meandered through the jungle with no real destination in mind. Maybe I would go to Peter’s Thinking Tree. It had to be more fun than sitting all alone in my hut back on the beach.

“My young love said to me, ‘My mother won't mind and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind.’ Then she stepped away from me and this she did say, ‘It will not be long love till our wedding day.’” I sang quietly.

“She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair.” A voice from the deepest recesses of my mind answered with a melody as soft as it had been in my dreams. It was not a sound in my head though. It was much too real.

“And fondly I watched her move here and move there.” The foliage parted and in the moonlight appeared a troupe of adults but I only saw the one at the forefront. “Then she made her way homeward with one star awake. As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.”

He took a knee and gazed up at me, “Hello starfish,”

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.

My father...my father was standing right in front of me after gods know how many years and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I just stared at him as my mind went through a million emotions at once.

“Hook?” One of his party asked, a blonde woman, “Who are we looking at here?”

“My daughter,” he answered simply, “I told you I had informants in Neverland.”

“You have a kid?” The other adults looked at him in shock. “You never mentioned that you had a daughter before.”

“Yes, well--”

“What are you doing here?” I said, my voice shaky and choked. All eyes swiveled to me once again. I gazed down at my father as all the sorrow and anger I had been harboring for decades started to boil over.

“Darling,” He reached out for me but I jumped back so he couldn’t touch me. He sighed, “Starfish, I know that what happened in the past must have been a shock but I’m here now. I’m back and I desperately need your help. Then all of this can be undone. Things can go back to what they were before.”

How dare he. How dare he come back. How dare he kneel in front of me and ask for my help. Did he not know? Did he not realize what he had done? How could he come back here after decades and pretend like nothing had happened?

He took advantage of my silence to reach for me again. I was still trying to think of what to say or do when he grabbed hold of my hand. “Starfish,” He whispered the nickname like a plea, “I am so happy to see you again. Please, can you help us? We can get you out of here.”

“No...” I pulled my hand from him. Tears sprung to my eyes and there was nothing to do to stop them. “NO!” I screamed, “No! No! No! No! No!”

“Darling, please--”

“You abandoned me!” I wailed, years of pent up anguish spilling out at once, “You left me here! That is not just a shock! That is not something you get to brush aside like it wasn’t a big deal. You traded me away for your freedom and now you have the gall to come back here and ask for my help?”

“It was a lot more complicated than that--”

“No it wasn’t! You had a choice and you chose your freedom over me! Your daughter! You didn’t even try coming back for me!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I endured after I was forced to leave you.”

“Forced? You were not forced. You could have told Peter no when he asked you to trade me. You could have kept me and we could have stayed together. We’d be marooned here but at least we would have been together.” I kicked him in the center of his chest so he went falling backwards. The other adults tensed, weapons aimed but no one made a move to stop me as I towered over him.

“And do not tell me that you endured anything like it was a struggle. I spent months alone on the beaches praying that you would return. I cried myself to sleep and pleaded with the universe to send you back to me. When I was finally given a chance to be reunited with you do you know what I found? I found you in a tavern drinking and having a merry time without me. I wasn’t even a thought in your head!”

“Starfish--”

“I am not your starfish! I am not your daughter! You do not get to call me that after what you did. After what you put me through. You betrayed me! You traded me to our enemy and you didn’t even care!”

“I’m here now though.”

“But not for me.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You knelt before me but it wasn’t with apologies or words of reassurance that you had come to rescue me. No. You returned and asked for my help like you have any right to it. Do not look for me again. Do not talk to me again. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Starfish, please,” He grabbed my arm, “Let me explain.”

“Let go of me!” I tried to pull my arm free.

“Hook, I think you should--” One of the other adults tried to intercede.

“No!” He pulled me closer, “Please, darling, I need you to listen to me. If you just give me the chance to explain then everything will be alright. We’ll get Henry and we’ll leave. You can leave this place and we can be a family again. I know I hurt you but we can still fix this.”

“You are not my family! I want nothing to do with you!” I kicked at him but he held me tighter.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Let go of me!”

“Starfish--”

“PETER!” I screamed. A hand was quickly clamped over my mouth but it was too late. Ominous clouds started to roll in casting the jungle into darkness. One of the adults conjured a ball of fire in her hands, the only source of light as the others strained to see in the dark. I felt a tingle go up my spine and relaxed.

“Get your hands off her.” Peter’s voice growled from the shadows. Father’s grip on me slackened for just a moment and I took the hesitation to rip myself away from him. I could make out Peter’s eyes glinting almost like a cat’s in the darkness and ran for him. He caught me in his arms and smoothed my hair, “Hush now, precious, it’s alright.”

“Pan,” Father barked, “Give me back my daughter!”

“And my son!” One of the women yelled.

“Neither of them are going anywhere. Especially not my Lost Girl.” Peter grinned. His thumb traced over my cheek wiping the tears that had fallen away, “Did the awful man make you cry, my love?”

I nodded. Peter pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Love?” The other man in the group spoke his eyes wide in disbelief. He turned to father, “Your daughter is dating Peter Pan?”

“No…” Father looked horrified as he took in our body language. "My daughter would never--"

"Well she's not your daughter anymore. She ceased to be yours the moment you sent her to me.” Peter held me closer, “And I swear if you try taking her I will gut every last one of you.”

“Remove whatever spell you placed over her!”

“There is no spell. Did you really think that you could leave her here for decades and that she would still be the loyal pirate you had set adrift in a rowboat? I welcomed her to my island as an equal, I made sure she was provided for and looked after. Then in time she welcomed me as her friend and eventually as her lover.” Peter’s smile grew wide with that sadistic edge I loved. “She makes just the cutest noises.”

“You vile bastard!” Father charged at us with his blade drawn and murder in his eyes. The next moment Peter and I were standing on the beach by my hut.

“Was that last comment so necessary?” I asked.

“You can’t blame me wanting to torture him a little after what he did.” Peter chuckled lightly. “But how are you, my love? I told you to stay here. Why did you go wandering?”

“I was bored and lonely so…” I shrugged. My body was still shaking.

Peter sighed and kissed my forehead. “Hush, my love, I can’t imagine what you must have been thinking seeing him again.”

“I said what I wanted to. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough though. I don’t think I can accurately put into words what he made me feel. He could never understand what I endured because of him.” More tears started to slip from my eyes. Peter brushed them away.

“Come back to camp,” He said, “I want to be able to watch over you.”

I nodded, too emotionally exhausted to fight him on this. We drew curious glances when we entered camp. One of the boys I did not recognize and I realized I now had a face to pair with the heart Peter needed. Peter ignored everyone’s whispering and led me to his tent.

“Will you be okay in here?” Peter asked. “If you need me I’ll be right outside.”

“I’m fine.”

“One second,” he left and came back with a canteen and a bowl of food. “In case you get hungry. I also grabbed a couple books from your hut in case you wanted something to do. Do you need anything else?”

“Can you sit here with me for a minute? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, precious,” He sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. “You’d tell me if you really aren’t doing well, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” I buried my face in his neck. “Peter, I don’t know what game you are playing with these adults but if I can I want to be a part of it.”

“You already know why I won’t allow that.”

“Peter,” I fisted a hand in his tunic, “If you have the chance, leave Hook alive.”

“Why should I let that worm breathe after what he put you through?” Peter spat, “I should have killed him the second I saw him trying to take you.”

“No. Leave him alive and leave him to me.” Venom started to drip into my voice, “I want to be the one to kill him.”

---

(Previous) (Next)

[beautifulletdownfics]

Terrible to Meet You - A Harry Styles One Shot - Act 2, Let not the time discern

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Harry wants to get out of the house. Alex wants to get home.

Alex meets Harry at at crossroads. Harry meets Alex on a one way street.

A coffee shop OU fic feat. lattes, lamingtons & that Great Unfathomable Feeling.

Story Page Here My Masterlist Here

Read Act 1, If at first we meet Here

++

Two of Us:  'This universe ain't big enough to keep us apart'

&&&

Harry went back to the cafe the next day. (And, after that, every day for a medium while)

There was something about it. Something about the tiny cafe he must have walked past a hundred times before but never took much notice of. Perhaps it was the way he felt the rest of the day after having been there. Or the fact the coffee was fucking good. But also maybe it was her—kind eyes, a foreign accent and a quick wit. It would take Harry's mind and body marginally longer than his heart to recognise what pulled him there. 

Alex was surprised when he returned. Part of her was relieved, too. The other part of her was busy extracting the dagger of guilt that shot through her chest. Seeing Harry reminded her that she forgot to tell her flatmates the juicy The Daily Dose gossip about Harry Styles. And Harry walking up to the window a little before 8 am with a calm but reassuring smile on his face made something in her still, and Alex realised he wasn't gossip at all. 

"Hi," he greeted her pleasantly, seemingly thinking nothing of the way his hand was tucked into the top of his running shorts to extract his phone for payment. (Alex's heart did a lusty little backflip) She saw a slither of a toned tummy and the way the elastic of the shorts folded over itself, "I'm back for more," he said.

More coffee, and more of whatever else it was packaged into the takeaway cups with it. Alex and Paul were Harry's first human interaction after returning from LA. And, where 24 hours prior his aching need had been to see literally anybody, it was now just a need to see more of this somebody. A person whose name he didn't know yet and who Harry had absolutely no reason to feel connected to at all. Knitted hearts aren't visible to the human eye, not when it isn't Looking.

He did though. Although the way she was now watching him with a completely blank expression on her face and a far off look in her eyes made Harry's confidence falter. He repeated what he'd already said over in his head looking for where he might've gone wrong. Harry came up blank. Was she completely freaked out by him already?

Paul rescued her from what Alex was sure was turning into a flushed moment for her. Did Harry really not realise what he'd said with his fingers beyond the elastic of his shorts? Paul's head appeared over her shoulder as a frown started to appear on Harry's face, "Careful Harry, she's a grump today."

Nobody blinked an eye at Paul using Harry's name before it was technically given to them. 

"I am not," Alex insisted too quickly, too forcefully. Her elbow launched backwards, trying to catch Paul's gut. She really was a grump. But last night's wine was still causing her head to thump and her throat to ache. Tears and a bottle of red worked well in the moment but weren't as comforting the morning after. 

Paul's eyebrows rose in Harry's direction, and he waved a hand out in front of him, expertly weaving away from her attack even in the tiny space, "See?"

"Ah," Harry nodded awkwardly and briefly looked at his feet.

"Doesn't like it when I start talking about universe stuff," Paul explained loudly, despite nobody asking for him to. "Very spiritually pragmatic, the Australians."

"Didn't know that," Harry added, expression turning to one of interest. He wasn't involved in this part of the conversation the previous day.

"Long black?" Alex asked because yes she remembered his order, and she had the defence of it having been less than 24 hours since she last made Harry's coffee in case anyone started raising eyebrows for another reason.

"Uh, yeah," Harry fumbled over how quickly the exchange turned to business, "Thank you."

She got to work but felt Harry's eyes on her as her hands ran on autopilot, stepping through the process. The click click of the bean hopper, the churn of the grinder, packing the head … Alex put the machine on to run and internally cursed Paul, who took himself into the back room, mumbling something about them running low on serviettes. A blatant lie. 

Now, when she turned back to Harry, she tried to look calm and serene, like him. But she was already covered in coffee grind and couldn't be sure there wasn't a smudge of it across her face. Paul never told her when there was. Harry's heart was waving to hers widely.

"So … You're definitely not in a bad mood then?" Harry had an expression on his face that told Alex he was testing the waters, but the teasing note was there in just the right amount. 

"I'm hungover, which is completely different," she provided.

His smile turned into a grimace, "Oh yeah, completely … Nothing worse … Self-inflicted misery."

Alex tried not to let Harry's awkwardness affect her and in doing so fell into an old pastime of hers; filing the silence with mindless chatter, "Exactly. And then if you add in some idiot going on about the universe and it's wonderful, eternal plans for my existence … I could just kill a man, you know?"

Paul, Paul is the man I could kill, she thought.

He didn't know, but Harry nodded obediently anyway, "You need carbs and coffee, not the cosmos."

"Thank you," Alex gave Harry a look that told him she thought it was obvious the two of them were right, "I mean, the downright gall of that man, trying to put the universe on me this year of all years. Absolutely bloody insane."

Harry tried to hide the instant smile that came to his face hearing her accent navigate absolutely bloody insane. "I'm Harry … By the way … Feel like we're at names."

"Alexandra. But it's Alex." She added quickly, ignoring the lovely, melodic chuckle that came from Harry, "Do you really think that this year, with a global pandemic, anyone can claim that the universe is conspiring for their specific good? Like, 'Sorry everyone about the pandemic, this is really about my destiny, so you're all just going to have to hang tight while that all falls into place!' This is a terrible year. The universe isn't setting up shit."

"Well, it's terrible to meet you, Alex," Harry grinned, stealing her word. She really was in a grump, and he loved it. But if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was charm and disarm. He had a feeling nothing would look as lovely as Alex with a blush he'd put there. 

Alex paused where she was about to put the lid on his coffee. She felt her cheeks heat as the last few moments played over in her head—her ranting, Harry's introduction, threatening to murder a man—and then she took in the way he was watching her. A little pink-cheeked himself, amused but not appalled, a waiting look of anticipation on his face for what might come out of her big mouth next. 

"I think I might still be a little drunk," she excused meekly. Despite herself, Alex thought she might have a little crush.

"You're handling it well," Harry provided kindly, taking the coffee from where Alex put it down in front of him. He waved his phone over the payment portal, waiting for the beep before locking the screen and going back to looking at her, "Drinking for any particular reason?"

"Oh," Alex's eyes widened, "I—

—"Sorry, that was intrusive of me."

"No, it's okay," she continued quietly, not seeing the way her softening had Harry frowning in concentration to tune into what she was about to say, "I've been trying to get home—back to Australia—for a while now. Flights keep getting cancelled or, on Saturday, I was bumped from one at Heathrow…. So we're back to square one."

Dread filled Harry instantly. He could see how upset Alex was, the heartache in her voice—the homesickness—and he hated this look on her, the opposite to the one he'd just daydreamed about. If there was one thing Harry knew it was what it was to miss home. There was no cure for it. A dozen ways he could offer to help burst to the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. 

"I'm sorry, that's really shit. Have …" he hesitated to ask, "Have they put you on another one?"

She smiled through glassy eyes, "It's complicated, that's not really how flights home are working at the moment … But it's alright! I'm fine. I'll get there eventually. I got the refund for the first one, back in April, last week and Paul's let me come back to work here three times now so … This can't last forever, right?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that, he was in no hurry to return to his house as he took a sip of his coffee, "How long has it been since you were home?"

"I went back for a visit a little over two years ago," Alex flipped a button on the espresso machine in front of her, to distract herself from the subject but also the way Harry was watching her. If only she could see the way the hearts were watching each other. She started rinsing out her coffee mug under the stream of boiling water, "My sister came over for Christmas last year, though."

"I just got back from America," Harry provided without knowing where the urge to comfort this stranger was coming from, "I was only gone a few months, and it was a little hard to get back, it felt dreadful, so I can't imagine what it's like for you. That's a long time to be so far from home, especially now."

While he spoke, Alex started making herself a latte, for something to do in the moment and for something to hold onto if Harry stayed at the window. 

"How long have you been in London?" He asked. How long have you been just around the corner? Harry thought. 

When she looked over at him, Harry felt like she was seeing through him. There was something about her soft, brown eyes and the way they exuded kindness that had him buoyant with giddiness at the same time as feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

"Four years now," Alex told him, "Was supposed to be just a 12-month adventure."

"Your family must miss you then."

She shrugged, "I think they're used to it now. Life moves on without you, which is strange at first. Tough to get used to, that the people who own you suddenly have lives you only know about from catch-ups and Instagram posts."

Harry didn't know how to tell her that he knew exactly what she meant. He'd been struggling with that very notion for years now. Home never left like the same home he remembered, and wherever he found himself living—LA or the road—never quite felt right either. 

"I've loved it though," Alex added, "Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't. This year though … I just want to be home, London's… Lost something."

Harry watched her shake herself out of the sad moment, her face brightened, and he barely registered the way Alex said in a genuinely upbeat fashion that she'd just have to wait for her time. He smiled along with the rising of her cheeks and felt like he saw a transition between two feelings that was entirely healthy and okay. She wasn't pretending. Her graciousness and patience with life were astounding, despite the fact he'd equally seen her sadness as being genuine as well. The balance there was enlightening. 

"Need to make the most of the bonus time you've been given here then," he tried hesitantly. The hearts nodded at each other, gleefully. 

That had been the right thing to say, the smile on Alex's face amplified in agreement, "Exactly.”

3AM 'She's got a little bit of something' &&&

Alex was sitting on an upturned milk crate as Harry rounded the corner. 

His step faltered but only because she was looking right at him as if expecting him to arrive. He smiled under his mask and tugged it down while he was still a reasonable distance away. Alex smiling at him, holy hell did that taste—the flavour of her spirit—feel good in Harry's chest. Each day for nearly a month he'd felt the same way every time he saw her.

Alex received a text message from Harry just after 7 am that morning. Unlike the ones he sent every other day telling her he was on his way (an old fashioned tip from his sister, to demonstrate to Alex that Harry was thinking of her) that morning Harry told her he wouldn't see her until the afternoon. All day, she waited. Her heart tapped its foot impatiently in her chest, a nervous ticking that made Alex clumsy and disappointed when every new customer wasn't him.

"Hello," Harry grinned back at her, because that was all he could do, really. In her presence happiness exploded out of him and charged his whole body faster than caffeine ever could. His shoe scuffed the concrete path again as he looked at the closed cafe behind her, "Did I miss something?"

Harry stopped a safe distance from her, not sure how this new level of interaction would go. He'd never seen her whole body all at once, part of her was always obscured by the cafe window. Alex in the flesh—in the whole—was like the first taste of chilli on his tongue, invigorating in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.

"We close at three every day," she stayed seated but pushed another crate towards him with her foot. There were brown smudges of coffee grind all up and down her shins, and he guessed the black jeans she wore to work were strategic.

Harry squinted the sign on the window by the door, he was always occupied by her and didn't need arbitrary activities like reading signs to keep him entertained waiting for his coffee, "Really?"

"You usually come in the morning," Alex said pleasantly, waiting for him to sit down opposite her, "Here."

Harry was overwhelmed, he really was, by the sight of a white takeaway cup in her hand, and he reached for it carefully, "What's this—Alex."

"Can't have you missing your coffee … Made it right before closing, had to put the tiniest drop of milk in there otherwise it would shit itself and taste horrendous," she laughed at his wrinkled nose at the mention of milk, he sniffed the lid just to tease her or to get her to roll her eyes at him blithely. It worked, "It won't kill you, promise."

"Says someone whose intestines know how to handle lactose without making you shit yourself," he borrowed her phrase. Sounded better when Alex said it, with the wideness and the breadth of her accent. 

Alex tilted her head back and laughed. Really laughed and Harry didn't have it in him to be embarrassed or scold himself for how he just spoke about his bowels in front of her, because the sound is marvellous and so Alex. It's unapologetic and genuine and a touch off-beat, which he loves. 

"Holy shit," she let out a long, shaking breath afterwards, holding a palm to her rib as if in pain. She was pretending not to notice how Harry stared at her while she was laughing as if extremely happy with himself. "You wear white bottoms far too often for that to be a daily worry for you."

"Oh, it's a worry," Harry insisted, mainly to keep the joke going. He felt like his face was about to crack in half, "I can't have people spiking my coffees without my knowledge," Harry took a sip but then pointed his finger at her playfully, "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you."

As if he wasn't already.

"Busy day?" Alex asks, watching Harry take a hearty sip of the coffee she made him.

"Yeah, I um … I had some, ah, work stuff."

"Oh?" Alex crossed one leg over the other and looked at Harry with (mock) interest, "What do you do for work?"

Harry's eyes bulged involuntarily, and his mind went completely blank. Did she actually not know? 

Alex only let the horror play on his face for a few seconds, "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. Jesus, Harry, sorry. I was just having a go."

"You're an excellent actress, as it turns out," he swallowed down the moment of panic. It only ever happened once before, years before, that a girl he'd been interested in hadn't known who Harry was beforehand. It hadn't ended up going down well.

Alex asks Harry about the book recommendation she sent him the week before, whether he'd started reading it yet. 

Harry held up a finger at her, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he said, "But I haven't had lunch … I'd promised myself one of Paul's ham and cheese croissants."

"Well, you're shit out of luck, unfortunately," Alex told him, "He takes the keys with him, I can't break in and make you one. But the cafe on the high street around the corner stays open until five. You could try there?"

Harry felt like he was about to defecate himself, but it wasn't from the lactose, "Will you join me?"

Alex's eyes brightening instantly, but Harry didn't miss the way her cheeks reddened, "Sure. Of course."

"Great!" Harry coughed down his too-enthusiastic response then worried—as everyone did in 2020—that his physical reaction to her saying yes, the cough, would be interpreted as a symptom of something else entirely. He checks the time on his Apple Watch, "Should we go then?"

They walk in step away from The Daily Dose, and away from the previous pattern of their friendship. It strikes them both that this is the first time (both trip over 'first' in their minds as having the possibility to suggest it happening more often but their hearts have known all along, of course) they were out in the world together, the first time they were more than barista and customer.

Harry's hand touched Alex's forearm when they got to the cafe's door as he held it open and encouraged her to go inside. They ordered takeaway, Harry got a croissant (he was still working on the coffee Alex made him) while Alex ordered a tea. They then walked back a little way to where there was a small park with vacant seats Harry noticed on the way past. 

"So, the book …" Alex asked him, the lid of her tea is off to let the heat escape. She’d crossed her legs and angled her hips towards him on the bench seat. Harry faced forward, heart hammering as he tried to remember how to use his voice.

Harry struggled to look dignified while biting into his too-hot croissant, the cheese burnt his lip, but he tried to hide it, "Oh, yeah, well, I haven't started it."

"I thought you said you wanted to speak to me about it!" She laughed.

"A ploy," Harry admitted sheepishly, "Was trying to figure out how to ask you to come with me."

In her head, Alex squealed. Her heart held two thumbs up at Harry's.

"How's the coffee," she asked, eyeing the cup in his hand.

Harry grins, knowing his next line is a winner, "Best in London, easily."

+++

GIve me all your best Alex & Harry theories Act 3, Hearts beat not fail - coming soon!

+++

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[miserablesme]

The Les Miserables Changelog Part 5: 1992 UK Tour

Hello, everyone! This is the latest edition in my attempt to chronicle all of the musical and lyrical changes which the show Les Miserables has undergone over the years. Much like the last part, this one focuses on changes made not to the official libretto, but to one particular production: namely, the 1992-1994 UK tour. However, in contrast to the last part, the vast majority of these changes at least made it elsewhere at some point. This will be a bit longer than Part 4, but still shorter than any of the first three parts. With all that cleared up, let us begin!

Like the West End production before it (more on that later), the UK tour swapped these lines from "At the End of the Day":

What is this fighting all about?

Will someone tear these two apart?

He thus instead sings:

Will someone tear these two apart?

What is this fighting all about?

The first noticeable difference original to this production occurs during "Lovely Ladies". Originally after Fantine's "Ten francs will save my poor Cosette", there was a rather complex section in which the sailors and prostitutes sung different lines simultaneously. It went as follows:

(SAILORS - simultaneously with prostitutes' lines)

Lovely lady, fastest on the street

Wasn't there three minutes

She was back up on her feet

Lovely lady, what you waiting for

Doesn't take a lot of savvy just to be a whore

Come on lady, what's a lady for?

(PROSTITUTES - simultaneously with sailors' lines)

Lovely ladies, lovely little girls

Lovely ladies, lovely little ladies

Lovely girlies, lovely little girls

We are lovely, lovely girls

Lovely ladies, what's a lady for?

The UK tour totally reimagines this scene as an exchange between a prostitute and a pimp:

(PROSTITUTE)

God I'm weary, sick enough to drop

Belly burns like fire

Will the bleeding never stop?

(PIMP)

Cheer up dearie, show a happy face

Plenty more like you, dear

If you can't keep up the pace

(PROSTITUTE)

Only joking, dearie knows her place

This is quite a massive departure from the original! I imagine it would be quite a bit easier to get right given that it involves only two actors, neither of whose dialog overlaps the other (in contrast to the original scene with an entire ensemble of actors with distinct but simultaneous lyrics and tunes). It's hard for me to decide what I prefer. Thematically, the revised version is better, given that it makes the negative and exploitative aspects of prostitution quite a bit clearer than the original. However, lyrically I prefer the original somewhat simply for the sake of consistency. The sick prostitute scene, as it's sometimes been called, is the only point in the entire song where that chorus is used without some variation of the words "lovely ladies". Feels a little out-of-place to me.

"Fantine's Arrest" also gets different lyrics - for a time, at least. I have two different audios from the UK tour, from April and December 1992 respectively. The December audio reverts to the original lyrics for Bamatabois (though not for Fantine). I wonder whether or not someone just forgot to tell the replacement Bamatabois about the lyrical edit, or if it was a conscious choice to revert the scene? I also wonder if the year-plus of the tour after that performance kept the original lyrics or put the new ones in again. Regardless, this is how the exchange between Fantine and Bamatabois originally went:

(BAMATABOIS)

Is this a trick? I won't pay more

(FANTINE)

No, not at all

(BAMATABOIS)

You've got some nerve, you little whore

You've got some gall!

It's the same with a tart as it is with a grocer

The customer sees what he gets in advance

It's not for the whore to say "yes sir" or "no sir"

It's not for the harlot to pick or to choose

Or to lead me a dance

The UK tour initially revised the sequence into the following:

(BAMATABOIS)

Is this a trick? I won't pay more

(FANTINE)

I won't have you

(BAMATABOIS)

You've got some sauce, you ugly slut

You've got some gall!

What's become of the world when a whore from the gutter

Can suddenly get such ideas in her head?

Your job is to lie on your back for your betters

This hideous harlot believes she can choose

Who she takes to her bed

I guess the revised lyrics feel a bit more threatening, as well as a little less contrived. (Who the hell has ever actually used the phrase "lead me a dance"?) Still, I prefer the original ones because the rhyme scheme feels a lot more natural.

More changes occur during "The Runaway Cart". The original (rather clunky) conversation among the townspeople was as follows (with each line separate due to being said by a different person than the previous one):

Look at that

Look at that

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent

Don't approach

Don't go near

At the risk of your life

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

Stay away

Turn away

There is nothing to do

There is nothing to do

The UK tour rewrites most of the scene into the following:

Look at that

Stay away

You'll be crushed by the cart

Don't approach

Don't go near

It'll fall on you too

Oh my god, who is that?

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

A far more natural progression in my humble opinion, and less repetitive as well.

The later scene involving the townspeople doesn't actually include any lyrical changes. However, like the West End production before it (more on that later), it does take lines that were previously in the singular into ensemble lines. The sequence was generally being performed as follows:

(MALE TOWNSPERSON)

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

The load is as heavy as hell

(FEMALE TOWNSPERSON)

The old man is a goner for sure

(MALE TOWNSPERSON)

It will kill you as well

The UK tour instead staged it as follows:

(MALE TOWNSPERSON)

Don't go near him, Monsieur Mayor

(ENSEMBLE)

The load is as heavy as hell

(FEMALE TOWNSPERSON)

The old man is a goner for sure

(ENSEMBLE)

It will kill you as well

This ensemble business, which was already being used in the West End at the time, is an interesting callback, perhaps, to the pre-Broadway libretto in which much of the segment was sung by the ensemble. Personally I consider this edit an improvement. It feels far more frantic when the entire crowd is involved in the scene.

Once Valjean actually saves Fauchelevent, his lines are originally as follows:

Monsieur Le Maire, I have no words

You come from God, you are a saint

The UK tour changes them into the following:

Monsieur Le Maire, I have no words

You saved my life, you come from God

I guess the rewrite makes the reason for Fauchelevent's gratitude clearer, though it was already perfectly clear to begin with. The edit certainly doesn't hurt anything though.

The preamble to "Master of the House" retains the original "Hell, what a wine" instead of the post-Broadway "God, what a wine" edit.

Similarly, the "Waltz of Treachery" number has Thenardier ask the original "Have we done for your child what is best?" instead of the post-Broadway "her child".

A slight variation can be heard after the “Waltz of Treachery”. Usually Little Cosette asks:

Will there be children

And castles to see?

However, in the UK tour she instead asks:

Will there be castles

And children to see?

This variation also occurs in some early post-Broadway West End performances, and in the Complete Symphonic Soundtrack. I’d be interested to know whether or not that soundtrack may have inspired the choice during the UK a tour.

Interestingly, “Look Down” reverts an exchange back from the 1987 libretto into the original pre-Broadway version. Perhaps drawing from the West End show which was still using the original variant of this particular moment, the sequence officially sung by the ensemble as follows as follows:

When’s it gonna end

When’re we gonna live

Something’s gotta happen now or

Something’s gotta give

Because, as it was originally written, sung by one person at a time:

When’s it gonna end

When’re we gonna live

Something’s gotta happen, dearie

Something’s gotta give

My thoughts on the two variants can be seen in Part 3 of this blog.

Like the Australian tour, the UK tour has Thenardier say "God rewards all the things that you do" during "The Robbery" instead of "the good that you do".

Also, for some reason Thenardier refers to "the brand across his chest" instead of "upon his chest" later in the number.

The UK tour borrows the revised lyrics to “Stars” from the Australian tour and the West End production. Instead of the original lyrics:

A fugitive running

Fallen from grace, fallen from grace

It used these ones:

A fugitive running

Fallen from God, fallen from grace

Instead of these lines:

He knows his way in the dark

But mine is the way of the Lord

And those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward

It uses the shortened variants:

He knows his way in the dark

Mine is the way of the Lord

Those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward

Finally, instead of these lines:

And so it has been

And so it is written

It used these ones:

And so it must be

And so it has written

You can read my thoughts on all those differences in Part 4 of this blog.

The next noticeable difference occurs at the beginning of “Red and Black”. Previously the song opened with the beginning chords. However, the UK tour added a short musical sting before these chords. If I’m not mistaken, this musical addition was placed in to account for a change in staging. Originally the number began with the barricade set sliding off-stage, revealing the ABC cafe set behind it. However, around the time of this tour the blocking was adjusted. Now, the turntable instead revolved at the beginning of this number, revealing the ABC cafe set on the other end of the turntable and allowing the barricade set to double as the walls of the cafe. I believe the opening sting was added to allow time for this slightly more elaborate staging.

Additionally, as was the case in the West End at the time, no one shouts Enjolras' name during the instrumentals to "Red and Black".

In “Red and Black”, Enjolras usually sings:

We need a sign

To rally the people, to call them to arms

To bring them in line

However, the UK tour replaces it with the following lines:

We need a sign

To rally the people, to fire their blood

And to bring them in line

I guess “fire their blood” has a certain idealistic flair that fits Enjolras’ character, but I still definitely prefer the usual lyric. It conveys the message a lot more directly.

After the number, this is Enjolras’ original remark regarding General Lamarque’s passing:

On his funeral day they will honor his name

It’s a rallying cry that will reach every ear

In the death of Lamarque we will kindle the flame

They will see that the day of salvation is near

The time is here…

The UK tour rewrites those lines into the following:

On his funeral day they will honor his name

With the light of rebellion ablaze in their eyes

From their candles of grief we will kindle our flame

On the tomb of Lamarque shall our barricades rise

The time is here…

Though there’s a bit less rhyming in the revision, it strikes me as somewhat nicer and less clunky-sounding. The sentences’ subjects no longer feel all over the place, and the phrasing is far more poetic.

As with “Look Down”, some lyrics to “The Attack on Rue Plumet” are reverted to their original form (which was also still used in the West End at the time). Thenardier’s official lyrics following Eponine’s scream were as follows:

You wait my girl, you’ll rue this night

I’ll make you scream, you’ll scream alright!

Leave her to me, don’t wait around

Make for the sewers, go underground

The UK tour brought them back to this form:

Make for the sewers, don’t wait around

Leave her to me, go underground

You wait my girl, you’ll rue this night

I’ll make you scream, you’ll scream alright!

You can read my thoughts on these variants in Part 3 of this blog.

As with the Australian tour, Philip Quast changes “we’ll be ready for these schoolboys” into “I will join these little schoolboys” in “One Day More”. Unlike the Australian tour, the UK tour would maintain this variant even after Philip left. You can read my thoughts on this variant in Part 4 of this blog.

That’s it for the first act! The first noticeable difference occurs right before “A Little Fall of Rain”. Instead of opening with the beginning music, the UK tour added a short musical interlude beforehand. In my opinion, this music sounds terrible and feels extremely out-of-place. I wonder whether or not there was some change in staging to account for these extra notes.

After Enjolras' "Night of Anguish", the instrumental music is edited. Originally the number was followed by the same tune which would later be heard in "Drink with Me". However, the UK tour replaced it with a reprise of the tune of "A Little Fall of Rain". This is one of my least favorite edits for the tour. The original music felt highly emotional, and, since it predicted a later number, it implies the sense that, despite Eponine's death, there is more to come and the revolution is far from over. I'd argue that simply reprising a song that just happened suggests a degree of closure that is not appropriate for its context.

Everything is as usual right up until the epilogue. As with the Australian tour, the UK tour uses the “I’ll lead you to salvation” line instead of “And lead me to salvation” for Fantine and Eponine. You can read my thoughts on that change in Part 4 of this blog.

That’s it for this part! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what’s commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I’d love it if you DMed me! Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye…

[gdcee]

Road to Nowhere

Pairing: Loki/Sigyn - mild, might have to squint to see it.

Summary: Loki and Sigyn talk while she escorts him to Kid Loki's Kingdom.

Warnings: Panic attack.

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

"You know I'm only going to keep pestering you until I have the answer."

"I wish you luck in your endeavour," Sigyn returned coolly, stepping lightly as she began to climb the massive pile of garbage blocking their path. "Nevertheless, my lips remain sealed."

Loki huffed, a slight quirk at the corner of his lips which was not quite a smirk. He set off after her, determined to be the first to the summit of Rubbish Peak.

He had to admit he was quite intrigued by that tantalising crumb of information this Sigyn (so very like and yet not quite like his own) had dangled before him. Of course he was curious about the identity of the lucky bastard who had won her fidelity.

All he had was a preferred pronoun. That at least eliminated half of his (admittedly rather short to begin with) list of possible lucky bastards.

After he had gone through the list (which did not take long because as stated earlier, it was really quite short), he started throwing out random names to see if any of them got a reaction.

No such luck.

His attempts to tease and fluster the information out of her had been just as ineffective.

Her reaction to his puppy dog eyes routine had been...perplexing. He'd gotten one soft, achingly tender smile before a heavy melancholy had descended upon her. Like the dark shadow of a mourning veil stealing the brightness from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks.

She had not reprimanded him, but he made a note not to pull that trick again anyway. Besides the practical reasons for keeping her goodwill (survival, information, mental stimulation), the simple fact was that she was Sigyn.

He didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Not anymore.

Being a harmless annoyance and pest was still perfectly acceptable though.

He stood atop the great mound of refuse, his hands and face smeared with oil and other liquids of questionable origin, grinning triumphantly down at Sigyn. He vanished the grime he'd accumulated before gallantly holding out his hand to her.

Sigyn huffed a soft little laugh, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

Loki glanced down to where they had started and noted that it was a long drop. Not nearly enough to kill an Asgardian or a Frost Giant, but enough to hurt.

Trust.

It made him feel as giddy as the first time he'd tasted the enchanted, heady liquid gold that was the mead brewed from honey harvested from the hives of the talking bees that resided near Iðunn's famous apple orchards.

"Ahem."

Loki realised with no small degree of embarrassment that he was still holding Sigyn's hand. He hurriedly worked a spell to remove the dirt under her fingernails and let go. Then to cover up his embarrassment, he resumed pestering.

"I don't understand why the identity of your beau necessitates such secrecy," he sighed with the lightest touch of a pleading whine, "Do you think I would object to your taste? He can't possibly be worse than Theoric."

"I think my life choices are none of your business."

"Exactly! You should forget about my opinion. Shout his name to the world and damn the naysayers and killjoys."

"I would but sadly, Alioth has a sense of hearing."

With that, she picked up a flat sheet of metal lying loose and proceeded to slide down Rubbish Peak on the improvised board. Despite being only at most a quarter Ljósálfar on her mother's side, she moved with their characteristic effortless grace.

Loki peered down, did a couple of quick mental calculations and snapped his fingers. He disappeared from the summit with a flare of green light and reappeared at the bottom no more than a second later in similar fashion.

"Good to see your teleport still works," Sigyn tossed her wind-mussed hair out of her face, "Why didn't you use it earlier to get to the top?"

"Too much debris and no decent eyeline. I didn't want to risk getting stuck under a foot of garbage." He frowned, pondering. "Still works?"

"Not a reference to you personally," she moved forward without looking behind to see if he followed, "Just something I noticed about some of the other Lokis around here."

"Power loss? Nothing to do with you and that coven of other Sigyns whose domain I and the other Lokis are forbidden from entering, I presume?"

"No, I've seen it even in Lokis on their first trepass - if something is limiting their power it's not us. In any case, we would never do anything to permanently disable a Loki's magic. There's just some things you don't do to a fellow mage, you know?"

"You just rough them up a little and kick them off the property?"

"More or less. Except for the kid and alligator."

"Do I want to know how one instance of me ended up as a semi-aquatic Midgardian reptile?"

"You can ask him yourself when we get to the Kid's Kingdom," she paused for a moment, as if she'd just remembered something, "Or maybe not, I think only the old man you knows how to talk to him."

Loki blinked.

"There's an old me?" He asked, disbelieving, "As in a wizened, wrinkled, looks like your grandmother me?"

"Eh, not quite as old as Grandma Hretha. Maybe about 4,000? 5,000?" She shrugged, "Either way, your vanity may rest easy; you look perfectly fine as an old man."

"Thank you for that milquetoast endorsement of my future self's good looks," Loki said dryly, "I was more perturbed about...something else."

Curiouser and curiouser.

How had the aged variant escaped their destined end? How had he managed to grow old before the TVA arrived to arrest him for cheating his final death?

He thought about the tape featuring all the TVA approved highlights of his life.

He thought about that other Loki, the Loki who had played out the role assigned to him and how very young (the same face as his own) and terrified (the same fear as his own) he had looked with the Mad Titan's monstrous hand around his throat.

Loki swallowed thickly and pulled at the collar of his TVA issued office shirt which suddenly seemed far too tight. The tie impeded his work and as he struggled to loosen it he could feel his terror rising up to choke him.

there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you

inevitable

you think you know pain?

Inevitable

HE WILL MAKE YOU LONG FOR SOMETHING AS SWEET AS PAIN

He felt his legs buckle and his knees hit the ground as if it were happening to someone else.

"Loki!" Sigyn's voice was close but he heard it as if a great distance separated them, "Loki, breathe."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He wheezed.

"I am going to remove the tie and unfasten your collar," Sigyn continued as if she had not even noticed his rudeness, "I will need to touch you to do this. Alright?"

Needing help for such a pitifully simple task was galling. But he didn't want Sigyn to leave him. Loki managed a shaky nod. He let her ease his trembling, sweaty hands from his shirt collar. With quick, brisk movements she pulled the tie loose and tossed it somewhere to join the rest of the garbage.

"Follow my breathing now." Her voice was clearer to him now, more present. She was kneeling next to him, so close and warm and oh, her hair did still smell like apple blossoms. He watched the regular rise and fall of her chest and tried to match it. "That's it. Very good. Nice and slow."

Her fingers were at his throat for a mercifully short time. Just long enough to pop the top button loose and push the starched fabric away from his neck.

"Stay with me. You're doing very well. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out."

Without really thinking he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against the centre of his chest. Perhaps he was possessed by some irrational notion that the pressure against his breastbone could keep his thundering heart from beating right out of his chest.

She didn't try to pull away. Her hand was warm, even through the shirt fabric. She moved a little, and one of her dainty fingers slipped into the open gap of his unbuttoned collar and brushed against the dip between his clavicles. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before Sigyn's gentle prompting had him matching her rhythm once more.

"Feel better?" She asked after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, much." His chest still felt a little tight but the worst of that dreadful episode was over.

"Good." She lifted her hand from his chest and patted his shoulder firmly - a gesture that he had seen Týr bestow upon struggling Einherjar recruits after they'd passed the final leg of their training. "You did very well."

He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth praising. He'd collapsed like a pack of cards. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced terror but every time before now he had been able to push past it - stamp it down through sheer force of will and that primitive, animal part of his brain that knew that danger was never far away.

Why had he folded now? Now - when he was probably the most at ease he'd been in ages (months? Years? How long had it been since New York?) and the threat of Thanos was no longer an issue-

...a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Just out of curiosity," Loki tried to sound nonchalant, "Have you ever come across a fellow by the name of Thanos here?"

"Thanos?" Sigyn's brows drew together in a frankly rather adorable expression of pure befuddlement.

Ah. Well, at least he could place whatever nexus event had led to her pruning as occurring before Ragnarok and Thanos's massacre of half the Asgardian survivors.

"Big purple fellow," he explained, "Quite ugly, enormous chin, has rather disturbing ideas about resource management."

"Uh, no, I can't say that I've ever met anyone like that here."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I can swear on my magic if that would reassure you."

Sigyn had always been very leery about oaths, especially ones bound with magic. Most mages worth their salt were.

And yet...he couldn't really explain why, but he'd always felt like her issues with them were less about best practices and more about some personal grievance.

That she would offer him such a thing...

Loki felt completely undeserving.

"No," he said hurriedly, "No, no, it's fine. I...I trust you."

Sigyn smiled. It was the first real smile he'd seen so far and it was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud. He didn't know if it would last - if that melancholy from before would snatch away the sweetness of this moment.

So Loki ruined the moment before it could be stolen from him.

"...even though you refuse to tell me about your paramour."

Sigyn scoffed, all exasperation but it was better than seeing her sad.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you, I do try."

She snorted and shook her head. "Alright, come on, you goose," she helped him up, and even though his legs were slightly shaky, he stood and did not fall. "Our first rest stop is about 20 feet...thereaboutish-" she waved vaguely in the direction of a mostly empty grassy knoll upon which a gaggle of the oddest creatures scurried. They resembled iridescent headless chickens with little purple spheres hovering over their severed necks.

"I still think we should have taken the car."

"Ugh," Sigyn wrinkled her nose, "Cahrs. Nasty, noisy, smelly things. I swear, Midgard really went downhill after those monstrosities were invented. "

[stusbunker]

BGDC: Stay Down

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini-series

Featuring: Female Hunter!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Chuck and Jack

Written for: @supernatural-jackles​​ Tell Me A Story Bingo

Summary: Everything comes to a head. Can she do better this time? Is there anything worth salvaging? Chuck has his own thoughts.

Square filled: In Vino Veritas

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: THIS HURTS, Flashbacks in italics, canon-ish, verbal arguments, that pesky motherfucker HOPE, Chuck is still a dick.

Series Masterlist

Inherit the Earth con’t

    It had taken Sam two weeks to get out of Dean what happened, why she left. It was not his proudest moment, but the thought of her in their home made him sick. So, he had shown her the door. He thought he was her hero, he’d never imagined she’d treat him like a piece of meat.

    There were some lines that you shouldn’t cross and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive her that.

The drive to Sam and Jack feels like an eternity, even ignoring all traffic laws. The day is bright, but the impala rumbles garishly, a black omen. The static hiss of unmanned radio stations gives her something to do. She diligently sorts the tapes, finds something to fill the void. 

Melody as white noise. A band aid on a bullet wound. Dean can’t fix what’s been broken. But she never even tried.

Sam cries at the sight of her. She runs into his arms and he squeezes until he can’t any longer. An ounce of redemption in the ocean of guilt. Sam glances over her head to his brother, he feels the other shoe drop.

“Where’s Cas?” Jack’s obvious question echoes the shame in the new arrivals’ eyes. She holds her breath as Dean explains, like she’s waiting for his story before she can move on. Like he didn’t tell her either.

Sam aches with what he’s allowed to happen. The old internal rage gnashing at his gut as he screams in an abandoned restaurant. They’re what was left behind. All they have left to do is give Chuck what he wants.

His ending, at last.

Dean didn’t tell her what he and Sam were doing. Didn’t need an outside opinion on this one. Instead he asked her to keep an eye on Jack, knowing she’d say yes. He guessed he wasn’t done asking for things. The sight of Chuck makes him see red. But this was it, he’d die with his brother beside him. For the world.

When Chuck blows off their offer, he can’t say that he’s surprised. Disgusted, angry, regretful maybe, but Dean’s not surprised. 

The house always wins.

They crash at a motel for the night, everyone gets their own rooms for a change. She knocks on his door just after midnight with a bottled peace offering and her ratty sleep clothes. Dean doesn’t need this right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to be cruel.

“Where’d you get this?” Dean holds the amber liquid up to the light to read the label.

“Liquor store down the street. Don’t even feel bad for taking the five finger discount anymore,” she sighs and drops on the spare bed. “You gonna tell me about your little side mission or do I just get to guess at the outcome?”

Dean cracks the bottle open and sighs. “Bupkis. So, nothing to tell, really.”

She’s watching him for signs of lies, at least she’s not overtly antagonistic with her appraisal.

He offers her the bottle and she shakes her head. ‘Maybe she learned her lesson,’ he thinks and then takes a long pull off the glass rim.

“So, the Empty, huh?” Dean grimaces as she closes her eyes, taken aback.

“What makes you think I want to talk about it?” Her faces pinches and he is just too fucking tired.

“Because you always want to talk about it. It was kind of a thing.” Dean shrugs.

“I came to check on you, dumbass,” she mutters. He sits on his bed, leaves the bottle between them on the nightstand.

He doesn’t stop the sour hum that claws up his throat. He was trying to play nice, but she just had to keep on being the tough guy. “Funny, didn’t think you cared much what happened to me anymore, or how I feel about things at least.”

She has the gall to look surprised, but underneath it he sees she’s almost as tired as he is. “I did not come here looking for a fight. If you’ve got something to say to me--- Maybe you should remember who called who. And who dropped everything to help.”

“And I don’t seem to remember you doing too much of that,” Dean snaps back, turning his head only.

She pauses and Dean feels a little smug that he’s getting to her. But not nearly as much as he should. He cocks his eyebrows, waiting for her obvious answer.

She shoves him back on his proverbial heels instead. “We both know you were just keeping tabs on me. There wasn’t anything for me to do. And then I became a fucking bargaining chip. So screw you, Dean. I’m not here for a performance review.”

“I think we already established, no one is screwing anyone here,” Dean mutters, letting his head fall back against the wall. 

“Is that what this is about?! You are honestly bringing that shit up now?!”

“So what if I am? Better than acting like it never happened. Playing the fucking martyr,” Dean bites back. “I, at least, own my shit. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“You kicked me out! What was I supposed to do, wait on a damn cross until you finished your case?!” She still doesn’t get it. Dean’s chest is writhing with all the things they never buried.

“It doesn’t matter. We were family. And you threw it all away,” Dean lays it out.

“ME?!”

“Yes, you!” Dean’s standing, hunching over her, unleashing. “You had to make it about your feelings and the crush you had on me when we were kids. Don’t you see? It was more than that. We WERE more than that. But you were lonely, or horny or needed to drown your feelings. And you cheapened everything. And now---- we can’t even have a real conversation.”

It’s like he’s looking at a completely different person. He doesn’t even know her anymore. 

“Dean, I---” He cuts her off, this was entirely pointless.

“Don’t, okay? Just--- leave it. I’m gonna get some air.” Dean starts towards the door and slumps, half turned he continues, “Look, I’m glad you didn’t get stuck in the Empty. But Cas did---- And to be clear, this wasn’t ever about rebuilding bridges, it was about stopping Chuck. And we couldn’t manage that.--- But we can’t just go back to the way things were just because we’re all that’s left. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be--- for everybody.”

The heaviness of wasted effort sinks into his shoulders. Dean closes the door behind him with a gentle click. They both know she’ll be gone before he gets back.

No one left in the entire world and one of my oldest friends still doesn’t want me around. This wasn’t humble pie, it was a goddamn humility infused vat of pie filling. Not a spoon in sight.

Fuck him. Fucking pie metaphors even. Fucking brain.

I leave the damn whiskey, but I really want to throw it against the wall. Dump it in his boots. Bath in it. But I don’t. I give him his twenty paces and I duck out, bypass my room, Jack’s, and head back towards the liquor store. There was a pick-up I might be able to hot wire, if I remember where I saw it.

I mash my lips together to stop their quake, but everything keeps clawing its way up, centering itself in my way. I did this. The one person I needed to believe in me and I fucking ruined it. It was never about Amara, or Cas or him being too good for me. I just wanted what wasn’t there. 

The dirtiness slides down and clings to me, like a wet coat. An unwashable stain, that’s all my presence is anymore. I don’t want to be where I am unwanted, unneeded, unuseful. Well, useless really. But, I can’t lose Sam too. Not again and definitely not now. I stop when I spot the truck. 

Running isn’t going to mend what running severed.

Know better, do better.

I creep back to the motel and pretend to sleep. There are salt lines dried across my skin when Jack knocks on my door.

The sun still rises. Dean tosses his things in his bag, even the whiskey. Waste not want not. They’re heading home to regroup or to hide or just for something to do. He doesn’t care, but being out in the open feels like he’s leaving them open for an ambush, or Chuck’s prying eyes at the very least.

He knows they’re not safe from that anywhere. It just feels safer somehow.

Dean feels good in motion. Sam’s at his side, while she and Jack sit in their own quiet corners in the back. The looming reality of an empty planet unnoticeable on the backroads. Denial is a helluva drug.

So is hope. Good thing he kicked that one.

When they pull into the garage, he doesn’t even bother grabbing his duffel from the trunk. Dean bee lines for the hard stuff and no one even bats an eye.

Maybe he has always been that predictable. Maybe he no longer cares.

I’m sitting on my bed, flipping through an old photo album when Sam finds me. It’s been three days and the bunker just keeps getting hollower the longer we stay inside. It’s like Chuck is slowly strangling the oxygen from the air.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be the first one to break.

Dean’s too far into a pity party at the bottom of a bottle to be pushed off any one edge and Sam’s too good at keeping on. Of course, Jack is getting by on sheer purity of spirit.

“How you holding up?” Sam’s voice is scratchy, but familiar, I don’t know the last time we actually spoke. I don’t really make eye contact, but shrug all the same.

“You?” I ask, unnecessarily.

He sits down beside me, looking over my shoulder. He huffs out a laugh at one of the pictures.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep all of these,” Sam says as he reaches over and slides his finger tips over the poorly taped Polaroids.

“They were at Bobby’s for a while, but I dug them out of a storage unit after--- well, after I fucked things up with your brother. Figured they were all I had left after that.”

Sam inhales at my bluntness, cocks his head because it hurts to hear, but also doesn’t sit right. What a doof.

“Spit it out, Legs, I know you wanna say something,” I goad.

“I guess I don’t really--- what happened?” Sam’s eternal need to know things going for my weak spot. “I mean, Dean said you tried to put the moves on him, but I guess, why was it so horrible?”

“Well, I actually have some new information on that front,” I offer, turning to face him and placing the memories on the far side of the bed. 

Sam’s brows pitch. 

“Apparently, I--- cheapened everything. Dean thought whatever our relationship was, was more important than hooking up. And I made it all about me.”

“He said that?” Sam asks in a hush.

“Yup,” I huff out. “And a very firm, ‘there is no rebuilding bridges’,” I say in my best/worst Dean voice.

“Wow.” Sam looks to the ceiling then scratches the back of his head. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, I mean, I did kiss him. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had psyched myself up that entire night, misread everything. I’ve never been the one guys willingly go home with. I shouldn’t have forced it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve had---,” Sam breaks off when he thinks about my asshole ex.

“I’ve had a couple of real winners,” I finish for him. “But it’s okay. Because now we’re the last people on Earth. No one left to break my heart.”

I slap the edge of the mattress and lurch to my feet, ignoring the pain in Sam’s eyes. He just lost Eileen and here I am moping about something that happened over two years ago. Once a shitty friend, always a shitty friend.

“You can keep looking through that if you want. I’m gonna start dinner,” I add at the door.

Sam nods, but he doesn’t reach for the album. He just sits on my bed and chews the inside of his lips.

Jack’s feeling things and Sam’s looking at Dean with insistence, but Dean’s hungover-leeched brain is not putting things together.

“What?!” 

Sam grimaces, heavy on the bitch factor. “I think you should be the one to tell her we’ve got a lead. Meanwhile, I’ll start packing the car.”

“Great. Sure.” Dean does little to hide his disdain. Sam doesn’t budge.

He grunts through an explanation as she cleans her gun. Luckily, she doesn’t ask too many questions because the vibrations of his own voice are adding to the throbbing at the base of his skull. 

She slips him a bottle of painkillers before ducking into the back seat next to Jack. He doesn’t say thank you, but he knows she knows he’s grateful. They used to be able to do that, not as easily as he and Sam, but silent communication was possible, once.

He gets them on the road before noon, the familiar feel of the wheel in his hands steadies Dean until the pain starts to subside. The soft, yet urgent Jack-P-S guiding their way.

They stop for an inevitable pitstop and Dean gets hit with a pure dose of that damning hope. A white, shaggy dog is laying outside the men’s room and his face breaks into a smile for the first time in weeks. It’s the proof he needed aside from Jack’s fuzzy radar.

Chuck didn’t get everything.

He scoops the dog up and shows him off to Sam, forgetting entirely about his need to pee. He sets the sudden miracle in the backseat, promises there’ll be enough room for him.

That’s when Dean spots Chuck in the field, menacing and knowing. Dean straightens on instinct, facing the threat. As Chuck raises his hand to snap, a gushing voice rushes to Dean’s side.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?!” She doesn’t see their destructive creator waiting in the wings and Dean moves to shield her from Chuck’s gaze. 

It’s too late.

Suddenly Chuck is standing beside the impala’s trunk.

“Now, how exactly did I miss you?” Chuck gapes, the disbelief and rage shifting across his once amiable face.

She chokes on her breath, freezes on the spot. Dean sees the power trip flash in Chuck’s piercing blue gaze. He likes when people are fearful, he likes to see them squirm.

“She wasn’t here when you iced everybody, Chuck. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s still just us,” Dean reasons, downplaying her worth.

“Nah, I don’t like it. It’s supposed to be you and Sam. Jack, fine. He’s just a pet anyway. But her? You guys get over your crap and suddenly there’s a whole new generation of thorns in my side. Sorry,” Chuck huffs and snaps his fingers. She disappears faster than Dean could take it in. “Not sorry.”

“What the hell?!” Dean barks. Panic, rage, and overwhelming sadness shoot through him as he dives towards Chuck. But he’s gone before Dean can get there. Falling to the gravel, gracelessly, Dean spins on his knees to see if Sam or Jack are still alive and accounted for. He spots their silhouettes through the convenience store windows. With that little platitude, Dean staggers over to soothe the dog’s sudden whimper. And then it vanishes too.

Maybe Dean never made it out of Hell after all.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @peridottea91​​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @flamencodiva​​ @akshi8278​​​ @dontshootmespence​​​ @smi727​​​ @ericaprice2008​​​ @crashdevlin​​​ @dolphincliffs​​​ @spnfamily-j2​​  

Read On: Free Will

[yellowocaballero]

Hey wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote a crossover between canon and the roleswap AU.

So I did <3. There’s no reason for this to exist, I was just bored and self-indulgent and amused myself by thinking about how fucking insane the Space Cadet team has to be in comparison to canon. This takes place at S4 Canon!Jon’s time, and basically between chapters 2 and 3 of solitaire. It is not canon. Do not think too hard about it. Enjoy. Story under the cut. 

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly. 

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly. 

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly. 

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Jon woke up at his desk, which was so common that it was somewhat pathetic. 

Not that a lot of things weren’t pathetic about Jon, but seeing as he no longer technically had anywhere to live he’d give himself a pass. Or was it pathetic to be homeless too? Jon felt strongly as if it was, but he was working on the judgemental thing. Martin had always -

Martin. Jon blinked blearily at his empty desk, scrubbing a little at the sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes. Right. Speaking of pathetic. Jon didn’t like admitting that Martin was the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he thought about before he went to bed, but he was working on being more honest with himself. Denial about the situation didn’t do anyone any favors. Denial was what made him start stalking and hunting people like - like some sort of awful predator. No more denial. Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he was, and he was going to try and be as good a person as he can be despite it. It was the least he could do. 

Wait. Why was his desk empty?

It wasn’t completely empty. There was a laptop on the center of it, and some assorted papers stuck haphazardly underneath. The usual recorder was tucked into the corner, clicked off. He swiped his hand over the trackpad of his laptop, quickly logging in, and instead of seeing his usual research or theory maps, he saw...a video game?

Jon squinted at the video game. What was The Sims?

He looked around his office, well-lit with the harsh fluorescent lights. It was his office, complete with the couch on the far wall that Daisy had taken to napping on and the two walls of metal shelving that held filling boxes and collections of tapes. Several filing cabinets were lined up behind Jon, holding his favorite statements. Organized by Entity. He was quite proud of it. 

But the Statements seemed to be gone. Some loose papers were always scattered around, slipping out of boxes or sitting in haphazard piles weighed down by tape recorders. None of them were there. Basira must have taken them. Jon stood up, moving around the desk to pull out a box and peer inside. Empty. 

Some part of Jon’s brain, growing louder every day, wailed and gnashed its teeth that someone had stolen his Statements, his knowledge. Most of Jon was just worried over what Basira could possibly be doing with them. 

Unconsciously, Jon’s hand drifted down to his stomach. It was purely a habit, of course - the hunger never gave him stomach pains. He was so hungry all the time, he could barely feel it anymore. 

The Statements were all gone.

Was Basira trying to starve him out…?

Jon shook himself. She wouldn’t - well, she wouldn’t go behind his back to do it. She knew that he’d just start preying on people -

His life had gotten so pathetic. 

A loud crash and a yell echoed from the other side of the door, and Jon recognized Melanie’s voice. He winced, and decided to stay in his office for the time being. Best to stay out of her way. She always reacted somewhat explosively to him -

Then the faint, muffled tones of Martin’s voice echoed through the door, and Jon forgot all hesitation as he burst out of his office. 

The bullpen was just slightly different from where Jon had seen it last - the desks arranged differently, different detritus scattered around, no sleeping bags or hair dryers - but he wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was only paying attention to Martin, who was sitting at his desk as easy as you please. He was smiling. 

Jon hadn’t seen Martin smile in so long.

He also hadn’t seen Martin wear those adorable little sweatervests in so long, but that wasn’t important right now. Jon cried out softly, like he had been punched - he did feel as if he had been punched, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation - and Martin turned slightly in his chair to look at him. He smiled when he saw Jon, so kind and happy and Martin, and Jon felt like he was dying at the sight of Martin just smiling, just looking at him. 

“Look, you don’t need to worry about me,” Martin was saying, to an unamused and remarkably composed Melanie. He held up a large combat knife, the metal glinting off the fluorescent lights. “Jon likes it.”

“See, it’s not you I’m worried about,” Melanie said, arms crossed. She was dressed - in her jeans and green flannel, like she used to. Her hair looked clean. The crop top, cut-off shorts, and fishnets, that Jon hadn’t seen her take off in the last month, where - “It’s poor Jon. He’s too desperate for affection to stand up for himself.”

“Jon, you okay?” Tim asked, sitting behind Martin and sipping a margarita. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was when Jon - hungry, tired, hallucinating - felt his legs give out. It was just in time, too. He collapsed to the ground just as Martin threw the knife, sending it whistling where his head had been half a second ago. 

Then he hit his head on the floor, and blissfully fainted. 

****

“ - she’s not his mother, it’s not Georgie’s job to make sure he eats.”

“It’s because Daisy isn’t here.” That was Basira’s voice, almost mournful. “Daisy always used to remind him to eat.”

“How did this guy make it to thirty again?” An unfamiliar voice asked. 

“If it wasn’t for this ragtag bunch of lesbians, I would have killed him months ago,” Tim said, then paused a beat. “What? I’m owning up to my mistakes.”

“Remind me to give you a sticker later,” Melanie said dryly. 

Jon opened his eyes, to see five faces crowded in front of him. They were all bending over him, identical expressions of mild intrigue on their faces as they bickered with each other. Martin looked very, very mildly concerned, as Melanie and Basira just looked exasperated. Tim - and the woman - who was the woman?

Instinctually, Jon reached out with his mind and sought the answer. But it was as if he was reaching with a limb that had been cut off. No, a limb that had never existed. Dazed, Jon lifted his real hand, if only to make sure that he could still move - and found himself staring at an unmarred, smooth, healthy hand. 

“Martin didn’t cut it off,” the woman said helpfully. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair, and brown skin a similar shade to his. She was holding a granola bar, and she easily stuffed it in his outstretched hand. “If that was a concern or anything. When’s the last time you ate, Jon?”

The question spent a spike of anxiety through him, Jon instantly interpreting it as an accusation. The granola bar wasn’t going to do anything. Of course he was hungry, he’s always hungry - 

Jon wasn’t hungry. 

Jon sat up, letting the assorted people, both alive and dead, step away. He mechanically unwrapped the granola bar and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing lethargically. It didn’t taste like sawdust and cement. It tasted like salt, and nuts. 

He swallowed the granola bar, forming a hypothesis. He looked at Basira, who at least was the most familiar here. It galled him even having to ask, not just knowing, but -  “What year is it?”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “If you hit your head we’re taking you to C&E. We can’t afford for you to get any stupider, Jon.”

“Your concern is noted,” Jon said, strained. 

“Don’t make fun of him, he’s a concussion victim,” Melanie scolded. She smiled at Jon - hideously novel. “It’s 2018. I’m calling Georgie and getting you home, you’re useless to us with a brain injury.”

He no longer had a hypothesis. Jon shook his head mutely. The last person Jon wanted to field questions from was Georgie. “I’m fine,” Jon said hoarsely. “I think I just need to - lie down a bit.” And not look at Tim. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and was still slurping his margarita obnoxiously. He was leaning against a desk, somewhat heavily. “I’ll be fine.”

Everybody looked at each other, then shrugged. Melanie reached down and helped him up, gently pushing him towards the couch set up in the corner of the bullpen, and he found himself stumbling towards it and lying down. Martin loudly offered to nurse him back to health, which incentivized Basira and Melanie to quickly push him inside the recording room and lock the door for...some reason. Jon wanted to go talk to Martin, figure everything out with him. But he didn’t - paralyzed, or maybe just frightened, or maybe just very tired. 

The knife he had thrown was still lying on the floor, somehow innocently. The woman picked it up, inspecting it closely, and sighed. 

“There is something off about that guy.”

“None of them are ever going to believe you, Sash,” Tim said dully, flipping through a brightly colored magazine on his desk. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. “Melanie thinks it’s freakier if you haven’t stabbed anyone.”

This was it. This was when Tim would say, ‘Everybody wants to stab Jon’, or something. It’d be fair. If this was a dream, a fantasy of dead friends, then that’s what he would say. But he didn’t. Tim - strangely small, strangely gaunt, with hollow cheeks that reminded Jon a little of Daisy - didn’t look up at Sasha, flipping through his magazine, and Sasha avoided eye contact with him. She looked at Jon instead, from where he was lying on the couch, and gave him a strained smile. 

Jon found the courage to speak to her. It should have felt familiar, like Sasha, but nothing about her was familiar. He had listened to her tapes a dozen times, any scrap of her voice he could find, but - well, everybody sounded different on the tapes. “Sasha. Can you get me my phone? And a...Statement?”

Sasha brightened enthusiastically. “You want a Statement? Say no more, Jon, I’ll hook you up. Nice to see somebody taking an interest. Let’s keep this between you and me, okay?”

“What…?”

But she had already disappeared into his office, and the faint sounds of banging echoed throughout the room. Melanie and Basira were standing in the kitchenette, chatting lowly, Basira occasionally laughing at something Melanie said. 

Jon wondered where Daisy was, and instinctively tried to reach again before hitting that wall. He gritted his teeth, head still swimming. 

The most important thing was figuring out if this place was dangerous or not. Wherever he was, whatever was going on, he had to discern if it was a danger. Could this have anything to do with an unknown ritual? No, how could it? Elias? He wouldn’t put any of this past Elias. 

With a twist in his gut Jon remembered the cannibal priest’s Statement. Any suspicion of unreality, any feeling as if things were not as they should be...or was this a pleasant, Lotus Eater’s dream instead? If that was true, would Martin be throwing knives at him?

“Here you go! First one I saw on your desk.”

Jon sat up, mutely taking the paper and phone Sasha held out to him. It wasn’t his mobile - it was much nicer and sleeker than his own battered thing - but he had to assume it was Jon’s. He took the Statement too, scanning it quickly. 

Of course, of course. It was Anya Villete’s. Jon thought about this one frequently, captured by the prospect of multiple realities. Not worth the danger of exploring, but there was an intoxicating element of danger. Maybe the Jon that these people thought they were talking to had been reading it, and accidentally triggered something - 

“What did I say!”

Before Jon could react, the paper was unceremoniously ripped from his hands. Jon cried out helplessly, only to see Melanie standing in front of him with an unamused expression and his lifeline in her uncaring fists. 

“We’ve been over this,” Melanie scolded - scolded? “No statements, they’re bad for your tummy.” She frowned at Sasha, who didn’t seem very guilty. “And I told you to stop enabling him. He’s already sick, and you know these things upset him.”

“I’m gathering data,” Sasha said cheerfully. “Something weird was happening in his eyes when he was reading that Statement. Give it back, I need to record it.”

“Can I have that back, please?” Jon asked planatively. “I need it.”

“You do not.” Melanie folded up the statement tightly, shoving it in her jeans and ignoring Jon’s cry of despair. “If you’re feeling under-stimulated, go play knife monopoly with Martin. Otherwise relax and make sure you aren’t going to faint again.”

“I’m not going to -”

“I will call Georgie,” Melanie threatened, and Jon clicked his mouth shut. Melanie nodded, satisfied in having won the argument. If it was even an argument. “Sasha, if you let Jon find another Statement I will be locking the library and giving the key to Martin.”

“Yes, boss,” Sasha said, depressed. 

“Tim, you’re with me, we need to design our plan of attack for chasing down Daisy,” Melanie barked, and Tim straightened in his seat. Jon saw for the first time that there was a folded up cane on his desk. “I need your dumb fear demon powers.”

“That’s not how they -” Tim started, but at Melanie’s look he quailed. “Yeah, boss.”

“Great.” Melanie folded her arms, frowning down at Jon, and at the receiving end of the look Jon found himself quailing too. “If you leave the Archives to do anything other than go to the bathroom the rest of the day, I will tell Georgie that you were exerting yourself while sick again. And she will call you a poor little dear and give you lots of hugs and lots of soup. You will hate it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Jon said, depressed. 

“Good. I need to go psychologically torment more people, I’ll be in the library. Tim!” She snapped her fingers, and strode off to the library as Tim scrambled up and limped after her. 

Jon watched her go dazedly as the library door clicked shut behind her. Sasha sighed and went back to her desk, cracking open the thick books on the top and relaxing. They weren’t even research books, just nonfiction about the Mayflower. Basira was back at her desk too, this time with her chin resting on her arms folded on the desk as she watched a...movie. Was that a romcom? 

This was dangerous. The situation was dangerous, doubtless the plot of some force or another that hated Jon personally and wanted him to suffer. He had to do some research, find out what was going on, track down Elias and find his power and dig into that source of infinite knowledge lying dormant in his mind, uproot every terrifying thing that hated him and shake them down for answers.

But he was more scared of Melanie. Just because she didn’t seem to have any knives on her didn’t mean that it was the case. Unless Martin had them all. So Jon lay back on the couch, rotely pressed in the passcode to his phone, and idly opened up the internet browser in complete comfort and relaxation. 

The couch was so comfortable and soft, in fact, that Jon soon fell asleep. Easy and smooth, as if he really was still a human, who needed sleep at all.

And when Jon dreamed, he dreamed of blissful and restful nothing. 

******

He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Jon screamed himself awake as his eyes flew open. 

But it wasn’t anybody dangerous, or anything willing to hurt him. It was just - Basira. Just Basira. Jon exhaled in relief, ignoring Basira’s incredulous expression. 

“It’s five, we’re heading out. You feeling well enough for pub night, mate?”

They were going home. The strangeness registered first, the fact that Sasha was shrugging on a jacket and Melanie was stuffing a laptop in a backpack, before Jon remembered where he was. Or where he wasn’t. He mustered a faint smile for Basira, but judging from her frown it came out closer to a grimace. 

Pub night. They were going out for drinks, then going to their own flats. Eating dinner. Sleeping. Waking up the next morning, then heading off to work. The mundanity boggled. 

Maybe it was a Lotus Eater, Jon thought, dazed. A world where there were no Entities, no fears or harm. Where everybody was human, and happy. 

Maybe. He hadn’t actually been allowed to look at any of the Statements, so he didn’t actually know. He couldn’t imagine that this group would be so casual if the Statements really were true. 

Part of him wanted to beg off, curl up and sleep in document storage so he wouldn’t have to interact with these people for any longer. He was out of practice: these days he rarely had long conversations with anybody who wasn’t Daisy, and he hadn’t seen Daisy all day. Basira exchanged a few curt sentences with him each day. Melanie...cried and screamed, a lot. Not exactly conducive to social skills. 

  Sasha’s face was buried in a book, not even looking up as she navigated the desks. Tim was talking a patient Melanie’s ear off about Nietzche. 

“I think I can make it,” Jon found himself saying. “Just a pint.”

Besides, he had the feeling that if he curled up in document storage Georgie would...be mad at him. Or something. They were flatmates? Or something?

They walked out the door in a herd, talking and laughing. Jon found himself hanging in the back of the group, next to Sasha. She wasn’t looking up from her book, so Jon felt safe in staring unabashedly at Tim. He was using a cane, just like Daisy had for two or so weeks right out of the coffin. He even used it in the same way: not favoring one leg or the other, using it for strength instead of balance. Muscle weakness. He was just as emancipated as Daisy had been too, in that particular corpse-like way that made him look like a zombie. His hair was long and lanky, brittle strands reaching to his chin instead of his normal lush and gelled look. 

The faces in the lobby were the same - Sabrina behind the desk, Roy playing security guard - even as the decorations were different. No portrait of Jonah Magnus, or of the other directors. They broke out into the London street, as smoggy and crowded as ever, and Jon found himself trailing behind the others in a direct route to their usual pub. The same one he, Basira, Melanie, and Daisy go drinking at sometimes. Only sometimes. They went without him more often, but Jon didn’t blame them, really -

“Something on my face, mate?”

Tim’s wry voice startled Jon out of his reverie, and he flushed. Tim smiled at him, thinly and without humor, and gestured him forward as he dropped behind Melanie. Jon stepped forward, tucking his hands into his jacket, fighting the rising swell in his throat. 

“You’ve been staring. I’m not that much uglier, am I?” Tim asked lightly, a parody of his old good humor. That, at least, was familiar - Tim’s fragile and brittle humor, tightly leashing rage. 

“You...you look good,” Jon said. He buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets, fighting the lump in his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “It’s good to see you again.”

It was probably a strange thing for Jon to say - but Tim just smiled, even more bitter than the last. “You’ve always been too nice for your own good, Sims.” First time that’s been said about him. “You forgive too easy.”

“Grudges...aren’t worth it, in my experience.” Jon exhaled slowly, watching Melanie’s red hair glint in the sunlight in front of him. “Life’s too short and all.”

“Really? Thought you people loved grudges.” Tim blinked a second, before clearly remembering something. “We love grudges, right. Still, Jon, I never really…” He trailed off awkwardly. “You know.”

He did not. “Right,” Jon said. 

“Apologized,” Tim said hurriedly, when it became clear that Jon wasn’t about to say anything committal. “For trying to kill you all those times. Uh, and trying to get you arrested. And helping frame you for murder. And that whole kidnapping incident -”

Something began to occur to Jon. A rational thought seeped into his brain. 

“In the woods,” Jon said slowly. “Because you thought I was a monster.”

Tim winced, confirming Jon’s suspicion. “Right. Trust me, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I know I was wrong. I’ve turned over a new leaf and everything.” He brightened. “Did you hear I’m bisexual now?”

“Everybody heard you were bisexual now,” Basira said, bored. “Ten times.”

“Good for you,” Jon said, as sincerely as he could. “That’s...great. Bi rights.”

Tim beamed. “Bi rights!” He clapped Jon’s shoulder supportively with his other hand as Melanie held open the door to the pub for them, ducking inside. “Man, I never thought I’d see the inside of a pub again. I only got to go a few times with you guys before everything. Can Martin still hustle the room at pool?”

“One way to find out,” Martin said serenely. 

“Please don’t start a pub brawl,” Melanie said, pained. “We’ve been kicked out of three places already, I don’t fancy making it a fourth.”

But when Jon looked backwards, he saw Sasha looking up from her book, staring directly at him, blinking owlishly. 

They crowded into a corner booth, squishing up against each other and all talking at once. Jon wanted to drift towards Martin, get him alone and ask what was going on, but after one look at him eyeing up the pool cues speculatively he changed his mind. Only Basira was acting even remotely normal, so he settled for sliding in between her and Sasha. He was dizzy with the noise and the clamor of the familiar pub, overwhelmed by the familiar-unfamiliar tide of voices, and it was taking all of his energy not to spend hours just staring at Sasha, memorizing every line and crease of her face.

The first thing he did was order every single crummy, greasy, soggy serving of pub food he found on the menu, ignoring the way his Assistants laughed at him, before settling in the corner of the booth and pulling out his phone. Jon wasn’t even hungry - he wasn’t hungry - but he was shoving every soggy chip into his mouth until he puked. A human body was a drastically underrated thing. 

Out of curiosity, Jon turned on the front camera of his phone and scrutinized his reflection. He had noticed that his hair was shorter, tied back in a puffed bun instead of his customary ragged ponytail, but beyond that he hadn’t checked. 

He looked...good. No longer gaunt and malnourished, he was a healthy weight. No bags under his eyes. Well kept fade and modest, well trimmed facial hair. No scar over his throat, no circular worm scars.  That was less of a surprise - Tim, Martin, and Sasha were all missing the worm scars. 

His eyes were brown. Just brown. No electrifying green, no spinning iris, no churning wheel of knowledge. Just his normal, boring brown. 

He hadn’t known how much he missed it. 

As the others started arguing passionately about...vlogs? Or something?...Jon pulled out his wallet. Money had the same old Queen on it, along with his old collection of take-out receipts that had all started disappearing when he stopped eating. A photocopy of a picture of his parents, heavily worn and creased. Still an orphan, then. Jon missed the days when that was his biggest problem. 

His driver’s license was the same as ever too. Same name - Jonathan Andrew Sims. Same birthday - February 14th, which he had always considered life’s practical joke on him. The United Kingdom still existed, which was either a good or a bad thing. 

He replaced his wallet, ignoring Sasha’s curious stare, and pulled out his phone. He had only gone so far as making sure that major world events were the same before passing out. This time, he pressed his text messages, and scrolled down his most recents. As usual, it was only a few people - almost all of which were at this table - but there were a few other people too. 

Georgie was the obvious one, and the most recent. He clicked on that conversation, unsurprised to see an immediate photograph of the Admiral looking angelic as he rolled around in some grass in a patch of sun. 

Georgie: Baby at the park soaking in some rays!!! <3 <3 <3. I caught him terrorizing a stray dog. Naughty baby!!

Jon blinked at the message. The Admiral did seem a little...more evil, than he once did. Why were his eyes green? Underneath was Jon’s own text, sent twenty minutes before he had woken up that afternoon. 

Jon: He’s committing atrocities and you’re laughing. You’re laughing. 

Jon couldn’t fight a smile. He missed Georgie. 

He switched over to the text conversation just underneath. He squinted at the contact name. That couldn’t be right. 

Gerry: can u pick up milk from aldis? and scented candles

Gerry: for necromancy reasons

Jon: Can you raise the dead tomorrow? Helen said she wants to talk to me so I may be home late. If you don’t hear from me in five hours she’s likely kidnapped me. As a heads up. 

Gerry: OH, SO LONG AS I HAVE THE HEADS UP?

Gerry: I’m making Georgie give Melanie the money to buy that toddler leash she’s always threatening to get for u. If u die im not resurrecting u. 

Jon: Have fun with one less person to share the rent

Gerry: we dont PAY RENT

Gerard Keay. Jon blinked at the phone. That conversation raised as many questions as it answered. Gerard Keay was alive? He was Jon’s flatmate? He practiced necromancy? None of it seemed very relevant right now, but it made Jon wonder who else was resurrected from the dead. Was necromancy common in this universe, like knitting?

Still, Helen explained quite a bit. It also suggested what Jon was already wondering: that the supernatural was far from foreign. If Helen was supernatural, and not just...a jerk. 

If Tim was an Avatar of the Hunt...if he had been in the coffin...and Daisy’s been hard to track down…

Jon was interrupted in his increasingly coherent train of thought by his food arriving, and all thoughts were thrown out the window. His basket of fish and chips slid in front of him, and he wasted absolutely no time in cramming the fries into his mouth three at a time, not wasting time salting or putting vinegar on them. They were dripping with crease, soggy and burning his tongue. 

They were perfect.

The waiter, looking somewhat intimidated, slid his bacon butty on the table too, and Jon took barely a moment to swallow before stuffing that in his face too. Bacon, butter, brown sauce - it exploded on his tongue, a cavalcade of salt and seasoning. Increasingly terrified, the waiter put his pie and mash on the table and quickly fled, as Jon finished cramming the sandwich into his mouth before moving back to the fish. It was hot, crackling on his tongue, strong and fishy and perfect.

Jon looked up from his food long enough to grab a glass of water and gulp half of it down. It wasn’t until he put his glass down that he saw the looks on the faces of his Assistants. All of whom ranged from frightened to terrified.

  Everybody except Martin, whose chin was propped on his hand and was sighing dreamily. “It’s really hot how you can pack it all away, Jon. Do you want to come over to my flat and let me cook for you? I’d make a lot of food. ”

Jon choked on his fish.

That was it for Sasha. She slammed her book down, expression intent, and jabbed a finger at a now wheezing Jon. “Jon would never choke at Martin’s creepy flirting! That isn’t Jonathan Sims!”

Jon stole Tim’s glass of water, ignoring his squawk, and downed that too. 

Now everybody really was staring at him, and Jon felt heat rise to his cheeks. As the kids say, busted. He should probably stop eating and make his escape while he still could, before Tim decided to change his mind on his ‘murdering Jon’ stance. 

But outside did not have pub food. Inside had pub food. Jon made his decision with the knowledge that, if his Assistants reacted from a reasonable place of Imposter-based trauma and killed him for pretending to be Jonathan Sims, he’d deserve it. He was not moving from this spot until his food was gone or his Assistants killed him. 

Jon finished off Tim’s water, dropping it back on the lacquered table, and hoarsely said, “I’ve been having a very strange day.”

Nobody leaped for his throat or pointed a gun at him, which was always nice. It was more than Jon had been expecting. Instead, everybody looked at Melanie, who narrowed her eyes. Jon realized, a second too late, that they were waiting for her. Whatever happened to him, Melanie would decide. 

...why Melanie? 

Melanie rested her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth. She locked eyes with Jon, breaking him down like a judge at a dog show, and Jon tried to shovel mash in his mouth as innocently as possible. 

“Sasha. What’s your evidence?”

“He’s been acting weird all day,” Sasha said promptly, as if she’d been expecting the question. She shifted her arm purposefully, and Jon realized with a start that she was concealed carrying. Was that legal? “Jon never asks me for Statements outright, he always just sneaks them behind Melanie’s back. If he really fainted because he was hungry, he would have eaten his lunch too, instead of just my granola bar. And he hasn’t talked to Martin since he fainted - he isn’t even sitting next to him.” Sasha drew herself up triumphantly. “And, he looked actually scared when Martin threw that knife at him. He’s never scared of Martin. He normally just role-plays the fear bit.”

“Which I appreciate,” Martin said supportively, making Jon blanch. That elicited more suspicious looks from everyone, which Jon couldn’t even begin to parse. “But he has been acting strange today, hasn’t he?”

“Tim?” Melanie asked sharply. 

Tim sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose a little. “Smells like him.” At Melanie’s intense look, he grudgingly added, “No sawdust or plastic. Flesh and blood, boss.”

Jon began stuffing forkfuls of pastry and meat crumb from the pie in his mouth as Melanie went back to squinting at Jon. Not glaring - just an intense, sidelong look, fingers steepled in front of her. “You aren’t denying it, Jon.”

Jon mumbled something. 

“Swallow your food.”

Jon carefully swallowed his mouthful of dough. “I have not eaten human food,” Jon said delicately, “in five months. I will answer your questions momentarily.”

And then Jon cleaned all three of his plates, to the dumbfounded looks of his Assistants. 

Finally, after everybody else’s drinks had arrived - including Jon’s pint, which he reached for so quickly that Martin stole it away from him and refused to give it back - and Jon had cleaned all three of his plates, he felt ready to talk. He thumped on his chest, burping a little, and leaned back in his plush seat. Melanie was nursing her pint, sipping from it slowly, as Basira gave him her usual ‘I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you’ look. 

“Okay,” Jon said finally. “I apologize for not - ah, clarifying before. I thought I was dreaming. To be honest, I worry that I’m still dreaming.” He looked down at his empty basket and plates. “I dearly hope that wasn’t human flesh or something horrid like that.”

Sasha perked up. “Like in the cannibal priest statement? That’s fascinating -”

“Shut up about cannibal priests,” Melanie groaned, and Sasha guiltily shut up. Oddly rude, but nobody seemed surprised. “You are Jon, right?”

“Yes, in almost every way.” Jon wiped his mouth with a napkin, balling it up and dropping it on the table. “Jonathan Sims, thirty one years old, Aquarius. Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. The Archivist.” He paused a beat, uncertain of how to broach this. “I think Helen may have deposited me in an alternate dimension? Best case scenario.”

Everybody stared at him blankly. 

“Well,” Basira said finally, “sounds like the kind of bullshit you get yourself wrapped up in, Jon.”

“I knew it!” Sasha cried, before deflating. “I mean, I didn’t, really, not at all, but that’s fascinating! Will you answer some questions? Who’s the Queen in your universe?”

“I’m back from the dead for a week and my life’s already stupid again,” Tim said blankly. 

“Two Jons?” Martin asked, far too excitedly. 

“Can I leave you alone,” Melanie gritted out, between clenched teeth, “for five minutes?”

Then everybody was talking over each other, arguing and exclaiming and yelling, and Jon frantically drank his pint. They were so loud. 

Finally, Melanie chopped a hand through the buzz, and everyone quieted. She pursed her lips, looking Jon up and down, and he anxiously let himself get looked at. “How did you know it was an alternate universe? What’s the difference?”

“Martin threw a knife at me and Tim and Sasha are alive,” Jon said instantly. 

“I’m not actually dead in your universe,” Tim said quickly, “just trapped in an infernal demon hell coffin. If you can get me out, I’d be really thankful -”

“No, you’re quite dead,” Jon said apologetically. “That happened to Daisy in my universe, though. A - a lot of what you did here, I think, Daisy did.” He looked at Basira, frowning. “Where is Daisy? She’s not…”

“She’s fine,” Basira said curtly, folding her arms and leaning back. “Having lots of fun ditching us and having fun at her little secretary desk. It’s fine. I don’t care. She can do what she wants, she’s an adult.”

“Basira’s been pining tragically ever since Daisy ran off to go work for Peter Lukas,” Melanie said sympathetically. 

Jon felt a little called out. “Ah. That’s - that’s very unfortunate.” He slowly turned to Martin, who still seemed caught up in the ‘two Jons’ aspect of this. “And you’re...you would define yourself as full of rage?”

“At all times, all the time, without cessation,” Martin agreed affably. “Why? That’s not weird to you, is it?”

“Uh huh.” Jon slowly turned to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but...did you happen to once work as a Constable for the Met?”

Everybody winced. Sasha sighed. “I regret all of my actions and I’m very sorry that I was once a pig and I’ll never do it again because I value due process now.”

“Word, sister,” Tim said, raising his pint. 

“Hm,” Jon said, far too much coming together.  But that left a big question, one thing that didn’t make sense. “What about me? Do I - eat trauma?”

Basira stared at him blankly. “You try, sometimes, but we usually just spray water at you until you stop.”

“That explains it,” said Jon, despite the fact that it didn’t explain anything. 

“Your questions are pointless, and this is a waste of time.” Melanie clapped her hands sharply, making everyone straighten to attention. She stood up from her seat, everybody scrambling to protect their glasses as Melanie clambered on top of the table. “Helen! Get out here!”

“She’s not - she’s not Beetlejuice, you can’t just call her name and make her appear,” Jon said blankly. “How’s she even supposed to hear -”

“She can hear me just fine,” Melanie called, “because she’s been sitting at the bar this whole time.”

Everybody’s heads craned around to look at the bar. Through the stream of people, carrying drinks and laughing, Jon could faintly make out a tall, willowy figure with a large afro sitting on a barstool at the bar, tapping the rim of one elegant martini with a long, manicured fingernail. 

Then she swiveled around, and Helen grinned broadly at all of them. She waved cheekily with one hand, fingers waving and rippling strangely in the dim pub lights. “Hello! You rang?”

Melanie jabbed a finger at the table pointedly. “Michael’s too young to be here too, Helen!”

“They’re eighteen, they’re a big non-Euclidean concept!” Helen tittered, as she hopped of the stool. Jon’s draw dropped as a much smaller, slight figure next to her hopped off too. They were a teenager, with a curly mop of blonde hair and big, watery blue eyes that seemed just a little strange. Everything about them was on the edge of familiar, and not in the usual way of the Spiral. 

“She was waiting for us to figure it out,” Basira murmured, catching Jon’s attention. “It’s definitely funny to her.”

“Helen defined schadenfreude, I’m afraid,” Jon said, depressed, as Helen and her tagalong popped up at the edge of their table. Melanie had said Michael - and the kid did look like Michael, younger and alive and wide-eyed. Their watery eyes caught on Jon, and they tilted their head curiously. The sight of them hurt Jon’s head more than the Spiral usually did - a testament to the human body he was borrowing. 

Human. That was no defense. He was vulnerable, and judging from the angle of Helen’s smile she knew it. 

“Enjoying your vacation, Archivist?” Helen tittered, folding her hands girlishly as Melanie hopped off the table and back in her seat. “I’ve been having so much fun in this universe I thought I ought to bring a friend! Buy one plane ticket get one free, you know. I have this coupon for a great spa around here -”

“Helen,” Melanie intoned dangerously.

Helen tittered a nervous laugh. Was she...scared of Melanie? “Don’t worry! Your darling little Jon’s perfectly safe. He’s having a great time in one of my favorite dimensions, this wonderful post-apocalyptic adventure with a werewolf -

“Helen,” Melanie said slowly, danger building with every word, “we talked about what happens when you remove Jons from their native ecosystems.”

“They get sick,” Michael said somberly, nodding their head. “An’ wilt.”

“It is very stressful for the Jon, Helen. You know what we don’t like?”

“A stressed Jon?” Michael volunteered. 

“Yes, Michael.” Melanie smiled pleasantly at Helen, who blanched. “A stressed Jon. Because when Jon gets stressed, my girlfriend gets stressed. And when my girlfriend gets stressed, I get stressed. And when I get stressed, everybody is about to have a very bad time. Get it? Helen?”

“Completely understood, very sympathetic, I see your point completely,” Helen said hurriedly. “Really, you can say that I did my dear Archivist a favor! He hasn’t had a human body in almost half a year, the poor dear was so sad about it. It’s a break, really!”

Tim squinted at Jon. “You’re really full on fear demon, then?”

Jon squirmed guiltily, ashamed.  “I prefer the term Avatar. But...yes, I’m an amoral monster distant from humanity, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,�� Melanie said impatiently. “You’re about as far from humanity as I am. Having stupid superpowers or cramming shitty food into your mouth doesn’t make you inhuman, it just means you hang out with the wrong crowd. Go back to your own universe and get some rest, I bet you’re stressing out all your friends.”

“I’m really not,” Jon said weakly. “I - I really only have one friend.”

“No wonder you look so tragic all the time,” Sasha said thoughtfully. “Jon gets all mopey without affection. Like an unwatered plant.”

“I eat trauma,” Jon said, bewildered at the perception of harmlessness. 

“You and half of the YouTube vlogging community.” Melanie clapped her hands again sharply, pulling everyone to attention. “Helen. Put Jon back where he came from or so help me.”

“Ruining all my fun,” Helen pouted, but at Melanie’s glare she sighed. She held up one hand, and static rippled through the air. The hand elongated, twisted, and turned into Helen’s signature lengthy claw. Michael eyed it with interest, before holding up their own hand and doing the same. “Fun while it lasted, Archivist! Now hold still. I wouldn’t want to lobotomize the wrong lobe.”

“Nice meeting you,” Sasha said politely, to a very freaked out Jon. “Don’t come back, though.”

“Come back if you want,” Basira yawned. “My life’s boring, spice it up a little.”

“Sorry I’m dead in your universe or whatever,” Tim said, waving a hand. “Life and death is meaningless anyway, so I’m sure it’s for the best.”

“I want my Jon back,” Martin complained. “Go on and get out, then.”

“Tell your friends what we told you,” Melanie said. “Don’t they know that you get all tragic when you’re lonely?”

And Jon didn’t know how to say it - that they didn’t know, or if they did then they didn’t care, because they had so many bigger problems than if Jon was sad or not. With Elias’ strange plans, with Jon’s encroaching monsterhood and his slow and steady starvation, with Martin’s loneliness and Basira’s desperation and Melanie’s instability, Jon’s feelings were the least important thing in the world. 

Did it matter, to anybody but Jon, that he thought of Martin first thing in the morning and last thing as he went to bed at night? 

“Hold still and look straight at me!” Helen said, and Jon had to be thankful - because that let him look at Sasha and Tim, eyes wide and intrigued, as Helen speared her finger through Jon’s forehead. 

Jon blacked out, but the images of Sasha and Tim stayed burned behind his eyelids. He dreamed calm dreams, of him and Martin and Sasha and Tim, laughing together, as the world faded away.

****

When Jon woke up, it was with a crick in his neck, and he knew immediately he had fallen asleep on the battered old couch in his office again. 

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and when he pried his eyes open he saw the top of Daisy’s head in front of him. Dusty blonde hair pooled on his chest as Daisy snored, deep asleep, arm stretched over his torso. 

The taste of salt and grease was on his tongue, and Jon let himself go back to sleep. The dreams would be terrifying and desolate, but at least in them he was never hungry. 

[callmearcturus]

can we briefly talk about Daisy and Jon functioning as their own little Avatars Anonymous group back in S4 for a second?

now that the narrative is backing me up on “jfc Basira you fucked up this situation royally” I feel okay into diving into just how bad the situation in S4 was and how Daisy and Jon were the only lantern in the night against it.

Basira made a decision at the beginning of S4 to stop seeing the folks around her as people and to see them as tools. she decided “No one is allowed to have my trust, however, everyone needs to give me their trust bc I believe I’m the only person who can push back against our opponents.”

I’m not going to go into the sheer depth of how much that fucked up everything in S4, we’ve discussed that to death. But that’s the atmosphere that everyone lived in up until the end.

The problem is that, not to state the obvious, that’s Cop Rhetoric. And what was needed in S4 was support and rehabilitation.

(Oh god, Arc is talking about TMA and rehabilitation again, yeah yeah)

Daisy and Jon were in similar positions after her return. They were avatars. They had supernatural malicious desires overriding their humanity. They were under siege from the literal manifestation of depression and giving in to helplessness. Their “friends” were no longer there to be supportive, and many of them had (in Jon’s case) outright rejected him and essentially told him he should have stayed dead.

Basically: the only environment less conducive to Being Better would be the eventual Apocalypse.

This in of itself is a metaphor for, uh, reality. At least in America and I’m pretty sure a lot of the world, there is very little formal support for people who want to be better, to improve themselves in a meaningful way (as opposed to ways that overlap with the diet industry, THOSE are SUPER PREVALENT and well-funded of course!) and if you ever want to feel like dogshit, I rec looking into how many people we lose this way. How many people just need support coming out of a rehab clinic or out of prison, only to be fucking screwed at every corner, because our society is built on never helping people, ever. Your past mistakes snowball into an avalanche, and it’s not right.

So to me, I fixated heavily on Daisy and Jon’s relationship because they essentially became their own support group in this horrible environment. They were two people who understood each other’s struggle, and they helped each other with it.

To me, what’s so fucking sad I can barely stand it, is that the two of them... were it. They were the only ones. When Jon fucked up and hurt people bc (to be perfectly clear) his desire for human trauma that was instilled in him against his knowledge and will by Elias, Basira’s reaction was “okay if you do this again, we’ll just murder you.”

And I wanted to just scream because it’s so frustrating. [mulaney voice] of course that’s what you’d say, you stupid fuckign cop.

Anyway, to me, this all culminates at the end of the season with the hunters come to kill Jon, and in a moment of pure instinct, of pure panic, he doesn’t call Basira. He calls Daisy.

(And then Basira has the fucking gall to ask him why later. GEE BASIRA, I CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE.)

Anyway. My point is that rehabilitation is hard. It’s especially hard when the environment people live in is explicitly hostile to the idea of rehabilitation. And the tragedy of Daisy is that she fucking tried, and Jon was willing to be there with her and help her, but then Apocalypse fucked her out of her chance. And now she can’t make the decision to be better herself anymore, and that is a tragedy. But one based in reality.