#«scale of one to ten how much am i allowed to fuck him up»

[feathery-bitch]

Oh shit-

[I fall backwards into the tree, multiple small crystals breaking off from the impact, falling to the ground, while Dahlia does her best to run away in the commotion, tripping and almost falling multiple times.]

Well, if that's how you want to be!

[I grab on to her arm, right below the shoulder, digging my claws in.]

I'll make sure you regret it.

Hello? I heard screaming, is someone—?

[He sounds mildly concerned until he sees what’s going down, causing him to stop in his tracks]

-@the-eternally-ticking-clock

[She is lying on the ground, screaming, as her arm is pulled on by someone. The skin is already beginning to tear, slowly, and it is very visibly dislocated.]

[siremasterlawrence]

Who’s The Real Hero Here?

The boat hit the shores as Captain America lands on to it with a small boat as he crawls upward scaling the rocky area to the top of the clips grabbing one rock at a time and he finally reaching the top of the hill he climbs up higher. He now plants his feet as he peers in to the window staring down at empty room even though he was sent on a mission by the old school ways of being by Shield even he is aware of how crazy it is and he took his shield upward smashing it in to the window. He throws himself following that as he flips barreling in to the room descending done a field of stairs he grabs on to the rail flipping in to alley oop on the staircase in a perfect ten I am watching through my camera in my basement as the room begins to widen up.

Getting even bigger and of course he has the body stamina of a Olympic Champion as he leaps to the ground floor racing across the end of the steps on to the ground floor with so much determination in his eyes and his heart. The floor literally opens from under him as he descends miles down floor by floor in the air as Steve needs to make a emergency like strategy grabbing hold on to edge of a floor he manages to getting stiff lifting upward on to the bridge because as we know Steve can do it all day. Yanking himself with a bit of a struggle he is able to land back on to the brighter he race in to dthe room as he finds himself in midst of a elongated hall way calling to him a voice in the sound system all he can hear is S-t-e-v-e.

Steve unhooks his shield launching it in to the air as he kicks it hard smashing across the room it ricocheting from wall to wall at full force downward of the hall way as it is slamming in to the elevator doors and Cap breaks through and the heat of the building steams up. Loading on to the elevator shaft as the door closes instantly shaking a bit before the lift starts to speed upward to the top floor of the elevator bank the lights begin to blink blinding him and the buttons begin to blink on and off in a strange aura of colors giving Steve a minor headache. The elevator door pops to the side allowing him to access to the floor as he walks in to the room clinging his back to the wall his shield is already to go and he is uses both of arm and shields what he is not expecting is the figure in the dark lit up translucently before him.

Something triggering electrical out put of the locks of the building are shuttering the him as he locks down the world keeping Steve in his place and in his heat and Steve can feel it in his soul that his life is about to go through a significant change as he walks further in to the room as the temperature drops causing Cap to become the Capsicle Iron man calls him. The figure comes into picture now in a fuller, brighter and special effect thoroughly as it’s obviously a sneak attack by him the mystery new villain who has appeared on the scene from no one in particular because it is totally obvious and we all he is The Spectacle a super villain man of supernatural power consuming him in all ways. Steve does his best to resist the man who’s eyes glow emeraldintensity as they go spiraling out of control ensnaring him easily his eyes follow him in deep forgetting everything else that has happen as he dropping deeper, faster and harder then he ever thought in a mixing a swirl pool of craziness drowning Steve in it a sea of pure power.

“Oh Captain! That daring look in my eyes.”

“You are remnant of the past, I can’t shake it off.”

“Do not compare me to…the red skull.”

“You are more evil then…”

“Why are you so interested then?”

“You found my case, you had to track me all the way here.”

“I can stand idly bye”

“Mwahahahahaha…goody two shoes”

“I am Soldier…fuck off”

“Do you honestly think I would care?”

“ Typical of you “

“Why Cap?”

“It’s Captain”

“Captain “

“I am a hero”

“Let me show you “

“Would a hero do this?”

“I failed yes”

“Your friends are dead Cap”

“They are gone…no you did this”

“I can’t prevent the truth “

“Even I tried”

“Nnnnnooooo!”

“Can’t handle the heat ?”

“I am only saving you “

“I can make it go away “

“I won’t surrender “

“One kiss Captain”

“I am not you puppet”

“So you say”

“No! I am in control “

“Why are you standing up?

“Walking towards me”

“Kissing me”

“Mmmmm”

“You love it, give into the lust”

“Oh fuck! Whatever! Who am I ?”

The man snaps his fingers as the walls rise receding upward in to the ceiling as a white light covers the room in a sea of color blinds Steve as he backs up when a figure walks up to him. The light flashes in to the room as he witnesses who the man it is ole pal Bucky Barnes who stood up facing with him in utter rage in his eyes and Steve looks with joy but is soon met with a massive punch to the face. Steve manages to take most of the power of the heat from that punch as he smacks his pals hand a side and they go toe until our guy Steve grabs him by his arm.

As he back flips to the end of the ground slamming his foot on to him. Bucky burst out loud barrels throughout the room bouncing wall to wall as he uses his foot to kick him in the shin as Steve cries in pain and Bucky uses it to pin him down.The man laughs bit as Bucky wides his arms open up when he jumps in to Bucky’s body as they merge in to one taking Bucky’s own appearance to Steve is completelyleft in sea of horror at this revelation and he will regret it. He has no time to react when a barrage of bullets hit him head on as he backflips to his feet using shield to launch forward hitting Bucky hard as it shreds over the room and slams him into the wall in a unique permanent way.

“Bucky STOP!”

“Bucky is no longer here”

“Get to the point”

“I want you to serve me and be mine”

“Never gonna happen”

“How fowl Cap!”

“Bastard! Release me”

“As if!”

“Release Buck and I”

“You will serve me eventually “

“Excuse me! No who you are …”

“Speaking to you?”

“Bucky hear me”

“He Can’t!”

“What are you a dunce ?”

“Watch yourself I am…”

“Sentinel of justice?”

“Yes!”

“Fuck off”

“Oh well! Bucky end him”

“….”

“Yyyyeeeesssssss!” NOW mwahahaha “

“Oh Master! Your power surges through us my king. “

“We are compelled! You erased us forever “

The end

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: No warnings here, just awkward enemies to lovers

A/n: This request was made by @moralina " 8. 'I really don't like you.' - 'And I really don't believe you.' it made me remember how much i love enemies to lovers jj x kook!reader". Thank you for the kind words!

"Do you realize how annoying you are?" I ask, cramming myself against the door of the truck, ignoring the way that JJ's gazing at me from the other side of the car, toothpick between his teeth and a shit eating smile on his lips.

"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most annoying, how annoying am I? Enlighten me, please." He asks with a simple shove, my eyes turning to slits as I look over at him, tired of his incessant teasing already and we're only a few hours into our stakeout.

"Like an eleven." I huff, giving him an eye roll while kicking my feet up on the dash, trying to get comfortable and to ignore the way that my heart is racing and pounding against my ribs.

"So not a twelve, I'm improving." He claps with a loud whoop, immediately earning a loud shush from me as I look back at the truck across the parking lot that we've been stalking, praying that he didn't just mess this up for us and alert the enemy that we're here.

"Fuck, you're painful."

"I could do worse." He offers, leaning towards me with a smile, my eyes momentarily stuck on the way that his eyes shine and reflect the stars above us, my mouth drying at how unbelievably handsome he is. "C'mon, you love me." It's so hard not to.

"I definitely don't." I turn my chin towards the window, avoiding his prying gaze and trying to tame the heat that's rushing to my cheeks at his proximity and I feel his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You're smiling." He whispers, goosebumps chasing down my spine while I lift a hand to hide my grin, coughing over a laugh to hide it.

"I'm forcing it."

"No you're not, you like being stuck on a stakeout with me." He cheers successfully and I give in, allowing my smile to shine through, almost matching the width of his. His happy, blue eyes shine with adoration as he gazes at me and it makes my heart ache painfully in my chest at how annoyingly cute he is. "I bet you've dreamed about this."

"In my nightmares." I scoff, reaching out to shove him but he catches my hand in his, pressing a dramatic kiss to the back of my hand with a wink.

"Mhm, sure. You love me."

[emotionally-charged-arson]

A Very, Very Unfinished Pile of Theory of Everything Headcanons (Ayreon)

Last semester, my English final was a presentation relating the overall theme of the Forever saga to that of the more popular works of H.G. Wells. Details of that argument aside, the thesis was that Ayreon’s emotional core was the presence of small-scale acts of love juxtaposed against large-scale existential tragedy, balanced in their individual power. That we are messy and self-destructive, and in the grand scheme of things we mean very little in the universe, but we are resilient and alive and human and that has to be worth something.

I really like this aspect of the main story, and it got me a perfect score on that assignment. It had a ten minute time limit and I was fighting for my life to stay under it. While I was downsizing the script, I couldn’t help but think of an earlier idea I had drafted about how The Theory of Everything on its own was a really incredible example of the mad scientist archetype turned completely on its head (it was a science-fiction analysis class). Specifically how that script was almost three times longer than the original H.G. Wells one, that took me a solid twenty minutes to read aloud. 

I literally wrote an hour long lecture about The Theory of Everything. No headcanons. No extra theories. Literally just picking apart its canon plot. 

I think this is why I have so little extra writing for it. The story as its given is airtight and just…fucking incredible. Arjen wrote it with a very clear theme in mind like he did with Transitus, but TToE isn’t missing half of its story because he couldn’t pull in the cash to make a movie out of it. You can feel the intention behind every single character, they feel like real people, it has so many layers to it and it is literally, objectively, the greatest prog album ever made. Fight me. 

But anyways: For lack of better phrasing, there isn’t much to “fix” in that sense. Almost all the headcanons I have for The Source or Transitus boil down to a few things:

I was being self-indulgent with a favorite character and it snowballed into a genuinely informative trait/subplot that informs the main story (a certain hc I have where Henry just fucking shoots Daniel in the back by mistake sometime between Two Worlds and Talk of the Town, turning into this weirdly effective commentary of how Daniel is conditioned to his brother’s shitty behavior and Abby hauling ass to get him out of that headspace)

I am curious about aspects of an album’s worldbuilding and get a little excited while filling in the blanks that were perfectly fine being left alone (doing mental gymnastics trying to build a version of The Source where these five academics, three politicians, two religious figures, one robot and one random spaceman viably know each other)

The rarer option that I am genuinely disappointed by how a part of the story was handled and completely ignore this small part of canon to make the overall story be more effective. Or attempt it, at least (Lavinia’s entire character undermining Transitus’ themes and her contradicting her own motivations, and me, in turn, just writing her character from scratch while keeping with the basic story beats [her seeing ghosts, doing shady shit with Henry, etc.])

But with TToE I’ve felt very little need to do any of these. If I were to really dive into it with intention I think I would start building off of the whole bank robbery plot in Phase III (just a slightly weirdly framed plot point for me), but I haven’t thought about it. It’s not that glaring of an issue and there’s few other places in the story where I think adding anything would make it more effective. 

This isn’t to say that Transitus and The Source are objectively worse in any sense, but they leave a lot more up to interpretation, allowing me to write so many add ons that they become structured and essential to each other’s function. 

It’s fun with those two albums. With TToE I really have to look for cracks to fill and it’s kind of useless. 

Not entirely, though. I’ve got a few hcs, and maybe they’ll warrant dozens of google doc pages of context one day like the other two albums: 

Two central things sparked curiosity. Setting, and how the parent characters came to hate each other that much. Naturally. 

This started four-ish years ago when I was pacing around my parents’ house with TToE on the mind (as it often is), and my brother put on this show called His Dark Materials. I watched the intro to it all of one time and just…knew this was the aesthetic TToE should have.🔗 At least combined with dark academia. It’s an album about physics and ghosts, that seems reasonable enough. 

…funnily enough, as I later found out, His Dark Materials itself has a very dark-academia-esque vibe, and the plot is entirely based upon the intersectionality between science and mysticism and trivial human attempts to make sense of it. 

So. Pretty fitting. 

This really stuck with me, and a handful of the characteristics of the show and books became the basis for the way I picture The Theory of Everything. Mainly the visual aesthetic, like I said, but also the fact that the story starts at a parallel version of Oxford University. I don’t have some giant case study for this like with Transitus/New England. I just think it’d be a cool and vibey setting. Maybe it’s the American in me but there’s something about a thousand-year-old college with a campus made of literal goddamn castles that borders on the fantastic. 

From there, you have a decent excuse for The Prodigy to run off to Ireland, where you can choose from one of like 200 different pretty little isolated lighthouses for him to lose his mind in, far enough away for him not to be found as long as he did. Not to mention it lowkey matches with the overt Celtic influence of the music. Or Scotland, if you want some weather symbolism from the North Sea. 

Solid setting, if I say so myself, and it actually influenced the family’s whole situation. Here, The Father (Mike) is a physics professor at Oxford, and The Mother (Cristina) is the director of the Bodleian Library. It’s how and where they meet in 1991 (though the mother is in an attendant position at the time), as shown by the only part of this I have drawn out:

They hit it off, and marry in 1993. Their first and only child is born two years later and they love him half to death. Everything is more or less nice and normal. 

In 1996, Mike stumbles into “proof,” more or less, of the theory of everything being a singular, solvable equation through his work, practically by accident, and begins focused work on it with enthusiastic support from his wife. Life is going great, Cristina is promoted and the two are balancing things well enough. 

The boy shows little to no social development into his toddler years, but his parents don’t think much of it. His father was similar at his age; they’re not worried. They even go as far to say he’ll turn out just as ambitious and smart as his dad and relatives, coworkers and family friends go along with it, setting insanely high expectations for this literal three year old. Mike keeps working on his theory. 

The boy enters preschool at age four; still no improvement. Just isolates himself and draws indiscernible patterns on everything you put in front of him. His parents finally try to intervene to some degree, hiring private instructors and talking with some other psych/child development people they know through the university, to no avail. Nothing changes. He just stares off into space, doesn’t interact with any of them and supposedly doesn’t pay attention to lessons. He still isn’t speaking. Cristina is finally concerned

Around the same time, Mike makes a significant breakthrough in his work, gaining worldwide attention. He receives massive grants from in and outside of Oxford to continue his work, and quits his teaching job to make more time for the endeavor. Cristina is left as the family’s sole provider. She understands and is in agreement on that decision, that’s not the problem yet. The problem is that Mike is becoming more or less indifferent to their son hits five, not seeing any previously projected greatness he was supposed to have in his father’s footsteps. Cristina, much more conscious of balance in her life and how having kids works, isn’t sure what to make of that. Their relationship starts to strain. 

From there, as Mike keeps working, Cristina takes the kid to all sorts of specialists around England but none of them can pinpoint what’s “wrong” with him. She tries much more actively to connect with him like they’re telling her to (though she still enrolls him in the university’s affiliated primary school program, against their suggestions), bringing him everywhere. Buys him little memory games since that’s all that seems to hold his attention. She’s past any belief of him being some secret genius like his dad, not that her opinion of her husband is super positive at this point anyway. She’s just dead-set on her son having some sense of normal in his life. 

By 2002, Mike has completely secluded himself and works nearly constantly. He has made no progress on his theory since 1999 and the fame garnered from his breakthrough has faded. The family is running out of money and Cristina is exhausted. The boy is ostracized at school and still (almost) totally nonverbal. Her coworkers keep suggesting these weird holistic remedies that she refuses. She knows better than to fall for all that new age, pyramid scheme bullshit. 

The son’s condition, whatever it is, worsens until mom, desperate, puts her foot down in 2008 (or “gives up,” if you wanna put it like that) and drags her husband and son to this private practice in Scotland she was told about by a friend, suspicious but ready to put up with anything at this point. 

😐👍

[lumenflowered]

//did you actually play through one of the johto games as maria for this?

//if so, do you have any screenshots you could share on main?

OOC: I did! still am, as a matter of fact! I'm currently playing through refined gold, a romhack of heartgold which supposedly did not change much beyond allowing some pokemon (horsea, murkrow) to be acquired sooner but also I didn't read the documentation as closely as I should have and only discovered that it buffed major story trainers (gym leaders, silver, team rocket, pokemon league) once I got to falkner and he had a hoothoot.

I'm a bit of a pokemon veteran, or at least I'd like to think so... so a "minimal buffs" romhack was honestly a reasonable amount of challenge. I miss not having to deal with hms though. and tms being reusable. and the party-wide exp share. do you realize how much time I spent grinding in victory road and lance STILL clapped my ass.

anyway, let's see what I can dig up...

(putting this below a cut because I dug up a lot of screenshots)

most recent screenshot: that fucking gyarados was the bane of my existence because I don't have any electric-type moves and SOMEONE had the bright idea to give it DRAGON DANCE. which it used. four times.

a choice scarf is not enough to outspeed a 4x dragon dance gyarados. in-character, maria won by the skin of her teeth. out of character, oh goD that took me like three tries because of the dragon dance incident. more like two because I got some really terrible rng on the second try and went "fuck this" like ten seconds in, but still.

anyway I unfortunately did not think to get a screenshot of the hall of fame and I am not fighting lance again specifically for that screenshot, sorry guys, I'm not fucking with that gyarados aGAIN

sassy lost child when did you play ace attorney. (I was. NOT PREPARED for the silver fight. it took me four solid tries to beat him. which was part of my motivation for going "y'know what he can have this win in the blog canon.")

(honestly, if I had too much trouble with lance, I was fully prepared to yeet maria into kanto some other way. but he was beatable. evelyn carried the hell out of that fight. and she is still just a seadra ingame, though I do have a king scale ingame, she'll evolve eventually.)

look how fucking Shaped the honchkrow sprite is, btw. peak birb.

one of these options is really not like the others

[ade voice] call an ambulance... BUT NOT FOR ME

(she was faster)

the team! from back in the ice path I think?

I did, out of character, spend like a week playing voltorb flip to get an ice beam tm for evelyn. saw some REALLY weird rows such as this one with 5 voltorbs and no points, and several rows with a lot of points and no voltorbs. I think the highest I got was like... level 7/8. once. (technically could have cheated using savestates and gotten through it much faster but I feel like maria would be disappointed in me for that one.)

one of the team rocket admins had a really weird smeargle the message I sent this screenshot with was "what the fuck is this smeargle on" and I stand by that tbh

thanks reina.

the power of FLUFFY BOYS compels thee

I spent a bunch of time in the pokeathlon to get a fire stone for molotov (since I couldn't find it in the kimono girls' closet ingame) and. y'all may not know this. but the pokeathlon SUCKS ASS to play on an emulator. in-character I think maria would be best at the skill course due to her bloodborne weapon scaling REALLY WELL with a stat called skill. out of character that was the worst one to do on an emulator by far, I eventually managed to eke out enough victories on the jump course to get that fire stone and I don't plan on going back.

I have a lot of screenshots of Ade at low (but not 0!) hp.

see I remembered this happening but I forgot how you literally just WALK IN THERE AND HE HYPER BEAMS A GUY. (the guy's... maybe not fine but like. he's alive enough to complain about it afterwards. he's fine lance didn't commit a murder.)

lol. lmao even.

the funny thing is that she would have believed him if rotomblr hadn't spilled the beans on "yeah that's a wholeass champion"

this is the Rat, my hm slave.

because I have played bloodborne (kind of currently playing it? don't have access to it most of the time but I'll be able to continue my save in march) and gotten the dialogue of particular characters you meet early on, I feel no guilt in dubbing the rat "gehrman." he is permanently level 20 because that is evolution level and rattata can't learn strength but raticate can.

(youngster joey's rat later got named gehrman because 1) I thought it would be hilarious 2) a bit of a nod to the rat that I wouldn't be able to beat the game without, because hms suck and I hate them.)

live footage of evelyn sweeping the ENTIRETY of jasmine's team on take two of that gym. she's terrifying I love her <3

one of the QOL things that this particular romhack does is allow trade evos to evolve through different requirements. haunter's, for example, is learning shadow ball. which it does naturally at level 36.

I did not realize this until after I used the morty tm. on my gastly.

ade really wanted to evolve twice in one day. I have never b-buttoned a pokemon quite so much before in my life. (also yes I could have grabbed an everstone from professor elm but by the time I thought of that I was midway through the radio tower and could not be assed to go get that yet.)

behold, the Rat. I was fully intending to leave him at level 4 forever before I discovered rattata can't learn strength.

(also, I find it deeply amusing that furret can learn surf.)

one (1) fear: WHITNEY'S MILTANK.

it had a lum berry. and attract. and milk drink. for gameplay purposes, rakuyo is a guy, and at that point I only had rakuyo, hunter, and molotov. so that miltank was. a Nightmare.

youngster joey is the SINGLE opposing trainer who maria actually gave her number to, because I thought it would be funny.

she is less annoyed than I am by his constant calls about the top percentage rat.

baby hunter!

...god I don't think there was a single gym in this romhack where it wasn't at least a little down to the wire. olivine excluded, but that's specifically because jasmine kicked my entire ass the first time around and I trained a bunch more for the second one.

baby rakuyo! they've come so far <3

anyway that's. all the screenshots I can dig up that are fun. hi yes I have so many thoughts about this. come closer. :P

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Okay so as you all know I'm extremely cool and clever and also a published scientist, so let me tell you about my latest research.

In the Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, the continent of Hyrule is one of the biggest open-world maps ever created, even beating games like Skyrim and the Witcher. But, HOW BIG?

Obvs it's very hard to get a precise size because the in-game map does not have a scale bar (terrible map skills from that cartographer). HOWEVER, if you climb the Ridgeland Tower there's a guy up there who is a weeaboo for the Rito, who begs you to glide for him in the name of "research" (what a fucking dweeb am I right?) If you do so, he tells you how many metres you've flown before landing. This includes if you simply step off the tower and plummet to the ground in a straight line, and happily for my in-game ankles, the tower is surrounded by water to cushion the many landings I made to bring you this information.

Ten drops gave me a mean average height for the tower at 63.83, median 64.2, so I'm taking it as 64 for ease of Maffs.

For a flight from the tower, I picked a strip of land on the same contour line as the tower base and then flew along that. There was a slightly higher standard deviation in twelve flights because sometimes Link would step nicely over the edge and start gliding and other times he would yeet himself bodily into the sky and then start, and one time gave me an outlier because I got zapped by an electric Wizzrobe that saw me. But over all, flying the same line and hitting pretty much the same landing spot, I got an average of 250.1 metres. I took this as 250, again for ease of Maffs.

Pythagoras' theorem hit then, so I worked out that the distance from the base of the tower to the landing spot was 242 m. Putting that into Adobe Dreamworks, I could then translate that per pixel of the map I was working with (2.42 metres per pixel.) From there, that allowed me to calculate the area of Hyrule's land mass, roughly, in pixels and then convert it back, so having done that GUESS WHAT FOLKS

Hyrule is 25,454 km2, or 15,816 sq mi.

Wales, by contrast, is 20,735 km2, or 12,884 sq mil.

So the continent of Hyrule is, it seems, bigger than my entire country to the tune of about one and a quarter times the size.

Thank you all for listening, I will now take questions.

[drabbles-mc]

Sorry For What?

Happy Lowman x F!Reader

Request from Anon: So if I may request one with happy; slightly angsty, him and reader are fighting, he’s getting turned on, she’s getting angry and he thinks there’s gonna be hate/ fight sex but she’s not having it and pushes him away. Tells him sex won’t solve things this time and banishes him to the couch. Happy sulking, apologizing and fluff ending. 😊

Warnings: language, angst, Happy being stubborn and emotionally illiterate

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Happy thinking he can use sex to get out of an argument is totally a thing lmao

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“That’s not my fault!” you hated yelling but your patience had long since run out, “It’s not my fucking job to be there at your every beck and call.”

Happy stepped in closer to you, his voice wasn’t loud but his tone was sharp enough to cut you like a knife, “You’re supposed to be my old lady. You get what that means? Means you’re supposed to fuckin—”

“Stop!” you cut him off, shaking your head, “Don’t give me that shit. I’m not your servant, I’m not your maid, I’m not your fucking mother. I’m my own person,” you pressed your hand to his chest, “I choose to share my life with you. As a partner. I might be your old lady but you don’t fucking own me, Happy.”

“If you don’t wanna be there, then why are we doing this?” he motioned back and forth between the two of you.

You leaned back, eyes narrowing, “Is that what you got from what I just said?” you shook your head, “Look. I know how the other guys speak to and treat their women. And if they’re all alright with that then…fine. But that’s not me. And you knew that from the jump. I have my own shit going on and I can’t just sit at home all the time and wait for you to need something from me so I can feel like I have a fucking sense of purpose. You’re an important part of my life, Hap, but you’re not the whole thing. Same way I’m not yours.”

“I needed you.”

“And I couldn’t make it!” you snapped, “And I know that sucks. But don’t pretend that the roles haven’t ever been reversed. Why do you get a fucking pass on that, huh?”

He erased what little distance was left between the two of you. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body the angrier he got. His eyes bore into yours, “Because if I step away someone gets fucking shot.”

You nodded, “And that’s the life that you chose. It’s not a blanket excuse for every time you fuck up, though.”

“Why do you stick around then?”

“Because I love you!” you fought the urge to shove him in the chest, “Even when you’re being an asshole!”

You took a breath, trying to get yourself together. You weren’t used to yelling so much. It wasn’t often that you were this pissed off—your fights with Happy were usually small and over quickly. But this time it hit the wrong nerve with you and you needed to allow your blood to boil for a little bit. Sometimes he forgot that you had a temper too—yours just didn’t make you kill people.

Happy reached forward to cup your face in his hand, his other gripping onto your hip to pull you closer. He was about to lean in and kiss you but you pushed him away, “Stop.” You saw the confused look on his face and shook your head, “Sex is not on the table for you right now. This argument isn’t over.”

“Yea, I was trying to end it.”

You laughed, unable to do much else. You looked up at him, “Have you heard anything that I’ve fucking said, Happy?” the silence that followed spoke volumes, “You’re fucking unbelievable sometimes!”

“I never said you had to be done being mad at me.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Trust me. You don’t want me anywhere near your dick right now. Won’t end well for you.”

You turned and went to walk away but he reached forward and grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him. You twisted your arm hard to get it out of his grasp and the look of shock on his face was priceless. He really thought that he was getting out of this argument with you with sex. Not that that hadn’t been an effective tactic in the past, but you were too pissed for that to be a viable solution now.

“And for that you can sleep on the fucking couch tonight,” you snapped.

“Y/N…” there was a hint of warning in his voice.

You didn’t say anything in response. Instead, you opted to walk away towards your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind you to really drive the point home. It only took a few moments for you to be able to hear the sound of the television filling the house. Happy might’ve been stubborn but at least he knew well enough to give you some time to cool off before he came and tried to talk to you again. Hopefully this time around he’d realize he was actually going to have to talk.

You’d lost track of how long you had been laid up in bed. You had your headphones in, a mellow playlist on while you read your book. Your anger had mostly subsided for the time being, allowing you to focus on something other than the fact that you had been this close to telling Happy he could sleep at the clubhouse for the night.

There was a faint noise that was coming in over the music you were listening to. You took one headphone out and realized it was the sound of Happy knocking on the bedroom door. You sighed as you set your phone and book off to the side.

“Yea?”

He slowly opened the door and poked his head inside. His expression was neutral, like it almost always was, “I don’t wanna sleep on the couch.”

You arched one eyebrow, “Tough shit.”

He walked completely into the room, “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what? I’m allowed to be mad at you, Happy.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “I am.”

There were a few beats of silence before he finally spoke up again, clearly trying to choose his words carefully, “I’m sorry.”

You had to admit that you were impressed. Blatant apologies like that were never his strong suit. Still, you pressed him for more, “For?”

“For making you mad.”                                                    

You chuckled—it wasn’t an inaccurate apology. As much as you wanted to stay mad you found yourself smiling a little bit, “You really don’t wanna sleep on the couch, huh?”

He shook his head, “No.”

You sighed but gestured for him to come closer. When he reached the side of your bed you motioned for him to stop before getting in, “No more trying to use sex to get out of tough conversations, Hap,” you saw the disbelieving look on his face, “I’m serious!”

“What’s considered tough?”

You laughed, resting your head back against the headboard, “If me being pissed off was put to a scale of one to ten, if I’m above a…five? No using sex to get out of conversations.”

“Five?”

“Listen, I was easily at least at a seven tonight. You’re lucky you came away unscathed.”

“Do I get to sleep in here with you tonight?”

“I’m still mad. You don’t get to just talk to me like that. That’s not what we do here,” you gestured between the two of you.

He wasn’t always the best at expressing himself verbally, but you could see it in his eyes that he knew that he struck a very raw nerve with you. “I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll do better.”

You nodded, “Good,” only then did you pat the spot on the bed next to you, “Come on, then. Get in here and stop looking at me with those sad angry eyes.”

He let a smile cross his face for a moment as he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed beside you. He shimmied down and let his face come level with yours. You reached out, gently running your fingertips along the stubble that coated his face. You could tell from the tension in his body that he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you.

You let out a chuckle at his hesitancy, “Does Happy Lowman want to…cuddle?”

“Shut up.”

Your chuckle shifted into a genuine laugh, “Are you nervous to cuddle with me?”

“You said—”

“I know,” you patted his chest lightly, “I know. Come here,” you rested your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close to you, pressing a light kiss to his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Even when I’m mad at you.”

The remark got him to smile. He rested his forehead against yours and let his arms snake around your waist. Heat bled over from his skin into yours and you felt yourself melting into him despite the fact that you had been ready to kick him out not too long before.

“So you’re set on five?” he mumbled.

You laughed, nodding, “Yea. Don’t push your luck about it.”

He chuckled, kissing your forehead, “Fine.”

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter one

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!reader

Content warnings: violence, swearing

Word count: 4K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

A/N: asdfghjkl hello there. so, this has been on my brain for a while now, so i started this as just a drabble. what i thought would stay as just a drabble turned into this 22k+ multi chapter fic because i have zero self restraint or self respect. i’m currently finishing chapter 5 as this is being posted, but i want to keep chapters posted around once every two weeks so i can keep up with the workload. maybe once a week if i start feeling spicy. yeah plot twist this is actually the second time i’ve drafted this up. the first time i managed to get everything done and in order and then manages to delete the entire post with my huge disgusting thumbs. Genuinely felt like crying for a good half an hour.

This is also my first Levi fic! yay! lmk if it sucks and idk i’ll cry or something. nah, in all seriousness please send me criticism cuz i really want to improve and critiques are the best way.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“How down, Raven?”

“Six feet.”

Within the dank confines of a stinking alleyway, two green capes marked with the Military Police insignia crept ever closer to the taller, run-down building upon which you and your little squad of Shadows were now perched. No sunlight illuminated your position. Not that you’d ever seen the sun, or know what it even looked like, but you based your guesses upon the pathetic rays shining through the grates littering the ceiling of the Underground City.

The language you used with your Shadows, coded words translated to:

‘How do you want them to be dealt with?’

‘Death.’

It was something developed by your late guardian and mentor, Viper. See, you all had aliases in The Nest, your criminal organisation. The leader was often referred to as The Raven, however your mentor preferred to use his own nickname, stemming from his own reputation.

Then come the aliases for your Shadows. Prongs was your second, a tall, stern looking man with the black mask of a stag settled across his features.

Then came Wolf, and you swore the first time you’d set eyes on him, you thought a titan had wandered into the city. He was enormous, all 6ft 6ins of him carved in hard muscle. Slicked back silver hair and a beard that to rival a bear. Similar to Prongs, a mask sat upon his face, resembling that of a snarling wolf.

Following him was Verdant, Scales and Diablo. Your power trio. Though their special talents lay in different professions, get these three together and they were borderline unstoppable. A white mask decorated with three broad maple leaves obscured Verdant’s pretty features, Scales sported a bronze half mask etched with a snake-like diamond pattern, whilst Diablo, your trained escort, had opted for something that accentuated her own gorgeous features, a mask of black leather arcing high onto her brow on the left side, whilst the right arced low by her jaw. Though you were already spoken for, you couldn’t deny the beauty of Diablo. She did wonders when prying information between the legs of a moaning MP.

To your left crouched the twins, Una and Leaf. Una was gifted her name by none other than you yourself, after seeing her accuracy with a rifle. A single shot was all it took, from any distance. She wore no mask, something you’d allowed simply because she’d complained about the sight obstruction when lining up a shot. You’d agreed, but only under the condition that she wore a low hood. Her fiercely protective brother Leaf had chewed you out for that, but you knew he meant well. Leaf was good at what he did, excellent, in fact. Which was part of the reason you kept him on as a Shadow. The larger part was that you were damn fond of him. Of all of them, in fact. You loved every single one of your Shadows. Every single damned member of The Nest, you adored. You were their leader, afterall.

A masked helmet of black leather, similar material to Diablo’s, perched snug upon your own features. The hooked beak and obsidian feathers of a raven decorated the necessity, covering your face and hair, though leaving your lower features visible. It was a rite of passage, for you especially, and it signalled the start of your leadership.

“Una, set up. Verdant, Prongs, roundabout. Wolf…” your eyes slid to the giant man on your right, a dark smile slicing across your mouth. “Heel.”

The boulder of a man visibly sagged, clearly disappointed at your orders whilst the others sprang into action. Prongs and Verdant leapt across the rooftops in separate directions whilst Una removed her rifle from her back, parting her heavy cloak to reveal rounds and rounds of bullets strapped across her body. Leaf nestled closer into her side, whilst the other four took a step back. It was obvious you’d all been at this for a very long time, despite the twins not looking a day older than sixteen. In fact, most of your squad was younger than you, save for Wolf and Prongs, who had served their respective roles twice previously.

Sitting back on your heels, you watched your team get to work, the warmth of pride blossoming in your chest. Whilst you knew Prongs and Wolf were already incredibly skilled, the rest had flourished under your leadership. It had been ten years since you’d witnessed MPs put a bullet through your mentor’s skull. Ten long years since you’d taken up leadership and expanded the reaches of The Nest. Honestly, you were pretty proud of yourself, and none more so than when you watched your Shadows do what they do best.

Taking care of unwanted visitors.

Una took aim, resting the butt of her rifle in the crook of her shoulder, staring down the makeshift scope. She would be ready to take care of the two soldiers if either Prongs or Verdant failed to eliminate their targets.

Speaking of which…

That kernel of pride ignited as your (E/C) eyes followed Verdant’s careful, calculating form dropping from the rooftops above the alleyway, in sync with Prong’s own movements. The two assassins swooped with the grace of a stooping hawk, the silver glint of metal caught your eye as they both brandished their blades, before sinking the steel into the necks of the two soldiers. You didn’t need to be closer to see they were both dead. Expert precision. Deadly accuracy. That was why these people were your hand-picked Shadows. And why you were the most formidable gang leader in the Underground City. Your little criminal organisation had expanded into something to rival the killcount of Kenny the Ripper. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Una lowered her weapon, strapping it back in the buckles between her shoulder blades.

“Finished.” she simply stated, turning back to drop down between the shattered tiles and splintered ceiling beams that marked your entrance and exit to this lookout point.

“Rendezvous back at The Nest,” you ordered flatly, before dropping forward and into the alleyway below.

“Anything?” you ask, a brow raised behind your raven mask as you saunter over. Prongs held up two sets of blades from one of the crimson bodies now gathering dirt and grime. Useless to you as they were, but somebody would definitely find an interest in them. Verdant seemed to be struggling with the straps of whatever gear these mosquitoes used to fly around. You’d never been able to figure out how to use it, but that shit made good money when in doubt. However, your usual buyers had disappeared off the face of the city, and you’d noticed a decline in gear sales since then. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head to Verdant, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it. The thug trio haven’t been back in years. I doubt they’d return to us now,” you explain softly, prompting the girl to stop her struggles and huff defeatedly. You’re heart ached softly at the thought of him, but you pushed the feeling down.

“Here,” she muttered, handing you another rifle. It seemed to be a newer model, something of an upgrade for Una.

“You did good, Ver. I’m proud of you,” that seemed to immediately lighten the girl’s mood, her eyes shining behind her mask as her mouth widened into a toothy grin.

“Thanks Raven!” she beamed, before scampering off back to The Nest, almost forgetting to take the gun back from your outstretched hand in her haste to make it back and tell everyone she’d received a compliment from you. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Rather it only happened once in a blue moon…

A huffed chuckle had your head turning and eyes narrowing to your second in command.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your tone dripping with the poisonous threat of hell if he chose his next words poorly. But Prongs continued to smile ever so slightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Raven. It’s just, in the last few years, since you drafted her into the Shadows, she’s really come into her own,” Prongs explained simply, shrugging as she stooped to kick over the now drained corpse, hoping to find anything useful. You bristle ever so slightly. That was something you hated. Compliments. How the fuck were you supposed to respond? You tried to think back to when Viper tried to teach you simple social skills.

“Uh, yeah. She has,” you respond, keeping your features as neutral as you could as you turned away, beginning to trudge back to The Nest.

“I’m serious, Rave. You’ve done incredible things for us. You know Viper would be proud of you. I am too. But…” Prongs trailed off, clearing having something to say but not knowing how to say it.

“Go on. But what?” you pressed, wanting to hear what your second in command had to say.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit much? Rave, it’s been years. Eyes have started looking in our direction since those three vanished. You don’t think we should be lying low for a bit? Calming suspicions instead of rousing them?” Prongs offered gently. You knew, deep down, he was right. But some notable gang disappearing hasn’t stopped you before, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you now.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” even just the mention of your advisor, and wife’s name gave your stomach butterflies. Scarlett Obsidine, your other, and better, half. After the disappearance of a certain dark haired man, Scar was the woman who comforted you, and though you missed him dearly, your heart managed to haphazardly piece itself back together and love all over again.

“Rave, listen—“

“Let’s go,” Prongs closed his mouth, the tone of your voice stating clearly that this matter wasn’t up for discussion. Especially not with him.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“You know he’s right,” you couldn’t help but sigh when your wife’s soft tones calmed your irritated mood. Soft hands gently kneaded at the tense muscles in your shoulders, forcing them to relax as a tired moan escaped your lips. Leaning back, you peer into her shining sapphire eyes, locks of brunette framing your face as she took the sides of your cheeks in her hands and leaned down, softly pecking your lips with her own. You couldn’t help humming a smile against her mouth, reaching up to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Scaaaaar…” you pout, looking up at her mischievous smirk as she winked playfully.

“(Y/N)...” Scarlett sighed, swinging her legs over your body to sink into your lap, one thumb now caressing one of the most prominent features on your face. A nasty, jagged scar ran down from the the top of your forehead, over your right eye and finishing just past your jaw bone. One (E/C) iris lighter than the other as a result of the old wound. Soft lips chase away the shadows of your past as Scarlett replaced her thumb with her mouth.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to find you dead in some alleyway because you picked a fight you couldn’t win,” a finger poked your chest as she huffed above you, feigning irritation. You roll your eyes, (E/C) landing on your gear now strung across the table. That raven helmet almost calling to you as you shook your head. Disagreeing with your wife was never a good idea, but you were feeling particularly bold this evening.

“Look. So many jobs have opened up recently. We have so many opportunities to make this life more comfortable. More jobs means more money, more money means we can afford the gate toll and actually see the world above ground. And I can finally buy you an actual ring.”. Technically, you two weren’t married. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to perform marriage ceremonies in the underground City? But, it was easier than saying you were devoted to each other in every single way.

Lightly smacking your chest, Scarlett raised herself from your lap with a hefty sigh. “One of these days (Y/N), you’re going to be captured or killed,” she said quietly, unable to meet your eyes. “And then what the hell will I do…?” Scarlett had now completely turned away from you, shoulders hunched. Running a hand down your face, you pick your sore body up from the chair, reaching her in a matter of strides.

“I can’t give this up, Scar. You know that. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew The Nest was always going to be my priority,” you held out your arm, hand hovering over her back, not sure whether to comfort her or let her go. The admission almost had her in tears, you could tell by the way her shoulders shook ever so gently.

“You still miss him don’t you?” It was her vulnerable, defeated tone that alerted you to the slight change of topic.

You fell silent, not really knowing how to respond. Yes, of course you missed him. You loved him more than anything. But those days are over, you knew that. You’d cried enough those following nights after his disappearance.

He was probably dead anyway.

“Of course I do,” you wouldn’t lie to her. That wasn’t fair. But you knew the truth was just as painful for her.

“Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be enough to replace him?” the sound of her voice had your heart in pieces. You loved Scarlett. You really did. But your heart wouldn’t let you love her wholly. Part of yourself will always be dedicated to that grumpy kid you’d fallen for all those years ago.

“Scar… I—”

“I know,” she whispered, stepping forward away from your outstretched grasp. “I know,” you watched as the woman you loved, and who loved you, stepped from your shared quarters, hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry I asked,” she closed the door as she left, leaving you a frustrated, conflicted mess.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“Understood, I’ll bring them in right away. Thank you Niles,” The Commander of the MPs stood opposite Erwin, arms folded. An expression of irritation plastered on his sunken features. Erwin simply sighed, realising Niles was wanting to stay for this seemingly impromptu meeting. With a nod of his head, a cadet rushed off to find the two soldiers mentioned in their little conversation. Being Commander of the Scouts often had its perks, like having cadets around to run errands for him.

Niles cleared his throat, taking a seat on the green leather sofa within Erwin’s office. “You sure he’d help us? I mean, it wasn’t too long ago he actually decided killing you was probably a bad idea.”—he raised a thin brow, peering at Erwin with barely concealed suspicion—“I’m pretty sure the Underground City would be the last place he’d want to return.” a knock at the door cut their conversation short, both turning their heads as Erwin called;

“Enter.”

Hange was the first to make her presence known, poking her head in as she opened the door. A smile adorned the slightly dishevelled section commander, her hair sticking up in all directions. Clearly she had been in the middle of something when Erwin requested her presence.

“You asked to see us, Erwin?” her eyes sparkling with curiosity behind her glasses as she stepped through the door.

“Tch, just make it quick, I have shit to do,” the monotone voice of Levi behind her made Erwin pinch the bridge of his nose. How many times has he told him not to talk to him like that?

“Yes, come in and make yourselves comfortable.” Hange immediately took up a seat next to Niles on the sofa, Levi preferring to stand against the now closed door, arms folded. Erwin’s sharp eyes shifted to Niles, an indication for the MP Commander to speak.

“Well, no point in beating around the bush. We’ve received an anonymous tip about some criminal gang that’s been plaguing my soldiers in the Underground City.” Levi visibly stiffened at the mention of his old home. His jaw tensed in anticipation. There would be only one reason he would be called into such a discussion, and the answer was a firm no.

Without his permission, his mind flashed back to a (H/C) girl, her face etched with that ever mischievous smirk. He quelled the thoughts as quickly as he could. He needed his wits with him, and allowing his mind to wander back to what he’d left behind wouldn’t help anything. Besides, the likelihood of you being alive was close to none.

“Section Commander, I don’t suppose you would have heard of the group but Captain Levi here surely would have done. The Nest.” Niles continued, now eyeing Levi to gage his reaction. And for a man whose emotions were usually on a tight leash, this seemed to be what cracked his impenetrable walls. His eyes flew wide open, frantically searching between Niles and Erwin. They couldn’t be serious. The Nest? That was where Farlan and Isobel used to—

Shit, he really needed to keep his thoughts at bay. But what he did know was that The Nest was an impenetrable fortress of criminal activity. Trying to mess with them was suicide.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume you are familiar with them, Levi,” Erwin’s surprisingly calm tone eased the growing tension in the room. Taking a subtle breath to calm himself, Levi’s eyes narrowed to his commander.

“Yeah. I know of it. Why?” it was a rhetorical question, he already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Erwin himself. Hange looked incredibly confused, looking between the men in the office, trying to glean something, anything, about what the hell was going on.

“The Nest? Why are they so bad?” she asked, not afraid to show how completely oblivious she is to anything that doesn’t concern titans or science. Erwin gestured to Levi.

“Levi? Care to explain? You probably know more than myself and Niles combined,” though his voice seemed kind, there was a slight edge to his deep tones. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Levi.

A heavy silence filled the room as the Captain wracked his brain for all the information he could think of regarding the organisation. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“Well, you got one thing right. The Nest is a criminal organisation. A nasty one at that. Merciless bastards. Whether you’re a soldier or a citizen, they don’t give a shit. They’ll leave you a broken, bloodied mess in the street. I don’t know much about their leader. Only that he took over from the previous one around ten-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded their shitty little gang and taken over an entire section of the city,” he explained, poison lacing his tone. It wasn’t that he was above the whole gang thing, oh no. It was more the state Farlan would be in before he left to meet whoever the fuck led that group of demons. He’d never seen his friend so anxious. So afraid.

“You never met him? Their leader?” Erwin inquired, lacing his hands together on the desk in front of him. Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If I had, I would tell you. But I know he’s smart. And not the good kind of smart. The kind of smart where he would always be ten steps ahead of you. He has a small group of trusted criminals surrounding him at all times, called his Shadows. They’ll be the ones to look out for,” Despite his voice sounding bored, Levi’s heart was racing. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of facing The Nest, could they? But something in the expressions of both Niles and Erwin told him he was wrong. Dead wrong.

“They’ve been picking off my soldiers. Always in the same places as well. I was going to leave it, just tell them to avoid certain areas until this tip. Their next job. We know what it is,” Niles interjected, looking down to the floor, his own mind a whirlwind.

“And you want to intercept them. The same way you did with me, right?” Levi finished through gritted teeth. This was absurd. There was no way they could pick them all off. Unless… that wasn’t the goal. Levi’s grey eyes widened slightly, realising what they wanted to do. Yep, this was total suicide. Hange clapped her hands together almost excitedly, as if she was also able to read Erwin’s mind.

“You want to capture him! The leader! Ah! This all makes so much sense now, I was starting to wonder why I was here,” the scientist mused almost to herself, before jumping to her feet. “This is the perfect opportunity to test some of the concept traps I have in mind. Obviously for titans they’d need to be much, MUCH bigger. And of course a few modifications would have to be made so they could adapt to size and body type but oooooooh this is so exciting! I’ll start right away!'' Without allowing anybody to get a word in edgeways, Hange dashed back to her lab to begin her preparations.

“Thank you Erwin, the Military Police will remember this,” Niles said, before he too was rising from his seat. Throwing Levi an unsure glance, he made his way towards the door, only to be shoved into the hallway by Levi, who promptly closed the door behind him.

“Don’t.” he simply said, turning back to Erwin who was peering at him, his expression puzzled. Levi rolled his eyes again, clearly having to clarify what he meant. “Don’t pursue them. It’s suicide,” The Commander’s expression relaxed slightly in understanding.

“We don’t have a choice, Levi. Not only are hundreds of MPs being slaughtered down there, but relationships between the Scouts and the MPs are strenuous at best. It would be in our best interests to—“

“Bullshit.”

Erwin sighed again, having to hold his tongue. Snapping at Levi now for his language would only rile up the man more.

“Levi, we already have a plan in motion. There are soldiers down there now meeting whoever gave us that anonymous tip to further discuss the job The Nest has taken. It’ll be fine, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Erwin’s eyes bore into Levi’s own, the man once again asking his Captain to trust him in a risky call he’s made. Levi’s done it so many times before, why was it so difficult now?

It took yet another pregnant silence before Levi eventually yielded.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when we’re once again forced to retreat with our tails between our legs.” it was a savage comment, but one that Erwin didn’t take to heart as he watched the raven haired man leave. Yes, this was a risk, but all his risks so far had worked out fairly well. There was no reason why this one would fail. No reason at all.

Levi leant against the door to Erwin’s office, looking down the hallway before letting loose a long breath. Not only would he have to go toe to toe with The Raven, but he also had to face so much of his past he’d wanted to forget. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Why did Erwin always have to gamble? It was exhausting for everyone else involved.

Folding his arms, the shorter man strode back to his own office, lost in thought the entire way. Would he see you again? Were you even alive? Did you know just how much he had missed you. Just how much he’d wanted to see you again. To hold you again.

Did you know he’d looked for you? How his heart shattered over and over again each time he found no trace of you. He’d never accepted you were gone. Always holding onto that thorn of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d survived.

Collapsing in his chair behind his desk, Levi unlocked the bottom draw and gently pulled it out. He delicately picked out a small, ebony bird feather you’d crafted into a quill pen. Even though neither of you knew how to write, you knew back then how much he had wanted to learn despite never voicing it directly. All those nights spent copying out basic letters from discarded newspapers and wanted posters. You always had this way of reading his mind.

The smallest fond smile crept across his usually bored face. God he missed you. It had been years and he still missed you like he only lost you yesterday.

[qqueenofhades]

Re: the post you reblogged about Bush. I'm 21 and tbh feel like I can only vote for Bernie, can you explain if/why I shouldn't? Thanks and sorry if this is dumb or anything.

Oh boy. Okay, I’ll do my best here. Note that a) this will get long, and b) I’m old, Tired, and I‘m pretty sure my brain tried to kill me last night. Since by nature I am sure I will say something Controversial ™, if anyone reads this and feels a deep urge to inform me that I am Wrong, just… mark it down as me being Wrong and move on with your life. But also, really, you should read this and hopefully think about it. Because while I’m glad you asked this question, it feels like there’s a lot in your cohort who won’t, and that worries me. A lot.

First, not to sound utterly old-woman-in-a-rocking-chair ancient, people who came of age/are only old enough to have Obama be the first president that they really remember have no idea how good they had it. The world was falling the fuck apart in 2008 (not coincidentally, after 8 years of Bush). We came within a flicker of the permanent collapse of the global economy. The War on Terror was in full roar, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were at their height, we had Dick Cheney as the cartoon supervillain before we had any of Trump’s cohort, and this was before Chelsea Manning or Edward Snowden had exposed the extent of NSA/CIA intelligence-gathering/American excesses or there was any kind of public debate around the fact that we were all surveilled all the time. And the fact that a brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama was elected in this climate seems, and still seems tbh, kind of amazing. And Obama was certainly not a Perfect President ™. He had to scale back a lot of planned initiatives, he is notorious for expanding the drone strike/extrajudicial assassination program, he still subscribed to the overall principles of neoliberalism and American exceptionalism, etc etc. There is valid criticism to be made as to how the hopey-changey optimistic rhetoric stacked up against the hard realities of political office. And yet…. at this point, given what we’re seeing from the White House on a daily basis, the depth of the parallel universe/double standards is absurd.

Because here’s the thing. Obama, his entire family, and his entire administration had to be personally/ethically flawless the whole time (and they managed that – not one scandal or arrest in eight years, against the legions of Trumpistas now being convicted) because of the absolute frothing depths of Republican hatred, racial conspiracy theories, and obstruction against him. (Remember Merrick Garland and how Mitch McConnell got away with that, and now we have Gorsuch and Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court? Because I remember that). If Obama had pulled one-tenth of the shit, one-twentieth of the shit that the Trump administration does every day, he would be gone. It also meant that people who only remember Obama think he was typical for an American president, and he wasn’t. Since about… Jimmy Carter, and definitely since Ronald Reagan, the American people have gone for the Trump model a lot more than the Obama model. Whatever your opinion on his politics or character, Obama was a constitutional law professor, a community activist, a neighborhood organizer and brilliant Ivy League intellectual who used to randomly lie awake at night thinking about income inequality. Americans don’t value intellectualism in their politicians; they just don’t. They don’t like thinking that “the elites” are smarter than them. They like the folksy populist who seems fun to have a beer with, and Reagan/Bush Senior/Clinton/Bush Junior sold this persona as hard as they possibly could. As noted in said post, Bush Junior (or Shrub as the late, great Molly Ivins memorably dubbed him) was Trump Lite but from a long-established political family who could operate like an outwardly civilized human.

The point is: when you think Obama was relatively normal (which, again, he wasn’t, for any number of reasons) and not the outlier in a much larger pattern of catastrophic damage that has been accelerated since, again, the 1980s (oh Ronnie Raygun, how you lastingly fucked us!), you miss the overall context in which this, and which Trump, happened. Like most left-wingers, I don’t agree with Obama’s recent and baffling decision to insert himself into the 2020 race and warn the Democratic candidates against being too progressive or whatever he was on about. I think he was giving into the same fear that appears to be motivating the remaining chunk of Joe Biden’s support: that middle/working-class white America won’t go for anything too wild or that might sniff of Socialism, and that Uncle Joe, recalled fondly as said folksy populist and the internet’s favorite meme grandfather from his time as VP, could pick up the votes that went to Trump last time. And that by nature, no one else can.

The underlying belief is that these white voters just can’t support anything too “un-American,” and that by pushing too hard left, Democratic candidates risk handing Trump a second term. Again: I don’t agree and I think he was mistaken in saying it. But I also can’t say that Obama of all people doesn’t know exactly the strength of the political machine operating against the Democratic Party and the progressive agenda as a whole, because he ran headfirst into it for eight years. The fact that he managed to pass any of his legislative agenda, usually before the Tea Party became a thing in 2010, is because Democrats controlled the House and Senate for the first two years of his first term. He was not perfect, but it was clear that he really did care (just look up the pictures of him with kids). He installed smart, efficient, and scandal-free people to do jobs they were qualified for. He gave us Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor to join RBG on the Supreme Court. All of this seems… like a dream.

That said: here we are in a place where Biden, Bernie Sanders, and Elizabeth Warren are the front-runners for the Democratic nomination (and apparently Pete Buttigieg is getting some airplay as a dark horse candidate, which… whatever). The appeal of Biden is discussed above, and he sure as hell is not my favored candidate (frankly, I wish he’d just quit). But Sanders and Warren are 85% - 95% similar in their policy platforms. The fact that Michael “50 Billion Dollar Fortune” Bloomberg started rattling his chains about running for president is because either a Sanders or Warren presidency terrifies the outrageously exploitative billionaire capitalist oligarchy that runs this country and has been allowed to proceed essentially however the fuck they like since… you guessed it, the 1980s, the era of voodoo economics, deregulation, and the free market above all. Warren just happens to be ten years younger than Sanders and female, and Sanders’ age is not insignificant. He’s 80 years old and just had a heart attack, and there’s still a year to go to the election. It’s also more than a little eye-rolling to describe him as the only progressive candidate in the race, when he’s an old white man (however much we like and approve of his policy positions). And here’s the thing, which I think is a big part of the reason why this polarized ideological purity internet leftist culture mistrusts Warren:

She may have changed her mind on things in the past.

Scary, right? I sound like I’m being facetious, but I’m not. An argument I had to read with my own two eyes on this godforsaken hellsite was that since Warren became a Democrat around the time Clinton signed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, she sekritly hated gay people and might still be a corporate sellout, so on and etcetera. (And don’t even get me STARTED on the fact that DADT, coming a few years after the height of the AIDS crisis which was considered God’s Judgment of the Icky Gays, was the best Clinton could realistically hope to achieve, but this smacks of White Gay Syndrome anyway and that is a whole other kettle of fish.) Bernie has always demonstrably been a democratic socialist, and: good for him. I’m serious. But because there’s the chance that Warren might not have thought exactly as she does now at any point in her life, the hysterical and paranoid left-wing elements don’t trust that she might not still secretly do so. (Zomgz!) It’s the same element that’s feeding cancel culture and “wokeness.” Nobody can be allowed to have shifted or grown in their opinions or, like a functional, thoughtful, non-insane adult, changed their beliefs when presented with compelling evidence to the contrary. To the ideological hordes, any hint of uncertainty or past failure to completely toe the line is tantamount to heresy. Any evidence of any other belief except The Correct One means that this person is functionally as bad as Trump. And frankly, it’s only the Sanders supporters who, just as in 2016, are threatening to withhold their vote in the general election if their preferred candidate doesn’t win the primary, and indeed seem weirdly proud about it.

OK, boomer Bernie or Buster.

Here’s the thing, the thing, the thing: there is never going to be an American president free of the deeply toxic elements of American ideology. There just won’t be. This country has been built how it has for 250 years, and it’s not gonna change. You are never going to have, at least not in the current system, some dream candidate who gets up there and parrots the left-wing talking points and attacks American imperialism, exceptionalism, ravaging global capitalism, military and oil addiction, etc. They want to be elected as leader of a country that has deeply internalized and taken these things to heart for its entire existence, and most of them believe it to some degree themselves. So this groupthink white liberal mentality where the only acceptable candidate is this Perfect Non-Problematic robot who has only ever had one belief their entire lives and has never ever wavered in their devotion to doctrine has really gotten bad. The Democratic Party would be considered… maybe center/mild left in most other developed countries. It’s not even really left-wing by general standards, and Sanders and Warren are the only two candidates for the nomination who are even willing to go there and explicitly put out policy proposals that challenge the systematic structure of power, oppression, and exploitation of the late-stage capitalist 21st century. Warren has the billionaires fussed, and instead of backing down, she’s doubling down. That’s part of why they’re so scared of her. (And also misogyny, because the world is depressing like that.) She is going head-on after picking a fight with some of the worst people on the planet, who are actively killing the rest of us, and I don’t know about you, but I like that.

Of course: none of this will mean squat if she (or the eventual Democratic winner, who I will vote for regardless of who it is, but as you can probably tell, she’s my ride or die) don’t a) win the White House and then do as they promised on the campaign trail, and b) don’t have a Democratic House and Senate willing to have a backbone and pass the laws. Even Nancy Pelosi, much as she’s otherwise a badass, held off on opening a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump for months out of fear it would benefit him, until the Ukraine thing fell into everyone’s laps. The Democrats are really horrible at sticking together and voting the party line the way Republicans do consistently, because Democrats are big-tent people who like to think of themselves as accepting and tolerant of other views and unwilling to force their members’ hands. The Republicans have no such qualms (and indeed, judging by their enabling of Trump, have no qualms at all). 

The modern American Republican party has become a vehicle for no-holds-barred power for rich white men at the expense of absolutely everything and everyone else, and if your rationale is that you can’t vote for the person opposing Donald Goddamn Trump is that you’re just not vibing with them on the language of that one policy proposal… well, I’m glad that you, White Middle Class Liberal, feel relatively safe that the consequences of that decision won’t affect you personally. Even if we’re due to be out of the Paris Climate Accords one day after the 2020 election, and the issue of climate change now has the most visibility it’s ever had after years of big-business, Republican-led efforts to deny and discredit the science, hey, Secret Corporate Shill, am I right? Can’t trust ‘er. Let’s go have a craft beer.

As has been said before: vote as far left as you want in the primary. Vote your ideology, vote whatever candidate you want, because the only way to make actual, real-world change is to do that. The huge, embedded, all-consuming and horrible system in which we operate is not just going to suddenly be run by fairy dust and happy thoughts overnight. Select candidates that reflect your values exactly, be as picky and ideologically militant as you want. That’s the time to do that! Then when it comes to the general election:

America is a two-party system. It sucks, but that’s the case. Third-party votes, or refraining from voting because “it doesn’t matter” are functionally useless at best and actively harmful at worst.

Either the Democratic candidate or Donald Trump will win the 2020 election.

There is absolutely no length that the Republican/GOP machine, and its malevolent allies elsewhere, will not go to in order to secure a Trump victory. None.

Any talk whatsoever about “progressive values” or any kind of liberal activism, coupled with a course of action that increases the possibility of a Trump victory, is hypocritical at best and actively malicious at worst.

This is why I found the Democratic response to Obama’s “don’t go too wild” comments interesting. Bernie doubled down on the fact that his plans have widespread public support, and he’s right. (Frankly, the fact that Sanders and Warren are polling at the top, and the fact that they’re politicians and would not be crafting these campaign messages if they didn’t know that they were being positively received, says plenty on its own). Warren cleverly highlighted and praised Obama’s accomplishments in office (i.e. the Affordable Care Act) and didn’t say squat about whether she agreed or disagreed with him, then went right back to campaigning about why billionaires suck. And some guy named Julian Castro basically blew Obama off and claimed that “any Democrat” could beat Trump in 2020, just by nature of existing and being non-insane.

This is very dangerous! Do not be Julian Castro!

As I said in my tags on the Bush post: everyone assumed that sensible people would vote for Kerry in 2004. Guess what happened? Yeah, he got Swift Boated. The race between Obama and McCain in 2008, even after those said nightmare years of Bush, was very close until the global crash broke it open in Obama’s favor, and Sarah Palin was an actual disqualifier for a politician being brazenly incompetent and unprepared. (Then again, she was a woman from a remote backwater state, not a billionaire businessman.) In 2012, we thought Corporate MormonBot Mitt Fuggin’ Romney was somehow the worst and most dangerous candidate the Republicans could offer. In 2016, up until Election Day itself, everyone assumed that HRC was a badly flawed candidate but would win anyway. And… we saw how that worked out. Complacency is literally deadly.

I was born when Reagan was still president. I’m just old enough to remember the efforts to impeach Clinton over forcing an intern to give him a BJ in the Oval Office (This led by the same Republicans making Donald Trump into a darling of the evangelical Christian right wing.) I’m definitely old enough to remember 9/11 and how America lost its mind after that, and I remember the Bush years. And, obviously, the contrast with Obama, the swing back toward Trump, and everything that has happened since. We can’t afford to do this again. We’re hanging by a thread as it is, and not just America, but the entire planet.

So yes. By all means, vote for Sanders in the primary. Then when November 3, 2020 rolls around, if you care about literally any of this at all, hold your nose if necessary and vote straight-ticket Democrat, from the president, to the House and Senate, to the state and local offices. I cannot put it more strongly than that.

[godofsexdrugsandrocknroll]

Green Lantern Jaune!AU

*In the middle of the Fall of Beacon*

Jaune: *To Cinder* In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night--

Cinder: *Hopped up on her ego* Really? This is the best you have, Nikos? A cheat who’s read too much manga?

Pyrrha: *Staring in horror*

Jaune: --No Evil Shall Escape My Sight!

Cinder: *Rolls her eyes, aims arrow at Jaune instead*

Jaune: Let Those Who Worship Evil’s Might, Beware My Power--

Cinder: *Shoots arrow*

Jaune: Green Lantern’s Light!

*A flash of green and Jaune’s wearing Alan Scott’s Kingdom Come Green Lantern suit*

Cinder: What!?

Pyrrha: *Gapes*

Cinder’s Arrow: *Disintegrates*

Jaune: Don’t worry Pyrrha, I got this!

-----------------

Jacques Schnee: *Blinded by Jaune’s transformation* What the devil!?

Weiss: *Sees her chance, kicks her father in the groin* That dolt, what does he think he’s doing? *Worriedly, poorly mimicking Jaune’s voice* ‘Oh no, I can’t do that Snow Angel, it’s bad enough I let you know but Remnant’s nowhere near ready for the attention of the rest of the galaxy!’ How is transforming in front of all of Vale supposed to be keeping that a secret!? *Stalks off worriedly in Jaune’s direction*

Jacques Schnee: *Rolls on the ground in agony*

-----------------

Blake: *Stemming Yang’s bleeding* I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so--

*Jaune transforms, Blake yelps*

Blake: *Gapes at the barely visible figure of Jaune* W-what!? Jaune’s the Emerald Knight!?

Yang: *Waking, weakly* B-Blake?

Blake: *Still stunned but realizes she can’t run now, not with Yang looking like at her like that*

----------------- 

Adam Taurus: *Seething in apocalyptic fury* You again. You bastard, you just won’t stop interfering where you don’t belong!

White Fang Grunt: *Terrified of the emerald glow* Sir? What do we do? The last time we fought the Emerald Knight he nearly killed you.

Adam Taurus: *Audibly grinds teeth* We retreat.

White Fang Grunt: Sir!?

Adam Taurus: Don't make me repeat myself. We retreat. The only way we live to fight another day is if we live and that accursed blight on faunuskind won’t hesitate to kill our brothers and sisters in droves if we fight him now!

----------------- 

Nora: --EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ren: *Sighs in defeat*

Nora: *Stops, cackling maniacally* If fearless leader’s a superhero then that means we are too, Renny! *Pink electricity crackles, Nora’s eyes begin glowing pink* Call me Thundermaiden! *Lifts Magnhild*

Worried Beowolf: Aroo?

----------------- 

Velvet: *Breathes* Bloody rippa.

----------------- 

Coco: *Lips pressed together, exhales explosively* Nine out of ten. That armor is sleek, aesthetically pleasing from any angle, those pauldrons are just muah and if Arc had been born with just one more X chromosome I’d have my head buried in his thighs and he’d be screaming my name for that fucking cape. *Sighs wistfully*

Neptune: *To himself* Oh yeah, because now’s the time for a boner.

Reese Chloris: *Zipping about* Maybe focus on the badass armor later, cause if you haven’t noticed-- *Is cut off by the roar of Coco’s minigun*

Coco: Yeah, yeah.

----------------- 

Emerald: Get back here you traitorous coward!

Mercury: *Running away* Nope, fuck that! My old man fought the Emerald Knight last year, got his ass whooped up and down the Purple River and the Emerald Knight just straight up disappeared the fucker! Not only is fighting that dude suicide but I owe him one!

Emerald: You traitor! How dare you turn your back on Cinder, after all she’s done for you!

Mercury: *Rolls his eyes, kicks a Beringel at a now shrieking Emerald* Cinder offers me the chance to kill my old man. Emerald Knight wipes him off the face of Remnant. And these are the people I worked with.

----------------- 

Ruby: Pyrrha, don’t worry, I’m holy guacamole with a side of chips. *Stares at Jaune in awe* OMIGOSH YOUR ARMOR IS SO COOL!

Cinder: *Incoherent screaming*

Ruby: *Gasps at Jaune’s massive emerald longsword* Th-th-th-th-- *Goes into a pitch only dogs can hear*

Jaune: *Cuts through two more of Cinder’s swords, creates a massive riot shield to block fire* Like Crocea Mors, Rubes? *Ruby shatters glass with her voice* Just a bit of my power. Alright, enough of you.

Cinder: You dare!? I am the Fall Maiden and I will have your girlfriend’s soul!

Jaune: Uh, Weiss is nowhere near--

Pyrrha: *Slumps, mutters* Thank you for reminding me Jaune, I had almost forgotten.

Jaune: You say something Pyr?

Cinder: *Flabbergasted* Then why!? Why stand in my path!? This will only end one way, you cheat! You’re a nobody! Nothing you have can stand before the powers of the Maidens! Not your strange aura or your paltry armor!

Jaune: Because. Pyrrha’s my friend. *Pyrrha gets teary eyed*  It's not about where you were born or the powers you have or what you wear on your chest; it's about what you do. It’s about your actions. And I refuse to let innocent people be hurt in your lust for power! *Disappears Crocea Mors, creates heavy shackle constructs on Cinder and a muzzle construct over her mouth* And you’re right. The Guardians of Oa will be your judgment.

Cinder: *Wide eyed, stunned at her immediate defeat*

Ruby: *Gapes, is inspired by his words*

Pyrrha: *Stunned, happy to be alive, touched*

Weiss: *Arrives* Our hero. *Smiles* So much for secrecy, huh?

Jaune: *Sheepishly* Heh, yeah. Not sure Remnant’s really ready for the Corps. and all that comes with it but no way could I call myself a Lantern if I let Pyro Lady here get her way.

Weiss: *Haughtily* Yes, quite. *Smiles cheerfully* Well the good news is you seem to have given the others a second wind. *Gestures, strokes Jaune’s cheek*

Jaune: *Stares blankly as Huntsmen and Huntress tear through Grimm like they’re barely there, sees retreating White Fang and Atlas making arrests, mowing down Grimm; Grins* All in a--

Grimm Dragon: *Roars*

Cinder: *Eyes widen in glee*

Weiss: *Clutches Jaune’s side, aims Myrtenaster*

Jaune: AAAHHH! DRAGON! Trust in instincts!

*Giant green penis construct forms above the Dragon and slams down onto it, crushing the body*

Cinder: *Goes into catatonic shock*

Jaune: *Ignores Weiss pounding on his chest as she blushes furiously* Instincts bad!

Grimm Dragon: *Dies feeling oddly humiliated*

Weiss: Why!? Of all the things, why t-t-t-t-t-t-t-that!

Jaune: *Embarrassed, not making eye contact with a stunned Ruby or Pyrrha, defends himself* I didn’t hear you complaining last night when I made to-scale copies of Jaune Jr. so you could get spitroasted by your boyfriend! I *realizes what he just said* Oops.

Weiss: *Mortified beyond belief* I-I, you, n-no... *Sees gaping Ruby and Pyrrha, buries her face in his cape* H-he’s lying! I-I, noooo, I hate yoooooouuu!!!!!!

Jaune: I love you too, Snow Angel. *Blushes* Well, as far as official debuts go that could have been worse.

Winter: *Sounding angry and embarrassed as she stomps up the CCT stairs* W-Weiss, I’m well aware of how happy you are in your relationship but that is no reason to allow your boyfriend to advertise to the world in s-s-such lewd detail his p-p-p-his dingaling!

Yang: *Further down the stairs, sounding pained* BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

Weiss: *Face is a tomato and she starts kicking an embarrassed Jaune’s armored shin*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One: Look my Homelander avatar in the eyes and tell me Alan Scott’s armor in Kingdom Come wasn’t just made for a GL!Jaune story.

Two: Yes, that is a (very lightly) paraphrased Superman quote Jaune used.

Three: Instincts bad is a reference to a Spider-Man panel.

Four: Velvet is terribly accurate. My girlfriend is Australian and she uses ‘ripper’ regularly. It’s basically Australian for awesome.

[godzillerd]

Resident Evil 8 AU Pt 2: Parenthood Boogaloo??

Former Post Here

To summarize: Ethan takes deal. Miranda goes boom. Village goes boom. Chris is like this is serious. Heisenberg is like no baby for me pls. Ethan is like yeah no absolutely no baby for him pls. Chris is like sorry but baby for him. Didn’t even get a baby shower. Fucking brutal. Hate this place.

RIP pls forgive this obnoxiously long post that will never become a cohesive fic.

Why am I like this. 

My life is a sea of regrets.

Seriously though forgive how all over the place this is - it is literally me vomiting thoughts for sport.

Immediately after leaving the village (what was left of it) Heisenberg headed west with Rose. 

As expected, it took a matter of hours for the Duke to show up bearing gifts. Not much, mind you, but enough. 

He even allowed Heisenberg to start running a tab, despite quibbling that it was a bad business practice. 

For the first year, they were completely off the grid with zero contact with the rest of the world, usually living in ramshackle hunting cabins in the forests of whatever country they happened to be in at the time. Hungary, Austria, Slovenia, and eventually Switzerland. 

Not requiring food or water himself, caring for Rose was relatively easy with some help from Duke. Heisenberg became an old hand at building fires out of nothing.

The whole baby thing did not come naturally to him. In fact, it took over six months for Heisenberg to have any kind of clue as to why the potato might be screaming this time. 

He came very close to just killing it and fending for himself, but after seeing what Rose did to Miranda... it was enough to make anyone hesitant. 

Around eight months in, Duke showed up with a new present: A cell phone. And a secure number. And a delicate observation that Ethan Winters might actually kill Heisenberg if he didn’t call soon. 

Calls with Ethan were an infrequent thing. Ethan passed along pertinent information, but being under heavy monitoring, he didn’t have a lot of private time. 

Heisenberg had less of an excuse, and just genuinely didn’t like Ethan. 

Despite being told about it specifically, Heisenberg missed Rose’s first and second birthdays. She didn’t seem to mind. Ethan did.

Around then, it became obvious that living in the woods, completely cut off from humanity, wasn’t going to work out well for a growing child. 

Did you know electromagnetic energy can really fuck up a bank machine? 

Heisenberg (well, Duke) found a reasonable, small cottage on the outskirts of a village in the south of France. He put together a decent little business selling metalwork crafts that were simple (for him) to build, but could sell for high profit. Horses were a bit of a specialty.

Became the local backwoods crazy rural uncle who can fix anything using anything. 

Ethan managed to pull enough strings to buy himself a four hour window while in France for unrelated business to visit Rose for the first time just before she turned three. 

They agreed to meet in a town about an hour south as Ethan had ‘security concerns’. 

ie. He and Chris both doubted Heisenberg’s ability to blend into a crowd. 

To prove a point because he’s a petty bitch, Heisenberg walked Rose past Ethan five times while Ethan was waiting around for them. Ethan only noticed them when Heisenberg said his name. 

Shaving, showering, a haircut, and new clothes can do a lot for a man. 

Rose did not recognize Ethan and was extremely reluctant to speak to him at all. Eventually, she was coaxed into introducing herself as “Rosalie-Elise”. For reasons beyond Heisenberg’s comprehension, this seemed to have a profound emotional effect on Ethan. 

Aside from occasional visits from Ethan (usually every year or two) it was mostly Heisenberg and Rose against the world. 

Duke did roll through, though less frequently than when they were actively fleeing the village. He was incredibly fond of Rose, after all.

Until Rose turned three, Heisenberg largely saw her as a nuisance - something he was obligated to keep alive for his own sake. 

When she was three, and shortly after they settled in the French House, Rose began picking up on Heisenberg’s mannerisms. Speaking like him, sitting like him, trying to mimic everything he did on a smaller scale...

Overnight she went from a nuisance to the apple of his goddamn eye. 

Heisenberg rarely called Rose by her name unless it was serious. More often than not, she’s ‘Kid’ or ‘Blondie’

By the time she started school, Rose could dismantle, repair, and reassemble most standard engines (with a bit of help). She was also shaping up to be a mean little welder.

She also picked up a bad habit of swearing (fortunately, only in English)

Rose was raised speaking French almost exclusively, and her English was heavily accented. Heisenberg learned it with great difficulty, but became fluent by speaking only French for years.

Despite being happier by himself, cut off from other people, Heisenberg deliberately put in the effort to appear as ‘normal’ as possible. 

He never claimed to be Rose’s father - to her or to anyone else. Instead, he called himself her crazy uncle and left the gossip-mongers to come up with a story about her parents. 

Ethan was mockingly referred to as ‘Brother’ every time he called or visited, though. 

When Rose was six, Heisenberg gave her a watered-down version of what happened in the village. 

Watered down for him, at least. 

Rose had nightmares for six months. 

In the midst of that fun time, Ethan gave them a warning that the BSAA was starting to suspect something, so they up and disappeared in one night. 

This pattern continued for years, destroying any chance of Rose having a ‘normal’ childhood. 

Despite that, she developed a startlingly good mindset about things. Influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew up with a tendency towards independence and isolation, with a hell of a lot of self-confidence and pride to boot. She never particularly enjoyed being around other children, even when she had the opportunity. She preferred staying close to Heisenberg whether it was necessary or not. 

Being an obnoxiously touch-motivated brat, Rose spent most of her childhood hanging off his neck, or flopped over his shoulders, or literally hugging him while he was juggling hot metal. Heisenberg gave up caring when she was about four and by the time she was five he didn’t really notice it at all. He often sprawled on the couch just so the kid could nap on him and catch up on sleep. 

After learning the truth about the village, Rose never did sleep particularly well at night - especially not alone in her room. Most nights, Heisenberg would sit next to her bed until she fell asleep. Sometimes even all night. 

Again, likely influenced by Heisenberg, Rose grew to dislike Ethan as time wore on. Despite her solid relationship with Heisenberg, most of their arguments were about Rose seeing Ethan. 

Heisenberg understood that their safety relied on Ethan being on good terms with both of them. Rose “didn’t give a fuck”

They reached a compromise eventually that Ethan was only ever promised one hour with Rose. If she wanted to leave after that, it was her choice. Similarly, Heisenberg let her set the boundaries about hugs and calling Ethan her father. 

Needless to say, Ethan stopped getting hugs by the time Rose was ten, and he was never called her dad. 

On the other side of things, Rose adored the Duke just as much as he adored her. Whenever Duke was in their neck of the woods, he made a special point to track them down in order to give Rose extravagant gifts. 

Puberty was a hell of a time.

A hell of a time

Rose manifested a massive amount of power in the span of six months when she was thirteen. Around the same time she discovered her love of girls, teenage rebellion, and sticking it to the man.

During one rip-roaring fight when she was fourteen, Rose sent Heisenberg through not one, nor two, nor even three walls. She sent him through five.

Somehow, that incident was enough to curb the rising tide of teenage hormones and got them both back on track.

Heisenberg always struggled with knowing how much or how little to tell Rose about their predicament. On one hand, Ethan hated the idea and thought it would destroy her entire childhood. On the other hand, Heisenberg disliked the idea of lying to the kid. 

Eventually, circumstances were such that there was no choice but to tell Rose everything in order to stay safe. By the time she was twelve, she had a pretty good idea about everything that had happened in the past. 

Mostly because Ethan assumed he wouldn’t do it, Heisenberg also told her all about himself.

Surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly, after so many years) it didn’t change much. She tried to use it as ammunition during a few teenage tantrums, but when she realized it didn’t phase him, it was never really brought up again. 

[htmlerror]

In the question of Fuck marry kill on early ocean life I need your reasoning too It's very important

You’re correct this is very important. I got out my laptop to answer this question and I am hyped to get going. For simplicity, I'm going o be rating each creature on a scale of one to ten in three categories: fuckability, marriageability, and my desire to muder. Comparing these scores will allow me to come to a conclusion of what to do with each.

First on the list is anomalocarius.

This dude, not gonna lie, looks pretty fruity. I can see him in a gay bar. I bet he'd like a good smoke and a nice cocktail. Though tbh I'm worried he would spend more time eyeing up the bartender than he would me. I just don't think he's ready to settle down. However, at around 18-24 inches, I can imagine being able to have some fun with him. I mean, check out that oral cone!

I'm not sure if we would have more fun with that on my mouth or on a toy. Either way, he's an excellent candidate to get mouthfucked

FUCKABILITY: 9.5/10 MARRIAGEABILITY: 2/10 KILL IT WITH FIRE: 1/10 on account of that being homophobic

Next we have metaspriggina and I can't lie, I think I'm in love.

This girls has everything: eyes you can get lost in, cartridge, multiple bones, and an underdeveloped head. In short, a trophy wife. This is the beautiful woman you're not ashamed to bring home to your parents. She's a bit of an airhead, but she sure as fuck knows what she wants in life and anyone only valuing her for her looks is NOT it. While she's gorgeous, sure, and not the most business-inclined, her independent yoga studio more than makes up for it. She is the peak of evolution and knows it

FUCKABILITY: 8/10 MARRIAGEABILITY: 11/10 KILL IT WITH FIRE: 5/10

Lastly on the roster is wiwaxia. Everyone wants to be them, and it shows in the ego they carry themself with

hOn one hand, gods I would kill for a piece of that. They're beyond gorgeous, but after long nights of comforting metaspriggina, that beauty's true destruction rears its ugly head. Wiwaxia has it all, sure, but that's not all there is to living. They think they're such a free spirit, but turn around and they've sold their soul to another big brand for quick cash. They might be pretty, but their plastic surgery bills aren't. You find out how much they sleep around and over coffee with the girls that weekend you catch yourself slut shaming her and wonder, is this me? Is this who I am? No, of course not. They drove you to this. This is all their fault, just like metaspriggina's tears were their fault, just like the Kennedy assassination never would have worked if it wasn't for their cunning. Something has to be done, and in the cold October night, you'll be the one to do it

FUCKABILITY: 7/10 MARRIAGEABILITY: 3/10 KILL IT WITH FIRE: 10/10

[jtrbluv]

hell-ish | pjm

summary: can be read as a separate oneshot or a continuation of ‘we’re not really strangers’“

“But do you remember when we went on a field trip to that amusement park in 8th grade? Around halloween time? … Yeah, I think that’s the moment I pretty much fell in love with you.“

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: fluff, humor, establisedrelationship!au

word count: 7.7k+

warnings: profanity (they are beyond terrified), inaccurate depictions of amusement park shenanigans, neurotic clowns (but they’re acting)

A/N: IM SO SRY ITS LITERALLY NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN ANYMORE GOODBYE DD; in my defense they typically have these typa things open after halloween ends... miss rona just isn’t allowing it this year ofc ;w; a special thanks to @viopera​ , @koushiningg​, and @bangtans-peaceful-piegon​ for letting me use their likeness, i love u all. and i hope you enjoy this late halloween fic right before thanksgiving break!

The car rolls to a smooth stop. The man in the driver’s seat puts the car into park—turning towards you while placing a reassuring hand on your thigh.

“Hey,” he says, a small close-lipped grin painting across his features, “you excited?”

You reposition in your seat so you can face him, or more specifically, your best-friend-turned-lover—the sight of him smiling causes you to elicit one of your own, your nerves slightly subsiding.

“I am actually,” you admit, “how long has it been? Six? Seven years?”

“Around there I think, but we should probably get going. The lines are probably going to be stupid long like always,” he suggests, his hand leaving your thigh only to ruffle the hair on top of your head, "Here's to new memories Y/N."

You step out onto the pavement—the crisp, cold night air nipping at your cheeks and nose. The cooler temperature serving as a reminder that winter was yet to come and autumn was about to come to a close. You form an O-shape with your mouth, exhaling sharply and seeing your own breath swirling and blending into the air around you.

Footsteps approach you from the side as you shut the car door. Your head whips around to see Jimin walking towards you with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In response, your eyes playfully loll back, a stream of air huffing out of your nose.

You shift your focus back towards in front of you, eyeing the roller coaster that intimidatingly loomed beyond the fence of the park, the drop tower that appeared just as high, and the other neighboring attractions that towered significantly enough to be seen from afar. The whole stretch of the park emitted a red glow, from what you could assume was from the large-scale lighting and technology that was spread out across the expanse.

A soft hand slides its way from your forearm down to your palm, intertwining all in one smooth motion. It was warm and comforting much unlike your frozen, almost entirely numb ones.

“Someone’s a little cold aren’t they,” he teases, using his other hand to attempt to rub more warmth into yours.

“You know my hands are chronically cold,” you pointedly whine, causing small clouds of air to shoot out of his mouth and nose due to his laughter.

He locks the car and you two begin making your way towards the entrance—from what seemed like a mile, in reality, was only a block away. There was practically no gap in between the two of you the entire time, taking advantage of each other’s body heat amidst the numbingly cold weather.

The wait wasn't too shabby, but you knew it was because time always seemed to pass by so much faster when you were with him, most of the pastime consisting of talking about how your past week has been, the fuckton of assignments you two had gotten, and the dangerously high intakes of caffeine you two had consumed as per usual.

The conversation ceased after a while, and it was just the two of you pressed side to side in comfortable silence, hands still intertwined. It was interesting to see such a vast variety of ages all around you—the most common age range were teenagers or people of the same age as the two of you, which wasn’t a surprise. After getting past the ticket booth and security check, you

two finally make it inside.

The first thing you notice is the large, antique carousel that hadn’t changed in the tiniest bit since the last time you were here.

The meticulously decorated entrance—brought to life by the fire torches, heavy-duty fog machines that didn't allow one to see after 10 feet ahead of them, bright lights that were replaced by either no lights at all or a faint red tint, and just the whole ambiance—had greatly juxtaposed the simplicity and familiarity of the carousel that stood in the eye of it all.

The heat of the fire torches allow you to regain some warmth back into your body—you create a small gap in between you and Jimin, in which he pouts and lifts your intertwined hands up to his face, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

“So, where do you wanna go first?” He asks, swinging your arm back and forth after passing through the gates.

“I’m fine with whatever,” you enunciate a bit loudly, the usual noises of amusement park shenanigans hindering your hearing.

“You sure about that?”

You click your tongue, “Jimin please, I’m a college student now, not a puny 8th grader anymore,” you argue, watching him turn away as he tries to stifle his laughter, “I swear!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll believe you,” he eventually caves, frantically waving his hand to dismiss your concerns, “But I won’t believe you until I see it.”

“Oh, so we’re gonna play that game huh,” you retort, brows furrowing as a smirk creeps across your face, “Alright, so what do you think about riding that?” You ask innocently, motioning up towards the drop tower that forced one to crane their neck all the way back just to see the top.

You break your focus as you look back down and turn towards him to gauge his reaction. His jaw dropping down to his knees—eyes widened in complete bafflement and horror.

“Y/N. I am literally going to fucking die if I ride that shit. Oh my god.”

“What do you mean? It’s totally safe! I’ve been on it so many times.” You attempt to console him, knowing it’s futile because of the piercing glare he gives you right after you say that.

“And that’s supposed to make it better how?!"

You soothingly rub the back of his hand in an attempt to ease his nerves, “Of course I won’t push you if you don’t want to, you know.”

He sighs, “Well, now you’re just making me sound like a puny 8th grader.”

“I can assure you that you very much, are not Chim.” And he smirks at that, tightening his grip on your hand, making you wish that you didn't give him that ego boost in the first place because he surely didn’t need any more of that.

You take some time to mull over your options, but instead, go with whatever your gut feeling was initially leaning towards, “Okay, so what if every time you take me to a house, I have to take you on a ride. You get to choose the house and I get to choose the ride.”

He nods in acknowledgment, “I’m listening.”

“Does that sound valid?” You inquire.

He bites on his bottom lip, taking a moment to quickly cogitate between the options you had given him, and at last, he nods, "It sounds like a win-win."

"Or a lose-lose." You chuckle, and he mirrors.

He shakes his head, “I know you like rollercoasters and all that scary shit, but there’s also a ton of stuff that they’ve added since we’ve last been here.” He replies, thinking out loud, while making you feel more content with your decision, “You got a deal ma’am.” He affirms at last—releasing his grip to offer you his hand to seal the deal, in which you confirm resolutely by shaking it.

Just like he said, the amusement park most definitely stepped up their game ever since you both were middle schoolers, navigating the large expanse with a bunch of other measly and equally puny peers.

The deeper you two make your way into the park, the more themed attractions lined the path. At this point, you could barely make out the bottom half of your legs due to the thickness of the fog. Actors were running around left and right—faces decorated with FX makeup that you could barely discern because of the dim lighting—effectively scaring others, clear by the amount of ear-splitting shrieks you've heard in the past ten minutes that was enough to make your eardrums burst.

Jimin takes note of your slight tenseness. He wasn't oblivious and he knew that you were trying to feign nonchalance—but the razor-tight grip on his hand and lack of chatter on your end was saying otherwise. But just like everything you do, he thought it was cute anyway.

He promptly squeezes your hand, making you turn to face him, "Do you want the first pick?"

You hum, "You can have it if you want."

"Are you sure?"

"Yess," you drag out exasperatedly, "how many times do I have to tell you that I'll be perf– !" You abruptly halt as a zombie (that very much isn't real is what you keep reminding yourself) whizzes past you, brushing against your shoulder and making you jump and trip over your own two feet.

The man beside you is quick to react—leaping in front of you with his arms out so you could fall into his grasp. And you do, gripping his arms to better steady yourself and stand up. As you attempt to straighten yourself out, your head sinks into his chest, laughter erupting out of the two of you to the point where his knees almost give out.

You detach yourself from his chest, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes from laughing so goddamn much. Finally regaining your poise, you immediately slip your fingers back in between his. He cards a hand through his locks with his remaining hand while taking deep breaths.

While tugging him away from where you two were standing to avoid another ruckus... granted that you were at a haunted amusement park, you shout into foggy air, "I'm fine, I'll be fine Jimin! Let's go!", hoping that maybe if you spoke it out into the world, you could manifest it into being true.

Well, weren’t you wrong.

-

A rare and near impossible feat is what you were able to accomplish: forcing Jimin to make a decision. Despite him already being a trademark libra, you always believed that one of his most standout and consistent libra-esque traits was the fact that he was so indecisive. To which had resulted in him forcing you to make decisions instead of him most of the time, whether they had been trivial or not.

The moment you realized that this "feat" wasn’t much of a feat, after all, was when you two had finally reached the entrance of the first haunted attraction he had chosen, his impulsive and most likely ulterior-motivated driven decision causing you to retract all preceding moments in which where you were being stubborn and indignant in him making the first pick.

Just your luck, his explanation behind his decision (and your almost near-death experience) is that he says and you quote, “Start off with a bang! We get the worst over with now so it’s all smooth sailing for the rest of the night. Trust me.”

For some context, you had a very  rational fear of clowns. The year of 2016 was already bad enough as it was—a time in which you had gotten out of your first serious relationship, afterward giving yourself the most horrendous haircut in your entire life because you were emotionally strung and the scissors… well they just happened to be within an arm’s reach.

Later on in said year when you had become a junior and assignments had been piling up higher and higher without any shits given whatsoever, your minuscule fear of clowns had been blown out of all proportions—ultimately fueled by the number of clown sightings around your town and one altercation that you still think about until this day. Four years later, you can still vividly recall the time where you were coming home after studying all day at the local library and on the other side of the street, you had spotted a clown—feet planted to the cement sidewalk, body immobile besides their head that would keep its focus on you as you continuously made your way down the street. As you began to quicken up your pace, the clown began to reciprocate your actions from across the way, and you came to the conclusion that you didn’t really wanna die that night so you sprinted the entire rest of the way home.

And here you two were, at the front of the line standing behind the black curtain entrance—next to a rugged wood sign with the words, CLOWNEUROTICS, inscribed with a dripping, rich red liquid which you surmise was fake blood and not Kool-Aid.

“I cannot believe I let you have the first pick and you do this to me” You quip, chewing the chapped skin of your lips, breath shallow and bated.

“Y/N, you’ll be just fine. I’ll be here right beside you, remember?” he assures you once more, giving you another tight squeeze on your hand.

The curtains swish open, the employee in a simple all-black ensemble motioning the two of you to come inside. You close your eyes, taking one deep and steady inhale before stepping in.

You can barely make out your surroundings, let alone Jimin, who was standing right beside you. The worker’s voice hollers over the deafening noises of the tent. “Follow the path, don’t go backwards, or else you'll hold up the line. And you see that green light?” He asks while pointing to the tiny green bulb that was down the hallway in front of you, “Take a right from there.”

Jimin replies, knowing that you’re too fear-stricken to form coherent sentences at the moment, “Alright, thanks.”

The man nods, and Jimin tugs on your hand as he begins to walk forward. You follow closely behind, reminding yourself to take breaths before you flat out lose consciousness.

As you reach the end of the hallway and the green light bulb the man mentioned, Jimin pauses and turns around to stand in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N, I know you hate my guts right now, but I’m sorry in advance and just know that I love you, okay? You have full permission to torture me after this.” He reassures with a wide grin.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” you grumble, lips downturned and head hanging low.

You feel his soft lips graze over your cheek, leaving a chaste peck before giving you an airy, irresistible smile that you can’t really help but relent, even though it already feels like your heart is about to implode on itself.

Taking a right, the setting of the attraction comes into periphery. White walls and floors—reminiscent of a hospital, are tainted with blood, a disarray of medical equipment, and severed body parts. You take notice of the vacant hospital beds, sheets crumpled and stained with red. Framed pictures of medical staff were hanging by loose nails, glass shattered, bloody splatters and smears all over the frames, walls, and white tile.

You two reach a doorway, next to one of the hinges was a sign that clearly said, Psychiatric Ward. Well, I guess that explains the neurotics part.

In an attempt to swallow down some of the fear in your throat, you tighten your grip on Jimin’s hand while opting to slither your remaining hand around his bicep.

He takes notice of your actions that were propelled by your increasing fear, and naturally, he can’t help but feel bad, “Hey, you know I’d never let anything happen to you.” He tells you, shaking you out of your slight daze, “You can hold onto me the whole time and stick your head in my shoulder just like you did years ago, I won’t mind,” he teases while booping your nose.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with, please.” You huff out, determined to somehow put on maybe not a brave, but a braver face than what he expects from you.

You manage to fail in a whopping, record-breaking, ten seconds of going inside.

The first jumpscare was so entirely predictable—the thunderous pounds against the wall, the trudging and supposedly neurotic clowns (although clowns are already neurotic enough as they are) had all built up suspense until a head of a clown had shot up from around the corner. Their usual clown features distorted with gashes in their skin and blood dribbling out of the corners of their mouth, clothes ripped and stained. Your entire body violently spasms, a shrill shriek, and an embarrassingly long string of curses leave your lips in a matter of mere seconds.

You don’t even notice the man you’re holding onto folding over in laughter because the clown is still very much still following you even after you turn the corner, but before you can recalibrate and trek forward another clown materializes just sparse inches at your side. Your entire body forcefully jerks back, knocking into Jimin, but the force doesn’t phase him in the slightest as he swiftly brings his arms around your frame to prevent you from falling back.

Next to you, the man’s laughter hasn’t ceased a bit the entire time, and as you quickly dash forward and away from the clowns that you oh-so-wanted to knock a tooth out of, while clinging onto his side, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Hanging in there?”

“I think I’m gonna murder you before I murder any of these clowns.”

“Noted!” he chimes while playfully bumping his head into yours.

As you two turn another corner, the sight of more clowns banging against vacant windows on either side of you has you wincing, and you could swear you could feel your left eye start to involuntarily twitch. You come to the indubitable realization that amidst dozens of clowns, you are evidently the biggest one here.

The sounds that blaringly elicit from your lips are the nearing equivalent to keyboard smashes with a variety of curse words in between. In short, if you had a swear jar, you’d be practically penniless at this point.

The clowns are quick to take note of your cowardly conduct, using it to their advantage and targeting you specifically—reaching and intruding so eerily close that you’re almost convinced that they’re actually touching you. You cower in their presence, squirming and sinking deeper and deeper into Jimin’s hold as you make your way down the path.

Beads of cold sweat began to assert their own path down your forehead—heart ricocheting against the walls of your chest, straining the cords of your throat because of your never-ending shouts and shrieks of terror upon terror. Your whole body was convulsing and shivering without fault, even when accompanied by the body heat of the man next to you, the harsh lighting of the overhead lights, and the lack of ventilation in this shoddy tent proved to be no match against your bodily functions that were going completely haywire. If you were an Amazon package, you would have a large ‘Caution: Handle With Care’ sign slapped right onto the box.

The pea-sized amount of pride that remains within you is the only thing stopping you from completely losing your shit.

Jimin's laughter—airy and unwavering, tickling the shell of your ear was the only thing keeping you grounded, serving as a constant reminder that at the very least when you might have lost all your pride and composure, you still had him by your side.

Without much forethought, he continues to lay kisses along your temple, clutching you close to his chest and keeping you upright as your knees constantly buckled under the weight of your looming fear, crumbling composure, and the grisly clowns that were most definitely preying on your downfall.

The ten-minute duration—which to you, had felt like a whole lifetime-and-a-half had finally come to a close. Once you were able to discern what you thought was the exit of the tent—the small opening leading to what had looked like signs of civilization, you booked it without hesitation, hastily tugging Jimin with you to the point where he nearly tramples over his own feet and crashes to the floor due to the sheer and sudden force.

You two finally pass through the exit. Feeling as if you had just ran a timed mile in five minutes, your body caves immediately—hunching over, briskly bringing your hands to your knees to support your deteriorating physiological state. The sound of your heavy breathing gets disrupted by Jimin’s laughter. You stand up, straightening yourself out when you realize that other people were starting to make their way towards the exit too, and you two were clearly blocking the way out.

Jimin takes you by the wrist and swiftly pulls you aside as more people start to trickle out of the tent. You two lean against the metal fence, comfortably silent as he lets you catch your breath.

You huff out, taking deep exhales as you speak, "Holy fuck, what even was that?"

"The funniest thing I have ever seen," he shoots back with a smile, slightly breathless as well.

You blink rapidly, body slumping against the fence, still completely cynical and disbelieving in what you had experienced. Biting the inside of your cheek so hard you're pretty sure you left teeth marks, you wipe your sweat with the hem of your sleeve.

"You okay?" he asks softly, closing the gap in between the two of you.

You nod, affirming your composure in hopes that it would solidify it for real. Giving him a smile to ease the nerves you knew he had, you visibly saw his smile widen, and with that, you ruffle his hair, take his hand into your own, and walk a few steps forward before announcing brazenly into the chilly autumn wind,

"Drop zone time."

"Y/N PLEASE—!"

-

"Don't do this, anything else but this please." He pleads, lips jutting out while childishly tugging on your sleeve.

You groan, "Bub, we had a deal."

He presses his lip together, "I know... but just look at that! How does that even look remotely safe enough for one to ride?" He tries to reason with you, staring up at the attraction that he believes should not even be labeled as an 'attraction' in the first place.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, "If it was that much of a safety hazard, it wouldn't even exist Chim."

"I will never understand why people ride this out of enjoyment and pleasure. This is insane," he says, his eyes trailing to the long line of people behind the two of you.

"It's three seconds, I swear. Three seconds compared to my ten minutes of cussing and wanting to punch a clown in the face is very reasonable in my opinion. You’ll be just fine, I’ll hold your hand the whole time," you add on.

He quietly freezes in place—eyes fixated on the tower, hands leaving the fabric of your sweater. You feel his warm hand come in contact with yours, the back of his hand grazing your knuckles. Lacing your fingers in between his, he meets your eyes, giving you a timid, lopsided grin. A silent affirmation that had said more than words could’ve. I trust you but I’m still scared shitless.

“You guys are next,” the worker announces, opening the gate and gesturing you two to come inside. Jimin’s smile dissipates, face contorting into a look of mortification at the man’s words—eyes widening to the size of what would be considered as utter shock and lips curling into a form of disgust.

Tugging lightly at his hand, he whips his head towards you, waiting to speak until you two have passed the gate, “Y/N, I’m literally gonna piss my pants like I’m not even joking.”

“Jimin!” you say in a hushed yell, “Please don’t, I know your pride is too precious to you for you to annihilate it by pissing on a ride that even kids go on.”

He scoffs, “Okay fine… but we’re getting churros after this.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, smiling at his tone, “Why would I argue against churros?”

“Hello, miss? Come this way, please,” another worker greets, leading the two of you to two vacant spots of the ride where you presume were going to be yours.

You nod, making your way towards the two seats, hearing Jimin splutter incoherent words and sounds from behind your shoulder.

He immediately plops into the innermost spot, refusing to be on the outermost seat that only had one accompanying seat on one side, albeit it truly didn’t matter. And of course, you don’t tell him that.

Smiling at his overt signs of apprehension, you slide into the spot next to him, beginning to put on the seatbelt over your lap.

Drumming his fingers on his knees, he already has his seatbelt buckled and his over-the-shoulder restraints locked and secured into place.

“Ugh, can these things go any tighter! I can still move under here,” he tuts, vigorously trying to push the restraints closer to his body, yet his attempts are proven to be in vain.

“Bub, they still want you to be able to breathe,” you remind him with a small giggle, your head popping out of the U-shaped bar to look over at him—his brows knit in concentration, nose scrunched, lips tucked into his mouth.

In a final attempt, you hear the man beside you take a sharp and deep inhale, only to hear a tiny click emit from the restraint shortly afterward.

He releases his bated breath, only to come to the realization that he can’t extend his stomach all the way forward, the bar forcing it to come short. He splutters, bringing his hand to cover his face while he coughs only to realize that his arm can’t fully reach around the bar to meet his face.

You watch this entire scene unfold out in front of you—wishing you could do something to help the poor guy, but you already knew your attempts would be pointless in the end as your arms are physically incapable of extending that far. You sink back into your seat to make sure he doesn’t see the fact that you were trying so hard not to laugh.

“Jimin, deep breaths, in and out,” you instruct him as the worker starts to make their rounds around the ride, double-checking for seatbelts and secured restraints.

“Y/N, that’s the problem, I can’t.”

“Try scooting back into your seat,” the worker suggests to Jimin, giving him an empathetic smile.

“What do you mean–oh, erm, thank you.”

She nods, shaking Jimin’s restraint a little more energetically to reassure the man of his safety.

As she leaves, he says to you, “Y/N, I can’t believe you convinced me to go on this.”

“Me too, honestly. I’m really proud of you Chim.” You admit, reaching out a hand towards him in which he takes.

“Three seconds, right?” He reiterates.

“Give or take, yeah.”

“Y/N—!”

Your seats suddenly clatter, signaling the start of your long ascent. Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens substantially, causing you to groan out in pain.

He quickly takes note of the noise, loosening his grip ever so slightly, “Oh my god, sor- oh fucking hell, there’s no going back now?!”

You chomp down on your bottom lip before another sound could escape your mouth—his grip on your hand tightening the higher you two go, “No, no you’re fine, it’s okay..”

“HOLY SHIT WHY ARE WE ALREADY THIS HIGH UP?!” He yelps, kicking his feet against the air—people’s heads starting to look as small as ants, the rest of the park coming into view as if you were experiencing it from a drone’s point of view.

“Dumbass, don’t look down!”

“It’s too late–what the hell, why can I see the whole damn city from here?!” He sticks his head out of his restraint, looking up and trying to find the top, “wHen the FUCK does this shit stop please, Y/N, I cAn’T do this?!?!”

“Chim. Breathe. Deep, steady breaths, okay?” You say while audibly taking breaths so he can do the same.

“Okay, okay,” he says, voice cracking but following suit.

After you think that he finally manages to get a grip on himself, you decide to try to take his mind off the situation at hand, “Jimin, look at the view.”

His breath softens as he begins to take in his surroundings. He could see everything. To him, it feels as if he had the city in the palm of his hand. The rollercoasters that reside next to the tower were practically reaching eye-level to him, and despite the lack of color due to the theme of the park, he thought it was mesmerizing anyway. He marvels at the fact that he could even see past the park—catching a glimpse of the cars zooming on the main highway, minute specks of light emitting from the windows of skyscrapers, people living in their own little worlds in each one, And of course, the envy of it all, the night sky—the dark depth littered with a multitude of stars in their own little patterns and worlds of their own as well.

The overhead speakers trumpet, ripping Jimin out of his trance-like state, “Welcome to the drop zone brave newcomers. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable trip on the way up here. And I hope that your descent is just as enjoyable as well. We will be dropping in... “

Jimin heaves out, “Now that’s just plain rude at this point.”

“Ten.”

“Are you okay?”

He scoffs. “What kind of question is that Y/N?!”

“Nine.”

“Jimin, you’ll be just fine,” You reassure for the umpteenth time.

“I swear if this is longer than three seconds–”

“Eight.”

He frantically kicks the air. “Fucking hell! I can’t believe I’m doing this right now, I miss the ground.”

“Seven.”

“We’ll be back down to earth sooner than you think, I’m telling you.”

“Six.”

“Oh my fucking god, oh my fuck–!”

“Five.”

“Oh fuck, holy shit–!”

“Jimin, I’ll be right beside you–”

“Four.”

“–the whole way.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD?!”

“Thre–!”

Before the countdown can finish, you two plummet, plunging down at great speeds—a feral-sounding squawk leaving Jimin’s lips when it all happens.

He squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to see what was going on—letting go of your hand, he opts to hold onto the other handlebar on the restraint instead. His breath is caught in his throat, the ride is moving so fast that he can’t even produce any noise, let alone move his body.

Just like you have been saying this whole night, the ride ends in a blink of an eye. Or more specifically, three seconds, give or take.

Jimin slumps in his seat—fingers still curled so tightly around the handlebars that his knuckles turn pale.

You stick your head out of your restraint, craning your neck to look at him beside you, “Jimin, it’s done, it’s over.”

“Are you sure?” He mumbles.

“Open your eyes.”

His head slowly rises, eyes remaining shut. Cracking one eye slightly open, he loosens his grip on the handlebars before opening his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of relief.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" You beam, waiting for the restraints to be lifted.

"I wouldn't know, I had my eyes closed the whole time," he shyly admits, lifting the restraint off of him and unbuckling his seatbelt.

You two jump out of your seats, heading towards the gate and bidding the drop tower goodbye, juxtaposing afterthoughts lingering in the air.

"That felt so weird, I don't know if I wasn't able to move or if there wasn't enough time for me to react," he chuckles dryly while twining his hand with yours once again.

You smile, "Probably a little bit of both," you suggest, eyes scanning the park for any signs of a churro stand, "but hey, you survived!"

He smiles at that, teeth out and all, "We both did," he assures earnestly, "and now as an incentive, we are getting churros."

Your eyes light up—the sight of the bright neon sign being the next destination of the night. Jimin notices your sudden reaction, quickly looking in the same direction as you and pinpointing the small churro stand from afar.

To your luck, the line isn't very long—people are most likely preoccupied with the multitude of attractions that are only going to be available for this appropriate time of the year, taking advantage of the opportunity before having to wait for an entire year before getting to experience it all over again. But you and Jimin weren't like most people, and you two strongly believed that churros should be indulged in at any time during any situation. And right now, it was being utilized as a form of consolation, just in the shape of a deep-fried pastry sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.

After obtaining your consolation desserts, you two resume your journey around the park. Too preoccupied indulging in your churro, you’re temporarily able to block out the commotion that was occurring around you, keeping four out of five senses focused on said churro and churro only. 

“You feel better?” You ask, taking a brief moment to dust off all the cinnamon and sugar off the corners of your mouth. 

“Mmhmph,” he incoherently mumbles, after shoving half a churro into his mouth. He abruptly pauses, cheeks puffed up and eyes wide, realizing he can’t talk and instead he nods with a grin as wide as his mouth would allow him to stretch out. 

You giggle at his actions, taking your focus off of him to take another bite. 

A few moments later, when most of your churros noticeably nowhere to be seen, you ask, “Where should we go next?”

He cinches his brows together, “We probably shouldn’t go on anything to extreme, considering we just ate. How about the ferris wheel?” He suggests, pointing to the attraction that was standing in front of the two of you. 

You nod, “You’re right, these workers already go through enough. And we shouldn’t add cleaning vomit to the list.”

He chuckles, “Agreed. Let’s go, the line is pretty short!” He exclaims jubilantly, flashing you a mega-watt grin while pulling you along with him towards the gated entrance. 

Leaning against the gate, you two wait for the round of riders that were currently riding to finish, mindlessly scrolling on your phones to pass the time. 

The gate entrance opens, tearing your focus off of your phone and back to reality. The enormous and dazzling neon wheel that stood boldly enveloped your vision in replacement of your dim and dark-mode setted phone screen, making you blink a few times to adjust to its harsh hues. 

One of the carts comes to a halt, doors releasing as the group of friends inside it begin to grab their belongings and head out. The worker in charge motions you to step inside after they leave, the two of you following suit. When you two become situated and seated, they press a few buttons on their control panel, the doors promptly swinging close. A few brief seconds after, the cart jolts before moving just enough so the other people behind you could board onto the next cart.

The carts reminded you of the teacup ride at Disneyland—built in a circular shape, seats lined around the border with a small gap made for the entrance door, but of course, it was void of steering wheels in the middle. Now that would just be a recipe for disaster, and a solid segue into Jimin vomiting all over you.

He nudges your leg, “It’s so funny to me.”

You turn to him, “What is?”

“Out of all things to do while being here, and we’re riding the ferris wheel,” he beams, a light chuckle leaving his lips, “I don’t know whether to pity us or not.”

“All my pride has left me already and I’m okay with it,” you tut, lips unwillingly curling upward as you replayed the scenes of what had happened earlier at the drop zone, “I wouldn’t talk too much if I were you Mr. ‘I’m gonna piss my pants.” You tease, poking him in the side.

He scoffs, squirming slightly where you poked him, “I am still proud of myself, I didn’t think I was gonna make it up there.”

You turn away, holding in your laughter, “I didn’t think you were either.”

“Hey! Don’t even get me started on you,” he says, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, “those poor clowns were about to get their noses punched in if it wasn’t for me being there. I think your screams and threats were starting to scare them more than they were scaring me.” He fires back, giggles erupting in his throat and interrupting his words.

“I’m not even gonna argue against that. We are so sad,” you say—laughter flaring up in your chest as well, the two of you keeling over so hard the cart begins to swing back and forth.

“Woah! Woah! Woah! Easy there,” Jimin yelps as you two take notice of the movement and immediately cease your actions, hands grabbing the ends of the cart to try to stabilize it. 

Just as your cart has moved up enough for you to start seeing an overhead view of the park, he whips his phone out before saying, “Lemme take a picture of you, the view is so nice here.”

As he whips out his phone, you scoot to the other end of the cart as he brings his phone up to his face and focuses it on you. Naturally, you bring your hand up, hand changing to a trademark peace sign as you flashed a smile for the camera. He brings his phone down many lock screen worthy pictures later, happy with the result evident from the grin etched onto his face. 

“Your turn,” you say, motioning you two switch spots as you take your phone out of your pocket. 

Jimin, infuriatingly photogenic, simply sits while staring off into the distance, jaw on full display as you begin to rapidly snap pictures. Hearing your camera clicks he changes his position—turning towards you as the chilly wind blows through his hair, eyes crinkling and dazzling smile on full display that you can’t help but smile at the familiar yet all too breathtaking sight. 

Placing your phone in your lap, you scoot closer to him—leaning your back against his shoulder, you prop your legs up onto the seats. Turning towards you, he snakes his arms around your waist as his chest comes in contact with your back. You let yourself sink deeper into his grasp, conforming into his body as warmth spreads to your fingertips. Your head lulls back, falling into the space right below his collarbones as you stroke the back of his hands gingerly with the pad of your thumbs. He rests his chin on top of your head, the two of you simply admiring the view below. 

The ride still hasn’t started—people still boarding the ride as the carts momentarily halt and move from time to time. 

Not long after, your cart reaches the very top. 

Head peering over the edge, he turns back, “See, why did we have to go on the drop tower when we could’ve went here instead,” he grumbles, the peak of the tower standing nearly just as tall as the highest point of the ferris wheel to the point where you could stare directly ahead of you without tilting your head.

“Well that takes all the fun out of it,” you tease, making him frown, “Hey! You keep forgetting what you made me go through before that. Don’t think I’ve gotten over it that quickly.”

Looking displeased at your answer, he quirks a brow, “You seemed to be fine when we were riding the tower.”

“What can I say, you make a very good distraction.”

“I think I could say the same for you,” he proposes, “I swear I saw some of those clowns turn away and start laughing every time you threatened them. I was like ‘Yes! That’s my feisty girlfriend!” he cheers, pumping his fists into the air. You cower down in embarrassment, grinning to yourself while trying to swat his arm away. 

“I feel so burned out already though,” you say, head falling back into his chest, “I think it’s ‘cause we’re here at night.” 

“And because you track-starred your way through that entire maze,” he adds.

“That too.”

“I feel it too, we did more walking than anything else to be honest.” He says, which is very much true. The drop tower was all the way on the other side of the park and the churro stand took you guys a whole twenty minutes just to find. 

You hum, “Should we head out after this then?”

He rests his cheek on top of your head, “Yeah, if you want to.”

“I feel bad though, it feels like we just got here,” you admit, chuckling into his arm. 

He shakes his head, hands reaching over to play with the ends of your hair, “Don’t feel bad, I think we’re still hungover because of midterms. And besides, I’m hungry and I don’t wanna eat a ten dollar hotdog after just eating a stale ten dollar churro.”

“Yeah, we can just eat one dollar ramen, we’re still college students above everything.”

And you truly couldn’t argue with that. “Of course.”

Taking your hands off of his, you prop a hand onto the cart to sit yourself up onto the seats. He releases his hold on you, his arms returning back to his sides as the warmth of your body dissipates to his dismay. 

You adjust your sitting position so you could face him—reaching out to take one of his hands into your own. Your eyes bore into his, gazing into the pools of honey that were his irises. The view is slightly obscured as his eyes crinkle.

He smiles, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You don’t even register that he’s speaking to you until he leans in slightly, his features starting to appear bigger as he starts to close the gap between you two. You shake your head once he gets so close in proximity that you could see each crinkle that etches themself on the sides of his eyes each time he grins. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips, taking notice of the action as you quickly revert back to his eyes. He smirks

“Thank you for taking me here,” you say as your eyes intently gaze into his once more, “above all the trepidation we’ve put each other through tonight, at least we’re here together.”

He nods, gratitude evident without him having to utter a single word. It’s as if time is frozen, everything around you stagnant and still, eyes boring into each other because nothing could just quite compare to this. Not even the surreal view of the city or the ability to see all the bustle within the amusement park or even the stars that littered the sky. 

You press your lips against his. Although you initiated the action, the sensation of his lips against yours, regardless of how natural, sends a flurry of shockwaves down your spine. Your body tingles—as if you’re floating and the cart you were sitting on wasn’t even there to support you. 

And he kisses you back. His lips are warm, welcoming, and comforting—like wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket in the comforts of your bed, the indescribable bliss as the fabric consumes your body and runs over your skin. 

Kissing him felt even more blissful than that.

The kiss isn’t fervent, but it’s full of longing. It’s as if he’s communicating to you, through the way his lips mesh against yours, that he plans on making up for all the lost time. Time that could’ve been spent doing things like kissing you, loving you wholeheartedly and unashamedly, was spent pining for each other with the label of being ‘best friends’ standing in the way for far too long. He wants to make up for it just as much as you do. 

He slides his hand under the crevice of your knee, pulling you closer to him as he continues to kiss you. You bring your hand up to his neck, entangling your fingers into his hair as you lightly scratched at the surface of his scalp. 

He kisses you like he’ll never get to again, which isn’t completely false—the fact that you two were so high up in the air to the point where the stars look tangible, basking in each other’s presence and each other’s presence only. 

Frustrated at the abnormal layout of the seating, he hooks his arms under your legs—hoisting you up and placing you in his lap so you were straddling him—incognizant of how the cart was starting to dip due to the unequal distribution of weight. 

The gesture makes you squeak, and you can start to feel him smile against your lips. Before you could do anything else, the cart totters—rocking a few times before moving, signaling that the ferris wheel is finally beginning its journey. 

“Oh fuck—!”

“Oh shit—!”

The two of you immediately detach from each other as you take notice of the unbalance, hurriedly leaping onto opposite sides of the cart while gripping onto the sides for dear life, the cart rocking back and forth at a concerning extent. You sneak glances at each other, your faces painted with the same expression of shock and distress.  

Seconds pass and the cart steadies—laughter instantaneously taking over the two of you.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” he says, a little breathless while his body hunched over his seat.

“Remind me the next time we kiss to check if we’re less than a foot above the ground first,” you tease, playfully swatting his knee.

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss onto your knuckles before shaking your intertwined hands up in the air—obnoxiously shouting into the frigid autumn wind, “Yes chief!” 

-

-

-

MASTERLIST

[docholligay]

Doc’s on it again

Sometimes I wonder if everyone giving the Cool Internet Hot Take Close Read of Rainbow Fish as being about “giving up my special specialness to make others happy :(” have actually read the goddamn book in the last ten years, because tell you what, when I, a known Literature degree recipient, read it, I think it’s a MUCH cleaner read to see it as being about the redistribution of wealth, particularly generational wealth, and I am a little bit surprised that the underlying message of “Share in your goddamn undeserved possessions or be rightfully hated” isn’t slightly more agreeable to a supposedly collectivist-driven person. 

Before I get into this: I don’t love the book nor care about it. I probably won’t buy it for Jewlet but if I do, this is the read I’ll be presenting to her, and not just because of my ~agenda~ or whatever--I really do think it’s the most defensible one. I read this book last month. 

My proofs: 

Rainbow fish is born with a bunch of bright silver scales that the other fish do not have. He’s done nothing to earn these scales, the other fish have no opportunity to get these scales. 

When a fish asks Rainbow fish to share in his bounty, he incredibly rudely rebuffs him. This is basically any given millionaire when you suggest raising taxes on the rich, and then they get butthurt about being hated, which is EXACTLY what Rainbow fish does. He doesn’t understand why he can’t be the only owner of The Finest Scales, be a goddamn jerk about it, and still be universally loved. 

The octopus whose advice he seeks* says that the only way to find happiness (social stability) is to redistribute to all the other fish, so that they share in an equal part of the silver scales. Not that he has to not keep any scales for himself! He is allowed to ALSO have scales and wealth in the community, he’s just not allowed to hoard it all for HIMSELF. Once again, he utterly rejects the idea! This isn’t some uwu tenderfish being told not to be So Much, this is someone who refuses to SHARE with others something that they were born into. 

Finally, he relents, and this is where we get into the actual meaning of money can’t buy happiness: He finds that having hoarded the scales did not make him happy in the way that larger societal balance and acceptance did. 

Rainbow fish doesn’t STOP BEING RAINBOW, he just has to let everyone else share in the wealth and put them all on equal footing. I don’t even understand how you’d make it about giving up specialness as if you can redistribute talent or uniqueness. If I buy Jewlet the big pack of crayons with the glitter crayons in it, and she, who will go to a poor school because we live in a lower income neighborhood, is socially pressured into sharing her glitter crayons with the other kids because they all just have the 24 packs, I think that’s....good???? Jewlet didn’t earn shit! I WANT her to be the kind of person who goes, “I have plenty! You all have none! If I give a little bit to everyone, we can all have ONE glitter crayon, instead of me having 20 extra glitter crayons.” 

Am I just a fucking nutjob here, or is this not how we want this whole idea of community to work? 

Y’all I know you were just looking for a followup to the hot take on the giving tree, but I just don’t think that the common read on this is a particularly solid one when I think there’s a way better read RIGHT THERE. I get it, the giving tree is about giving things away, so you thought it was the same, but I think if you read the two books back to back you’ll see that there’s a complete difference in both theme and tone. I don’t disagree with the take on the giving tree, btw, lest you think I’m just here to defend any old children’s book. I think the giving tree IS essentially about giving all of yourself to one person no matter how much they ask and it’s *sucks teeth* not great. 

 I just don’t think Rainbow fish is the same! 

*These are the moments when I ask myself, “Doc, do you ever think you just miss lit class in college? You sound unhinged. This is a children’s book.” MAYBE SO. 

[whumpingcrow]

Pt. 8 "Apartment Sweet Apartment"

CW: hospital setting, medical whump, injury description/mention, PTSD themes, past noncon/abuse mentions, tics/tourettes, death mention, strangling, panic attack, aftermath of noncon, August mention (let me know if i missed anything!)

Elias was incredibly vigilant and on edge the next twenty or so minutes, flinching and ducking away from doctors at every motion towards him, scrambling away from any instrument they shoved at him, afraid of any pain they inflict. Even after they repeatedly assured him that they weren't going to hurt him, they were only there to help, he couldn't help but cower away from them. It was understandable, and they were patient with him, considering the very last thing he remembered was being strangled to death by someone who had already hurt him more than should be possible. So of course he was afraid, he had every right to be, that's what they kept telling him. And even though he mostly believed it when they said he was safe now and he was thankful he was away from August, he couldn't help but wish for his small, comforting touches, or his reassurance that he was doing ok, or a slap across the face for speaking out of turn. What was wrong with him? He was finally away from the nightmare, he had literally died to get out of it, and he was disgusted in himself for even halfway wanting August to be there.

"Alright Elias, I'm just gonna get a quick look at your throat, ok?" One of the nurses asked, as she walked in. She didn't give him a second to prepare, her gloved hands already reaching for his neck. He shrunk away from her, even with the warning.

"Oh, sorry," he whispered, leaning back towards her.

"That's ok." Her fingers danced gently against his skin, and even though she was soft, his skin was tender enough for it to hurt. He let out a soft whine as she touched one particularly sensitive spot, trying with everything in him to not pull away from her. It was difficult, every bone in his body was screaming for the pain to be over, he couldn't stand another second of the exhausting aches and stings and burns. He felt like he might pass out if he had to feel another second of it. "How badly does it hurt, scale of one to ten?"

Before Elias could answer, there was an outcry at the door, and he looked up to see Tyson standing there, watching him with a look of mixed horror and relief. "Oh, Eli, you're ok!"

The nurse pulled away from him, excusing herself from the room with a promise to come check on him later. Elias looked down at his hands, choking on his tears already. Tyson approached him rather quickly, frowning when he flinched back.

"Sorry, sorry," he rushed, his voice softer now, "I'm just... God, I'm so glad you're alright." Every word he said was absolutely dripping in relief, but Elias felt like if he were to look up at him he would be able to tell that he was faking it.

"Yeah? Are you?" Elias shot back, keeping his head ducked. He knew, if this were August, he would be hit as soon as his tone was even the slightest bit off, and he relaxed a bit when he realized Tyson wasn't going to hit him.

"Of course I am, baby," Tyson whispered, rubbing his thumb against Elias's arm, "I was so fucking worried."

"Yeah, if Allen's nick name is 'worried' then you definitely were fucking worried."

Tyson was silent for a second, pulling his hand away. "What are you talking about?"

Elias huffed, shaking his head. He was in so much pain, he was so incredibly tired, everything was still in ruins even though he was away from August. He wished they didn't save him, that way he could have just escaped all of this new turmoil. "I don't want to see you. Please get out."

"What? No, Elias please. Please don't shut me out, let me be here for you." Tyson grabbed his hand, frowning when Elias gasped in pain and pulled away. He didn't notice the horrible bruising and swelling, and he only took it to heart when Elias jumped away from his touch. "Elias why are you upset with me?"

Elias was really crying now, still refusing to look up at Tyson. He wanted so badly to be held, to find some sort of comfort in Tyson's arms, but he couldn't stop thinking about the pictures of him with Allen and all the harsh things August said about him. "I know you got rid of me to be with Allen. I saw the pictures."

"I didn't get rid of you, how could you say that? What pictures?"

Elias sobbed, shaking his head. His throat tightened at the pain the movement caused, and he wrinkled his nose as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Please get out. Please."

"Elias I swear I didn't do anything with Allen. Look at me." Elias shook his head again, so Tyson tried to make his tone softer, despite the panicked desperation he was feeling. "Eli please look at me."

Tyson looked so tired. His eyes were darkened by sleeplessness and his clothes were a mess and he was staring at Elias with a sad hope to his gaze, a hope that Elias had lost some time ago. He cried harder, which only hurt his throat and chest more. "I was so scared." He heard himself whimper. "I was so scared and you weren't going to save me and I just wanted to die, Tyson. I want it to stop."

"I know, love," Tyson hushed, placing his hand against Elias's cheek and swiping his tears, overjoyed when he let him, "I'm so sorry I couldn't help you." Elias frowned when he saw that Tyson was also crying.

"He told me you gave me up so Allen would be safe. He showed me pictures of you hugging him." He sniffled a little, groaning when he ticced. Tyson was quick to grab onto his wrist softly, stroking his skin gently to calm him down. This was the comfort Elias missed so badly, Tyson knew how to calm him down in almost unnoticeable ways instead of just allowing him to flail about like August did.

"That's not true. Elias, I didn't spend a single waking minute doing anything but worry for you and try to help find you." He leaned closer as he spoke, trying to get Elias to open up to him, to drop some of the tension from his shoulders and turn toward him fully. "Nothing happened. August lied to you."

Elias looked him over, at the way his hand fit loosely around his wrist, the tears cutting down his dark cheeks. Everything about him was begging for Elias to trust him, his face and posture screaming "You have to believe me, you have to."

"You promise?" He finally whispered. His voice was so soft and close to the edge of cracking that Tyson sighed heavily at the absolute brokenness of the question.

"I promise baby. I swear." He was flooded with relief as Elias leaned toward him, resting his head against Tyson's shoulder. He stayed still, not wanting to move and scare him away, but he was insanely pleased at the touch. Elias was ok, he was alive, and he was touching him.

When Elias was allowed to leave the hospital, he ended up back at Tyson's place. It was clean, with some Christmas lights strung up despite it hardly being fall, and bouquets of flowers scattered around. Elias sat on the couch, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

"It looks pretty in here," he remarked, his voice quiet and nervous. Tyson offered up a friendly smile as he set his things down before moving to sit next to Elias.

"All these flowers are for you. People kept dropping them off." He took Elias's hand in his own, as if he was afraid that if he wasn't touching him he would have a meltdown.

Elias nodded, chewing on his lip nervously. He stared hard at the lights because he could feel Tyson's eyes on him and he felt like if he looked back at him he would see contempt. Or maybe disappointment. He wasn't Allen, he had unfortunately survived and now he was a burden to him again. He wasn't wanted here, he could almost feel it, in the way that Tyson grudgingly sat by his side and held his hand, like he was putting on a show of his affection.

"You alright love? You're so quiet." Tyson's voice was honeyed, coated with a layer of artificial sugar. It reminded Elias of August, when he would use that sickly sweet tone as he said something horrible. It almost sounded like a compliment when he called him an idiot, like a poem when he told him no one but August cared about him, he sounded genuinely loving when he told Elias he looked better bruised and bloody than when he was ok.

"I need to use the bathroom," Elias whispered, pulling his hands away from him as he staggered to his feet. He bit back a whine at the pain that shot through every atom of his body, his head fuzzy from standing up. His vision was darkening and his head was spinning again, it caused an almost familiar anxiety to grab at him. He was being strangled, he was going to die, he could see August's face as his vision faded to black, he was dead. Elias was dead.

He felt arms around him as he swayed, and he couldn't help but clutch at Tyson's clothes as he gasped in panicked breaths. He didn't realize he'd started sobbing hard until Tyson was trying to calm him down. "Hey, hey," he hummed, rubbing his back, "you're ok, love. It's ok."

"I don't want to die!" Elias cried, and he really meant it, even though he didn't earlier, even though earlier he was peacefully accepting the warm blanket of death. "I'm so scared, Tyson! I don't want to die anymore!"

Tyson pulled him back onto the couch and sat him down, holding him close against his chest. "You're safe, Elias. I've got you, you're gonna be alright. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." He stroked Elias's back gently, then his hair, then pulled away to look at his tear stained face. "It's over now, baby. No one's going to hurt you anymore." He was whispering now, gentle and quiet with his fragile Elias.

Elias sniffled, searching Tyson's face for something. When he seemed to find it, he closed his eyes and nestled his head against his shoulder to find comfort. It felt so good to be held so gently, without the looming threat of pain or fear. "Death is so scary, Ty. It's so dark and it feels like...like the world just swallows you whole. It's so scary."

Tyson was quiet now, merely holding Elias and allowing him to speak. "I was so angry that the last thing I was gonna see was his stupid fucking face and I tried to look out the window but I...I..."

"Elias, listen to me," he ran his hands over Elias's small frame, pleased to feel his breathing had slowed a little. "No one's gonna hurt you anymore. I'm here, I'm not gonna let anyone touch you." He sighed, and Elias sat up to look up at him, sniffling softly. Tyson reached up to wipe his tears, moving slowly so he wouldn't freak him out all over again. "I hate to see you so scared and hurt. I just wanna hide you away and make you all better."

"God, I missed you. I didn't realize how much I missed you cause I thought you hated me." Elias timidly reached up to take Tyson's face in his hand gently, sighing at the forgotten familiarity. "Oh, Tyson. You're so perfect. How could I forget..." He trailed off as Tyson's hands dropped comfortably to his waist. This was familiar too, but in a sicker, more upsetting way. This touch was less innocent, it had hidden motives that Elias knew all too well by now. He didn't want that pain anymore, he didn't want to be praised and fawned over when it was only going to hurt in the end anyway. It didn't feel good when he was sober, at least when he was high he couldn't feel the pain. But now he was sober, and in a gruesome amount of pain, and Tyson was touching him in that way that meant he was going to take what he wanted any second and Elias knew he wasn't supposed to argue or it would be worse but he didn't know if he could stomach any more pain-

"What is it?" Tyson asked him, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. Elias was surprised to feel he had started trembling, and when he did realize, he ticced. "Hey, you're ok. What are you thinking about?"

"I...I really wanted my first time to be with you," he choked out, looking away from Tyson. He was ashamed, he felt used up and disgusting and discarded, why would Tyson want him now? "Or at least someone who cares about me. I mean really cares about me, not a liar like August."

Tyson frowned at him, realizing what he was trying to tell him, that August took his virginity. He must've not known about the couple videos they were sent, the gut wrenching ones fill with sobbing and pleading and typically a fair amount of blood. Tyson's heart broke for him, he hated that August had to be the introduction to all of it, that his first experience with sex was tainted by violence and deceit and pain, not love or lust or understanding. The more he thought back to those videos, the more it shattered him, ate him alive. Elias was an innocent and clueless little lamb and August was a relentless, bloodthirsty wolf. It was nothing short of a slaughter, every video. He wondered if, almost hoped, Elias was treated differently outside of them. For his sake, he wished that August had at least shown him an inkling of softness every now and then.

"I'm so sorry he ruined that for you, Eli." It was all he could manage to say, and it hardly came out in one piece over the thick hatred and disgust for August he felt. He pulled him back to his chest, placing soft kisses into his hair. "Maybe one day, when you're all healed, I'll show you how it's supposed to be."

Elias hummed softly, his fingers tugging at the buttons on Tyson's shirt mindlessly. "Yeah, I'd like that I think."

"Ok," Tyson sighed pointedly, "what do you wanna do? Are you hungry?"

"Uh... Can you just hold me for a bit longer please?" Elias whispered. Tyson nodded, his grip tightening.

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 10, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Relief.

Notes: now ive said this before, but i need to say it again and add on to it. This chapter will NOT make much sense if you do not read Mahjur's story, None Like You. The experience of reading this chapter will also be enhanced if you read Piye's story, Miscreation, but it's not as necessary as Mahjur's story. theyre also long as fuck so heres the important stuff: Piye was born blind and went on a mission when they were about 14 in which they grew their dark skin, massive height, and white hair, and gained some of the sight they'd lost. Mahjur gave up everything to be with Ahk. in the end, Ma'at (Goddess of Truth and Order) forced them apart in the name of the 'holy law'. Ma'at did this because mahjur, as a god, was not supposed to be interfering with the lives of people.

WC: 6.4k

+

Throughout the entirety of your two-day journey, you never left the canoe, leaving your muscles cramped, and strained, and restless. Still, you supposed you were in a better state than Piye, who had yet to sleep or rest from their rowing. On the other hand, Ahk was fine. At one point you asked him if he was worried about the coming events, but he told you that he wouldn't stress until it happened, and continued to swim beside the canoe without a care.

How you wished to have his capability to simply not think about things.

As you passed by Thebes in broad daylight, you looked far across the river from the western bank, searching for the falcon soldiers. Like Aswan, most of what you saw looked vacant or abandoned. Despite that you continued to stare, watching civilization pass by slowly, till city walls faded away to the flush green of the Nile.

"When will we get there?" Ahk moaned, his neck on the edge of the canoe, allowing him to dip his head upside-down, the crown of his hair soaking in water.

"Shut up," Piye said. The Pharaoh obeyed, although begrudgingly.

Night came and went in the blink of a sleep-heavy eye, passing into the dark early morning. Birds had yet to stir, leaving you in the eerie silence––the quiet before the battle. The only to feel such stress appeared to be you and Piye. Ahk slept on as usual, and the rest of the world remained ignorant to your journey.

"How did you meet Ahk?" You asked, desperate for someone elses' voice rather than the one in your head.

"My father was employed by his father, the Pharaoh of the time. I was... nine, maybe?" They said, taking a moment to remember. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem very close."

"I suppose we are." They paused. "He was a great comfort to me when my father died. And other... such things."

"He seems to have a habit of winning people over," you noted quietly.

"Yes, well... he has a certain charm."

As the sun's light began to crest the horizon, Memphis appeared in the distance, and Piye pulled the canoe to a stop on the western shore. Ahead of you lay the city you had so eagerly fled, the silent white walls foreboding in the worst of ways. You were certain the city would be flooded with falcon soldiers, as well as people who had heard of Ahk's treason, and who had decided Gyasi would be a better ruler. There would be few friends in those walls. Those of standing who had openly expressed their support of the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah had been banished.

Once the boat hit the riverbanks, Piye jumped out of it and pulled it the rest of the way onto solid ground. From there they donned a head covering, and shook the water out of their sandals, before helping you out as well onto dry land. No words were exchanged as you fully dressed yourself as well, sheathing knives you had been toying with.

You stepped to the side, tapping Ahk's head and laughing when it lolled to the side. It took a few more pokes before he truly stirred, moaning about a poor night's sleep, before he noticed you above him.

"When are we gonna be there?"

"We're here," Piye said flatly.

"We are?!" Ahk jumped to his feet, nearly falling over in the canoe. "How's the city look? Is it burned?"

"Look for yourself," you said, manually moving his chin to face the city behind him.

"Beautiful as the day I left," he said, seemingly satisfied. "So what are we doing?"

"Following a Goddesses' orders," Piye said as they finished pinning their head covering.

Ahk haphazardly dressed himself, but refused to wear a head covering. Piye explained thoroughly how screwed the three of you would be if Ahk was instantly recognized, and though the Pharaoh argued back for a little while, he was eventually won over. With that decided, the three of you abandoned the canoe and made way for Memphis.

The flush bushes and trees lining the river soon disappeared into empty sand, the land having been cleared for the construction of the great city. From where you now stood you could see guards inside the entrance of the massive walls. Your heart thrummed in your chest, crashing against its' own strings, sending your thoughts into a flurry. Disappearing was your act––returning was not. Facing the consequences of your actions was something you rarely did, since you weren't locked down anywhere, and didn't require anything from anyone but yourself. Now, you had a self-appointed duty––keep your friends safe. After the many years of your travels, you finally had something to lose.

And the thought of that terrified you.

"We aren't using the front entrance, are we?" You murmured, mostly to Piye.

"Of course not. Have you ever scaled a wall?"

"Well... once when I was trying to escape Ahk," you said reluctantly.

"Oh, I remember that," Ahk said with recognition in his eyes. "Then I tied you to the bed."

"Yeah, and then I cried."

"You two are.. I don't even know. You're insane," Piye said. "Now stop being insane and help me here."

You had yet to reach the walls of Memphis, so Piye stopping halfway there confused you for a moment.

"What are we doing?"

"I can't throw a grappling hook straight up that far," Piye said, kneeling and digging into their bag, "so we have to set up here."

Before they could find the hook amongst the mass of other tools set carelessly in their bag, they stopped suddenly, raising their head and looking off to the city. It didn't catch your eye at first, but when they didn't move for a good minute, you noticed, as did Ahk.

"Piye?"

They stood suddenly, the tools in their lap clattering to the ground. Long threads of white hair began to rise, floating mid-air as though Piye stood underwater, or stood suspended in nothing.

Your attention alarmingly caught, you circled round them, finding their eyes white and glowing on a face of night-black skin.

"Piye, this is not a good time to have a revelation!" Ahk chided, reaching for their wrist. Before he could do so, Piye flicked his hand away, making him recoil with a pained gasp.

"There is..." their voice spoke in double, in triplicate, echoing in your skull like the resonance of a gong, "... much to do."

You and Ahk looked to each other, both searching for answers that neither of you had. Piye continued their path forward, leaving you and their belongings behind, as they headed in broad daylight towards the city's gates. Without ever having to reach up, their head scarves and chest coverings fell away till all that remained was their skirt.

What the fuck do we do now, came through your head, but you had little time to voice your question before Ahk ran to Piye. You followed, mimicking his actions when he tried to stop Piye or direct them the other way.

"You're going to get us killed!" Ahk scream-whispered, all too aware of the soldiers surrounding the city's entrance. He leant the entirety of his weight on Piye, attempting to pull them back, but they showed no sign of strain.

"It is meant to be," they said in a hush. "It is meant to be."

Their mouth closed but the words remained, whispered over and over again in your ears. Your own breathing had already hastened, fingers tense with your own terror, worsening as you met the eye of one of the guards.

"Ahk, they're looking at us!" You hissed behind Piye's back, still grasping helplessly at Piye's hands to attempt at pulling them back.

Panic stewed in your heart and leaked into your head, leaving you in a daze of confusion, unsure what to do to protect yourself and your friends. The soldiers were now focusing their attention on you, and Piye's eyes were still glowing.

It was then, within full view of the falcon soldiers and about ten feet from the city itself, that the magi released themself of your terrified grips, rising into the morning air. They opened their mouth and out came a voice that did not belong to them, lodged in their throat as they screamed over the rustling of guards and soldiers readying themselves for battle. Bells began to chime in the city, alerting officials and citizens to the threat now floating above the white walls of Memphis.

"If ye are in Heaven or on Earth, I am the Only One in your bodies," Piye spoke, loud enough to be heard throughout the city.

The sheer volume and the vibrations within the earth that followed had you crouching down, and covering your ears with your hands, a position Ahk soon adopted as well. You watched from the corner of your eye as the soldiers fell victim to that same, screeching pain digging into either side of their heads. Swarms of people began to leave the city through the back entrance, trampling over each other like fleeing rats.

"I am the Pure one – I shall not die a second time. I am He Who is Not Known."

Ahk's eyes darted upwards, recognition flooding him.

"They're calling in Amun," he murmured, just loud enough to hear between the pauses of Piye's words.

"Already?!"

"I don't think they can control it," Ahk said, but as Piye continued, he was forced to cover his ears once more, wincing away.

"Your forms, indeed all forms, are my habitation. My moment is within your bodies. I am The Unveiled," Piye said, and suddenly the aura around them stilled, fixed on a glow brighter than the sun.

For a moment all was silent. Then their mouth opened, gaped and unhinged from the skull as they looked to the sky. An ear-splitting note came from them, running through the earth and sky, even through the water that now bubbled on the shore as though heated by fire. Horror filled your chest, spreading quick through your veins till your body trembled and shook.

Light flooded out of their mouth, a great beam of sun cast into the dark morning sky. Their still-glowing eyes now gave their skull a hollowed look, filled with nothing but light, pouring out with the overflow. Such multitudes could not be contained to a mortal body.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" Ahk yelled over the horrifying screeching, attempting to cover his ears best he could while still reaching for you.

Hopeless, you reached out as well, finding his hand in the space between you and grasping it as though he were a ship in a storm. He pulled you along, stumbling on his feet just as you did. The deep hum running through the earth and water had already worsened, till the ground began to crack, the water of the Nile turning into steam at an alarming rate.

You said nothing to each other, but he led you into the city and you followed without question. Every two seconds you cast looks behind your shoulder, watching events carelessly unfold, and stumbling over yourself whenever Ahk increased his speed. Together, you barrelled down the straight pathway to your destination––the gleaming palace.

"Ahk, what are we going to do?" You asked in a shaky voice, burdened by stumbling feet and a racing heart.

"I don't know," he admitted in his own fear-laced tone. "We need to hide you."

"We can't hide forever!" You wrenched yourself out of his grasp, pulling the both of you into a side alley hidden from Piye's––or Amun's––eyes. "That Goddess wants us here for a reason. We have to face him eventually."

"What if they were just dreaming?" He grasped both your upper arms, looking into you with wide, terrified eyes. "What if that Goddess doesn't come? I. Cannot. Lose you."

"It's our only hope. Don't you believe in your own Gods?"

"Not since Amun tried to steal you from me," he said, still searching your face for something he clearly couldn't find.

"That's your fucking friend up there!" You said, pointing behind you to Piye, who was now floating above the city walls, their hair suspended as they continued to bellow with that horrible ringing sound. "I know for a fact Piye would give their life for you and you should do the same."

"I know, I know," he hissed. "But I won't risk you. I have to hide you –"

He reached for you again, but you swatted his hands away.

"I will not be hidden!"

"No, no, no, no, no," he began to murmur, his gaze flickering between you and Piye, far behind you. "No, you must stay away. Far away."

"Ahk, I'm n––"

He tore his sleeve, a habit he had apparently used enough to become good at, and promptly tied it around your mouth. You protested greatly, pushing and shoving and kicking him away. In the end it was that same struggle you never won––your hands were tied behind your back, quite literally, and your legs followed. Even as you writhed and yelled, you could note the tears streaking down his face.

"Don't you do this!" You said through the gag, your words muffled as he threw you over his shoulder.

"I must keep you safe. I cannot fulfill my role if I am worrying about you," he explained in a weak voice.

With that, he hid you away in an underground cellar, locking the door as he left. Try as you might––and you did try, from yelling to thrashing to crying––you couldn't move from your spot, tied to one of the pillars holding up the dirt ceiling.

As much as he promised not to hurt you or bind you in any way, he sure had done it a lot. Tears began to burn your own eyes, and soon they were falling, soaked up by the gag wrapped around your head.

Piye's unholy screeching had yet to stop, even within the earth. The vibrations you'd felt so fiercely were dulled with distance, a fact you were very relieved about, as any risk of cave-in would've held you mortified. It was a small comfort compared to the severity of your situation, but you tried to revel in it nonetheless.

Every now and then you'd thrash in your bonds again, hoping your continuous struggle had done you some sort of good. Each time you were proven wrong, and still you rubbed your ropes against the splintered wood that kept you there, praying the bonds would break.

A soft hum reverberated in the room, and for a moment you were terrified Amun (in Piye's body, of course,) was knocking at the door. But a popping sound marked the end of the tune, making way for a person to appear, their form tall and still nothing more than a white silhouette.

How many god-damned magic people am I going to meet in Egypt? you thought tiredly. Piye was already enough for you, but the bushy, almost circular hair of this person had you convinced it was someone else.

Eyes pulled themselves open. The only trait on the glowing, ethereal form, and you recognized them. The heat on your skin. The crawling unease trickling down your spine. You recalled a night's sleep spent in a restless haze, and it clicked––it had watched you. This had watched you, now reaching forward as though to touch you. Instinctively you flinched away, but you couldn't go anywhere, not bound to the pillar. You tried your best to cringe and strain away. It still touched you, first by its' fingertips, and the burning heat reached down from your forehead down into your sternum.

"Stop!" You cried when the entirety of its' hand spread over your forehead, sending searing pain through your nerves like electricity. With your shout it withdrew, seemingly surprised by your reaction.

"Whhhat iss your naammmee?" It asked in many voices that spoke one after another, stretching the words.

"... Amoke," you said quietly, still pushing yourself against the pillar, but thankful it was no longer hurting you.

Slowly, starting at their crown and spreading down to their feet, their image appeared through the light. Who stood before you was not someone you recognized, but there was something unearthly about them––as their mouth opened, you found long rows of sharp teeth, all ordered as if it were normal to have that many teeth. But they towered above your shrunken form, fiery gold eyes staring down.

"You are... a friend of Ahkmen's?" They breathed out.

"Y - you mean Ahkmenrah?"

"Yes," they said with a relieved sigh, a smile stretching too-wide across their face. You curled further into yourself at the sight of their sharp teeth. "How is he?"

"Fighting Amun, I think," you said, hoping it would help them along.

"Oh, right," they said, jumping back into action.

Circling you, they bent to untie your ropes, grabbing your hand and wrenching open the lock on the door. Without pause they bounded up the steps with you in tow, leading you out of the alley and back onto the main street. By now the sun had risen, now shining bright with its' familiar warmth, circled by a sky of blue.

"Come, we must –"

"Wait, for one second," you said, pulling on your hand to release their hold, but you couldn't shake them off. "Who are you?"

"... my name is Mahjur," they said in a quiet voice. "I don't know if you know of me."

"I've... heard some things," you said vaguely.

"Shall we go now?"

You nodded, and the two of you were off. The main street still led straight from the gates to the palace, Gyasi to your right and Piye to your left. You had no way of knowing which way Ahk had decided to go, but Mahjur seemed to have some idea, as they set off straight away for Piye.

When you reached the city gates, you found the ground ripped into pieces, lightning-like strikes running through the earth. You stumbled over them and jumped, reaching the riverside where Amun had unleashed a special hell of holy wrath. The Nile was still boiling, and the height of the water had gone down drastically already, matched by the haze of fog and steam now hiding Amun, and Piye, from view. Spilt blood soaked your sandals, reaching up to the soles of your feet in a sticky liqueur. Sickness suddenly overtook you, nearly vomitting from the sensation even despite your previous run-ins with blood-soaked limbs, memories of dry blood tainting your tongue.

"Who has brought me to this form?" He asked from Piye's mouth, too deep for them, too roaring and ear-piercing.

"I am," said a woman, and your attention zipped to a figure standing atop the city gates, looking up at Amun. "I came to a magi in a dream and asked them to summon you."

The Goddess.

"Who is that?" You asked Mahjur quietly.

"Ma'at," they answered. "Goddess of order. I asked her to help. Knew she wouldn't stand by if she knew a God was breaking the natural order."

"Can we help her?"

"Yeah. Just need to wait for Ahkmen to get back from the palace," they said, looking back over their shoulder towards the shining palace in the distance. "He's fetching his royals and their soldiers under the guise of protecting the city. Once they're here, we can take down Amun, and Ahkmen can deliver a final blow. That'll reinstate him as Pharaoh."

"You've thought this through."

"Of course I have. I actually plan ahead, unlike Ahk."

"You can say that again," you mumbled beneath your breath.

Mahjur didn't respond, but took your hand again, pulling you out past the giant walls. The cracks in the ground were large enough that, at times, you needed to jump over the crevices, dodging the crumbling earth leading into a bottom you couldn't see. Before you could ask what to do, Mahjur began to search through the stalls still put together after Amun's rampage.

Caught up in whatever Mahjur was searching for, you remained unaware of Amun's argument with Ma'at, one that had digressed into nothing more than angry yelling. His eyes inevitably fell to you, and the glow within them tripled.

"Amoke," he said in a whisper that still echoed like drums.

You whirled around with eyes big as the moon. He, Piye and Amun, looked upon you with a smile that crawled across the darkened skin, illuminated by both the glow in his eyes and the rising daylight. Petrified into place, you could do nothing but watch as he lowered himself to your level. In Piye's body, Amun still towered over you, just as he had inhabiting his golden statue.

"Don't you look away from me, Amun!" Ma'at yelled from the top of the wall.

Even as the Goddess yelled, he did not tear his gaze from you. You began to back up, looking behind you to try and find Mahjur, but they were as scared stiff as you were. They would not help you, and Ma'at was too far away.

He snatched you in his arms, grinning as though he'd won some sort of prize. In Piye's face, glowing with Amun's power, you found something familiar––hunger. Ahk's hunger, of cannibals, of the rich. Your hands shook, followed by your heart thundering in your chest till you were sure your veins would explode. His smile was too wide, like Mahjur's, but empty and near expressionless.

"Pretty little thing," he said softly, scanning your face.

Wings of green and gold spread out above Amun's head, catching your eye as he attempted to lean in closer to you. Your eyes further widened when they began to descend, growing larger till the ground shook with the landing of heavy feet, marking Ma'at's footprints in the earth that burnt at the touch of her skin.

"How dare you look away from me," she said in a voice that trembled with her fury, barely contained in her mortal form.

A large hand came over Amun's head, wrenching on his––or rather Piye's––long, silver hair. Under Ma'at's control, he turned to face her with ire in his gritted teeth.

The Goddess, who had at first seemed rather small and delicate, had grown to twice the size of even Piye, meaning she seemed much like a statue to you and Mahjur. Her wings that came from nowhere now flared out, appearing to crown her head that she held high. Her eyes did not glow, but her anger reverberated in the air, thrumming in your bones.

"You claim to be a lord of all creation," she said through a fixed jaw, forcing Amun back and kneeing him in the face, hard enough to hear an audible crack that you winced away from. "And then you kill your children, betray the one who saved your armies, attempt to steal from the one who gave you back your power. You were not born yesterday, Amun."

When Ahk left you tied up in a cellar, the tears that lined his face grew cold in the wind of his running footsteps. His pace was slowed by the uphill slant, but he pushed himself as far as he dare, and made it to the bottom of the palace entrance in a short amount of time.

He noted throughout his run an astonishing absence of people. No people in their homes, no markets setting up, no guards at the palace door. As he made his way up the stairs, the reason for it became clear––the sound of many footsteps all trampling over each other came from within the pristine white walls of his home, coupled with fretting voices talking muted behind the walls. He cracked open the door to the inner chambers, and found his hypothesis to be correct.

The whole of the city––or those who had decided not to flee––were hidden within the palace. At the other side of the room sat the raised floor of the throne, and upon it sat Gyasi, flanked by the lesser advisors of Ahk's father. He kept a perfectly still expression, but Ahk knew better––Gyasi panicked under stress but seeked action in times of peace.

Keeping his head low, Ahk crept through the crowd, a hand on the wall to ensure he wouldn't lose himself. A few of the people he passed had hanging swords attached to their hips, and so he stole two just in case, hoping he wouldn't have to use either. Through the mutterings he heard, there were a good deal of complaints about Gyasi––a fact he definitely liked, though his delight was shortlived, as he soon heard a fair amount of criticisms on himself as well.

Murmurings and voices grew louder, more concerned as Amun's voice pierced the thick walls, sparking panic among the crowd. People began to move, bumping against each other and pushing one another aside. Ahk was inevitably hurt as well, thrown against the wall and landing on the floor.

It came to such a height that Gyasi stood, yelling a call to attention above the crowd, who stilled on command.

"Amun will not kill his devotees," he ensured, the skin of his neck dangling as he shouted. "He is searching for the False King and his whore."

Ahk could physically feel his irises shrink as he singled down on Gyasi, hatred boiling in his head.

"He is seeking a citizen," Ahk said, projecting his voice to speak over the old man stealing his throne.

Gasps came from those around him, the crowd suddenly parting completely, leaving him centered out from the bustling heads. Gyasi narrowed his eyes as he saw him.

"A citizen named Amoke. They are my friend, so I must protect them, but I will not abandon my people, leave them helpless in the hands of an artifact," Ahk continued as he stepped forward, making his way to the throne, where Gyasi began to back away. "Do you really think keeping everyone here is going to work?"

"We are dealing with your mess! It is undignified to insult someone cleaning up after you," Gyasi said with furrowed brows, a grimace and a sneer forming simultaneously on his crooked lips.

"I think it's alright if they're doing a godawful job at it," Ahk said flatly. "You need to get the citizens out of here, hide them in the brush of the Nile. If Amun breaches the city walls, this is the first place he will look, and he will demolish every living thing he sees. He is aiming to kill my friend, Amoke, and he does not care if others die in the process."

His words were doing little to quell the audience's worries, but that was his aim, as detrimental as it might be to the health of his citizens.

"You think you know better than I? I have been protecting the people of this city longer than you've been alive."

"You are a remnant of my father's rule. A relic from a time of barbaric violence and meaningless bloodshed. Now get the people to the nearest outcrop of the Nile. You and I have a God to face, if you're truly ready to protect Kemet," Ahk said, offering forward one of his swords.

"... very well," Gyasi said slowly, grasping the sword and drawing it to hilt on his hip. More murmurings came from the crowd that watched the argument. "Pikta, divide the populace and take them in groups. Divide soldiers evenly as you can."

"Yes, sir," said a soldier, who bowed and ran to the front of the room to obey.

"Is Amun outside?" Gyasi asked as he made his way to the entrance of the palace, Ahk at his side.

"He's at the city gates in Piye's body," Ahk said, and as the two of them breached the threshold, he found he could still see Piye's flying body in the distance.

"That beast?" He said with raised brows. "We have quite the battle ahead."

"Hopefully, we won't have to use these swords. We should have the help of a Goddess," Ahk said. "She came to Piye in a dream a little while ago and instructed us on the beginnings of a plan. It is our duty to help her."

"How do you know it isn't a trick?"

"We don't."

The two men began to run down the pathway, both sets of eyes trained on the distant crumbling walls of the city, allowing them to see a tall woman holding a man by his neck against the reflected sun on the Nile. As Ahk noticed two much smaller onlookers, his pace doubled in speed till he bounded down the street. He reached the end much sooner than Gyasi, but it didn't take long till both of them stood shocked, watching Ma'at raise Piye––Amun––into the sky on long, emerald and gold wings.

"I am the Lord of this world," Amun growled, a statement that sent him crashing towards the earth, Ma'at's muscled arm pounding him down.

She stalked over to him, footsteps drumming against the ground till she knelt at his side, grabbing his hair and pulling his face out of the mud.

"I want you to say that to Ptah," she said, before letting his head fall back down. "Mahjur."

Ahk's heart froze at the name. You watched it happen, how his body seized, eyes darting to the God beside you. He lost feeling in all his limbs as Mahjur stepped forward, glancing at Ahk before quickly looking away and joining Ma'at's side.

The two Gods––Ma'at and Mahjur––spoke to each other quietly, and most everyone present listened in with shocked expressions. What you didn't notice, caught up in Ahk's reaction to his old friend, was Amun sinking into the earth. You only realized this as you, too, began to lower into the earth. Beneath you, hands had grasped your ankles and pulled you down.

"Um, Ahk...!" You said in hyperventilated gasps, helpless on how to save yourself.

You no longer had control of your legs, unable to pull them upwards, and there was nowhere your arms could hold onto. Ahk looked to you, shouting when he caught the tail-end of you disappearing wholly into the ground. He ran to where you stood, but it was too late, and Amun was raising himself into the sky with you bound to him.

"Amoke!" Ahk cried.

“They do not belong to you,” Amun said with a smile, unsheathing a knife and baring it to those watching him in an act of vanity. “It’s mine.”

From above, those gathered at the city gates seemed small––even Ma'at, who was twice your height. You watched, unable to breathe through your bindings, as an object materialized in Ma'at's hand and was handed to Ahk with words you couldn't hear. The point of it directed to you, and in an instant you recognized it.

A hornbow.

The tip of the arrow pointed straight to you, and you writhed, desperately trying to escape Amun's grasp and worm out of the way. But he held you fast, and through his speech you couldn't hear over the thundering of your flowing blood, he laughed and held you tighter yet.

Twang.

The drawstring shot back into place, sending the arrow zipping through the sky, and straight into Piye's chest. Amun's arms and magical bindings faded away, and you fell through the open air. Ahk ran to catch you, careening straight into the still-steamy river with open arms. His efforts were not for nothing, as he caught you, using the water to ease your descent as well.

"They asked me to do it," Ahk said through tears pouring out of his eyes, falling as a rainstorm does, as waterfalls do, as blood does from the tip of a sword. "They asked me to shoot them. I didn't think. I saw you, and – and – I didn't –"

"It's going to be alright," you whispered in a shaky voice, comforting best you could even with your trembling hands. His shoulders wracked with heavy sobs as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, wide, haunted eyes cast over your back.

You looked upwards, watching what Ahk could not bear to see. Piye, and Amun, were suspended in open space, the end of a glittering arrow buried in their chest. As the body began to rise higher, your gaze fell to Ma'at and Mahjur still on the shore. They were chanting, both of them––something you couldn't hear, but their eyes began to glow, the veins in their body shining through their skin. You tapped Ahk's shoulders, asking him in a murmur to look. He reluctantly turned to watch.

The heavenly glow emanating from Piye's bones and eyes began to separate from the physical body, peeling away from itself till all that remained of it was a golden shell, shimmering and translucent. Your mouth fell open, watching the two forms pull away from each other.

Once Piye was fully separated from what you guessed was Amun, they fell down into the river, where Ahk also stumbled weakly to catch them. They did not wake, but the slow up and down of their chest marked that they were still breathing despite the arrow piercing them.

You turned back to the power of Amun, transforming from Piye's body to the symbol of the sun. The spells falling from Mahjur and Ma'at grew slowly louder, lifting Amun's essence through the sky, till it dissipated, and fell into the sun.

Silence.

The hum of magic, of broiling Gods and Goddesses came to a halt, and time stood still. It felt as though the world around you had been imbued with enchantments, marinated in it, and then separated entirely, cut off from the feeling of holiness. Your chest had caved in, leaving you near unable to breathe.

No wind. No movement in the water.

Someone was sobbing––you turned to search for the source, and found Ahk knelt in the water with Piye in his arms. His face was buried in his vizier's neck, quiet apologies coming from his trembling lips, matched by fevered hands.

"Bring them here, Ahkmenrah," Ma'at said softly, beckoning the Pharaoh.

He turned to face her, slowly breathed away the tears still building in his eyes, and carried Piye to shore best he could. When he reached Ma'at's feet, he set his friend down to life flat on the earth.

"Oh you young men," Ma'at murmured as she knelt, a hand poised over Piye and the arrow. "Shu of the morning... who have power over those who flash among the sun-folk, whose arms move about and whose heads sway to and fro... may they move about every day."

Piye's eyes fluttered slowly open, a soft groan escaping them as they blinked. The arrow lodged in their chest dissipated to no more than ash. Ahk gasped, a wide grin spreading across his features as he once more knelt to his knees, helping Piye to sit up.

"Are you alright, my friend?" He asked hurriedly, scanning over the healing injury.

"I... I can't see," Piye murmured in a breath, still swaying from the weakness of their muscles. They fell against Ahk. "I can't see anymore."

"What? How –"

"Oh Gods," Piye said, their breathing quickening. "It's as if I am a child again."

"Amun claimed your magic," Ma'at said softly. She hadn't ever looked you in the eye, but she met the magi's, a kinder look on her than ever before. "To save you and your.. friends, I locked Amun into the sun, with help from Mahjur."

Mahjur gingerly stepped up behind Ma'at, looking to you, then Piye, and to the ground below Ahk.

"I am afraid your magic intwined with Amun’s, and I had to lock it into the sky as well, to rid of him," she finished. “Your magic is what gave you eyesight to begin with, if you remember those years.”

"I... do I look.. the same?" They asked in a shaky voice.

"Taller than anything," Ahk said instantly. "Dark skin. White hair. You look the same."

"But with no... magic," they murmured.

"You may still have remnants. Most people do have a base magic. You might be able to do small spells," Mahjur said. You watched Ahk bite into his cheek and look down.

Piye cried––you expected little else, and you waited patiently as they came to process everything that had just happened. When they requested a rundown of the events (as apparently their memory was not fantastic), Ahk happily explained what had come to pass, with his usual dramatic debonair. Ma'at stayed and chuckled at certain points, but stood when Ahk finished.

Movement caught the corner of your eye, and your gaze darted upwards, ready for any return of danger. But what you found instead were people––lots of people, coming from several different directions and circling you, Ahk, the two Gods, Piye, and Gyasi. They were muttering amongst themselves, and from what you heard they appeared to be discussing the validity of Ahk's story.

"I must return to the Duat before anything else decides to unhinge itself from the natural order," Ma'at said at the end of Ahk's retelling. Mahjur, who had taken a seat beside the Goddess, stood as well.

"Wait, Ma'at," Ahk said, standing with a hand out, hoping to halt her. She turned expectantly. "Can I... Mahjur..."

She glanced between the two, who even now were too nervous to look at each other. You watched on though, watched how timid and shaky they both grew, itching terribly to acknowledge one another.

"... very well," Ma'at sighed. "I'll give you a moment."

Ahk didn't even leave time to thank Ma'at for the allowance. He went straight to his friend, colliding with them and wrapping his arms so tight round them you could swear it'd kill a regular human. Mahjur had much of the same attitude, tears and laughter coming simultaneously from them.

"I will be waiting for you," they said with the biggest grin, parting for a very short moment to stroke the side of his face. "I wait for you in the field of reeds."

"I await my death, then," Ahk laughed giddily, followed by his friend bursting into giggles as well. You couldn't help but grin, but you hid it behind your hand.

"Come now, Mahjur," Ma'at commanded, and the two friends reluctantly parted, allowing Mahjur to rejoin Ma'at.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, though Ma'at was still a great deal taller than everyone present, and in a flash they were gone. Murmurings in the crowd grew in volume, people drawing closer as they realized their Pharaoh had never lied.

They had truly seen Ma’at, the Goddess of peace.

Relief––that was the only way to explain it. Pure, unaltered relief, flooding your veins, flooding your thoughts. Tremors in your hand that you didn't even notice were there disappeared, the knot in your brow fading with it. Air felt like it had been made anew, refreshed after a hundred years of a solitary cave, and you could smile. No more Gods.

Finally.