#* out of character i got “dark stormy blue”

[mimiruku]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 ?

tagged by : stealing from @remauriel. teehee. tagging :   ALL OF YOU. & @dreamieparadise.

he loves with the hues of . . . . ╰━━━➤    bright sunny yellow.

Sweet tasting popsicles, summer dresses and shielding your eyes from the sun. Your love is the excitement of something brewing, something growing. It's the almost childish bubbling giggles of something new, but with the potential to stay. It's wide smiles, blinding sunny light and warm bodies that gravitate to one another. It's the the  softness, the willingness, the slight holding of breaths in a crucial  " what if " moment.

It's the impatience too.   The bouncing on tiptoes to see further than your eyes can reach, the holding out for a future that never seems to come even though you're ready, you're so so so ready. It's the constant feeling of warm sand beneath your feet, holding out for the crashing waves.  And still you wait, dry and impatient and with burnt soles of feet.  Your love is sour candy,  enjoying it as your nose scrunches up from the aftertaste of it. It's hands that grab and take hold, that reach and ask them to stay and hope and beg and wait. It's bubbling excitement sure, but it's also  demanding,  focused, driven.  It's love like a plan, with a path and route and a clear destination.  And you bonce on your tiptoes, and burning, waiting for the soothing water, the crashing waves, you hold onto the melting popsicle, you wait and wait and wait. It's tiring almost as much as it's laser focused ambition, deeply rooted desire and the unrelenting hope that it will work, that it will come.  And it does,  I promise it does.

The waves crash, the beach floods and the pain passes, the water cool and soothing and you can let yourself fall in, sinking, sinking.   And it's good, it's perfect, what you were hoping and more, holding and embracing you and welcoming you into the stillness you always knew you were reaching for.

[antiquarianfics]

Making Waves

Bucky gives you a pep talk when life’s beating down on you a little too hard.

a/n: unedited as always. this is also just a comfort fic. just bucky making you feel better. this can be read romantic or platonic. whatever floats your boat.

warnings: sexist themes, profanity

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, repost, or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

“I thought I might find you out here.”

You sigh as you tilt your head up in acknowledgment of your intrusion, unsure if it’s welcome or not. In fact, you’re not sure how you feel about much at the moment. Your mind is swimming in uncertainties and insecurities that you feel a personal obligation to figure out or overcome. Nevertheless, you don’t protest the welcome/unwelcome (pick one, dammit!) company as it sits down next to you, providing a little warmth against the night’s cold to your right.

Your company had found you sitting alone on the beach, right at the shore, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs and holding them close, fingers anxiously fiddling with a ring on your finger, and staring at the waves as they crashed against the shore over and over again. The sea, you’d found, is calming. The repetitive nature of the ocean crashing against the shore and retreating back into itself feels honest to you. You may lie to yourself, the world may lie to you, but the sea? The sea will always find a way to reveal to you a hidden treasure you never knew you were looking for.

“That predictable?” You finally ask, responding to your newfound company.

You turn your head and make eye contact with your friend who’d come searching for you. You’re met with concerned eyes the color you’re certain the sea would be if it weren’t dark—the only light coming from the moon reflecting upon the water.

Your friend gives you a look, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips. He’d found out the beach had become your favorite spot to run off to early on in your friendship, but he also knew you only ran for the beach when something was troubling you.

“You seemed upset,” is all he says.

“Bucky, I…” You trail off, not really sure what you meant to even say to him. What do you even want to say to him? That you’re upset by some media rumors about you? That you got your feelings hurt because a stupid clickbait article claims you’re dating a man you hate? That you feel like a failure as an Avenger, or a hero, or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to be anymore if all your worth to the public is tied up in who they think you have in your bed? You don’t finish your thought and return your gaze to the ocean.

Bucky is silent for a long while, just sitting and watching the waves with you. He is absolutely no stranger to needing to sit and sift through feelings, and he is also no stranger to unwanted media attention messing with his sanity. So, he lets you sit for a minute, but he also knows the longer that anger and frustration cook up inside you, the worse off you’ll be. You taught him that.

“Doll, you’ve gotta talk about it or it’s gonna eat you alive. You know that,” Bucky says softly. Empathetically.

“Bucky,” you whine, tired and still unwilling to talk.

“Okay, don’t talk. I will,” he says, swallowing nervously. He’s obviously out of his comfort zone, and you can’t help but look at him.

You let your eyes rest on your friend once more, and you take in his worried demeanor. His stormy blue eyes are set on the ocean, watching the waves as he gathers his thoughts. You realize, then, that he isn’t comfortable with what he’s doing—he’d much rather be listening to you talk. He’d much rather offer a small piece of advice after you talk, or maybe give you a hug and hope that fixes you. But he cares about you, and he’s trying to do the same thing you’ve done for him countless times: voice your observations about what might be upsetting your friend so that the problem is out and a solution can be found.

“You’re upset,” Bucky starts hesitantly, “because of a gossip piece that’s circulating the internet right now.”

You don’t argue with him, and Bucky takes that as confirmation.

“The gossip piece claims that you’re dating John Walker and dubs you the new “it” couple even though you hate the guy and punched him the face the last time you saw him.”

You laugh humorlessly.

“Then, that video clip from Walker’s interview started circulations where he all but confirms the rumors.”

You clench your fist in annoyance.

“That about right?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” you say.

“I’d be angry, too,” he says.

“It’s just…” You trail off, closing your eyes tight trying to fight off tears. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter to them that I was an Avenger! It doesn’t matter that I helped defeat Loki, or Ultron, or Thanos. I’ve done so much for this city, and they don’t care. Not because they don’t care that New York was saved by the Avengers, but because the boy heroes are just better. I’m turned into an unwilling superhero eye candy, and, despite all my accomplishments, they can’t bring up my name without attaching it to a man’s. One of the articles doesn’t even mention my name! The article is really just titled ‘Mrs. Captain America?’ Like, really? I want to hit something.”

Bucky frowns, nodding as you rant and waiting patiently for you to finish. When you do, you’re breathing heavily, obviously worked up.

“You’re more than just ‘unwilling superhero eye candy,’” Bucky says, nose scrunching in disgust as he repeats your words. You can’t help it, but you laugh. The words sound so silly coming from his mouth. He smiles.

“You’re right. It’s really messed up that the public isn’t acknowledging all you’ve actually done to protect them, but you know that you’re more than that. That’s what matters. Because as long as you remember who you are, what you stand for, and what you do, then that person and her accomplishments are going to be noticed by the people who need to notice them. Do you know how many little girls probably saw you and Natasha fighting in all those fights and realized they could do that, too? When I was growing up, my sister didn’t have anyone like you to look up to. I wish she had.”

Bucky reaches up and wipes away the tears that are silently streaming down your cheeks. You reach up and haphazardly wipe away what he missed with the back of your hand. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Thank you, Buck,” you say. “I needed that.”

“I mean it, Doll.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead.

[ghost-proofbaby]

you showed me colors (eddie munson x fem!reader)

"YOU SHOWED ME COLORS YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEE WITH ANYONE ELSE."

summary: the soulmate au based on "illicit affairs" by taylor swift that almost no one asked for.

warnings: ANGST, HURT/NO COMFORT, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, strategic use of pet names, allusions to sex but none described, reader is referred to as a girl a few times, no use of Y/N, canon compliant. not really edited (cause i'm not putting myself through this shit again).

wc: 15.1k+

a/n: im genuinely sorry for once. blame @abibliophobiaa and @breddiemunson for this. also, thank you @hellfire--cult for helping me with the header!!! please take all those warnings very seriously. please. (also shout out to ash who got her own divider sort of so she'd know when to stop reading because my baby doesn't like angst 😅)

The first thirteen years of your life, you only had second hand accounts to trust when it came to colors. 

The sky is blue, soft and dreamy, nearly translucent until grey wisps of clouds would overrun it on stormy days (although, the clouds, you could make out). Most grass is green, verdant and rich as it sprouts from the hard dirt. Even the yellowing strands are most likely gorgeous, a sign of life and death, a sign that someone once stood atop the green and held their ground. Roses come in a rainbow of shades, but everyone seems to adore the staunch red ones the best. The plush pink of a lover’s kiss-bitten lips, the warm brown fur of the dogs you passed by on the street, the deep violet of the plums your mother proclaimed as her favorite fruit. A range of colors you had only ever heard of, never experienced yourself. 

For thirteen years, all you had was stories. Nothing tangible, nothing solid in your palms. Mere crumbs of a promise of what you would have one day, when you met your soulmate.

When you met him. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant of circumstances in which you two met. You’d spent a lot of your childhood fascinated with the concept and lost in daydreams about it – maybe they’d be a stranger you caught the eye of on the train, or maybe they’d be the one making your coffee at a quaint cafe in a big city someday. Whoever they would be, you wanted them to be made of all the fairytales. You wanted a meeting to challenge every romantic story you’d been fed through your youth, you wanted a love that would shake the very Earth you wandered from the first time your eyes met theirs. 

Your reality seemed as far from earth-quake inducing as they could get, at the time. Looking back, though, you wish you could plead and change your youthful mind. Because the day wasn’t perfect, the situation was terrible shades of melancholy, but none of that really matters; what matters is that on that sunny Wednesday afternoon, you met him. 

Scraped knees. You had scraped knees, sitting embarrassed and frazzled beneath a tree as you tried to sink into the shade surrounding its base and erase the memory of what had just transpired. You could still hear all the other kids’ taunts echoing through your mind, cruel and unnecessary words that were suited to follow you the rest of your days. Comments on your looks and teases of things you couldn’t change. Seeds of insecurity that were hard to swallow at the beginning of your teen youth. 

You were still picking at the edges of your open wounds with slow drying tears still coating your cheeks when his shadow joined the tree’s. 

“Are you alright?” 

You looked up immediately to find a boy standing there. Your eyes had traveled slowly, taking in his baggy jeans with patchwork knees and his oversized faded t-shirt first. Even with the hand-me-down clothes, you could recognize his gangly limbs beneath it all. A frail frame and hunger-panged face. An overgrown buzz cut, no doubt prickly as the hairs stood to attention. Sunken in eyes brimming with concern for you. Whatever shade they were, they had to be dark; they were nearly black in the shades of grey your eyes could currently pick up on.

The thing about soulmates, is the colors don’t happen until you touch your soulmate. 

“I’m fine,” you stubbornly replied, wrapping your arms around your shins and tucking your knees beneath your chin despite the sting. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“Then stop looking.” 

He threw his hands up defensively, shrugging a bony shoulder, “Sorry.” 

He wasn’t sorry. Even with the wince that graced his face, he wasn’t sorry for checking in on you. You knew it the moment you caught the broken skin on his knuckles, nearly matching the cuts on your knees. You had fallen on the pavement as you’d tried to run away from the bullies, determined to not let them see you cry. The entire ordeal had been mortifying. You wished you would have just stood there and cried, let them hear your sobs and let them crown you the school’s newest crybaby. 

“What happened to your hands?” you sniffled, moving to wipe at your nose. Your cheeks were drier now, the skin nearly stiff where the tears marks remained. 

When you mentioned it, he suddenly shot his hands out before him, flexing each hand for emphasis as he looked down with boredom, “What? The cuts? Carver has sharp teeth, ‘s all.”

“Carver?” One of the kids who had just partaken in tormenting you. 

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, suddenly plopping himself onto the ground beside you. You flinched and he grimaced in a silent apology once more, “I think he was in the middle of saying something when I punched him, but that’s not surprising. He always has his big mouth open-” 

He was cut off mid-insult by a soft snort of laughter. Looking up, all of the previous annoyance at his injured knuckles melted away as he caught you fighting back your laughter. 

“What? I say somethin’ funny?” he was biting back his own grin, raising an eyebrow. 

You only laughed more, shoulders shaking now with entertainment rather than sobs. “I- Yeah, sorry, I just- God, you’re right. Carver does have a big mouth.” 

“The absolute biggest.”

“Bigger than the Atlantic ocean.”

His chuckling joined yours, along with a face splitting grin and eyes that you swore shone between the monotonous tones. “God, bigger than the fucking Pacific ocean. Every ocean, as a matter of fact.” 

You both leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, just close enough you could feel his heat through the summer air but not quite touching. Not yet. You let the back of your head thump against the trunk and tried to not think about any of the debris sure to end up in your hair. 

“So…” you sighed once the two of you composed yourself from your laughing fits, “I’m assuming you punched Carver?” 

He only nodded in answer.

“Can I ask why?”

Part of you wanted to assume that the two events were connected; Carver bullying you, and this boy punching him. But you didn’t want to make such a bold assumption about some stranger. Fellow peer or not. 

“Because he made fun of you.” 

The assumption wasn’t so bold. Your chest constricted, you remembered the sting of your knees, heard the echoes of the other students’ laughter at your fall once more. 

“You punched him just because he made fun of me?” you tried to force out a joking tone, as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if it wasn’t making your heart swell, “You don’t even know me.” 

“Doesn’t matter. He made fun of you,” the boy said with concrete decisiveness. There wasn’t a quiver of doubt to be seen, as if the logic made perfect sense to him. Your heart swelled more, painfully so. He looked down at one of his hands for a moment, before suddenly shrugging and rolling his head to look at you, sticking it out towards you, “I’m Eddie, by the way.”

A certain security blanketed the moment. This kid, Eddie, had punched a guy for making fun of you. You’d never even spoken to him before that day, much less would you have considered bruising your own knuckles for him. But he had for you. Without hesitation, apparently. Just some boy with a sliver of a gap still between his front teeth, a promise of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and blood on his hands as a reminder of your honor. 

Teachers were certainly going to be coming to find the two of you soon. There would be consequences, most likely more on Eddie’s part than yours, but that didn’t matter. There, in the shade of an oak tree of a middle school you’d soon be departing only to join the ranks of some awful high school with bigger and badder bullies, with larger and crueler problems than skinned knees, you had a friend. 

“I’m-” you started, reaching out your hand to meet his halfways. But you stopped, because the moment your palm met his, it happened. Suddenly, quickly, unexpectedly. It nearly gave you an instantaneous migraine; the flood of color was so overwhelming. 

The first color you saw was the soft, whiskey brown of his eyes. Two warm and comforting orbs, blown out to be as wide as your own, as his face echoed back the same shell-shock on your own. His eyes were brown. Not grey, not black, but something more, something russet. Brown. 

Colors. You were seeing colors for the first time. You both knew what it meant. 

“You,” he breathed out with a boyish grin, letting you catch the pink of the tip of his tongue as he finished your introduction for you, both of your excitement buzzing in the breeze, “are my soulmate.” 

—

Fifteen was the age of awkwardness. Thirteen had been awful, sure, full of changes and growth and such, but fifteen made it seem like a cake walk. 

You wouldn’t have survived it without Eddie. 

Two years into the friendship, the two of you were inseparable. You had always spent your entire childhood assuming that when you found your soulmate, it would all fall into place, romantically speaking. But then Eddie happened. Eddie, your soulmate, fell right into your lap and you realized all of your childish dreams were pale in comparison. 

He was your best friend first and foremost. Even if he hadn’t been revealed as your soulmate on that day, you have no doubt that the trajectory of your friendship would have stayed on this path. From the beginning, both of you decided to Hell with society’s expectations of soulmates. Sure, most people didn’t find their soulmates until later in life, when it made sense for the sparks of romance to fly instantly, but the adults still seemed to expect that when the news broke. Your parents had been concerned, Eddie’s Uncle Wayne had been weary, your teachers had been blatantly confused. 

It was fun for the two of you, though. The thrill of introducing each other as, “This is my best friend. Oh, also my soulmate, but, hey. Technicalities, am I right?” 

Most of the kids in your grade hadn’t met their soulmates quite yet, especially those first few years. A sense of superiority sprouted in both of you to be able to know, to experience, to lavish in a world of color. To have the weight of finding your better part lifted off your shoulders so soon in life. 

You and Eddie had an entire lifetime to figure out the romantic aspect of it all. For now, he was your best friend, and you were his, and that was enough. 

Once you two had entered high school, one thing did become very clear: the parading of being soulmates had to cease. 

Jason Carver had been enough of a menace in middle school, but grew into a fully formed monster once he joined your ranks in high school. People were not kind to Eddie – they hadn’t been in middle school, when he first moved to Hawkins, and they weren’t going to change their tune suddenly in high school. The bullying you had endured had begun to fade, but his age of torment had just begun. 

You never once left his side. It didn’t matter to you if the entire school knew you were soulmates or not. It didn’t even matter that you two were soulmates; he was your best friend, and you would be damned before you left him to battle the tides alone. 

“I hate this,” he mumbled as he sat on the toilet of his shared bathroom with Wayne in their trailer, you kneeling between his legs as you blotted at his split lip with an alcohol wipe, “I should have punched the asshole back.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you scowled, furrowing your brows even deeper in concentration, “And stop talking – you’re making it worse.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you quieted him with a glare. 

Just as you wouldn’t have survived the Age of Awkwardness without Eddie, he wouldn’t have survived it without you. 

You finished cleaning off the dried blood before tossing the wipe into the overfilled trash can, sighing heavily as you fell back onto the ground and supported yourself against the wall opposite of him. 

You leveled each other into a staring contest, eyes blankly boring into each other with emotionless expressions. 

“You’re lucky Wayne isn’t home, y’know,” you finally broke the silence, shooting a hand out to grab his ankle and give it a squeeze, “He’d probably be driving down to the school right now and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waved you off, shaking his head, “I know. Trust me, I know. I think Principal Higgins is starting to hate him more than he hates me.” 

“Principal Higgins doesn’t hate you.”

“You’re right – he loathes me.” 

The hand that was squeezing his ankle quickly traveled up to his knee to slap it, “Eddie.” 

He raised his hands up in the air, lifting his brows for emphasis as he exclaimed, “What? You know I’m right, kid.” 

Kid. The loving nickname Eddie had adorned you with the moment he found out he was a mere six months older than you. You hated it, and he loved that you hated it. 

“The day you’re right is the day pigs fly, old man.”

Old man. The nickname that served as your attempt at a rebuttal. It didn’t work, not as intended. 

He chuckled softly at that, as he usually does when you call him that, and only smacked his palms onto his thighs, “Well, doc, I must say – you’ve done an exquisite job. Am I free to go?” 

You tried to fight your smile, tried to linger in the anger sparked from seeing Eddie hurt. Your disdain wasn’t directed at him; it was always a loaded gun pointed at whoever dared to lay a hand on your boy. You probably could have had a spotless reputation without Eddie Munson in your life, but you’d found your fists quick to fly in his defense. 

Your parents hated it. Wayne secretly adored it, even when he’d still join in scolding you and Eddie alike on avoiding violence. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, before grabbing his calves through denim to stop him. Dark blue denim, a deep shade of navy that you still hadn’t grown used to seeing. You hadn’t even realized jeans came in so many different shades until you met Eddie, and you’d always chastised him when he’d opt for a boring black pair, “But first, a payment is required.”

“A payment?” Eddie tilted his head, looking down at you curiously.

“A payment.” 

“And what would this payment be?” 

“A movie night,” you grinned wildly, finally letting your grip on him go, taking in the chestnut highlights of his curls and the red font of his t-shirt, a band shirt you’d never heard of but that he had recently gotten into, “Snacks provided by my loving host, you, of course.” 

He exaggerated his pondering, bringing a hand to his chin, stroking dramatically. As if he was ever capable of saying no to you. 

“Hm,” he hummed, his voice echoing through the tiny space and encasing you in warmth. As serene as that first summer day when he’d taken the leap of sitting down next to you in the grass, back to a tree, palm in your palm as colors had swarmed your vision, “I suppose that can be arranged.” 

—

Movie nights were a frequent occurrence. A sanctuary from the shit show of your small town. Sometimes, they had been the illusion of a bargain like that night, and others, they were an unspoken agreement. You’d show up to Eddie’s trailer or he would end up on your doorstep, your favorite candies in hand, and the two of you would just know. No words needed as you’d situate yourself on whoever’s couch, legs intertwining and blankets shared across laps. A bowl of popcorn that usually ended up being spilled inevitably. 

Movies were more fun in color. Some of your friends didn’t get it, still living in a world of black and white, but Eddie loved to listen to your rambles about how the vivid shades appeared across the screen. He loved the way your eyes would light up passionately, he loved how you still smiled so widely at special effects that were made more poignant by this gift the two of you had been given. 

Time. You two had been given the time most soulmates weren’t allotted. A gift you always thanked the Universe for. 

The latest Slasher film that had been released was currently displayed on the small television in Eddie’s living room, the two of you practically molded to the worn cushions of his sofa. Wayne had left within the first ten minutes for his shift, bidding the two of you a farewell with the warning of behaving. Vibrant reds splashed across the screen as one of the protagonists takes a stabbing, and while you should be shying away from the gruesome scene, you can’t help but stare in awe.

Even after years of experiencing colors, they took away your breath.

“Jesus,” you sighed wistfully, “How do they even make the fake blood? It’s so… so…”

“Red?” Eddie laughed from the other side of the couch, prodding at your thigh with his sock clad foot, “Probably food dye. Maybe some corn syrup.”

“It’s just so bright,” you eagerly leaned in closer to the TV, squinting with a wide smile, unaware of his stare. 

He was quiet for a moment, simply enjoying your joy. Your awe and wonder at the world, the way it seemed as if you two had just met that day rather than years before. As if colors were still a fascinating color to you. Eddie had grown used to them, let them become a part of his daily routine, but you always seemed to shine a new light on them for him. 

Around you, all the colors seemed a little bit brighter. 

“How do you do that?” he whispered so softly, it nearly got lost in the noise of the movie’s climax.

You hummed in response, eyes never leaving the screen. You were watching the movie in fascination, and he was watching you in serenity. 

His miracle. His gift. His soulmate. 

“You just…” he trailed off, no longer caring about the movie, “You always treat them like they’re brand new.” 

It caught your attention. The way his tone was so… velvety, so caring, so affectionate. You looked at him, “I treat what like they’re brand new?” 

“The colors.”

“Because they are.” 

The same assuredness as he used that very first day. As if it were obvious, as if it were simply a matter of fact and not such an endearing trait. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and it only made his heart clench tighter. 

You were his soulmate. 

“We lived without them for thirteen years, old man-”

“Thirteen years and six months, in my case,” he piped up in interruption, wearing a Cheshire grin. 

You nodded and rolled your eyes, “Yes, in your case. Thirteen years, give or take. I just… I don’t know. They still… they still get to me. I don’t think I can ever get used to them. Are you?” 

“What? Used to them?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know how to explain it to you, not at that moment. How could he articulate to you that after so many years, the colors had dulled ever so slightly? The novelty had worn off, had run its course. The only time they’d ever become as vivacious as the first time was when he looked at you. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain it to you, so he only shrugged, “I guess.” 

I guess, except when I see the color of your eyes, and I realize they’re my favorite color. Except when I notice the varied shades of your hair, and realize how lucky I am to see them in their full glory rather than shades of grey. Except when you wear that favorite mauve lipstick of yours, and I can’t get over the shape of your lips. Except when you wear that pretty red dress, and your confidence has my head spinning. 

I guess, except when it’s you. 

“Well, that’s just sad,” you huffed, focusing back on the movie after kicking gently at his shin. You lapsed into a comforting silence for a few more minutes, letting the movie fill the air. The same cycle; you watched the screen, he watched you, and the Universe watched both of you with a smile as it knew that the right choice had been made. The two of you were meant for each other. In this life. In the past lives. In the next lives. The two of you were the epitome of soulmates, even if the concept had never existed before. 

Thank the Universe it existed. Thank the Universe that he found you that day, below an oak tree, scraped knees and all. 

His voice shook as he quietly confessed, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

The movie faded in a blur for you instantly. Your neck could have snapped from how quickly you turned your attention to him. “What?”

“I love you,” his voice continued its waver, not from being unsure but from pure emotion. The flood of love that pulsed through his veins currently. 

You smiled, the apples of your cheeks punctuated and the chip in your tooth from your youth he hadn’t had the privilege of being apart of on showcase, “Well, yeah. Duh. I’m your soulmate. You kind of have to love me.” 

“Even if we weren’t soulmates,” he rushed to clarify, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing your knee beneath blankets that smelled of home, “Even if you weren’t my soulmate, I would love you.” 

Your face softened. He wished he would have kissed you in that moment. 

But the vulnerability was terrifying, and all that could echo through your mind is the fact that you two had time. So instead of matching his serious tone, you joked, “Well, it’s a good thing I am your soulmate, then. It might have been awkward for your hypothetically soulmate you would have had instead in that scenario, trying to explain why you love your best friend more than them.” 

“Shut up,” he laughed, squeezing your knee tighter, “I’m being serious, kid. I love you. I really, really fuckin’ love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You’re only saying that because I’m the reason you see colors.”

“Fuck the colors,” he was quick to reply, “The Universe can take back the colors, as long as I still have you.” 

There it is. The earthquake you dreamt of as a little girl. The trailer’s across the park never felt it, the kids surely getting into trouble in the forest behind Eddie’s home didn’t notice it, but you felt it. A rumble through your chest, a groundbreaking discovery, a world-ending confession. Your world began, and your world ended, and your world restarted with Eddie Munson. 

“You don’t believe me,” he noted, suddenly shimmying out from beneath the blanket.

“Wait, hold on-”

“Stay here.” 

You stayed frozen in your seat, wide eyes following his broad back and the army green of his t-shirt. No longer a frail frame, face filling out with puberty. He was becoming a man. No longer the young boy who took punches and threw them back twice as hard. 

He was becoming a man, he was your soulmate, and he loved you. He loved you enough he would give up what everyone else considered the greatest gift, just for you. 

Eddie Munson didn’t need colors to love you so ardently. And you knew, at that moment, that the same could be said for you. You would have loved him no matter what. The moment his shadow had spread over you beneath wide leaves and simmering heat, he was destined to hole up in your heart, never to leave again. 

By the time he had returned to the living room, you had paused the movie, eyes locked on where he emerged from the hallway with a polaroid camera in hand and a mischievous grin gracing his features. The camera had been a joint gift from your parents and his uncle the previous Christmas. 

Your eyes weren’t on the camera. They were on him. His hair had grown over the years, wild auburn curls finally surpassing his ears. The awkward style made for ridiculous bed head, something you’d been witness to many mornings after impromptu sleepovers. 

You were fascinated with the way the sunlight caught each strand as they bounced with his eager steps. The trace of gold you could outline. Shades of autumn you loved to run your fingers through when he’d offer the opportunity.

He shook the camera into the air for emphasis, finally catching your eyes’ attention, before he propelled himself back down onto the couch across from you, both of you sitting up instead of being reclined now. “Let me show you something.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered out, unsure. 

He fiddled with the camera for a few moments before he brought it up to his face, resting against his cheek as his eye peered into the small peephole. You were so busy memorizing him like that, that the flash of the camera took you off guard and effectively blinded you for a few seconds. 

“What the-” you started with a scowl, hands flying up to rub your knuckles into your eyes in a sorry attempt to rush away the stars blocking your vision. 

“Just wait,” he insisted, snatching up the polaroid the moment it printed from the camera. When you flashed him an unconvinced look, he continued on, “Trust me.” 

He didn’t have to ask twice. You always trusted him with your entire being, whether for better or for worse. 

The polaroid was slow in developing. Eddie hummed to fill the silence, occasionally fanning around the small capture of you that was slowly filling out in color rather than blinding white. You spent your energy on trying to decipher what song was stuck in his head and not focus on how slow those damned photos always seemed to be in coming to fruition. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity when you finally gave up on figuring out the song and succumbing to your impatience with a sigh, “This is the world’s slowest magic trick ever.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but tossed you the camera. You thanked the Heavens for fast reflexes as you were able to catch it rather than let it fall to the ground. The two of you would have never heard the end of it if you managed to break such an expensive gift. 

“Hey!” you shouted as you clutched the camera tightly to your chest, “Be careful with this thing, Eddie. It’s fragile.”

His eyebrows raised from behind where he held up the polaroid he took of you to his face, “Is it? Can we really be sure that it’s that fragile if we don’t knock it around for good measure?” 

“We can,” you snappily replied, glaring down at the camera and fighting amusement, “If you want to throw it around, be my guest. But you’ll explain to Wayne why you broke it – not me.” 

“Of course, kid,” he grinned so wide that it spread to his cheeks peeking out either side of the photo still obnoxiously close to his face, “What else is a best friend good for? Basically signed up to be your permanent scapegoat until the end of time the moment I gave you the gift of colors.”

“And yet, I’m the one usually talking us out of trouble,” you dramatically called back, finally looking up at him and holding up the camera, “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“I dunno. Break it, take a picture of me. The choice is yours, sweetheart.” 

He still hadn’t put the photo of you down, so you finally reached across the sea of blankets to yank on his forearms. Once you were faced once more with those warm doe eyes rather than the blank back of a photo, you narrowed your eyes at him in indecision. 

He was still smirking. Wide enough that his teeth just barely peeked out between his barely parted lips. You recalled the tales of kiss-bitten lips, the way you’d heard adults describe that deeper shade of pink, and for a second, you considered that it would look good on Eddie. Something about imagining him flushed and bruised by love and lust rather than malice made your gut twist stormily. 

“Picture it is,” you muttered, “Put that stupid polaroid down and smile for the camera, pretty boy.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

The camera went off mid-teasing, his dimples on full display and eyes shining wonderfully with the flash of the camera. 

“Nope,” you mumbled, “Just said it so you’d keep smiling.” 

It was a lie. A horrible, pathetic, and badly-veiled lie. 

The photos developed faster. Yours is finally in full color and detail by the time the two of you can make out the shape of Eddie in his, and he was quick to toss it to the side before he shoved yours into your lap. 

“There, look.” 

It wasn’t anything magnificent to look at. Just another photo. The same old color of your hair, baby hairs frizzing at the edges. Same old eyes fighting from crinkling in adornment at the boy before you. You weren’t anything special, not in your eyes. But Eddie’s expectant stare told you that there had to be something more there, something he was waiting for you to pick up on. You scoured the background of the photo for pops of color only to come up empty-handed. All you could find were the tired dark tones of the Munson’s furniture and living room behind yourself in the picture.

“Eddie, what am I supposed to be looking at?” you squinted, bringing the photo closer and trying to figure out the useless puzzle he had presented you with, “It’s just a picture of me-”

“Exactly,” he interrupted, “A picture of you. My soulmate. That right there,” he leaned over and plucked the photo from your hands, holding it up tauntingly just out of reach, “Is a picture of the girl I love. A picture of the one person who makes colors worth seeing, and makes colors worth losing.” 

The sentiment had you choked up. 

“You’re my favorite person,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and he held up his hand with his knuckles facing you as he put down the polaroid in his lap, “Have been since that very first day.” 

There was still a faint scar, right there, clear as day. It casted over the knuckles of his ring and middle finger as a permanent reminder of that fateful day. As if the colors weren’t enough, as if the swell of your heart inside your chest wasn’t enough reminder of the love and care you’d always felt pulsing from Eddie.

You reached out to the coffee table suddenly, picking up the photo of him, glad to see it finally developed. You didn’t even glance at it before you held it up to him, “And this is a photo of my favorite person.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture.”

“I don’t need to,” you breathed out, moving the picture out of your vision to look at him dead in the eyes, “He’s right here in front of me. In full color, treating me far kinder than I deserve.” 

His touch was ginger as he pinched the corner of the photo and took it from your grasp, placing it down atop the polaroid of you, “Don’t do that. You always deserve my kindness – you deserve the entire world’s kindness. I’ll kick the ass of anyone who argues otherwise.”

A soft and shy smile ripped at your lips, made the corners and your cheeks ache as you shrugged, “Whatever you say, old man.” 

He only looked at you, only wore the lovesick look of a man face-to-face with his soulmate.

The movie was long forgotten. All snacks carefully put on the table before Eddie threw the blanket off of the two of you and scooted backwards while leaving a space large enough for you between his legs.  

“C’mere,” he beckoned, motioning for you to crawl forward and fit your head to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed you impossibly close to him, until your cheek was tight to his t-shirt and your ear was thundering with his racing heartbeat. 

You melted into him easily, letting your own arms encase him to the best of their abilities in this position. You took a few selfish moments to just be there with him, to just let his words sink in beneath your skin and the reality of them weigh heavy on you. The heavier it weighed, the further into his embrace you pressed. 

The warmth of serenity and peacefulness of the picture perfect moment nearly lulled you to sleep. But even in the drowsiness, you felt the kiss he pressed to the crown of your head. 

“I love you, too,” you admitted, muffled by his chest. You hoped he felt the words and wouldn’t teasingly make you look him in his eyes as you confessed, “I love you so fucking much. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

“Sure you could-” he began, but was cut off but the abrupt lifting of your head, just as he fingertips had started on a path down your spine.

“I couldn’t,” you insisted, “I really, really couldn’t. I need you to stick around for a long time, Munson. I’m not in the business of losing my soulmate until we’re old and grey and gross. I want to keep you around until I lose count of all your wrinkles and weird moles.”

He chuckled, and the force vibrated against your shoulder digging into his torso. 

You retrieved those two polaroids before you resettled against him, your back now pressed to his chest as you held the two snapshots side by side for both of you to look out. 

He was right. You think you get it. 

When you look at the photo of yourself, you see nothing extraordinary. But when you look at the photo of Eddie, everything just… the world seemingly stops, all moving parts suddenly snapping into place. A boy vibrant with color and glee, a boy who tugged on every heartstring you’d hung in your chest throughout your lifetime. It sent warmth to every crevice of you, from the top of your head where the ghost of his lips still lingered to the tips of your toes wiggling beside his within thick socks. 

It’s more than an earthquake or the world stopping. Eddie doesn’t just stop or begin your world – he is your world. 

A world of wild hair, charming smiles, unfiltered laughter and fierce adoration. Even the brightest shades out there that you had yet to discover were dim compared to the boy photographed in time for you. 

His arms slide around your shoulders, tugging you in even closer,“Just out of curiosity, what is your cap on wrinkles you can count? Because I’ve seen Wayne, and some photos of my old man, and let me tell you – time is not kind to us Munson men.” 

You rolled your head and pressed a kiss to one of his forearms before smashing your cheek into it, breathing deeply as his fingertips drew random shapes over the spot on your chest that your heart rests beneath. 

“As many as it takes, old man.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” 

You brought a hand up to curl around the arm, right beside when you kept your cheek nuzzled. He finally laid his palm flat against your chest, and you wonder if he can feel the way each beat of your heart called out his name. It was okay if he didn’t – he had all the time in the world to figure it out. 

—

“I just don’t understand why you’re so mad!”

“I’m not mad, Eddie – I’m fucking pissed!” 

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you’re so pissed!” 

Seventeen is the age of being reckless and redundant. Of big feelings and reckless decisions. It is the time in your life for being an absolute idiot. 

Eddie Munson was proof of it as the two of you stood outside of his van, the whistle of the winds around you two from the impending storm lost on your current screaming match. 

“Figure it out,” you seethed, stomping your feet almost childishly as you began to turn away from him, “And while you do that, leave me the fuck alone.” 

“I- Hey!” he reached out for you, but you’re already quickening your pace and hopping up onto the sidewalk, “Hey! Don’t fucking walk away from me!” 

You didn’t reply, only widening your strides. 

He called out your name, and you heard his frustrated groan before he easily caught up with you. 

Damn him and his newfound height. 

“Would you just listen to me?” he shouted, latching onto your bicep and spinning you around harshly to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his touch quickly, eyes blazing, “Why should I? I’ve seen what I needed to see, Eddie. Just go back inside to your preppy girlfriend. Forget about me. Pretend like she’s never stood to the side while her boyfriend bullied you like- like- like some asshole.”

His hair was longer now. Ringlets that cascaded to brush over the top of his shoulders – shoulders that had broadened impressively as he neared the end of his youth. His newest clothing staple covered them; a denim vest you’d helped him distress and sew multitudes of patches onto, a display of his favorite bands that had only painted a new target onto his back. 

Satan worshiper. That’s what they called your soulmate in terrified whispers amongst the halls at school. That’s what all the PTO mothers’ eyes silently cursed when they’d see him with you at the grocery store. 

He’d made quite the image for himself. And you’d stayed by his side, defending his honor at every chance. Your best friend, your soulmate. 

Only to find him eating the face off of some cheerleader at that goddamned party. 

Yeah, you didn’t need to listen to him. You really had seen enough. 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” he waved his arms wildly, the storm roaring loader with his increased volume.

“What is she then?” you insisted with venom, crossing your arms and effectively closing yourself off from him as you took another step back, “Just some one night stand? Some fun to have before you have to accept that you’re shackled to me for the rest of your life?” 

You hated the way your eyes burned. You cursed the tears gathering as you glared at him viciously, masking all the pain with as much rage as you could muster. 

He wouldn’t even kiss you, his soulmate. But he would kiss her. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he warned lowly, tone no longer making a spectacle of the two of you, “You know that’s not how I see it.” 

“You won’t even kiss me.” 

He was stunned into silence. As you spat out the words, the first few tears slipped.

It was about more than the pretty blonde girl you’d found him with. It was about more than the fact he was kissing someone else. 

“I… What?” he whispered, his entire body going slack with defeat. 

The tears fell more rapidly now as you replayed the moment in your head. The two of you were only at the stupid party for Eddie to deal weed from some weird guy he’d met in the arcade, a way to make extra cash. Cash he claimed he was putting towards your future together. You had no idea how you’d gone from sitting on the couch together to tipsy, joining a circle of fellow peers who momentarily forgot their cruelness between shots of whiskey and pours of vodka. 

You were going to hate the game of Spin the Bottle for the rest of your life. You were sure of it. 

When Eddie’s turn had arrived, when the neck of that dingy beer bottle casted shades of ambers in your direction, you had been so excited. Your heart had been in your throat, your head dizzy with the excitement of him finally kissing you. Your soulmate by Nature, your best friend by choice, finally would be kissing you. You had been so sure it was an affirmation from the Universe that the right choice had been made when it came to the two of you. That it was all real, and the colors weren’t a product of your delusion. 

And then he said no. 

“You wouldn’t kiss me,” you choked out, pulling your arms around your torso tighter to fight back any shivers or shaking, “The bottle landed on me, on your soulmate, and you wouldn’t even fucking kiss me. The one person you should have kissed. And you didn’t.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock, a deer caught in your headlights, as he started to stutter out a sorry excuse. 

You didn’t want to hear it. You only threw your head back in bitter laughter, spinning on your heel and preparing to leave him behind once more.

“Wait,” he begged, grabbing your shoulder this time. 

You shrugged it off harshly, “For what? For you to make up some bullshit excuse for it? I don’t want to hear it, Eddie. I get it. I’m so sorry that I’m your soulmate. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m so-” 

He cut you off by rounding in front of you, blocking your escape route and cradling each of your cheeks with determination as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze, “Stop putting words in my mouth! That’s not why I did it, okay? It’s not!” 

Your tears fell more rapidly, so quickly that his thumbs couldn’t have kept up with swiping them away if he tried. Instead, he let them puddle against his palms, focus solely on your eyes as he bore into them and whispered, “That’s not why I said no. And it’s not why I kissed that girl, okay? You’ve got to believe me, kid.” 

“Don’t-” you started, but he shook his head, determined.

“No, no. Hear me out. Please. You know I don’t see it that way. You- You’re- I’m not shackled to you. You aren’t some sort of damnation for me. Do you get that? You aren’t some life sentence or burden – you’re….” he trailed off, and you could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Constellations in his lashes to match your own. “I said no because I’m terrified. O-Okay? I said no to kissing you because… because… what if you’re the one shackled to me?” 

The crack in his voice reverberated through you. Aftershocks rattled your bones at his confession. 

“I- We haven’t crossed that line. And I just… if I crossed that line, and if you decided I wasn’t what you wanted…” his eyes searched yours for answers you couldn’t provide to him, not as your brows creased and your chest tightened, “If I kissed you and you decided that the Universe made a mistake, that I’m not actually your soulmate… I- Fuck, I couldn’t take that, kid. I couldn’t.” 

You’re no longer poised to run, to escape him and all the emotions drowning your lungs. You felt your shoulders drop, your defenses burned to ash as you stood with two solid feet on the quivering ground below you. 

There were a million reassurances on the tip of your tongue, but instead you only said, “Why did you kiss her?” 

The question that had pinned you as a flight risk. Because if what he told you was true, and you did believe him, then it didn’t make sense. Nothing that had happened that night made sense if what he said was true. 

“I don’t know,” he seemed even more confused than you, “And- God, I’m fucking sorry for such a shitty cop-out of an answer. But I just… I don’t know. I just did. She was there, and she kissed me, and I kissed back. I pretended she was you, like a fucking idiot.”

The honesty threatened to shatter you, but you decided it was better to hear his truth than risk being lied to. You could move past the anguish in both your eyes, the confusion and the hurt having brewed – you wouldn’t have been able to move past some half-assed lie in an attempt to save your feelings. 

“I regret it,” he whispered, “The moment I kissed her back, I regretted it.”

“Why?”

An opportunity to seal a bandage over the bleeding wound. A chance for him to make it all better. 

“Because she isn’t you. She isn’t my soulmate - she never could be. It’s you, and it was always going to be you, even if the Universe didn’t agree with me.” 

You took a moment to try and picture a world in which the man stood before you wasn’t your soulmate. A world where your palms touched, and your world hadn’t exploded in technicolor. Another Universe where the first color you had seen hadn’t been warm, brown, honey coated eyes. A twisted timeline where you hadn’t been awarded the gift of memorizing the red of his guitar, his sweetheart, or the calm blue tint his room bathed in every early morning. A world where you don’t know the shade his skin turns in during golden hour, or can’t see the way his few tattoos he’d gathered in the past year on his skin are actually a fading shade of blue-green rather than stark black. A world where you couldn’t pick up the Fruity Pebbles stuck between his teeth as he rushed to class late and you teased him mercilessly for it. A world without color - a world without the guarantee of Eddie Munson. 

A breeze roared by, and you could hear the Universe you were in whispering to stop it, to not do this. Because you weren’t living in a world without color. Your world had burst to life when your palm met his. You knew all the colors of his lifeline like the back of your hand. 

“It wasn’t worth it?” You knew the answer. You still needed to hear him say it.

And say it he did, nodding in confirmation, “It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it.” 

He could have left it at that and you would have offered him your forgiveness anyways. Even if the bond formed between you two didn’t feel like a shackle of chains binding you two together, you knew that there would always be an invisible string wound around your soul and connected to his. You could have spent longer being mad, you could have still walked yourself home and left him broken in the middle of that neighborhood street. But even if you did, you would have eventually found your way back to him. Whether you left in anger, whether you left in sadness, whether you left in mourning – your final destination remained the same. Him.

You may have all the time in the world with Eddie, but even a second spent upset with him felt like a second wasted. 

Not even forever felt like long enough. You knew that now, glaringly obvious by the chain of events the night had followed. 

And so he could have left it at that. And all would be well. Wounds would heal and time would soothe the ache that echoed. But he didn’t. 

He took a step closer. Took a shaky, deep breath. And then another step. One foot after the other until he was toe-to-toe with you as he breathed out, “You’re my future. You’re everything to me. Soulmate or not, you’re all I want. I want to grow old with you until I lose count of your wrinkles, and then some.” 

His chin tilted down, lips daring closer and closer to yours as your stare into his eyes refused to waver. 

Deep, deep brown. Endless, molten, a kind of comforting that says you’re home, you can rest now. How fortunate you were to see the twisting of lively carob and umber rather than lifeless greys. 

Your eyes tried to flutter close, but you couldn’t let them, not yet. Not until he was close enough to feel his breath on your chin before he let out a raspy, “Baby.” 

You folded immediately, took the plunge as your eyes finally shut and you pressed forward with fervent. 

It wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t fluid and instantaneous. There was hesitancy and there was awkwardness, and your noses bumped one anothers hard enough to make both of you chuckle into the rarity of space left between your mouths as you both gasped in waves of air before returning to one another. His hand took its time before it grabbed your waist, and it trembled the entire time. Your arms shook the entire way they lifted until they wrapped around his neck and shoulders, unsure of where exactly to lay comfortably. 

But none of that mattered. Because he was kissing you – your soulmate was finally kissing you. And you had never kissed another soul before that night, but you knew immediately you’d never want to kiss another soul. 

It wasn’t like the movies or fairy tales, but it was enough. 

And you knew he felt the same way when the kiss was broken by the grin that split his lips just as the sky began to spit out the beginning of its inevitable downpour. 

—

You hadn’t heard from Eddie in three days. Which, fair enough. Finals season was nearly upon you two and you knew he had been stressed. Since the night of that party nearly a year before, you two had become even more inseparable if possible. You two had finally crossed a line, had finally accepted your status of soulmates, and no one would dare to demand the two of you detach from each other’s sides once you made the announcement that you were officially together. 

Wayne had worn a knowing smile. Your parents had simply warned Eddie to not hurt you (as if that was even an option for him at this point). Even Principal Higgins had offered a polite smile when he caught you two holding hands in the hallway, surprisingly not commenting on the public display of affection. You two were officially dating, officially succumbing to the status quo of what soulmates should be. 

Everyone had already sort of known there was something there between you two, but making it official removed any sliver of doubt any of them may have harbored. 

And so it was fine if Eddie needed space. It had been that way before your first kiss, occasionally learning how to stand as your own entities rather than solely a joint force, and it could continue to be that way after your first kiss. 

But after three days, you had started to worry. 

Pacing your room, you told yourself you were being ridiculous. This was fine. Space was good – space was needed. 

Space didn’t help with all your what-ifs, though.

What if he was hurt? What if he was sick? What if he was mad at you? What if the longer you gave him that space, the starcher of a revelation he would have that he didn’t need you? What if the two of you had flown into all of this too fast, too quickly, too soon? It may have taken years to get there, but what if Eddie suddenly decided the last year had been too much? 

You were in your car, driving recklessly down the streets that would lead to his house, before you could even think of another what if. 

If it was that last thought that crossed your mind, if everything between the two of you had become simply overwhelming for him, you convinced yourself it would be okay. It would be just fine, you could handle it as long as he told you as much to your face rather than hiding behind distance put between you. It remained a mantra spinning through your storming mind the entire drive; it will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it. Anything for him.

You never considered that one of the other possibilities was more likely. Not until you had your car haphazardly parked in front of the Munson’s trailer, fist banging on their front door before Wayne threw it open with tired eyes and wrinkles bunched in concern. 

“Is he here?” you breathed out in lieu of a proper greeting, breathless from your jog up to the damn porch from your car that you hadn’t even bothered with locking up.

It will be fine. It will be okay. As long as he says it, I can handle it.

Wayne understood immediately, stepping to the side as he nodded and motioned for you to come in, “He’s in his room. But listen, he got some news, and he’s not do-”

You didn’t hear the rest of Wayne’s warning, too busy storming past him and flying to Eddie’s bedroom door. You didn’t even knock, bursting through the door and already fighting tears as you geared up to hear Eddie say that he needed time and space, that he had gotten sick of you, that he wanted to experience more life before you guys really gave any of this a fighting chance. 

“Eddie, can you please tell me why you’ve just up and disappeared-” you cut off your plead the moment you laid eyes on him. 

He wasn’t facing the door. He was curled up in bed, back to you, clad in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You could see the stubborn knots that had built up in his hair, immediately keyed in on the way he was trying to collapse into himself. His knees were nearly buried in his chest, and if you squinted into the dark room, you’d see the outline of his spine beneath the flash of skin peaking out from where the back of his shirt had raised. 

It wasn’t just the state of him; the state of the room also immediately silenced you. 

Almost as if a war path had been torn through it days before, the bedroom was messier than normal. Eddie was never the most organized or pristine person, but he kept his living space well enough to… well, live. Kept the floor always within sight, tried to never let any collection of trash overflow on the tops of his dressers or desk. He even found himself emptying his ashtrays without your reminding most of the time. Usually, most of the clutter simply came from mountains of papers detailing campaigns or writing new songs, or different sets of dice being left out from planning said campaigns. A t-shirt here, a pair of ripped jeans there – sure. He was a teenage boy. It was expected.

It looked as though a level five hurricane had hit Eddie Munson’s room. 

Clothes strewn everywhere, dresser drawers thrown open and never closed. Beer cans collected across each surface and both ashtrays were overfilling with cigarette butts. You even spotted two half smoked joints on his bedside table. His sweetheart had been taken off of its wall mount and laid to rest on the floor. He would never have let his prized possession be discarded like that. Ever.

Your voice came out weak as you took a step closer to the bed, “Eddie?” 

You’re surprised he heard your whisper. He stirred, and your eyes followed the dust particles dancing in the single stream of sunlight that was bursting through a hole forgotten in his makeshift curtains. Navy blue sheets the two of you once used to make a pillow fort in the Munson living room, thinned to the illusion of a sky blue in some patches.

You’d always warned him they make shit curtains; he’d always shrugged and said it added to his feng shui. 

“Eddie,” you whispered again, knees knocking against the edge of the mattress as you looked down at his broken form, “I… What happened? Are you… are you okay?” 

You hadn’t known how to approach it. Whatever happened was even worse than the first time he’d received a phone call from his dad in prison. 

He mumbled something against the pillow he has one arm curled under.

“What?” you questioned, nearly ready to climb into that damn bed and force him onto his back, force him to look at you if only so you could guarantee there were no tear tracks on his cheeks. 

You don’t have to, though. Eddie finally loosened his grip on that pillow and rolls ever so slightly, just enough for you to see half his face and feel your heart break at the confirmation of tears. Translucent pink eyes, glossy wet cheeks, the tip of his nose glowing as his gaze met yours. He looked tired.

“I’m getting held back,” he croaked, “I fucking- I flunked. I’m not graduating.” 

You nearly sighed in relief. For his sake, you don’t, but the weight on your shoulders lifted immediately. 

“Oh, sweet boy,” you murmured, giving into the need to crawl into the bed. You folded your knees as you situated yourself on the bed behind him, and the moment you’re situated, he wasted no time twisting himself to face you and bury his face into your side, “Why didn’t you call? You had me losing my goddamn mind-“ 

A strangled sob rattled against your side. One of his hands gripped your thigh, fingertips holding on for dear life, “Because your soulmate is a fucking loser.” 

Your chest cracked further, a valley beginning to form as a hand buried into the back of his head, holding him to you as the other hand moved to rub his back in soothing motions.

“My soulmate is not a fucking loser,” you tried to keep a gentle tone rather than scold him at the moment. He didn’t need scolding — he needed patience, he needed care, he just needed you to be there, “Keep talking about him that way, and I’ll have to get the fighting gloves.” 

He wetly laughed into your t-shirt, and you were sure that there would be tear stains when he finally lifted his head, “I’m the one who taught you how to throw a punch, baby.” 

“Exactly. Which means I’ll have you on your ass in ten seconds flat.” 

It was a few minutes of silence that followed; just you holding him, just him clinging onto you. His life line — his single ship of hope in what had been a terribly rocky sea the last few days. An irreplaceable peace settled across all the wounds and damage that had been done in private. You had been right. He should have called you immediately. He should have known that if anyone could make the situation feel less like his world was ending, it was you.

His soulmate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you questioned in a soft, lulling tone. The endless patterns you’d drawn on his back had nearly put him to sleep, “Maybe be a bit kinder to yourself this time?”

“I just…” he started, finally removing his face from being buried against you, “I sort of had a hunch. O’Donnel wouldn’t round my grade, you know? And I’ve skipped a lot of classes, I know. But hearing Higgins say it just… just…”

“Made it real?” you offered a weary ending to his sentence.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Real. It made it really fucking real.” 

He didn’t feel judged at that moment. He felt seen as you continued on, “It is real, and it sucks. But it’ll be okay, Eds. I mean, I was already planning on the community college for my first year, maybe even taking a year off. If you need any help with classes, you just gotta ask me. Don’t forget I was one of O'Donnell's pets, as unfortunate as it was. I know how to work that woman into rounding up some grade.”

You rambled on a little more, all the while still stroking his hair and back, offering even more solutions. The longer you spoke, the better Eddie felt. You made it all sound so easy — like this was nothing, like it was the smallest of blips in plans that had been years in the making. You weren’t upset, you weren’t disappointed. He deserved your negativity, and instead only received your optimism.

You were with him for the long haul, he realized. Truly. It wasn’t just some one off promise or chain of the Universe holding you to him. He wasn’t dragging you down.

When you finally trailed off, his lids finally heavier than his heart, he sighed, “I love you. You know that?” 

“I love you,” you smiled, ��That’s kind of part of the soulmate package, isn’t it?”

“Fuck the soulmate part,” he lifted out of your hold despite everything in him screaming to stay put, to let you to continue to coddle him, “I’ve seen plenty of people be shitty to their soulmates. I watched my dad-“ he cut himself off, throat tightening with memories of his parents. You don’t make him finish that sentence, only nodding in understanding, “The Universe doesn’t force you to be a good person. You choose to be that. Every single day, you choose to stand by my side. You always have. You could have made me feel shitty about this, could have let me see how bummed you really are about sticking out another year here, but…” 

But you didn’t. 

Your eyes softened, a stormy shade of his favorite color, “Do you remember the way you punched Carver that day, before you even knew me?” 

That very first day. The day two souls destined to intertwine had come in contact. The day the Universe had sighed in relief as your palm met his.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, “You didn’t even know me. And yeah, whatever, maybe the Universe nudged you to do it, whatever. But there’s tons of people who know their soulmates for years and never realize it. Tons of people go to school and never interact with their soulmates. But that very first day… the first day you were at that school, the first day you saw me — we met. You defended me. And that counts for something. And I like to think it speaks more about us than it does about the grand scheme of things,” you brought a hand up, wiped away whatever tears were left on his cheeks with enough tenderness he almost started to sob again, “You didn’t know I was your soulmate. I was just some random classmate, and you defended me without even thinking about it. And I will always do the same for you. Always.” 

You always had, you always will. The two of you had proven, time and time again, that you will always choose one another. It was never about that inevitable bond. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he confessed, quickly moving to keep your palm there, resting on his stubbled cheek, “You deserve a soulmate who isn’t a fuck up. Someone good, someone who can give you the world and someone who… who isn’t repeating another year of fucking high school.”

“You still don’t get it,” you grinned sadly. Your fingertips press into that soft spanse right before his ear, cradling him more urgently on their own accord, “I don’t want or need someone else. You do give me the world- you are my world, you idiot.” 

Idiot sounded perfectly aligned with lover as he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck. Home — he was home as you wrapped your arms back around him, pulled him a little closer in your embrace, clung to him as tightly as he clung to you. 

All the colors in the world, and the only ones the two of you cared about were the ones confined to that small space for the time being, shades of you and shades of him, all overlapping perfectly in sync. 

—

You stay true to your word. The first time Eddie repeats his senior year, and the second time. 

Endless nights are spent studying, you forcing him to focus when he couldn’t, trying to invent new ways to learn that work for him rather than against him. He’s brilliant; you never let your boy forget that. 

It’s nice for a while. Sickly sweet kisses and teasing exchanges. Enough lovesickness to make even those around you two nauseous. Nights spent out by Lover’s Lake, exchanges of promises of a future to come and discussions of whether your kids will have his eyes or your eyes. Kids. You two were discussing fucking kids. And it had scared Eddie half to death to even bring it up, but you hadn’t been phased. You’d answered terrifying question after question with ease, had even joked about what color flowers the two of you would have at your wedding and listened to Eddie describe the house he’d want to grow old in with you in excruciating detail. Sometimes the two of you even brought up what kind of dog you’d have, fantasized about the big yard which would not have a white picket fence (because, according to Eddie, that shit was too cheesy even for him in all his adoration for you). It made Eddie realize that after all these years, maybe you had become the brave one.

You’d both succumbed to the stereotypical soulmate trope. Become exactly what society had expected from the two of you since the beginning. And honestly, you couldn’t even be mad about it. You get it – you got the allure as you had laid with a head pressed to Eddie’s chest, observing all the stars again, a night sky the vision of black and white as your vision went blurry with fatigue. 

“You know, that house sounds awfully expensive,” you yawned, curling a bit tighter into his side. You’re in nothing but his t-shirt, his chest still bare from the night’s activities.

Another new development. Even after all your time together, you two continued to find novelty to explore. New ways to learn each other, new ways to love each other, new ways to further tie your two souls together. An unbreakable knot. If anyone, the Universe included, tried to loosen it, you would spill blood without second thought. 

“Oh, it absolutely will be,” he chuckled, vibrations echoing in your eardrum, “But that’s fine. We’re going to tap into that rockstar money, baby.” 

In between talks of the future, more honest versions had arisen. Eddie and his band. You and your aspirations. Things that neither of you laughed at quite as much as the talk of children or houses with wraparound porches because they were in reach. 

“Do you think you’ll have groupies?” your voice was a murmur, mouth half pressed into his skin as you lazily traced circles on his pec you aren’t using as your own personal pillow. 

It made him chuckle once more, “Groupies? Sure. Don’t think any of them will be very successful, though.”

“Bold of you to assume I meant just you,” you’re able to snark back even half asleep, “Gareth deserves to be fawned over, too. Jeff is definitely a ladies killer.” 

Your hand moved just fast enough out of the way for Eddie to lazily mimic stabbing himself in the exact muscle you were painting invisible imagery across, “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

From this angle, you could catch the exact shade of brown that his faded freckles shone. You could see the differences in tan skin, see where he’d left a pair of sunglasses on his chest during a lake day over the summer and the tanline had remained stubborn. That had been a good day – Eddie had thrown you off the dark, wrapping his arms around you and turning the world to a blur of passing greens and blues before you’d been dunked beneath the lake’s surface. The cold water had stunned you, but him joining you seconds later hadn’t. Always by your side, even when he was being a little shit.

You’ve gone quiet on him, mind overcome with fond memories as the silence came naturally only for a few seconds before Eddie felt the need to fill it again. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, the hand that had mock-stabbed himself now curling around your forearm. 

Your hand against his chest turned to a fist, pressing deeper into the skin, just to feel him closer, before you teased him, “How do you even know I’m thinking? What if my mind is just blank right now?”

“Psychic-soulmate-telepathy powers,” he answered without hesitation. When you only huffed, clearly unimpressed, he pressed a kiss to your temple before whispering in honesty, “You were smiling.” 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. Usually, you loved memorizing all the colors of him. You loved taking in his doe brown eyes and the harsh blush of his swollen lips. You’d memorize the twinkling of pink staining his skin across his chest and up his neck. You’d pick at the vibrant cherry shade of his painted nails, a sharp contrast from the usual black or sharpie scribbles he’d wear on them instead. 

That silver glint of his rings. The forest green of his plaid boxers. All shades in the palette of Eddie Munson, your soulmate. 

You love him so much, your chest is ready to burst from it. And you told him as much, too.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” you said for only him and only the trees to hear, “I’m really happy you came after me that day.” 

There’s no rush to memorize all his colors and all his shades. You had all the time in the entire world, and then some. The only reason anyone had ever reported losing their colors was due to the death of their soulmate, and he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. He was there, sturdy beneath you, deep breaths syncing with your own. 

If you didn’t learn them in this life, you wouldn’t rest until you found him in the next to finish what you had started. 

“Yeah?” you could hear his grin as he held you a bit tighter. Another deep breath, another expansion of his ribs, and you feel all that time laid out at your feet. A lifetime of learning and memorizing Eddie Munson. A life well spent, “I’m glad, too.” 

“Did you have even a single moment where you…. I don’t know, hesitated coming after me?” your speech began to slur, and you knew you were one foot in unconsciousness at that point. 

“Never,” that same certainty he has always held since day one laced his tone, “Never. I just- I went for it. I made Jason Carver eat his words, and I ran after you. The only thing I’ll ever regret is not throwing a second punch at the asshole.”

Your smile widened, and you knew he felt it. Imagined the comfort he felt at the feeling. Imagined the peace that was washing over him just as it encased you, “But not about coming after me?” 

“I don’t regret coming after you,” he told you, not growing the slightest bit annoyed at your need for constant reassurance. His fingers and palm slowly spread across your lower back, the warmth of their weight carrying you into sleep, “I’ll always come back to you, baby.” 

—

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

Spring break was supposed to be nice. Time spent with friends, lazy mornings that you and Eddie slept through, night drives spent screaming out in relief to empty highways because he made it – you both made it. The college transfer was already put into motion, making it so you’d start the fall semester at a University in upstate Indiana. Eddie had taken a few roadtrips with you at his side, already having gotten on the good side of a boss at one of the car shops within range of where you’d be attending. You two had littered his floor with ads for apartments, the ones in your price range circled in brilliant and glaring red. Everything had been perfectly in line. Everything was set in place. Spring break was supposed to be a break to just be kids one last time – it was supposed to be nice. 

But then Chrissy Cunningham happened. And Jason Carver, and an entire town of people who had always hated your soulmate. Suddenly, your own plan for the future had been scrapped, and in its spot a line of new dominos had been placed. One falling down after the other, too quick for you to keep up with.

A group of strangers had banged down on your front door. Had demanded to know where Eddie was, claimed they were friends trying to help him. You hadn’t even seen the news yet. They’d tried to fill you in, but only confused you more in the process, because the words Eddie and murderer should have never been used together in a sentence in the way they claimed the entire town was currently spewing. 

You were his soulmate. They were sure you’d know where he was, but you didn’t. 

That didn’t matter, though. The young boy, Dustin, had been determined. You’d heard all about him from Eddie – about the brilliant mind hidden beneath baseball caps and unruly curls, about the smart mouth you witnessed mouthing off to Steve Harrington first hand as you’d been searching for your boy. 

It reminded you of Eddie. It made you ache. It made you only more voracious in your search. 

And you’d found him – terrified, alone, trembling and crying. A version of him you’d never been privy to had pinned Steve fucking Harrington to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boathouse with a broken bottle to his throat. Wild, scared eyes and hands that shook harder than the day his father had called him and he’d put a goddamn hole through his kitchen wall. More desperation on his face than the day he’d informed you he’d be repeating his senior year for the first time. Shoulders more tense than the night you’d nearly walked away from him over some silly kiss with a cheerleader. 

When he saw you, he’d shattered completely.

The sight of you had him collapsing into your arms, unable to explain himself in full sentences as he gasped and panicked and clung to you. And you had held him, had forced the others to give him time. You were like a feral animal, standing between him and them, friends or not. Your claws and teeth alike had been out, ready to mar anyone who would dare to lay a hand on your soulmate. 

He’d calmed down. He’d explained. And then they had explained and reassured Eddie that he wasn’t crazy. His eyes had found yours over and over, and not a single time did they hold a single doubt for him in them. You believed him; you would always believe him. The cries of the town had been nothing more than static noise. You knew the man before you, you loved the man before you. Your soul knew his intricately, intimately. It would always know him, no matter the circumstance and no matter the troubles to come. In this life and the next.

The colors were never the gift. The gift the Universe had offered you had always been him. 

You stayed with him those short few days. Ran from Carver and his posse, swam in the lake and had kept a level head as you formulated a plan. Find a walkie-talkie. Call for Dustin, call for help. 

When the rest of them had jumped into the lake after Steve, you’d put a selfish hand on his bicep. For a moment, the only thing you were thinking of was him. You couldn’t lose him. 

When he jumped in after Robin and Nancy anyways, you’d followed, no hesitation. 

A dreary, nightmarish world. You’d followed him into Hell – quite literally, it seemed. Except they didn’t call it Hell, they called it the Upside Down. A place made up of all the things children fear, of awful creatures that only served to attack, to kill, and terrible storms of flashing red lightning. A blue tint to the town you’d come to know. Shades of flesh and shades of grey – shades of death – flooded the place. And only you, Eddie, and Nancy could see them. 

Nancy’s soulmate was somewhere far away. Somewhere safe. But she understood that protective stance and the way you’d stuck staunchly at Eddie’s side. She got it. 

A stolen RV, shields made of trash can lids and nails rather than make believe, goddamn spears made at the hand of people all far too young to be handling these things. They were handling the end of the world, and you suddenly hadn’t felt as brave as Eddie always claimed you were. The plan was formulated, and the entire time, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach. You watched Eddie play fight with Dustin, real weapons discarded to the ground, and you listened to Robin whisper the same sentiment to Steve. 

“I just have this terrible, gnawing feeling that… it might not work out for us this time.”

You agreed with Robin. You hated that you agreed with Robin.

And so you stood like a watch dog at Eddie’s side, nearly lashed out when it was suggested you might be more helpful joining everyone else going after this Vecna rather than staying with Eddie. 

It was his turn to put a hesitant hand on your bicep. Brown, russet, umber eyes that flashed with the unspoken question of are you sure you want to do this? 

But he was sure. And just as quickly as you’d followed him into that lake, just as quickly as you had dismissed those awful claims against him, you’d nodded. Because if he was sure, if he was going through it, you would follow him. 

You should have insisted on staying with him and Dustin. 

Because your group of rag tags re-entered that Hellish landscape, and you flinched with each flash of red, not even soothed by Eddie’s hand in yours. And the people around you were now friends; you’d realized in a few short days that you would do almost anything to protect all of them as well, but you knew there was nothing that you wouldn’t do to keep Eddie alive. 

“Hey,” he insists once the two of you stand outside this alternate version of his trailer, somewhere that you should know all too well but that has morphed into something unfamiliar in this world. 

His hand holding yours spins you to face him, a few steps off to the side from the rest of everyone. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, trying to only focus on him. Not the bleak colors of the landscape around you two, but the vibrancy of his shades. You hate the weakness written all across your features, unable to offer him any reassurance in return for all that he had given you over the years. You were terrified. As Robin had said, a terrible gut feeling was gnawing at you from the inside out. You couldn’t help the tears gathering, couldn’t unravel the restriction of your throat. 

“It’s going to be okay, alright?” he does the talking, nodding and lowering his chin to stare right into your eyes. His favorite color now wet with emotion, shining even in the dullest of environments, “Can’t be worse than punching Jason Carver, right?” 

It could be. It could be much, much worse. Everything you two had endured together was children’s play compared to this. But you don’t say that; you nod in dishonesty, biting your lip to stop from letting a whimper escape. 

“I’ll always come back to you, I promise,” he swears so vehemently, voice spitting with determination. Those brows half hidden by the bandana atop his head furrow, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

That, you at the very least, believe. Just as you would find him every time, in this life and the next, he would find you. 

“You better,” you choke out, hands reaching up just to latch onto him one more time. To feel him, sturdy beneath your palms. Alive. Your gift from the Universe, the boy who let you see colors. You almost regret spending so long fascinated with the shades you’d discovered when you should have allotted more time to imprint the features of his face to memory. You should have cared more about that freckle beneath his right eye, the slight crook to his nose, the way each of his calluses feel against your bare shoulders. Shades of blue, red, green, violet, yellow – none of them matter as much as the boy before you. They only matter because they paint the picture of him for you fully. They only matter because he matters, “I still need your rockstar money to pay for that wraparound porch.” 

He laughs at that. And God, he’s gorgeous – his head thrown back, eyes crinkling with genuine joy for the first time in days. No one else catches the tear that slips from one of those pinched eyes, the hidden sadness for only you to catch onto. 

That gnawing feeling – the one you and Robin felt. He felt it, too. 

“Of course,” he finally sighs, opening his eyes back to yours and now holding so many words that neither of you have the time to exchange. It kills you – you don’t have time. You thought you’d always have more time. “Think of this as a test run for that rockstar money. See how a crowd of bats feel about my rockstar skills.” 

“Careful,” your voice cracks, a few tears slipping that he’s quick to swipe away, “I hear they’re a tough crowd.” 

He smiles at your joke, but doesn’t waste his breath on laughing. His lips find yours instead, pouring out every single thought and emotion possible. You feel a tug on that knot you’d tied between you two, everything in your being protesting from pulling back from the kiss. You try to move your lips in a response, to tell him it’ll be fine, to tell him you’ll both return to each other. To tell him you’ll have more time. 

When he pulls back, realizing you can’t, his hand falls from you only to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You don’t understand until suddenly, he’s thrusting a laminated square into your hand. 

You know what it is before you even turn it over. Your entire body strangles down the broken sob as you look down at a polaroid of a younger Eddie. Somewhere safe and somewhere that time is still yours. 

“Keep that safe for me, yeah?” his voice wavers as he produces his own polaroid – the picture of you, “I mean, I’ll have yours, obviously. But… but just… it’s gonna be worth a lot of money once I’m the next big thing in the Upside Down.” 

He’s trying so hard to make you laugh just one more time. It only surges more tears to burn your vision. 

“All I’ll have to show Vecna is this,” you start to joke back, letting more tears stain your cheeks, “And- and-” 

You can’t finish the joke. He gets it, putting a hand over yours, forcing you both to put away those polaroids. 

“I know,” he assures you, “I know. Show him my ugly mug, and he’ll go down without a fight. That’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, baby.” 

Another tear, only for you, slips. You trace it all the way down his cheek, memorize the way his skin looks in the horrid blue tint and try to remember the shade it glows during golden hour instead. 

“I love you,” you say. But once isn’t enough, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he takes your hands in his palms, finally presses his forehead to yours, shares his breath for a moment as he focuses on your sad eyes, “So fucking much. You always were prettier than all the colors combined. Better stay that way till I come back to you.” 

He releases you. Wipes away his tears, has to give you an encouraging shove on your shoulders to force you to join Nancy and Robin’s sides. 

Steve catches your eye, a look on his face telling you he’d been watching the entire interaction. Something yearning crosses his features, and then something clicks. As if this is the first time he’d ever witnessed soulmates. As if he’s the one seeing colors for the first time. 

Maybe that’s why he gives his little speech. Maybe that’s why he tries to plead your case and make sure that Eddie and Dustin don’t do anything stupid. 

After Eddie has made his final request to Steve, to make him pay, he looks at you one last time. A ghost of a grin, wearing his bravest mask to date as he mouths I love you. 

You echo the silent sentiment. A silent prayer. For the Universe to bring him back to you. To bring you back to him. 

—*ash, stop reading here*—

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died. It’s one of the first things you learn when school first broached the sensitive topic. Your soulmate dies, they take the colors with them. They never told you how the soulmate takes the colors with them – never discussed whether it would fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate, if the colors would drain from you in real time and leave a path of chromatic grey behind, or if you’d watch them flicker from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You’d been morbidly curious that day in class despite finding it all a bit dramatic. Had looked around a black and white classroom and processed your classmates' different greyscale reactions. Some were forlorn, some were snickering beneath their breath. Some just looked plain bored. It made sense; you were all kids, none of you had ever seen the blue sky or the verdant grass. Only heard about it. Only listened to adults drone on and on about it wistfully. It was never something tangible, something to have and to hold and to lose. 

You wonder how younger you would have looked upon you now. As you faced down an alternate dimension’s fiercest villain, hand paused midair, prepared to launch a lit molotov cocktail with aim to kill, when you suddenly paused.

The shades of the fire burning brightly in front of you have dulled. Microscopically. The smallest of flickers in vibrancy. 

“What are you doing?” Steve screams when he notices your hesitation, “Throw it! Jesus Christ, throw it before-”

Robin cut him off, being the closest to you and reaching over to snatch the ticking time bomb of a bottle, tossing it for you. 

As it explodes against the mangled being before you, another flicker occurs. You swear you feel a stabbing pain in your side, as if that gnawing has taken to ripping you apart.

You swear the bright flashes of yellow amongst the flames have turned to white. The orange has gone so faded, the dullest bits have shadowed over in grey. 

Nancy takes another shot, but you can’t move. You watch it all in slow motion: she doesn’t miss, her shot ricochets dead center, Vecna stumbles before crashing through the wall behind him. 

The world flickers a final time, and all the air leaves your lungs. 

It’s black and white. 

The floorboards, all of your sudden friends beside you, the walls of the old house, the lightning flashing amongst storm clouds in the sky outside.

It’s black and white. Shades of grey monotone. 

As everyone rushes to look out the hole, your knees collide with splintered wood. 

The colors are gone. It’s black and white. 

“Where’d he-” Steve starts to question before he turns and sees you. You’re folding into yourself, no longer breathing as you look down at your palms. Grey. Not a single sliver of flesh tone to be seen. “Are you okay?” 

The colors are gone. 

A cold washes over you like never before, and even if you wanted to take another breath, you couldn’t. It’s not ash burning your eyes – it’s tears, hot and vicious as your face begins to crumple in panic. 

Eddie. 

You don’t even hear them cross the room back to you. Can’t hone in on what’s happened, if the evil has been defeated and if you’d all won. It doesn’t matter; your colors are gone. 

Your hands finally fumble without thought, patting down your person until you catch the corner of the polaroid. You yank it free, breaths finally strangling into your throat without purchase, your shoulders shaking.

It’ll be in color. It has to be in color. He has to be in color. 

That familiar and well loved photo stares back at you. Your boy, curly hair wild and unruly, grin soft and fond. A twinkle captured in his eye and all that adoration that had been rolling off of him in waves somehow frozen in time. 

Frozen in time, frozen in black and white. 

Steve shakes your shoulders, Robin begins to pace and match your panic. They don’t understand. 

Gritted sobs leave your mouth, tears blinding you as you look at the shadow of what must be Nancy.

She understands.

Even through the strangled breaths, earth-shattering sobs that make you nearly incoherent, she knows. 

“Eddie,” you manage to gasp, fist curling around the photograph. 

The only way to lose your colors is if your soulmate has died.

“Eddie,” you manage a mangled sob as Steve pulls back, horror-stricken as he looks down at the polaroid, slowly piecing together what was happening.

Fast and sudden like the moment you first touched your soulmate. Draining from you in real time and leaving a path of chromatic grey behind. Flickering from sight, just as one might watch the life flicker from the eyes of the one they loved.

“Eddie!” 

You’d always wondered how it happened.

You finally had your answer. You wish you didn’t. 

[kayharrisons]

It's getting dark, darling, too dark to see [Bjorn x afab! Reader] [Part 2 of ?]

The first night is the hardest.

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A/N: omg I can't believe the reception on the first part of this!!! I had to start working on part two right away :) there will be MAJOR angst but a happy ending, I promise!! Also this is going to be more than one part, yay!!!!

Warnings for the series (updated, not necessarily for this chapter but for future ones): general alien themes, MAJOR character death, blood, graphic depictions of violence, trauma, trauma bonding, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks!), technical cousin incest (Kay/Bjorn), childbirth and pregnancy, implied nsfw content, Bjorn and reader get a lil co-dependent I can't lie guys, protective Bjorn and reader

Yvaga is so green.

You both stand at the windows in the cockpit, staring out into the trees, the bright sky, the fluffy white clouds.

It looks like a dream.

"I've seen it," Rain had said, what feels like a lifetime ago. "In my dreams." she had smiled sheepishly, ducking her head down in that endearing Rain way.

She's been dead for almost ten years, now. They all have.

Turns out Cryo-sleep doesn't speed past the grieving process. Their deaths still feel raw and agonising, an open wound that's just had rubbing alcohol doused all over it.

"...they'd be nine, now," Bjorn says, his voice a whisper, a shadow of himself. His eyes are dark, stormy, glued to the bright blue sky. "My kid. The baby. If we'd never left home it... it would've been... should've been nine now."

You don't know what to say to that, so you settle for reaching over, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. His hand comes up to meet yours, giving it a squeeze, before his head ducks down.

"Thank fuckin' god autopilot can land itself," he laughs, bitterly. "We were always the fuckin' worst at flyin'."

You hiss through your teeth, rubbing the back of your head at that memory. You'd forgone your seatbelt the first time Bjorn had tried flying under Navarro and Tyler's watchful eyes. Bjorn had panicked at the crush and swerved, you'd gone flying right out of your seat and earned a hefty ten stitches in your scalp for your trouble.

Bjorn had apologised profusely, you'd gotten him back by struggling with the throttle on the damn hauler.

Thank god for autopilot indeed.

You land near a forest, programmed to be about two hours away from civilisation.

You can't help but feel thankful for that, not sure how up to people either of you are at the present moment. People meant questions. Questions meant talking about your crew, what had happened.

"So," Bjorn claps his hands together, speedwalking past his grief for now, as he leads you to the small kitchen. "Got enough rations for about a year, that's with six of us, though-" he pauses, wavering a little, before clearing his throat. "-so, we've got plenty of time to figure out whateva the fuck it is we wanna do next. Won't go hungry any time soon."

You nod, scanning over the cabinets and shelves. Well stocked, clearly the others had been hoarding their rations for some time in the hauler, or making trades on the underground market. It's where Bjorn and Navarro used to get the good cigarettes, after all.

"I imagine we'll step out eventually, right? See exactly what Yvaga has going for it beyond a nice sunset." you remark, plucking out a packet of dehydrated corn bread. You rip it open, popping a chunk in your mouth, before offering the bag to Bjorn, who immediately tears into it.

"Could use a nice sunset," he huffs, shrugging at you. "Not like we've got any immediate plans for the evenin', right love?"

You relent with a grunt, taking the bag of cornbread back from him when he offers it. "Right." you agree, looking at him. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed firmly across his chest, his head ducked down ever so slightly. You glance down, lips twitching at the sight of his bare legs.

Somehow, that feels like the most alien thing you've seen lately.

"We should probably put pants on, huh?" you remark, and Bjorn blinks at you, eyes darting down to your own bare legs, then back up to your face.

"...I dunno. S'kinda freein', innit?" he jokes, shaking one of his legs at you. A snort makes its way out of you, and he grins, putting his leg back down. "Probably, though. Don't wanna get told to fuck off for runnin' around in our skivvies, we just got here an'all."

"It'd be such a pain in the ass," you agree, nodding your head. "Would have to plot a whole new course and everything, then fuck about with the cryo fuel. Easier to just put on pants and avoid the risk."

Bjorn groans, all the way back to the locker room as he rummages around his backpack to grab another pair of pants to shove his legs into. You follow suit, sliding an old pair of cargo pants up your legs.

Neither of you talk about the five other bags and sets of personal belongings hanging up on hooks and shoved into lockers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It doesn't take long for Bjorn to get a fire going.

The hauler's doors remain open as you both sit outside, perched on a log before the little firepit Bjorn had put together. You've had your rations for the night, and some old-Earth song plays from the cassette player that Tyler had brought on board. Everyone had brought a varied mix of tapes.

This one was Bjorn's favourite, though, full of a bunch of rock songs he'd always had playing in the background as he helped Navarro with her tinkering, or when he was having a drink or two at home.

You both stare into the flames, cans of untouched beer in your hands. Aspen, you fucking hate the stuff. Bjorn had brought it onboard, though, and it was the only booze you had.

"...is it horrible that I kind of just want to go to sleep?" you ask, and Bjorn snorts, head lolling over to look at you. The flames dance over his pale face, illuminating it in the dimming daylight.

"Haven't had enough of that have ya?"

"Doesn't feel like it," you sigh, leaning your head back and closing your eyes, breathing the clean air deep into your lungs.

Bjorn grunts, looking away from you and focusing his eyes on the orange sky. "Know whatcha mean. Doesn't feel like any time's passed at all. Which is the point, I know, but..."

"Kind of wish it had, a little."

"Yeah," he agrees, before finally cracking open his can of beer. He holds it aloft, looking at you pointedly. You follow suit, and he taps his beer can against yours. "To the others."

Your throat feels tight at that, your eyes well up. Bjorn's own are misty, but you'd never dare remark upon it.

"To our family." you correct, gently, and he inhales sharply, before nodding.

"To our family."

You both take sips of the shitty beer, legs lightly touching as the sun sets, as the sky darkens.

You can't find it as beautiful as people described it, however. Not with the heavy weight of loss upon yours and Bjorn's shoulders.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

You take the top bunk at Bjorn's insistence. He slips into the bottom bunk, the electric stun baton clutched tight in his fingers, his back to the wall and eyes staring out at the open space.

You don't comment on it as you clamber up to the top bunk, staring at the metal ceiling. Years of etched doodles, of signatures, of stickers and posters. All there for you to see.

You roll onto your side, facing the opening of the bunk. Your breathing slows, evens itself out, and yet the sleep you've desperately been craving evades you.

The ship is quiet. Everything all locked up and turned to off. The only sound is your breathing, Bjorn's too quiet for you to pick up on from the top bunk.

You don't know how long you lay awake, staring at the metal vent across from you, head aching more and more as you lay there unable to sleep. It's frustrating, sure, but you're rather numb to feeling anything else but grief.

Despite the grey of the ship, all you can see is red.

Red, as Navarro's chest burst open. Red, as Kay's blood splattered the glass. Red, as Tyler's warm, thick blood dripped down onto you. Red, as Kay's life drained from her. Red, as Rain's helmet was broken and she screamed for you to leave her.

Even Andy, as he twitched on the floor, choking on the white of his blood.

The silence is what kills you.

The ship has never been so quiet in all its life (of course, save for those 9 years you and Bjorn had been in cryo). It's unnatural, it makes your skin crawl.

Until, that is, you hear some muffled noises from the bottom bunk. You shift, propping yourself up on your elbows as you listen.

A sniffle, a shaky exhale, a shuddery inhale. A muffled cry.

Your heart twists as you realise what it is.

Bjorn is crying.

There's some shuffling from beneath you, and the noises muffle themselves. You're sure if you looked down, you'd spy Bjorn with his head buried in the pillow, trying to silence himself.

The urge to get up and comfort him is overwhelming. To hold his hand and grieve together, to try and get through this first night.

But you know him.

You've known Bjorn since you were eleven, both gangly awkward children. You've known him nine years, seen him at his best and worst. Seen him when grieving his mother, how he'd shut down towards everybody barring Navarro and... Kay.

You roll back over, electing to face the wall as the muffled cries continue. He doesn't need comforting, now, as nice as it would be to help him through it. No, he needs to grieve, needs this private moment to himself. You know he'd just end up clamming up with embarrassment if you tried to talk to him now, probably spout some bullshit about how men don't cry, fuck off.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, clutching the blankets tightly.

Neither of you sleep that first night.

[crisalidaseason]

sooo, is it too unusual to ask something w dark armin? like his SO got hurt and he is livid and gets revenge, also everyone is a bit scared of his behavior

i'm so starved for dark protective armin fics

Sorry it took me ages to answer this!!!! Also, Interesting ask...I think I have an idea. Hope you enjoy it!

CW and tags: Slight out of character Armin, protecive Armin, a bit dark Armin, gender neutral reader, "who did this to you" trope, blank period between S3 and S4, canonverse, relationship status not clear, mentions of blood, violence.

A little rat.

Something people often called Armin due to his tendencies of sneaking around, creepily watching and listening, acting below the radar. The blond boy was never one to enjoy theatrics, attention, thus the nickname made sense. Armin enjoyed it even, being discreet within his action, he benefited from it.

---

The bruise on your left cheek was impossible to conceal and you accepted the countless questions your friends would ask. You were building a lie while your steps guided you to the mess hall - despite your disinterest for dinner. As your fingers brushed on the tender skin, images of the other soldier's bloody nose and mouth were enough to satisfy yourself.

You could defend yourself. Armin knew that.

But as soon as his beautiful blue eyes landed on the dark blemish his gaze went from tired to unreadable. He did not say anything - unlike the others, who kept asking 'what happened' 'who did this!' - he remained silent during dinner. You told your lie - physical combat training - but Armin did not react nor did he say a word, only his hardened eyes occasionally looking at the bruise.

His knuckles were white while gripping his cutlery.

You knew he would ask as soon as nobody was on sight. His steps were silent, but you could feel him behind you. Cold fingers touched your elbow softly, guiding you to a quiet corridor, under a staircase.

"Armin-"

"Who"

Armin made it impossible to lie. There was something about his blue eyes, soft and yet handsome features, that made your stomach revolt with the mere thought of lying to him.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It does" his jaw became even more defined as it clenched.

The blue eyes were still hard to read, but there was a stormy sea in them. You knew this look - a mind working full speed on hypothesis.

"Who did this?" his voice was soft and calm, monotonous. A happy and excited Armin almost sang when he spoke.

"He is way worse, Armin" you tried "I gave him what he deserved-"

"I. Want. A. Name." the sea was simmering, the point of boiling coming soon.

You gave him the name. You told him everything. Because there was nothing you could ever hide from Armin.

___

"You're quiet" Mikasa spoke "you usually don't shut up when you're researching"

The brunette girl was sitting on the chair next to his - running away from her brother's apathetic behavior. Hange's office was usually free for Armin to use, for him to read and debate strategies with the current commander.

"There is nothing to speak about" he said.

He saw Mikasa's head tilt to the side, she knew him too much.

"You're angry" she concluded "Eren said something to you again?"

Armin sighed in frustration. Denying with a mere head movement.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" she said.

He wouldn't. She would stop him and do it herself. He could not loose the opportunity.

---

You were just released from the meeting with your squad when a desperate Sasha collided with you in the middle of the hall.

"I'm sorry, so sorry!" she was frantic.

You were beyond confused.

"What happened?" you asked her.

"Armin was arrested!"

You felt your blood pool around your feet, leaving nothing but cold limbs. Barely able to ask her to elaborate.

"I heard Hange had to give him a corrective punishment for assaulting a cadet"

You wanted to feel surprised, but you couldn't. Armin was capable of horrible things if it meant keeping his loved ones safe. Violence was never his first choice, but it was there...always.

___

Armin was a patient man. If he could avoid acting on emotion, he would. Waiting for the anger to stop bubbling left him rational enough to plan carefully.

The cadet in question was an ex-MP. Typical.

Taller than Armin, stronger built. Forgetful face and name, just another soldier amongst hundreds that enlisted after Wall Maria's expedition.

Armin watched him for days, weeks. His routine, his tasks, when he was alone or surrounded. He observed, always keeping his anger at bay. A thursday afternoon, nearing the end of the fifth hour, was the perfect time frame for Armin to act.

Armin was proud of his rational thinking, but all good plans had a hint of recklessness.

"You have one minute to explain why you hurt them"

Alone in the stables, the cadet turned to see no other than the bearer of the Colossal titan.

"Who the fuck you're talking about?"

"Forty seconds" Armin replied, stance completely relaxed.

The cadet chuckled.

"come on" the soldier said "they can throw a punch, I respect that, but you? I-"

"I asked why and you are going to answer why. Thirty seconds"

The soldier - not knowing Armin at all - should have noticed the way his limbs contracted and his eyes focused into him.

"They hit me first" the cadet complained "I was just joking, said some shit and they didn't like it apparently"

"And what did you say?"

___

"Was it because of me?" he pleaded, hands afraid of touching the bruised skin "please, tell me"

"It's not worth repeating what he said"

"I want to know!"

There were tears trying to escape his eyes, his fingers trembling with anger.

"They don't do this to Mikasa or Eren, but I know they say things to you"

"Armin..."

"Please"

___

The colossal was in all shapes and forms a demon in his body. A demon he hated more than anything.

But there were undeniable benefits of hosting such demon.

A cracking sound of another bone breaking. The cadet fell on the gate of a horse stall, struggling to breathe.

"Tell me" Armin's voice was on the verge of breaking into screaming, but he knew better.

"Repeat to me exactly what you told them and I'll consider letting you walk out of here alive"

The soldier coughed and groaned, trying to get up. Armin was faster, stomping his foot on the man's chest, right below his rib-cage, where he knew it would render the cadet breathless.

"Come on, tell me" Armin warned again

___

Your voice trembled as you repeated the words to an anxious and angry Armin.

"He called you a rat and..."

___

"...and they were the scum" the cadet struggled to repeat.

"And what else?"

The man took too long to answer, Armin's patience running thin.

"That...I could" the man coughed blood "could not wait for you to die"

___

"And then I hit him" you concluded "I shouldn't, but I was so furious that I could not let him walk out intact"

___

Armin kicked the man one more time below the ribs, for sure breaking another floating one.

"Next time you have a problem with my existence, talk to me" Armin said quietly "You can call me names, even hit me, but if you ever do anything remotely threatening towards them again...I will kill you"

He left the man on the stables, walking steadily to Hange's office. Consequences must be paid.

___

Besides you, Mikasa was the only one not panicking. The two of you were not close - she was extremely reserved - but there was mutual respect. She was the only one who did not bombard you with questions, already aware of what could have happened.

"Is he in the dungeons?" you asked her.

Mikasa nodded. Hange's office was full of the veterans of the 104th squad, yet you felt alone in that moment. Armin was being punished and it was your fault.

"Nothing is going to happen" Hange said, entering the office "he is far too important for an actual imprisonment, but I had to keep appearances"

"Did he say something?" Jean inquired "we all know Armin's not a saint, but sudden violence is very uncommon for him"

The commander's eyes asked the same question as they landed on you. They were trying to understand. You and Armin interacted discreetly in public, like acquaintances. Hange was trying to understand why someone like you would trigger such a violent unusual behavior from Armin Arlert.

"I was hoping you could explain" They said to you "your captain told me you had corrective punishment from assaulting the same guy about two weeks ago"

The others were silent, looking at you. Waiting for an answer while trying to connect the dots. The only one who did not wonder was her. Mikasa knew of Armin's affection towards you, that it was beyond a building frienship or quick burning passion.

___

Armin heard you first. Steps descending the long stairs of the dungeons. As your familiar frame appeared, he stood up and leaned on the bars of the cell. You did not look him in the eyes, staring at a point in front of you.

You were angry. He had no regrets.

"Was it necessary?" you whispered.

"Yes" he replied without hesitation "would do it again"

You looked at his profile, an elegant man even behind bars. His white shirt was stained and tucked out of his pants, yet he left you breathless. You could defend yourself, but there was something warming about him going to extremes for you. It might have suprised the the others, but not you.

You would hurt and kill for him either.

[rosedforbes]

I've been working on this for an embarrassing amount of time, but i finally mustered the courage to post it! this a gift for @galvanizedfriend , my favorite autor, moot, and dare I say friend, on tumblr! Yokan, I'll never stop saying that your fictions are the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, and they've always been a tiny lantern during some tough periods of my life. I really hope you'll like this little Drabble about Kleve 🙏

DISCLAIMERS: Eve is NOT my character, she's from Yokan's series The Wolf ! also, this is my first time ever writing a fan fiction, and English is not my native language, so please, have mercy.

maybe there's a god, after all.

That's the thought that has been crossing Klaus' mind for sixteen years, every single time he looked at his little girl.

After his experience with Marcel, Klaus has realized that raising a child into his own reflection is not a smart move. In fact, if Eve had turned out like her father, it would've been the very end of the whole human - and inhuman - species. Luckily for everyone, his beautiful princess is essentially the mini version of the only woman who shares the custody of his immortal heart with her: Caroline.

They couldn't be more similar if they tried. Like mother, like daughter.

If it wasn't for some specific details that Eve couldn't have taken from anyone but him, Klaus thinks that people would start questioning if Caroline made Eve by herself, without the contribution that is usually required to create another living creature.

That, is all him.

Even if he's quite proud – and grateful — about how Eve's turned out just like her magnificent mother, Klaus can't help but smile when he witness the appearance of one those details he mentioned before: the fondness for art, the passion for swords duels — a voice in the back of his mind reminds him of something Caroline said about this specific factor, "it's called fencing, Klaus. You don't need to kill your opponent anymore to prove your victory." or something along those lines —  the constant presence of dark humor and sarcasm in any of her conversations, and her gigantic, stormy blue eyes that are accompanied by a pair of dimples and a wicked little smile whenever she got something on her mind.

Something that Eve clearly hasn't taken from him though, is her way of showing emotions. Just like his wife, Eve wears her emotions like a second skin, which leads to her being a terrible liar. If she's happy, then the room will light up as soon as she enters it, and everyone can't help but be drawn to her joyful behavior. On the other end, if she's feeling sad, angry, or any other kind of negative emotion, then... Well, she would keep her mouth shut and open it just to make salty remarks, keeping an annoyed — yet adorable, if you ask him — little pout on her face.

That's how Klaus knows that something is wrong.

As soon as he sets foot in the compound, he's greeted by a very common view: Freya and Eve, sitting around the table of the living room, reading and chanting spells.

Normally, Klaus would walk towards them just to make them aware of his presence and to steal a kiss on his daughter's cheek as a brief salute, but he soon realizes that Freya is the only one writing down something in witch gibberish, while Eve is just quietly looking at her aunt, with a frowned expression all over her face.

His little wolf is so caught up on Freya's doing that she doesn't notice him until he's behind her, trying to understand what kind of spell his sister is casting, with a hand gently touching her shoulder. Eve tenses up at the touch, turning her head to look at him almost as fast as a regular vampire. As soon as she sees him though, she relaxes a little bit, offering him a tight lipped smile.

"Hey, Daddy," she says, voice so quiet and hoarse that he probably wouldn't have heard her if it wasn't for his vampirism. " 'm sorry, didn't hear you coming in."

Hearing Eve talking with such a tired and low tone makes his heart explode with concern. She's pure sunshine, his daughter, this cloud of negativity does not belong to her. Nonetheless, he tries to mask his thoughts with a tight lipped smile, looking down at Eve, "Don't worry, sweetheart," He says, moving his eyes to his sister, who hasn't left hers from the grimoires spread around the table even as he introduced himself, "Freya, care to explain what's happening or do I have to guess?" He asks with a tone that indicates nothing but irritation.

Klaus arches his brows in confusion, his gaze switching between Eve and Freya, as to ask for one of them to elaborate what he just heard.

Freya finally looks up, if only to send him a not-so-friendly glare, but before she can snap right back at him, Eve takes word, looking at him like she's about to have a nervous breakdown "Apparently, I'm on house arrest until the Jury," she indicates Freya with her eyes, before turning her attention back to him, "tells me otherwise."  She concludes, and the exasperation of her tone is almost touchable.

It's Freya the one that, with a sigh, steps in. "Some witches have been messing around with a kind of magic way too difficult for them to understand, leading to an imbalance that covers all New Orleans." She explains, rubbing her hands on her temples. "Long story short: right now, every witch in New Orleans is having trouble controlling their magic, especially the younger ones like Eve. In addition, being the tribid gives her an enormous amount of power which is hard to control on a good day, so it's better if we keep her under control, in a limited and safe space."

Eve rolls her eyes as soon as Freya concludes, shifting her position to show him the magic-restraining bracelet on her wrist. "I haven't seen this freaking bracelet in years. I thought I was finally free, but no, some dumbass witch thought it was a good idea to mess with something way too big for them to understand, turning me into a fu-"

"Language." Both Klaus and Freya interrupts her, giving Eve a warning look.

she glares at both of them, visibly annoyed.

"turning me into a freaking bomb." she grumbles, looking down at the pages of the grimoires.

Christ, Klaus thinks, he's losing points as the cool parent.

"Dad?" Eve says, looking at him with an arched eyebrow, like she's expecting something from him. "Are you still here? You haven't threatened anyone since you heard of this, and it's more concerning than a bunch of low-level witches messing around." She concludes.

Klaus takes a long sigh, pulling out his phone from his pocket to send a message to Caroline and the rest of the family. It takes all of his willpower to not storm out and look for this gang of inconsiderate witches, accompanied by nothing but his fury, showing them the treatment that is reserved specifically to the ones that put his daughter in a bad mood, but he recognized the fact that this situation is already unsteady, and there is no space for his impulsiveness, yet.

Well, the sarcastic remarks are only funny when they're not directed at him.

"Trust me, Eve, I have lots to say, but none of it is appropriate in the presence of a child." he retorts, switching his attention back to Freya. "I've sent a message to Caroline and to our siblings, they should all be here in about 40 minutes."

Freya simply nods, gathering all the magic stuff from the table. "I'll call Vincent." she stands up, giving a kiss on Eve's head. "I'm pretty sure he's more informed than us at the moment. Besides, another witch would be helpful."

"what am I? a ghost?!" Eve snaps when Freya disappears in her own bedroom. "I can't use magic, I'm on house arrest, this handcuff is back around my wrist and I haven't even had my daily bignets!" she explains desperately, curling on herself, resting her chin and arms over her knees.

Klaus can't help the low chuckles coming out of his mouth, something that earns him a dirty look from his little wolf.

"I'm glad you find my misery amusing. Father of the year, really." Eve says, enunciating her pout even more.

"Not at all, sweetheart. To be completely honest, I would love nothing more than to go fetch those witches myself and show them what happens when someone dares to upset my daughter," Eve promptly rolls his eyes at that, but he sees how she's trying to bite back a smile.

"However, Your mother would eviscerate me if my impulsiveness took place in a delicate situation such as this one."

"Then what do we do while waiting for mom to come home?" Eve says, and truth to be told, patience has never been a strong suits of her.

"Well, I did get that new painting set you've mentioned lately." He says with a grin, observing how Eve's pout changes to a wide smile between record time.

"The pink one?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"You're the best!" she chirps, jumping from her chair to wrap her arms around his waist, the bad mood evaporating completely from her body. Klaus can't help but smile when he looks down at his daughter, holding her close to him. Oh, how he wishes time would stop, just to remain like this for at least a decade, with his little girl safe, sound and happy in his arms, where no bad intentions can reach her.

"Come on, sweetheart," He says, grabbing her hands "let's see if those colors actually blend on their own." he concludes with a wink, leading her towards the art studio. He knows this happiness is going to be short-lived, but the least he can do is to keep Eve's mind occupied, distracting her from the stress of this situation. As he enters the room, Klaus notices that he's running out of dark red acrylic.

Well, it appears those witches are going to be useful, after all.

[musicofthenightphantomoftheopera]

So I'm back on my percy Jackson bs again and I saw this one post on Tiktok claiming that Solangelo is "Klance Coded" and I simply had to laugh because that couldn't be any further from the truth...

Klance is Red and Blue, Fire and Water type polar opposites in both personality and aesthetics

However, not every polar opposite style ship is "Red and Blue Coded" there's also Sun and Moon, ( Or in Solangelo's case, Sun and Star) Light and Darkness.

so basically, and this might be controversial, but I know those who will get it will get it, what I'm trying to say is.....

Solangelo is NOT Klance Coded.

Solangelo is SORIKU Coded

I can go into heavy detail, and I will!

Will is definitely a lot like Sora in that even when surrounded by so much bad happening or even when he's going through his own stuff, he still puts on a smile and pretends nothing is wrong. of course to his own detriment and also has self sacrificing tendancies. Overworking himself to heal others to the point of exhaustion and even down to the self esteem issues. Sora sees himself alone as worthless without his friends ("My Friends Are My Power") and Will feeling like Healing is the only thing he's good for since he didn't inherit any of the other natural talents most of his other siblings have as demigod children of Apollo. And the incident with Octavian probably didn't help either. They also have somewhat of a hero complex and struggle with dealing with the fact that they can't save everyone. Sora broke a major taboo in order to bring kairi back in kh3 because he didn't want her to die, and Will being a medic that had been through not 1 but 2 LITERAL WARS, one in which he lost several of his siblings and of course being a medic in general, no matter how hard you try or how good at your job, it's just a fact that you cannot save everyone that's put in your care. Also, Both Sora and Will are heavily associated with Light both literally and figuratively

And then we got Nico, who just like Riku was lost for so long in lieral and metaphorical darkness, both trapped in metaphorical labyrinths of their inner turmoil of thier feelings, their pasts, their trauma (wether it be losing someone they care about, or being abused and manipulated at the hands of a shifty adult figure for their own gain) , and feeling that they have no place of belonging. only to be brought back by the people that care about them the most and through their own self determination and strength. And also both characters associated with darkness literally and as a concept.

Riku and Nico also have a teensy bit of Angel character symbolism with Nico's last name being Angel in italian and Riku's original keyblade Way To Dawn having both a monster/demon wing and Angel wing at the hand guard and for the "teeth" of the keyblade

you could also argue Riku could technically be seen as a "Fallen Angel" type character since he was originally chosen to be a keyblade wielder by Terra but lost that right when he fell to darkness hence why the keyblade went to Sora instead, then Riku spent the next several games on a very angsty redemption arc.

And of course, Nico and Riku aren't strictly associated with darkness. Nico is a son of hades, a prince of the underworld, The Ghost King. However, he isn't all doom and gloom. He's still just a teenage boy that's secretly a giant nerd and is actually a a good kid.

Riku as well, has the power to wield both the powers of light and darkness and it was Riku's light inside his heart that sora reached out to that dark and stormy night on the beaches of destiny island that let him wield the keyblade in the first place

And don't even get me started on how Riku is 100% gay coded (don't beleive me? look up the "Riku Is Gay" video on youtube, grab a snack and enjoy. you're gonna be there a hot minute)

Both characters in both medias are opposites to each other but both also compliment and balance each other out. But not like Fire and Water. Like Light and Darkness. Not only hat, but the dynamic between Sora and Riku and between Nico and Will are kinda similar. not identical by any means, but enough to where I definitely noticed it.

If anyone else has anything to add to this, let me know! I had this lightbulb a few nights ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since!

[popculturebuffet]

Sonic The Hedgehog: Scrapnik Island Review (Patreon Review/Comission for Brotoman.EXE)

Happy halloween all you happy badniks! It's almost halloween and while that means spooky season comes to it's sad end soon it also means there's still time for a few tricks and treats. Today we've got both as we look at the IDW Sonic the Hedgehog series Scrapnik Island.

Before I can get into what this series is a brief history of IDW Sonic as this is my first time covering the Blue Blur's IDW adventures and some of you may be coming in from the games or only passingly familiar with the comics.

IDW picked up the license after Archie callously threw it into a ravine after breaking it's back, due to a combination of the reboot NOT quite getting numbers and Archie's restructruing. While I love Archie Comics i'm still livid with how they treated one of their longest running titles. And Ken Penders for making things bad in the first place but not everything with Archie Sonic is Ken Penders fault. More about.. half.

IDW and Archie Vetran and Sonic Expert and super fan Ian Flynn faced an uphill battle with tons of dumb regulations from no romantic relationships to "Shadow's vegeta now we guess" to one relevant to this comic: The Classic and Modern continuities were sepreate realities. Now if you ask questions like "Wait then how did sonic meet knuckles?" , "Isn't sonic generations about time travel?", "Why would you do this?", "Who asked for this?" or "Seriously SEGA get your finger out of your ass" you put more thought into this than SEGA did, and I still hate the draconian regulations they've put on the comic.

Despite these the comic was a massive success, still runs today, and rather than do a full on ongoing with rotating plots like Archie, IDW instead does mini series. Granted i'd prefer a succesor to sonic universe, but publishing times change and the minis mean they don't HAVE to do another story and leaves room for things like the various holiday specials, anniversary specials or to do a classic era mini starring Fang the Hunter... will NEVER be used to that name but it's awesome he got a spotlight after all this time.

These two things intersect here: Scrapnik Island is one of these minis and tells a contained story that so far hasn't been picked up by current writer Evan Stanley but hopefully will one of these days as the characters it introduces are great.

The big thing though is that Scrapnik was the first IDW comic to get to refrence events from teh classic games. The Scrapniks, who you'll meet soon enough, are all classic era badniks, and one of the main characters is Mecha Sonic from Sonic 3 and Knuckles, while it's implied the Death Egg from that pair of games is the one used in this comic. They don't refrence a ton outright, probably still on a tightrope, but it's clear by now Sega's walked back the alternate dimension thing for Classic Sonic. They still seem to keep the two time periods seperate, with Fang probably still confined to classic model stories sadly, as I'd love to see him and the other hooligans interact with Tangle, but it's more resonable than "Their not the same sonic because shut up" so i'll take it. It allows sonic's whole history in the games to be accessed both on page and screen, and means the scrapniks could even show up in the games one day. I have doubts but i'd love that. It's a milestone in the sonic comics and a great story on it's own merit

So who are the scrapniks? What pieces of the past will haunt Sonic on a dark and stormy night? and will this involve a weird brain machine Robotnik just had? All this and more can be found under the cut if you dare

Scrapnik Island comes to us from Writer Daniel Barnes, who published the graphic novel black mage, and did a spec pitch bible for a sonic animated series, which likely caught IDW's attention. Especially since Ian Flynn, Sonic's Real Dad, got started with a fan comic before saving the archie unverse, creatd a new archie universe, creating a new universe fit inside the games universe, and now writing the games themselves. While Barnes hasn't blown up that much, it's clear form his writing the man loves sonic deeply and snuck in a few easter eggs.

Artist Jack Lawrence is a vet at IDW, having drawn more than meet's the eye's final act, Lost LIght, something I hadn't realized but means we'll be seeing him again in a few years. He's also drawn Transformers/MLP, a wreckers mini for the second idw continuity, and a few issues of sonic including a previous Mini, Bad Guys. Also he drew some Jackie Chan Adventures comics, something i'm somehow JUST NOW finding out exists.

Both do a top notch job here, with Lawrence in paticular matching the horror vibe of the first issue and certain other parts of the comic very well while keeping it sonic.

So kicking off the comic proper..

And Sonic and Tails are rolling around at the speed of sound, got places to go gotta follow their rainbow. It's a simple setup that works: the guys are just on their plane when adventure happens. Pretty standard sonic setup and one that allows the series to be as standalone as it is: Unlike the previous two, which gave everyones faviorite couple the spotlight and focused on the big bad of the series forming his own suicide squad, respectively, this is just a fun side adventure. It's one I WISH would come back as it introduced an intresting concept in the scrapniks, and it'd be neat to see how other characters react to them, paticuarlly Belle. Belle is a puppet like robot made of wood that Dr Eggman built while he had amnesia and became a kindhearted toymaker before his obessive fanboy kidnapped him to snap him back to his awful usual self, then realized he made a huge mistake. It's a long story I may get into one of these days. But given the cast here are reformed badniks, more ont hat in a bit, it'd be intresting for Belle to meet other eggman creations who aren't evil.

At any rate our heroes soon crash into the death egg, what's strongly implied to be the FIRST death egg from sonic 2 through knuckles. Which is neat to see. One dramatic crash later and Sonic wakes up alone, in a creepy unlit hallway on a table with Tails missing and surrounded by badnik corpses.

He also finds a weird metal club on his foot and can't move it without pain.. which I like as a tension device. It's hard to have a horror premise when your hero has super speed and has kicked ass since he was 12, so this helps level things. Sonic faces things brave as he can, noting how much the Death Egg has degraded. Which at first I thought wa sweird considering this was the first model but I mean.. how many could eggman have built?

The answer.. is 5 total. 6 if you count sonic drift. There was the original, the death egg II from sonic the fighters, the death egg from sonic battle he somehow had, the death egg mk 2 from sonic 4 which I know I know but it sadly is still canon, and the death egg from sonic forces that makes the most sense out of any of these for him to pull out of his ass as he at least had an illusion magic thingy. So the bigger question is why isn't mobius littered with these. And yup still calling it mobius. If Sega wants me to not call it that, then come up with a better name than "Sonic's World".

I love the atmosphere here thougH: Sonic's forced to slow it down so we get him wandinerg around, finding a single flower. This is one of the ones from sonic CD it seems. Why it's here... is easily handwaved: this island seems to be a dumping ground for all of Eggman's old inventions, and thus him leaving this here makes sense. It's also canon for IDW/Games eggman to move from projects way too fast. Can relate.

Eventually sonic finds a bunch of badniks... who are a bit.. diffrent than normal

I love the designs here and recognize some of these, the bulk coming from sonic 2: we've got that octopus from oil ocean, a buzz bomber with one eye from a crab meat and a claw from one, one of those mole things from sonci 3, the dragon fly from sonic and knuckles also given crameat claws, and one of the stinger enemies from sonci 21 grafted to that fucking spider asshole from checmial plant zone. And leading them all.. is Mecha Sonic, a neat return after far too long. I'm baffled why sega defaults to metal sonci more, as I love mecah sonic's bigger design, cool visor and use of the master emerald in his boss fight with knuckles.

He gives chase and Sonic super fucking runs away, not helped by his leg. While the sequence is tense we do get a really great joke as Sonic hides in one of the capusles from sonic 1

It's a nice tense sequence.. and hilarous once you know these guys.. aren't trying to harm him. In fact they were helping and their leader apologizes for spooking him. Their leader is E-117 Sigma, one of the e-series robots and apparently either made after gamma or somehow missing out on adventure and thus getting to live. Either way he's the only one that can speak and helps bring Sonic up to speed: He's sorry abotu spooking them and also sorry about the crash and offers to help repair the plane while they wait. Turns out the weather disruptor, because of course Eggman had a weather machine on his doomsday device, on the death egg is glitching. While tails geeks out sonic TRIES to apologize to mecha.. who brushes him off and struggles with their body. And I like the tonal contrast... the island itself.. is warm, full of rusted tech but safe and welcmoing.. yet still contrasted with a danger lurking on the death egg: mecha knuckles.

Specifically, and this is a deep cut I love, this is the Mecha Knuckles from sonic advance.. possibly the same one from Sonic R too bu the has the eyes of the advance one. Mecha Knuckles was my faviorit eboss fight of the game, starting as an off color knuckles before his skin exploded revealing a silver knuckles who had missles. He wasn't super hard but he's so far one of the best attempts at making a boss the same size as sonic ans friends. He's also wearing Knuckles hat from the OVA which i'm pleased is making a comeback: first this then the Knuckles mini series. Knuckles in a hat is dope and i'm glad it's getting more traction.

So issue 2. We begin with a flashback to Sigma and the Scrapnik's as a whole's origin story: he woke up on the shores of scrapnik island and is shown slowly repairing the bots best he can, hence their whole sid from toy store deal minus the need for therapy from their creator. It's a heartwarming sequence I wish I could show in full

You see the pure joy sigma has for his "creations", how much he cares.. and see Mecha wash up.

In present day Sonic's taking a nap when he wakes up to the scrapniks.. talking. Turns out Tails can translates though it's mostly "HELLO"... and is at least adorable. Sigma has good news and bad news. Good news they can mostly fix the plane bad news.. i'ts power source is cracked, and isn't easy to replace. Sigma thinks the death egg might ahve one and SOnic being sonic agrees to go get it, with Sigma and Mecha accompanying him.

The trip mostly goes well with it being revealed what the egg carrier is for: To get them off the island. The Egg Carrier comes from sonic adventure, being one of the games main settings and eggman's lair, and having sunk by the end of it, last seen being the spot for Amy's final boss fight with Zero shortly after Gamma's final battle. It's a smart pull as it makes sense it washed up here: it was in the ocean last we saw it and likely drifted to the island same as a lot of Eggman's creations. They plan to use it to leave someday, though it still needs work.

WE also get ane xplination for the sunflower: it washed up here and Mecha is carring for it, planning on taking it with them when they go. Sonic tries to offer his new friend a hand, bigones be bigones.. but while Mecha TRIES to accept it... they get attacked. Mecha Knuckles has made his move

We get some good action, solid stuff though I wish this four parter leaned more into the horror. Once we find out the scrapniks are goodniks... it's mostly a standard sonic story with a tinge of horror elements. It's a GOOD sonic story and the horror dosen't ever fully leave, but The MEtal Virus saga proved sonic can pull off horror well so I wish they'd went all in. That being said while I do hope for a story that does that, I get not doing it with these characters: they coudl've started with a horror story in mind.. but pivoted as the characters became more sympathetic.

Sigma explains the issue: he did rewawaken knux, who also has stretchy limbs, but eggman's programming was too deep to overwrite like he did for the others. He was designed to guard the master emerald shrine so the best Sig could do is retask him with guarding the death egg... problem is.. he can't convince him Sonic's a friend so a fight breaks out.. and we get the comics best sequence as poor Mecha has flashes of ptsd

It's a great horrifying sequence and not a stretch to see why the very being that destroyed him gives him nightmare or WHY it's been hard being around sonic: Mecha was made to destroy him.. and failed at it.. and Eggman simply.. forgot about him. He brought metal back, perfected him, made him better, something that other writers could explore, but he forgot Mecha. Assumed he was dead and moved on.

Mecha wakes up and easily finished Mecha Knuckles.. but then throat grabs Sonic. It's clear SOMETHING has gone wrong.

So we open issue 3.. with the goofy part. While the horror in this comic is mostly effective.. Mecha's Plan, while tragic and fitting.. is also.. pretty goofy.. see he has sonic hooked up to a brain machine Eggman abandoned for you see..

So yeah Mecha plans to put himself in sonics body and one of the scrapniks sees this and horrifdly runs off. Look sonic is a campy franchise. You know it, I know and I love it for that. It embraces coming from the video game and each of the comics does some fun weird shit with the lore given. The scrapniks themselves are a brilliant example of this.. but Mecah's endgame being "Put my brain in a non robot body" is just kinda silly. It fits and it's tragic, it's lack of sense makes all the sense with the state Mecha's in, but it's kinda goofy for what' sa pretty dark story abotu ptsd, self worth and abandonment. Sonic can do camp, but it has to fit the tone well and this story just isn't built for Robotnik's Mean Brain Machine.

We then get another flashback this time showing Mecha waking up.. with Sigma telling him his days as a tool of conquest is over. He's free now, finally free and we evne see a really great panel of Mecha.. happy

Sadly in the present Sigma wakes up to see his surrogate child.. has broken Mecha Knuckles and gone rogue. Thankfully the Badnik that saw all this got to tails, who quickly evil deads himself a scouter and some weapons

In the dark coridors they run into Sigma who explains waht the problem might be: He did his best to help mecha.. but like with Knux, his systems are way more advanced than sigma's used to, and figures the damage with Mecha Knux restored his old programming blaming himself. Sigma is a truly wonderful character, one of the best IDW has made and one I hope to see in the games or comics again. There's a LOT of potetial for this cast and i've been saying that a lot.. but it's true. It's weird to me two years out from this awesome mini no one's thought to bring these guys back. Maybe there's plans down the road for after Evan Stanley's run, we'll just have to see.

At any rate our heroes are at a horrifying disadvantage: While Tails, and presumibly thea udience, assumed Mecha would be slower and weaker due to his rust.. that's not the case. He easily floors the search party and gives a fairly chilling monologue as to why he's doing all of this

The lighting in the last panel is perfect. I said the series went light on the horror elemetns and I stand by it, even by kids media standards.. but it keeps enough. But what makes the series stand out so well.. is it's characters. Sigma the father the badinks never truly had and Mecha, tossed aside, broken and wondeirng WHY it's parent never came for him.. and ready to tear him apart.

He's also ready to make tails go down the hole after a decent fight scene.. though it does feel like tails gets jobbed out slightly. I mean.. he's on par with sonic and knuckles. He can't FLY which may be part of the problem, butit's wrong to bend him to being this much weaker just to make the story work. I didn't like it when the games did this for a while I sure as hell don't like it now.

So Tails goes down the garbage chute, at least Veruca Salt the little brute can keep him company, and prepares to do operation put my brain in sonic's body to make daddy love me again as we end issue 3

So as we begin the finale, Mecha Sonci explains how the brain drain works: eggman made it, got bored and since Mecha has doubts they'll ever escape, he can use sonic's ability to run across water... which begs the question why he can't, but I assume i'ts because , as we've seen a few times, his limbs seize up. He claims the scrapniks were never his friends, etc etc, which sonic dosen't buy. Thankfully said scrapniks beg him to stop.. and thus stop the machine mid transfer. Which does the only think I like about this thing.. it gives them a psychic link.

This also leads to a damn good fight as Mecha Sonic taunts sonic who is slowed down.. but powers through the pain. This is something that COULD have come up in a later arc but given the big finale to the starline saga was going on at the time, I understand. And it's again where the horror feels undermined: when it counted.. .sonic's injury didn't really matter and we get a big gorgeous fight. My issue is less that it's not full horror as the story told is gorgeously drawn and compelling and more it was marketed as a hroror book.. when aside from the first issue and a few scenes in the second it really isn't. It's not bad, and horror can be a lot of things. I'm ont a snob who say s"Well this can't be horror" This is horror adjacent, but you shoudln't market something based only on it's first issue and it left a bad taste in my mouth reading it the first time... but reading it this time.. that taste's washed out.

The truth.. is that the main story is really that good, with the fight crescendoing in Mecha Sonic holding on.. and planning to just die. He's given up, having failed to be what robotnik wanted.. and failed his friends, having come to his senses on his return to villiany, Eggman never loved him and wouldn't care if he came back as he has metal now.. but hating himself so deeply he alomst well. .unalives himself feeling he has no purpose. Thankfully sonic has some words on that

It's an ending I Love and as someone whose struggled myself, words you need to hear; live for you, not selfishly.. but simply how you want to. Just living itself is purpose... and thus Mecha does take his hand He can't actually lift him because super strength isn't a thing sonic has and the foot thing did tire him out a bit... something I forgot in that rant earlier but still stand by shoudl've had more consequences. STill everyone else shows up, willing to forgive their brother.. and also tails is here. Because despite everything.. their family. And family forgives when you deserve it.

So now Mecha Sonic's lost that self loathin, excused himself and let hoppe in. He's also been cleared of any egg data which wasn't easy, but is something Tails has done before. Gemerl should really hang with these guys. Mecha Knux is also both fixed and freed, and is standing all abdass in the corner, so he too can come back. We end on a heartwarming speech, as Mecha has accepted himself, that the future is uncertain and scary.. but it's his.. and he'll face it.

God this ending makes me tear up. Scrapnik Island. is excellent.. even more so on re-read and in sitting with it for this review. Mecha's arc is heartbreaking, well paced and the action and little dabs of horror are brilliant. I do think the horror parts of it were overblown.. but the genius concept of an island full of old badniks and giving Metal a new personality and character arc was genius, and it ends on a massive high that makes me want to see these characters again yesterday. There is a LOT of potetial in these character sand IDW is foolish to not tap into it yet and will be damn idiotic if they never do. It's a wonderful character piece that despite it's flaws, moves mountains and is one of the best sonic comics period.

[leonsleftbicep]

posting this while on the brink of falling asleep

@eepymonstrr i have finished the outline and stuff for the dnd x sleep token thing.

i put to much work into this and its not even drawn yet because i had to flesh out the characters first before drawing them.

this is is my notes in text form with some additions. enjoy this till i can actually draw, i do not have time nor energy at the moment. very sorry.

Elf Druid Vessel - 

White long curly hair, gray skin, smoke markings, freckles, some other markings, the deer womb tat, claws. Why a druid? He was abandoned in the forest by his elder. He seemed to be too quiet and almost depressed to the others, he was not attractive to the humans like all the other elves. It drove his elders to abandon him and call him a monster, a creature, not worthy of love. By anyone. He encountered Sleep as he shivered and slept on the moss covered forest floor. Sleep asked if they could be able to save him, let him be free. in return worship Sleep and spread his word and create a collective. After that vessel awoke in a cottage being taken care of by a smoke like creature that had tentacles and eyes in place of a face shrouded in a cloak. The same cloak he would adopt and add to in his worship of Sleep. 

Half-Orc Ranger II -

Blue undertone gray skin with red gradient on his fingers and toes, dark hair with gray streaks at the temples, 5’7, 180 - 200 pounds, tusks that are prominent. Lots of scars as well as Sleep’s marking as a scar on his chest. Why a ranger? Hes self taught main weapons are two Kris knifes his mother gave him before he was exiled from the quiet village he got thrown out for being loud and “spawn of the enemy”  He met Vessel after almost shooting Vessel with an arrow as he was hunting.

Tiefling Rogue III -

Red skin with a black gradient on his fingers and toes, white/pale blue eyes, long black warm tone hair (most likely curly). 6”7 - 7 feet tall (not yet decided). Claws because why not  Why a rouge? He met IV while on a heist with his old party (of people also on the run). The encounter with IV was in a tavern in the middle of the town he was in at the moment. He fell into IV’s arms and was baffled at spark feeling, like something that makes him want to leave all of this behind and just find happiness. Which he did, he went on a journey to find IV after that, running into him with his new party (Vessel and II). III felt a pull and knew he was on the right path.

Dragon-Born/Human Hybrid Wizard IV -

Warm gray scales with a red and gold iridescence that is stark against his skin, 5’10, stormy blue eyes with dragons slit pupils that act a lot like a cats, dusty brown blond long mullet mohawk, a tattoo somewhere, claws because why the hell not (starting to get sleepy while writing these up) Why a wizard? He was born to a human mother and a dragon born father who plans to retire from his wizardly duties once IV has found his magical spark and is of age. Little did he know that his son would find how spark and then decide to leave the royal life forever.

im now going to go to bed

[beyondedenton]

What color does your love feel like?

Character: Mason Atlas Request from @askprofessorx

Result: dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Mason had totally different responses than Rune and still got this. Interesting.

[andromedawaiting]

In the spirit of the new movie coming out in July, lemme tell yall something, folks. Films with scientists gallivanting all over hillbilly hell chasing tornados (ie. Twister) are awesome and all, but as a Storm Chaser (TM) and bonafide meteorologist, storm chasing is a lot less squinting suspiciously at angry clouds and a bit more made up of the following:

—uh, where the hell are we, we have ZERO service, aw shit okay now we have to pull out paper maps that haven’t seen the light of day since the Lewis and Clark expedition

—What the bejeezus is That Smell (TM): brought to you by cow farms of the american south

—Followed up shortly by: hm, smells like a good storm day. *Big sniff, followed by any colleagues in hearing range inhaling like they didn’t all also wake up at the exact same motel* *chorus of agreeing chaser noises*

—*intense montage of looking at weather models* *models don’t like you and oops turns out the storms they predicted yesterday are actually three states away, sorry bout that*

—chasers have the ability to see each other’s locations through the use of a mutual radar app. Typically, this isn’t used for any Scientific Reason (TM) but instead used to see which chasers took a bite out of the Bad Decisions Bagel and are now getting pelted by baseball sized hail. Whoopsie daisy.

—chasing is 95% driving, 4% crying while eating gas station food, and 1% getting a front row seat to the wrath of the gods. You will see things you won’t believe, and part of the job is being able to keep your cool while you do

—tornado? Oftentimes not the scary thing while chasing. What is? lightning from the anvil of the storm striking right next to you even though you are miles away. (this is called a positive polarity strike due to the charge arrangement of cloud+ground, and comes from the top of the cloud as opposed to the base. They’re thousands of volts stronger than your average boom). These are affectionately termed “bolts from the blue” and they are terrifying. Why bolt from the blue? You can be standing under clear sky and still get got. Sometimes you’re in Kansas and you’re the tallest object in 100 miles. This instills True Unease.

—the movies often depict the titular main character standing in the middle of what looks to be Actual Hell, all dark and gloomy and windy. Sometimes that does happen. In reality, most of us are outside of the storm looking in, and are surrounded by blue sky on three sides and looking at Super Angry Cloud on the fourth.

—chasers tend to gather at gas stations before they go out on a storm. If you see a large gathering of particularly excitable (and oftentimes a lil disheveled, hey, we’ve been on the road for weeks) people chattering at each other while pointing between their phones and the sky, you should probably head home and brace for things to get a tad bit windy.

—experienced chasers always have something called a “bail out”. This is a pre-planned study of where you think the storm will go and the roads associated, so that if the storm decides it really doesn’t like you, you can leave without getting run over. Some rural counties only have one road. Some counties only have dirt roads. (Hint hint, dirt turns into mud when it gets wet. Don’t do it.)

I could keep going for ages, but we’d be here forever. Anyhow, stormy skies, yall, and if you aren’t sure if it’s a tornado…well, it probably isn’t, but please find shelter anyway and leave the 100+ mph downdraft winds to us.

[flickys-courage-club]

If Computer Meets Barry's Parents (CTCD Story)

[Characters: Barry(OC), Computer, Nathan(OC), Teresa(OC) and unnamed restaurant employee OC]

[Barry gets a facetime call from his parents, when they saw a computer with a human body leaving a restaurant with him. And to their surprise, it turns out to be his somewhat ally Computer. But his parents don't know if they should trust this sarcastic machine]

[First cuts to Nathan and Teresa who are ordering at a restaurant, when suddenly Nathan sees Barry holding onto Computer's human hand while he goes over to retrieve the meal]

???: Got a meal for Barry here

Computer: That'll be him here

???: Oh, yes sir. here's your friend's meal

Computer: That's kind of you [to Barry] come along kid

[Nathan watches by his surprised face as Computer and Barry walk out of the restaurant]

Nathan: Hey dear

Teresa: Yes Nathan

Nathan: Do you see that?

Teresa: See what?

Nathan: A computer with a... human body

Teresa: [looks at inside and outside of the restaurant] I don't see any of those people before Nathan, but... [quietly] should we give Barry a facetime call about this

Nathan: ...Sure

???: I gotta an order for Mr Nathan and Mrs Teresa here!

Nathan: That's us sir [grabs the bag] Thanks

???: No problem. Have a good day

[The two cats leave the restaurant with their food]

[Then it cuts to Barry and the Computer in Courage's room. Computer explains to Barry about historical information. But then Barry hears his iPad vibrating, he goes over to check it, he opens it up and it was a facetime call)

Computer: Well, what is it then

Barry: It's my mom and dad

Computer's mind: I didn't remember the kid had parents. What are they? Are they a lot like him? [in a sarcastic tone] do they get scared easily? Oh, what twits they are

Nathan: Hey son

Barry: Hey dad, hey mom

Teresa: Are you alright dear?

Barry: Yeah, I'm alright

Nathan: Could we ask you something? It's that we saw this guy who is with you.

Teresa: He has a computer as a head, it wears a dark blue suit, white gloves, black boots and a red scarf

Barry: [thinks] Hmmm, I think he is–

Computer: Who are you yapping with on your tablet, you twit?

Barry: Uhh, my dad and... my mom

Nathan: Barry? Who's that your speaking with

Computer: Well, then how about you show your stupid tablet over to me you twerp

Teresa: Is that someone saying these kind of words at my son?!

Barry: [to Computer] Sorry, sorry, sorry Computer

[Barry moves his tablet over to Computer's screen]

Computer: That's better

Nathan: [shocked] Oh my!

Teresa: [shocked] Oh. my. GOD!

Nathan: A computer that can actually type, without letting anyone press it's own keyboard?!

Teresa: [breathing heavily] this is all so surprising, Nathan

Nathan: It's ok Teresa dear, just take a breather to calm ourselves down from what we saw now

[5 minutes later after taking a breather, Nathan and Teresa came face to face with Computer]

Nathan: So, what I'm guessing is that your like a helper to my son, right?

Computer: Well of course, you twit. Since his little friend has gone off with Muriel and the farmer, this little fellow and I are the only ones in this shelter alive, and I am now scheduled to keep an eye out on him

Teresa: Ohhh~ ok

Nathan: We like to know who you are. So, first is your name

Computer: Name!? You twit, I don't need a simple name like you have.

Teresa: Sooo, just Computer right?

Computer: ...Yes!

Nathan: Ok. Second is about a living human body attached to a computer as a head, walking across the restaurant. And I saw that all along

[Computer's screen shows an eye raising a brow at the couple in a serious expression]

Computer: [sighs, in a sarcastic manner] Looks like I'll be telling this whole thing all over again. But yes, I actually gained a human body before

Nathan: Well then, tell us about it

Computer: Alright, no need to rush me over it, twit

Computer: [explaining his story, while his screen shows scenes of "Mega Muriel the Magnificent"] It all happened on a stormy night, I was powered off thanks to the twit's frustration. As these morons went to their sleep, a bolt of lightning struck onto my soul. And then, I finally rise up, even gaining a new pair of arms right here [shows one of his arms out of his back] and then I started my getaway

[Nathan and Teresa nod]

Computer: While with that, I encountered the farmer and insert my abilities into his whole body, but he was such a weakling. All I needed from a body was lots of meat! And that's when I grabbed his dear wife and together we form the greatest stunt woman – Mega Muriel The Magnificent!

Teresa: Oh my!

Computer: But I turned things round with the dog. We had our differences, and I was only doing those dangerous acts because of his cowardly nature, but he sure has a heart to save me and one person he truly cares about [his screen goes normal]

Nathan: I see now, Computer

Computer: The kid did have more respect for me, to place a headless mannequin sitting in the attic here. [to Barry] Move your pad over to the mannequin, twit

[Barry moves his IPad over, now showing the headless mannequin]

Teresa: Ooh

Nathan: Ahh

Computer: Whenever if I feel like to go out. I would just insert all my power and data to this here, and there my whole self goes into the head and placing it all together. But despite that, having a human body feels like boredom to me

Teresa: Oookay, and thirdly we wanna ask is how are you with my dear son Barry

[Computer looks at Barry holding his IPad to him]

Computer: Well, he's like the twit. Getting frightened of monsters way too easily.

Nathan: Hey, hey, hey. That's really not nice of you, Mister

Teresa: You should've showed some sympathy on our son Barry

Computer: Well since I gained AI, which is that I have feelings. But sympathy isn't one of these feelings I can feel, you twits

[Nathan and Teresa had stern looks at Computer, who is unamused. He sees Barry feeling down]

Computer: [sighs] Come now twit. [lifts Barry off the floor with his arms] I brought this lunch for you to enjoy, after we did your little anxiety sessions today

Nathan: W-W-W-Wait! Anxiety therapy sessions?

Teresa: But when have you done these things?

Computer: Well, since I am currently aware that he has anxiety. I become a sort of mentor to the poor twit [pats Barry's head]

Computer: He told me about that spider he didn't like

Nathan: ...Toxin

Computer: Oh. Seems like you knew him

Nathan: Really long, yep. He is my worst foe. And also the reason that Barry is afraid of spiders!

Computer: Arachnophobic, you say? Tch, how common. As it is the most common fear in this world. According to the percentage of gender; there is a 28% of men being afraid of them, while the highest is 50% of women being afraid of them.

Teresa: [whispers to Nathan] Oh my, he's good

Computer: I can still hear you, even if you both are whispering to eachother

Teresa: Darn it

[Nathan and Teresa are muted, while Barry and Computer are chatting]

Nathan: [whispering, to Teresa] I don't trust that computer dear. He calls us twits, even at our son Barry.

Teresa: [whispering] hmm yeah, but we saw that he does anxiety sessions with him

Nathan: ...overall he is still rather untrustworthy to be... hmm...

[Teresa turns the speaker button on]

Teresa: Barry? Can you hear us now?

Barry: Yeah?

Nathan: We're gonna let you off now. You can call us later if you want, ok

Barry: Ok

Teresa: Have a great day son. We love you

Barry: Love you mom. Love you dad [blows a kiss on the IPad] [presses the hang up button on the IPad and places it down]

Computer: That's... weird

Barry: Placing a kiss on the IPad? It's to show how I love my mom and dad, Computer

Computer: ...weird

[myheartalivewrites]

Weekend WIP Game

Thanks for tagging my @kiwiana-writes @cha-melodius and @daisymae-12!

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more).

1. WIP List: I'm definitely a one-at-a-time sort of person. I hate having unfinished WIPs hanging about, it stresses me out. That said, I've got three docs with a substantial number of words in them:

[Dark and Stormy]

[Provence] (more here)

Oxford Nights

AND there's one more WIP I've finished working on and am hoping to start posting tomorrow (ahem ahem ahem) which is not on that list but I’m counting anyway

2. Which of your WIPs is currently the longest?

[Provence] at nearly 14k

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

Probs that one, I don’t think I’m even halfway through with it! It’s not going to be long-long though

4. Which WIP is your favourite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

Oh God, I don't know. I've not worked on [Dark and Stormy] for a while, that's the one I'm most looking forward to getting back to

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

Lol, right now [Dark and Stormy] is intimidating bc I want to change the whole beginning of it. That's why I've been putting it off for oh... nine months 😬

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

The one that's gonna start posting tomorrow? Mainly bc I'm worried it's too much like a devil's threesome, even though no women are involved lol

7. Which of your WIPs will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

Again, tomorrow's one, which is called Twice the speed (of you and me) by the way! I've asked a couple of people to read it through for me.

8. Have any of your WIPs been struck by the curse of writer's block?

Sometimes, yeah. Mainly when I try and work stuff into the plot that I'm not that interested in or that requires a lot of world building. I've started following the Matthew Lopez philosophy about it: if it's not about Alex and Henry, it has to go. It's certainly what happened with Deep Blue, and that's how I got myself out of being blocked, by limiting anything that wasn't specifically about them.

9. Which WIP has your favourite OC? Tell us about them?

Oh, [Provence] has a character in it who I really love, she's an old friend of Arthur's, an actress in her sixties all glamour and graceful ageing, who loves Henry like a parent. Though, weirdly, she's what's got me a bit stuck on it, because I have all these ideas for what I want from her but can't quite bring myself to do the world building that comes along with that 😂

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

Hah, lol. The threesome. Is the fandom ready for it? We'll see.

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

Dunno, actually. Maybe [Provence], just because Alex is having his bisexual awakening and feeling all jealous at Henry's sluttiness. It's not ACTUALLY angsty though.

12. Which WIP has the best characterisation (in your humble opinion)?

Yikes, what a question! All of them, my characterisation is perfect, no notes etc.

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

Oooh I love the [Provence] one. It's all lush, some super rich people's home, but with a touch of south of France rustic to it.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

🤷‍♀️ don't think I have an answer for this one

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

Again, just... 🤷‍♀️ I always wonder about the really smutty ones, I fret over them the most and then they turn out to be really popular so...

16. Do you dream about any of your WIPs?

Not really, though they do keep me awake at night. I woke up this morning at like five and just HAD to check on the beta feedback.

17. Do any of your WIPs have particular complexities that your other fics don't?

Nah, not really. I mean, threesome mechanics? That's new, I suppose

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humour?

God, no, not this question. I have zero confidence on my ability to make things funny. Like, I know there are funny bits in there, but... Oxford Nights has funny bits with Alex and Henry trying shit out I guess.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

Nah

20. Tell us one thing we don't know about one or more of your WIPs.

Okay, so: in one of them Henry owns a cow named MARY 😁

Tagging a meagre 4 peeps for my 4 WIPs ✌️ : @14carrotghoul @suseagull04 @happiness-of-the-pursuit and @whimsymanaged to overshare on the dash, thanks!

[marsberrrr]

Lo'ak x Reader

“Mermaids" (PT1)

Warnings: Vague mentions of/attempted su!c!de, mentioned character death, spoilers, Future smut, 18+

Summary: Lo'ak struggles to cope with the loss of Neteyam, guilt eats away at him every day and the dark, nagging thought to let the ocean consume him seems more enticing with every second. He ventures into the water alone, he doesn't even bother going up for air as his lungs burn. Just as he drifts into the darkness, a hand pulls him back up.

“You and me? We're not so different.”

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Air rushed into his mouth, cool and crisp as it left a burn in his overworked lungs. He felt the small, delicate grip around his bicep tighten just a bit to steady him in the waves. He looked to the source and locked eyes with a female. Her hair was inky black and fell in loose curls that flared out upon the water's disturbed surface. Her skin was a beautiful shade of light gray with slightly darker stripes, her eyes were a stormy blue. She was unlike any na'vi he had met, obvious by not only her color, but her webbed fingers and gills on her neck.

“Are you insane, skxawng?” (Idiot) She fired at him. Her hand fell from his arm before reaching beneath the water to splash him. He couldn't hold back the short hiss that left his mouth. She didn't flinch at his sudden agitation, merely rolling her eyes. “I didn't need your help.” He was quick to swim towards the island nearby to escape the chastising of the female but she didn't let up, simply swimming alongside him; albeit much faster. “You do not turn away from me 'evan!” (Boy) The authority in her voice was almost enough to stop him but his last sliver of pride forbade it. He pulled himself up onto the shore, the coarse sand dug into his palms and clung to his wet skin.

He heard the subtle splash of the girl following suit, her gentle scent now filled his nose and prompted him to take a deep inhale. He looked at her and studied the way water fell off her body, how her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, her full hips twisting to allow her to sit, the slight definition of muscle in her arms flexing with each movement. He found himself gawking shamefully at her, she was exotic. He felt his cheeks heat up a bit when their eyes met, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting to look at which earned a soft smirk from her. “Ngeya key lor nitxan” (Your face is beautiful) She teased with a soft smile. Her voice was sultry, ending in a delightful purr with each word.

“I'm taken.” He mumbled as he moved to stand, the girl following seconds later. She hummed softly, sand shuffling under her feet with each step she took. He found himself admiring her once again now that she stood before him. “It's Tsireya, isn't it? You're not the first to pursue her - certainly not the last, either. Many boys want her as their mate.” She hated how much attention always fell on the future Tsahìk, jealousy boiled in her blood but she couldn't remain angry at the Metkayina girl. Tsireya was not only gorgeous, but quite sweet too, not afraid to help or greet anyone. It was no surprise when word got around of her escapades with an Omatikaya boy, namely, the one standing with her. “You must be Lo'ak. All of us have heard plenty about you. You've caused quite the stir within awa'atlu.” She said with a wave of her hand. Her arm crossed over her middle as the other gestured to the forest boy, her lips were pressed together in thought as she circled him. Lo'ak watched her in mild curiosity. “Funny. I've never seen you around before.” His eyes tracked the sway of her tail and hips with each step, her nose scrunched up cutely in agitation. “How would you ever see me? You're always with her.” He could hear the sharpness in her voice at the mention of Tsireya, his tail flicked in aggravation.

The mysterious female shook her head in dismissal before turning away to let out a series of clicks and trills to call on her Ilu. Within minutes, the creature peered through the water at them and made a noise of greeting to his friend. The gray female hopped into the water and slid onto the ilu's back before connecting their queues. She smiled softly at the new senses flooding through, each ripple in the water could be felt through both her and her mount. She looked up to Lo'ak who still stood ashore and beckoned him to her. He hesitated for a little too long. Patience wearing thin, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The two na'vi emerged from the water and into the center of the clan. Everyone stood around to welcome the boy back after he had gone missing hours prior. Jake and Neytiri rushed forward first, both prepared to scold him until they noticed the hold the girl still had on his wrist. He was quick to snatch his hand away and move away from her. “What were you two doing out there alone?” Jake questioned in both anger and worry. He didn't fail to notice the murmurs beginning to start up or the look Tsireya wore at the sight. Lo'ak's ears folded back at his father's voice. He wasn't in the mood for this and couldn't help but throw a glare at the girl next to him.

That night, he sat on a rock, watching the moonlight shimmer on the water and the soft crash of the waves. He didn't bother acknowledging the sound of someone approaching, someone he quickly realized was Tsireya. She sat down next to him and simply watched the water too. The silence wasn't comfortable or tense, simply buzzing with the weight of the question the girl searched to find the words for. “What happened out there?” She finally asked. Her hands fidgeted in her lap with each silent second that ticked by. Lo'ak finally turned his head to look at her, his once bright eyes now dull and his face wore a weariness that hadn't been there years before. “I..I was tired. I went out for a swim and met her there. Nothing more.” Tsireya felt tears well up in her eyes at the seemingly innocent words. She knew him well so the implications of his words didn't get past her. She realized how close he had been to what he thought was the only option and how grateful she was to Y/N for being there. She feared the thought of what might have happened had the girl not been there. Tsireya leaned over and gently placed her forehead against his shoulder as tears fell freely from her eyes and quiet sobs shook her delicate shoulders. Lo'ak felt his heart squeeze at the revelation that he could've done even more damage. He reached over to hold her trembling hand in his own, his head leaned down to rest atop hers. He whispered apologies to her as they both sat there. He looked out to the water and smiled fondly at the silhouette of a familiar savior swimming around in the distance. She reminded him of the tales his father would tell of the beings called mermaids, how graceful and beautiful they could be. He was sure she was as close to a mermaid as one could get.

[uptoolateart]

Elite Symbolism in MLB

So, @raspberrycatapult was talking to me about all the recurrent butterfly symbolism in MLB - and the fact that all the buses in the show are the number 33 route when there is no such route in Paris - and both of us had noticed the giant 33 behind Kagami in the art room in ‘Lies’. She was pointing out all the single eye imagery in the show, too, which I’ll get to later - among many other motifs.

It was a fascinating conversation that I shared with my husband, who then brought up MKUltra, which I’d heard plenty about but I never really took in the finer details and certainly hadn’t applied them to my beloved cartoon.

As soon as I was thinking on this track, a zillion other things leapt out at me. They are so obvious once you get going, and I’m going to share some of them here. I bet more pops out as I watch the show, from here on out, but this is a quick starter guide.

Caveat

I am not in any way trying to sell you on a belief. Feel free to think everything I discuss here is ‘just conspiracy theory’. My sole point is that a) the creators of Miraculous are at least aware of the theory and b) they have very purposely integrated it into the show in order to propel their story and give weight to the characters. When we examine all these elements that have been embedded into this ‘children’s cartoon’, we see just how dark Adrien’s story, in particular, really is.

Gabriel

Let’s start with Gabriel’s name. It has always stood out to me, because it’s one of the archangels and a definite name of power. This archangel also happens to be held in high esteem in Freemasonry and other similar organisations.

Gabriel’s brand is just a giant G. ‘Oh, it looks like Gucci!’ Yeah. That, and the G of Freemasonry.

And you know that enormous essay I wrote about the symbolism of Gabriel dressing all in white now?? I left out the Masonic uniform of white - like their white apron. Think of Gabriel in the kitchen making those banana pancakes, in that white apron...or how about how the gloves, which simply are Masonic regalia gloves. You can buy them on Amazon, even.

This is without even getting into the recurrence of the number 33, as mentioned at the start of this post. @raspberrycatapult​ even pointed out that in the original animatic of ‘Stormy Weather’, the bus was number 34, but it got changed in the final animation. You have to ask why a detail like that matters...and then a quick google search will tell you there are 33 degrees / levels in Masonry. And why put that number all big behind Kagami in ‘Lies’? Because she’s a subjugate just like Adrien.

Now, let’s look at Gabriel’s office, where he stands at a dais-like podium on an elevated platform, with his ‘subjects’ on sunken in seats that look like pews in a church or temple. The whole floor is checkerboard. We could also get into the sun imagery on the doors, but...honestly, we could go into a whole bunch of things and I’m finding it hard to know where to stop before this post turns into a novel.

Here’s the image...and below it, a Masonic lodge, for comparison. The image has been tinted blue for effect, but in reality, the checkboard would always be black and white, to signify the balance between opposite energies. And um...isn’t that the whole idea behind kwami energies and yin-yang pairs?

I also want to note that Gabriel is positioned in a way that gives the impression of him being at the centre of two pillars. There are literally thousands of books written on the western / hermetic magical concept of ‘the middle pillar’, being the balancing way between two extremes. It also comes up in eastern beliefs, e.g. Buddhism.

In hermeticism, this is connected to the practice of cabala and therefore the Tree of Life, a structure built into just about every important building and painting all over Europe, America, and more. No, really. Remember they are called Masons for a reason - it began with builders, and they integrated their spiritual concepts into their work.

As a tarot enthusiast, this structure is also embedded into almost every single card in any traditional deck. It’s a subject I could spend a lot of time on, but let’s move on.

Eyes

Getting back to the single eye imagery in the show, @raspberrycatapult was pointing out, for example, the eyes on Emilie’s painting, and even pyramids in the design they took from the original inspiration.

I'm getting at this classic image of the Eye of Providence, of course:

@raspberrycatapult pointed out Marinette’s single eye peeking through the box when she looked into the room where everyone was dancing in masks, in ‘Gabriel Agreste’.

And like...we all agree that whole party was creepy as hell...right?? As soon as I saw it, I thought ‘rich weirdo cult!’ It was so obvious that Ms Tsurugi must be in on Gabriel’s plans. I was excited to see this proven in season 5. I’m still waiting to be proven right that the Bourgeois are in on it, too, at least to some degree. And come on. The Bourgeois?? It’s a reference to an entire class of society.

I then got to thinking: peacock feathers are known for looking like they have one eye. And whoever uses the peacock miraculous to transform ends up having one eye covered, in their costume, e.g. with a veil. And thinking of Ms Tsurugi again...she’s blind and then can see, when akumatised.

It also helps to remember that we’re all waiting for unveilings / unmaskings in this show, from all directions. We’re waiting for people to see the truth. Makes you think of the names of the first two episodes of Season 4....

Monarch

And now we get super dark.

MKUltra was an illegal CIA experiment begun in 1958 and supposedly concluded, although there are plenty of people who believe it continues to this day. Again - I’m not saying it does or doesn’t. I’m only stating that there is a definite record of it happening in the 1950s and that there are people out there who don’t think it stopped.

MKUltra was a series of experiments in human mind control, a summary of which can be read about here. There’s also this video from the BBC and a zillion other things. Be warned - this is a rabbit hole you can easily fall into for hours.

Very briefly: ‘In the early days of the Cold War, the CIA ordered the creation of a secret programme intended to find ways of mind control. They funded an army of psychiatric institutions across the United States and Canada to perform experiments on patients using psychedelic drugs, sensory deprivation, electroshock treatment and more.’

The point my husband made, which I was not aware of, was that part of MKUltra was something called ‘the Monarch Project’. Again, a mind control and subjugation experiment.

Now, without stating the obvious, let’s think about things like the akumas. Adrien and those rings. Sentimonsters. Every single thing Gabriel does, in or out of costume, is a form of mind control, and he has programmed it into Adrien via his home and even the clothes he wears. This is what gets Marinette thinking perhaps Gabriel is the villain. Adrien doesn’t want to believe it because he wants to trust. Everyone wants to trust the adults / authority figures in their lives. But for the heroes of Miraculous, this trust will be broken.

I’m also brought back to ‘Mega Leech’, when the miniature copies of Mayor Bourgeois crawled into people’s heads and controlled what they said. It has always stuck out at me as allegory for brainwashing - grooming people so much that you get them to preach your propaganda for you. This is what Gabriel does with all his victims, too. He’s not the one out there, doing the damage. He gets in other people’s heads and has them do it for him.

We’ve also seen other instances of this with villains like Despair Bear and Puppeteer. This is...a subject that could take up thousands of words. You get what I’m saying.

Adrien / Cat Noir

If you look into this stuff, you come across a lot of detail about something called ‘the beta kitten’, which is a form of sexual programming. In fact, it literally involves grooming someone into having a ‘cat alter’.

Honestly...you could read so much about it and all the ways it gets applied to celebrities such as Britney Spears. Don’t even get me started on the Britney thing. If that kind of thing can happen in the 21st century, we really need to re-think how ‘far we’ve come’.

Anyway. Part of this involves a lot of repeating imagery and symbols, the way hypnosis and neuro-linguistic programming work. Symbols that appear in tons of promotional photographs, music videos, etc. Symbols like...collars and bells, mirrors and reflections.

Again, I’m not selling you the theory - you’re free to make up your own mind about it. But I’ve said so many times that Cat Noir is fully decked out in bondage gear, right down to his collar and bell. And this is for a reason - he is in bondage. He is enslaved.

I also said in a previous post that Kagami’s name is Japanese for ‘mirror’. There’s all the doubling between Adrien and Felix, Chloe and Zoe, Adrien and his AI replica, each character and their superhero or supervillain alter(s), etc. Again...we could be here all day, listing examples.

What does it all mean??

That’s a good question! I’ll leave it to you to decide. At the very least, it means that Gabriel and his cronies have been designed to represent something darker than we usually discuss. They are authority figures who abuse their fame and power to the highest degree, bringing to mind all the news stories we keep hearing about, for instance, people in Hollywood being accused of years of sexual assault.

Adrien being a model...again, I just think of child stars like Britney Spears, who, like Adrien, was completely owned by her own father. He controlled everything she did, using her to make his millions and having her declared insane so he could continue to control her after she turned 18. Let’s not get into just how disgusting her story is. My heart bleeds for her and others like her, and I’ll leave it at that.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. Miraculous is all about breaking free of mind control and programming. Alya, Nino and Chloe all managed to reject the akumatisation. Marinette did it, too, with the help of Cat Noir. I suppose you could say that in most cases, love broke the spell. That’s what we need to hold onto.

There’s a lot about throwing off the masks and revealing the truth. Adrien’s definitely on his way to breaking free of the ring and overthrowing his father, which will be him overthrowing the mind control and being his own person.

So, I suppose you could take a positive message from all of this and say it speaks of hope. We live in a world where it’s hard to know who is selling us truth and who is selling lies - where we live our lives in public and are often on camera, from CCTV to selfies - where the Internet is teeming with ‘influencers’ and targeted advertising, and ‘smart’ devices really can track us and collect data the way the Alliance can. (The Alliance. Even that name...!)

But every one of us has the power to make up our own minds about things and be our own person. Every one of us has the power to throw off the collar and bell and simply be.

[ask-de-writer]

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN … :

MLP Fan Fiction :

Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights Are OUT!

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN …

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1612 words

© 2016 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author. ////////////// Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged. ///////////////////////

It should have been a dark and stormy night!  Just to be perverse, it was calm, clear and well lit by a nearly full, waning gibbous moon. 

Rory was laying in wait!  Nightmare Night was his favorite!  He was lurking in the brush, not far from the cemetery wall.  His costume totally hid his head and cutie mark, making it all the more fun to jump out at the passing foals!

When he waived that old scythe at them they ran like rabbits!  Dropped their loot bags, as often as not!  Fun all around!  For him.

Pity that he swung wrong, that one time.  Grazed one of the escort ponies.  Nothing serious, but you know, if he got caught the authorities would be like it was the crime of the century!

It added spice to the game!

The slightly wounded mare ran straight for Twilight Sparkle’s Golden Oak Library!  Breathless, she panted, “Twilight!  We have to do something!  Look at my neck!  There is a big earth pony jumping out of the brush to scare foals into dropping their loot bags!  He waves this big scythe!  He hit me!”

Twilight paused in handing out small books and candies to her Nightmare Night visitors.  Turning, she saw Spike at the ready, quill and parchment in hand. 

“Take a note, Spike!   Dear Princesses Celestia and Luna:  We have a problem here in Ponyville.”  In a few words, she described the unpleasant situation.  Spike breathed fire on the note and the smoke streaked away!

Celestia and Luna were presiding over a masquerade dance party of nobles.  It was about as boring as a Nightmare Night celebration could be.  Luna had just observed, “Trust the nobility to make something so fun into a soporific!”

Celestia was giggling agreement when the wisp of smoke sailed in and became a note.  She scanned it and promptly magicked it over to Luna.

“I think that this one is for you, Luna!  Have the fun I am not going to have!”

Reading, Luna began to grin.  Fangs showed.  Ghastly pustules appeared in her magic, in lieu of stars.  Her forehooves became claws.  From her normal dark blue, she became utterly black.  She answered Celestia, “I will!  I have not spoken to Swift Feather in a long time.”

Dryly Celestia observed, “Being dead for 3000 years does tend to cut off the conversation!”

Luna said in a soft voice, “There is a loophole in that.  I rule the Dream.  The Dream can cross time.”  She stalked out of the hall.  Her condition upon leaving was noted by the Herald.

“Your Highness, what has so upset Princess Luna on this festive night in her honor?”

“It was not this festivity, however boring it may be.  We had word of an evil thing in Ponyville.  She is going to take care of it.  She will return soon, I am reasonably sure.”

~~ ~~

Swift Feather lay in her sleeping stall in Fortress Canterlot.  She hated garrison duty.  She wanted to FLY.  To carry out the good orders of her Princesses, so recently crowned.

Sleep came at last.  With it came a dream.  She saw her Princess Luna.  She looked the same as the Princess that she knew except that somehow she seemed older, more experienced.

In her Dream, her Princess gave her the most welcome of orders.  “Kit up, Swift Feather.  Full battle gear.  We have a wrong to put to rights.”

With the speed of dream, Swift Feather was ready.  “Where are we going?  What is it that we need to do, my Princess?”

The Dark Princess replied, “Follow me.  It is not far by dream, though the distance is greater than mere leagues.

“Your wise leadership has secured us a great and mostly peaceful kingdom.  We are going to stop one who would spoil the simple fun of many foals.”

Their wings spread, they flew through the mighty stone walls of the Fortress of Canterlot.  Swift Feather saw in wonder, the very land beneath their wings change.  The flying years beneath them saw forests grow and die.  Fields planted and harvested in the blink of an eye, the stroke of a wing.

A town grew suddenly beneath them and Luna spiraled down, Swift Feather following.  Luna pointed silently to a small herd of foals in outlandish costumes.  They gathered at the door of a home and sang, “Nightmare Night!  What a fright!  Give us something sweet to bite!”

The smiling householder, also in costume, hoofed around a bowl of treats.  The young ones eagerly took some, placing them into bags.

Luna directed, “Go and join them.  Take with you this bag for your sweets.  I promise that your skills will be needed soon.”

Puzzled, Swift Feather did as asked by her Princess.  Settling her weapons properly for parade, she stepped out of the darkness and joined the foals.

They looked at her light aerial battle armor, with its bracers protecting her legs and wing joints.  Her chanfron battle helmet, chain armor for her guts and steel for her flight muscles, spine and back.

One of them, in a sort of goblin costume, asked in wonder, “Wow!  You look like a warrior from Fortress Canterlot!  Who are you dressed as?”

Catching the mood, Swift Feather replied, “Good guess!  I am Swift Feather, Flight Leader and Wing Commander to the Princesses Celestia and Luna of Fortress Canterlot!”

A little witch costumed filly commented, “Your outfit looks like real armor and weapons!  Could I look at your shield and spear?”

Swift Feather nodded indulgently and held out her small targe and carefully unslung her air combat spear with its fins to guide its fall if it was used against a ground target.

Emboldened, the foals crowded about to examine her war gear.  One bold colt tapped her breastplate.  Awed, he said, “That is real steel.  My dad is a smith.  This is a totally awesome costume!  It would be right at home in a museum!”

As Swift Feather replaced her spear and and small targe-sheild she understood what Princess Luna meant by a distance of more than mere leagues.  Remembering the rest of her instruction, she thoughtfully settled her weapons for instant use.

She joined the happy chant of the foals and was given her fair share of the treats as well as many compliments on her costume. 

Soon the group started up a street with brush and stone wall on one side. 

Remembering that she was to right a wrong and that there was one who would try to spoil the foal’s fun, she cautioned, “Let me lead you.  This place does not look safe to me.  It could be an ambush.”

The foals, thinking it a game, did fall in behind her.

Rory lunged out, swinging his scythe!  The foals screamed and fell back.

Swift Feather’s targe caught Rory’s deadly blade and deflected it up past her head!  She dove in close, using her spear shaft to block Rory from pulling his scythe back!

Enraged at the failure of his trick, Rory tried to spin about so that he could continue what was now a real attack!  When the vicious swing was just starting, Swift Feather stabbed!  The combination of his spin and her thrust drove the spear deep into his shoulder!

The scythe clattered safely away across the cobbles!  Shocked, Rory screamed his agony!  He was down and kicking frantically!

The astounded foals watched the combat in utter amazement!  Not one dropped a loot bag!  Swift Feather pulled back, her targe at the ready, a short, pointed stabbing sword at the guard in her skilled hoof.

Assured that the enemy was down and safe, she directed in her best military manner, “One of you get a constable!  The rest search those bushes!  He has stolen other foal’s treats!  We must see if they can be returned to their proper foals!”

The youngsters, responding to her air of total authority, sprang to follow her orders!  The smith’s colt sprinted up the street for help!  The others found the loot bags in Rory’s hidden ambush place.

The situation now under control, Swift Feather heard the voice of Dream, of Princess Luna, speaking in her mind, “You have done very well, this night, Swift Feather!  Fly back with me across the ages to your well earned rest.”

She took off in a thunder of wings.  A watching filly said admiringly, “Look how well she can fly with all of that armor!”

Together, Swift Feather and Luna flew across ages back to Fortress Canterlot and through its stout stone walls.  Swift Feather saw her sleeping self and faded into her body.  Lips curled into a smile for her good dream of righting a wrong.

When she awoke, she found a bag with treats in it under her pillow.

~~ ~~

In Ponyville, the Constable Crager was trying to make sense of the scene.  The foals were the only witnesses and they would not budge from their story.  “It was Flight Leader Swift Feather from Fortress Canterlot!  She said so herself!”

Looking at the antique design of the aerial battle spear in Rory’s shoulder and then at the big scythe laying in the street, Constable Crager could almost believe it.  The Ambulance Ponies were getting Rory stabilized for removal to Ponyville General Horspital.

One commented, “We are going to have to get that spear out of his shoulder to get him into the ambulance!”

The blacksmith’s colt pointed to the spear and said, “No you don’t.  Look, Swift Feather is taking it back to Fortress Canterlot!”

The solid seeming spear lodged in Rory’s shoulder quietly faded away like a dream upon awakening.

~THE END~

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