#*sees a rainbow and just blacks out; wakes up and its been edited into a flag*

[flashbangstars]

NCT Dream if they were your roommate (college edition) <3333

in honor of it being the first day of classes for a bunch of my fellow college friends, I wanted to give y'all a little something. I'm also currently writing this while in zoom classes. This divulged into just plain old roommates too lol

Mark

mark was actually pretty good at waking up, you were up before him for a zoom geology class so you would always hear him in the mornings

mark always showers first and will play justin bieber's entire fucking discography in the shower

he also locks you out of the one bathroom you have even though you both have to leave at the same time so you're just kinda fucked

he claims its to preserve his innocence, but you have a black shower curtain you can't see through. so he's just being a princess

he only wear sweats to class, but somehow you are always done before him

you once got into a fight because you were wearing the sweatshirt he wanted to wear, so he made you take it off in the entrance of the apartment and switch with him

he insists on walking you to class because "it's what a gentleman would do"

you two DO NOT beat the dating allegations because of this

he will ask people leaving your class if you are still in there when it ends so people call him "the hot guy who waits for y/n"

it honestly boosts your ego so you're not complaining

your not sure if he's aware of his reputation, since he's so painfully oblivious, but you're not gonna tell him

without fail, every time your on the bus on the way halfway through, he will look up with wide eyes and tell you what he forgot and how badly he needs it, so without fail you will end up going in between your classes since he doesn't have a break to go retrieve what he needs for classes

it almost always is his computer charger and his notes

and it's almost always thrown on the floor by his bed, where he had been studying the day before

will ask every single day if you can walk to the further bus stop "because it's so nice out" and will act like a toddler who just went outside for the first time touching leaves n shit

Renjun

he is 100% more put together than you

he wakes up every morning 2 hours before he has to leave (you wake up to his alarm so you know)

he will shower, get dressed, and still have enough time for breakfast, AND still LEAVE EARLY ENOUGH TO STOP FOR COFFEE

he has tried to get you to join him in this lifestyle, to no avail

what happens is he will drag you out of bed at the same time he wakes up and you just end up getting into his bed while he is getting ready, and then wake up an hour later when he comes to harrass you again after he's done getting ready.

you look like a gremlin compared to him when you're leaving, you usually go to your classes in sweats and with your hair in a clip.

meanwhile he is in a whole coordinated fit that he set out the night before to wear

you both have your desks in the common room off the apartment and it's pretty funny to both of you because your set ups are so obnoxiously different, his is all white and sleek, and yours looks like a rainbow threw up on it

whenever you take the bus to class in the mornings, he will let you nap on his shoulder for the 15 minute ride and will wake you up one stop before you get off.

he will pre-order your coffee with his, (he has your order saved on his phone, and never makes you pay him back, he just makes you pay for the boba you stop for after class

he whines when you stay up really late because your keyboard is noisy

and if you still have to get work done, he will pull up his desk chair beside you with a blanket and will sit with you until you are done. he will fall asleep despite the claims it's too noisy but will refuse to go to bed if you tell him it's ok

and its funny because he doesn't look like a little angel curled up on the chair, he looks like a grandpa with wire glasses on

LOWKEY HE LOOKS LIKE THE CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY GRANDPARENTS

Jeno

you met on a facebook page for your university when he posted about needing a roommate

he didn't know you were a girl until after you had moved in, he doesn't mind... but when you walk into your apartment shirtless to a female rearranging the coffee cups it's a bit jarring

he has now grown to say you act more like a guy than most men he knows

since you're a engineering major you've never actually seen the sun, so he makes you take walks with him when he gets back from classes so he knows you're getting clean oxygen

he calls you his little plant, and takes you on "photosynthesis walks" ... you don't get it either

he will leave his gym water bottles out on the counter, like the ones with the little shaker ball in them, he has like 17 of them

he will knock and wait outside your door for you to open it despite you yelling come in multiple times, since he walked in on you changing once

he is like a little housewife when you are gone

when you went away for a competition, you came back to the kitchen cleaned, bathroom cleaned, and he had made dinner for you two

the whole experience itself was entirely too romantic and only made you two incredibly confused for the following day

he will lay in your bed while you are working and play with the cats claiming "they miss you" to get you to stop working

you pick him up from class everyday on the way to yours and he will run like a little school girl over to you when he sees you in the hallway

and then will come with you to get coffee before your class because he missed you and won't see you until later tonight

Haechan

the biggest drama queen you've ever met

on the first day of the semester, he made you two take first day of school photos with like little signs

you and him have the same schedule for classes since you're the same majors

he will ask if you two can match outfits, and will insist he gets to choose what color you wear

when you have time in the mornings, he loves to take the long way to classes, to stop for coffee and talk.

he sits next to you in the two classes you have together and will depend on you to take the notes

he's an ipad note taker, so you have to listen to him slamming his apple pencil into the screen while taking notes

he calls you grandma because you take paper and pencil notes, but mostly you know its because he's jealous because you can write in cursive

he will come into your room while you will be laying down and won't even ask he will just sit on the bed and start talking as if it's his fuckin room, shoving his phone in your face when he wants to show you things

one of the things that drew you to the listing was that... he had a car.....

he knows you pimp him out for his car but he's fine with it

he drives you to school in the mornings and you have solidified your passenger pimp status

since you've become friends with his friends too, they always bitch because you automatically get shotgun since you live with him

when you two go grocery shopping and Haechan refuses to get anything off brand, but then proceeds to bitch when the whole thing is expensive as hell

he gets bored being in the house, sometimes you will come home to him rearranging the fridge

sometimes its the bathroom

and that one time it was your fucking room you literally couldn't find anything for a week straight and would have to ask him to come in and find things for you

Jaemin

you and him had met your freshman year because you lived doors that opened opposite to each other

You had decided to live together after spending a year greeting each other in the mornings before classes

Jaemin was actually a really great roommate, he cleaned, he cooked and he wasn't annoying to be around

the other nice part was that he was stupidly hot

he was one of the few men you knew who had a skin routine that took up half the sink and he had hair products in the bathroom as well

Jaemin also was weirdly overly touchy with you.

he would hug you from behind while you were cooking, he would pull you into his lap when he would be sitting in the living room etc.

it was weird, but honestly im not gonna lie with the freakshit jaemin did you weren't surprised

he spent on average 200 dollars a month at a coffee shopcbuying a like 15 (4) espresso shot drink. and would drink like 2-3 a day

it had to be like macro dosing caffeine at this point

you would wear Jaemin's sweatshirts all the time since when you would forget one, he would literally give you the one off his back

nobody ever thought it was his though, because they almost always have fucking kittens with halos on them

you will come home somedays to him laying in your bed on his phone, like deadass snuggled up in YOUR covers

his excuse was always that your comforter was warmer and that "you wouldn't want him to freeze"

dude will sit in your lap when you're at the desk sometimes, and his shit is BONEY hurts like a bitch!

you are not bABY you are a GROWN MAN

one day he walked out in a outfit you thought was really cute, turns out.. it was literally your clothing. pants and top. underwear is a toss up if he was feeling freaky that day

claimed "we do laundry together, mix ups happen" how do u mix up underwear. WAS THE VICTORIAS SECRET LABEL NOT ENOUGh

Chenle

Chenle was a little bit of a mess, but god we loved him still!

He made adult money but swore he didn't want to deal with the stress that came with cleaning/managing a apartment all to himself

he insists that you let him pay for all of the utilities since he made you get an apartment with a elevator because he would rather die than have to carry all his things up stairs to the apartment

He leaves a trail of his things from the front door to his room so its like hansel and gretel but instead of bread crumbs its his fucking pants

yall have a shower curtain with steph curry on it, originally you would have thought it was a boner killer for the guys you brought over... but it does the opposite....

chenle also doesn't give a fuck if you're in the bathroom, especially when you are showering. he will walk in proceed to do whatever he needs to do and then will purposely flush the toliet so the water gets cold.

BUT WHEN HE SHOWERS HE LOCKS THE DOOR.

you think its because he beats it, but how can one tell you know

but also walls are thin and you swear you haven't even hear a single whimper from this man

and tHAT IS SUSPICIOUS FOR HIS HORNY ASS!

he touches all up on his friends with no shame!

he swears he should get a say in who you date because he is "father" you don't want divulge into whatever that means

one of the last weekends his friends watched you come in with one of your guy friends and go to your room and then you heard them proceed to lecture chenle on why was he okay with a man going into your room with you

just for them all to be utterly confused when he tells them you two aren't dating

a simultaneous "HUH?" sounded in the living room

and when you walked out to grab water and also... eaves drop one of them pointed at you and went "what do he mean you aren't dating?" in a accusatory tone

and the other joining in with a "freaks!"

that night you had a late night knock your door after everyone had left

Jisung

you and jisung were randomly selected roommates, Jisung swears he didn't know he pressed "ok" to both genders

to be for real tho he agrees it isn't even that hard to live with you

Jisung is crazy because he makes zero sound in the apartment

you have been jumped scared by a 6 foot tall emo man more times than you would like to admit

You will be home for over 3 hours and then turn around and he will just be standing there

he always feels so bad though when he does scare you, he once joked he would wear a bell so you could hear him throughout the apartment

for a week you made him wear a bell, it got weird because he almost wore it out of the house, bell got retired to a drawer

Jisung will fall asleep literally anywhere in the apartment, like literally anywhere

you once tripped in the living room because he was sleeping FACE DOWN on the carpet

bro sleeps like a limp spaghetti noodle

you've walked into him asleep on the coffee table

hes also fallen asleep and mid sleep grabbed your wrist, and literally refused to let go??

like his you couldn't pry his cold dry hands off of you??

he's weirdly quietly possessive, whenever you two go somewhere he will have some extension of his body on you, in your apartment with friends over he will stretch a sleeve of his sweatshirt and lay it ontop of your thigh to lay there limp

he will grip you by the wrist not the hand when hes trying to keep up with walking with you

one time when you.. didn't actually know if he was in the apartment you found a brown paper bag outside your door, inside was several pairs of your black underwear and a note saying "im so sorry I washed them with my black clothing and they were in my room" he literally couldn't look at you without turning red that night in the kitchen

-----

once again I have not proofread anything xoxo

[twotiime2]

Reality Adjustment, Pt. 2

[[ Discord RP log to follow. The content has been edited for ease of reading on Tumblr.

tws for: existentialism, authoritarian deprogramming, heavy themes of unreality and being unable to trust your own senses, a nightmare sequence involving body horror with sexual themes and blatant propaganda/thought control, intent toward child harm (like hardcore), mentions of pregnancy, guns.

if you come across it and i haven't warned you, please let me know so that i can add it to the list. ]]

Simon awoke with a yawn, causing his ears to pop. His seat, a very well cushioned, tufted leather chair whose wooden legs were secured to a carpeted floor with bolts, trembled and shook lightly. All around him was the quiet rumble of a loud but distant engine. Other seats, like his own, sat in pairs up and down the length of the mahogany wood cabin with its round window ports through which sunlight poured in. Between each seat in each pairing was a finely made antique oval side table with a small shaded lamp and two velvet-lined indentations to hold cups. There was even a bronze handled drawer in the front of each table, accessible from either chair. These pairs of fine antique seating were separated by a wide walkway, whose carpeting was only slightly darker in color than the rest. The entire floor had a fine checkered pattern of burgundy and dark grey.

There was no one else in the room, though, with him. Only the oddly out of place finery, and sunlight through the little circular windows on either side of the forty foot wide room, some hundred and fifty feet in length. Overhead, the wooden ceiling arched slightly, with a single rail of cherrywood running the length of the room directly overhead of the darker carpet path that ran between the seats and their tables. From this, every twenty feet, hung very small chandeliers of elegant design and their crystals being of many hues, swaying gently as they dangled from black chains and casting everything in soft rainbows that were largely lost in the daylight but when the sun caught one of them - a shard of vibrant color danced briefly across some part of the room. The trembling of the place kept the tinkling sounds of the crystals in a constant white noise that was a beautiful as it was calming.

- - - -

Simon's first thought upon waking here was, Train? That would explain the slight rumble, the nice seating, but he had never been on a train this fancy or that dared to have some goddamn chandeliers in it while it rumbled and chugged along. He checked himself over, already having moved from confusion to slight irritation; why had he gone from nearly murdering a kitten to waking up somewhere completely different, without any idea how he had passed out or where he had been deposited? This wasn't another different Consensus, already, was it?

He grumbled to himself about "Goddamn bullshit reality-hopping, why can't I just stay somewhere," while he got up to complete his personal once-over.

- - - -

He was dressed in crushed velvet, leather, and satin finery, all of it in Victorian gentleman's fashions of the highest caliber - complete with a top hat and a dainty chain which held his folded spectacles with their rounded lenses, one tinted red and the other blue. His entire outfit was a mismatched series of black and white patterns which managed somehow to never have the same color touching itself anywhere across the entire affair.

The most adorable feminine voice came from a little ways behind him as he stood to check himself over.

"You shouldn't use such bad language. Maybe you're not staying anywhere because you can't decide who you want to be."

- - - -

He whipped around, caught at an awkward angle and ready to throw the top hat to the chair, to see the girl who spoke- oh. She matched her voice, and him, nicely. Her admonishment of his language brought out a reflexive, "Uh- sorry, I didn't think anybody else was here…"

Her words made him frown, though. "What to do you mean by that? I know who I am; it's everyone else who wants me to be- to act how they want."

- - - -

She came and sat in one of the chairs nearby, maid's dress kept primly in place, despite how short it was, by her laying her hands gently in her lap. She regarded him with sympathy through eyes mismatched. "Then… who are you? My name is Castor. Miss Simone Castor. I'm one of the cleaning staff here aboard the Gemini."

- - - -

He sat back down in his chair and took off his hat, setting it in his lap so that his hands could fiddle with the brim and texture of its fabric. "…Simon Castor. Whether that's who this reality expects or not."

Being faced with a maid-girl version of himself that he thought was cute was… uncomfortable, at best. Simon tried not to look at her too much. "What's the Gemini? I was just at home- some alt-me's home, that he probably got on his Union salary- and kinda conflicted about how to deal with a fairy that looked like a kitten. In my- in our?- colors."

All his displeasure at waking up somewhere new and strange had evaporated as soon as he realized this one was a far more personal-to-him space, possibly not even real in the sense of consensual reality's… reality. This wasn't some random new place; this was somewhere that had a strong connection to him.

- - - -

Her eyes practically shone with stars as she fangirled her answer to his question. "The Gemini is the most beautiful and wondrous of all the airships, anywhere in the Imagi Nations. It's become my home, and even though I'm just a maid, I've never been happier. I meet interesting people from all over the Nations, and I get to listen to their stories and their dreams, and be there for them when they have problems, and it's… it's just the best!"

She tilted her head quizzically at the rest of what he said. "Alt you's home? I suppose I'm happy for Alt You being part of a Union, sometimes the workforce can be hard to live in. But I'm sorry they took your home? I've never seen a fairy. Or a cat. I have a stuffed bunny, but… I haven't seen a real one of those either."

Her eyes took him in more carefully.

"You seem very sad. And frustrated. But… and I know it's none of my business, but… if you know who you are… why does it matter where you wake up? Won't you still be you?"

- - - -

That… was not a reality he was even remotely familiar with. He sort of wished he could share the visual of the kitten with her, just so that she would have that experience and knowledge, but he knew he had no way of doing so, which was also just slightly frustrating.

"…I'd explain the nuances of what I said, but, I don't wanna bum you out with the details of my usual reality…" He didn't want to dull this girl-him's sparkle, what she had of it and how she comported herself. He was kind of sad that he hadn't cultivated that sort of naïve kindness, actually, which fit into her observation of him pretty accurately.

"…Every reality I end up in, if I want a chance to be me, I've gotta fit the mold… the Union- the Technocratic Union- I was recruited by them 'cause I'm- I was- talented with computers, and had connections to a group of people they couldn't track down. And anybody who's in the Union has some serious rules to follow, or else they get brainwashed into compliance, or they just get killed for being a threat to the stability of reality, the way most people know it. If I don't fit their rules, it gets way worse for me, if I'm a member of the Union in the particular reality I wake up in. Which I have been, the last couple times."

And he just explained why everything sucked for him anyway. Of course. He couldn't help himself. "…Sorry if that, uh, upsets you, Simone."

The Imagi Nations. Was he in his own head, or was this another reality entirely? Simon was finding he couldn't trust himself to know, anymore. Maybe he was just going for-real nuts.

- - - -

She listened, obviously not understanding everything he said, but Doing Her Best™️.

"So… is following all of these rules a big part of… being you? Is that why you do it? You said you know who you are… and that the only way to get to be you is to join others and follow their rules."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I can understand that. I always wanted to fly in an airship, but… I was never good with the machinery and the smoke and the grease and the coal and stuff. I'm good with maps, though, and I understand how all of it works! I've read many, many books on aviation and ballooning and mechanical theory… but…"

She gave a little shrug. "I'm just not a mechanic, is all. So, I found other ways to be helpful aboard ships, and now…"

She looked around, beaming with excitement. "Now I get to sail the skies in the Gemini."

- - - -

He frowned down at the hat in his lap. "…No, I… I don't like following those rules, a lot. Having structure in my life is nice, and all, but mostly I just kind of like all the cool technology the Union has. I don't want to fight monsters in the field, I'd much rather be part of the division that makes all the field operatives' cool toys." He swallowed. "Not that being in the field and fighting monsters and protecting reality doesn't feel good, you know? It's important, I know it is, I nearly got killed by a monster, myself, before all this weirdness started happening- I don't want anybody else to have to go through that. And I feel like being with the Union and following their rules and stuff is a better way to do that than trying to work with people who don't have all the Union's resources, much less by myself."

Finally, Simon looked at the sweet, kind, bright-eyed Simone, with a sort of pleading to his expression. "I guess… I guess we've both settled, rather than doing what we really want. I'm sure you could figure out a better way to operate an airship like this; it doesn't have to use the stuff you're not good with, not necessarily. Where I'm from, we also had steam-powered engines- and eventually we figured out how to produce energy in even cleaner ways, and package it up so that it could power things without having to be generated constantly. If we're anything alike in more than looks, Simone, I'm sure you could figure something like that out. You could absolutely be the pilot, not just a maid." He looked down at his hat again. "…If you wanted to. I know that can seem like- like a lot of work and responsibility, and this might be preferable to maybe messing something up and crashing the ship of your dreams."

Simon went quiet, considering his own sentiments. Much like this girl, he was good at solving other people's problems, but had a hard time translating his advice into his own actions.

"…I know I'm scared of failing, on my own. The structure of the Union is… safe, I guess, 'cause they know what they're doing and if I mess up, it's not a huge deal- someone can pick up my slack. If I were trying to do all this myself, if I wanted to do it alone, it'd be so much harder to figure out the hows and the conditions and everything. 'Cause I'm not a monster-hunter by nature, I'm just a geek with a brain that works well with computer logic. And I don't know what to do with that on my own, when I know all this other stuff is way more important. I need some kind of direction or else I get paralyzed by indecision, I guess."

He sighed, heavily.

"…I dunno. Sorry. That was a lot."

- - - -

"It doesn't sound like you need direction," she offered, kindly. "It sounds like you have a direction… you just need the… resources?… of those other people. Or, maybe some of your own!"

She smiled. "Maybe if you had your own workshop to build in, and parts and stuff to make things with, I bet you could do just as good as those other people! Better even, without their rules telling you what not to do!"

She beamed at him. "You could build your dreamship, sir! I'm sure of it!"

- - - -

Simon considered this quietly for a moment, staring down at that hat he woke up in. When he had seen the R&D Division of the Agency and what they were working on, he had been inspired- he wanted to help innovate on their ideas so very badly, to take their work and notch it up and make it function exactly how they wanted. That was what he always did when he had the chance- he took something that existed, and he wanted to make it better. With those skills, he had always broken things down by tearing into their base code and exploiting flaws, making viruses other people needed or wanted, between projects where he tested the limits of what a virus could do to the code it was built on. He was always trying to find or make better parts for his computer, so that it could do more than top-of-the-line, expensive hardware big companies peddled to consumers (apparently at the whim of the Union, based on what they thought the consensus could "handle" being added to their reality without it breaking down entirely)…

"…Maybe. I'd have to work within the rules until I had built up my resources… but the big thing is, I know what the Union can do- I don't wanna be on their shitlist. People who do things too fast and break their rules, who break away from them, they get hunted down because they're dangerous to how the world wants to work. Or… how they make sure it works? Rogue elements are likely to break the illusion of reality for people who don't know monsters exist, and then the monsters… they could do whatever they wanted. It'd be chaos. I don't want to be considered someone who would do that."

- - - -

She offered a sad, understanding nod. "I know how it feels to have to stay in your place, when nobody wants you to be yourself. You said I could be a captain? But… girls aren't allowed to be pilots. Or mechanics. I suppose… I could cut my hair very short, and… um…"

She blushed, looking away. "… I could bind… my chest…"

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Maybe if I did all of that and wore men's clothes, nobody would know it was really me! I know they say that women aren't all untrustworthy, but I… I guess enough of them are, that… society just doesn't want us doing important things on our own. I mean, what if we messed it up? Or what if we changed something important? I don't like it… but… the Nations' leaders have been in charge of how things are, since forever. They must know what they're doing, right? What's best for everyone?"

She looked thoughtful. "But… I suppose if I cut my hair very very short and hid my chest, to fit in… tried to talk with a deep voice maybe? If I put enough dirt and grease on my face and hide my hands in work gloves, maybe nobody will notice that I don't fit in, and I can do what I really want to do. Do you think?"

- - - -

Simon frowned at her.

"…I think you could do your utmost and change how people see women, here. Be unabashedly a girl and do what you wanna do, how you're gonna do it, and don't let anybody tell you they know better. If you change something important, maybe it wasn't that important- or maybe it was outdated and needed to be changed- but regardless, generally speaking, if people who have had power for their whole lives are in charge of how everyone else lives, they're not going to make the best decisions for everyone 'cause they don't have everyone's perspective. They only know what they know. "

His eyes went far away, imagining the men in Congress he had seen on TV while with his dads and how they argued, twisted the rules to their own ends, and kept anyone who didn't agree with them, down.

Simon supposed that might apply to the Union, too, even if something in his head railed against that idea and made his stomach do flips.

"What do men know about being a woman, anyway? Like, really know, not just what male doctors have studied about the objective, physical facts of women, and what they think they know about how girls's brains work. Being men, they don't know shit. So you should try and challenge those old, wrong beliefs, if you feel up to it- 'cause you deserve better, and so does every other girl, and nobody is gonna realize that, if things stay the same way they've always been."

Do "normal" people in the Consensus deserve better than a safe, stable reality?

Is that really what they're living in, if the monsters are just hiding, but still doing horrible things within the confines of the rules of reality anyway? Twisting the system so that they can get away with their crimes? Are people entitled to knowing how the world works?

It would… it would drive some people insane. It would prove some insane people to actually be entirely sane. It would have consequences he couldn't possibly account for.

Was the Union doing the right thing? Or holding the world back?

The lessons about the world the Union had imparted on him from hours of conditioning railed against the idea that the Consensus could handle their own safety, if they just knew what they were up against- but everything he knew from what little time he had as a Hunter, what Madison had proven to him, and all of his allies, was that humanity could find a way to fight anything. They had a will, and the tools to do something with it, even if some of them died in the process… some people weren't ready, but that was true of any war, wasn't it? Any change? It would be resisted until it couldn't be, and then they had to make of it what they could.

There may have been a war for how reality should be, that he had never paused long enough to think about, being fought for as long as monsters had existed.

And did the Union really have the right to decide their version of reality was the most correct one? Were they really the shepherds that humanity didn't know they needed? Or were they keeping their domesticated, normal human stock, in the dark on purpose, so that they could control the rest of reality for themselves and never really be challenged about that?

What side was he on?

Simon's mind was conflicted, and he was starting to get a stellar headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and breathed, trying to halt his thoughts for a moment.

- - - -

Simone listened, seemingly struck and a little uncomfortable with the notions that he was imparting to her. After his long silence, she said, very softly - as if almost whispering to no one - "I'm only one girl. I can't change anything."

- - - -

Her soft uncertainties brought Simon back to the moment, despite his nagging headache, and with it his conviction brought from years of stories of one man, one hero, changing things because they had been empowered to do so. Because they had a responsibility to do what they could, with the power they had.

His fist very gently knocked against his forehead a few times, then came to rest on it.

"Yeah, that's true," He started, just as softly, "But- you- even if you're the first, you won't be the only one. You won't be the last. If you can achieve something you want this desperately, despite everything against you- you'll be an inspiration to everyone who comes after you, you know?" Simon put his hand down, eyes still closed against the pain in his head, but grew calmer in feeling as he spoke. "That's how heroes happen. One person decides something needs to change, so they do their best to make that happen- and yeah, it's hard, and yeah, it hurts, often- but making the path for others to follow is hard, and there are gonna be things you'll have to fight so that they don't have to. You don't think you're the person to do it; nobody who changes things thinks they're the one person who can make it happen. But nobody else is gonna step up unless someone does first. And if you want it bad enough… well, then that someone's gonna be you, isn't it?"

Simon opened his mismatched eyes to look in their feminine mirror, sympathetic but understanding of his own conviction in this principle.

- - - -

"I… I just want to be a pilot. I don't know if the world has to change for that… it'd be nice if the world were better, but… I don't want my life to be pain and hurt, to make my dream easier for someone else to get to be happy. Do I really have to do all that? Can't I just… fly? Or… or, I guess, stay a maid? It's not what I want, but at least I'm in the sky, and on a beautiful airship. I don't like cleaning, or always having to wear a maid's uniform, or do everything the custodians ask of me, or any of that stuff… but… I'm in the ship, aren't I? Does it matter if I can't fly?"

She shut her eyes and held herself. "It feels like it matters… but I'm not a revolutionary. I'm just an airship enthusiast with some self taught skill at maps and navigation and how the bridge works. My dream isn't to change the world… it's to fly."

She looked at him, lost in a whirlwind of unfamiliar thoughts.

"What do I do, to make my dream come true, even though I'm a girl?"

- - - -

Simon considered her discomfort for a long moment. It reflected in him; if anyone else were trying to tell him all of this, he would have been uncomfortable and lost on where to start, too. But he felt like he had a solid enough grip on the rules that he could work with, in, or around them, for his goals. They weren't much- he just wanted to make cool things that could help people, and keep people safe- but they were perfectly achievable if he planned right.

"I don't know how things work here. How does someone usually become a pilot? Forget about the prerequisite of being a boy, I mean, what are the steps for it?"

- - - -

She sniffled and looked up at him, confused. "A boy? No, no, boys can't be pilots, either."

She then stood, trying to wipe away the tears that had begun to form in her eyes and straightening her uniform as best as she could and stood up straight, before offering a curtsy. "Captain."

A fluffy, fat, persian cat that was black on one side and white on the other, wearing a monocle and a tiny top hat, then strode leisurely down the aisle to where they'd been talking and offered a single "Mew."

Simone nodded urgently, "Right away, sir!", and hurried away to an old-style tap-phone with a cone for speaking and another for listening, hung from the box by a cable. She picked up the listening cone and tapped the bar three times, before saying into the cone mounted to the box, "Captain Whiskers requests minced tuna to be served for dinner, with a milk saucer and yumyum paste."

- - - -

Simon had to do a double-take. This just went from reasonable to completely ridiculous.

- - - -

Captain Whiskers bid his passenger farewell with a nod and then turned, tail held high and anus proudly displayed as he sauntered back toward the bridge.

- - - -

Simon muttered quietly to himself, "What the fuck."

Once Simone was off of the phone/loudspeaker system, he addressed her again, jabbing his thumb back toward the cat-captain. "OK, nowhere did you imply this society was run by cats."

- - - -

Simone hurried over to him and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for your help." She licked his nose.

"Thank you." She licked his lips.

"Thank you." She licked his jaw.

"Thank you." She licked his nose again.

He awoke to the frantic licks of the tiny white and black kitten with the mismatched eyes, as it stood with its rear paws on his upper chest and front paws on his cheeks.

- - - -

Simon startled and nearly threw the kitten off of him- but after just a handful of milliseconds, did not, in fact, chuck the little fuzzbutt across the room, instead reaching up to pull him off of his face after scrunching his nose up at the cat-breath and licking. "Augh, okay, okay, little guy, I'm awake," he muttered, settling the kitten onto his chest instead. "Did I pass out…?"

He cast his eyes about his immediate vicinity, trying to get his bearings again.

- - - -

Instead of answering, the kitten circled the spot he'd laid it on, on his chest, before pricking at Simon's undershirt with its tiny claws to make sure this was acceptable place to lay by happy-paws'ing the shit out of it before settling into a kittyball.

The room was dark and Simon was again in his underwear and an undershirt. It was much the same as he remembered it from waking up here last time… except with a kitten on him, and this time there was no sunlight coming through the curtains.

- - - -

Simon did his best to reach for his glasses, remembering they should have been on the nightstand next to the crystal-clock, while also calling out for his maid.

"…Otome? Hello?"

The kitten's purrs of contentment were genuinely pretty comforting, despite his earlier moral crisis over its life. He pet it with his other hand.

- - - -

His glasses were right where they should have been. Otome, however, did not respond.

- - - -

That brought a frown to his face. He gently held the kitten to his chest as he sat up, then stood from the bed, moving to the doorway that lead into the living room so that he could turn on the lights for the bedroom. What had happened? Why had he passed out? Given the time (02:22, nice), it was likely Otome was asleep… he should let her know he was awake, and figure out what happened. Or maybe go back to sleep and wait til she woke up on her own… he didn't know her schedule, after all.

After the lights were on, he turned the VDAS in his glasses on, fixing his gaze on the little kitty again. Was it still acting up?

[[ OOC REPETITION WARNING ]]

- - - -

His glasses seemed to be just… glasses.

When he flicked the lights on, every action figure and stature was featureless, faceless, white, and without discernible emblems or clothing. Like pose dolls, each one was a unisex nothing. His framed art and metal posters were all white as well, with grey writing on them.

The computer was on, its screen black and scrolling the same message over and over again, line after line, in barely visible off-black text.

DO NOT QUESTION

EVERYTHING IS FINE

YOU ARE SPECIAL

DIET AND EXERCISE

WORK IS IMPORTANT

OBEY AUTHORITY

DIFFERENT IS DANGEROUS

MONEY MATTERS

LEADERS LISTEN

DISRUPTION IS CHAOS

INNOVATION IS RISK

BODY IMAGE MATTERS

SCIENCE IS THE LAW

SLEEP BUT DO NOT DREAM

EVERYONE IS WATCHING YOU

LIFE IS TOO SHORT

EVERYONE HAS THEIR PLACE

BE WHAT IS EXPECTED OF YOU

CHANGE IS DIFFICULT

PUBLIC PERCEPTION MATTERS

TECHNOLOGY IS NECESSARY AND COMPUTERS ARE THE CORNERSTONE OF ALL GOOD THINGS IN THE FUTURE

Even the screen of his phone was doing it, though the message was different.

STAY INFORMED KEEP READING ALWAYS CHECK SOURCES

There… was nothing in his room that was how he remembered it. Even his mismatched socks, laying next to the bed beside his shoes, were only 'mismatched' by a fraction of a color… not even enough to call it a different hue.

[[ REPETITION ENDS ]]

- - - -

Oh, Jesus Christ. Simon held the kitten close, squeezed his eyes shut, and made his way out of the room, trying to get some respite from the sudden onslaught of subliminals coming from all of the media in that room. He looked down at the kitten again. Was it real, at least? Could he bury his face in soft fur and feel it purring and have some kind of anchor to sanity?

They both walked the dark hall into the room where he had met Loane, Simon fully expecting more of… that, from his room, in this room's various displays of media, and dreading it. None of this had been so blatant before.

- - - -

The kitten remained as it had always(?) been… fuzzy, soft, tiny, black and white, with one blue eye and one red eye. Upon closer inspection, however, he'd been wrong about its sex.

The hallway and rooms beyond were too dark to see, but he did hear Otome's voice, sleepily, coming from somewhere ahead and to the right.

"Sir? You're awake?"

- - - -

Simon held the kitten close as he approached Otome, keeping her softness against his hands and her warmth against his chest. "Yeah, I am. What happened? Did I pass out again?"

- - - -

"Again? You've-- I mean, Sir's been asleep for days. Ever since the accident at Sir's office. How is Sir feeling? When did we get a cat?"

- - - -

Oh, shit, Otome could see the cat! Reality had turned slightly to the left, it seemed. "Oh. I… thought I remembered waking up the day after, when Loane came to check on me. Sorry it's so late, I just, uh, I thought you'd wanna know I was up."

He waited in the intersection of the living room and the hall leading to Otome's room, for her to come out and be seen. "I dunno about the cat- but she's kinda perfect, right?"

- - - -

"I don't know… I mean… isn't she a little… different?"

- - - -

Simon scritched the kitten behind the ears. "She's my favorite colors. I'll take the 'different' as a win, on this one."

- - - -

"But… different is dangerous. Why don't we get a normal cat? We can put that one up for adoption. I'm sure some defective family will want it."

- - - -

Simon's lip curled, and he stepped back a couple of feet, trying to draw Otome closer. "…Different is good, Otome- you're different, I'm different, every person is unique, and that uniqueness is like, essential to the human experience. Are you okay?"

He had a feeling she was going to be some blank-faced propoganda-doll, too.

- - - -

"I'm fine, Sir. Could you help me down?"

He heard the faintest, familiar feminine voice from all around him, but from so far away.

"Wake up!"

- - - -

He tried to see past the darkness of the hall and actually see Otome. "Down?"

He never woke up by his own volition, he had no idea how to start now. Even if this was definitely not a good… whatever this was. Dream? Version of this reality? He couldn't tell anymore.

- - - -

"Please, Sir? I can't serve you like this."

[[ OOC WARNING FOR THE SEXUAL BODY HORROR SCENE ]]

"Simon, you've got to wake up!"

"They're inside your dreams!"

"Fight it! Wake up! Please!"

The lights around him came on, as every bulb in the house lit all at once. Everything was white, save for the cat in his hands - still as he remembered it. At the end of the hall, hanging by a series of thin chains, was a life-sized and seemingly alive woman-shaped sex doll with its only feature being a hole where its mouth should have been. Tiny hooks studded its nipples, outer labia, and its nostrils, keeping all of these places open and perky looking. Larger hooks impaled the collarbones and pelvis, to keep it upright. Its body was obviously extremely lifelike, but was still a blend of silicone and flesh, artificial in the light but real in the dark. From the blowjob-hole came Otome's voice.

"Does Sir want something to help him sleep?"

- - - -

Like something out of Hellraiser. Simon was not expecting that drastic of a nightmare-vision, and he clutched the cat close to him, shuddering and closing his eyes to try and shut out that visual- but it was too late; it already overwrote his idea of Otome and all of her strangeness.

He backed up into the hall again blindly. Out loud, to nobody, he frantically whispered, "I don't know how to wake up! This is really fucked up!!!"

He needed some clothes. He needed to get out of here. Simon definitely wished he were anywhere but in this house of horrors.

[[ SCENE TRANSITION TO MENTIONS OF PREGNANCY, CHILD HARM, MORE REPETITION AND THEMES OF HUMAN SUPREMACY/IMPLIED GENOCIDAL IDEAS, PLUS MENTION OF NAZIS ]]

- - - -

Simon fell backwards over a box, barely caught on his way down by a firm hand on his back and his arm. He was wearing his normal clothes - casual clothes from before, not the suits he'd gotten used to - and he was standing in Al's Army Surplus, having tripped over an ammo box that was tall and thin and metal and olive green… and probably from Vietnam or something. Connor shook her head at him disapprovingly. "Watch where you're going, or you're going to end up dead."

She turned her attention back to the portly old redneck behind the counter.

"Seven of them. We're going to need rounds fitted for nine mil and standard twelve gauge. Preferably something silver on the outside and incendiary on the inside. Not poppers, though… we don't want any collateral damage to nearby civvies."

The cat was gone and, judging by the light through the windows and the big analog clock on the wall, it was around 3 in the afternoon.

- - - -

Simon's eyes widened in shock as Connor caught him, Madison, the woman he'd only met through their mutual recruitment by the Agency all that time ago. He took her help to stand, shaky, and looked around as if he had no idea how he had gotten here (because he didn't, of course). "I… Connor? What'2 going on?"

Was QDiv trying to fix their mistake? Was he just traveling through his memories as his mind shattered into a million pieces, as he was physically kept in a looney bin or something? He couldn't recall ever being with Connor on a Hunt, much less against werewolves… He had to play along for a second, just to get his bearings. Again.

- - - -

"Well, I got holla' point oughtta do th' job fine. Ain't nothin' speshul 'bout 'em, 'cept theys' gonna make a real bad mess'a things when they hit. I c'n fill 'em up full'a fire juice, f'swhatcha wanna do."

She nodded, ever resolute. "Do it. We'll take six magazines for the nines and thirty two shells."

She slapped down a trio of hundred dollar bills, though the faces on them were … was that a nazi soldier's portrait on american money?

"How long?", she asked.

"Few hours. Prolly less'n three."

Connor nodded and gestured with her head for Simon to follow her out. Outside, was a civilian humvee covered in Hunter symbols… he knew they were Hunter symbols… but he couldn't read any of them.

"Once we get the rounds we need, we can head out. We know where they'll be and we know when. We just have to be there to make it happen," she said while climbing in on the driver's side.

- - - -

Simon frowned at her as he followed her out.

"I- No, Madii2on," he nearly tripped over her name, tongue getting in the way of his words again after years of not having to worry about that, "What the fuck are we doiing here? Wa2 that Natzii2 on your money? What??"

This was not a reality he was familiar with, either, even if it had all the trappings of his oldlife.

- - - -

"What do you care who's on the money? It all spends the same, now get in. We have a job to do."

- - - -

"Becau2e the natiion ii2n't run by fuckiing Nazii2, Madii2on!" He was being a little petulant, but he definitely also was not getting into that fucking humvee. "II don't know what fuckiing job you iintend two be doiing, either! What the fuck ii2 going on?!"

[[ DIRECT CHILD HARM AND HUMAN SUPREMACY REFERENCES ]]

- - - -

"Seven werewolves are laid up in Wintram Central's OB wing. They went in as a group, all pregnant and about to deliver. We're going to go down and keep an eye on them, check out the fathers to see if any of them are lycan. If they are, we wait until we have the rounds. But, if they're all human, we flash some badges, get them outside and pop them, real quiet. I already have a tarp down in the trunk. That way they can't pass on the gene to anyone else. When we have the munitions we need, we go in there and clear out the maternity ward. Mothers and cubs, one two, just like that. Seven mass murderers and however many they would have birthed, all in under ten minutes. Now get in the fucking jeep, Gemini, we've got work to do!"

- - - -

"What the fuck!" He backed up from Connor. "Werewolve2 about two giive biirth- you're planning two ju2t, ju2t off them?! No fuckiing way! II'm not gonna murder a bunch of mom2 and theiir brand-new kiid2 ju2t 'cau2e they deciided two exii2t!"

Simon kept backing up, away from both not-Connor and Al's storefront, along the sidewalk. "Nope. No way. You'd never murder kiid2, Madii2on, II know that. Fuck thii2."

Maybe if he wanted it hard enough he could go back to the cat-flown airship and get away from this mess.

- - - -

Madison angrily climbed out of the humvee, words burning themselves into her skin like brands, fresh and hot and sizzling and smoking as her skin reddened and dug into her flesh without her notice. She drew her sidearm as she approached and leveled it at his head as the words came close enough to be readable.

A mew from nearby drew his attention as she began yelling at him like a drill instructor, "Get in this truck and help me kill the enemies of Man or so I will put you down, as a traitor to your own people! You think you know what's best!? YOU!? I've killed thousands in this war for peace and I will kill thousands more to win it!"

DEATH TO THE ENEMY

BULLETS ARE THE VESSELS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

WRATH IS A VIRTUE

THE UNCLEAN DESERVE TO DIE

EARTH BELONGS TO HUMANITY

NO ONE DEFIES THE MESSENGERS

MARTYRS AND MURDERERS AND VICTIMS WE ARE ALL THE SAME IN THEIR EYES

The mew was louder this time, coming from the corner of the building. It was his tiny kitten.

"You can do this!"

- - - -

Simon socked Not-Connor in the face, putting all his force behind the left-hook.

"NO!"

- - - -

Her jaw was as hard as steel. He not only heard but felt every single bone in his hand, from his knuckles - down his fingers - and down to halfway along his palm, shatter inside his hand.

She gripped his shirt and lifted him from his feet, growling in his face.

"You pathetic traitor. I knew you didn't have the balls for this life. You never did! You were a spineless, worthless shit stain when I found you and you're even more disgusting now. Slithering around, licking the heel of every Technocracy shoe that passes by and is close enough to stick to, like the pus slime that you are."

She threw him backward, landing hard against the wall to Al's.

"All so you could pretend to be somebody, with their toys and gadgets, instead of the nobody you were when that monster nearly got your sorry ass the first day on the job."

She pulled back the hammer on her handgun.

"I've passed bowel movements with more drive than you've had since the day we met."

- - - -

Simon's heart dropped like a rock, racing like a rabbit having a heart-attack, chilling his bones even over the aching fire in his dominant hand. He held it against himself, tears welling up from the pain and fear, but faced Not-Connor (a manifestation of the Messengers?) despite it all. The iron feeling of her jaw reminded him of the ItX Terminators they had worked with, but her words only spewed fire and hate, opinions and feelings even the most advanced HIT Mark couldn't possibly have had.

She drew her gun on him on the floor. He swallowed the fear in his throat. Turned out, he couldn't banish nightmares like these by hitting them really hard, even if their spouted hatred welled up all of his own like bile at the back of his throat.

That's what she embodied. That self-hatred, that feeling he always had of kicking himself when he was down and going lower, saying these things to himself like they were true.

But this wasn't true. This wasn't even real.

None of it lined up with what he knew, and that meant anything could happen.

Simon did his best to pull himself off of the floor, trying to ignore the aches in his body where it had believed it impacted the wall and concrete. He set his jaw.

"Gue22 there'2 no rea2oniing wiith you, then."

- - - -

The first bullet tore through his left shoulder, sending white hot lances of pain through his entire left side, even as his felt his clavicle break inward and his shoulder blade break outward, with the shuddering thunder of kinetic force ripples that shot through him in waves that took only microseconds to make their way through him and back.

He couldn't hear anything but the silence of a deafening tone, stronger in one ear than the other. Then the burning sting came, of exposed tissue, and a feeling like something had spilled on him. He didn't need to look to know he was bleeding. Probably badly.

Her mouth kept moving as she no doubt gloated over how feeble and inferior he was. It was a kind of tragedy, really, that even when deafened, he still knew exactly what she was probably saying.

"▄█▀ █ █▚▞▌ ⬤ █▚▌ ◣▌ ⬤ ▐▄█ █▬█ ▅▀▅ ▀▄▀ █☰ ▀█▀ ⬤ ▀▄▀▄▀ ▅▀▅ ▐◀ █☰ ▐▄█ ▐◣ ! ▐◣ █▄ █☰ ▅▀▅ ▄█▀ █☰ ! "

- - - -

Despite everything, Simone's voice, distorted as it was, chimed over his deafness from the gunshot. You have to wake up! Please!

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on her voice through the pain, to make it clearer. He had to shut this stupid, brutal dream out, and focus on that one constant.

END SCENE

[colorpicked-flags]

Gay flag colorpicked from the Fortnite Refer a Friend rewards

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Intentional

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing.\

The sacred mountain was burning, and as soon as her feet touched moss, Sunny was off and running, kicking up moisture from the runnels of recently fallen rainwater, spilling between the moss and wet earth. Inside her chest, her heart pounded with a sick uncertainty that turned her blood to ice in her veins.

Rain clouds clung desperately to the ceiling of sky, extending the wake of the nights recent rainstorm. The land before her was awash in a cold gray light, hemming in a halo of burning blue from the slopes of the sacred mountain.

As her eyes took in the scene before her, her desperate run turned into a jog, and then into a walk, which then petered away and left her standing stunned, at the crest of the mossy hill. The sacred mountain was burning, eerie and blue against the grayness of a rain soaked landscape. Ash spewed into the air as runnels of blue lava poured in waves down the mountain’s sides, painting the slopes in azure fire. Below, the rainwashed moss of the lower slopes burned with an acrid smell that choked her lungs even at this distance.

The sacred mountain had always been alight, but it had never burned like this. She scanned her eyes downward across the scene before her and tried to take in the face of the crowd before her, thousands strong. Drev of all ages and clans stood below her, forming themselves into a crowd that stretched out almost as far as the eye could see. Spears jutted upwards like the prickling spines of an alien creature, their capes glittering in a thousand rainbow colors, making up the creature’s scales .

And so she stood, the Saint of Anin.

Saint of the Sun.

And watched as their heritage burned.

Against the slow grayness of the morning the mountain was a black monolith hemmed in by a halo of blue, the hot springs continued to send up gouts of steam that obscured the pyroclastic flow, and then the clans of the fertile belt, paused in their warring long enough to stand side by side and watch everything fall down around them.

A hand came to fall against her shoulder.

She didn’t look up to see her brother, Kanan standing next to her, trailed by their sister Dzara. 

Kanan had called her early that morning to tell her the news, but still she hadn’t believed it until she saw it, and still didn’t really believe it now. 

“Naktan…?” She asked, not for the first time.

Kanan shook his head, “We don’t know. No one has seen him, and the mountain is too hot to approach…. If he’s up there…” His voice trailed off, but Sunny couldn’t take this ending for an answer.

She whirled in place catching sight of Adam as he jogged up the shallow incline.

His expression was grim.

“We have to find Naktan.” She said, her words more of a demand than a comment.

Adam nodded to her, his white hair waving in the muggy stillness that was the rain soaked dawn, and took a knee against the moss. He reached out, proffering the palm of his hand to the open air, and inside it sat a small silver ball, just small enough to fit inside his clenched fist.

Sunny recognized it almost immediately as a remote drone, and watched as Adam’s mechanical eye flared once with a sharp green light.

The ball let off a chime and then floated sharply into the air, shooting up to about head height.

The expression on Adam's face was distant.

“I’ll take a look.”

The ball shot off in a flash, towards the distant mountain, but despite its speed, Sunny felt it wasn’t fast enough, and began pacing back and forth over the wet moss as Adam knelt blankly in the dirt before them, his head tilted back ever so slightly, rays of UV light rolling in gentle ripples over his striped skin.

“Approaching the pinnacle now. The heat readings aren’t encouraging….” his voice trailed off, but they all knew what that meant.  It was very hot, even at the top of the mountain, and  if Naktan had been alive when all of this happened….

Sunny continued to pace, growing more agitated as the minutes wore on.

It was only at the peak of her pacing, that she was interrupted by a sharp jab of pain in her stomach. She stopped and grimaced, resting a hand on her stomach as the feeling persisted. Inside her, something moved, its agitation almost matching her own. 

Dzara came up behind her and rested a hand on her arm, “You okay?”

Sunny shrugged her sister off, “I’m fine.” She turned back to look at Adam, “Anything?” She tried to reign in her concern and impatience, but it was nearly impossible.

“In the canyon now…. It's very smoky, but I…. I think I might.” then he trailed off and the expression on his face was easy enough to read.

Sunny had to resist the urge to grab Adam by the shoulders and shake him, demanding to know what he could see.

Even so, she managed to control herself, watching as Adam’s eyes widened with shock and horror, His mouth forming into a perfect O of surprise and horror.

“No…”

“What!?”

All three of them clustered around Adam now.

And when he looked up at them, they already knew what he was going to say.

“Naktan is dead.”

Sunny felt her heart fall through her stomach, but wasn’t prepared for what came next.

“Someone killed him.”

It was Dzara who found her voice first, “KIlled him! Who would Kill Naktan, how would they…. I…” The guardian of Drev tradition, wasn’t someone you just killed. Sunny was a saint, and she doubted even she could best him in a fight. In fact, she was sure she couldn’t. 

It simply wasn’t possible 

And she refused to beehive it.

Adam blinked once, some semblance of awareness coming back to his eyes as he looked up to face them.

His expression was grim, but there was no doubt in his eyes when he spoke, “She left her spear.”

The cold dread in Sunny’s chest crystalized in an instant, turning her insides into a solid block of cold.

There was no doubt in her mind what Adam meant.

The cold fire in her belly turned into raging heat everywhere else, and she fought back the desire to scream. Even so her hands clenched into fists around the shaft of her spear. Her entire body vibrated with rage and anger. 

It couldn’t be possible.

It simply couldn’t.

It was just then that Celex appeared, floating down from the atmosphere on a halo of golden light. His billowed around him as he touched the ground, keen eyes bright with the fire of the mountain. A now, fully mature Maker, his understanding of the war that they were in had been a valuable asset since Maverick's disappearance, but now, she didn’t want him for that.

She pointed at Celex command rising in her voice, the moment his feet touched soil, “Go.”

She didn’t bother to articulate her desire, knowing he would understand fully.

Despite being the most powerful person on this planet, he didn’t argue with her as her tone broached no argument, turning and launching himself back into the air.

He worked quickly, and they watched as he left a golden artifact of light behind him as he zipped through the open air and towards the mountain.

She waited for his return, sick and burning with anger as she waited.

The world around her hardly seemed real.

Naktan couldn’t be dead.

It simply wasn’t possible.

The sacred mountain had never been without a guardian.

Ever.

Inside her body, her stomach took another sick turn, and she gritted her teeth against another sudden, jarring pain, but she couldn’t think of that right now 

Celex appeared a few minute slater, golden light shooting from the top of the motuain’s crater, and as he drew closer, Sunny could see the black dot he carried with him. Soon the black dot resolved itself into a shape. Due to Naktan’s size, Celex had been forced to change his shape, shifting himself to appear as a technicolor Drev, so he could be big enough to hold Naktan’s body.

The entire crowd had turned to follow his movement, growing still and silent as the scene played out before them.

Celex landed on the mossy hillside, and gently bent to rest Naktan on the ground.

Below them, the crowd grew still in a wave through the waiting assemblage.

Naktan did not seem small in death. Even now, he was larger than life, his black carapace shining like onyx in the castoff blue light. His eyes were cold, and his hands were neatly clasped around the haft of his spear, masked in serenity even as Celex stepped to avoid the black shaft sticking out of his heart.

Blood coated his body, a garash orange that seemed to be an insult to the dim morning.

Sunny swallowed her rage and sadness, bending over to more fully examine the body.

Her eyes ran over the golden warpaint that marked his carapace, and the rivulets of blood, now dry, that caked his own blade, “He was expecting a fight.” Her jaw tightened as she examined the patterns of blood spatter that flecked his regal head. He wore no armor, but she had never needed to.

“This blood isn’t his…. At least not all of it.” her voice felt distant, even to her, but her simmering rage was loud inside her head.

Kazna had killed Naktan.

But it wasn’t simply her rage against kazna that held her, but rage against Naktan himself. Naktan could beat anyone in a fight, that was no question. This wound , the one that had speared him through the heart was simply too clean. If this fight had been difficult she would have expected to see other wounds, but other than the killing blow that had taken his life, he was simply unmarred. 

There was no doubt in Sunny’s mind that had he wanted to, he could have killed Kazna.

If Naktan’s death was anything.

It was purely intentional.

Inside, Sunny’s guts twisted, squeezing tightly, and she had to fight not to double over with pain as her insides contracted to the pulse of her rage. 

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 6

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine. Here we are at the final part!

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral and unprotected, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit and my photos of Murano & Burano)

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

{…𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖?}

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy awoke early the next morning, reaching over to his phone on the bedside table and tapping the screen to see what time it was. Seven. Plenty of time to have a shower and make his way down to the breakfast room.

Standing under the stream of hot water, he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive. What if she had done another runner? He wouldn’t be able to cope with that. He didn’t think she would have, but…. he just wasn’t 100% sure what she was thinking or feeling right now.

After his full disclosure of what he’d got up to with Madani followed swiftly by his confession of love last night, he felt more optimistic but he could tell she was still conflicted.

He’d just have to do whatever he could today to persuade her to give him another chance.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Making your way into the light and airy breakfast room at just after eight, you couldn’t deny you were pleased to see Billy, sitting up super straight like a well-behaved schoolboy, already at a table.

His face broke into a huge smile when he spotted you, and you could see a large measure of relief wrapped up in it. You knew he would’ve been wondering if you had run out on him again. But no, you’d decided overnight to at least see how things went today on your trip to the Lagoon Islands.

He’d thrown you a curveball by telling you he loved you last night, and while you were relieved to hear that he hadn’t slept with that woman (his anger when you’d pushed him on it had finally convinced you that he hadn’t), you still weren’t exactly happy with what he had admitted to doing. It was still cheating in your book.

Could you ever really trust him again?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy fussed over her like a mother hen when she sat down across from him at the table, jumping up and rushing over to the buffet table, picking out a selection of toast, focaccia, butter, jams and Nutella for her along with a couple of mini pain au chocolat croissants. They were her favourites so he felt quite proud of himself as he laid the plate before her like the spoils of war, before making his way to the coffee machine and creating a cappuccino for her.

“Thank you, Billy - you’re spoiling me,” she said with a small grin. “Your every wish is my command, Princess,” he smiled back, hand covering hers and stroking gently. Now she started properly laughing at him, and he huffed, slightly offended. Once she’d calmed down a bit she said, “Honestly Billy, you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. All I need from you is complete honesty.” Billy tried to look as convincing as he possibly could, “I will be, sweetheart, I promise.”

She took a sip of her cappuccino, and fixed him with an intense stare. “Bearing that in mind, Billy, just what exactly was going through your mind when you were making out with Madani?”

Billy blew out a big breath; he hadn’t seen that coming. “Well… uhh… nothin’ really. I was just doing somethin’ I had to do, and needed to get it over with as quick as possible.” Another sip of coffee, another intense look from her. “Uh-huh. So you didn’t enjoy it then? Is that what you’re saying?”

Billy suddenly felt like he was back on very thin ice. He could feel himself squirming in his seat, and fought to keep still. Madani was, in all truth, a pretty woman.

Fuck.

What should he say in reply to that?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes were drilling into Billy’s, and he looked about as comfortable as someone who’d just found out he’d got a scorpion down his trousers.

His face flushed pink, so you could guess what that meant. He cleared his throat, and then said in a low voice, “Look, she’s not bad lookin’ so it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could’ve been.”

You smirked, not ready to let him off the hook yet, “So you were attracted to her, then. Not sure I’m happy to hear that, Billy.”

“NO! No, I wasn’t. Well.. like I said, she’s not unattractive but I’m not interested in her.”

You picked up your knife and aggressively sliced right through one of croissants. The look on Billy’s face was priceless. No doubt he’d guessed that the croissant was a surrogate for a certain part of his anatomy.

“Sweetheart, they weren’t long or involved kisses… not real ones, not like between you an’ me,” he said in a worried tone, very unlike his usual assertive manner. “Sweetheart, you’re the one I’m in love with. The only one I want to be with.” He was gazing earnestly at you, hand covering yours.

You cut off another piece of croissant and popped it into your mouth.

Billy would have to work a hell of a lot harder than that today if he was going to get you back, you thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once the vaporetto had moored alongside the jetty you walked on board the boat up the ramp in front of Billy, while the disembarking passengers walked down the other side of it as it swayed from side to side, the boat moving in its own wake. The crew member who’d expertly tied up the boat a few moments ago was still calling out “Palanca, Palanca” as you headed through the covered section to the open area right at the back, sitting down on the bench seat in the stern and turning your face up to the sun.

Billy sat next to you, scooting as close to you as he could, suddenly lunging in for a hungry kiss. Two mothers with children in tow emerged through the doors leading from the salon, and you pushed him away while hastily smiling at the newcomers, saying, “Giorno” to them. Both of them smiled at you, returning your greeting, but then their eyes slid over to Billy and you saw both sets widening as they looked him over. You sighed. Having a hot boyfriend sucked sometimes. And Billy was looking particularly hot today in leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans and combat boots.

However, you noticed that Billy’s eyes were glued to you, still gazing at you ever since you’d fended him off. You didn’t think he’d even glanced at the other two women.

OK, Russo - one point on the plus side to you, you conceded.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was paying full attention to his girl. He felt slightly triumphant that he’d managed to steal a kiss, and she’d only shoved him away when he’d vaguely heard the salon doors opening behind him.

He was so worried that she still hadn’t made her mind up whether to take him back or not, and he knew that today was his final chance to convince her to do so. Whatever was in his power to do, he’d do, to make that happen. And he wasn’t dumb, that meant not paying any attention whatsoever to any other females in the vicinity. He’d guessed that a couple of women had arrived along with the kids he could hear squealing and laughing just out of his sight line, so he made sure he kept his eyes trained solely on her.

Her lips curved upwards in a small smile as she looked back at him.

Pleased, he thought - ha, think I just scored a point there.

He wondered how many more of those he needed to rack up to finally win his woman back.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were no direct vaporetti lines to the Lagoon Islands so you had to firstly go to Fondamente Nove, which was a busy hub for several of the numerous lines. You wanted to visit two of the main islands; Murano - where Venetians had made their famed glass items for centuries - and Burano, an island of fishermen and lacemakers. You were really excited to go there, as the houses were painted in a rainbow of colours. Legend had it that this was so the returning fishermen could spot their own individual houses as they returned home across the lagoon.

You needed to find the ferry stop for Line 12, which luckily Billy spotted just as the two of you were about to walk right past it. There was a vaporetto arriving just as you did and swiping your travel passes, you went aboard and took seats in the salon. This ferry was a slightly different type to the others you’d been on, longer and lower and was soon packed with locals and tourists alike.

It took a little while to arrive at Murano, alighting at the Faro stop. They still produced glassware on Murano but nothing like as much as they had in the past. You and Billy wandered alongside one of the main canals, looking into the windows of all the little glass shops until you came to the entrance of one of the big glass foundries.

They offered tours of the workshop and of course also had a shop, so the two of you paid for the tour and watched in amazement as an old man took a fiery red and yellow blob onto the end of a pole, and blew and turned it until it started to take on the shape of a little vase.

In the store, you browsed along the shelves looking at all the glassware on display, until you suddenly noticed you were alone. Glancing around, you spotted a dark head over in the corner at the cash desk and were heading over there when Billy turned round. His trademark smirk appeared and he hurriedly picked up the little paper carrier bag which was on the counter by its handles and strode towards you.

“See anything you like, sweetheart?”

Smirk getting wider. You eye-rolled and grabbed his arm, noting at the same time that the female sales assistant was still gawping at Billy, even though he now had his back to her. You tugged him towards the door, asking, “What’ve you just bought?” as you went. He shook his head, “Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” You glared at him, “Billy….” but he just kept grinning as you left the store and wouldn’t say anything, even though you nipped at his wrist just below his leather jacket sleeve with your nails.

“Wanna get a coffee?” he suggested, as you resumed your canalside stroll. “Yeah, okay,” you replied, stopping next to the outdoor tables of a small caffé and sitting down, Billy joining you. He slid his hand over yours, “M’glad we’ve got this time together today, sweetheart. Wanna make you understand just how much you mean to me.”

You nodded in acknowledgment before waving at the waiter and ordering two double macchiatos. You carried on, “The main problem I have, Billy, is how I’m ever going to trust you again? You might not think you cheated, but that’s what it is in my book.”

Billy looked over at you, eyes wide, sad …and scared.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had then looked up and thanked the waiter as the coffees were placed in front of you both. He really didn’t know what to say, to be honest. He knew Frank - and no doubt Karen - also thought that it had counted as cheating. But he truly hadn’t. Well…. Cheating Lite, as he’d already designated it in his head. But not proper, down-and-dirty, long-term cheating. It had been a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. He just hadn’t considered the bigger picture. At all. And that had been a big mistake.

He took a sip of his coffee, and cleared his throat before spilling out what had just gone through his head. “Y’know I’m not exactly an expert at relationships, angel. In fact, I’m sure you’ll agree I’m totally shit at them. I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. Tell me how things need to be. Please don’t give up on us, don’t leave me… please.” Billy was completely and utterly pouring out his heart to her, and he prayed she could see that.

His girl looked at him, some anger and hurt still in her eyes but she managed a shaky breath and looked down into the depths of her coffee cup for a few moments.

Billy held his breath.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your eyes met his again, “But how am I going to trust you again, Billy, tell me that? Every time you say you’re working late, how d’you expect me not to think you’re meeting up with her or someone else?”

Now it was Billy’s turn to look down. The silence stretched out to a few minutes, and you did nothing to break it. Eventually he looked up at you again, “M’tryin’ to think of how I can prove to you that I’ll never, ever, do something like that again - whether it’s work-related or not.”

He reached across and slid his long fingers between yours, holding onto your hand so tightly it felt like he’d never let go.

“Firstly, I give you my word as an ex-Marine that I won’t ever pull a stunt like this again. Secondly, I’ll be the most attentive boyfriend you’ve ever had. In and out of the sack.” You tried to hide a smile, but you knew he’d seen it. “Thirdly, I’ll put a tracker on my phone, and I’ll hack you into my messagin’ and email apps so you’ll have absolute access to my location and comms.” He was smirking back at you by now, he felt this was going pretty well.

“But you’ve got access to burner phones, Billy.”

His smile dimmed, while his brain scrambled to come up with a solution to this inconvenient fact. You saw his eyes light up and the smirk returned, “Easy. I’ll put Frank in sole charge of issuing them and I’ll tell him not to give me any unless it’s absolutely necessary for an op.”

“Could just buy them in Walmart’s,” you dropped into the slight pause after he’d finished speaking. His face fell again, and now you burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, Billy - I get the message. I see that you’re doing your best to be honest and transparent. There’s no need for you to put all that tracking and hacking in place.”

Billy beamed at you.

“I’ll just get Micro to track your ass.”

His mouth dropped open as you spoke.

“And monitor all your calls and texts.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Woah! thought Billy, didn’t think she’d be getting King Nerd involved. That was probably Karen’s idea. Gee, thanks Karen. But he would agree, what else could he do? And he’d offered to track himself, so it didn’t really matter in any case, did it?

“Uhhh…” he stuttered, “….uhh yeah, whatever you like, sweetheart.”

She smiled over at him, a genuine smile. “It’s OK, Billy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She side-eyed him, “Unless you give me good cause. Like… coming home stinking of another woman’s perfume ever again.”

His hand went over his heart, and he put on his best puppydog eyes. “Angel, I swear on my life - never. Never. Ever. Again.”

She nodded. “Okay, Billy, I’ll take that as you being on oath now, just like when you joined the Marines.” His eyes widened and he nodded fast. “Yeah. I am. I’m on oath.”

He watched as she drained the very last few drops of her coffee. “Okay, Russo! Let’s go,” she said standing up and picking up her bag.

“Yes, ma’am!” He jumped up and saluted, taking his place at her side as they retraced their steps to the Faro stop and their next vaporetto.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d hopped onto the next Line 12 ferry which arrived, and recommenced your onwards journey to Burano. Sitting inside the salon again, the loud chatter around you from the mostly local passengers almost drowned out any conversation you and Billy tried to have. He finally leaned right up against you, snaking his arm round your waist, his lips against your ear.

“Got you a little somethin’, sweetheart.” He handed you the gift bag.

Opening it, you saw a mass of tissue paper inside the bag and took it out. “Careful!” he warned, so you slowly opened up the paper and saw a delicate rose pink heart trinket box sitting at its centre. You lifted its little lid up and then replaced it, delighted with it. Smiling at Billy, you said, “I love it!” into his ear and kissed his cheek. His lips returned to your ear, “See? You have my heart.”

Now you rolled your eyes heavenwards, “I’d stop there if I were you, Russo. Cheesy really doesn’t suit you!” He burst out laughing. “Hey! Give a guy a break. He’s over here layin’ his heart and soul right out in front of you.”

You leant in and kissed him on the lips, before pulling back and saying, “And don’t read too much into that!” But Billy was already grinning happily back at you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was happy. His steps were light as he walked beside her from the vaporetto stop along a small street, lined with stalls and shops selling souvenirs and lacework, which eventually led to a square.

She loved the trinket box! he thought, very pleased with himself. The minute he’d seen it he knew that she would, and had decided to buy it on the spot. While he didn’t want her to think he was trying to buy her back, he’d just wanted to make some gesture to show her that he treasured her, the same way she’d treasure the little things she put in it.

He blurted all of this out to her as they strolled along. She stopped walking and looked at him, amazed, “Billy Russo! I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He felt shy suddenly, and he could feel his face heating up. What was happening to him? Is this what love did to you? He didn’t hate it. “It’s how I feel,” he mumbled, looking away from her. He felt her hand on his cheek, “Well, keep that up and maybe, just maybe…”

She turned and started walking again, and Billy hurried to catch up with her. I won’t push it, he thought, I’ll just leave it be while I’m on a winning streak.

There was another street leading off the square which was full of trattorias and caffés, and they chose one of the restaurants to sit outside, the tables rapidly filling as more people from the vaporetto stop arrived.

She’s definitely looking at me more kindly, he thought. Things might just be okay after all.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After a delicious lunch of pasta and several glasses of wine, you and Billy started exploring the little canals and streets with their cute colourful houses. They looked so bright and beautiful in the sunlight, and you imagined the fishermen back in the day sailing home and being able to see their own little house from afar.

You reached the waterside, beside a quiet little square with houses all around it and some grass in the middle, clothes on washing lines strung across it, blowing in the breeze. There was no-one else around and suddenly you found yourself pressed up against the wall of one of the houses, Billy’s long fingers on the nape of your neck, his hand on your waist. His dark chocolate eyes were gazing into yours, a soft look in them. But you could also feel something a lot harder pressing into your hip, and you saw desire spark in his eyes.

His mouth was on yours and he kissed you, the sudden passion of which took you by surprise. He pulled back, his forehead touching yours. “I’ve missed your touch so much,” he whispered, “…every minute of every day since you.. since you left me.” You laid your hand on his chest, “I missed you too, Billy - even if I did hate you at the time.” He chuckled, “Do you still hate me?” You looked into those beautiful eyes, “No, I guess I don’t. Although you’re still walking a line, Billy.”

He nodded, “I know. I do know. But promise me you’ll give me another chance?” You smiled at him, pushing yourself away from the wall and him, “Let’s see, shall we?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy tapped on her hotel room door, and gave her a devilish grin as she opened it. He’d made sure to wear a white tank and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. He knew she liked him in those.

She was already in her sleepwear - an oversized Anvil T which she’d stolen from him ages ago - and leant against her door, looking back at him, amused. “Why Billy, whatever brings you here?”

He just kept grinning at her and also leant against her doorframe. As if she didn’t know, he thought. She’d had to spend the entire journey back from Burano fending off his hands and mouth.

“Just checkin’ you’re OK, sweetheart. See if there’s anything you need.”

She laughed. “And what could I possibly need, Billy?”

He angled his body so that she couldn’t fail to get a great view of his toned torso and more importantly, the very obvious outline of his erection showing in his joggers. If there was one thing Billy had complete confidence in, it was the effect his body had on women.

“I can think of one or two things, sweetheart.”

He was ecstatic when her hand reached out and grabbed him round the back of his neck, pulling him into her room. “Uhuh… maybe you should show me what those are.”

Billy’s grin got twice as wide.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You gave a huge sigh as Billy pushed inside you, hearing an answering one from him and you ran your hands up into his lush hair. You couldn’t deny it, you had missed him. And his enthusiastic lovemaking.

However you were a little taken aback when he began moving slowly and sensually on you, instead of his usual frenetic pace. He was stroking your hair, placing little kisses all over your face and neck, running his hands over your body, whispering “I love you, love you so much” between his languid thrusts. He slid a hand down and massaged your clit, so well that you climaxed within a few short moments. Not long afterwards, you heard him gasp and he released into you, with a long groan.

The two of you lay in silence, side by side but still entwined. Then Billy leant across and kissed you, softly, slowly, with passion. “I can’t be without you, angel.” The puppydog eyes were out in force again as he gazed at you, “Please. Gimme another chance. I’ll be a better boyfriend, a million times better.”

You continued to look back at him, then gave a quick nod, “Okay. Yes, okay Billy. But one… just one transgression…” His hands went up in supplication, “Understood! Not one transgression will be made.”

“And you make sure to tell that thirsty bitch back in New York that her little dates with you won’t be happening anymore.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Already done.”

He saw her eyebrows rise.

Oh. Oh, she thinks that means I’ve been in touch with her.

“No, sweetheart…. Frankie took care of that for me while I’ve been away.”

She smirked, “Pleased to hear it.”

Billy let out a sigh of relief, he was going to have to be so careful over the next few months. He’d only just got her back! He couldn’t let a stupid, chance remark or two ruin it. He ran his hand over her hair again. “I’m so happy, y’know? M’never going to take you for granted again.” He saw her smile widen in the darkness of the room.

“But, sweetheart, you gotta promise me something too.” She looked at him, puzzled, amused, “Oh, yeah?���

“Yeah. No more runnin’ out on me and flyin’ halfway round the world.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss @bruxa0007 @aleksanderwh0r3 @theshadowkingsqueen @bat-luna-cat @carlywhomever

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[boneswriteswords]

Just A Little Longer - Michelangelo

A/N: Here is my self indulgent Mikey goodtime lime. Let me live. (It isn’t a lime. Its a lemon. But lime rhymes with time.)

Unbeta’d because no one has the time for editing.

Also I have no idea if any of it makes sense so.....

~~~~~~

The bright neon LED lights of the alarm clock on your nightstand stood guard over you as you blinked awake. 2:04am. Awareness came slowly, your eyes dripping sleep even as the rest of you came online. You shifted, extending your body into a stretch, grinning when a muffled groan erupted from behind you.

A thick leg forced its way between yours. A heavy arm landed across your abdomen. A hard chest molded into your back.

Beyond your apartment walls, sounds of the city rage on. Waves of muted color trickle through the crack in your black-out curtains. Lines of yellow light bleed over the room. There are police sirens passing by as the house party three doors down blasts the newest Ariana Grande album. Someone honks their car horn in vicious repetition. If you strain, you can hear an muffled fighting and the shuffling of clothes as it turns physical.

All the noises harmonize and fade into nothing as you flip over, encouraging the limbs of your bed partner to stay entangled with yours. You’ve lived in the city long enough that the noises and the people and the lights don’t register much to you unless you focus on them. You know the sounds of danger from the sounds of the loud and that’s all you really need to know. Rainbow noise guided you, filtering through all the memories that you have access to you, and anything less has no space in your life.

Quiet nights are eerie after years of noise and you are more than happy having Mikey hold you in bed while the world keeps going around you.

REM does not return after closing your eyes again and you concede to being awake. It isn’t awful, not with the way Mikey clutches onto you as he shuffles - head nuzzling into whatever crevice he can reach. You can tell he is waking.

He can never remain asleep if he feels you are awake. He struggles to remain in a plan of existence where you aren’t. He fights himself awake and you never know if you need to be concerned or flattered by it.

You watch the lights as they bounce off objects in your room before looking back at him. Blurry lines. Soft shapes. Calming motions as they dance back and forth. They are beautiful but you’d much rather look at Mikey.

He has an arm curled loosely over your side while the other is resting under the pillow you both were using. You both liked long thick pillows that went from one side of the bed to the other. A small commonality made sweeter by your domesticity. His hand is curled limply and you remember that he had been stroking your head when you had fallen asleep earlier.

The muted light makes his green skin lighter. Shadows dip into the crevices of his skin and scars, revealing texture you usually only can feel. There is a darkness under his jaw and around his eyebrow ridge. You find yourself tracing the lines of shadow and light with your eyes, hurling the idea that anything could be more captivating out of the window. His breath is steady but his eyes are twitching behind his eyelids.

You see his eyes open. Three blinks and he is awake. You are jealous of how easy it is for him to go from one state of being to the next. He falls asleep quickly and he awakens even quicker. Deep blue eyes find yours and he smiles, moving his arm to drag you the tiniest bit closer. His lips twitch as he draws slow circles in the space between your shoulder blades.

There is an ache in your body, a reminder of the way he had rushed into your apartment as soon as the sun was down. The impact into the wall. Manic energy. Breathless laughter as pent-up passion bubbled over.

Your fingers trace down the side of his face, dipping down from the line of his throat to the pools of his collarbones below his plastron. He churrs the tiniest bit in response and it sounds a lot like the noise he makes when you tease the skin of his neck between your teeth.

You can’t leave marks on him. His skin just doesn’t color the ways a human’s might. Its thicker. Denser. Darker. Scalier. You can’t leave scratches either. It was a bit disappointing to find this out but knowing that he’d enjoy your marks if he was able to have them seizes you in ways you have never experienced. You imagine lining little rouge starbursts down his next and across the broadness of his shoulders and the way he would walk around with them proudly. Red lines connecting red flowers like vines.

His eyes scan over you. He is visual.

Its not always like this. You and him alone. Some nights its you and Mikey and the ghosts that follow you both. There are eyes in the shadows and they have many names and you never know who you are speaking to. They lurk while he cleans his weapons in the living room. They boldly take a seat next to you while you watch a movie tucked under his arm. Some nights, you pull up a seat at the table and serve them as Mikey makes a joke about something that happened during your day.

They exist and they try to make their home in your spaces and they take a toll on the nights when you are too weary to kick them out. A mix-match of traumas that spiral and float and smother and linger.

Mikey doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve. He rips open his chest and holds the organ up into the light directly. Makes you watch as it beats and pulses and moves his lifeblood through his body. There are no questions about what he does, how he feels. He is on display by choice, flitting about vulnerable as if there are no monsters in the world he lives in.

But there are days where he wraps himself up behind a glass wall to separate himself from the rest of the world. Deep-rooted hopelessness drains his light, his strength a house of cards edging towards collapse. His voice cracks and wavers. Its never his fault. No one asks for trauma. No one asks to be too late. No one asks for the life he’s lived.

Only recently has a door appeared in the glass. He always tells you where the key is so you can open it. You make sure to crack open the door and wait for him to invite you in further. If he does, you sit inside with him. If he doesn’t, you sit outside and wait for the wall to come down.

And then there are the days where you are translucent. You look down at your body and see through it, faintly incorporeal. A ghost. Light bleeds through you as you walk under the sun. Intangible and lost. You don’t feel real even as your ribs ache and the steady stream of your heartbeat remains. All that exists is quiet breathing.

All your worst nightmares are of you reaching out to hold Mikey’s hand but it goes through him. You can’t grip onto him and he walks away because he can’t see you.

Mikey tells you that he sees you. He grips your hand and squeezes and pulls you in close on the off chance that you feel like your floating away. He won’t let you but he doesn’t begrudge your fear. No one asks for the life you’ve lived.

Jeers erupt from outside but neither of you flinch. You just lean closer into each other. Mikey runs his hand up and down your spine, eyes wet, and you are astounded once more how stubbornly he loves you. How intensely he feels for you. How he believes so much that you both are it. The endgame.

You wish you could take the shadows that live behind his eyes and demand they leave. “You can’t have him,” you imagine you’d say, “He is mine. And I’m not scared of you. I love him too much.” If that meant pulling a seat up for them in the living room and offering them a whiskey laced with intention, you’d do it.

Mikey’s hand slips under your night shirt, his palm flat against the skin of your back and you melt against him. You have studied those hands and all the ways they make you feel things and you exhale harshly and slowly so as to not disturb the rays of muted light.

“You doing okay?” Mikey asks, voice dripping with drowsiness despite the awareness present in his baby blues. “Its late. Or early. Whatever. Was it a nightmare?”

“No baby,” you respond, pressing your mouth against his beak, “No nightmares tonight.”

“Good.”

You press another kiss to his beak before ducking down a little and pressing another one to the side of his mouth. The arm under the blanket shifts. His fingers stroke your head.

There is a lull.

“I love you.”

Its comes out unexpectedly but you aren’t ashamed of it. He already knows. That relationship milestone has long since passed. Even so, the words are splintered, cracked around the edges and easy to be drowned out by the sounds of screeching tires on the road and idiots on the street.

But the impact is till the same. The look he gives you is blue fire and he guides you closer for a kiss. It starts off light, gentle, a nudge against your mouth but his fingers cradled the back of your head as he deepens it. “Love you too. So much” is mumbled as he presses further into you.

Arousal simmers on the back-burner as an afterthought. You had fucked hard earlier - a frenzy, a reconnection after a week of only facetime calls and voice memos that left you worked up and over. You know you will fuck again when the sun is up because Mikey loves starting the days off right when you are both in the same place.

Right now is the time to relearn the shape of his mouth as he kisses you lazily. You pull back slowly. You stare at him and he stares at you, movements slow.  

A beat.

Two.

Three.

“You remember the talks we had?” you whisper before you could stop, brushing your nose over his, “when we had just met? The ones that lasted days at time?”

“Yeah,” he responds, his voice low, “That was a long time ago but I do. I don’t think I could ever forget.” There are flashes of light behind his eyes and you know he remembers each call. Each text thread that was either memes or philosophical questions that had you trying to unearth the truth of the universe. Each conversation that spanned days because real life creates lulls between responses.

“I fell in love with you there,” you whisper back, “Somewhere in those calls, I turned over to look into the phone and realized that you were mine and there would never be anyone else for me.”

“Yeah?” its a soft question that, from the look on his face, doesn’t require an answer, “You too?” You nod anyway. He deserves to see it.

He grins.

“I’m glad that we took our time,” you continue, wiggling as his hand scratches at your back the tiniest bit, “I like that we are friends. I like that I can say “Mikey is my best friend” when they ask me about my boyfriend. I’m glad that I got the chance to like you.”

“I like you too angel,” he whispers, his voice getting softer, warmth bleeding in the spaces between words. Heat singes around his eyes, “I like you so much.”

You hold him tighter, “no one knows my soul like you do.”

Mikey surges forward to kiss you again, his hand running down from your back to the side of your thigh. He rolls you both so he is half on top of you, maneuvering a thigh between your legs and pressing your chests touch as he slips his tongue between your waiting lips. You arms reach up to rest along the broadness of his shoulders, fingers dancing along the lip of his shell.

When he pulls back, his breathing is harsh, “you know mine angel.”

There is a sense of peace with knowing that all your exposed parts are being kept safe. The storms pass. Smoke is cleared. Petrichor sweetens the air. The dead are laid to rest so flowers can grow on their remains. The sun is bright.

Between you, pleasure kindles slowly. Hands roam and tug and cup. Kisses are scattered like constellations. There are murmurs of praise and whispers of awe. Time blurs as you sink down into it.

Mikey brushes his lips along the side of your face as he glances as the clock, the sun peeking its head above the skyline from the window, “Do you want me now?”

“Now.” You punctuate the word with a roll of your hips against his thigh. “I want to feel you.”

He sighs under his breath, hands shifting you until you are where he wants you. Your night clothes are removed and dropped by the side of your bed. His shorts follow, landing right on top of yours. He nestles firmly between your open thighs. “Okay angel. You can have me. You can have everything.”

The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. The slide of his cock into you has you gripping onto him. He draws it out, indulgent in the way you stutter and writhe against him. Its a seamless fit, despite his size. You are still prepped from earlier, wet and accommodating, and he drips like a faucet.

Mikey had never known sex could be like this. He always expected that sex would be purely physically, a thing that couples did to feel good and sate any hormonal urges. No one ever told him about how it feels when hands grip onto him, leaving trails of sparks and comets and tingles across his body that linger for days. No one ever told him that his lovers moans could vibrate along his vertebrate and resonate in the parts of his unknown. The void in his chest fills with liquid gold when he hears his named sobbed against his skin.

You hadn’t known either.

And even though you both do now, even though you crave each other more fiercely than you crave air, it always feels new when you collide. Every sensation has been redefined. Vulnerability has never felt so powerful.

You cry as you feel his cock pulse inside of you as he bottoms out and grinds forward. He grunts, his arms keeping your hips flush against his.

“How do you always feel so good?” Words emphasized with deep thrusts. Hard, slow, tapering into a grind before pulling back out. ”Always so good for me. Meant for me. Made for me to love. Made to take me.”

“Yes,” you hiss back, breath hot against his neck. Mikey adjusts, one of his hands remaining on your hip while the other slides to grip your arms behind your back. He presses you flush against his plastron, back arched off the bed and supported by the strength in his arms as he holds you. “Meant for you. And you found me.”

The casual, effortless show of strength spreads a warm haziness across your mind. You lean into it.

“Fuck - Mi...I-” There are tears in your eyes as you gasp and shudder as Mikey picks up the pace. Without warning, your mouth is covered by his and you can feel his smile against yours. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere and tapers off as the kiss turns hungry.

“Shh I have you,” he gasps between his own pleasured noises, “I have you. You are safe here. What do you need?” His hand strokes along your face as he rocks into you. His voice is breathless but full of intent. “Tell me what you want.”

“Everything,” you babble as he grind right up against your good spot, “I want everything with you.”

He groans, breathing deep as the colors blur into shapes. He tucks his arm back under you, grinding harder, your clit catching along the hardness of his plastron. Your legs tremble around his hips. Mikey kisses you again before he ducks down to your neck and shoulder, his mouth hungry and burning. Ravenous.

Something about romance ignites a wildfire inside of Mikey. You exploit it as often as you can and he lets you because you both know that nothing is said without intent, without meaning. Honesty burns under your skin and shines through your eyes every time you press words of love into his skin like galaxies in a telescope. He basks in the attention. He worships under it.

In return, Mikey spills filth into your ears. The kind that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is but god does he know what you need to hear.

(”You feel perfect, hot and tight.”/ “I’m yours.”/ “I can feel you. You are real.”/ “I know, angel, I know. You’ve been wanting me so much. You need me. I need you too.”/ “I’m going to show you I love you. You’ll never doubt it. You’ll never doubt that I love you.”/ “Angel I’m not scared of your ghosts. They are scared of me.”/)

Mikey’s voice is serrated in ways no one but you have heard. Raw and carnal and deeper than most would expect, flashing dark around the edges the more passionate he gets, the more he reaches down inside of you to pull out the parts of you only he sees. 

You fall apart from the inside and can do nothing as the bottom drops out. You aren’t scared, not with the way Mikey holds you and chases away anything that could ruin this. His “I loves yous” bleed into your skin and you take hold of his pain and strangle it. There is no room for the grief and emptiness as violent tremors rack your bodies and hands cradle exposed hearts. The lights flash and dance as the decrescendo halts everything around you.

Heavy breathing fill the room. Whispered praise is soft and there is shuffling. You wipe each other down as best you can with the wet wipes you keep by the bed before pulling each other closer. The morning light is higher, peeking between the blinds and under the edges of the curtains. 

Eventually you’ll get out of bed. Clean up properly. Make food and spend time together with your clothes on. Relax in the knowledge that the day is a good one with no dark figures hanging in the corners, waiting to come in. But, thats for later.

For now, you lay close, breathing each other in. Hands are still roaming. No one has faded and there is no cold glass protecting warm skin. Mikey murmurs something and you smile. Your smile meets his smile and laughter joins in, glimmering in the light. You peck at his mouth and his fingers dig into the skin of your flesh before he grabs the comforter and hides you both underneath it.

Everything can wait. Just for a little longer. 

~~~~~

[jamcat-22]

A Hair-or Story

I wrote this in an hour, it’s late, and editing is for people who really care.

-------

Marinette woke up to a beautiful day in Gotham. The sky was clear for once, the birds chirping, and no alarms sounding anywhere. It was almost too peaceful.

Getting ready for the day, she decides to make the most of it and get the Wayne family outside to enjoy the fresh air for once. All those plans end as she takes a step outside her room.

Marinette closes her eyes, gripping onto the door handle ‘til her knuckles are white.

Richard John Grayson is flouncing down the corridors with long, voluminous locks reaching down his back. This beautiful day has turned into one of horror.

Taking deep breaths, she fully exits her room, catching the attention of the hairy atrocity.

He doesn’t seem to see the state she’s in. “Good morning, Mari! Isn’t such a lovely day! Ooh, I have something to show you.” He drags her horrified self through the maze that is Wayne Manor, past the old clock, and down the stairs to the cave beneath. “Close your eyes and stay right there.” She does just that, even if it’s to avoid staring at the – the thing made of hair.

After a few minutes, and quiet shuffling, a voice calls out, “Ta-da! Look, my new suit.” Marinette opens her eyes and faints.

---

When she wakes, she’s lying on a cot in the Batcave. Immediately, she spots the lion mane of black bush and screeches. Dick jumps, “What’s wrong?!”

Marinette stammers out the best she can, “C-cut your hair. Please.” She begs.

Dick raises his arms in a placating manner, “Okay. I didn’t think my hair was that bad. But okay.”

“Thank you.” She sighs in relief, before glaring and grinding out, “And I’m designing you a new suit, too.”

---

She thought her nightmare was over. But alas, her suffering continues, for Dick has cut his hair into a mullet. Dick is proudly spinning his new look. Marinette is crying.

---

At dinner, it appears that word had gotten around about Marinette’s request for Dick’s hair to be cut.

Everyone has shaved their hair to the point that you can see the skin underneath.

Everyone. Gone with their hair.

Marinette’s screams could be heard all the way in Gotham.

---

Getting ready for patrol doesn’t go any better, as their suits have suddenly changed in design. Batman is wearing a rainbow coloured Batsuit. Nightwing is wearing a suit with a high collar and deep neckline that shows off his chest. Red Hood is wearing a smooth, red, bullet shape on his head. Red Robin and Robin are both wearing the old Robin suits with no pants.

The world tilts on its axis once more.

---

Marinette lurches up from the bed in an instant. She’s back in her room and the sky outside is dark and raining. It is evident that she had been screaming in her sleep, as multiple bodies rapidly fill her room with their concern.

All is right in the world; it was just a nightmare. They all have hair, and it’s all styled to suit each of them. Marinette collapses back onto the bed in relief, confusing the occupants of her room. Her mutterings about hair and fashion only continue to fuel their confusion further.

*

*

All is right in the world; it was just a nightmare.

[pomrania]

Fantasy space

Spelljammer is a cool setting. Unfortunately, it was first written in 1989, for 2E D&D. I'm not going to require anyone to read old sourcebooks, even if they're really cool once you remove the old-edition-mechanics from them, so here's an overall summary of how it works. Additionally, there were some things I didn't like in "official" Spelljammer (like clerics not being to regain higher-level spells in a different crystal sphere), so it just makes sense to write out my version of things. (To clarify: everything I put here is consistent with “official” Spelljammer, to the best of my knowledge. If there is something I didn’t like, then I simply did not include it. There are also other things which I did like, but I did not include here because they were too specific for a general overview, or because I forgot.)

1. Fantasy space follows different rules than real-world space

We're not playing a sci-fi game, we're playing a fantasy game, after all. I'm putting in a brief summary of everything here, so hopefully it will make sense. Further sections give more details.

Planets happen inside wildspace, which is kind of like space-space but it isn't a vacuum. Each planetary system, with its planets and wildspace, is encased in a crystal sphere. The various crystal spheres are surrounded by the Flow, which is flammable and also prevents dimensional travel.

When in wildspace or the Flow, everything has its own air envelope; the air inside this will not vanish, but it will get used up and go bad. The larger the thing, the larger the air envelope. Large enough things have their own gravity, and the effects of its gravity reach as far as its air envelope.

2. Wildspace

Wildspace is what you get between planets. There is very little there, other than asteroids (which may or may not be inhabited), other ships, and wreckage (which may or may not have already been picked over). Most space travel happens in wildspace, because the things to travel between are closer together.

You will not die from imploding if you are thrown unprotected into wildspace. You will however probably die from suffocation once all your air has gone bad, since wildspace does not have atmosphere, but you will have some time to be rescued or find air before that happens.

3. Crystal spheres

A crystal sphere contains a planetary system. Inside of it are planets and wildspace; outside of it is the Flow.

The shell of a crystal sphere cannot be damaged by any known means. If you want to get through it, you need an opening. These openings happen naturally, and they seem to be at random. If you do not want to wait until an opening happens nearby, you can use magic to make an opening happen where you are. Sometimes this magic is built into a ship, but that makes the ship more expensive.

4. Phlogiston / the Flow

(The "proper" name is "phlogiston", but I'm going to call it "the Flow" because a) that's easier to write, b) it is synonymous in the sourcebooks, and c) I don't know how to pronounce "phlogiston".)

The Flow is what you get between different crystal spheres. It is luminous and rainbow-coloured, and also extremely flammable. If you light a fire while your ship is in the Flow, you're going to have a bad time. If you light a big fire while your ship is in the Flow, like if you're trying to cast Fireball, you are going to have a very bad time. Even if you're fireproof, and if your ship is made of things that don't catch on fire, chances are that your friends and your cargo are not also fireproof.

The Flow provides as much light as an overcast day. This is good because if you need to see, you do not want to light a candle or a torch if you enjoy not being on fire.

The Flow prevents any dimensional travel or access. If you have a Bag of Holding, you will not be able to access its contents while your ship is in the Flow. You will not be able to teleport, go ethereal, or summon creatures from other planes.

The Flow can preserve things. If you run out of breathable air while in the Flow, you go into suspended animation, and then wake back up once you have proper air. This preservation only lasts while in the Flow. Sometimes there are ships floating around in the Flow, where all the ship's air has gone bad, and everybody on board is in suspended animation. They could be there for days or months or years or decades, and nothing would change for them. If you have to be thrown off your ship and left adrift, try to have it happen while in the Flow. You will start to suffocate as your air runs out, but it will not kill you.

The Flow has its own currents. If you know them well, or are lucky, you can arrive somewhere faster than anticipated. If you make a mistake, or are unlucky, it could take you a very long time to arrive.

5. Gravity planes

If something is large enough then it will have its own gravity. "Large enough" in fantasy space is significantly smaller than you might think. Gravity points "down", instead of "towards the centre" (unless you are dealing with a spherical planet).

The larger something is, the farther its gravity will reach. If two different large objects come close enough that their gravity fields interact, then the gravity angle of the smaller object will change to match the gravity of the larger object. This can be extremely inconvenient if the two objects are ships, you're in the smaller ship, and "down" is now "sideways" and everything has fallen all over the place. Because of this, if two ships come near each other, the smaller one will generally turn so that its "down" is pointed in the same direction as the larger ship's "down".

Gravity in fantasy space is a yes-or-no kind of thing. You are either within something's gravity field, or you are weightless.

6. Air envelopes

The larger something is, the more air it carries with it. If you go in space just with your own body, you will have enough air along to survive for a little while, but not for as long as you would probably like. If you go into space with a large object like a ship, there will be a lot more air.

The air around something is called its air envelope. The size of an air envelope is the same as the size of its area of gravity, if it has a gravity field. If you can fall, then there is air available, even if that air might have gone bad. Things that are too small to have gravity still have an air envelope, but it is smaller than the air envelope of something that is large enough to have gravity.

When you breathe, you use the air in the air envelope which you are in. If the air envelope is small, then you will run out of usable air sooner than you would like. If the air envelope is large, then it will not be a problem for a long time. A ship generally has enough air to last its crew and passengers for a couple weeks or months, depending. If there are more people in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster. If there is a fire in an air envelope, the air will go bad faster.

There are ways to keep the air fresh for longer, some of which are plants and some of which are magic. It is possible to have it so that the air never needs to be replaced, but usually something goes wrong along the way.

7. Ships that travel space

"Officially" they're called spelljammers, but I just call them "ships".

a) Helms

Space is large [citation needed]. Normal ways of getting from one place to another, even very fast ways, are impractically slow when it comes to travelling in space. There are several ways of powering a ship fast enough to make space travel feasible, but helms are by far the most common. A helm gets a ship to go fast and also gets it to go where you direct it to go (which might not always be where you want it to go, but that is why navigators are a thing).

A helm is a chair with ship-go-fast magic added to it. It can be transferred between ships, which is good because it is expensive. In order to use a helm, a spellcaster sits in that chair, and that both powers the ship, and lets the spellcaster mentally direct the ship what to do. This uses up their magical energy for the day. A spellcaster can only helm a ship if they're full up on magical energy before they start.

Helms are designed so that a ship will automatically slow down from space-travel-fast when it approaches something large enough that it would hurt if they collided. You can still run into things, but it will be at a speed where you have time to try and move somewhere else if you want.

b) Ship varieties

There are many different types of ships in space. Some of them aren't able to go space-travel-fast. These are mostly used to go short distances, like to transport stuff between big ships and places where the big ships can't land, or for space combat, when nobody can go space-travel-fast anyways. These are generally smaller ships that are more agile, but they can also be larger ships where someone didn't or couldn't put in a helm.

Many ships in space look like a cross between a water-ship and a fish or insect. This is because that is cool. There is almost always an open deck, since air won't escape the envelope, so there's no reason to close everything in.

These are a couple of different things people might want in their ship, which is why there are so many different designs:

more storage space

more agile

harder to damage

more weapons

needs fewer people to crew it

able to fit into more places

able to land on ground or water

fits someone's standards of a good-looking ship

easier to repair

costs less money

((Black lives matter, and trans rights are human rights.))

((Also posted on Pillowfort, here.))

[save-the-spiral]

at what point are you willing to listen to my silence

HI! guess who wrote a 4K word long nolan & duncan fanfiction. Gay Banter and Emotional Confrontation, that’s all I can say.

(Read it on Ao3)

Nolan chewed at the cord of his amulet, frowning around the harsh black line pressing into his chin, the gem at the end heavy with magic. He was focused on his work, brain sluggish, at the tail end of an all-nighter spent doing his homework. While he was one of the few who genuinely enjoyed Professor Drake’s class, he had to admit that the essay lengths were ridiculous, and the obscure topics made it awful.

Nolan yawned, cord falling out of his mouth, the pendant clattering onto the table, snapping him out of his daze. He hadn’t even realized he was chewing at the cord, and he frowned down at it, before stuffing the amulet under his robe, above his t-shirt, and picked up his quill, ready to edit his work.

Instead of dipping the nib into his inkwell, he ended up toying with the quill, moving his fingers so it would wave back and forth, the plain brown owl’s feather blurring at the speed. It fell from his hand when he yawned again, stretching and rubbing at his sore wrist and hand.

In this dark corner of the library, there was no clock, just the faint ticking from the large grandfather clock by Mr. Argleston’s desk. This late at night, there was nothing else. No shuffling papers, muffled conversation, or even soft breathing. Nolan settled in at around dinner time, and he had heard only a few people come in, and they all left eventually.

Really, it was his fault after all. He had put off the essay for the week he was supposed to be working on it. But it was so infuriatingly broad, so seemingly insurmountable, that he couldn’t even find a place to start. Even with a faint idea, it wasn’t even remotely interesting. So he left it until tonight.

Nolan leaned on his arms, bright yellow sleeves muted in the dim candle light. He let his hood fall over his eyes, dark blue trim working well to allow him peace. This was supposed to be easy. He had done this same thing so many times, and had excelled so much. He just had to grab the quill, and write. There was no excuse that could translate from him just sitting here and trying for hours, ending up with nothing.

He closed his eyes, trying to organize this in his mind. Main ideas, topic sentences, theme. Just copy over the introduction and reword it for the conclusion, add in some information from the body of the essay. It’s supposed to be easy.

In the end he was in that warm nest of his arms, breathing towards his left arm so he could get fresh air between the slant of his arm and the table. It was so dark, and he was so tired. The drifting between sleep and wakefulness was simple.

Waking up to a light prod on his shoulder, however, was not as easy. With a groan, Nolan raised his head, hand already shielding his eyes from the sunlight streaming in-

With a swear, Nolan sat up straight, looking around, only to see Duncan Grimwater, Ravenwood’s resident talented necromancer, sitting across from him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Bit early for an afternoon nap, huh?” Duncan finally said.

“Early?” Nolan managed to get out, yawning and then returning to rubbing his eyes, not even fazed by his hood falling and revealing his dirty blonde hair in a bird’s nest, his undercut growing out from lack of care. 

Duncan was staring at him, face unreadable. “It’s like, one o’clock dude.” He said dryly, watching as Nolan’s eyes lit up with fear.

Nolan tensed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to resist the urge to rip up his now useless essay. Professor Drake did not accept late work, even from his best student. Maybe especially from his best student. 

His harsh breathing filled the little alcove of bookshelves. 

“I, uh, heard that you were asleep in here.” Duncan said awkwardly. 

“So?” Nolan finally snapped out, an edge to his tone. “What do you want?” 

“Maybe I wanted to grace myself with your presence.” Duncan’s awkward pressed lips quickly twitched into a sneer. “Maybe someone decided to worry about you for probably the first time in your life.”

“Who?” Nolan asked, making a show of looking around for someone not there. If he wanted to encroach on Nolan’s sleep far past any time that would make him punctual to class, he’d have to admit to the real reason why.

“Some asshole who thought he’d try to be nice, I guess.” With that, Duncan leaned back in his chair, making a show of going on the back two legs.

“Key word ‘try’.”

“As if you’re an expert on kindness.”

“Don’t believe it exists without strings attached.” Nolan shrugged, shoulders aching in protest to sleeping slumped over on a table. 

“You don’t bring much to the table aside from being good at tests, Stormgate.” Duncan plucked one of Nolan’s quills out of its inkpot and began twirling it, regardless of the spots of ink staining the table and his fingers, his hood falling back a bit to reveal small, thin dreadlocks and an undercut.

“You don’t bring anything aside from knowing how to make Susie Gryphonbane pissed off and an obvious crush on your dead ex-professor.” Nolan snapped.

Duncan dropped the quill back on the table and let the front two legs of his chair slam on the floor. “Well then. As your fellow useless asshole wizard, I was worried about you.”

Nolan swallowed, staring at the small black onyx earrings Duncan wore so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact or acknowledge the implied question of if he was okay. “Seems like a stupid thing to do.” 

“Well, it’s obvious you don’t try it. Worrying about yourself doesn’t lead to the hot mess you are now.” Duncan smirked, still mean, but at least not going for the jugular like they had before.

“At least I’m hot for once.” 

The startled snort of laughter from Duncan made Nolan smile.

“What’s the deal, anyway?” Duncan said as his laughter died. “You’re brilliant. Spending hours perfecting an already perfect essay seems overkill, even for you. Some new kid impress Cyrus more than you?”

Nolan huffed, shoving the now crumpled and slightly drool stained essay he had slept on across the table. The few wobbly sentences were pathetic, especially in the light of day. 

“So I see I had a reason to worry at least,” Duncan read the half finished introduction before sliding the paper back. “So how long until Cyrus puts a hit on you for being a-” He cleared his throat, before starting an awful impression of the awful professor. “‘Disgrace to all beings who have ever even thought of myth magic’?” 

Nolan laughed, crumpling up the parchment and tossing it to the floor. “Don’t know when he’ll order that hit, but I hope he does it soon. The waiting’s the worst part.” 

Duncan nodded sagely. “Ah. Not your first assasination attempt via the good professor?”

“I’ve got my fake I.D.s and the summer home in Zafaria all set up for times like these.” Nolan’s seriousness was offset by his smirk, by the new light in his pale eyes.

They both shared a laugh, and Nolan began packing up his books into his bag, unwashed hair falling into his eyes as he organized the books by color, making sure to store his quills properly and cap all his inkpots.

He ran a hand through his hair, realizing that he’d have to actually take a shower again even if it was sensory hell, and glanced over to see that Duncan was still sitting there, face more expressive and open than Nolan had ever seen. This wasn’t the stormy streets of Triton Avenue, or the stuffy classrooms, where Duncan constantly picked at obvious weaknesses and strived to prove himself better. In a quiet, sunlit library alcove he was a different person.

“Still hanging around?” Nolan finally said.

“Never got any information to assuage my obviously altruistic worries.” Duncan said, staring hard in a way that made Nolan uncomfortable. 

Nolan was always uncomfortable when looking people in the eyes, though, so that was nothing new. The silence stretched on, and Nolan shifted his weight, debating how much running out of the library would be worth the trouble and inevitable temporary ban. 

“Are you okay, Stormgate?” Duncan’s voice went soft, and for a moment he might as well have been speaking some ancient language for all Nolan could comprehend it. 

Nolan felt his chest tighten, and wondered if he was going to cry. He hadn’t in months. Finally, he just shrugged, voice distant and fragile when he spoke. 

“I don’t think you want my answer to that question.” 

Duncan’s face immediately shut off, twisting into an annoyed scowl as he scooted back in his chair, the screech of the wood against wood harsh and awful to Nolan’s ears. 

“Fine.” 

Then Nolan was alone, hand gripping the strap of his bag too hard from where it pulled at his aching shoulder. He couldn’t tell where he misstepped there, and assumed it was starting the conversation in the first place. He yawned again, and stood up straight, stretching, before pulling his hood up.

Younger students walked out of his way when they crossed his path as he walked across the Commons. The dark shadows of the tunnel into Ravenwood were like a second blanket, a comfort in pavlovian, knowledge that he’d be in his safe, solitary dorm soon enough.

Then he walked out into the nice, sunlit courtyard in front of Bartleby, only to see Cyrus Drake striding out of the Myth School. The man obviously noticed him, and began walking faster.

Now was the time to run, he thought.

Turning around and racing back to the Commons was easy, deciding on a direction after that wasn’t so simple. He stumbled on the cobblestone path, then decided to go back to the library. His exhausted brain decided to treat this situation like it was life or death, so of course he made a dumb decision. 

His professor would know to look for him in the library, as easily as he’d know to look in Cyclops Lane, where his family home is. 

So, maybe that realization was what made him veer off of the path behind the waterfall of Rainbow Bridge, where everyone now knew Nightside was hidden.

Nolan knew too, of course. In theory. He knew a lot of things in theory, but found his own execution lacking. It’s the main reason why he prefered homework over quests, even if the extra credit is enough to never touch a quill again.

He had never seen the dark, dank cave with his own eyes. Or the very intimidating skull embedded into the half open door. It was his lifeline, though, so he walked quickly forward, shaking his hands to get the faint mist of water off of them. He shook his hands out more after that, letting himself stim to help with the nerves that onset him in this new environment.

Nightside was… not as scary as he thought it would be from the stories people tell. It was like a more tame version of the dark caves hiding in the other streets. There were little necromancers milling about, getting out of class. Malorn was herding them like they were a clowder of emo cats, and Marla and Penny were standing on the sidewalk, watching like one watched vaguely wild animals in a zoo. 

Then a hand was on his bicep, and Nolan was being pulled onto half wilted grass, close to the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Duncan glared at him, a real one. He wasn’t the sarcastic asshole admitting he was worried. He was back to just being an asshole.

“Drake may have forgone the hit and was approaching me with intent to kill.” Nolan said, voice monotone, not looking Duncan in the eyes, watching the crowd of necromancers as they finally lined up properly, Malorn smiling wide as he directed them all into Nightside’s own small town. Duncan pulled harder, fingers digging meanly into Nolan’s soft flesh, huffing out what a generous person might call a laugh. 

“Idiot.” Duncan muttered, loud enough so Nolan could hear it. He probably did it on purpose, there’s no point in pretending either of them are nice people. Wasn’t that the point of their library chat?

Nolan just stumbled along until they finally went into the old death school’s tower. Cobwebs populated the bookshelves more than books did, the rugs were stained and maybe moth bitten, and it smelled vaguely sweet, like someone tried to cover up a smell.

At his scrunched up nose, Duncan laughed, letting go of Nolan’s arm as they both kicked off their boots by the door. “That smell is Penny. She’s got a new pyromancer friend and is now making a lot of candles, the flowery-er the better.” 

“Not the worst hobby.” Nolan finally said, unsure how to not insult the girl, even if she wasn’t there. 

“Keeps her out of trouble.” Duncan drawled, then walked to a kitchenette. He pulled out a spotless kettle, probably the cleanest thing this building had seen in years, and began heating it up. He shrugged off his outer robe, leaving a plain grey tunic and black school slacks.

“I don’t think she could get in trouble if she tried.” Nolan was still standing by the door. 

“Don’t underestimate the lengths Marla will go to when something gets in her head.” 

“Trying so hard must be exhausting.”

“You would know, Mister I-Spent-Sixteen-Hours-In-A-Library.” 

“Says the idiot who came to see if I was okay.” 

“You still never answered my question.” Duncan turned around from his puttering around in the kitchen, and gave Nolan a Look.

“Well it’s still none of your fucking business!” Nolan found himself snapping far quicker than he typically did, voice eager to jump up and crack before slipping down into a yell that sounded far too much like an echo of his late parents’ voices.

“It isn’t?” Duncan walked closer, eyes trained on him as he pulled out two chairs at the table in the middle of the room. “What about the others?” 

Nolan snorted, leaning back against the stone wall to watch Duncan, shoulder blades resting uncomfortably against the cold stone. “What others?” 

“The other people who’ve made the unfortunate decision to give a shit about you? What, are they idiots like me? Nosy?”

 “There’s no one else.” Nolan said.

“Ceren. Malorn. Penny. Artur. Fuck, even Boris for all the time he spends on the stupid newspaper, he notices you and how you look closer and closer to a ghoul every day. I’m just the only one who isn’t afraid to call you on your bullshit. You are not okay, Nolan.” 

Nolan stared, feeling himself lean more into the wall, hoping it would open up and bury him inside the stone just so he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation. Duncan was pouring hot water into mugs, and pulling out a box of teabags, dropping them in before turning back around, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you want tea or not?” 

Nolan didn’t even try opening his mouth, knowing from the sensation in his throat that he had gone nonverbal, the stress of the situation taking things out of his hands. Feeling weak and tired and ready for another six hour nap, he found himself sitting on the floor now. The stone wall continued to leech warmth away from his spine, the rug was even less comfortable than he thought.

As good a place as any to start crying.

Duncan seemed alarmed when he muttered. “Didn’t know you hated tea that much.” 

Nolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t in the middle of a meltdown that stole his normally white-knuckled control over his body. While he was usually a puppeteer of his clumsy, uncooperative self, when it comes to this his strings, long thin nerves extending from his spine and the tips of his fingers and from every single hair on his head are all shaken, every plate of his body convergent or transform boundaries, tectonics doing nothing but continuing their work, manipulated by outside force into compliance until they shudder and subduct into volcanoes and trenches and ridges and wide, empty abyssal plains. The metaphor falls apart as he is, a slow shattering like ripping up the dotted lines on what will be a puzzle. 

The meticulous process of putting it back together is where Nolan often loses himself for days, skipping school just to sit in the home he grew up in and try to process and figure out how to be again, instead of this dissociative being where the world around him is too sped up and he feels like he exists five feet to the left of his body.

“-okay? Nolan? Nolan?!”

Heavy breathing rattled out of Nolan’s chest, and he has both hands on his head, pushing, trying to interlock his fingers into his hair so he doesn’t hit his own skull with clenched fingers, palms stiff and wrists aching. His knees push against his soft stomach, boots sliding a rug underfoot and rumpling it. 

Nolan meant to make an inquisitive sound for Duncan to hear but instead it devolved into humming and trying to fill his brain with something other than the shaky feeling of tensed muscles, as if he was a series of rubber bands and paperclips just waiting to snap and cause a mess. 

“Nolan? Oh I don’t know anything about healing, are you having a panic attack maybe? I really thought this was going to end with the tea and maybe some flirting- gosh, this is not how I thought any of this would go, I’m sorry.” 

Duncan continued to ramble, eventually sitting on the floor in front of Nolan, setting down a tray between them. 

Nolan’s breathing slowed, still ragged, his throat hoarse and face sticky from tears. His face hurt, he felt numb, empty again, a water glass overfilled by clumsy hands. Eventually he was reaching out, mind still distant from body, and awkward fingers fumbled for the handle of the blue speckled mug, wrist weak enough that he grabbed it with his other hand as well. The heat from the tea sunk deep into his chest when he brought it closer, and he closed his eyes, trying to not dwell on anything but the tea.

Duncan made a cut off sound, and when Nolan opened his eyes, Duncan’s mouth was slightly open, face twisted by confusion. “Are you… okay? There’s a couch upstairs you can crash on, Nolan.” 

Nolan just nodded, sipping the tea, now lukewarm. 

Duncan set down his own mug and leaned back on his hands, looking at Nolan like he’d never seen him before. 

“Okay then. We don’t… have to talk if you don’t wanna. But we can. Talking to you is nice, Nolan. I’d hate if-” Duncan looked to the side, flushing slightly, “If you weren’t there, y’know. You’re like the rest of us, a fixture of Ravenwood or whatever. But I’d also like to be your friend, I mean, we’d all like that.” 

Nolan watched how Duncan’s face, soft without it’s usual anger or derision, twitched into a smile. 

“We really all do care. Penny wants to know your favorite color and scent for a candle. Marla wants to study history with you to see if it’s different in the myth school. I want…” Duncan’s voice cracks with emotion, “I just want a friend, one who can keep up when I want to bitch about stuff, one who doesn’t care if I’m nice or not.”

Nolan drained the rest of his tea, gently leaving the mug on the tray, before shifting to stretch his legs out, still silent as he stood, suddenly feeling a lot less small. He still wanted to hide away from the world, wished he was back in his dorm where he controlled everything and knew every object and how to be most comfortable, but right now he would settle for the cold stone walls and the pins and needles sensation in his legs. 

He then pointed upwards and cocked his head, face blank and eyes heavy. 

Duncan got up hastily when he noticed, setting their tray onto an empty bookshelf. “The couch upstairs?”

Nolan nodded, feeling a headache pulse behind his eyes, crawling in the back of his skull. 

“I’ve got some blankets in the cupboard- feel free to head upstairs and get comfortable, it’s clean and usually just for a reading area.” Duncan crossed the room, opening a large armoire.

Nolan’s socked feet began to ache noticeably once he began ascending the stairs. He supposed at least a full day of wearing boots would do that to, and there wasn’t much else to be done. Without realizing, he trailed a hand against the stone wall, palm flat, ready to catch himself if he fell. It was instinct from climbing up the stairs to his dorm for years. 

The room at the top of the death tower was a bit dreary. Muted light from a single window gazing over the small opening street of Nightside flooded a slice of the room, leaving the door and the couch on the opposite wall in almost complete darkness. The patchy rugs and mismatched chairs were comfortable looking, and obviously lived in. Though a few of the shadowy diagrams and realistic portraits left something to be desired.

With clumsy hands, Nolan dragged his robe off, crossing the room. He tossed it on the couch, by the pillow furthest from the window. Sitting down, he sighed at how comfortable even this lumpy couch was. He was already glad he managed to get himself together enough to get off of the floor, and this was better already.

“Oh, it’s dark in here.” Duncan’s voice echoed against the stone walls. 

Nolan startled, a choked gasp leaving him. 

“Sorry! Sorry. Want me to light a candle or something? We’ve got plenty.” Duncan’s arms were full of several quilts, a slightly moth eaten comforter, and an array of strangely shaped knitted blankets.

Nolan shook his head, and stood, grabbing a few of the quilts and the comforter. A sudden sense of insecurity came from him realizing he was in simple black slacks and a white t-shirt, slightly stained with ink, but his exhaustion caught up to him.

“The knitted ones are uh- the death school’s attempt at starting a knitting circle? Please don’t tell anyone.” 

At Duncan’s almost desperate tone, Nolan managed a smirk, eyebrow raised. 

Duncan snorted. “Well. Tell whoever you want. As long as it doesn’t get traced back to me.”

Nolan shrugged, expression specifically blank just to watch Duncan’s half smile become a bit worried. It was then that Nolan began swaying on his feet trying to set up his ‘bed’, vision dimming slightly.

“Woah there. Woah-” Duncan stepped forward, tossing the knitted disasters behind him to steady Nolan. “I got you, it’s fine.” He muttered, warm breath puffing against Nolan’s cheek, more a reassurance to himself than anything else.

Nolan stood for a moment, yawning while Duncan set out the comforter as something to lie on, and guided Nolan to sit down. Nolan flopped against the pillow, murmuring.

“What was that?” Duncan said quietly, leaning in.

Nolan grumbled, half asleep, and threw a quilt over himself before turning over. “G’night, Duncan.”

Duncan’s eyes widened and he backed up. He walked quietly across the room, only allowing himself to look back when he reached the doorway.

The only visible part of Nolan was his hair, the rest a badly hidden lump of a conjurer. Soft snoring echoed slightly in the room, and Duncan found himself smiling, a hand reaching up to his mouth as he leaned against the stone wall for a moment.

“Goodnight, Nolan.” He finally said, and turned to walk downstairs, and let his new friend rest.

[bettersafethandicks]

[takes a huge hit of a blunt] hey dude what if you were like the calypsos pet and some vague bandit group kidnapped you and held you for ransom lol

@sugar-high-viking this is 4 u binch

troy n tyreen x gender neutral reader

as you all know nothing sexie happens that ‘x’ just emotional 

warnings for getting beat up by extremely rude and rowdy boys and also for calypsos showing genuine care and affection also for lack of any editing

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

           You kicked and writhed as the marauder dragged you by the ropes digging into your wrists, rubbing them raw.  Your pleas and curses were muffled by a rough cloth gagging you, and you were already bleeding from the scrapes and cuts you’d gathered while trying to escape.

           “Keep ‘em yellin, its picking up great.”  The guy following you with a camera laughed, keeping you in focus.  

           The bandit dragging you jerked the rope to one side, causing you to slam your cheek against the filthy floor with a yelp.  It wasn’t long before you were hoisted up, the bindings at your wrists looped over a ceiling beam; high enough to keep you barely stable, on your tiptoes in a position that was going to ache sooner rather than later.  You stopped your cries and panted harshly, worn out already.

           “Right, you freaks listenin?” The camera operator spoke to his future audience, panning the device around you.  You tried to follow him, turning your head as he circled you. “Your poor little pet is only gonna get more banged up the longer you keep us waitin’.”  

           At that, the masked man who dragged you in slammed a punch into your side, earning an audible crack and a piercing shriek.

           You couldn’t make out more of his words, twisting in your strung-up position, yelling in agony, each breath bringing bolts of pain streaking through your body.  

           “Shut them up for a second, will ya?”

           A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting the air from your lungs and silencing the already muffled wails.

           “Guns and cash- not delivered by you two.  In fact, send someone disposable; it’ll be a little trade-off.  No funny shit, or you’re gonna be getting this thing back in installments.” The knife biting into your jaw was barely noticeable beyond the panic of oxygen deprivation.  “Ohh, maybe we could make their face look like brother Calypso’s?! Wouldn’t that be fun?  Why don’t you put your suggestions in the comment section, huh?”              

           The camera lowered, and the lead guy gave a nod; the pressure came away from your throat, and you gasped desperately.  Your side was screaming in pain, bone shifting like a handsaw under your skin, but your lungs took over reflexively and tears sprang to your eyes as you wheezed.

           Your chin was grabbed to look forward, face slick with blood from where the knife sliced you.  “Nice job pet.” He said it like an insult.  “I can see why they like putting you on their fucking videos so often.”

           “Should we send an ear or a finger?”  

           “Mmmh…Nah, not yet.“ He was typing on the ECHO device, probably sending the video to the twins.  “Let em respond; see if they know we’re serious… Then we can figure out what to start slicing off.”  

           “God I wish I could see their faces when they get that message.”  The bandit beside you was moving you, pushing you to turn, off-balance and huffing. “Can I even out their ribs?”

           “Eh, sure.”  He was already turning to leave the room, giving your guard a lazy wave of his hand.

           The door slammed shut just as the metal-studded knuckles cracked into you for a second time.

           The blood drying on your skin itched.  Not that you could reach well to scratch it with your wrists still bound; you had tried to get the bindings slippery with blood to wriggle out, but the rope was too tight and you were too weak to put up much of an effort.  You were curled up in a tiny cell now; (more like a cage, if you were honest) shattered ribs aching no matter which way you lay.  

           The taste and smell of copper was overwhelming. Thankfully you still had all your teeth, but your lip was split and the insides of your cheeks were torn and bleeding. You’d swallowed enough of your own blood to be sick, as if the regular pain wasn’t bad enough.  You weren’t sure what was making you more dizzy; the blood loss or the hunger or the dehydration. It had been close to two days now since you had been dragged from the wreckage of an ambushed caravan, out of the Calypso’s watch for once while you and a few other cultists ran to the nearby town.  You sniffled, blood still trickling from your nose.  You just had to go into town that day, huh?

Every hour or so (you think; the best way to tell time right now was by seeing how long it took for blood to dry) someone would come by to make sure you were still conscious, kick you around, snap a few pictures, and then leave. You wondered if the twins were even going to save you.  You had devoted yourself to them and they seemed to care for you but… you’d seen them throw other followers away when it was convenient.  Or when they were bored. True, never ones they had doted on this much but…you hadn’t seen every pet they ever had.  You trembled slightly and curled in on yourself more, trying not to tear up at the thought of being abandoned by your gods to be tortured and die here.  

               “Oh shit- TROY IN HERE!”  

You felt like you were hallucinating.  You cracked an eye, the one not stuck shut with blood, to see Tyreen, your queen, your god, rushing to you and falling to her knees to put her hands on you, caress your face, make sure you were breathing.  Troy barreled into the room moments later, covered in blood that wasn’t his, coming to kneel beside his sister.

Tyreen held your head up off the ground “Faithful, can you hear me?” She was worried.  She was worried about you.

You hummed out a soft acknowledgement.

Troy ran his fingertips over the cuts and bruises that bloomed across your shoulders and sides, pulling away before he reached the rainbow of red and black and blue that sat over your broken ribs.  You had never seen him so…upset.  A mixture of hurt and angry, like he wanted to go back and kill the bandits all over again.

“Oh, sweetheart…”  His voice was soft.  “Tyreen can’t you-“

“They’re too old.”  You could swear her voice cracked.  “The injuries are too old I can’t-  It won’t work.”  You tried not to groan in pain when she moved you to pull you into her lap.  “Call the medics- Fuck, Troy they’re freezing.”

You had enough of a grip on reality to know you were in shock by now, shivering weakly.  Tyreen cradled you, pulling her shoulders in to surround you protectively.  Troy was barking orders through his ECHO device, though you couldn’t pick out words anymore.  You just wanted to fall asleep, finally safe in her arms.  They were here, after all; this was all you had hoped for.  Tyreen stroked over your cheek, you couldn’t even feel the gash there anymore…this was alright.  You were alright.  

  It was bright.  Your eyes were closed but it was too light, overpowered bulbs searing through your lids and waking you up.  Stupid as it was, you opened your eyes directly into the artificial sun sitting over you, squeezing them shut just as quickly and turning your head to the side with a barely audible groan.  

“Tyreen! Hey!  They’re awake!”  Footsteps rushed closer as you opened your eyes to see Troy Calypso, twin god and all-powerful siren keeping a nervous watch over your bed.

“You’re awake…”  He murmured it mostly to himself, running a hand over your jaw.  You could feel him thumb over the dull bumps of stitches in your skin, comfortably numbed by the best painkillers on Pandora.

Those narcotics definitely came in handy as Troy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you halfway off the bed and sending IVs and monitors clattering around.  He buried his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent like he was making sure it was real.

“Troy…” you were almost scared at how faint your own voice was.

“Troy!”  Tyreen yelled.  “You’re gonna break them again!”

“Oh shit- “ He jumped, nearly dropping you before setting you gently back on the bed and attempting to realign the blankets and IV.  

  Once you were deemed stable, the twins insisted you stay in their room, and it wasn’t like you were about to argue.  They didn’t want to let you out of their sight for any longer than absolutely necessary; you got the feeling anyone who tried to approach you would be evaporated on the spot by one of them.  

It was surreal, having the Calypsos care for you. Feeling Tyreens careful hands undoing the wrap around your chest, soothing you as you take a few painful deep breaths to keep pneumonia at bay.  Troy pulling the bandages off and making sure your stitches were holding, cleaning the blood away from the wounds with a cool washcloth.  Both of them helping you out of your clothes and into a warm bath, hushing the sharp hiss you make when the water hits your injuries.  Troy usually had to pull you out, the hot water making you too weak to climb, and Tyreen would be right there with a fluffy towel, not caring if it became stained with your blood.

Once it’s safe enough, the two of them sleep on either side of you, tucked in a luxurious nest of pillows and blankets, each of them keeping at least one hand on you through the night.  Even after you’ve healed up enough to change your own bandages, they insisted on being there, making sure everything was clean and uninfected. Tyreen even pulled your stitches out herself; it barely even hurt.  Even later, it became a habit for them to idly trace over the lingering scars as you sat by their thrones, neither of them having to look to know exactly the path the marks cut across your skin.  

Away from cameras, they’d kiss over raised lines, assuring you that you belonged to them, and no one on the planet would ever take you from them.

[emilymooremedia]

Music Video Analysis: Rose-Coloured Boy - Paramore

Camera

This narrative/ performative music video begins with a medium close up of the lead singer of the band - there is no music in this shot, only the diegetic sound of the artist breathing, as she looks uncomfortable, which draws an immediate audience focus on her right from the start. This shot is also successful in revealing to the audience that the video is set in the 80s as it shows costume and makeup, as well as setting the tone for the rest of the video, a tone created by the narrative which follows the 'hosts', who feel a lot of stress and pressure from their job. The camera is used in a certain way during the opening title sequence for the fictional talk show 'Wake Up! Roseville' (a link to the title of the song through 'Rose-Coloured'), so it makes it look more authentic through the panning and zooms, along with being able to introduce the other members of the band. At 0:24 we see a close up of a man who, assuming from the headphones and pointed finger, is the director and this, again, sets the tone of the video as it indicates that the hosts (the artists) are under pressure from the bosses to perform well on their talk show. During the parts of the video which are supposed to be showing the talk show, a static, medium close up is used with thick black borders going vertically down the sides, which is the same as these types of shows appear in real life, which again adds to the authenticity of the show. A panning, medium long shot shot is used at 0:46 as the artists move from one set to another, where the lead singer throws her papers on the floor, and the audience are yet again given a strong impression that the characters are fed up with their jobs. At 1:03, the long shot cuts to a close up of the lead singer on the talk show smiling, as she sings the lyrics "just let me cry a little bit longer", which strongly emphasises the way in which they feel pressured to act a certain way, to get the highest ratings on their talk show - this could also be a reflection of the way the artists really feel about the music industry, and how they feel confined and pressured by it. A fast zoom is used at 2:17 on an ominous character in a long cloak and hat as the lead singer stumbles towards them, but quickly zooms back out again once the artist realises that it is just a coat stand after pulling on its shoulder - these zooms add to the impression that she is confused and stressed as the audience are quickly drawn forwards and backwards. During the middle of the music video the music stops, and a turning point in the host's (lead singers) day is shown - here both long shots and close ups are used to emphasise her distress; in the long shots we see multiple TV screens surrounding her, all telling her to do different things and pretend to be someone she’s not, while the close ups allow the audience to see her reaction to this, see her expressions of confusion and panic. After this part of the video, the tone changes and the hosts seem to rebel against the talk show and its bosses; the audience can see this tone chanage through the different uses of the camera - before the camera movements had been subtle, whereas now they are a lot more obvious, with quick panning and fast zooms and slides, as well as now being a hand-held camera, making the video appear more chaotic. However, the music video ends with the same close up shot of the lead singer smiling at the beginning of the video, creating a circular narrative, showing that despite the hosts acting out they still continue the show the following day.

Editing

The first cut we see in this music video is a cut on the beat, straight as the music starts after a couple of seconds of silence where we are shown the lead singer looking in the mirror - I think that this cut is very effective at drawing in the audiences’ focus right from the beginning. After this, the editing is used to make the talk show seem authentic and it is done successfully through using transitions that would’ve actually been used for a show like that during the 80s; for example, the freeze of the scenes in the title sequence, with the hosts in action before sliding between the shots. Another way in which the editing is effective in creating the talk show’s authenticity is through the layering of the opening sequence and the special effects added on, like the city and sunrise behind the hosts at the start, followed by the kite, rainbow and hot air balloon, as well as the hosts being in little boxes with stars behind them. The roses that have been edited onto the scene in this opening sequence are a reference to the title of the song, 'Rose-Coloured Boy'. While the talk show is being presented, special effects are used to show images of what the hosts are talking about appearing next to them, along with the weather map (linking to the lyrics 'just hang with me and my weather'), which furthermore adds to the authenticity of the show, along with the fact that a filter is used to emphasise to the audience that they are watching 80s TV. The most common transition between shots in this music video is a basic cut, which is never really on the beat (and even the very few times it is it is not obvious). During slower parts of the song, like the shot that begins at 1:44, the shots are left longer so that it matches the pace of the song (which is a common aspect of music videos). A fade is used at 2:23 to transition between scenes, to portray the artist's distress as the two different locations and actions seem to merge together - her distress is further shown after this shot, and after the little girl speaks to her, when there are fast paced cuts to black and then back again while she shakes her head. During the section of the video where the hosts are 'rebelling' against the show, the cuts are fast paced to match the chaotic energy of the scene, before returning to the 'Wake Up! Roseville' opening sequence with the authentic 80s show editing, again showing this circular structure of the video.

Mise-en-scene

A contrast of colours is used in this music video, perhaps to reflect the opposing parts of the hosts' lives; vibrant colours, like red and blue, are used during the parts of the video that show the TV show, while, when the 'talk show cameras' are off, the colours, as well as the lighting used, are more dark and dull - they are putting on brighter, happier versions of themselves on camera when compared to real life, which is more dull and stressful; maybe this could be applied to the artists' real lives also, as they have to put out a certain image of themselves as a result of being a part of the music industry with a huge amount of fans who expect certain things from them.

The costume worn by the band and extras in the video are typical, smart outfits that newsreaders would've worn during the 80s, like the red skirt and blazer, the lead singer's hairstyle and the suits, again adding to the authentic feel of the talk show. The makeup used is very much an 80s style and a lot of it is used, again emphasising the fact that she is hosting the talk show, as presenters on TV shows often use a lot of makeup. However, towards the end of the video, when the hosts begin to rebel, the costume becomes more messy, with the singer's dress sleeve being torn off, and the other band members no longer wearing their blazers, one even with his tie wrapped around his head - this adds to the tonal shift, from the character seemingly feeling lost to now a more chaotic headspace. The middle of the video in which the artist feels lost is portrayed to the audience through the mis-en-scene; for example, the space around her is completely black, with only the rectangular mirror with the bright lightbulbs, but even that moves into the background so she is left alone in the dark, which has connotations of being lost.

The props used throughout this music video are relevant to the talk show, yet again making 'Wake Up! Roseville' appear as 'real' as possible - for example, the props used right at the start of the video are typical to that of a dressing room; make up brushes, a bag, a mirror. Then, the props that are placed on the news desk are conventional of the scene, with a mug, microphone and papers. Furthermore, we see multiple other props that are suited to a studio, like the cameras, the lights, even the headphones worn by a director.

The artists' performances are vital in making the music video seem as believable as possible, especially the lead singer, as she appears to be the main character of the narrative. I think that she is very successful in conveying the range of emotions her character feels throughout, especially during the part where she is alone, surrounded by the TV screens telling her what to do - at 2:58 she gives a small smile to the little girl, who we can assume is her younger self (as she is also called Hailey), which perhaps gives the sense that she feels nostalgic of being young with no responsibilities, of the fact that she wanted to be a journalist since she was young and now it just causes her distress. I also like the lead singer's performance during the parts of the video which are supposed to be the talk show, as although she is miming the words, she is using the typical facial expressions of a host, with the tilted head and smile.

Genre

The genre of this music video is pop and I think that this is signified through the use of bright colours and a strong narrative mixed with performance, which are common features of pop music videos. I also think that, because pop is obviously a very popular and current genre, that the narrative used is effective in relating to the young target audience of this particular genre, as it deals with current issues, like the stress of work and the pressures felt through everyday life; it could even be argued that the music video deals with the pressures the band feel from the music industry, and it is reflected through the scenario of a talk show, and the treatment of artists by the industry is another current topic.

Paramore producing this genre of pop music may be a surprise to fans who have listened to their previous albums, which tended to be more pop-punk, and the pop influence on this music video may create mixed reactions within the old and new fanbase.

Intertextuality

In this music video I can spot two intertextual references; the first reference exists within the band's own music - a talk show guest holds up a book with the title 'Real Happy' which could be seen as deliberate, referencing another song from their album called 'Fake Happy'. The other reference would be more noticeable for the wider audience who have perhaps not listened to other songs from the band; the constant stress that the 'hosts' are under as a result of the executives of the talk show, made obvious through the lead singer's performance, comes to a head towards the end of the video and at 3:35 she finally snaps, matching the lyrics "I ain't gon' smile if I don't want to". The intertextual reference is created when she yells "F*** it! We'll do it live", just like the outtake from political commentator Bill O'Reilly did when told a clip from Sting would play them out.

These intertextual references act as little easter eggs for the fans (the reference to another song through the book) but also attract a wider audience, and portray the band as current and possibly 'quirky' as they can link their videos to specific real life events.

Audience Reception

Using Stuart Hall's Reception theory, and assuming that the audience members adopted the position of preferred reading, I think that the audience would've decoded the producer's encoded message of the video, this message being one that portrays the stresses of everyday life and the pressure everyone feels from around them. I also think that the producer was trying to take this message further, by trying to portray the poor treatment of artists by the music industry and the way in which they feel pressure, although this may not be decoded by the audience. I think that the most effective aspect of this video when trying to portray this message is through the performance of the lead singer, who throughout the music video conveys the emotions of the main character successfully, along with the part in the middle of the video without the track, where a close up shot is used so that we can just see her face surrounded by the dark, which is very effective in creating a tonal shift, where the audience can see more of the message the producer is trying to portray, of strong stress and the loneliness it can cause.

The audience will most likely watch this music video for the simple reason that they enjoyed listening to the song, whether they are an old fan, new, or not one at all. As the band has been producing music for many years now, it has a very wide and large fan base, and so many dedicated fans would want to watch the music video as they will be interested in the band as actual people - the fact that the band have been going for a while may make people who are no longer fans watch the video even if they do not like their music anymore, just through curiosity of what the artists are like now and to see what they're now creating.

Andrew Goodwin's Thoery

There are many ways in which this music video applies to Andrew Goodwin's theory, the first way being that it demonstrates pop genre characteristics, through the bright colour, as well as narrative mixed with performance. Although there are not many literal links between the lyrics and the visuals, there are some more subtle ones - for example the line "I ain't gon' smile if I don't want to" becomes more apparent towards the end of the video when the 'hosts' become fed up of working on the show and lash out; this could mean that this video uses amplification of some of the lyrics to create visuals. There are also not many links between the music and the visuals, however, when the music begins to get slower, the shots become longer with camera movement becoming slower; for example, at 1:45. Another part of Goodwin's theory that this music video follows, is the point in which he says that the demands of the record label will include the need for lots of close ups of the artists and we see plenty of close ups of the members of the band throughout the video. A similar visual style is created throughout many of the  band's music videos from their new album - it is one of 'quirky' graphics; for example, in this video the opening sequence at the start for the talk show is fairly unexpected, similar to another of their music videos called 'Caught in The Middle' which features many unusual graphics. I think that this motif of 'quirky' graphics makes the band seem more fun and relevant, therefore attracting a wider target audience. Perhaps the most obvious link to Goodwin's theory is the frequent reference to the notion of looking throughout this video - as the talk show is located on the set of a talk show, there are constant cameras and TV screens being shown. However, I do not think that there is any voyeuristic treatment of the female body in this music video, which is quite unusual for the pop genre. In this video, as mentioned previously, there are intertextual references, with a reference to another one of the band's songs, as well as a reference to another talk show moment.

Laura Mulvey's Theory

I do not think that this music video conforms to Laura Mulvey's theory of the Male Gaze, as the camera does not seem to linger on the curves of the female body, doesn't seem to objectify women, or portray the woman through the virgin/ whore dichotomy. However, there is only one main woman in this video, being the lead singer, although there is a female extra. Perhaps the lack of the Male Gaze in this music video is due to the fact that the lead singer is a woman, and could maybe have played a major role in the creation of the video, meaning she had a say in how to act, although many female artist are portrayed in the way Mulvey states so this point could be invalid. I like that this video does not seem to conform to the Male Gaze as I think that it is unusual for a pop music video to do this.

Levi Strauss' Theory

I do not think that there are many obvious examples of Levi Strauss' theory of Binary Oppositions in this music video. It could be argued that there is a binary opposition between the 'hosts' of the talk show (the band) and the executives and directors of it - perhaps conveying 'good vs. evil'. Maybe you could also say that there is an opposition within the characters themselves; the side of them that wants to behave and act positively so they can have a successful talk show, and then the other, stressful side of them that hates their job and wants to cause chaos. An opposition within the music video itself could be the tonal shift from the start of the video compared to towards the end (despite the circular narrative); the start of the video shows the 'hosts' smiling out of the supposed TV screen, seemingly calm and composed, in comparison to near the end, when everything turns to red, and the 'hosts' are causing chaos.

[hiraethtae]

Previous Parts: Prologue, Pt1, Pt 2 (1/2)

ao3

Synopsys:

Kim Taehyung runs an army twitter and is much active in the fandom. He’s known by all the fandom by his internet alias Teaberry and yet none of ARMY know his gender, name or have ever seen his face and is a mystery persona who is known mostly for spreading positivity. What happens when He decides to take drastic measures by buying 300 BTS world tour tickets and giving them away to ARMY, as a move against the resllers?

by doing so, Taehyung aquires the attention of the the world and the boys he stans, while changing the meaning of ARMY altogether.

please do not repost!!!

notes: Vante. Teaberry. Kim Taehyung. 3 people, one person. But who are you really?

Part 2 : Who are you ? ( pt 1\2)

22 may 2017, 6:30

Holly got 47 different burn accounts up and running and Taehyung was impressed. His eyebrows moved higher and higher as he read over her following texts and grimaced at the time they were sent. Having a best friend hacker and a workaholic had its perks but it also meant she wouldn't sleep till the job was done.

Sent 6:35 To: Holly Moses

Hot drink on me?

                                                                                                 Sent 6:41 To: You

                                                                                               Only if it's not coffee

He grinned around the toothbrush in his mouth and wiped off the access toothpaste running down his chin. Taehyung met Holly in 2013 at a kpop music shop, while gaping at BTS's first debut and dance routine on the small screen of his phone. "No more dream" blasted out of his headphones in a relatively low volume as they hung around their neck, but he was so entranced by the dark theme and movements he didn't notice when she sidled up to his side.

"Bad boy vibe. That's adorable."

Taehyung started, fumbling with his phone. The music cut off abruptly having the cord of the headphones pulled from the phone and the stranger grabbed the device before it could touch the ground. She straightened and gave him a wry smile.

"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to scare you." She had golden eyes and crow's feet on their edges. Taehyung stared and her grin grew wider.

"So BTS, huh?"

They have been inseparable since. His best friend led a life known only from movies, and Taehyung was most inclined to take her out on his normal life escapades. Mostly including him stanning the boys which led to their meeting all those years ago. When she was overcome with exhaustion he would take her out on his photography trips and show her the places the boys visited, and the views he loved. She would listen, and eventually joke around and smile. Her dark circles were a constant reminder of the type of life she led, and Taehyung's makeup on his eyes, poker face he used when recognized, and the camera around his neck were like a noose.

He loved taking photographs, yet his job over the years became suffocating.  Demands for pictures he did not wish to take made him drown in the same views of models and gray skies again and again. BTS was a means of escape. Teberry, the twitter account that army across the web know him by, especially by his "I purple you" posts and his #TeaShallBeSpilled hashtags as well edits and saxophone covers and beautiful photographs were what he wished to create.  He would often take pictures that reminded him of BTS's songs and Army's would crowd his twitter page in excitement. Holly helped Taehyung with her occasional hacker skills to give his gratitude back to Army. Taehyung was always grateful to have her by his side. He felt less pressure on his chest when he could take pictures of views he truly loved. Vante was slowly returning to his origins.

Taehyung rolled around on his bed, stretching his limbs and groaning at the stretch of his muscles. Huffing, he straightened and skipped to the washroom to spit out the toothpaste and rinse his face.

He grinned widely at his reflection. Dark circles winked at him from under his bloodshot eyes and his hair needed to be redyed. As much as he felt like shit, smiling and convincing oneself everything is great usually did the trick. Taehyung's worst habit was lying to himself, but doing it so often had caused the lie to change into a simplified truth. He was fine, not great, but he was happy. Not the happiest, but if Taehyung could laugh at his shitty reflection then he was good for today.

He padded across the wooden floor of his flat and opened the closet while inhaling the smell of olden wood and freshly cleaned clothes.  The simple black pants and white shirt were the first pick. It was his day off so no fancy clothes were needed.

Kim Taehyung ran a double life. His true persona, teaberry, had his identity hidden with only his bright personality to shine out. Vante, the photographer and part time coffee model was his outside world mask. Cool and collected, polite and handsome, a walking art with a bland personality was the perfect business card. No one really tried to dig into a person's secrets if he was boring. The photographs he took revealed the opposite actually. That's why while Teaberry was fascinating just for the mystery; Vante was fascinating for being understandably confusing.

"Kim Taehyung, you are unknowable." Holly once said in one of their evenings out. Her golden eyes, crowned by the dark bags beneath them, seemed almost like the streetlamps around them. Her smile was fond. Taehyung wondered how she could say that while being an underground mystery hacker and being the bigger 'Unknowable' out of the pair.

Taehyung leans against the wall as he props his shoes on. Saint Laurent, simple, white. He doesn't like them. Putting on his dark sunglasses and looking back into his bland apartment everything seems much grayer, the sunlight doesn't shine through the curtains and makes it appear almost abandoned. He flicks the sunglasses up on his head and the flat immediately seems more colorful. It's all in the perspective.

He locks the door on the way out and doesn't look back.

Holly is the opposite of Vante's bland outside persona. She's beaming with colors and makes him a rainbow by just being in Taehyung's presence. She brings out the inner colors of Teaberry into the outside world and makes him feel himself. Her hacker persona on the other hand is much crueler then his blandness. Her words often are described "as a sharp knife twisting in ones chest. ", At least that’s how the world views the hacker X.

Taehyung shows his boxy smile in reply to her grin and plops down in the seat across of her. Holly's crow's feet are hidden begin her glasses but the wrinkling in her nose reveal that they were truly there. In moments like these she's more alive than him. Her hair is an orange flame.

"Hobi mood?" Taehyung doesn't even touch the menu and instead bumps his knuckles against her hand on the table. Holly grabs one of his long fingers and shakes it in hello, her hand much smaller than his.

"I always thought red was the best color for him." She retreats to her own menu and hums in thought.

"It suits you." Taehyung leans his chin in his hand and looks across the Hongdae district, watching the passerby's with no real interest. When he had only arrived to the city of Seoul seeing the hunger drawn out of faces of every person passing by had startled him and made him curious. It was not hunger for food but for success that drew the people of Seoul to its center. But not every person succeeded and drew high above the flock. Success in Seoul is either being original or copying the masses. The tide of people, wearing different types of garments with only two colors black and white, were the best example for that. Taehyung was no exception. Holly was.

Taehyung smiles when a woman walks by in a yellow dress and red heels, leaving a citrus smell of perfume in her wake. Exceptions were all around them, one only had to look.

"Would you like to order?"

The waiter's face blurs in Taehyung's perception. He rattles of his usual and Holly orders a strawberry chocolate cake and hot chocolate. The menus disappear off the table and Taehyung stares blankly at the gray table.

"Hey." Holly says.

Taehyung forces himself to zone back into the present and blinks at Holly's expression. Her red hair is blinding. Her face was thoughtful, "It's pretty colorful today no?"

"Colorful?" Taehyung repeats and blinks. He stares at the now blue sky and the people walking by in different assortments of colorful clothes. Black and white is still present in the masses but the colors are more vivid. The sound grows around him from the faint hum it was before and crashes on his eardrums.

Holly watches him. "It's just a matter of perception."

She smiles.

Taehyung looks at the bright brown eyes of the waiter when he brings their order. His hair has blue streaks and his name is spelled in a willowy scrawl on a gold nametag.

"Thank you Jeonhyun."

The waiter smiles and clears out the table next to them. Holly sips from her hot chocolate and watches him with her bright gold eyes. Taehyung steals a bite of her cake. Strawberry and chocolate flavor burst in his mouth and he breathes in deeply.

It's just a matter of perception.  

[tometender]

https://tometender.blogspot.com/2020/11/i-angel-by-julie-light-blitz-and.html

I, Angel Julie Light (Angels in L.A., #1) Publication date: October 19th 2020 Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

I never asked to be an angel. Truthfully, being an angel kinda sucks.

But some angels don’t get harps. We hunt demons.

I might be a social weirdo. And okay, I black out whenever I fly and wake up naked in random places. I can only sleep in windowless rooms. I have that gun problem. Oh, and I can’t drink alcohol, since I randomly start fires.

But I, Dags Jourdain, do good. Sort of. I mean, I try.

When I’m not hunting demons, I work as a P.I. in Hollywood, California.

One night, I get in a demon fight in an alley, and accidentally save the life of a movie star, and everything changes for me.

Meanwhile, someone opened a hell portal under the Hollywood sign, a dead guy left me his dog, and a homicide detective who hates me from high school is trying to decide if I’m a serial killer.

Did I mention being an angel kinda sucks?

*

I, ANGEL is the first book in the Angels in L.A. series, a gritty angel urban fantasy, ideal for fans of K.F. Breene, Shayne Silvers, Patricia Briggs, C.N. Crawford, Linsey Hall

Goodreads / Amazon

—

Are you a book reviewer? Request a review copy here!

—

EXCERPT:

A dog’s wet, slobbery, warm tongue ran up the side of his face.

Dogs liked him. They liked him a lot.

Depending on the day, it was either a blessing or a curse.

In this particular instance, it probably saved his life.

“Pick up the gun, asshole!” the woman yelled. “I threw it right at you!”

Dags stared dazedly at the weapon as it swam into focus.

It lay on the asphalt, not far from the brick alley wall he now vaguely remembered slamming into, some unclear amount of time ago. He even remembered the specific gun.

Looking at it, he recoiled, grimacing involuntarily. His head felt like someone had taken a machete and tried to split his skull open like a cantaloupe, but he still had no desire to pick up the damned gun, much less point it at anyone.

Was that cannon really hers? Had she been lugging that thing around in her purse all this time? Did she have a permit for that thing? And if it was hers, why did she expect him, Dags, to be the one to shoot someone with it? Why didn’t she shoot them herself?

And where did the damned dog come from?

Even as he thought it, some other subset of his mind catalogued the gun in rote:

Desert Eagle. Gas-operated, rotating bolt. Semi-automatic. Designed by Magnum Research Inc. This particular edition was a Mark VII .357 Magnum with a fourteen-inch barrel, stainless steel, accessory mount with a laser scope.

That thing could do some serious damage.

All the more reason to leave it the hell alone.

“I don’t do guns,” he slurred, shoving it away.

It skittered across the alley floor, sliding under a dumpster about ten yards away.

Pushing aside the dog’s cold, wet nose, he scratched its ears out of habit even as he fought to push himself up with his hands.

“Are you crazy?” The woman stared at Dags like he’d just slapped her. Or maybe like he’d just told her he was a unicorn who only ate chocolate-covered strawberries and farted rainbows. “You’re a pacifist? Are you kidding me right now?”

Dags could sympathize.

Not enough to want to go after the gun, but yeah, he got it.

He only made it about halfway to his knees, when a heavy, booted foot connected, hard, with the small of his back. The same part of his mind that catalogued the gun did the same to the weight, shape, and relative precision of that booted foot––even as the blow knocked him forward, nearly face-planting him into the asphalt.

Male. Roughly six feet, two inches.

Two hundred and forty pounds.

Fighting ability: expert. At least one black belt in some martial art or another. Probably some military-style training. Weaknesses: Drops right arm when he pulls back from jabs. Telegraphs kicks with grunts and/or heavy breaths. Has a weird habit of grinning right before a lunge. Conclusion: well-trained, but a bizarrely sloppy fighter. Too used to winning maybe, or maybe it had been too long since he fought someone good enough to challenge him.

But all that was just details. The real issue with this guy wasn’t his fighting ability, or lack thereof, and Dags knew it. Hell, that’s why he was here, instead of calling 911 and letting the police handle it.

The guy wasn’t human. Well, he wasn’t only human.

He was something else.

The boot came down again, too hard for a human of that weight and strength.

Dags caught himself with his hands.

He remembered how he got himself into this situation now.

Unlike Dags’ usual m.o., where he followed people for weeks, making sure he knew exactly who they were, what they were, researching them, studying their habits, getting a feel for them, the likelihood they’d hurt someone, this guy, Dags had more or less caught in the act. He’d seen him drag the woman into a dark alley, like something out of an old detective movie.

He saw the guy’s aura.

He knew there was something wrong with it.

By then, the not-human attacker had a hand over the woman’s mouth.

Dags didn’t have time to involve the police, even if he’d wanted to.

He also didn’t have time to game this one out.

To make matters worse, the woman stuck around, even after he gave her an opening. Even after Dags told her to run.

She wouldn’t leave.

Why the hell wouldn’t she leave?

The guy got the jump on him, which didn’t help. Truthfully, that really threw Dags in the beginning of the fight, but somehow it didn’t bother him as much as the woman just standing there, watching him get his ass kicked.

Anyway, the other thing was Dags’ own fault.

He had the same weakness as the guy currently kicking him in the ribs. He’d gotten too cocky, too used to fighting people who were painfully easy to beat. He’d followed the guy into the alley without the slightest attempt to scope out the scene from a safer angle.

“Get up!” the woman yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dags looked up at her in disbelief.

Seeing her standing there, against the opposite wall, which was covered, funnily enough, in an enormous pair of spray-painted angel wings, he scowled.

He waved a hand at her towards the mouth of the alley.

“Get out of here!” he snapped.

“Get off the ground!” she shot back. “Are you stupid?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” He motioned again with a jerk of his hand. “And why are you still here? RUN! Don’t just stand there like it’s reality t.v. Get your ass out of here! NOW.”

Hands on her hips, she frowned.

Under other circumstances, he might have laughed.

She looked like she was about to ask to speak to his manager.

Author Bio:

I write quirky, smart, conflicted, and unforgettable characters who live in realistically fantastical worlds. Many of those characters want redemption. A lot more want tacos, a margarita, and a beachy vacation with lots of sex. They all kind of hate me for never giving them enough of those things.

I write mostly in urban fantasy, paranormal romance, paranormal mystery, and supernatural suspense, and my books are chock full of love and magic, light versus dark, angsty, steamy romances, sharp dialogue, gritty worlds, and metaphysical and paranormal whatsits.

I've traveled a lot, lived in various funky places, but currently live and write full time in Los Angeles, California.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Bookbub

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[loftyexecutor]

somnium vidisse se dicat in extremis orbis terrarum - 4

Chapter; 4 Rating; M WC; 1565 TWs; multiple character deaths Pairing; AddElsAin [transform] AU; modern/dreamsharing scifi Summary; Being the best in the industry had its perks. Herrscher’s name was known far and wide, work offers coming in left and right, extort this, extort that. But that still didn’t stop his boyfriend from getting too tangled up in one of his dreams and switching places with the shade in his head. The shade that he had offered to extort ages ago. Fuck, this is a mess. Notes; multiple character deaths used a plot device. rating adjusted to M. edited to have the real chapter 4

PREVIOUS | AO3

It was almost surreal to see how little has changed over the last couple years. Herrsch felt like he was back at the testing facility, with a rookie research assistant reading off the summary of a test while technicians hooked them up to the prototype ADSSU, which used to be no less than three times the size of their current one, even with Centurion’s add-ons. Their homebrew machine, Dox’s baby, was even smaller than the commercial ones, though not by much.

He watched the team, mentally shaking his head as he refused to call it Laby’s title, and found he could predict what everyone would do.

Iblis still made Anular put her IV in, scoffing off Shakti’s offer; he put in his own moments later, and made sure Shakti turned them on at the same time. Apparently, some undesirable problems still arose if they didn’t enter at the same time. Queen let Shakti do hers, pointedly looking up at her face instead of at her arm. Morphy and Dox were already under. Nova opted to have his needle further up the arm, his elbow looking all shades of fucked since he couldn’t alternate arms. Sariel battled with hers only for a moment before handing it off to Shakti, and so did Twilight. Laby swallowed a sleeping pill instead — Shakti would hook her up after she passed out, which still seemed ways off, with how she energetically explained to Prime some plot of a new show she had started watching. Prime herself looked almost gone, already hooked up with the drugs dripping into her bloodstream.

It was hard to believe it had been three whole years since the DDTP disbanded, deeming the research enough for commercial usage of the ADSSU. He could see this same scene unfolding in his memories, with the addition of a few faceless, always-rotating personnel. 

Finally, when everyone’s eyes closed and even Laby dozed off, Shakti hooked him up as well, leaving the girl in Centurion’s care, obviously pleased with the numbers that the numerous screens were displaying. “Good luck in there,” she told him, with a smile unbefitting someone who had just inserted alarmingly large needles into at least five people. 

It almost always surprised him how quickly he could feel the somnicin act, his vision swimming with black spots until he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore.

“Thank you.”

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

Morphy had gone all-out with this dream. Sure, it might’ve been made for a dream exposition, for art-crazed rich people to stroll through, but the care put into every detail was impeccable. It made the dream feel dazzling, like stepping into a fairytale.

They stood atop a circular platform, the roof of a spire, with stained glass beneath their soles, polished and shining and casting an array of rainbow lights onto the apparent greenhouse that was housed inside the spire itself, only the top of the tree that wound throughout the whole spire through the holes in the floors. The only thing that didn’t feel like it belonged was a tall golden stand with a tapestry hanging off of it, placed in the middle of the roof. It read ‘Welcome to Layer one!’ in flowing cursive. There was a gold-gilded staircase winding around the tower, and when Nisha looked over the edge of the roof, leaning onto the railing with all its carved decor, she could barely make out the ground beneath them.

‘It’s like a tower floating in the clouds,’ Laby chimed in her head, her insistence making Nisha lean further, despite the unease in her stomach.

‘It is beautiful,’ Nisha acquiesced, finally pushing herself off from the edge and back to the middle of the platform where everyone was gathered, now that Herrsch, too, joined them.

‘We should explore!’

‘Later, Laby. We can ask Morphy to give us a tour.’

Morphy’s dream hadn’t stopped at just this tower — there were multitudes of them all around, sticking through the hazy fog like columns of faintly shimmering glass, marble, silver and gold. And it had affected them as well. Nisha found herself in a gown-like dress, twined with golden thread through layers of sheer lace and tulle, the most extravagant thing she had ever worn, even in a dream.

Herrsch donned a midnight-blue coat with tailcoats hair’s breadth from touching the floor, so much golden thread everywhere he looked like he spilled a tub of glitter on himself. Everyone else seemed to be in the same boat, looking ready for a gala instead of a deep dive into the dreams.

“Conwell, you will stay here with Morphy. Be ready to boot anyone if you hear the hint,” he said, “Nova, we’ll go recon layer two. Laby,” he turned to her and corrected himself, “or, Nisha, you’re coming with us. Dox, check in in ten. Fifteen maximum.”

Dox pulled out his phone from the pocket of his blindingly white pants, lips moving the barest amount as he started counting to circumvent the messy flow of time. Nisha nodded, turning away just in time for Herrsch to pull out a handgun from the inside pocket of his coat. 

‘Laby, close your eyes,’ she instructed. She liked to believe Laby listened, even though she had no way of checking. She walked over to the railing. ‘Keep them closed, okay? Can you tell me what happened after Roy and Sarah kissed in the last episode? I fell asleep, I didn’t see.’

There was a moment of hesitation, but then Laby started a tirade, words gushing out like they had been held back by a dam until just then. ‘Roy fel bad, so he made them both go home, but they left all their friends in the cabin, and they were looking for them, and Roy wouldn’t answer their calls because he wanted to talk it out so he turned his phone off, but Sarah thought there wasn’t really anything to talk about—’

Nisha took a breath and hopped over the railing just as the first shot rang out. ‘What happened then, Laby? Keep your eyes closed.’

‘T-they ended up talking, because Roy started crying, and he… thought Sarah only kissed him because she felt pressured to, and he didn’t want—’

The wind howled around her as she fell, passing window after window, greenery blurring behind the glass. For a moment, she felt weightless, arms spread and catching the air as it passed her, and then the second shot rang out and she hit the ground.

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

Nova awoke with a grunt, raising a hand to rub at the crust in his eyes. The dream he had was already fading from his memory, even though he was sure it had been vivid.

He threw the covers off of himself and sat up, back popping loudly as he did. His room was dark, maybe it was too early to wake up, maybe he still had time to go back to sleep. A cursory look over to the bedside table and the alarm clock on it told him it was only 25:90. He still had time, then.

He entertained the thought of grabbing a glass of water, but finally decided against it and just rolled back onto the covers.

“No, it’s time to get up, come on,” Herrsch said, making him grunt again. He rolled over to crack an eye in his general direction, finding him in the middle of the room, another unmade bed just behind him.

“But it’s just twenty-six o’clock,” he grumbled.

Herrsch cocked an eyebrow. “Mind telling me what exactly is wrong with what you just said? I’ll wait.”

Muttering under his breath, Nova sat up again. The clock still read 25:90, he wasn’t sure what Herrsch’s deal was. “I know how to read clocks, you know.”

“Yes, as I’m aware.” The sarcasm in the air could be cut with a butter knife. “Anyway, you have a bug on your hand.”

With a frown and, frankly, confused about what a bug had to do with clocks, Nova half-hearted swatted at the back of his hand. “Look—“

“No, no, the other hand. Can’t you see it?”

Nova looked down at his other hand, finding no bug on the synthetic casing. He turned towards Herrsch to give him an earful about dodging the subject, but then he did a double take and looked down again.

The soft mechanical sounds that filled the air as he flexed his fingers were the only sounds in the room for a few moments. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Can’t believe it happened again,” he said.

Herrsch shook his head. “It’s only natural, don’t beat yourself up over it. Come on, Immo is here, I can feel him.”

“Ah yes, you and your human mementos. Wish I could know it was a dream just because someone was in it with me.”

“It’s not just anyone.“

“Might as well be, since you never dream without one of them.”

Herrsch could feel heat rushing up his cheeks, so he turned away. He was sure the dimness of the room would hide them, but he didn’t want to risk anything. He didn’t offer a reply to Nova’s remark. “I sent Nisha to anchor layer three. Dox will be here... soon.”

Coordinating such a large group was bound to be messy, but even Nova had to admit they had some dangerously well-equipped dreamers for the task. Dox in particular.

“Let’s recon, then.”

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Eighteen: Kalypso

The Return of the Paxmobile

(or: Dananananana Dnananana Paxmobile!)

 Everyone was laughing as they ran out of the club. Pax scrambled to pull his shirt back on. Axel surprised her and Euna with a quick front flip as they ran. He laughed like a maniac and Kally realized Merry’s power had affected more than the Heroes of Olympus.

The outside cold snapped Kally more into reality. The gleeful tears that streaked down her cheeks now turned to trails of ice. She’d been in a sound booth tucked into one of the walls with protective Plexiglas. Apparently, it wasn’t uncommon for the merfolk to splash the electronics whenever they disliked a song so everything had been waterproofed. Also effective for, In Case of Percy Jackson. Despite that, Merry had taken over the music halfway through with her jacket, allowing Kally to dance in the isolation of her box without any responsibilities.

“Okay, Merry, I owe you an apology,” Axel admitted. “I didn’t think whatever idea you had was going to work. I mean… the Diet Cokes?”

“The sacrifice to Dad,” Merry giggled. “I ain’t that powerful.” Calex carried her bridal style as they ran down the alleyway. She kept throwing her head back and forth, like she was still dancing to the music, making it as difficult for Calex to carry her as possible.[1]

Merry had collapsed in the club. That party had completely drained her. Kally had seen Merry talk her way out of tons of exercising in gym class and wasn’t used to Merry looking so exhausted. Now, she kept giggling nonsensically, waving her fingers haphazardly to a beat no one could hear, nuzzling up against Calex’s chest, and mumbling the words to Bollywood songs. The grin on her face was absolutely silly and contagious.

“You two—” Merry flicked her hand at Pax and Axel, making Kally duck to avoid being struck. “—are great at the whole war thing, but you’re not very god at peace, are you two?”

Pax laughed and stated, “No, all we’ve ever known is violence,” in the least comforting manner he could.

The image of Pax’s bedroom fluttered to the surface of Kally’s memory—the corner with the chains, clubs, and whips. All the mirth flushed out of her. Instead, she thought about laying beside Pax on his bed, and about what Pax must have done to make Frank flustered the other day. Did other demigods have this problem? Worrying about their traumatized not-boyfriends making out with unwary praetors?

“Merry, that was brilliant, though you’re a mad woman,” Calex said, interrupting Kally’s thoughts on her muddled emotions.

They turned out of the alley onto the main street. Axel slowed them to normal walking pace to draw less attention. The sky was dark now—as dark, Kally figured, as the sky could get in Brooklyn. It gleamed with an ominous orange haze that washed out most of the stars, like Hephaestus was hammering away new New York Part II to impress Athena somewhere nearby.

The streets were busy with the night crowd. Some people made Kally happy that Euna had Backbiter and that someone as intimidating as Axel was leading them.

Now that they’d left the energy of the club and were walking, Kally could feel herself shake in the cold. Merry was the only one with a real jacket in the group. Calex’s beanie and scarf couldn’t have kept him that much warmer.

“Why did you need me to shoot Percy?” Calex asked.

Merry giggled. “Oh, that wasn’t for the plan. I just thought Pax would get a kick out of seeing Percy fall in love with Jason.”

Calex’s jaw dropped. Axel choked on a laugh. Pax burst into one. Even Euna cracked a half-smile, though Kally thought Euna’s grin might have been in reaction to her own musings due to the distant glint in her eyes.

“You had me shoot at the SON OF POSEIDON because this idiotic block might get ‘a kick out of it?!?’” he demanded.

“Yes.”

“M-Merry, you’re am-mazing,” Pax said, wiping happy tears from his eyes. “I g-give you 10 out of 10 on app-preciating your efforts—HUNNIE! BALLER!”

Before Calex could drop Merry on the sidewalk or toss her into Pax to knock both of them over, a shriek erupted from a passing group of girls in high heels and boys in button downs. “Ew! Rats!”

Two furry creatures darted through their prancing feet and, upon reaching Pax’s legs, scampered up his pants. Once they reached his belt, they burrowed under his shirt, incurring several shouts of glee and pain.

“Ow—ow! Ha ha! Ow! Guys—I missed you—aye! Who fixed you up, Hunnie?!” he asked.

Axel smiled. Then his eyes widened. “Wait—Ajax, if they’re here—”

“We can have weasel death battles again!” Pax exclaimed, and hugged a squirming bulge along his waist.

“That… too, but it means—”

“That means the Paxmobile is nearby!” Pax scrambled to withdraw the two weasels from his shirt. As he pulled them out, they wriggled and bit as his arms. “Ow—ow—go forth my—ow—pretties! F-find us our mobile home!”  

 Kally wasn’t sure how much time passed before Sam Datta’s taxi-van stopped. They’d tried walking after Hunnie and Baller for ten minutes before calling Sam, all of them shaking from the cold and exhausted.

Sam was a little skeptical about letting a pair of weasels direct their movement, but the skepticism turned to wonder when Pax handed him a pocket full of denari and drachma.

“Is this… pirate edition Monopoly money?” he asked. He glanced in concern to where Merry, Calex, and Euna had immediately collapsed in the back seats. Merry was out after a delirious greeting, “vanakkam.[2]”

“It’s what Frank and Jason had in their pockets,” Pax said, hopping in the passenger seat. “So, they’re probably made out of gold. Can you imagine if New Rome was using monopoly money though?” Pax shook his head. “We could use inflation to destroy their economy. Mu ha ha.”

Sam shrugged. “That credit card from earlier didn’t bounce yet. Did you guys beat up her stalker and their cavalry reinforcements?” He pointed a thumb at Kally.

Kally frowned. She wished that wasn’t the story they’d gone with. She sat in the middle with Axel.

“We showed them how to party,” Merry sleepily murmured from the back.

Sam shook his head. Despite the late hour, his eyes were still lit up with excitement. “Hey man, I want details. I’m not driving you places for monopoly money and Mr. Stoic’s angry glare. Now, before I hear how you kicked mythological ass, I’m not going to get dive bombed by like, a dragon, this time, am I?”

Kally thought about Festus, the bronze dragon that Leo had.

“No,” Axel said with firm confidence.

At the same time, Pax said, “Possibly.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled more. “Ah, awesome. Well, I hope you can make sense of my biostat notes, because you’re going to help me study between story time.”

 Pax sat in the front to watch the weasels dash across the dashboard and verbalize their movement to Sam. Axel sat up, alert, and vigilantly scanned the horizon.

Kally wanted to stay awake, to make sure they didn’t derail too far from Camp Half-Blood to find the Paxmobile, though it would be nice to have their own transportation. Honestly though, Kally didn’t know if they were going away from Camp Half-Blood, considering her lack of knowledge about the geography of New York.

Apparently, something about the weasels’ dance across the dashboard was mesmerizing enough for Kally to nod off. When she felt the car roll to a stop, she could smell the cloy mix of spicy chocolate and sweat in her nostrils. Her face and right arm felt toasty despite the cold of the van. Kally glanced up, looking past a torn and bloody Camp Jupiter shirt to where Axel was staring out the window.

Her face was pressed against Axel’s chest and his arm was loosely around her shoulder. When he noticed her wake up, he gave her a soft smile, ruffled her hair, and removed his arm.

Kally’s face felt even toastier.

For a disorienting moment, Kally had a weird flashback to her brother, John. Before he’d became a total jerk, when Kally was really little, he used to help carry her inside the house whenever she fell asleep on long car rides. Sometimes, she’d pretend to have fallen asleep, just so John would complain about how heavy she was while tossing her over one shoulder.

The memory faded when Axel startled and shouted, “STOP!”

Sleepy grumbles erupted from the back.

They squeaked to a sharp halt. From the ease of the break, they couldn’t have been going that fast. From what Kally could see in the scattered street lamps, they were in a suburban neighborhood, with concrete sidewalk forming a horseshoe in a cul-de-sac. They’d braked at the entrance of the cul-de-sac.

The houses were nice, middle-income family homes, bigger than Kally’s house, but she was used to her friends’ houses being bigger. Each had about an acre of land, with minor landscaping and a few scattered trees.

There wasn’t anything that should have made Axel shout for them to stop. Except maybe Hunnie and Baller. They were going nuts and doing flips. One scratched at the front windshield while the other sprinted in circles around the dashboard.

“Unicorn or something?” Sam asked, ducking his head back and forth like he might see something.

Axel pointed to the last house in the cul-de-sac.

Amidst the overgrown grass of that last house, there was indeed a unicorn grazing in the grass. Kally was relieved to see the sputtering rainbow sparkles erupt out of the red and black stallion ahead. Vinyl was okay and happily munching on the lawn.

A white, dented pharmaceutical van was parked in the house’s narrow parking lot.

Kally hoped that was their Paxmobile, and not Lapis and Hiro’s. But she could see the faintest hint of paint on the side, from where the Pax brothers had scribbled Pax Extraction Team. A weird nostalgia hit her as she thought about playing card games with Pax’s holographic deck in the back.

A golden donkey poked its head out from the other side of the Paxmobile: Lucius the Golden Ass.

“That’s just a deer du—oh.” Sam’s eyes went wide. “Oh, man, are most deer secretly unicorns? Have I hit a unicorn with my car before without even knowing it?”

He edged the taxi forward at a slow roll.

Axel shot forward and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “I said stop.”

The taxi halted again. “Are unicorns deadly?” Sam asked, wide-eyed.

“Very,” Pax said absently. “I heard they eat human livers.” He sat rigidly in the passenger seat, leaning forward slightly. He bounced slightly back and forth in a motion recognized as his I want to hop but I’m sitting.

“Krios and Luke only told you that so you’d stop asking for one,” Axel said. His normal sigh didn’t follow. Instead, his gaze was steady. The Mist fluttered for a moment, and Kally could see his pupils had widened, leaving a thin rim of his iris, like a cat ready to pounce.

“There’s a rune barrier around that house,” he said. Kally didn’t see anything, but she assumed this was a true sight thing.

“Like..?” Pax asked.

“A child of Hecate rune barrier,” Axel clarified.

Pax went silent. Kally thought he might break his seat if he bounced anymore. She could imagine the internal, chibi version of Pax clawing at his seatbelt, squealing, “Release me!”

Something small and ghostly darted from under the Paxmobile, gliding bouncily towards their taxi, like the most menacing of specter bunnies.  

One of the weasels on the dashboard made a loud squeak and phased through the windshield. Kally blinked, watching as the remaining one bit and attacked the glass in attempt to follow after.

“Wow! Your ferret can—”

The weasel left in the car shrieked at Sam before continuing to attack the glass.

“Weasel,” Pax corrected absently. He looked stunned as he watched their weasel scamper up and intercept the approaching white figure.

“Baller does that sometimes,” Axel said. His posture was rigid. He absently grabbed at his belt, where a weapon should have been. This was the tensest Kally had seen him since he interacted with Aphrodite. “Kally, wake up the others. Everybody needs to get out.”

As soon as the doors opened, Hunnie darted off to join Baller in attacking that floating spectral thing. Once Pax remembered to remove his seatbelt, he bolted after them. Merry wouldn’t budge. Calex, sleepily, had to carry her out. None of them wanted to wake up Euna. They took Joey’s old piece of advice about throwing things at her, mostly crumbled up pieces of Sam’s notebook. Fortunately, she didn’t assault any of them on waking. She just glared.

Sam said he’d wait at the bottom of the cul-de-sac until he heard everything was okay. He hefted up his biostats book and cracked it open for some studying. “Unicorns and golden donkeys make the perfect backdrop for studying. Besides, knowing my luck, you’ll make the house explode or something.” He made it sound like that really would be lucky. Kally was starting to wonder what this guy did on weekends, other than pick up random kids with stolen credit cards and take them to strange houses by weasel direction.

As they walked up the small incline of the sidewalk, towards the house, Axel seemed deaf to Calex’s questions about where they were and what they were doing and why they weren’t at Camp Half-Blood yet. Though his questions quieted to glee at seeing Vinyl in the yard.

Ahead of them, Pax reached the three battling creatures and dropped onto the pavement, crying, “Nietz! Nietz!” Kally thought neats was a weird thing to call when being overrun by—

“Oh gods,” Calex groaned, “Are there really three of those damned things?”

When she got close enough, Kally recognize the small specter to be another weasel, this one albino. The three weasels decided Pax’s body was a battle ground, bounding over his limbs, hiding, and ambushing one another.

Tears streamed down Pax’s cheeks as he scrambled to snatch up the albino weasel. “Axel—Axel, it’s Nietz! Do—do you think—”

           They were at the house’s property line when Axel knelt down. He touched a part of the concrete, and a green rune appeared on the ground, glowing dimly. “It’s an alarm ward,” he said absently. He clenched his jaw.

           The three weasels bound away from Pax to scamper around Axel’s legs. He reached down to pet the white weasel, who dropped onto its back and curled to bite and scratch his fingers. “Hey Nietzsche,” he greeted with a soft smile. He stood up, inhaled shakily, and said, “Whoever lives in that house will already know we’re here. Let’s check to see if everything is in the van. I want to be armed. Just in case.”  

 Thanks for reading :D Are you ready to meet the new Seventh Traitor of Olympus?

[1] My niece does this when you carry her and it is terrifying since you never know when she’ll drive to dive out of your arms.

[2] Greeting in Tamil.

[ambrosiaswhispers]

My Things

Okay I did a little list recently for fics in response and I thought why not promote my own things a bit. ‘Cause I can. I also thought I’d give you a little bit int my process as well. All questions have been asked of my in one way or another.

Why write in the first place?

I love to write- honestly if I couldn’t get my words out on paper, I’d most likely end up a bit on the crazy side. I’ve always had a vivid imagination. I wrote my first story in crayon when I was about 5 or 6, it was about a unicorn jumping over a rainbow to eat birthday cake...Yup, unicorns and birthday cake - I wasn’t a complicated kid. lol. 

I had my first real issue with insomnia when I was 10 and the counselor my parents had me talk to suggested a journal. I never wrote about myself, I always wrote about brave girls, who saved themselves from the villains and feel in love with the guy the always stood with them. I worked on original pieces, but never showed them to anyone.

What was your first fic?

I wrote my first fic when I was 15, rebelling against my parents and posting it online - they never did catch me for that part. I wrote the fic off an anime called “Ronin Warriors.” It was about 12 parts and I’ve recently re-read part of it - Whoa, hello OCs with tragic backstories and Mary Sue-ness. Yikes. LOL.

How does your process start?

Normally it’s a “conversation that I overhear” in my head. It’s a line of dialogue or ‘scene’ that I see so clearly that I have to write it down and figure out how the characters got there. I use a voice recorder - always helpful, but if anyone heard my recordings they’d probably lock me mental hospital. I may or may not use different voices when I record.

Kastle/Daredevil

This is a fandom that I fell flat on my face for with no warning. Okay so it actually happened like this: 

My husband says, let’s watch the second season of Daredevil and I’m like, I’m afraid of what the Punisher will look likes. He’s like don’t worry, I saw a clip, he’s good. We start watching and I’m like, I can watch this without being worried, about shipping anyone because they are moving Karen and Matt together and I’m indifferent. The first interaction of Karen and Frank and I make this squeaking noise and my husband says, “Don’t ship Karen with the Punisher. He’s in love with justice, bullet-flavored justice.” He looks at me and laughs, “Too late?” I nod and he hands me my notebook – this is true love, fyi.

 Most of what I’ve written for this ship are in bits on Tumblr: here. There’s a few of my fic recs in that tag as well. I have a little bit of everything mixed in there. 

On AO3 I have one complete piece and one chapter piece that I started that my laptop promptly ate... rude, by-the-way.

The Unchosen Door  - This is really a ghost of Kastle piece and is more about Frank and his family. Fair warning it is sad. This wrote itself, I blinked and I was staring at it on my screen - I had to edit, that was about it. Summary: “He was home. They were home. They were safe. He was going to get her to take the damn day off to spend with him and the kids, but something just seemed wrong..... "The horrorcore of what might have been was behind an unchosen door. An unopened, black door marked with a bullet hole and a white skull." A moment that could have been, about Frank Castle and his family.”

From Dusk Till Dawn The Series

I love this series and writing for it, currently rules my brain and most of my heart. I’ve got a soft spot for those crazy brothers and that whole world really. this is one and only fandoms that I ship all over the place. Normally my brain says: “That; we’re shipping that” with this series it’s like I’m a cat high catnip and I’m chasing a lazer pointer. Seriously, it’s a problem. LOL.

SethKate

No secret I write more in this ship than the others. I honestly identify with Seth’s voice more than anyone and that makes it click somehow. The dynamic fascinates me.

Rules of the Mexican Honeymoon series So this series has a follow-up story written after each season and I had a plan for it, which Seth promptly ignored and ripped out my heart with all the angst.

Please; This Is As Far As We Go    The Post-Season 1 story became a 5 part Mature piece and I even posted an Explicit version: here  with an extended sex scene. The epilogue was not everyone’s favorite. It’s really not my fault... I “heard” Seth whisper, “Four more minutes.” and that was that. Summary: “There are two phrases that seem to chase their conversations like a snake swallowing its own tail: Please and This is as far as we go.Seth and Kate deal with the aftermath of Season 1 and the loss of their families. This is my take on Seth and Kate's "Mexican Honeymoon" I may leave it as a one-shot. If I do extend it the rating will likely go up.Rating has gone up, 'cause well, Seth Gecko.” Proudest writing moment: The beach scene in the fourth part.

Four Minutes of Self-Destruction The Post-Season 2 part... So this piece was so bitterly painful for me to write that I actually got a little depressed. It was hard to live in Seth’s head for that one. Summary:  “This is Seth dealing/not dealing with Kate's death. Post-Season two and pre-Season three. Seth is not emotionally equipped for any of these things. Richie's trying to be a supportive brother and trying to help. Seth finds Kate's cross at the Bloodwell and takes it back to Bethel.” Proudest writing moment: Confession in the church

Without Condition The Post-Season 3 part. This is the only part where we get to hear Kate’s thoughts in this series.I really tried to pull in ties from the previous parts to make it feel richer. The Epilogue was pure fluff. Summary: “ After Amaru and preventing the apocalypse Kate is trying to figure out how she belongs into her skin and what the hell 'four minutes' means. She wants to reclaim her body and she wants Seth to help, but she's afraid she won't be able to handle it.” Proudest writing moment: Kate’s POV - I really felt like I captured her voice in those moments.

Without A Fight (…but there is a fight) So this one is one-shot originally a Tumblr prompt. I loved the fact that it felt raw to me. I’m sucker for characters in the rain trope. Summary: “Original prompt from Tumblr: "Could you write Sethkate - she's mad at him because he almost "let" Amaru kill him to touch her, and she would have just had to watch?"Kate wakes up from a nightmare and can't shake her anger. Seth's a big part of that rage and not always the way he thinks. In the back parking lot of Jacknife Jed's things come to a head. Proudest writing moment: Angry Kate prose at the beginning.

Hey Bartender So I wrote this AU one-shot, as a distraction from “Four Minutes of Self-Destruction.” I normally don’t write AU pieces and this was just a smut piece basically. I thought it was fun though. Summary: “AU piece: no culebras, no kidnapping and many of the cannon characters are still alive. Essentially we have modern setting in a bar with Seth as a bartender and Kate as a college student. Past that this is a smut fic. PWP – essentially. I do hope that you enjoy it. There is a mention of a suicide attempt.” Proudest writing moment: Seth has a lot of things to say and I think it ended up sexy.

Die By Dawn This multi-chapter piece set post Season 3 and the concept is rough. I started writing this piece and during the writing of the 3rd part lost my grandfather to complications from cancer. This is piece that I’m writing to heal and is still in progress. Summary: “After surviving Amaru and the end of the world, they find out Kate has limited time to live, because cancer is a bitch. How do they say goodbye? How does Kate want to spend her last days? Seth's not dealing with this very well. Richie and Scott are not having it either. Kate's somehow is the one that is going to get everyone through this. Warning for: cancer, impeding (but not immediate) character death, grief stages, and potential adult situations.” Proudest writing moment: Without spoiling anything Richie’s POV in part 5 - it was a labor of love to make perfect.

Love Is... This is an AU multi-chapter piece from a Tumblr prompt is being writing with the help of my dear friend here. So I write comedy? Yes... apparently I do. This is loosely based on Jane the Virgin. I just love this piece I smile everytime I work on it. Still in progress Summary: “Originally a Tumblr prompt: "Anonymous said: Me too for being curious about SethnKate prompts idea. I got one for you. Jane the Virgin au...Seth hijacks Kate's pregnancy. Poor Kate winks Seth is pissed till he meets his baby momma haha" Seth never planned on any of this: not the sweet little, virgin church girl, who's got more attitude than people expect; not her moving in with him and his family and certainly not his baby she's intent on having. He's going to have to figure out how this woman and his child are going to fit into his life; does he even want them to?” Proudest writing moment: Can I love the whole thing? Maybe Richie’s summary of the events to Eddie - yup, probably that so far.

RichieKate/Kichie

It’s the moment he closes his eyes and prays with her in the RV and the expression on his face when he sees her at Jackknife Jeds - when Mavado brings her out.

Right Call So even though this ended up kinda a smut piece. I really liked it- I think it’s a got heart. I felt like I got Richie’s voice too. Summary: Kate gets hurt during a job and wants ice cream... Richie wants Kate... Seth leaves to get Kate ice cream and....PWP, Smut.... good lord this ran away with me. "...but it did things to him when he caught his scent on her. Humans liked to pretend that part of their nature didn’t exist, but it did. It was just expressed in different ways now: ring on a certain finger, offering a girl your shirt after sex, sharing a shower and washing her with your soap, getting her addicted to your favorite foods, and of course the ever cliché hickey on the neck." Proudest writing moment: Richie’s voice in general - but I loved him whispering scripture onto her skin. Points if you can guess where in the Bible it comes from without googling it.

Seth/Kate/Richie Honestly never written or shipped a poly-relationship, but there is something about the way they both react around her that made it click in my head.

Ever Mine; Ever Yours; Ever Ours Currently this is a two-part bit of OT3 fluff. First time I’ve ever written the idea of a three-way pairing. Side note I grew up with girl who lived in a type of household - so in my brain it’s not outside of possible. I am planning on more to this and some more mature things as well. Summary: Okay this came out of nowhere and simply could NOT be more domestic OT3 if I tried. Seriously, it just hit me from left field and now I have Gecko babies running around in my head. OT3 for reals though - in a fluffy, domestic way, but very much OT3. Okay other than that, no warnings needed, it’s fluffy nonsense.A non-crime Gecko story - all about family Proudest writing moment: First time I got brave enough to share a visual board.

Okay so this turned out longer than I planned. I guess I’m gonna do this in more than one part.

Yikes so many words about my words... Be Blessed guys. I’m working on all my pieces write now.

Love to my Loves!!!