#..don’t quote me on that it sounds like something shockwave would say

[knight-says-rollout]

Thinking about the combaticons and how fucked up they are

Like after the 4-5 million year wars worth of imprisonment in the detention center with their sparks in a glorified filing cabinet, even ignoring the psychological impacts that would have, then being rebuilt by starscream of all bots and the episode may say he made them into a gestalt but that Doesn’t Make Sense. Gestalts are born able to combine due to sharing spark bonds right off the bat. They’re basically siblings, have shared spark material. How would someone artificially create that and do it in the woods with minimal supplies aside from scavenged frames to rebuild with? The WFC storyline of shockwave doing that part as an experiment makes much more sense and is what I go with bUT LIKE? THATS WORSE?? That’s Worse. Shockwave literally had his ability to give a shit surgically removed he did Not do any of that ethically, ignoring that the procedure in and of itself is unethical I’m not even sure they all got properly knocked out for it. I am sure they all at least kinda knew eachother before this, were probably a group, but methinks having a spark bond forcibly made connecting your Soul to bots you Kinda Know kinda nullifies the importance of how long they’ve know each other because however long it definitely wasn’t enough. Like that’s an instant breach of so much privacy good god. And they’re given no recovery time from this, just sent back into the decepticon army or some astroid as time-out or a revenge plot against megatron or whatever

The whole thing absolutely left remaining side effects bc I refuse to believe an experimental procedure of That degree was executed perfectly

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Sonic Filmverse Chaos Emerald Theory, Part Who Fucking Knows: The Novelization won’t shut up about Chaos

Original Theory for Context

So, earlier, @birdsareblooming​ was given two quotes from the Sonic 2020 novelization implying Chaos energy is present in Sonic- link here. So, I got a hold on the novelization to see what was up.

Now, disclaimer outright: the novelization is based on an early version of the script, from what I can tell, and so it’s not super accurate to the final film- Wade, Jojo, Rachel and Ozzy are nonexistent, Maddie barely does anything, there’s less death fakeouts, etc... however, it should be noted that this is considered official, and so should count for at least something.

And as for what it counts for? I tabbed off every instance of the word “chaos” or “chaotic” in this book, and...

IT’S. A LOT.

According to the Amazon search feature, which I used because I’m too lazy to count myself, there are 14 instances of “chaos” and 5 of “chaotic”, totaling 19. And almost all of them are related to Sonic’s power. Not all of them, of course, but enough to draw suspicion.

Below, I’m going to list each line that references chaos with the page number, and you can... draw your own conclusions.

p.8: [Longclaw] was the only one who had cared for him after the emergence of his powers. Even in their world, the blur fur... the electric speed... it was nearly indescribable. There were some who believed his powers would unleash chaos on the world.

p.8: And so Longclaw took him into hiding on the island. There he could run free and be something close to a normal kid. The most chaotic things about his life were his hilarious pranks. That’s how he saw it.

p.10: And the hoods these [echidnas] wore showed their allegiance to the powerful warlords who had chased Sonic his whole life. They wanted to unleash the chaos energy inside him and overtake the world. [a]

p.11: “It’s too late for that. And besides, you don’t want to live only to destroy. You were meant for more than chaos.” [Longclaw] said, like she had a thousand times before. “I don’t know why this power came to you, but I have to believe that it was for more than being a pawn in someone else’s game.”

p.38-39: And the faster he went, the more his fur and his quills tingled with that chaotic blue energy.

p.39: The entire field exploded, knocking even Sonic off course and into the dirt. He squinted and just caught a massive wave of blue chaos energy shooting up and out across the sky.

p.42-43: Robotnik had been contacted twelve hours after the incident. Twelve hours since an electrical shockwave exploded out of Podunk Hills and caused chaos for over eight hundred miles.

p.79: By the time Sonic was able to stop laughing, a wall of bikers- all filled with rage- had surrounded them. That’s when chaos broke out.

p.92: The botnik shuddered as Sonic’s hands reached out in front of him and made a thunderous clap. The shockwave of chaotic blue energy radiated out of those fingers with all its fury pointed back from where they’d come from.

p.98: The more [Robotnik] stared into the chaotic energy of this hedgehog, the more Robotnik became obsessed with the potential of harnessing its disorder. With that kind of power source, he could convert the whole world into a robot revolution.

p.110: “Donut Lord, you don’t know what it’s like when I let that chaos out of me,” [Sonic] said. “I’ve never seen humans shoot lightning out of their butts.”

p.113-114: “You want to feel the power of real chaos so bad?” Sonic taunted. “You’ll have to catch me first, Ro-Butt-Nik!” [b]

p.114: Sonic launched himself in the air, and suddenly he could see everything in fine detail. He had sensed it at the roadhouse, too, but he was having too much fun then to understand what was happening. All the madness, the mayhem, the pure chaos of the fight slowed down in his mind, and he could perceive every motion of Robotnik’s mindless Badniks. [c]

p.116: Robotnik had pulled up a  glass case containing Sonic’s lost quill. And with a click, he activated the quill as a chaos power battery.

p.118-119: “He’s got the power of chaos now,” Sonic said as he dropped through the air in the free fall. “I can’t leave him with even a drop of that power.”

p. 130: “You think you got it all figured out, but you played yourself,” Sonic said with a jeer as he sped from spot to spot, just ahead of the egg-pod’s busted cannons. “You thought you could steal a bit of my chaos energy and use it to bend the world to your will. But it doesn’t work like that. Chaos doesn’t get controlled, and neither do I, Ro-Butt-Nik!” [d]

p.131: “Chaos doesn’t have to mean destruction,” Sonic said, dodging from side to side. “I know how it works now.” [e]

p.132: A final chaotic burst threw the ring right at Robotnik, eating up the scientist and his cruel machine. A shockwave of blue lightning dissipated in the air, and when the sound of thunder died down, Sonic stood alone in a burned circle of dirt.

Other notes:

a. Calling the echidnas “powerful warlords” makes more sense when you remember Pachacamac is in charge of them rn... and what was Pachacamac trying to steal to use as a weapon, again? Some emeralds?

b. This doesn’t have anything to do with the theory, but I just wanna say the novelization had way more SATAM references with “Ro-Butt-Nik” and Sonic calling things “Way past cool” and now I just miss Sally.

c. Sounds a bit like Chaos Control, hun.

d. This one seems the most deliberate and intentional reference- but with all the other references to chaos energy, it just makes the others seem more legit to me.

e. Sonic Adventure vibes....

So. hmm. inch resting

[lexa-lives-in-us]

I would love a Dairon/Marion aftermath where Marion is fretting over Dairon in the undercover au and Dairon, trying not to show it, is just as worried?

Part 10 of ???

Read 1 - 2 - 3 - 4  - 5 - 6  - 7 - 8 - 9

Dairon stirs, tilting their head slowly to one side and groaning at the stiffness of their muscles.

They blink their eyes open, feeling someone stirring next to them.

It’s dark in the room, the only light present coming from a lamp in the corner.

“Darling?”

Dairon sighs, abandoning themselves against the mattress in pure relief. One arm is tied around their neck, wrapped in a cast.

“Marion.” they say. “Are you okay?”

Marion scoffs, sounding for the first time almost annoyed.

Dairon turns to look at her, but they only find worry on Marion’s perfect face.

“Why are you the one who keeps asking me that?” Marion replies. Her hand, first on Dairon’s good wrist and now fully entwined with their own, brings Dairon’s knuckles up to her lips, and Marion kisses each bruise.

“How are you feeling?” she whispers. “Jester said you have at least three cracked ribs, one broken, plus a fractured wrist and a possible concussion. Your ankle is sprained, although that is probably the least of the worries.”

Dairon can only agree. They can barely feel the pain in the ankle under the throbbing of literally everything else.

Despite that, they try to pull themselves in an upright position. Marion immediately stands, pulling the pillow out from under them and fixing it against the wall. Dairon doesn’t even have the strength to complain or try to be hard headed about.

They feel incredibly weak still, and all their energies are currently focused on trying to figure out whether or not Marion has some hidden injury she is not showing.

Marion sits back on the chair, and Dairon brows furrow.

“Have you been sitting here?” they ask, and Marion shrugs with a lighthearted laugh.

“Where else?” she says.

Dairon scoffs. The idea that this woman, who is used to fancy hotels and pillows made of materials that cost as much as one of Dairon’s paychecks, is now sitting on a crooked wooden chair in a basement of a safe-house, is something that Dairon cannot stand.

Especially not because of them. This is not supposed to be happening. It is not how the night was supposed to go.

Dairon turns their head, staring ahead and clenching their jaw.

“Ms. Lavorre, you should go find a bed, and not worry. It is not the first time I find myself in this kind of predicament.”

Dairon waits, fully expecting to hear the scraping noise of the chair against the pavement, and heeled steps leaving the room, but none of that happens.

“Is it Mr. Lavorre, now?” Marion asks, quietly, and the hurt in her voice almost makes Dairon want to fling themselves out of bed and onto their knees, asking forgiveness.

They don’t say anything, only stare ahead.

“My darling.” Marion says, hurt still in her tone, but oh, so much softness in it. “You have no idea what my life has been like. You do not know what I have seen. You must not worry about me.”

Dairon can’t help but rebel at that suggestion, and finally turns to look at the woman.

“Not worry?! How can I not worry after everything that just happened?!“

Dairon shakes their head, giving a once over to Marion’s ripped dress, to a cut under her jaw that they haven’t noticed before. Their heart jumps in their throat at the sight.

Marion must read something on their face, because her palms immediately land on their cheeks, and Dairon finds themselves staring into ruby red eyes.

“Dairon,” Marion murmurs, and every time this woman says their name, Dairon wants to crumble. “My own daughter is on the list of most wanted in both Europe and South America. Her friends, those kids... Every time I say goodbye to them, it’s with the knowledge it might be the last time I see them. I have been in the middle of political conflicts and special operations since I was a teenager.”

Dairon closes their eyes for a long moment.

Everything Marion’s said digs deep in their bones.

Those are kids. They’re their kids. They don’t know what they would do if anything was to happen to any of them. To Beauregard...

Dairon takes a deep breath. That is something none of the people they’ve worked with have never understood, something that Marion clearly gets.

And Dairon knows why they like her so much. I mean, Marion is stunning. But she is talented and gorgeous and clearly a woman who doesn’t need that much help to get by in life, if the way she’s shot that car or handled the whole run is any indication.

But why Marion is sitting there with them, that is something that goes beyond Dairon’s comprehension. So they ask.

“Why me, Marion?” they say, opening their eyes.

Weirdly enough, Marion laughs.

“Oh, well. That is an easy one, my dear.” she says, dropping her hands from Dairon’s face to fix her hair.

Even with a ripped dress, dirt and blood on her, Marion looks like the most beautiful creature Dairon has ever laid eyes on. So elegant, and so out of place is this dirt hell.

“You did not know who I was.” Marion says, easily. “Right off the bat, in that staircase, you called me out for smoking, without knowing I basically owned that place. And even after finding out, it didn’t make much of a difference.”

Marion taps her finger against her stupidly perfect lips, then shakes her head.

“Or better, it did make a difference, but for all the wrong reasons. Instead of trying to get closer to me, you’ve immediately tried to put distance for both your and my safety. It’s admirable.”

Marion winks at them with a mischievous smile.

“It’s fascinating.” she says. “You are fascinating. Rough edges and soft parts that bleed.”

Dairon scoffs, exasperated: how is this woman so fucking perfect?!

“Anita Krizzan.”

Marion smiles, not at all surprised. She nods, confirming the source of her quote. “Anita Krizzan.”

Dairon still doesn’t fully understand. Sure, they can get why they might look interesting to Marion, but from there to a full attraction...

Dairon knows they are conventionally attractive, but for regular people, generally. Not for high-class courtesans and VIPs. That is Beauregard’s job, really.

Dairon is more of a person of action.

“You are a mystery to me.” they end up muttering, finally reaching out to grab Marion’s chin and tilt her head, checking the gash under her jaw. It doesn’t look too deep, but Dairon would still prefer if someone could check it o-

“My darling, why don’t you stop fretting over me and the rest of the world, for one moment?”

Dairon looks up at her. Their first stupid thought they have is that those two are one and the same, in this very moment, but Marion is looking at them with softness and gentleness.

“Why don’t you just kiss me, and then go back to rest?”

Dairon’s spine immediately straightens, and a chill runs down it. A shiver of adrenaline, excitement and also opposition.

They really shouldn’t. They shouldn’t, come on-

They sneak their good hand behind Marion’s, neck, through soft hair, and reach out of the bed, crashing their lips against Marion’s in a searing, almost desperate kiss.

Marion clings onto them, one hand on their cheek, the other onto the mattress to lean on.

Marion makes a small, pleased sound and Dairon wants to throw everything out the figurative window and drag that woman into hell with them.

They end up kissing, pressing against each other, until Marion gets up from the chair and sits on the bed, Dairon scooting to the edge of the mattress to make room for her.

Dairon sighs on Marion’s ridiculously perfect lips, and their fingers skim down Marion’s jawline, onto her collarbone and on her chest, before stopping suddenly.

Marion laughs, low, not breaking away but murmuring: “Please touch me, Dairon. Everywhere you wish.”

Dairon wants to scream, and they understand how Beauregard is constantly attached to her wife, because they now feel the same magnetic attraction for Marion and they want to continuously touch her and kiss her.

They follow Marion’s permission, and slip their hand inside the very loose dress, palming soft, warm breasts.

Marion gasps softly, and this time around Dairon has to break away, breath heavy and a horrible pain in their chest every time they try to take air in. Fractured and broken ribs, right.

“We need to stop.” they say, closing their eyes and pressing their forehead against Marion’s. “For now.”

Marion smiles, nods.

“For now.” she promises, and Dairon’s heart squeezes.

They smile, too, and it’s genuine and happy.

It makes Marion sighs, in wonder and joy.

“You have the most beautiful smile.”

Dairon rolls their eyes, thankful for the poor light in the room that covers what is probably a blush.

“Go find a bed, Ms. Lavorre.” they grunt.

Marion clicks her tongue.

“It appears to me that I have already found one.” she says with a cheeky smile.

Dairon can immediately see who Jester has taken after.

“You are impossible.”

“So are you, Agent.” Marion claps back. “Now, sleep. I am not leaving you, no matter how much your stubborn ass tries to convince me to do the contrary.”

Dairon looks at her for a long moment.

Marion smiles, placing a kiss on their forehead, murmuring a soft: “Come on.”

So Dairon nods, and they both shuffle and slowly lower themselves onto the small bed. Marion wraps an arm around Dairon’s shoulders, giving them her body to lean on. Dairon is grateful that the position is actually really comfortable considering the amount of injuries their body has suffered.

The ribs throb painfully, and their wrist sends shockwaves of pain only once in a while, but they know that what they need is rest.

“G’night.” they grunt.

Marion’s chest vibrates with laughter.

“Goodnight, my darling.”

Dairon hides a smile, and closes their eyes.

[creators-novel]

Koto braces for impact.

           Fast-paced footsteps echo throughout the hallway. Just as Gaia was about to launch her finishing blow against Koto, she turns around to see Straus leading the band of Incarnates. Straus summons gauntlets with sharp, metal claws attached to them and jumps in the air as he calls out,

“CATCH THESE HANDS, GAIA!!!”

           Upon seeing that Straus was all better, Koto’s Cosmic Supernova form turns off completely. “S-Straus…!”, as Koto watches him take over the fight, Uriel and Nova run over to check on her. Uriel reaches out her hand and smiles, “Sup, dude?” “Hi, Creator!”, says Nova, catching up. Koto dizzily looks up at her Incarnates, “Guys-? How did you-?” “We’ll tell ya later, can you stand?” “Er- yeah..”, Koto takes Uriel’s hand and stands up.

           While Gaia, Straus, and his team are locked in combat, Koto meets up with the rest of her squad to quickly come up with a strategy. “What’s the plan?”, asks Luna. Koto quickly comes up with one, “Help Straus! DreamWorld Incarnates, use projectiles to try and make Gaia lose her footing. Uri, you attack from the air!”

“Roger!”

           Koto’s group joins the fray. At this rate, Gaia is facing a 12-man army, an army that she can’t take on all at once by herself.

“What is all of this?! How many souls have you corrupted, Straus!?”

“Those souls are my friends, Gaia. Clearly, something you’ll never have with this attitude of yours. If only you could see that…”

“I do not need to see anything through that clouded view of yours!”

“It’s only ‘cloudy’ because even at my age I still have a lot to learn. I’m not gonna learn anything in that room you trapped me in. Somehow, I feel as though my mom wouldn’t have wanted that for me…”

“Whoever said I was your mother-?!”

           Everyone pauses their attacks. Gaia just made a terrible mistake by not reading the room. Koto and Straus look at each other, then back at Gaia with a great intent to get this fight done and over with. With Gaia confused by her social blunder, Koto takes the opportunity to warp behind Gaia and land a solid kick on her back, causing her to stumble. Straus catches Gaia’s arm and throws her over his head, “Don’t act like I ever thought of you as a mother figure, cause YOU AIN’T HER!” The siblings land next to each other and high-five, meanwhile the Incarnates go in for their attacks. DarkClaw jumps up to Gaia’s level and fires a blast from his claw arm; the shockwave of the blast knocks Gaia upwards, allowing Uriel to call down a swarm of lightning strikes that send her back down. With Gaia on her hands and knees, Nathaniel spawns magic bullets around her hands. He smirks, “Hah! This outta hold you still now. Those bullets only materialize if you move, so don’t, unless you want hand pains.” Straus stands before the nearly defeated and terrified Gaia, her confidence replaced with a shaky tone, “What do you want from me, you monsters!?” Koto stands by Straus’ side, “Let us go home…all of us.”

Straus sighs, “I just want you to stop this. That’s all I ask…”

Gaia clenches her teeth, “And for what? To allow this Impurity to go on any longer?”

“Don’t you ever get bored of talking like that? About all this ‘upholding purity’ stuff?”

“To uphold Purity is the way of the Multiverse…!”

“If that’s the case, why are you alone? I figured you would have asked for help fighting for this cause…Unless you don’t have anyone who would help you?”

Gaia is taken aback. Straus continues.

“If you do, where are they? ‘Cause I feel as if you did have people who would side with you, then they would do the same as what my friends did for me.”

“Be quiet-“

“Be honest with me first.”

“…I am an all-powerful Goddess…company does not matter to me…”

“You don’t sound certain about that.”

Koto interjects, “…Did you enjoy having Straus around?” Gaia’s façade falters once more. “Well?”, Koto asks again.

Gaia ponders for a moment before continuing to converse with Straus, “…For a short time, perhaps.”

“I feel as though most of the problems we’ve had could’ve been fixed by just talking. But you never wanted to do that. You gave me this life, yet you shut me out.”

“…”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Gaia. I haven’t bothered anyone, nor do I intend to.”

“…Just go home, Straus. Leave me alone.”

“Just-…don’t do this again, ok? I meant it when I said I don’t want to hurt you, or worse. It’s bad enough I feel bad for even fighting you.”

“…Fine.”

           Straus waves his hand, “Release her.” Nathaniel dissipates the magic keeping Gaia down; she stands up, “Thank you…you’re all free to go.”, and opens a portal for everyone to go back home. “Come on guys…”, Straus says, directing everyone in, they all leave through the portal except for DarkClaw, who had a few choice words to say to Gaia:

           “That was a good thing he did, y’know? Try to calm you down, choose not to cause pain for the fun of it? A real impure man would have straight up killed you. He has respect for you…Maybe someday, you’ll look back on today and come around…Don’t quote me on it though, it’s your choice after all.”

           DarkClaw hops through the portal as it closes behind him. As the last of these so-called “Impurities” leave her abode, Gaia is left in silence once more.

[vizkopa]

Celestial (FallenAngel!Doflamingo x Reader) CHAPTER 10

Chapter 10: Cain ~

”This is your fault!”

Before you could even throw up your hands to defend yourself, you felt the searing white pain as your head cracked against the wall behind you, Doffy’s hand around your throat. You gasped for breath, hands grasping weakly at his wrist. His fingers tightened.

You could barely see through the pain and fading vision, but you forced yourself to look him in the face.

“This… isn’t… you…” you choked out, and for just a split second, you thought you saw a flash of conflict in his eyes and felt his grip loosen for a moment.

Then Doffy was ripped away from you and you slid to the floor, gasping and holding your throat. You could feel something warm trickling down the back of your neck and soaking your blouse, but you felt no pain.

Oxygen flooded into your lungs and when your vision had returned, you saw a bright light standing before you like a great, blazing shield. It stung your eyes to look at it but you could just barely make out the outline of an enormous figure amongst the blinding rays, pure white wings unfurled and blocking you from Doffy’s view. At the same time, you heard a voice echo in your head.

Are you all right?

Raziel. You nodded and though the angel had his eyes fixed on Doffy, you knew he understood.

What is the meaning of this, Doffy?

Doffy was shielding his eyes against the light before him. “This does not concern you, brother”, he hissed.

Anything that concerns you, also concerns me. You are jeopardising any hope of returning home with me if you do this.

“I have no home!” Doffy roared, and you could have sworn you felt the ground shudder beneath you. “Father made sure of that the moment I was cast from Heaven. He does not want me. He has forsaken and condemned me to die with the rest of the filth on this sin-ridden planet!”

Doffy, please—

“Enough! You stand there with your wings and your Grace and call me ‘brother’, but you, too, have betrayed me. What did you say to that judge? I would rather have died than live as a mortal, you know that!”

Rosi was silent for a long moment. I am sorry you feel that way. I only did what I believed was best—

“What was best for me?” Doffy laughed and there was a hint of madness in his electric blue eyes. “You were only acting on orders, like a good little soldier. Don’t pretend you had any choice in the matter, or you’d have been cast out alongside me.”

Rosi did not reply. He stood his ground as Doffy took a step towards him, that maniacal look still in his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how painful it is to have your wings ripped from your body, to have a part of you torn away?”

He took another step forward and still, Rosi stood firm.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel hunger as you’ve never felt it before, or anger so hot it’s like the fires of Hell itself are consuming you from the inside?”

Another step.

“When Father took my Grace, he did not realise he gave me something in return. Something neither you nor the rest of our brothers and sisters have. Do you know what that was, Rosi?”

Rosi swallowed and shook his head.

“Free will.”

Doffy lunged at Rosi. You felt an invisible force throw you sideways out of the way as, with a deafening crack, Doffy had his brother pinned to the wall where you had just been. There was a cry of pain and it took you a few, long seconds to realise the cry was inside your head.

Rosi’s light had faded now and, with an uttered gasp, you realised the crack had been his wings breaking. They hung limply at his sides, feathers trailing in the blood on the kitchen tile.

“Now, brother, you know something of the pain I feel,” Doffy snarled, his face merely centimetres from Rosi’s pained expression.

“Doffy, don’t!” Your cry fell on deaf ears.

The voice in your head was fainter now as it spoke. He gave you something else as well, Rosi said. He gave you the power to feel. Anger, jealousy, hate—I see it all. You have let it consume you, Dophiel. But it doesn’t have to.

Doffy’s grip on Rosi tightened. “You know nothing of what I feel.”

I see all, brother. I am not Heaven’s keeper of secrets for nothing. I know every emotion that flows through that mortal body of yours no matter how much you try to suppress it. You know the emotion of which I speak.

You felt Doffy’s eyes flicker to you for a moment, but in your daze you were sure you had imagined it.

“You are mistaken,” said Doffy. He stepped back and pulled a pistol from the inside pocket of his blazer.

You gasped. How had he gotten it? You had been less vigilant about keeping the gun on you lately, but you could have sworn it was locked safely in the desk drawer of your study.

“Say hi to Dad for me,” he growled and he pulled the trigger.

What followed seemed to happen in slow motion. You cried out and tried to get to your feet, but a shockwave seemed to throw you to the floor again. Rosi looked as if he were frozen, his hands hovering over a small hole in his chest. A bright light was flooding out. He looked up at Doffy, a look of pure bewilderment on his face, and then he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Beams of light poured from his eyes and mouth, so bright and hot you had to shield your face. Cracks opened in his skin, wider and wider until the light seemed to burn it all away. There was one final flash of white light and a wave of heat, and then there was nothing, only scorch marks left on the tiles and wall.

Doffy seemed stunned, still holding the gun out in front of him. For the first time ever, you thought you saw fear in his expression.

“Doffy,” you choked, “what did you do?”

“What… is this weapon?”

You stared up at him. “It’s just a gun. It’s just my Dad’s old gun…”

“No,” he said. “It should have only forced him out off his physical from and back to Heaven. I didn't mean to—”

He was cut off by a cry of pain and he fell to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor and sliding across the tiles to rest at your feet. His hands flew to his face as if he had been burned, his back arching with the agony of whatever had struck him. You crawled on shaking limbs to his side.

“What is it? What’s happening?”

But Doffy couldn’t speak. He was writhing on the floor, his hands pressed over his left eye as a plume of black smoke curled upward from between his fingers. You reached out and forced his hands away from his face, and gasped at what you saw.

His left eye, once brilliant blue eye, was now dull and a rune-like mark had been burned into the iris. It sizzled unpleasantly, glowing with red embers before it settled to black. You felt Doffy’s body stop its writhing but he was still tense, his shoulders shuddering with the weight of his panting breaths.

“What just—?”

“The Mark of Cain,” he spat out between gritted teeth.

“Wait, as in biblical Cain? Cain and Abel?”

He nodded, sombre. “’He who bears the Mark of Cain is one who has spilled the blood of his brother,’” he quoted. “I have been marked as a fugitive and a wanderer. We need to go.”

You felt a pang of fear at the urgency in his tone. “Go? Where?”

“Anywhere. Do you have somewhere we can hide?”

“We?”

“Do you, or do you not?”

You flinched and managed to stammer out, “m-my Dad had an old hunting cabin… up in the mountains.”

A peal of thunder crashed overhead. Doffy shot a glance at the ceiling. “Take only the essentials. We need to leave. Now.”

He lurched to his feet and scooped up his fallen coat, throwing about his shoulders once more. You sat stunned, still struggling to process what had just happened. Doffy’s voice snapped you out of your daze.

“Now, [Name]!”

With a jolt, you scrambled to your feet and dashed to your room, pulling a duffel bag from under your bed and stuffing it haphazardly with as much as you could grab on your way back through the house. As an afterthought, you scooped up a pair of white-rimmed sunglasses from your dresser and handed them to Doffy as you passed him on the way to the door.

“Put these on. Just in case we run into anyone.”

As an afterthought, while Doffy was casting furtive glances outside at the rapidly darkening sky, you picked up the forgotten pistol, holding it gingerly as you flicked the safety back on and shoved it deep into your bag. As you hurried to the car, thunder rumbled threateningly above and far off in the distance, a fork of lightning split the sky in two.

You drove as fast as you dared on the quiet country road for the first half of the trip, then the sky opened and let forth a heavy torrent, forcing you to slow to almost a crawl. You squinted through the downpour, windshield wipers working double time. In the passenger seat, Doffy kept glancing at the rear view mirrors, his knee bouncing impatiently.

“Can you stop that? You’re making me anxious.”

“You should be. If they find us, do you really think they will believe you are innocent in all this? Do you think they won’t ask about the gun?”

You gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Okay, first all, who’s ‘they’? And second of all, why haven’t they found us already?”

“They’re called Powers. Heaven’s mercenaries. They will not stop until they have hunted us to the ends of the Earth. As for why they have not found us… When I lost my Grace, I lost my connection to Heaven, and so they lost their connection with me. I am just like any mortal on this Earth now, and so I do not stand out.”

“So we have a head start. But what about when they catch up? We can’t run forever. I have work.” It sounded laughable. Worrying about work when you were currently running for your life.

“I have a plan.”

There was silence as you waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Are you going to loop me in?”

“No.”

“Bloody angels,” you cursed under your breath.

The rain was still falling when you pulled up to the dark cabin. The two of you rushed inside through the downpour and you immediately busied yourself with getting the generator running so you could have some light. When the dim bulbs flickered to life you turned to Doffy, both of you dripping onto the hardwood floor.

“What now?”

“I need the blood of an innocent.”

“Excuse me?!”

He looked down at you with contempt. “You’ll have to do.”

You gaped at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

But Doffy didn’t answer. He brushed past you and began searching through the drawers in the kitchen. You felt a shudder run down your spine at the sound of steel sliding against steel as he pulled out a hunting knife and tested its edge. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to you.

“Give me your hand.”

You clutched your hand tight to your chest. “Why?”

He rolled his eyes. He was getting awfully sassy for someone who two weeks ago couldn’t even recognise sarcasm. “I need your blood for a protection spell.” When the suspicion in your glare didn’t abate, he growled in frustration. “I don’t need much. It’ll only hurt for a moment.” He extended his hand to you.

You hesitated, but finally you stretched out your non-dominant hands and laid it in his. You were both shaking, though whether it was with cold or nerves you couldn’t tell. His fingers closed on your wrist and he was surprisingly gentle as he turned it so your palm faced upwards. The tip of the knife pressed into your skin, dimpling it for just a moment before it broke and red beads of blood blossomed outward. You flinched, tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t pull away as Doffy dragged the knife across your palm. Still holding your hand, he placed the knife aside and grabbed a small ceramic bowl from the counter—you recognised it as one you had made for your Dad in a grade school pottery class—and let a trickle of blood dribble down into it.

The moment he was satisfied, he let go of you and turned away, the bowl clutched in his shaking hands as he carried it to the window, where he began drawing some kind of rune in your blood. You shuddered, clutching you injured hand, and looked away from the gruesome symbol.

While Doffy paced the perimeter of the cabin, muttering words under his breath and continuing his bloody artistry, you had rummaged one-handed in the bathroom vanity for a first aid kit and had begun to clean the cut on your hand. You bandaged it up as best you could and used your teeth to tighten the knot. Then you got to work on the wound at the back of your head. The blood had dried and matted in your hair, and the back of your shirt was a dark rust colour where the rain has washed some of it away. You turned this way and that in the mirror, trying to find the source of the bleeding.

Doffy appeared behind you in the mirror, watching you over your shoulder. Your eyes met his dark glasses in the mirror.

“It is done,” he said. “No one will find us here.”

You nodded.

He stretched out a hand, gesturing to the washcloth clutched tightly in your uninjured hand. “Let me,” he said.

You handed the cloth over to him and turned back to watch him in the mirror as he dabbed away the blood in our hair. He was a little heavy-handed and you tried not to wince because honestly, this was more than you could have every expected of him. You couldn’t see his eyes but you could tell from the way his brows furrowed and his head hung forward that he was tired. So were you.

“Thanks,” you said softly when he was done, taking the washcloth from him and rinsing it in the sink. Then you turned to face him. He was closer than he appeared in the mirror and you found yourself backing into the counter a little. You looked up into his face. “Let me take a look at that eye.”

You reached up to remove his glasses but he caught your wrist. The two of you stood like that for a long moment, staring at each other, then he surprised you by relaxing his grip. He let you continue but turned his head to the side as soon as his eyes were revealed, hiding the left one from view. You swallowed and rested a hand on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at you.

His once beautiful blue eye was now dull and lifeless, the Mark of Cain stark black against the cloudy iris. It no longer looked like a fresh burn, but one that had been there for weeks.

“Oh, it’s almost healed,” you remarked in surprise, leaning forward to inspect it more closely. You ignored the small sound of discomfort Doffy made at your proximity. “How is that possible?”

“My Grace may be gone but there are still some… residual powers,” he said.

“Huh,” you uttered, still examining him closely. You thought back to when you had first brought him home and tended to the wounds from his fall. They had healed surprisingly fast back then too. “Must be nice.”

He just stared at you. There was still the familiar contempt in his gaze every time he looked at you, but it seemed less apparent than usual. Perhaps it was just his exhaustion.

“Well, if you’re quite done…” he said, indicating your hand still pressed to his cheek.

“Oh,” you flushed and took you hand away quickly. “Yes. Let’s get a fire going before we both freeze to death. And,” you added, pushing off the bathroom counter, “I think I need a drink.”

[rocket-remmy]

Lie To Me|| Luce and Remmy

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @divineluce and whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: Luce’s wellness check up on Remmy doesn’t go...well. CONTENT: Panic attack, Mass poisoning mention

Walking up to Morgan’s place, Luce let out a tired sigh. Things in this goddamn town couldn’t be calm for five fucking seconds, could they? They couldn’t just be a fucking normal town? After the debacle at Pat’s Place, seeing her sisters both falling to the ground, poisoned and struggling to breathe… Luce hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Or the next night. She just kept seeing her sisters gasping for air, writhing on the ground. And Remmy. She’d seen, seen a glimpse of Remmy sliding to the floor. Seen Nadia-- or whoever was masquerading around in Nadia’s body-- carrying them away before she’d reappeared and downed a glass of poison herself. Fuck. When had her life gone to shit? More importantly, when had she started giving a shit? Life had been easier out in her cabin, when it was just her and Iggy. And yet… she couldn’t just leave things well enough alone. Shaking her head, Luce knocked on the door and waited for someone to open the door. She expected Morgan, or the dark haired woman who haunted the back of her mind to appear. Not Remmy. “Oh.”

Most of their stuff was still at Lydia’s, but Remmy couldn’t bring themself to go outside yet. They’d just been getting okay about it when this had happened. Their insides squirmed a little whenever they were reminded about the day, whenever they thought about the pain. Sometimes when they looked down, they could see Morgan’s hands, digging inside of them. Sometimes they were claws. Remmy just...wanted a break. Today, Morgan and Deirdre were out for the day, which left Remmy alone at the house with the two cats. They didn’t mind, too much, but the cats both seemed uncomfortable with Moose. Remmy made sure he stayed away from the mostly, but it was hard when they found themselves glued to the bed, curled on their side. Today, they’d decided to take a walk around the living room. Deirdre’s house was big, not as big as Lydia’s, but enough room to take a fake stroll. They were halfway through when there was a knock at the door. They shuffled over slowly, peered through the window. “Luce?” they said out loud. Hesitated. They didn’t have to answer the door, they could pretend no one was home. But...they couldn’t bring themself to do it. Sighing, they opened the door. “Yep. That’s me,” they said, “‘Oh’.” They frowned. “Why are you here?”

Shit. Shifting from foot to foot, Luce shoved her hands into the back pockets of her shorts and swallowed. She’d wanted to see Remmy, wanted to check in on them. But, she had hoped that Morgan would be here as a buffer, as some kind of… go between, at least for the introduction. Instead, Remmy was standing there. Leaning against the doorframe, staring at her. “I was just coming by to… see how you were.” She muttered, glancing not quite at them, but at the space above them. “Shit went down at Pat’s Place, I saw,” Luce paused, not sure how to talk about what she’d seen that day. She wasn’t sure how to talk about the twist in her stomach when she’d seen Nadia and Remmy side by side or how to even address that mentally. Instead, she went with the obvious, “I saw you go down. I didn’t think that stuff like cyanide affected you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Remmy felt a small swell of anger bubble up. They weren’t sure where it came from, and maybe it wasn’t entirely anger-- but it was something. “Yeah, it sure did,” they said, folding their arms over their chest. They leaned up against the door frame, looking at her from under a disheveled crop of brown hair and tired eyes. “It doesn’t affect me,” they said matter of factly, frowning. They didn’t owe her an explanation, but they couldn’t help but feel the want to tell her. The words she’d said on that ferris wheel still hurt; the words she’d said online after they’d blown up the Ring still hurt-- but Remmy knew there was something deep down inside of Luce that she didn’t want to face. They’d seen it before, and they ached to see it again. “I thought you didn’t care.”

Luce watched the way their arms crossed over their chest, watched the way they stared at her from the door. They looked exhausted. They couldn’t sleep, but it looked like they needed it, now more than ever. They looked just as rough as they had that day when they’d collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, the collar around their neck sending shockwaves of pain through their body. “Fair enough.” She said with a nod. At their next words, Luce’s gaze hardened, her jaw clenching. A slight flare of anger rose in the pit of her stomach, but she quelled it. She wasn’t angry, she didn’t care. “It’s not-- you keep fucking getting into situations where you almost die. The Ring. Exploding the Ring. And now Pat’s Place. I just wanted to make sure you were still alive and kicking. That’s all.”

“You say that as if I’m trying to get into these situations!” Remmy shot back almost immediately, straining to not simply start shouting. They reeled themself back in and turned their head so they didn’t have to look directly at Luce anymore, eye cast down. “I don’t need you checking up on me. Either admit you care, or stop,” they said flatly, even though it tore and ripped through their chest to say the words. Because they knew Luce would take the out. She would say she didn’t care and she would storm off and Remmy would have to shut the door behind her and feel like their heart had been stomped on all over again.

“I know you’re not trying to, but shit keeps happening. First my sisters, now you, and I fucking--” Luce swallowed, steadying herself as the rush of frustration and flame burned inside her again. No, she wasn’t going to lash out at them. She wasn’t going to get angry. No matter how easy it would be. They didn’t, they didn’t deserve to have to deal with that. But, at their next words, Luce couldn’t help the way that her stomach lurched. “I... Remmy. I don’t-- I can’t-- I can’t care about you the way you want me to. That’s not who I am, it’s not what I do.” That was the truth. She couldn’t be there for them the way they wanted her. She didn’t do relationships, never had, never would.

“Sounds like a you problem, Luce,” Remmy said firmly. They’d been practicing staying firm and accepting their emotions, and that included anger. The old doctor at the vet house had always told them to accept their anger and let it dissolve into other emotions, because anger always hid something, and they’d been trying to remember that. To not budge or sway on their own feelings and what they wanted. Still, their body stiffened at her words and their shoulders grew taught. “I’m not asking for that, Luce! I already told you! It’s fine, I get it, okay? I get that you don’t want relationships and that you say you don’t do them. That’s fine, but I just-- you can care about people without wanting something like that, you know! It’s called ‘bein friends’ but you absolutely rejected that, too! You looked me in the face and told me you didn’t care about me at all, and now you’re here--” they lifted their hands enough to make air quotes, “--”checking up” on me? I don’t need that. You either care, or you don’t. So which is it? Because I can’t…” they were losing steam, arms drooping to their sides, “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Yeah. A fucking me problem.” Luce muttered, folding her arms across her chest defensively. This was her fault. And she didn’t mean that in some kind of self-pitying bullshit kind of way-- this really was her own damn fault. She should have stayed in the woods. She should have kept going about life as usual, drinking at Soul, picking up meaningless hook-ups at Mo’s, keeping her head down and focusing on herself. If she’d done that, would she be in this mess? Probably not. But… what would have happened to her family? What would have happened to Bea, to Nell? What would have happened to Remmy? Staring at them, Luce listened to their words with dark eyes. She didn’t want to care, she shouldn’t care, she didn’t care. Remmy’s problems were their own. And it would be better for them if she stayed out of their life. But, she kept seeing them in pain. Kept seeing them dying, kept seeing them suffer. “I--” Luce paused, trying to figure out how to keep the thoughts from boiling over, to keep the emotions that bubbled within her from erupting to the surface. “I care enough to not want to see you dead. I care enough to want you to be safe. I care enough to fucking burn down a building for y--” She shook her head, mouth snapping shut.

Luce was taking a long time to answer, and Remmy half wanted to close the door on her. What was she going to say that would change their mind, anyway? Unless she actually cared enough to tell them the truth, there wasn’t much Remmy wanted to hear from her. She didn’t want them that way and that was fine, but they needed time to move on. They didn’t need to be jerked around, life was doing a good enough job at that on its own. But then the words tumbled out of her mouth, and even though she cut herself short, Remmy understood what they were. “Is that true?” they asked quietly, all the tension and anger evaporating from them as they shifted, arms unfolding. “You really-- for me?”

“I did it for my sister.” Luce said, the words spoken quickly, reflexively, as if it could cover the truth that Remmy had heard. But, it was too late to take back what she’d said. Shutting her eyes, she rubbed her forehead for a moment, trying to muddle through the confusing torrent of emotions and thoughts that lay within her. “But… People fucking… They keep hurting you, Remmy. And that’s not-- that shouldn’t happen. Not to anyone, yeah. But definitely not to you.” She said, eyes flicking back open, her lips pressing tightly together. Her mind was racing again, running through everything that had happened, everything she’d done. She’d held them that night they’d relived the horror of being torn in half, she’d had Rio show her the books in the Scribrary, trying to unravel the mystery of that fucked up necklace/collar that had caused them so much pain, she’d waged war against the Ring, she’d burned people for them, killed for them. A lump formed in the back of her throat and she nodded. “I did it to stop people from ever doing that to you again.”

Remmy waited, and listened. They weren’t sure what words they were expecting Luce to say, but they certainly weren’t expecting those words. The two of them had been through a lot together, whether they admitted it or not. As much as they tried to keep things separate, life just wouldn’t let it happen, would it? Maybe that’s why Remmy had gone back on their words and let themself feel something more for Luce. Or maybe it really just was that they found something in her they hadn’t found in anyone else before. She truly was incredible, but she didn’t want them to say that, did she? “People have hurt me all my life, Luce,” they finally said, their voice somber with truth, “I did fine back then and I’ll do fine now. I don’t need you to do those things for me, to-- to protect me from that. I need...I need someone who cares enough to worry about me and tell me they’re worried. I need someone who--” they paused, thought of what it was they really did need, or want, from Luce. “--needs me back.” They thought of Morgan, and Blanche, and Skylar, even Nell-- it wasn’t a codependence or anything like that. It was a relationship. They worried about Remmy because they were important to them, and vice versa. And Remmy knew-- or maybe just desperately wanted-- Luce felt that, too. But she wouldn’t say it, would she? Their shoulders slumped. “I like you, Luce. As a friend and yeah-- maybe more than that, too. And I just-- I just want you to be happy. Because I...I see you suffering, too, and I know you won’t admit it, but you are. You’re drowning. I saw it in your eyes that night you came to me and told me Bea was dead, and I’ve seen it every time since, and I just-- I want to help you. But I don’t know how when you won’t-- you don’t-- let me in. And that-- that’s your decision. I can’t help you with that.”

Luce opened her mouth to shoot back at Remmy, to say that sure. Maybe they did need someone who needed them back. And they deserved that. And that she could never be that person for them. She didn’t need Remmy, she just… wanted them. Selfishly wanted them. That’s what their entire arrangement had hinged upon, right? Wants, desires, with her using them to get what she wanted. It was never about needs-- she didn’t need them. But, they kept on fucking talking, kept saying shit, like they knew her. She wasn’t drowning, she wasn’t suffering, she wasn’t any of that shit. “Don’t fucking talk to me like you know me. I’m happy. I’m not suffering, I’m just fucking fine.” She spat, though the words rang false to her ears. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t okay with anything that had happened over the past few months, she wasn’t fucking fine. But, Remmy didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to deal with her fucking bullshit on top of their own.

“That--” Remmy started, hearing the anger in their voice return momentarily, tried to suppress it, “--that’s what I’m trying to say, Luce!” they finished, bristling. Their hands turned to fists again and they felt their muscles tense. “No one knows you because you don’t fucking talk to them! And I hate to say it, but you’re wrong. You’re not fucking fine! And you-- god you’re so frustrating!” they said, throwing their hands up and turning away from her, walking into the house. Moose whined before following them tentatively, sticking close by their side. They stopped, turned, came back to the door, gripping it tightly, ready to close it. “Figure your shit out, Luce. Until then, stop coming around. Because I-- I can’t keep doing this. I don’t have the energy anymore.” 

More words, more stupid words. And truth, there was truth in what they said. “Why does it fucking matter if I’m fine?!” Luce snapped, her rage finally boiling over. She couldn’t help it. What they said about her? “Why the fuck does it matter to you if I’m fine, if I’m okay? That’s not why I came here, it’s got nothing to do with you. I don’t need you to care about me.” She yelled, her hands burning hot at her sides. She could feel the magic curled and coiling within her, like a snake, about to strike. And Remmy was going to be the one she lashed out at if she wasn’t careful. Luce took a step back. She took a deep breath. She looked at Remmy, looked at the dog that trailed after them. Moose, she realized, their service dog. She’d never actually seen him before. Fuck. Yet another reminder that Remmy had far more important things to worry about than her. “Forget it. Forget it.” She said with a shake of her head, backing away from the house. This was a mistake. Again. It seemed like everything she did was just another fucking mistake.

“Because it hurts me to see you like this!” Remmy shouted back, stepping out of the house after Luce. She was backing away from them and they weren’t ready to let her run off yet. Suddenly, they felt their insides riling up, boiling. It swirled inside of them and they couldn’t just let it go. Not again. Not anymore. It hurt too much to hold it in. “You don’t get to decide who cares about you! It’s not like I did it on purpose!” they shouted. “Sometimes these things happen! And it’s no one’s fault! And I’m sorry that my feelings are an inconvenience to you! But it’s how I feel and I’m not going to hide them anymore!” They were down past the porch now, and feet hit the sidewalk. “So if you don’t wanna deal with them, then don’t come knocking at the door looking for me and then get upset when I express my feelings! That’s on you!” They froze. A paranoia dripping into the back of their mind, trying to cut its way through their anger. “And you’re wrong! You’re an idiot! And you do need people!” Moose whined again, from the doorway.

As Remmy stormed towards her, Luce’s jaw tightened. It hurt them to see her-- she hurt them by being here.Then why were they walking towards her? Why were they trying to convince her anything else? For fucks sake. “Fine! I’m gone. Don’t waste your feelings on me.” She said throwing her hands up in the air as she continued to back away. “I’ll stay out of your way and not give a shit anymore.” Her eyes narrowed as they continued to yell, as they shouted at her. “Don’t fucking tell me what I need. I don’t need anyone. And you don’t need me.” Luce growled. Remmy didn’t need her. They shouldn’t need her. They shouldn’t waste their feelings on her. They deserved someone softer than her, kinder than her, with clean hands and hadn’t done the things she had. They were right. She should just fucking go.

“You’re not a waste!” Remmy very nearly pouted, stomping their foot as if throwing a tantrum but Luce made them so indescribably angry. It was such a different anger, too. It was frustration, it was annoyance, it was-- an aching. They tried to take another step forward as they watched her continue to back away but the sudden realization that they were outside, exposed, made their body freeze and tremble. “Stop saying you’re a waste! You’re not! You’re a person and you deserve space and you deserve love! This is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re so-- you just decide these things without thinking about them or thinking about how the effect other people, and-- and as much as you claim you don’t need or care about them, you still effect them. You can’t just pretend like you don’t. That’s what makes you an idiot, Luce.” They took a step back, glancing around, before settling back on her. “You’re acting like a coward. You always just-- run away. So fine, run away again. But someday, people are gonna stop following.”

Startled by their outburst, Luce’s eyes widened. She didn’t-- she wasn’t a waste. She knew that. She knew that she wasn’t a waste. She just… didn’t want anyone to care about her, didn’t need them to care about her. She’d been fine on her own, she’d be fine on her own. “I don’t want any of that. I don’t want love or people to care about me or any of that shit. I don’t des--” She clamped her jaw shut as she stared at them. What the fuck? They had yelled at her to leave them alone, shouted at her to get out of their life. And now they were telling her she was a coward for leaving? “I’m doing what you wanted me to! You just said you can’t handle me coming around, you just said that! Don’t call me a coward for doing what you want.” Luce shouted back at them, stepping toward them as she did.

“Shut up!” Remmy snapped, cutting her off even as she cut herself off. “Shut up! Stop saying that. Stop saying you don’t want any of that or you don’t deserve any of that. Because it-- it’s not true. I wish you’d see that. But you’re too-- too stubborn to even consider it. You can’t run around blowing up buildings or breaking into places to save people or checking up on them and then turn around and say you don’t care, it doesn’t work like that!” They took another step back, their chest began feeling tight again. “You’re not doing what I wanted, don’t pretend like this is for me. I told you to stop coming around if you were going to keep insisting you don’t care, that you never-- I gave you a choice. Don’t try and make yourself feel better by saying it’s for me when you know it’s not.” They stopped, tried to stand firm, fists clenched even as their jaw quivered. 

“How do you know it’s not true, huh? Why the fuck do you even want me-- you don’t know me. Why are you so set on this?” Luce yelled back, gesturing at the two of them. Because the sex was good? Because she was hot? She’d heard that more times than she could remember. Oh my god, you’re so good, you’re so fucking hot, you’re so beautiful, so fucking talented with your-- she heard shit like that all the time. She watched as they stepped back, moving back towards the house and she pressed forward again. Distantly, she wondered what was with them. They’d never acted like this before, the kind of shifty nervousness in the way they retreated back towards the house. But, Luce was too wrapped up in her frustration to question it much. “You don’t get to tell me how it works. I do shit because I want to, end of story.”

Remmy felt it all swelling in their chest and they didn’t want to hold it in anymore. They’d held so much in for so long. Their entire life had been hiding how they felt and marching forward. Soldier on. And even once they’d gotten to White Crest, they’d held it in. They were always too much for people, and they’d thought-- they’d genuinely thought-- Luce was different. But maybe she wasn’t, maybe they really were too much for her. “Because you’re a truly incredible person to me, okay!” they shouted, tears finally ripping through their throat, pouring down their face. “You’re so strong and independent and stubborn and you don’t listen to anyone and it’s incredible, even though it’s annoying. And you make me laugh more than anyone I know and when I’m around you the only thing I want to do is smile, because you make me feel safe. Like really, truly safe. And maybe it’s stupid, but that’s how I feel! Because, like-- fuck, Luce, you’re surrounded by all these other amazing people and you still feel like the most amazing person in the room to me. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry I caught feelings for you, I’m sorry I ruined our thing because I never wanted to stop having to touch you but you don’t feel the same and that’s fine, but I just-- I just want you to be happy, too. I can’t stand seeing you ache like this.”

Luce wasn’t sure what shocked her more-- the sight of Remmy shouting at her, their face streaked with fresh tears, or the words they yelled at her. None of what they were saying made sense to her, the way they felt about her? People didn’t say those things to her, no one did. She wasn’t amazing by any stretch of the imagination. Her whole life, she’d always just been… there. The middle sister. Nowhere near as talented as Bea, but at least she wasn’t devoid of fire magic like Nell was. Talented, perfect Bea who stood center stage. Troublesome Nell who played the game by her own way, who needed just a little more guidance. Luce, she wasn’t amazing, she wasn’t incredible. That was how Remmy saw her? That’s what they thought of her? They couldn’t be any more wrong. She wasn’t any of those things. And if they got any closer to her, they’d find that out first hand. “I’m happy.” She insisted, shaking her head. “I’m not hurting. I’m not the one who nearly died.” 

Remmy wavered. That was all she was going to say, wasn’t it? They blinked hard against the tears, scrubbing their palms against their eyes-- and remembering, once again, that they still needed to get rid of this stupid eye patch-- and shuddered back a sniffle. “No you’re not,” they said weakly, all yelled out for now, “you fucking liar…” Went to try and steady their breaths when a noise just behind Luce startled them. A car door slamming shut. They jumped, visibly, and froze up. Finally realizing where they were, what they’d done. The outside air was brushing against their skin on a breeze. Trees made rustling noises. The sun was warming their skin. A fist squeezed their heart. Pressed down on their chest. Remmy took a step back again, wheezing for a breath they knew they didn’t need, but still needed. The heel of their foot caught the porch and they stumbled back, falling to a hard sit. Hand clutching at their chest. Eyes looking around wildly as they remembered the alleyway. The pounding in their head. The burning in their stomach. They were so exposed out here. Too vulnerable. Remmy shuddered again, this time louder, frozen in their spot. 

Luce was done. She was done with this, done with being yelled at, done with being told that what she was saying wasn’t right. How could Remmy know that she was lying when she didn’t even understand her feelings? It was all just a fucked up mess of-- her eyes widened as she watched them stumble and fal onto the porch. There was a wild look in their eye, their shoulders heaving as they took in gasping, shuddering breaths. It was like that night, the night they’d freaked out. Was this a panic attack? What had triggered it? Luce found herself rushing towards them, kneeling beside them, her hand pressing into theirs. “Remmy-- Remmy, c’mon. Breathe, you’re okay. You’re okay,” She repeated, eyes trained on their face. What was going on? “Everything’s okay, just breathe slowly now.”

Remmy was panicking-- and they knew it. But they couldn’t stop it. This wasn’t like the other times, like the flashes the Ring made them see, or the darkness they fell into when the building had exploded. This was real and present and fear. They were outside and exposed and that meant whoever had gone after them could get them here, too. And maybe this time they wouldn’t fail. And maybe this time, they would kill Luce to get to them. Remmy flinched when Luce reached out for them, her hand so warm on theirs. They jerked, but didn’t move away. “I’m outside,” they said to her, jaw clenching, “what if something happens? You can’t be here. What if they come back? They already tried to kill-- what if they come back? They’re going to hurt you. O-Or worse,” they tried to stand up, finding their legs too weak. “It’s too-- we’re too exposed, I have to get-- I have to get back inside. I need to get back inside.”

Luce’s brow furrowed in confusion at Remmy’s words, but she nodded all the same. She didn’t understand what they meant, but maybe it was some kind of like… military trauma thing again? “I can get you inside, I can do that.” She said, wedging herself underneath their arm and pulling them to their feet. Their body was limp in her arms, making it harder for her to carry them, but she did her best to hold onto them as she opened the door and pulled them inside the house. She wasn’t strong enough to make it much further than the entranceway though, and she sagged to the ground under their weight. “You’re safe here, Remmy, you’re safe.” She said, though she didn’t know if that was true at all. But, it was all she could say. Her arms were still wrapped around them, holding onto them tightly.

Black was beginning to edge in on Remmy’s vision and the world was tilting back and forth. They remembered the feeling from when they’d been at the veteran’s hospital, laying in bed unable to move as the world turned dark around them and they were swallowed by a fear of something that no longer existed. Remmy clung to Luce, hands burying themselves into the cloth of her shirt. They could feel the warmth radiating off of her and it reminded them that they were safe here, they were safe in her arms. Even after everything they’d just yelled at her about, after all the things she’d said, they still knew. The door closed and Moose nosed his way into their lap, whining quietly. But Remmy didn’t want to let go of Luce, not yet. If they did, she would freeze up again and leave them alone and they didn’t want to be alone right now. “Please stay,” they asked quietly, stiff against her, “please. I can’t-- I don’t want to be alone. Please. I need-- just until Morgan gets back.” They knew it wasn’t fair to ask, but their stomach burned at the memories and they held on tighter. “Please.”

Remmy’s hands were so cold against her skin as they gripped at her shirt, as they pressed against her. Luce pulled them into her, her arms circling around them as though if she held them tight enough, she could keep them from falling apart. If she just held onto them, if the two of them just stayed here, maybe it wouldn’t feel like everything was going to pieces. “I’ll stay.” She said quietly, though the words Remmy had said echoed in her mind. Fucking liar. Yeah. Yeah, she was a fucking liar. She said she didn’t want them, didn’t need them, and yet here she was. Leaning against Remmy, she pressed her lips against the top of their head. “I’m fucking liar.” Luce mumbled, the words barely audible. She pulled back from them and nodded. “I’ll stay as long as you want.” 

[ikesenhell]

Decorate Time

You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: I realized when @angstprincessnaga mentioned it that I haven’t written anything significant for Sasuke in QUITE SOME TIME. Have this as penance. 

He liked music. He liked music just fine, honestly, though he couldn’t say that the brief time he’d spent in band class had done much more than provide him hours of daydreams for what he could do with a bit of force, a tuba, and various objects. Lab work never was the right space for it. Certainly, they had a small bluetooth speaker that they’d cobbled together a protective shield for, but he’d certainly never used it. There was serenity in the silence.

In that sense, the Sengoku wasn’t so unnerving (though sometimes everything was too silent--he’d never realized how accustomed he was to elevator music). Wind and the bubbling streams and the echo in mountain passes didn't bother him. Quiet was a friend of his.

Sasuke embraced it.

Four years of that sort of stillness, and she interrupted it in the way that only she could: on accident. They’d stolen a moment together in Azuchi when she turned and grinned at him.

“Guess what I’ve got.”

Sasuke couldn’t guess, so he didn't. “Tell me.”

Triumphant, she wriggled an iPod from her purse and wriggled it at him. “It still has battery.”

He blinked. After all these years of its absence, his brain struggled to reacclimate to the idea that, yes, Apple as a company existed. “Does it? What do you have on there?”

She laughed and shook her head, rubbing her thumb across its screen. “Honestly, I’d wiped it and was going to upload a bunch of new music when I moved here. I only really had stuff to listen to on the plane--relaxing music, that kind of thing.”

“You don’t like heights,” he noted aloud, more monotone than he meant. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I miss just listening to things,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the screen. Sometimes, Sasuke was very glad he’d never taken anatomy. Now was one of those times. The way her body moved made him believe in magic and design. “But I don’t wanna just play it for no reason.”

“No?”

“Nah. I’m gonna save it for something. I don’t know what yet, but it’ll be good.”

He watched her store the device safely back in her purse, sunlight dappling over her hair, brushing the back of her neck with solar fingers. The sight alone had him quoting half-remembered Shakespeare to himself: As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright, that birds would sing and think it were not night...

She was staring at him.

“You good?” She asked.

“Perfectly,” he responded, and wondered if he always heard music around other people. That would be an interesting investigation.

---

Some nights, he snuck out of Kasugayama and Kenshin’s reach to sit alone on the battlements. No one bothered him there. Few saw him. Four years he’d spent doing it, thinking all manner of things--charting the movement of the stars, marveling at the planets, conducting minor investigations or writing notations from the day.

Now he thought a lot about geography and music.

Once he’d heard it said that art decorated space, but music decorated time. And time! He’d learned so much about it and nothing at all in one. Where the scientist in him fell away and he was left with just himself, just Sasuke, he just sat in awe of its expanse--and the way it separated him from her. That was what lay between them, after all. Distance and time. Azuchi was many miles away, and while the landscape was art enough, the wind wasn’t nearly enough to waste the relentless hours necessary to get to her.

It wasn’t enough. There were so, so, so few and limited hours in a lifetime, moments he could never retrieve or retrace or remake, and here he was, wishing away some of them just to be closer faster.

Sometimes he thought about that iPod. He wondered what she listened to on it, what she considered worthy of spending the valuable minutes of her life enjoying. Was it classical? Did she listen to Mozart, Debussy, Chopin? Was it lo-fi? Sasuke shut his eyes and imagined her humming along. The cool wind swept over his cheek, and he imagined it was her sighing softly against the background of Clair De Lune, or Jeux D’eau, or The Girl With the Flaxen Hair.

He was humming it too.

Somewhere behind him in Kasugayama, a great shout went up from the party he was missing. Sasuke folded his legs together and tuned them out, holding onto a memory of Debussy’s Arabesque and envisioning her under the stars with him.

---

“I want to take you somewhere.”

She peered up from her sewing, the candlelight fluttering low over her cheeks. “Oh? Where?”

He just shook his head and held out his hand. “Do you trust me enough to come anyway? It’s a surprise.”

“Of course!”

In a bundle of hissed laughter and soft feet, they snuck from Azuchi and down through the township--past the cherry blossoms and the shuttered market, past Yuki’s room in the tavern and all the Warlord’s houses, past the walls to the city and toward the lake. Its glassy surface reflected the stars so perfectly that, when they sat on the shore, the line between sky and earth all but disappeared. A silver moon hung over them like a lantern.

But her smile. Oh, that smile put it all to shame. She shivered, and without thinking, Sasuke stripped off his haori and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven-- He offered her a small smile and patted the ground. “Shall we?”

Together, they sat in silence. The heavens rotated slowly above them. Sasuke pointed out planets and constellations in whispers, their fingers brushing against one another as they lay, knuckle-to-knuckle on the grass. When she teased her pinky finger out toward him, he linked his without a word. Not that she needed to secure it--he’d been wrapped around her little finger for longer than he liked to admit. Even so it set his soul on fire.

“Oh,” she sighed eventually. “I wish I’d brought the iPod.”

Sasuke blinked and shoved his glasses back up. “Should I sing?”

She blinked right back. “Can you sing?”

“No,” he admitted. “I can’t.”

She belted a laugh. To his heart, it sounded like Gymnopedie no. 1. “It’s okay. I’ve a better thought.”

“What’s that?”

He held his breath as she sat up in the grass, up until her knees nested with his and her chin was level with his and her fingers entwined with his. How could he risk ruining it, especially when he could still hear the soft strains of piano by her will and life alone? Moonlight glanced silver over her mouth.

Sasuke heard himself swallow.

Then her hand was on his cheek, her fingertips against his lips, and he kissed her thumb without meaning to--if only to experiment and discover what she tasted like before it went away. Repeat study is always better, he thought, and as if she heard him, she dipped forward--ah.

Ah, she tasted like music.

Now this--this was how to decorate time.

They parted. Every inch of him craved more--and grace of graces, she tilted back in and sent shivers like shockwaves to his heart. He wasn’t a musical man, but hell, her mouth made him one. When at last she pulled away again, he reached out and dragged his hand over her shoulder as if to affirm she was real in the first place.

“Do you think the iPod might’ve made that better?” He deadpanned.

She giggled. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Sasuke commented, ignoring the desperate urge to fist pump in victory, “Just thought I’d ask.”

Her hair parted forgivingly around his fingers; he carded a hand through and pulled her back in, willing the music of her never to stop.

[spockandawe]

Next! Soundwave...... the goodest boy..........

First impression: Ooh, that’s hard to remember. I think my first impression was... crotch buttons? I didn’t read exRiD until after mtmte, but I was aware of soundwave before then. I’m 99% sure I was like ‘oh yeah, the guy who holds the little guys. and has crotch buttons’

Impression now: THE GOODEST BOY. This guy. I love him so much, but MAN is his character hard to describe while doing him justice. The strength of his ideals is the biggest thing, I think. Out of Decepticon high command, Shockwave was doing Shenanigans, Megatron had drifted into cult leader land, Starscream was super disillusioned, but even when Megatron became an Autobot, Soundwave looked at the Decepticons, recalibrated, and was like ‘here’s what we’re supposed to stand for, get back on target’. Megatron struggles hard with sunk cost and questioning the basis of his whole sense of self, and Soundwave just fuckin GOES for it. Whether or not I agree with his ideals, there’s something amazing about that clarity of thought, where he’s so targeted and focused. And the ideals he settles on!!! Establishing that commune, oh my god. Where ‘everyone is welcome’, even a little autobot flying into what he thinks might be enemy territory. Being willing to acknowledge that oh whoops, humans are significant beings, my bad, and step back from them being acceptable collateral damage. He allies himself with Optimus without sacrificing what he believes in, which is... honestly not easy. He works with idw Optimus period, which is also not easy :P And his speech to the sharkticons, urging them towards self-determination, MAN

Favorite moment: I’m conflicted. Because... the art is ramen man. The writing is fast-paced. We don’t get to see this scene drawn with emotion communicated well or with time to linger over the events. But when Soundwave is young and on the streets and is barely coping with unrestricted telepathic hearing, just... everything about this scene wrecks me. He’s on the streets, probably surviving very narrowly given the ideals of the time. He finds Ravage, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, also living on the streets, and treated as second-class citizens since they’ve got animal-shaped root modes. And they’re in a rough spot on their own, but they adopt the HELL out of him, and Ravage starts teaching him how to filter out excess sensory input and they stick together for millions of years, and Soundwave has incredibly flat affect, but he just loves them SO MUCH ;-; It’s either that scene, or the scene where he welcomes Cosmos to the commune, which is well-drawn and moves more sedately, but just... that flashback scene. Amazing backstory. I love.

Idea for a story: I’M. WORKING ON THIS RIGHT NOW, ACTUALLY. The wip had been stalled out for months, but it ties in really nicely to the favorite moment up above. So.... music. Who's arguably music themed? Jazz is! Soundwave is! Who are two characters I ship passionately who have very different personalities? Just guess, hahahaha. So, Jazz loves music from an artistic/emotional perspective. How would Soundwave love music? And the answer without explaining the whole story is that he loves music as a sensory stim to drown out the rest of the world, especially everything he can hear via telepathy. He likes music that’s thick enough that he can focus on just that and ignore everything else coming into his head. Music... that’s so layered and thick and dense that it’s pretty much a wall of noise, with manymany songs piled together. So they’re both very passionate about music, but just guess how well either of them understands the other :P

Unpopular opinion: Ooh. This is tough. I adore Soundwave and I see people mostly adoring Soundwave. I don’t know! It seems like there’s more consensus on this character than a lot of the others :P Yeah, I’m trying to think of things I’ve seen that I disagree with and drawing a blank. Is acknowledging that he’s a war criminal an unpopular thing? Because he did stuff with anti-neutral purges and pogroms, but like... lots of the cast is war criminals, including the vast majority of my faves, so I don’t know how many people even argue about that, haha

Favorite relationship: ......................Jazz. I mean... These Games We Play is very much to blame, and Spec Ops 98: Jazz’s Interrogation At Soundwave’s Pedes didn’t help, but I’ve also got two wips of my own and could scream about them for days. The downside is that it’s hard to do screaming about a ship this small without the other parties having read a fic to convince them that it works. So I highly, highly recommend both of those stories. The first one is a super rich g1 post-war slavery au where Jazz is at a massive disadvantage, but also massively intelligent and dangerous, the second is an (in-progress) super interesting g1 take on fandom and fanfiction and social dynamics. I can convince myself into jazzwave just about anywhere, but I was trained to love it first. I’m too invested now, there’s no going back XD

Favorite headcanon: This is hard. Hmmm. OH, ACTUALLY, I KNOW. I pretty much always write Soundwave as autistic, but that’s not the headcanon part. I was thinking about Blaster and Soundwave and their alt modes, and that if they turn into speaker systems, they must turn into really EXCELLENT speaker systems. And I thought, what if Soundwave is a flavor of nonverbal? What if he doesn’t speak using his vocalizer? What if instead, he’s just generating speech through his speakers? I’m just going to quote my own self here, this is a scene right after Soundwave has taken some damage sparring (including to his throat) and is getting patched up:

The only wound to give her pause is the slight damage to your vocalizer. You’d almost forgotten it, except that it spits another burst of static as she repairs your shoulder, and she’s close enough to hear it.

“Funny,” she says while she opens your throat to carry out the repairs. “Wouldn’t’ve guessed you had any damage in here, your voice sounded just fine.”

“Speech is executed solely using deep-wired speaker system,” you explain.

[onestop-shot]

Baby, don’t like it

member: TAEYONG x reader

genre: SMUT

word count: 1,534

a/n: spicy. that song when you listen to it closely, it nearly sounds like whiplash, is it only me or some of you noticed that too. but anywho, I mixed these two requests together since the one asked a smut but didn’t mind what scenario it would be. It’s not too much, I kind of ran out of ideas so it ended up looking like a quickie.... BUT REALLY,  I HOPE YOU TWO ANONS WOULD ENJOY THIS SMUTTY FILL. 

to quote from ‘Baby Don’t Like It by NCT 127′ -- “when I’m with you, danger seems like a good thing”

The loud bass thumps every part of your body. You’re not supposed to be here, but since its your last day in college, and graduations just around the corner, you’re ready to bring out the person you never knew you had in you.

All your life all you can tell your friends is, ‘I’ve got a test tomorrow’ or ‘I can’t I need to study’. Those thick men your friends boast about one night, are thick books shoved up your nose that same night. When they talk about kissing, you’re quietly kissing weekend away. When they cry about their boys cheating on them, you cry about getting a low grade. Everything was all about school. Or grades. Or projects. Or getting that damn diploma. Though you know its the best. And it is.

And all of those hard work finally paid off, you’ll be getting that diploma soon. Waking up and down that stage would be the end of you. And you’re proud of yourself. So much that you let your friends drag you to the last party of the school year, for you that is.

Everyone would be there. And everyone is there.

You walk past several sweaty bodies who’s been dancing since they got to the frat house. 

Your head kind of buzzing, a little intoxicated. But you were fine.

You finally reach the houses’ kitchen, breathing properly as this was one of those rooms where nobody goes in unless they want to make-out, but everyone’s busy living the best of their last college life. 

You brush your hair away from your face, sighing and leaning against the counter. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” A husky voice made you jump. 

And that voice came from no other than, Lee Taeyong. The least person you’d like to bump into. You heard dozens of rumors about him. 

This guy who just walked in is one of the most drop-dead jaw-dropping boys in school. Lee Taeyong, his blonde hair pushed back made him look like one of those greaser boys from the 50′s movie you watched a week ago. His deep set eyes giving you the weirdest feeling in the world. The corner of his lips curved.

“A sudden change of taste, maybe.” you say, fixing yourself up. Making sure you don’t look bad as shit. Because let’s face it, you had a thing for Taeyong during your freshmen days. You drool because of him, you lack focus because of him, you daydreamed about him whenever you study. 

“[Y/N], suddenly changing her taste at the end of the school year.” he says leaning on the counter in front of you. “I see you’re not enjoying yourself.” 

“I don’t really like parties, obviously. Now if you’ll excuse me.” you stood back up, smiled at him and walked past him.

For a minute you were okay, but every now and then, wherever you go, you see a glimpse of that Taeyong. You heard serious things about him. Some say he’s a fuckboy, some say he isn’t. A part of you wanted to stay back there, but a part of you tells you its a bad idea. You don’t want to mess anything up, now that you’re literally just around the corner to your great success.

“[Y/N],” your friend held your wrist, surprising you. “Sorry, but look, I don’t think I’ll be coming back to the dorms tonight. I’m going to be pretty busy.” she winks at you. You weren’t able to tell her no, or stop her.

She left you once again, swallowed up within the crowd.

At the corner of your eye, you feel a pair of eyes stare at you. You turn to look but see no one. You shake your head, thinking it could be the alcohol you consumed earlier.

You decide the night is over for you. Walking past through the crowd, heading towards the entrance of the frat house.

But as you near the door, an arm stretched out in front of you. Stopping you.

Your shoulder pinned against the wall, and lips deeply pressing onto yours. You gasp at the sudden contact, letting that person dominate your tongue. You woke to your senses and push that body away from you. 

“T-Taeyong?” you exhale, catching your breath.

His eyes full of lust. “You have no idea how long I wanted to do that. From the moment you walk in that door wearing almost nothing, you woke up the fire in me.”

Your eyes glittered underneath his. Taeyong licks his lips, “Underneath that little innocent head of yours, baby I know you’re dangerous.” 

“Wh-what ar--” 

Taeyong held your wrist, dragging you up the flight of stairs and walked down the hallway and into a room where he threw you to a bed. He locks the door behind him. And turned around, slowly taking his shirt off. His eyes still on you.  And you felt hot, hotter than you could ever imagine. You were pretty sure your legs were quivering at the feeling he’s sending you. What’s even worse, he hasn’t done anything ground shaking--yet.

He crawls up the bed, climbing over you, knees sinking to the bed.

Taeyong unbuckles his belt, “For some reason, you make dangerous a good thing.” 

“Taeyong I-” he shushes you, a finger pressed against your lips. 

“Let’s be honest, [Y/N]. You want me too.” he said, reaching both your hands. His belt buckling around your wrists. “You do, right? Because if you don’t, you should’ve pushed me before I can bring you to my room.” 

You whimper as he tightens the belt. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Daddy’s going to take..good...care...of you.” he grins, suddenly leaning down to your neck, sucking, biting your collarbones. You are sure that would leave a mark later on, but that didn’t matter. You let out a moan, liking how he can easily find your sweetest spots.

His hands travel down to your hips, his thumbs pressing against your clothed skin. His mouth traveling down to your chest, with kitten licks he purred. 

You look down at him, and find his eyes on you. And it kills you, and at the same time he made you feel  wonders down there. 

You wouldn’t deny the fact that he has you soaked.

He sat up, eyeing you from your head down to you clothed region. He smirks, “Let’s see how much cries you can give daddy, sweetheart.”

You were about to protest, but he was quick to stroke your region with his thumb. You shiver at the contact, biting back a moan. Back arching.

Taeyong smiled, “You’re already a mess. Wonderful.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. 

He unzips his pants, and undid his boxers, exposing his already hard member. He teases the tip of his member at your entrance, you wreathed underneath him. Wanting more than just that. 

“Say it, sweetheart, say what you want.” he looks at you, eyes burning.

“D-Daddy, please.” you beg.

He lightly chuckled, moving your underwear to the side. He slides the tip of his cock on your already wet entrance. And slowly, he enters. Your hands belted hands gripped the sheets above you. Your hips bucking upwards as he slides smoothly inside you, your wetness becoming a lube.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you feel so good around me.” 

He hikes the skirt of your dress up, pressing his forehead on yours as he begins to move his hips in a rhythmic manner. Slow paced.

His thrusts began to quicken, sinking even deeper in you.

You suddenly feel that electricity. Your voice shaking as you let out a whimper. 

“T-Taeyong, I-I think I’m--” you stutter.

His hips pushing deep inside you, “T-Taeyong,” 

He jolts, sitting up. Hands on your knees, letting him hit the sweetest spot in you.

You feel every sensation, you feel you’re in cloud 9.

“Fuck! Taeyong.” you cry out.

Your vision faded to black, your eyes rolled back. Your region sending shockwaves all over your body. 

Taeyong’s pace slowed, but sharp. You see his jaws clenched, breath hitched as he pulls out, coming after you. His warm seed spilling all over your hips, wanton moans while he pumps himself. 

He looks at you, then collapsed beside you.

It took you two a minute before you were all cuddled up under his sheets.

You rub your wrists and he sees them red, “I did it too tight, didn’t I?”

You shrug, “It was fine I guess, if you didn’t belt it tight, I think I could pushed you over.” 

“Oh,” he smirks, “feisty, and dangerous.” 

“Yeah.” you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“[Y/N],” he hums against your hair. “I hope this won’t be something once in a lifetime.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask, eyes still closed.

“With me knowing you can be dangerous, I feel I would fall deeply in love with you.” he said, his thumb caressing your bare shoulder.

“Then, you’re in big trouble, Taeyong.” you smile.

You heard him chuckle, and say something else about what he felt, but you were too tired, intoxicated and zoned out. You fell asleep around his arm, and when he noticed you were already asleep, he kisses your forehead and closed his eyes.

a/n: honestly, I wasn’t even satisfied with this shot, hoping I can make the next ones better. BUT please know that I really did my best on this update :(

[daydreams-abt-hurt-comfort]

“I pray you never take a breath without remembering the ones you’ve taken away”

TW: Physical violence, victim blaming, mention of abuse.

Nightmare Whump dedicated to my friend who gave me this quote.

It shouldn’t have hurt as badly the fifth time, but somehow that last hit shook him to his core. The last punch to the face, throwing him into the wall as he tried to stand again, darkness edging on his vision.

So many eyes on him, so many guns, so much silence. With how many people that were in the room, there should’ve been speaking, should’ve been noise. He saw their mouths were moving, so why wasn’t the sound reaching his ears?

And why couldn’t he reach them?

Kalidius could hardly find the energy to breathe, yet still found his way to his own feet. Just in time to obtain another hateful shove from some blank faced Con’.

Rustracer diagonal from him, zoned out beyond belief, purple eyes lit with a fire so deep he could feel his fingertips burn.

The heat boiling beneath his nails, the anticipation of something completely awful. Something he knew the layout of, but still couldn’t fathom.

They were the central line of his vision, the only thing not obscured by the Energon dripping from his head wound.

Four drained faces, all equipped with hair matted and lacking of color. Maybe a few weeks before, or just a shower and haircut away, there’d be individuality, they’d not look like lambs being taken to the slaughter house. But here they were, and it was what it was.

“You and your friends are one set of coordinates away from freedom, from leaving here unscathed. Do you want to be responsible for the death of these mechs?”

Kalidius’s throat was dry, and he was sure even if he wanted to talk, his vocal chords had long since withered away.

It was just for a moment though. Just for a moment that he wanted to yell the coordinates, wanted to book it out of there and keep his remaining friends safe.

But it was only for a minute. Only for a minute that he considered selling out Elita and Optimus.

Truth be told, he didn’t know their exact location. They hadn’t had one, not until that emergency message they’d given before the split of the Ark. It was just sort of known that they’d be on Earth, that they’d meet up.

Kalidius rasped through Energon wet lips.

“I told you I don’t know where they are. And even if I did, you wouldn’t be hearing any of it,” The last part came with a wheeze, a snatch at his breath and adrenaline. He could feel his sparkrate shoot up, could feel his mind sink as he heard the all-too-familiar clicking of a cannon.

Kalidius would’ve looked away. He wanted to, he didn’t want to look at these bots he was willfully letting die. He wished that it made his stomach writhe with discomfort, made his spark break a little. But as he looked at the faces of his teammates, he found that not even the slightest bit of will had come his way. The only will, the only respect he had was to watch. Watch their faces as punishment.

Each person wore a different expression.

Seaspray, eyes locked on Megatron defiantly. Cliffjumper, nervously biting at his lip, furrowing his eyebrows and trying to stay brave. Cloudburst, looking directly into Kalidius’s eyes, shaking his head.

And finally, Rustracer.

Rustracer’s hair hung in his face with thickening strands, just barely covering the gaping hole drilled into his face a few days prior. Despite this, however, he still managed to meet Kalidius’s eyes. He still looked at him with that look he always gave. Pursed lips, eye searching his, letting him know he was there, giving him some sort of hope that it might be okay. Some sort of hope that some Autobots might bust in and save him from this horrific decision, this crime he was about to commit.

This would be his last chance to get out of here, to save these people. If he didn’t speak, if he didn’t say anything, they’d die, and he’d be left here. There was no way Megatron would actually kill him. He was far too valuable to him, good for Shockwave to experiment on, good for some information, good for taking his anger towards the Autobots out on. Good for blackmail.

Kalidius’s mouth hung open on nearly cut strings, the words caught deep within his throat.

With each breath, he heard Tripcord’s dying ones. He heard what could become of Elita if the Decepticons managed to forge his signal and find them.

If he had to stay here, if he had to stay here and rot inside out, be a lab rat, he’d willfully do it. He’d stay here for an eternity if it meant preventing that.

There was no way to win this bet against the red eyes drilling into him with impatient amusement, waiting for him to break.

Kalidius just continued to stare ahead at his friends—what was left of their vibrant colors.

“This is your last chance, Kalidius Prime. Are you going to choose silence over these bots lives?” Seaspray met his eyes dejectedly, but nodded. A silent notion to him, a last acknowledgment.

He made his decision then.

He just stared, just allowed the nails to dig into his wrist and hold him back.

“Let it be known then that you chose silence when faced with saving your men. Let it be known that Primus’s son is a killer.”

Kalidius wished he’d bleed out right then and there, that he’d just suddenly whip his troops around and press the cannon to his head, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. This was his lifetime, his eternity. Locked in his own body, unable to speak as the cold, dying eyes of his comrades shot out.

Cloudburst first, shot through his back into his leg, still alive by the third shot, and only dying after being pummeled into the wall several times over.

Never once did he falter, though. Cloudburst held his head up, kept his arms attached to the ones chipping him away. Not a single scream of his own came out.

And perhaps that was the worst part, his eyes meeting Kalidius’s without a noise. The way they lost their color after the Energon began pushing out through his eyesockets.

It happened so fast, the body hitting the ground, the puddling life fluids around it. The ones he was thrown towards.

All he could do to keep from vomiting was stare at Seaspray. All he could do was look into Seaspray’s face, and grip what strength was held within it.

Kalidius wasn’t even given the time to mouth goodbye before the wave of Energon and spark shard crashed over his frame, and into the gore pile he was now stuck in.

When he lifted his head to try to find his balance, he instead found Rustracer’s bandages. His bloody bandages.

All the while, there was the laughing. The cheering as he was pinned to the wall, and a spark shard was put to the empty socket.

Kalidius tried his absolute best to scream, he tried. But it all caught in his throat, and the slick around him only succeeded in throwing him backwards onto the glass. It only succeeded in getting him pulled by a fistful of hair.

The words just kept replaying in his head, different voices each time. Same teeth gnawing at his core. A horrific voice like burning coals against skin.

Killer. Killer. Killer. Worthless pleasurebot.

It all just kept getting louder, creeping about the room like poison Ivy. All different voices, yet the same words itching across his wounds. And that horrible feeling, yes. That horrible feeling rotting him away from his chest outwards. Above it all, came the distinctive light threatening to swallow him away. The light he tried desperately not to flinch at.

Blue eyes, digging deep into his purple ones.

An all too familiar face, both painful and awakening. Despite Sentinel never liking him, the grieving nature of the claim was not ignored. The silence from his teammates did not go unnoticed, either. The silence that screamed monster, the crowds of shadows reaching out for him with bared teeth and swollen eyes.

“I hope that with every breath you breathe, you should remember those that you’ve taken away.”

And as the inky blackness set in, as the Energon consumed him and his vision limited itself to the hollow socket of his sparkmate’s eye, his body finally managed to find the strength to roll over, and—

Thud!

His breath was knocked out of him, raced all around him in heated whispers and threats…and some newly formed bruises.

It didn’t quite process that his eyes were still closed until he felt the warmth of the light.

The pounding from within his skull, the blinding pull of the crumbling ground around him. Or was he crumbling? He couldn’t be sure, it was just too loud. It was too loud.

Kalidius tried to cover his ears to protect himself, tried to bury his head in the ground like an ostrich, pull into a ball, but he somehow still found his face turning to meet hers. To meet what had haunted him for so long.

There, in the dim morning lights, flickering like an overheating lightbulb, she stood. Her stance never faltered, her eyes never left his. The only movement she took was to lick her lips. Her chapped, pale lips.

Post mortem.

Tripcord, whatever lay left of her spirit, just hovered there. Just towered above his suddenly tiny form. He felt so small in her gaze, so weak and pathetic. Just like when she’d found him, just like when he’d tried to fight her help off.

A look of patient disappointment, of pity, maybe some disgust and regret.

He wanted to look away, he did. He wanted to look away so bad, wanted to run for the hills, but he was trapped. He was stuck here with her, a disgusting abomination laying before someone so angelic, so kind and selfless.

Not real, not real, not real, not real.

Though, the longer he repeated it, the more the sentence shifted.

Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

One of them, he meant. And it definitely wasn’t the first.

Nothing could get him away from her, nothing could save her from him. What he’d let happen to her, what he’d let happen to his friends. What had almost happened to Rustracer.

Still, Kalidius pushed himself up towards the wall. Weak, barely enough energy to get him over to the wall, but enough to last him as he curled away from his once guardian. His once protector. Not so much because he was afraid of her.

But because he was afraid of what might happen to her. Just being in her presence, he didn’t deserve it. He’d sully her wings, her angelic glow, her spirit. Someone so perfect, someone he hadn’t deserved.

Someone so heavenly.

Kalidius refused to meet her gaze, to let himself set his eyes upon something so amazing. Someone he’d robbed of life, someone he’d watched get drained of their dignity and self control. All because of him.

There was nobody to blame but himself.

Nobody left around him to be burdened with the load he carried.

“Why are you hiding?”

He’d almost convinced himself she wouldn’t speak, that maybe this punishment would be the silence. He’d thought the quiet was bad, but this, this was worse. So much worse. Kalidius wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground, to shove her away. But there she stood, there she flitted. Even in death, even in her circumstances, she stood tall. Still held her kind, voice. The one he didn’t deserve.

Kalidius couldn’t answer.

So, she picked up his line too.

An odd tint in her voice, a play to his sore ears.

“I’m not angry with you, Kalid.”

It was almost as if her own throat was drying up, as if she was fading.

Just staring down at him, just…just staring.

“You should be. You should be angry with me.” He almost didn’t recognize it as his own voice, to tell the truth. He didn’t recognize anything about it. Everything felt too high or too low. Just a few decibels off of what it should be. Of what he thought it should be.

“No,”

He knew he shouldn’t have, and he wouldn’t have if it was any other person, but he looked up at her. He looked her in the eyes, watched her face deepen without much emotion. With disappointment.

“You will learn to live with this. You know you will. You will learn from it. But…”

His eyes got wider.

But…

She knelt down.

“With each breath you take, never forget the ones you’ve stolen away. The ones you’re breathing in now. However many sleepless nights it takes, however many times you go over it in your head,”

Tripcord’s eyes darkened with something foreign, something deeper than he’d ever seen. An almost completely new voice, familiar and foreboding.

“Everytime you step into a room with them, I hope you see the puddles of Energon, the trails you leave behind you,”

Tripcord’s hand extended towards him, eyes flooding with colors he’d never had the displeasure of seeing. So many faces at once, so many voices.

“You leave a graveyard with each person you touch. And if it weren’t for that symbol, you’d be dead,” The claws—yes, claws, were suddenly around his throat, digging into his skin like tiny pins and needles. Tearing at his flesh. Ripping out his mind and thoughts, tearing words off his tongue as though trying to pry it out of his mouth.

“Kalidius, help!”

He shook his head desperately back and forth, slammed it backwards.

“Kalidius!”

Slam!

“Kalidius!”

Finally, the ground hit.

Cold, metallic ground. Unwelcoming.

“Kalidius, hey!” His mind was still choking around in its tiny box, trying to fathom what had just happened, what he’d done.

“Come back to me, alright? See me right here?”

Kalidius’s eyes wouldn’t open yet, they weren’t ready to. But the voice was familiar.

And he didn’t need to, as the voice softened and stronger arms cradled his own. He could smell the newly rained smell. The all-too-familiar scent of his friend.

Even if he didn’t want to open his eyes, even if they were crusted shut, he felt obligated to now. Maybe the forced nature made him more comfortable, not being given a choice.

I pray with each breath you breathe, you never forget the ones you stole.

Kalidius winced. Not because the voice was awful, not because of the words, but because he knew. He knew it’d continue, and he could already feel the pit of acceptance forming in his stomach. The steadily awakening groggy CPU lodged somewhere in his head.

“There you go. I was scared I was gonna have to call Ratchet or something,”

The purple eye staring back at him, the eyepatch covering what the past had eaten away. Kalidius wanted to comfort Rustracer, he really did. But all that managed to escape his lips was those shallow, pathetic breaths. Heaving.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

He couldn’t repeat it enough, couldn’t say it as many times as he truly meant it. All that he’d taken away, all that he’d done.

“Don’t say sorry, bitbrain. You don’t need to be sorry—you don’t need to say nothin’ if you don’t want to. Say anything but an apology.”

Kalidius was only made aware that he was crying when the tears finally made their way into the cracks of his lips, and he felt the salt settle on his tongue. Sour and bitter, undeserved. What did he have to be sad about?

“You don’t gotta talk ‘bout it, let’s just go sit on the berth so you don’t slam your head again,” he was moving, though he was completely positive it wasn’t because he was moving. It was because he was being moved. Two gentle, yet strong hands gripping his shoulder and wrist like a guide dog leading a blind person across an interstate.

“I know you don’t need me, but I’m right here now. Whatever’s going on inside your head, I’m right here with you and we’re gonna sit through it just like always.” Kalidius could feel his hair being tucked back. Tucked back with a precision Rustracer had never used before, one tender one that he’d saved seemingly for this moment.

“Feels like an honor to see you cry, K. Might be the first ever sighting.” Warm pricks across his skin, goosebumps arising as the warm breath hit his wet cheeks.

All just for this, for something he didn’t deserve; a hand offering itself to his. The opportunity to squeeze and tug the absolute life out of it.

It was only once his heaving stopped that he’d realized how loud he was being. How disgusting he was being.

How pathetic.

Every time he blinked, though, every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. He heard her. He could see all the dead bodies, all the puddles, the lifeless eyes. The empty eye-socket. All proof of his guilt.

Just pure silence, just the dimming light of the militial bathroom’s closed door. Kalidius finally broke the silence, finally admitted it.

“It was my fault. I-it was me.” His voice was raspy, cold and deepening. Pathetic.

“I’m sorry. I got y-you hurt and—Seaspray, a-and—“ Rustracer’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Are you apologizing for the ship right now? Seriously?”

Here was his punishment. This was the punishment.

Kalidius braced for it.

Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

“Not a single ounce of all this scrap was your fault. You tried your best to save them. They knew what was going to happen to them—they trust you.”

“That’s the issue!”

He didn’t mean to yell it. He really hadn’t.

But that didn’t stop it from coming out as such.

“People around me die, Rust. People die because of me. I am the proph—“

The sonnet was cut short by a sharp pain to the cheek, to his face as a whole.

Not enough force to send him backwards, but enough to stop him in his tracks. It didn’t even register as a slap until he felt the burning handprint begin to tingle.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

Rustracer’s voice was calm, smooth. But angry.

“You’re not what these old assholes are saying, okay? It was circumstances. We were outnumbered, outgunned, and taken by surprise. We were too weak to fight.” Kalidius didn’t want to look him in the eyes right now. Honestly, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide. Push his hair into his face to hide the burn scars just past his cheeks, the stitches above his eye.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t given much of a choice, as Rustracer tilted his face upwards. A little roughly, but not enough to notice. Kalidius was too fixated on the hands now cupping his cheeks, thumbing away tear stains.

“It’s okay if we aren’t recovered yet. If we’re still in pain. However many nights we have of you saying her name, fighting the wall, it’s okay. But here’s what we’re not going to do;” He exchanged a breath. “We’re not going to relive it everyday. And we’re not going to become it. In fact, once we’re both better, we’re gonna kick their asses.”

There was something so captivating about his eyes. Er, well, eye. The intensity it could hold, the determination. Against all their nights and mornings sitting in here, him hiding his face and refusing to go out, here he was suddenly standing so strongly. Kalidius vaguely wondered if it was an act.

“I’m telling you, just wait until we’re stable. Wait until we’re better. We’re gonna get em’.”

Rustracer threw some fake punches at the air, smiling all the while. Smiling so much that Kalidius couldn’t help but melt into it too.

Even if he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m not unstable, this is just—this is what I…”

“—Don’t say it.”

Ruining the moment again, aren’t we?

Kalidius forced his eyes close, forced them to reset his mind for a short while, but he just kept drifting back into the open. Just kept looking into Rustracer’s features.

“The people who blame you—all the voices you hear in your head saying it’s your fault, it’s not. We couldn’t have done anything, we tried. We’re ‘lucky’ to have survived according to Ratchet.”

But what if he’d lied, what if he’d just done something? What if…what if…

“Don’t let them win your mind, Kal. Don’t let them reach that deep part of you. And don’t believe what they said.” Rustracer had a face on that Kalidius had never seen. Soft, genuine. At first glance, it felt like pity, but he knew Rustracer better than that. They both hated pity, and luckily he didn’t have it in him to dispense pity.

“Whatever they did to you on that ship, know that we’re still here. We got a second chance. And you know what? We’re gonna fucking kill them.”

Here again to ruin the moment.

“They’re haunting me—they blame me, I know they do—“ Rustracer rolled his eye.

“Even if they do, which they don’t, we can still get revenge. We can still get em’. And we are.” Kalidius shook his head at his sparkmate.

“I don’t deserve you. I’m gonna end up hurting you worse.” Once more, the hands slipped up to his shoulders, then his drooping head.

“Nobody deserves anything more than you do. Maybe I don’t deserve you, maybe you don’t deserve me, but we want eachother, and whatever happens, I’m not going to give up on you…” Rustracer surprisingly did not stop in his tracks awkwardly. He just kept going, rolled his eyes. “Whatever you are, whatever becomes of this, we’re going to do it together. If we fail, we’ll do that together too.”

Kalidius sniffled.

“Sentinel?”

“I’m gonna rethink my terms if you bring him up. I don’t even know how he’s alive.” Somehow, that singular eye roll and pout from Rustracer was comforting. Calming.

Enough to get a bit of a smile.

A bit of something.

And as little as it was, the awkward twitching of Rustracer’s hand calmed him.

Maybe it’d be enough.

[victorluvsalice]

Forgotten Vows Friday: Forgetting You Chapter 5 -- Director’s Cut Edition

NOBODY PANIC I’M NOT ABANDONING EVERYTHING TO GO ON A WILD EDITING SPREE AGAIN. This is simply the addition of a single scene to Chapter 5 of “Forgetting You.” So why am I going back and sticking new scenes into an old story again?

Well, you can blame my new fan/buddy MartyrFan, an Iced Tea (Alice/Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians) fan who recently got into my Valice stuff and started binge-reading a lot of the Forgotten Vows Verse. He recently wrote a slew of reviews for “Forgetting You,” and one of them contained this quote:

It's a little late for me to be asking about this, but what about Hysteria? Alice uses it for the first time after the first memory of the fire. I think that being to do THAT was definitely worth writing about, no offense. 

Seeing that made me remember something -- I actually HAD written a scene showing off Alice’s first use of Hysteria, which also introduced the “burning Liddell doors” memories (aka the plot-important memories you have to see to progress). For some reason I don’t remember, though, I never put it in the finished product. With MartyrFan asking about, and me knowing that it was probably WAS a little weird that Hysteria and mentions of it appeared later in the fic as normal, I figured it was worth going back, rewriting the scene up to my current standards, and slapping it in Chapter 5. It comes between Alice collecting the Victor memory and Alice finding the Hatter (as Alice gets the tutorial on Hysteria right before she meets up with him again). I’ve touched nothing else save the first couple of lines of the “meeting the Hatter” scene to help it merge in a little better.

Chapter 5 on FF.net

Chapter 5 on AO3

Chapter 5 on my website (formatting went funny there though, and I still haven’t managed to change my theme)

One of the things Alice hated about the human brain, and her brain in particular, was its tendency to associate certain innocent objects and events with rather less-pleasant ones. White sheets with her bed in Rutledge, for example. Old keys with Bumby's hypnosis sessions. Red-and-white stripes with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

Or, like at the current moment, the front door of her house with her first fight with the Jabberwock. She glared at the portal before her – familiar white wood tarnished with gray ash, flames leaping behind the decorative iron flowers in the window, LIDDELL written in charred letters across the top. What it was doing here, set into a pile of old junk cogs and springs in the depths of the Lost and Found, she couldn't say. But it was there nonetheless – and, annoyingly, appeared to be the only way forward in this maze of clockwork and steam. "Come on, Alice," she scolded herself. "You mustn't dillydally. You saw the Jabberwock's skeleton blow away on the breeze. He's not a threat anymore. And this – it's just a door. It can't hurt you."

Her right hand ached from a long-healed wound, reminding her that yes, when the door was on fire and the knob blazing hot, it could hurt you, and very well. She sighed. "I'm wearing gloves this time – well, most of a glove," she corrected herself, wiggling her bare fingers. "And there's metaessence galore in all those boxes and barrels scattered about. I can heal myself in moments. We've barely started our journey – there's no point in stopping now."

Evil yellow eyes, thick sharp claws, a boiling furnace that poured out streams of flaming death – Alice shook the image away. "He's gone. I can't spend my life afraid of something I've already defeated." She squared her shoulders. "And if anything like him lurks behind that door, it'll have to face my Blade and my Grinder, and fall like all the rest." As encouraged as she could possibly get under the circumstances, she stepped forward and grabbed the knob, twisting it quickly and wrenching it open to reveal –

The library.

Alice stared as she stepped inside. The room was just as she remembered it, back in happier times. Shelves on almost every wall, filled practically to bursting with books old and new. Papa's photography equipment, lovingly spread out over a nearby table, filling the air with a chemical stench. Toys scattered across floor and chairs (including a jack-in-the-box – that explained a lot about where the Jackbomb had come from). The family portrait at the head of the room, showing all four Liddells in their Sunday best. And beneath that – the fireplace, blazing away to chase off the early November chill. Alice swallowed as she took it all in, only too aware of how little effort it would take to turn pleasing heat into a raging inferno. A single malignant spark, as her mother had said. . . . "Our lovely library was a fire trap. A conflagration waiting to happen!"

. . .Which I already knew, so why on earth are we belaboring the point?

Alice put her hands on her hips, letting out a frustrated growl as the memory faded back into darkness, leaving only the flame-licked door behind her. Wonderland was playing games, and she didn’t like it. Why dress up such a simple reminder so? She'd just had a memory from Mama about how dangerous her father's "unnatural devotion to printed paper" was to them. Granted, Lorina's tone had been more jocular, equally a playful complaint about her husband's hoarding habits and a hidden warning to be careful when in the room, but still. It had delivered the same message. What had been so special about this brief image that it warranted further dressing up from the little crystal house? Was there a clue she was supposed to have seen – a little thing out of place that hinted at the true cause of the fire? But everything had seemed in order. . . . If you want me to get to the bottom of things, Wonderland, you have to give me more than that!

Well, at least she hadn't had to shed any blood in her family home this time around. She turned and opened the door again. More heaps of rusty junk greeted her eyes – but they were different heaps this time, at least. Apparently she'd been taken just that bit closer to the Hatter. Which is the absolute least Wonderland can do to help – oh damn!

She burst into butterflies, just barely avoiding the steaming, oozing hand. The Insidious Ruin flapped its china jaw and waddled after her. Alice turned and sliced it to ribbons with the Blade, but more were already forming, thick black puddles rising up through the junk. . .she darted around the trash piles, trying to keep track of them all without taking a hit. Two – three – four – five – “Ah!”

She stumbled, pinwheeling her arms wildly as she teetered at the edge of a sudden drop. The Ruins (two more, seven now, she'd never faced so many at once) took advantage of her distress and charged. Alice butterflied out of the way again, but a straggler managed to sear her side as she reformed. She went to slash its hand off, only to be knocked off-balance by one of its friends scorching her back. And then another rammed into her, sending her to hands and knees. . .she butterflied once more, looking for free space, but they just followed, an inescapable black wall of pain. . .she got her feet, but another hand came out and she was stumbling backward again, terrifyingly close to the edge. . .a leap took her over them, but they turned with distressing speed. . .one tore at her hair, another grabbed her arm, and she couldn't get to one without opening herself up to another. . .it hurt, it hurt, it all hurt so much. . .so much pain, so much fear, so much – so much –

So much anger. Her jaw clenched as the Ruins kept up their attack, chipping away at her life bit by bit. She could have returned to the Home by now. She could have just gotten the stupid pills and been back in time for lunch. She could have found a book to read, or told another story to the children, or gone for a walk with Victor. She could have even been doing more chores like a normal person. But no, Wonderland couldn't let her have that, could it? It had to drag her away from reality and torture her with happy memories gone sour and never give her a straight answer to any of her questions and try to bloody goddamn KILL HER EVERY TIME SHE TRIED TO PROGRESS – Her entire body throbbed with pain, and it was too much, too much, too MUCH –

The scream exploded out of her throat, a shockwave of sound that sent the Ruins flying back. Moments later, her Blade was in her hand, and she was slicing and dicing with a fervor she hadn't felt since the last time she'd been hit with a Ragebox. "How fine you look when dressed in rage," Cheshire purred across her memory, and she did, she was a goddess of destruction in black and white and red and the Ruins were screaming, doll heads tumbling into the abyss, pipes and pulleys crashing to the ground, and it was all glorious she could do this forever kill and kill and KILL –

And then, suddenly, brown and gray and brass were back in her vision, and she had no idea how she was even staying upright.

She braced herself against a junk heap, looking around. Not a Ruin to be seen, but a whole field of metaessence roses, glittering in the dim light leaking through the ceiling. Alice collected the nearest, shaking as it broke apart into red mist and soothed her pain. She was glad that the threat was gone, but – how was she capable of such intense fury? Had some somehow managed to internalize that horrible sprayed poison from the boxes? Or was that rage just an essential part of her being? I know I can be moody, and snappish, and just plain mean, but. . .oh God, I hope I haven't hurt anyone in reality. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Probably just proved all those doctors who liked to call me "hysterical" right. . .actually, thinking about it, "Hysteria" wouldn't be a bad name for that. . . .

She took a deep breath and steadied herself. It's over with now, she thought as she circled around the battlefield, touching each rose in turn to regain her strength. And to be fair, it got me out of a very bad situation just now. Hopefully it only triggers when I'm that near death. And, doubly hopefully, only here in Wonderland. Otherwise. . . .

She didn't want to finish that thought. She picked up the last rose and brushed off her skirts. "Over and done with," she repeated. "And I don't think Wonderland would keep me if I'd actually killed someone. Just have to keep a close leash on it." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Come on. You'll feel better when you find Hatter." I hope.

[welllpthisishappening]

You Play Ball Like a Girl: Outtakes 3.0

It hadn’t been the plan, so of course Emma had been there. Of course she’d been reading his book and sitting in the darkroom and the look on her face when he’d opened the door nearly sent shockwaves down his spine.

He’d thought about it for the rest of the week.

He’d thought about that talk all week – another talk and another set of reasons why this wouldn’t work and he’d gone to work every day, but he’d polished off an entire bottle of rum in his apartment as well.

Also livin’ it up on Ao3 and Tumblr if that’s how you roll. 

His phone was buzzing.

He didn’t move.

He should probably move at some point. Get off the couch. Fix that crick in his spine.

He didn’t. And his phone stopped buzzing.

Killian rolled his head to the side and glared at it – like the few pieces of metal and technology and whatever had, somehow, offended him. It kind of had. It wouldn't shut up.

Although, some vaguely rational and incredibly frustrating voice in the back of his mind reminded him, if the phone stopped buzzing then his apartment would get very, very quiet and that would leave him with just...him.

Who, apparently, was not much of anything.

Jeez. That was a little much. Melodramatic idiot.

A melodramatic idiot who hadn’t moved off his couch in the last eight hours and hadn’t stopped thinking, despite the noise coming from his phone. It started buzzing again.

Killian sighed loudly, swinging his feet back onto the floor and realizing belatedly he hadn’t ever taken his shoes off.

Maybe he should call Aurora.

Or….there wasn’t anyone else. Well, that was depressing.

The phone made noise again, nearly vibrating off the edge of the coffee table in front of him and he groaned when he lunged forward quickly to make sure it didn’t land on the ground. The last thing he needed was his phone breaking.

He should probably answer the several hundred e-mails he had. Or maybe go to work. He probably wasn’t going to work.

That voice in the back of his mind nearly shouted coward at him.

There were a dozen text messages and more e-mails than he’d really been prepared for, but he didn’t look at any of them, eyes landing on the name that kept popping up in his inbox – a string of questions and hopes and concerns about the status of the New York Yankees designated hitter problem.

Henry.

Shit.

Did you watch that game last night? The guy is swinging at ball four in the dirt in the bottom of the eighth. Idiot .

Oh you’re not in New York, are you? Ah, well, don’t watch that game. It was awful.

At least they get to play the Sox soon. Maybe they’ll sweep them and things will be right with the world.

Killian laughed and then he nearly dropped his phone again.

That might have been the first sound he’d made – barring the occasional groan or overly dramatic sigh – since practically falling into his apartment the night before, his conversation with Emma playing in front of his eyes like some sort of horrible broken record.

He’d known something was wrong the moment he woke up – could hear her talking to Elsa even down the stairs and around the corner, the anxious note of her voice and the way she nearly jumped out of her skin the minute his fingers hit hers.

He hadn’t been lying. He knew she was running, had been worried about it as soon as the invitation to Storybrooke was out of her mouth that, one morning, she’d wake up and, suddenly, realize what was going on.

And for a moment he was certain maybe that moment wouldn’t come.

The second she kissed him – or maybe he kissed her – desperately trying to make sure they didn’t get ice cream on each other’s clothes.

He thought maybe she wouldn’t run.

She did.

And he’d gotten mad and yelled and she’d yelled back and Mary Margaret and David had tried to play parents, like this was something that made any sense.

It didn’t. Emma had to know he wouldn’t go anywhere, didn’t she? Apparently not.

Killian’s phone buzzed again in his hand and his eyes snapped down to another message from Henry, followed shortly by another from Will Scarlet.

How come you didn’t tell me Gardner was going on 15-day?! He’s the only one in that lineup that can hit at all!

Just wondering what time you’re coming in Cap. We’ve got a ton of box scores to get through and Victor wants to talk about some summer league story he’s doing.

Killian’s stomach clenched and he pressed his lips together tightly until his teeth were digging into them, threatening to draw blood. He ignored Will.

He couldn’t do that right now.

He couldn’t think about that right now.

Coward. He didn’t even need the voice then. He knew what he was doing.

Killian clicked back on Henry’s message and started typing out a reply, fingers flying over the screen with a quickness that belied the fact that he’d been wallowing on his couch for the better part of the night.

That’s not part of my job description. You don’t get inside info, just because I know you, kid. And I wasn’t there this weekend. So I didn’t even know about Gardner until you just so pleasantly informed me. Also, I’d lower my hopes on the Sox series. Especially if Gardner is out.

Aren’t you supposed to, like, check your phone? You’re in charge.

I get days off.

He cringed at the message, something that felt a bit like an entire wad of anxiety sitting in the middle of his throat. He didn’t have to be an ass to Henry.

And the service was kind of spotty all weekend. So I was kind of out of touch. Thanks for the updates.

Henry didn’t answer for what felt like an eternity and Killian resisted the urge to sink back into the couch, certain he’d, somehow, managed to mess something else up.

It’s a calf strain. Apparently. That’s what it said in the paper this morning .

You’re reading the paper now? Yeah, well, I figured if you and Emma were there, it was worth something. And you guys really do get good stories. ESPN credited your Gardner scoop. They said other sources, but whatever. I knew it was you .

The wad of anxiety disappeared and was replaced with something that felt a bit like emotion – the good kind. The kind that made Killian proud of what they were doing at The Record and in sports and maybe...him.

Maybe he was doing something good.

What are you doing on Friday?

It’s August. Literally nothing .

You don’t have to work? Oh, yeah, that .

Killian chuckled again, toeing out of his shoes and kicking them into the corner of the room near the bag he’d never actually moved or unpacked.

Yeah, that. Mary Margaret wouldn’t appreciate if you just didn’t show. But what about after? When are you done?

Usually around 3:30.

Well, I’m back now and I’ve got some time on Friday and there’s probably a cage free. What do you say to a bit of hitting?

What? For real? Why would I lie about that?

I have no idea.

I’m not.

You don’t have to do...editor things?

What exactly are editor things.?

I have no idea about that either.

Sometimes Killian forgot Henry was a teenager. Sometimes he forgot what it was to be a teenager who just wanted something, without any strings attached, just baseball and the cages and Henry was, maybe, just a little bit terrified that he’d never get what he wanted.

Well, he thought, seriously, fuck that.

Henry wasn’t just going to get what he wanted, he was going to get time at the cages and then he was going to get back on this high school baseball team and go to college and play for the goddamn New York Yankees.

And Killian was, suddenly, more determined than he could remember being in quite some time.

I have no editor things. And if I did this is more important. Come over when you’re done with work. We’ll get a cage and you can hit until you can’t swing anymore.

That might take some time.

Killian smiled. Confidence. Good. That’s ok. I’ve got time.

I haven’t hit since we did before you guys went away .

There went the smile – a mixture of Henry’s inability to get into cages without Killian’s Piers connections and the idea that going to Storybrooke was some sort of vacation and not a painful smack in the face, all converging at once to take up residence in the pit of his stomach. He sank back against the cushions of his couch, head hitting painfully against the wall and his phone made noise.

But, yeah, that would be really cool. If you can get away from work. I’d love to hit.

I can get away. Four work for you?

Yeah, yeah, that’s easy. Can we ask Emma too?

He was an idiot. He hadn’t really thought about it. Well, no, that was a lie. He’d thought about nothing else for the last eight hours – refusing to move an inch for want of thinking about it and her and that conversation in the middle of Penn Station.

And it was her story.

She probably needed quotes. He knew she needed quotes. She was going to start writing after they got back from the wedding and he wasn’t sure why he’d been under some strange impression that was, somehow, going to change now.

Probably because everything had changed now.

He’d never answered Henry.

I’ll take care of it. You just worry about keeping your wrists tight when you swing.

Killian could practically hear the dramatic sigh when he read the answering text message. Ok that’s not even true. My wrists are fine .

Your wrists are wobbly. At best. Hold your wrists tighter and you’ll hit .450 this season.

That’s not possible. It would be if you’d tighten your wrists.

There was probably another groan, but Killian was nothing if not stubborn, particularly when he wanted something. And he wanted this for Henry.

Whatever.

Four o’clock. Friday. Tight wrists.

Deal. It took a few moments for the follow up and Killian wondered if Henry had thought about it. Thanks. For all of this .

No problem.

He got off the couch. And that felt like a bit of a miracle, but Killian figured if Henry could find a way to believe they’d make this work and actually thank him for being a somewhat decent person, he could at least get off the couch and shower and get ready for work.

He’d be late, but he’d go.

That felt like a bit of a victory.

Killian didn’t really try to rush through anything, but he heard his phone buzz again when he walked back into his room later, hair still damp from the shower he’d finally taken. He tugged a t-shirt over his head, glancing at the thing when it kept making noise and nearly sprinted towards it when it went off a third time.

It was Scarlet.

Cap. I know you were late getting in yesterday, but I just wanted to know what time you were getting here. Not work stuff. Victor’s calmed down overnight.

Ok, seriously you need to call me. Or show up for work.

This is not about the paper. Emma’s here, or at least just got here, and, well, she’s got this look on her face. Like she’s going to explode.

She said she didn’t know where you were.

Killian sank onto the end of the bed, right hand gripping his phone and left trained at his side so he didn’t do something absurd like stare at the scars on his skin and question every single decision he’d ever made in his life.

It didn’t really work.

Because he might be just as determined as ever to make sure this worked for Henry and even for whatever scoop the paper would get out of it, but he couldn’t pretend like the last weekend hadn’t happened.

And he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t as in love with Emma Swan as he’d been since she’d run him over in the hallway.

He wasn’t going to go to work.

Coward.

He thought it every time he took a drink for the rest of the afternoon.

Of course, it didn’t matter how much he drank or how much he avoided that giant building and the almost absurd amount of e-mails he got. He still had to go back to work and he’d found himself walking there without even realizing it, feet moving up Eighth Avenue with practiced ease.

It hadn’t been the plan, so of course Emma had been there. Of course she’d been reading his book and sitting in the darkroom and the look on her face when he’d opened the door nearly sent shockwaves down his spine.

He’d thought about it for the rest of the week.

He’d thought about that talk all week – another talk and another set of reasons why this wouldn’t work and he’d gone to work every day, but he’d polished off an entire bottle of rum in his apartment as well.

It was all about give and take. Or something. Liam probably would have been disappointed.

And time kept moving and Emma brought him coffee and asked if he wanted to skip out on the Piers, that nervous edge in her voice doing something very specific to his lungs' ability to function consistently.

Of course he wanted to go.

He wanted her to go. Maybe he was a masochistic, but he just wanted her to stop looking like that, ducking her eyes whenever he moved more than half an inch closer to her and actually stopping at Lisa’s desk before she barreled into his office.

She knew everything and Killian still wanted her around.

They’d been there for almost an hour before Emma got there, Henry muttering that the doctors had cleared him to start running earlier that week.

“You want to run then?” Killian asked and Henry’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?” “I mean if the doctors said it was ok.” “They did.” “So, yeah, then?” Henry twisted his lips and scuffed his foot along the turf. “What?” Killian continued, nodding his head to get in the teenager’s eyeline. “You don’t have to run if you don’t want to.” “No, no, I was just wondering if we could practice stealing.” “Stealing? Like bases?” Henry nodded. He still hadn’t looked up. “It’s just...I got hurt stealing and when I came to the paper that first time you asked who taught me how to steal and, well, the answer is no one. That’s why I’m so bad at it.”

Killian crossed his arms and felt the smile creep across his face. It almost didn’t feel entirely out of place. “Sure,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. “We can steal some stuff.”

God, that kid was fast.

Killian was certain his eyes fell out of their sockets as soon as Henry moved, dimly aware of Emma’s eyes on them and the more-than-appropriate co-worker distance she kept from the tiny spot of turf they’d claimed as their own.

This was going to work. They just had to Henry back on the field.

“How was that?” Henry asked when he finished another sprint, chest heaving just a bit when he dropped onto the ground.

“Good, really good,” Killian promised, not even trying to mask how impressed he was. “What did you think, Swan?”

She looked surprised – eyes going wide and mouth dropping open and she must have just come from the office because she was still wearing a dress. He tried not to rub his left hand.

“It was good,” Emma said quickly, but he could hear her voice shake on the words. “You’re absurdly fast, Henry.”

He didn’t even bother getting up to answer. “I’ve always been fast,” he said, laying flat on his back with one leg crossed over the other. Killian tried not to roll his eyes. “I was worried the ACL would mess it up, but it seems ok.” “Looks perfect to me,” Emma continued.

“You think?” She hummed and Killian was tapping out some sort of rhythm on his thigh. He wanted to move. Every single muscle in his body wanted him to take a step towards her and grab her hand or sling his arm around her shoulder, to tug him up against his side and promise, again, that this could work.

They could work. Together.

He didn’t do any of that. They had a story to save.

“I do,” Emma added. “And if Killian said you were good, then you must be. He knows what he’s talking about.” His stomach flipped like he was thirteen years old and the girl he had a crush on just told him she’d like to hang out. Kind of. The woman he loved thought he knew what he was doing. That was, somehow, better and worse.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Swan,” he said and he couldn’t stop himself from moving if he tried.

“You hit yet?”

“Nah, figured we’d try something different before we started repeating ourselves." Emma smiled and his stomach was just being ridiculous at that point. “You going to make Killian hit, Henry?” she asked. “I heard you were making a pretty good argument.” It felt like getting doused in ice water. Or falling into ice water. It definitely felt like falling and a bit like drowning and he couldn’t really breathe.

Emma’s smile wavered and Killian knew she could read the look on his face, certain he looked every bit as terrified as he was.

“He said he doesn’t want to,” Henry replied a bit sullenly. Killian bit his lip and the fingers on his right hand traced over one of the scars, stare boring a hole into the turf.

“What? Why?” Emma asked and Killian got the very strong impression they were waging some sort of something right there in the middle of Chelsea Piers

“It’s not a good time, Swan.” “Why?”

“Yeah, Killian,” Henry implored, pushing up off the turf and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stared at him. “C’mon you promised. You said you could hit when you played.” “He could hit,” Emma said, eyebrows raised like she was challenging him to disagree.

“Swan,” he sighed and he could feel his shoulders slump. Emma didn’t blink. She didn’t move – closer or farther away – just kept staring at him and waiting for him to take back a bit of control of his life.

“What?” “Let Henry hit, it’s for him.” Henry groaned, rolling his eyes. “I can hit later. Just go one round.”

Killian met Emma’s gaze and there was something in her eyes that seemed to cause something to audibly snap in the back of his mind. “Fine, fine” he muttered, taking a step towards the cage and grabbing a bat as he moved. He slammed the door closed behind him, nearly breaking the goddamn machine with the force of his hand against the start button.

“Aren’t you going to wear a helmet?” Emma asked.

“I don’t need a helmet, Swan.” He couldn't’ remember the last time he hit.

That wasn’t even a sad, melodramatic idea. Killian hadn’t touched a baseball bat in years – his date with Emma notwithstanding – and he hadn’t actually stepped into those cages at the Piers in over a decade.

It didn’t seem to matter.

As soon as the machine whirred to life, it was as if he was sixteen again and Liam was a few feet away and he had a whole afternoon in front of him. There was probably a scientific reason for that – muscle memory or something else that Killian wouldn’t ever entirely understand – but it didn’t matter.

He fell into the rhythm he always did, the noise of the bat on the ball sounding like a metronome that kept reminding him of what could have been.

Almost.

It was always almost.

He hit every ball and when the machine powered down, his hand was already killing him, muscles objecting to overuse and a distinct inability to do what they’d just done.

Henry looked a little stunned. Emma just looked kind of sad.

“You think you can teach me to hit like that?” Henry asked.

“That’s kind of the plan,” Killian answered. “Swan?” Her head snapped up and he saw the muscles in her throat tense. “Yeah?” “We good now? No more of this?” No more feeling guilty. No more pushing. No more trying to force anything.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

They talked about the story and if he fell into some sort of muscle-memory rhythm in the cages, then Emma did the same as soon as she started asking question, every word out of her mouth drawing details and dates and everything that would get Henry back on the field.

Killian watched her in wonder, pulse thudding in his ears like an audible reminder of how much he loved her.

As if he wasn’t constantly aware of that.

The story went on forever and Emma got every fact she’d need for some kind of life-changing feature and Killian was certain she’d written half of it in her head already.

He kept flexing his fingers, trying to work out some of that excess emotion as Henry kept talking about how much baseball meant to him and it all felt a little too on point. Emma noticed. And she moved before Killian was entirely ready for it, before he’d been able to prepare himself for the feel of his hand on hers or what that would do to the oxygen in his lungs, but as soon as he felt her fingers lace with his he seemed to take a deep breath for the first time all week.

“Was that ok, Emma?” Henry asked eventually and Killian’s heart almost audibly cracked.

“Better,” she said. “We’re going to make this work, Henry.”

“You think? “I know.” She was still holding his hand. Or maybe he was holding her hand. He didn’t let go, at least.

“Why don’t you go hit, Henry?” Killian asked.

“Right now? “If you want? “Sure!” Henry was gone half a second later, a blur of baseball excitement and determination and Killian was still holding Emma’s hand.

“You said you weren’t going to promise him anything,” Killian said, certain it sounded like the accusation it maybe half was.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I just can’t let him down.  I’m going to get him back on the field and into a school if I have to take on the entire city myself.”

He shook his head and exhaled, eyes closed lightly when he realized – she still didn’t know. That seemed impossible with his fingers twisted up in Emma’s, but she still believed she was on her own.

“The entire city?” “If I have to.” “Not by yourself, you won’t.” “No?” Emma whispered, glancing at him with something he couldn’t quite name flashing in her eyes. He squeezed her hand.

“No. Never.”

And maybe he wasn’t done with pushing.

Maybe he was the biggest ass in the entire world. Emma’s face fell and she pulled her hand away from his, oblivious to the quiet sigh he’d tried to make sure she didn’t hear.

He wanted to hit something again.

That would just make his hand hurt.

Killian stood up and ran his hand through his hair, trying to to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring at the water he could just barely make out over the wall in front of them.

“What for?”

“Overstepping.” “You don’t have to apologize.” He turned at that, drawn by the earnestness in her voice and the tiny crease in between her eyebrows that was obvious as soon as his gaze landed on her. “Feels like I should.” “No,” Emma argued, shaking her head and pushing her hair behind her ears. She looked disappointed. “Don’t. It’s ok, Killian. We’re not very good at this.” “That’s true. Maybe we’ve both got some things to work on, huh?”

Henry hit another pitch and it might have been the loudest sound in the history of the world. Louder than his phone. “Probably,” Emma said. “But in the meantime we can still do this , right?” “Of course,” Killian answered, promise flying out of him before he considered what he was saying. “Henry’s going to play again. We can take on the city together.”

He smiled and Emma hadn’t ever gotten off the ground, chin resting on her knees. She nodded once, and held out her hand, something that looked like hope flitting across her face.

Killian took it without question.

“How’d that look?” Henry asked, blissfully ignorant to whatever was happening a few feet away from him.

“If you don’t tighten your wrists more, I’m going to tape them straight.” He opened his mouth to yell something else, as soon as Henry missed the next pitch, but he didn’t have to.

“Shut up,” Henry shouted.

Emma laughed softly next to him and Killian swore the sound worked its way through every single inch of him, settling in his core like some sort of hopeful, metaphorical flame. He’d obviously lost his mind.

“How come you don’t coach?” she asked.  

That caught him by surprise. “What?”

“Coach? Or something? You know what you’re doing. You’ve got experience. You’re clearly good at this. Why not?”

“When would I find the time, love?”

It felt like the Earth shook a bit. Killian swallowed and Emma’s breath audibly caught in her throat and he’d been so good at it – hadn’t called her that all week, had thought it half a dozen times, but managed to catch himself before the endearment and everything it meant to him landed in that mile-wide expanse in front of them.

He’d gotten too comfortable here though, too used to talking and the feel of her next to him and how easily her hand fit in his.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“I don’t know,” Emma said, ignoring whatever mental breakdown Killian was having. “Just seems like something you’d enjoy.”

“Eh, I don’t know. Seems a pretty solid pathway to wallowing. Lost glory and could-have-been, should-have-been me's.”

“That’s not like you,” Emma said and her determination brought him up short. He blinked once and she stood up a bit straighter. “It’s not.”

“I have a tendency to relapse.”

If he were keeping track of all the things he shouldn’t say, he’d be somewhere in the dozens now, he was certain. Emma sagged as soon as he’d spoken, eyes falling back towards her shoes and the sound of bat hitting ball was going to make him go crazy.

What a mess.

“Hey,” Killian said, taking a cautious step towards her. “We don’t do that whole pity thing, right?”

“It wasn’t pity.”

“No?”

“No, not for you at least.”

“I don’t want you to feel bad.”

“It’s way too late for that.”

Killian squeezed his eyes shut and fought off everything on the tip of his tongue, the promises of what could have been and how long he would have stayed and how much he loved her goddamnit. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t say any of that.

She’d just run again.

“You did what you thought you had to,” Killian muttered.

“And you’re suddenly cool with that?”

Emma groaned and Killian tried to smirk, well aware that he’d come up decidedly short on that front. “Loaded question,” he accused.

“Yeah, sorry.” “Don’t be. I just don’t know that I have an answer for your.”

“That’s fair.”

“You asked me on Monday if you thought we could still be friends.”

“I was worried you wouldn't want to,” Emma whispered and if he was a mess then she was some kind of tempest, a whirlwind of emotions that didn’t quite make sense.

“That’s the only thing I know I want,” Killian said. It was half true. He wanted a lot more than that. He wanted something bordering close to everything, but if he couldn’t get that, then he’d settle for friends.

He was a selfish ass.

“I know I fucked up, Swan,” he pressed, “But you’re still important, well, to me, you know. I don’t want that to change.”

She looked stunned. She still didn’t know. He wondered if she’d ever know. Or what he had to do to make sure she did.

“I don’t want that to change either,” Emma mumbled.

Killian nodded, a mix of disappointment and hope and something that felt like an overwhelming need to kiss her settling in between his ribs. It wasn’t very comfortable.

“C’mon Swan,” he said, nodding towards Henry. “Let’s go change city sports.”

[ruffsficstuffplace]

Trust Me, Like I Trust You With My Grossly Incandescent Space Lasers

Note: Also for Anonymous.

Takes place in the “Riders of the Storm” AU.

“Maybe this was all a big mistake...” Pidge mumbled.

She realized that it was probably far too late to be saying that after she and Allura had gone through the trouble of sparing one of their very few allotted hours of free time in between saving the realm, dressing up (or in Allura's case, suiting up) and leaving Castle Tempest, and flying all the way to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city of Illias.

But then again, one of the keystones of the Bond between a dragon and her rider was honesty and open communication, and Shiro did tell that one of the simplest and most effective exercises was to share what you were feeling or thinking with the other.

Her dragon/girlfriend smiled warmly at her. “But maybe it's not. Shall we go and make sure?” she said, nudging her head towards the entrance to the restaurant.

Pidge frowned. “Can we bail if I get too nervous...?” she asked.

Allura feigned offense. “Why Pidge, why ever would you feel the need to ask that?” she asked.

Her tone was playful, but she could hear the concern in her voice, see what she really meant in her eyes: “Won't you please trust me, like I trust you when I lend you the power of my grossly incandescent space lasers?”

Pidge shrugged. “I'm just… not used to all this, I guess.”

Allura's eyes softened. “We can fly back to the castle, if you really want to. We can find something else to do—something we'll both enjoy.”

Pidge looked at her blue eyes, quietly pleading: “Please don't.”

Pidge smiled at her. “Nah. Let's get inside door at least—geeze, I forgot how… airy dresses can be!”

As if on cue, another cool breeze blew in between her legs, forcing her to hold her skirt down as she shivered.

Allura chuckled. “At once, milady,” she said, keeping one arm almost entirely straight by her side.

Pidge looped her arm around Allura's, and into the restaurant they went.

It felt weird, to have the roles and positions reversed like this, for Allura to be doing all the “gentleman” roles for their date, be the one looking quite handsome in the white-and-blue three-piece suit she had tailored just for the occasion, and for Pidge to be doing all the “lady” roles, be the one in the lovely, if a little too light and weightless emerald green dress.

But not exactly a bad weird.

The ornate double doors of the restaurant magically opened as they neared, revealing a grand, palatial scene inside:

Cloth-covered tables arranged around a wooden dance floor, an unseen live band playing soothing music, servers in elegant clothes beaming and charming diners before moving about invisible and silent, the whole scene lit up by a grand chandelier in the center with softer, warmer sconces lighting the sides.

The maitre d' smiled as Pidge and Allura walked up. “Ah, her majesty Allura and Lady Pidge—how happy it makes us all to see you here tonight!” they said. “I shall inform the kitchen of your arrival so they may get started on your dinner—and for all our other staff to prepare as well.”

“Prepare for what?” Pidge asked.

The maitre d' grinned as they slipped from their podium. “What her majesty has prepared for you this evening! Please, allow me to show you to your table.”

Pidge turned to Allura. “I suppose I'm not going to get a hint about what's to come?”

Allura smirked at her. “'Now where's the fun in that?'” she said, quoting Pidge.

Pidge chuckled. “Karma, huh…?” she asked as they followed the maitre d' to their table.

“Thankfully, the good kind,” Allura hummed.

Heads turned and conversation stopped as they came close enough to the tables for the diners to see them and recognize their faces. Pidge tried not to be bothered as they gawked at and talked about them, sometimes making no effort at all to keep her from hearing.

She supposed it was inevitable, when you were one of the heroes of the realm, defending it from enemies threatening to tear the very foundations of it apart, when you were dating royalty from one of the most prestigious institutions of the realm, and most of all, when you were wearing a dress after past two years of only ever wearing pants.

They arrived at their table, located in a quiet, secluded corner nowhere near the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the restaurant.

“So you won't spend the whole night peering out, wondering if there's a sniper aiming at us, or another lovelorn soul waiting to make a suitably dramatic entrance in their attempt to convince me of the sincerity of their love,” Allura explained as she pulled out Pidge's chair for her.

Pidge smiled. “Thanks. That's really thoughtful of you,” she said as she sat down.

Allura beamed. “You're welcome,” she said as she sat down in the chair across her. “I must say, I've found all new depths of respect for you—thinking of, accounting for, and trying find solutions to every last potential problem and issue is exhausting,” she said, her expression hinting at just how much.

“It can be fun, though, figuring out new ways to do things, or get around problems you thought were going to ruin everything,” Pidge replied.

Allura smiled as she leaned in. “Like what, exactly?” she asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Oh! Well, there was that time when...” Pidge trailed off.

Allura frowned. “Something the matter, Pidge?”

“Do you want to just talk about you, instead?” she looked away. “I'll probably just end up rambling on and on all night...”

Allura reached out and touched her on her arm. “Pidge, believe me: I could listen to you ramble on and on all night about anything, and I would never get tired of the sound of your lovely voice...~”

Pidge felt her face heat up.

Allura settled back into her seat. “Now, you were saying…?”

Pidge nervously adjusted her glasses. “Uh, well, there was that time when I was thinking of a way to add weaponized pyrotechnics to Keith's combat-rig...”

And so she rambled on, talking about how she got the inspiration from the same rock concerts that had inspired the combat-rig's shockwave and resonance mods, going into specifications and formulas in between the much more interesting parts where she kept almost accidentally blowing up Castle Tempest's foundry with rogue fireworks and explosions.

A server came by with a bottle in a bucket of ice; Pidge thought nothing of it until they revealed it was a bottle of Cerea, her favourite brand of soda. She had to stop mid-story story and stare as she watched the green beverage get poured into a champagne glass with the same care, grace, and flair of a bottle of finely aged wine.

Allura playfully raised an eyebrow. “Something the matter, Pidge?” she asked as the waiter filled up her own glass

Pidge chuckled. “No, nothing at all...” she said as she picked up her glass.

They reached out and clinked them together, before they both took a drink.

Pidge made a little noise as she felt the bubbles tickle her nose, Allura snorted and had soda spurt out of her nostrils.

The server kindly picked up her napkin for her as she went into coughing and giggling fit.

“Sorry...” Allura muttered as she coughed a few more times. She smiled. “So, you were saying…?”

Pidge smiled back. “So batch 32 literally blew up in my face. After some time reflecting, I thought maybe Lance could help me with it thanks to their Bond, but man was I wrong...”

Allura put her napkin down, and resumed listening to her every word, until Pidge eventually reached the end of her story.

“… In the end, the laser light show works much better than the pyro in every way, so I had to scrap the project for combat use.”

Allura frowned. “Oh, that's terrible! All your hard work, for nothing...”

Pidge shrugged. “Eh, it's fine! I learned a lot and it was still really fun to work on, aside from almost getting blown up. That's the best part of any project, you know: being knee-deep in it, working out the kinks, testing and retesting, sometimes going back to the drawing board as needed.”

“For you, I don't doubt it, but I think nothing quite beats the pay-off of a plan that goes entirely the way you wanted it to,” Allura hummed.

Pidge was about to reply, until she noticed the music suddenly fading away, the couples dancing bowing out and returned to their tables.

She wondered what could have happened, when the band started all over again with a very, very different tune, lively and harsh, if still played on the same instruments as the classical pieces. She turned to Allura, her face a mix of disbelief and delight as the band played a classical remix of one of Pidge's favourite alternative rock songs.

Allura grinned as she slipped out of her chair and came over to Pidge, bowing as she offered her hand. “Care to dance, milady?”

Pidge looked at her hesitantly. “I do, but… how are we going to dance to this?”

Allura chuckled. “Just follow my lead.”

Pidge took her hand, and happily followed her to the center of the dance floor.

Out of habit, she tried to put her hand on Allura's lower back, before she gently grabbed her wrist and guided her to where they should have been as the “lady” in the pair.

“Sorry...” Pidge muttered.

“You can apologize by helping me give these people and dragons a show,” Allura hummed.

And so they did, strutting and gliding about the dance floor, rocking their bodies to the beat with sudden and rough movements, Pidge's skirt whirling all about her as she did all the fancy twirls, tricks, and dips this time.

She wasn't nearly as graceful and fancy as Allura was, with her much longer legs and her years of formal training in all manner of dancing styles beside, but at least it was a much easier affair for the both of them now that the “gentleman” of the pair was taller than the “lady.”

The song hit its crescendo, their feet left the floor as Allura flapped her wings and sent them both airborne; she lifted Pidge up by her waist till they were face-to-face, Pidge wrapped her arms around her shoulders, holding on tight.

They hit the peak of their arc, and for a moment the both of them felt weightless; Pidge and Allura stared into each other's eyes, one amber pair with round pupils, one blue pair with slit pupils and bright flecks of pink, both wordlessly saying the same three words:

“I love you.”

Then, Allura opened her wings out wide, gently gliding back down to the floor just as the music was fading. She gently butted the horns on the front of her head against Pidge's forehead, before Pidge leaned in and brought their lips together.

She thought it quite the shame that they had to make it just a quick but passionate kiss, for all the people and dragons around them.

Allura gently set her back down to the floor, before she took her hand and lead them back to their table, where one of the chefs eagerly waited to show them what was inside the pots and bowls on their table.

“What are we having tonight?” Pidge asked as Allura pulled her chair out for her again.

Allura smiled at the chef as she walked back to her seat. “Shall you do the honours…?”

The chef smiled as they put their hand on the lid of the biggest pot. “Your meal for tonight is a distinct, popular specialty from the southeastern Isles, my home...”

They whipped it off, a delicious, familiar smell filling the air and making Pidge's mouth water.

“Oxtail, cooked in thick, savoury peanut sauce, with Isle cabbage, eggplant, string beans, and young banana flower bud!” The chef began to open the other containers. “Traditionally eaten with a side of white rice, and with sauteed, salted shrimp paste.”

Pidge's eyes widened as the last one was opened. “Woah—this stuff is pretty… wow, that is quite the… aroma!”

Allura looked at her uneasily. “Do you not like it?”

Pidge shook her head. “Just because it's weird doesn't mean it's bad,” she smiled. “Take me for example.”

Allura blinked, before she chuckled. “Indeed...”

“If I may butt in, it is quite delicious and more than worth the initial shock of its powerful presence,” the chef said.

“I'm sure it will be positively delicious,” Allura hummed, licking her lips.

The chef beamed with pride. “Enjoy your meal—and on behalf of the management and we the staff, please, do not worry about the bill: all of us here owe you our lives and our futures, and there is no amount of money that can ever repay that debt.”

They bowed. “May you fly free and keep our skies free forever, beloved Riders of the Storm.”

Allura and Pidge both stared at them as they disappeared into the darkness.

Pidge turned to Allura. “I thought you said you didn't like using the Riders' name to get favours and free stuff,” she said, more curious than angry.

“This is as much a surprise to me as it is for you!” Allura replied, unsure if she should be flattered or bothered.

“Heh...” Pidge smiled. “Guess that means we're all doing something right.”

Allura nodded. “Quite… but for now, shall we get to dinner?” she looked down and blushed. “I was so nervous about this date I completely forgot about lunch...”

“Well you shouldn't have been,” Pidge said as she reached out for the serving spoon, put a generous serving of mostly meat into Allura's bowl. “It's going great.”

Allura looked up at her, a smile slowly spreading on her face, before she picked up her utensils and did her best not to rip and tear into her meal like the hungry dragon she was.

Tomorrow, there would be more training, tinkering, and team-building exercises to prepare for the Galra's next attack.

But tonight, they were just a dragon and her rider going out for dinner.

Note: Pidge and Allura are having a Philippine Dish called “Kare-Kare.” The sauteed, salted shrimp paste is called “bagoong,” and yes, it is rank stuff.

Fic inspired by Harder to Cover by oneboredjeu

[democratsunited-blog]

As goes Billy Kovacs, so go Pima Democrats

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=7487

As goes Billy Kovacs, so go Pima Democrats

Thanks to

Updated Aug 7, 2018, 10:30 am  Originally posted Aug 6, 2018, 11:15 pm

Blake Morlock TucsonSentinel.com

Billy Kovacs is going to lose.

Billy Kovacs is the future of the Democratic Party in Southern Arizona.

Reconciling those two truisms is the biggest challenge the party faces, here, statewide and nationally because they sure could use some fresh faces and new energy.

Republicans face a different set of challenges but one thing the Grand Ole Party has proven good at over the years is stocking its bench with candidates skilled at bringing the conservative gospel straight to voters.

Democrats?

Kovacs is one of seven Democratic candidate seeking the nomination to vie to replace U.S. Rep. Martha McSally and I use him as a proxy for all up-and-comers out in our corner of the desert who seem to terrify party leaders in D.C. 

The Democratic Party in Tucson, statewide and nationally must figure out how to turn its bench and walk-ons into potential starters, lest it start placing want adds or figuring out how to clone Terry Goddard.

Kovacs is one of six Southern Arizonans who are struggling to stand out against the Northern Arizona transplant (and as a former Northern Arizona transplant myself, nothing but respect) Ann Kirkpatrick. The former congresswoman is in the crosshairs of former state Rep. Matt Heinz’s attacks for being a carpet-bagging Republican Lite. But Kirkpatrick has the money to bury Heinz because she has the establishment’s support.

The fact that Kirkpatrick won that support at all is the mind-bending news of this primary and it should send shockwaves through the local party. On some level there’s absolutely nothing wrong with hiring from out of town. Business does it all the time. But someone from Tucson or Southern Arizona must be in a position to make a go of it next time.

Pima County Democratic voters have elected 11 state lawmakers, three county supervisors, seven city council members, a county attorney, county recorder and county superintendent of public instruction. If none were deemed to be able to take on Martha McSally (or her replacement) in a good Democratic year, then there is a big need for new blood.

Kovacs is making mistakes — the same mistakes every rookie makes — and the powers that be aren’t to blame for that. He doesn’t have the money to get the message out to overtake Heinz trying to overtake Kirkpatrick. But he’s got the youth, charisma and smarts to make a dent in local politics and one day be “the guy” when the time comes. The powers that be will be to blame if they turn around in 2023 and say “we got no one” to make a race again without going to more Fred DuVals or retread Republicans.

Stefanie Mach had the chops. So did Tim Sultan. So did Brandon Patrick. Matt Kopec may not have been the most charismatic guy you ever met, but he worked his tail off. They left the arena and went on to other things (although Kopec’s sliding back into the elected side of politics with a run for the Amphi school board). Democrats have a way of treating progressive comers as nuisances. And how they welcome Latino faces? Don’t even get me started.

This election cycle was going to be good for Democrats the moment Donald Trump was certified the winner in 2016. As sure as summer leads to monsoons, the party that wins the White House gets shellacked two years later. Pima County Democrats, being the stronghold of Democratic Party support in Arizona, should have had at the ready a candidate ready to give McSally a swashbuckling run.

Instead, a three-term but twice-losing candidate for federal office who moved to Tucson last year has become the front-runner for the seat.

Scouting the party

Locally, the Democratic Party has done a lot to get itself modern. First it built up its its base of legislative district chairpeople to establish something of a grassroots structure. Then it got real about fundraising and becoming more professional in terms of staffing.

But a party exists for one reason: To elect partisans. That means more than just finding candidates; it means grooming candidates.

I’m not talking about picking winners and losers during the primary process. I’m talking about recruiting and teaching candidates before they even take out their campaign paperwork. I’m talking about identifying among the current crop of elected officials, the ones best suited for moving up. Finding those new activists who should run for school boards. Making sure every precinct has its full slate of committemen.

The work that needed to be done to get someone ready to make the CD 2 race in 2018, should have been done in 2013.

Pima problems

Stepping-stone offices like sheriff, county attorney and mayor that typically feed congressional and statewide offices have been held in Tucson by Democrats like Clarence Dupnik, Barbara LaWall and Jonathan Rothschild — folks who’ve showed zero ambition to take the next step up.

Arizona’s Clean Elections provisions relieve candidates of state offices from the burden of raising money above the $5 individual contributions required to gain public financing. So they don’t build up their own donor bases.

Safe Democratic districts socially promote progressives without having to get in a cage fight with real conservative challengers, thereby proving their electoral appeal beyond the party’s base. Arizona’s 2nd Congressional District contains four Legislative districts with 12 serving members. Eight are Democrats. Last cycle, just one election was close, with Republican state Rep. Todd Clodfelter ousting Mach in 2016 (something we will revisit). 

The party honchos want Democrats to schmooze moderates and independents by denying any presence of a political conscience. They don’t want liberals being so silly as to try to win with progressive arguments. (I don’t care if it’s a liberal idea or a conservative idea, so long as it’s the right idea for the people of X.” Sound familiar?) Republicans will preach their ideology anytime, anywhere and do so with enough confidence to win.

I’m going to say it’s a knowable unknown that a liberal message can win moderates and independents. Voters tend to favor clean air, safe drinking water, Social Security, Medicare, public schools, public lands, the minimum wage, student financial assistance, gun restrictions and Obamacare, all of a sudden.

It’s at the very least a fair fight against popular conservative ideas like balanced budgets, rule of law, free markets and a belief that being aggrieved is no way to get ahead. It’s more than a fair fight now that President Trump has convinced the Right those are stupid liberal ideas too.

What the Beltway wants

Candidates seeking to climb need help at both the local and national levels, but the locals who are hooked in with the national players consider themselves to be players, too — and players in progressive politics favor resumes over talent.

The perfect candidate is a Latina who opened a successful shooting range after being discharged from the Marines after seeing combat overseas. A business person can’t be called pro-tax and won’t be tagged for wanting more regulation. A combat veteran won’t be hammered for a lack of patriotism. She will turn out the base without having to bend to their issues.

Progressive Latinos, of course, need not apply unless maybe they were registered Republicans just a few years back. 

That’s borderline sexist and racist, while missing the point that Republicans would call Ayn Rand a socialist purveyor of permissive objectivism if her ghost ran for public office.

The worst candidate possible is a liberal, let alone a gay half-Lebanese liberal like Heinz whom the Left didn’t go out of its way to help as they begged the politically impaired Ron Barber to cling to life until his predictable political demise. Barber is a damn nice guy, but was an awful candidate. He was supposed to be a temporary placeholder but the gurus in Washington felt they needed him to keep running because they thought no one else in Southern Arizona could win.

What separates Kovacs and those like him from the real contenders isn’t a lack of talent but a lack of know-how and connections. There’s a nuts and bolts to campaigning and people aren’t born handy in the ways of politics. They also need access to money, which requires a whole bunch of hook-ups.

When the South rose

Once upon a time, a scouting unit would watch for young talent to groom.

The Southern Democratic Leadership Council rose up in reaction to Walter Mondale’s 49-state drubbing just 12 years after George McGovern’s 49-state drubbing.

The party saw the South as the route back to power but only if they could break the the northern lock on Kennedy liberalism. The SDLC leadership dropped the “Southern” part in the 1990s and became the DLC.

They scored successes at the state and national level, helping Bill Clinton get to the White House and providing a template demanded of swing district candidates that was very simple.

I found this priceless quote from a 2001 article in the American Prospect touting the DLC’s string of successes throughout the 1990s:

“Today’s is not your father’s Democratic Party. Though the dwindling chorus of party progressives provides counterpoint, today’s Democrats are proud to claim the mantle of budgetary moderation. They oppose President Bush’s $2-trillion tax-cut plan not by arguing mainly for more spending on health, education, and welfare, but because it risks the new sacred cause of paying off the national debt. They are the party of increased military spending, the death penalty, the war on drugs, and partnership with religious faith. They are the party of Ending Welfare As We Know It, the party of The Era of Big Government Is Over.”

What? No protecting the American family from the gay agenda? The DLC did a great job repositioning the Democratic Party as the Republican Party with a bit more social conscience.

National Democrats haven’t changed much in their approach to winning tight races but the rest of the party has moved on.

After pushing for the Iraq War and the kind of deregulation that brought down the banks, the DLC shuttered in 2011. 

Looking for a hook-up

“True Progressives” can applaud that all they want but the DLC served a purpose.

The DLC scoured the political landscape for young leaders and hook them up with all sorts of help. In Southern Arizona, they found their woman in the early ’00s. A businesswoman and, most important, a former Republican with connections to the Tucson business community. Gabby Giffords was a comer.

The political world made room for her. They helped her with connections. When a seat came open, she had nearly $300,000 in the bank within a month.

For his part, Kovacs jumped into the race early while other Democrats hemmed and hawed at the prospect of taking on McSally. He managed to bring in about $20,000 in his first two months. Great money for a Tucson City Council race but not enough to convince anyone he was a serious contender for a congressional run. When McSally bolted for the Senate campaign after Kirkpatrick entered the race, Kovacs’ fundraising dried up.

Maybe here, progressives/liberals want to gripe about “legalized bribery” and the contamination of money in politics. Good. Fine. But there is a real world thing going on here that needs to be recognized.

What is the new Democratic Party’s answer, in its new liberalizing incarnation, to hooking candidates up for cash? Anything? There are organizations like “Swing Left” that has raised $4 million for primary winners in swing districts but that’s awfully late in the candidate recruitment process to count much. Small-dollar donations can pack a wallop, too, and there are groups trying that approach. Again, they are seeking to reward the candidate long after the real help is needed.

The Center for Progressive Leadership does offer some training and fellowships for “future leaders” but they take a broad approach to help fill staffing positions in liberal institutions and teach community organizing. That’s fine and all but it’s not retaining and grooming candidates.

From Sirhan With love

Which brings me to the rank-and-file needing to grow up some.

Democrats want to fall in love. They want passion. They want to walk passed the bumper sticker, look at the candidate’s name and feel it. They don’t want to hire someone to do the job they need done. They want the X factor.

I blame Sirhan Sirhan.

The man who murdered Robert F. Kennedy left a giant gaping promise never redeemed or never found to be a broken promise. Boomers passed the romanticism onto Gen Xers and somehow millennials still carry the infirmity.

The party isn’t in love with Heinz. It’s heart doesn’t skip a beat when Mary Matiella walks in the room. Bruce Wheeler is a nice guy … but …

Democrats here took out Matt Kopec in a 2016 legislative primary and then for reasons I can’t even begin to understand didn’t turn out for Stefanie Mach that November. Local voters never knock out incumbents but they chose to 86 Mach? The woman had a personal narrative so inspiring, she chafes at the idea that she’s an inspiration. And that’s the candidate a Democratic stronghold full of older voters looked at and said “eh, I bet she likes hip-hop.”

It’s OK to “just be friends” with a candidate who shares most of your principles. The soul doesn’t have to dance. Republicans learned long ago it’s perfectly fine to hire a candidate to do a job without hoping they notice you from across the room.

Well, they did until Donald Trump came along and suddenly they are waiting to find out what they believe based on what Trump will tweet tomorrow morning.

Losing a race for Congress is no big obstacle to a future in elected office, especially if it’s a primary. Ann Kirkpatrick lost a House election, and bounced back for two more terms. Barack Obama, George W. Bush and Bill Clinton all lost a race for the House before working in an office without right angles. Twenty percent of U.S. presidents lost an election before finding themselves at that desk. Even the seemingly undefeatable Raul Grijalva lost his first bid for elective office. McSally lost a primary and a general election before eking out her first narrow win. Steve Farley lost a City Council primary before turning his sights on the Legislature (and now the governor’s chair).

No matter what happens in 2018 or 2020, Democrats are going to need someone to run in 2022 and 2024. The time to start thinking about those races isn’t 2021 or 2023. There are Billy Kovacses out there ready to make the leap. Without some help now, they’ll make that leap and lose. If the Dems let them wander off into oblivion, then Terry Goddard’s DNA will start looking good.

Blake Morlock is an award-winning columnist who worked in daily journalism for nearly 20 years and is a former communications director for the Pima County Democratic Party.

Correction: An earlier version of this column incorrectly reported the election cycle in which Kopec lost his primary race.

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[purplesurveys]

183

Have you ever painted a car? No. Please don’t trust me with any art material whatsoever. What’s the brand of your sneakers? I have several brands, but I use my Keds the most. Are there any gnomes in your yard? Nope that’s generally not a thing here. When was the last time you were somewhere that offered free Wi-Fi? I was in school yesterday and they have university-wide free wi-fi. Do you ever have to write down a phone number to remember it, or not? Always. I mean I have a decent memory, but I write it down because I want to be sure about the number and because I always tend to forget something the moment I have to remember them.

When was the last time you were stung by a bee? What kind was it?  I’m sucky when it comes to pain so I avoid doing anything to be stung. That being said, it’s never happened to me. If you have an itouch or iphone, what would you consider your favorite App? Twitter. What is one part on your body that hurts at this moment, if anything? My back is itchy and it’s getting annoying, but there’s nothing that hurts. Are you gonna buy lottery tickets when you’re old enough? Nope. What’s the last thing your parents yelled at you about?  Something about keeping my dog in the room because there was a guest coming over. My mom yelled at me as soon as I opened the door. I had been having a bad night as it is, so when she screamed at me I got overwhelmed and got another attack again. Lovely.

Do you forget things easily? The little things, yes. My memory works funny–I can forget to turn off the light in my car, or to lock the front door, or to wear my school ID; but I never forget full conversations, facial expressions, irrelevant quotes, etc. Have you ever been into a real cave? Yup. I’ve been to one in Palawan. I was also going to go to one in Sagada, but I didn’t have the proper shoes for it so I only opted to stay in the outskirts of the cave while my dad and his friends went all in. Does your local museum permit free entry to students? One museum in my university is free admission, the other is P20 which is super cheap that it counts as free. I Googled and it says that’s equivalent to 39 US cents. When your picture is being taken, do you smile with/without teeth, or do you not smile at all? I do both. Sometimes I’m conscious about my teeth and that’s when I smile without them. Have you ever posted mean comments on YouTube? No but I did post some fucking dumb ones. I was 10 and it was the first time I ever got access to internet so I didn’t know how to behave. I remember several comments I made got a bunch of thumbs down because I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. Looking back on it, I shouldn’t have been given internet access until I was 13 ugh. What are you so sick of?  Donald fucking Trump. Doesn’t orange juice taste terrible after you brush your teeth? I don’t know, I don’t drink orange juice in the morning. What’s your favorite type of seafood? (i.e. shrimp, lobster, etc.) No seafood discrimination here buddy. I would eat anything. Have you ever been to Florida? No, not really a vacation spot for me. What’s your favourite season? I’ve always said I think I would love winter if I did get to experience it. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? No, not my last name. Although for a while people picked on my maiden name because the perpetrator for a local massacre 8 years ago had the same first name. What did you eat for dinner last night, if anything? Was it good or bad? I didn’t eat anything for dinner, was feeling too low to do so. Have you ever told someone, besides family, that you love them and meant it? Of course. Has anyone ever called your personality dull? Do you agree with them? ...Myself. Are the blankets that are on your bed now made by someone you know in life?  No, I’m 110% sure this was bought somewhere. Would you ever have a child just to get someone to fall in love with you? The fuck. And drag the kid into the problem? Who was the last person to call you? How long did you two talk?  Gab, around 30 minutes. Can you tell when people are lying or telling the truth? Most of the time I can tell if they are lying. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Never. Do you treat others as you’d like to be treated? Have you always?  Whenever I feel like I’m starting to be snippy to others, I think that, yes. I need work on it, though. Do you ever look in the mirror and name all of your flaws for no reason? Hahaha yeah. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had? None because I don’t put myself in any situation that will put me in the hospital because scared. The worst I had to go through was having to have a dextrose injection. I’m deathly afraid of shots, so as a 12 year old grown ass child (who was also having a 40ºC fever at the time) I didn’t think anything wrong about throwing a fit in front of my grandmother and constantly shoving the nurse away from me. Have you ever personally witnessed a drug deal before? No, I stay away from those crowds. Have you ever been pulled over by the cops for speeding? Nope. Do you know how wide your hips are in exact inches, or not? I don’t. Have you ever met someone in person that you met online? Yeah. Rafie and Jila were absolute sweethearts and I met them both during WWE’s Manila show. I met Javi when I lent him one of my books and he and his friend were the biggest pieces of shit I had ever met. I let him keep the book for a year and a half just because I dreaded seeing him again. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? Yeah, because that is not a word you use in a normal setting. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for?  Nope, just x-rays. Where is somewhere you’re excited to go in the next few days? Hah can I just stay at home plz. We have a week-long break from school and I have zero plans to go anywhere. The bed shall be my best friend. What color is your digital camera, if you have one? I don’t own one. What time is it where you are currently? 2:54 AM. Have you got any half or step siblings? No...ne that I know of. Jk no I really don’t. When was the last time you had wet hair? This afternoon. I took a bath before heading out. Do you like kids’ movies? I love most of them. When was the last time you were sick and what illness did you have? February. Fever that lasted five hours. When did you last wash your hair? Again, this afternoon. Have you ever been kicked out of somewhere? As far as I know, no. Who did you last speak aloud to and what did you say? No idea. Must have been Gab like 9 hours ago. I spoke very little after that because depression ruins everything. Do you have any homework to do? Lots, but I have the entire week to do them, so. Have you ever been to Manhattan? No. Did you get swine flu? I didn’t. Do you know anyone from Alabama? No. How bright is it in the room you’re in? Really dark. The only light source is my laptop. What can you smell right now?  I’ve gotten used to the scent in my room so at least to me, it doesn’t smell like anything at the moment. Are there any teachers that simply hate you? LOL, that was my life in grade school and high school. Shoutout to Ms. Chelle, Ms. Belen, and Ms. Tin who I knew couldn’t stand me. Have you ever bought a game from a site like Big Fish Games or Shockwave? Never did. What were you last at the doctor for? Just an annual exam. Have you seen all the Lord of the Rings movies? No. I remember when I kept trying to convince myself I could get over the fantasy aspect of it and enjoy. Good times.