#I WAS FOUR THOUSAND WORDS IN

[insertsickusername13]

Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

 Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

 My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around. 

 Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him. 

 Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

 Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house. 

 He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later. 

 “The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

 Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

 “Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment. 

 “Like what?”

 “Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

 Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing. 

 “I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

 Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands. 

 “God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

 Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room. 

 He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

 “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

 “This is what you want?”

 “I dunno.”

 Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg. 

 “Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close. 

 “Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

 So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

 Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself. 

 Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant. 

 Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos. 

 Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

 He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while. 

 Tonight, Jake chose balloons. 

 “You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

 Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

 “This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

 Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color. 

 Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

 Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

 “Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

 Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out. 

 “I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

 It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering. 

 He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest. 

 “Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

 Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds. 

 Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan. 

 “Do you need—”

 “No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

 Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child. 

 He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich. 

 He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale. 

 Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm. 

 Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

 Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red. 

 “Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered. 

 “Hi,” Jake whispered back. 

 “Whatcha doin’?”

 Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just… 

 “I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze. 

 “What?”

 Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

 “You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

 Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily. 

 Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest. 

 He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

 “Rich.”

 “Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again. 

 “Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

 Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

 “Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

 He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty. 

 Until October 30th. 

 Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 “I need to talk to you.”

 Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding. 

 “Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

 Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain. 

 Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent. 

 “So… are we doing this here or…?”

 “My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

 “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

 Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die. 

 He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack. 

 Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm. 

 “What the hell?! Slow down—”

 Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

 No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now. 

 “I’m gay.”

 Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands. 

 “Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

 He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

 Rich broke out into a grin. 

 “Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again. 

 Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

 “Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

 Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

 Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck. 

 “They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

 “Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. 

 “Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

 Rich smiled and kissed him again. 

 “I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

 He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again. 

 “Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

 “Is it—?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

 November first. The day after tomorrow. 

 Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

 “Promise?” he whispered.

 Rich nodded. 

 “Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

[lakesbian]

so i blinked & accidentally wrote 2.4k words of alec analysis, content warning for extended discussion of child sexual abuse

i am actually like. genuinely surprised by how common of an alec opinion it is that people would probably feel more negatively about him if we had a chapter from the perspective of one of his victims or if we had more details on his life prior to the undersiders, because the idea goes directly counter to one of the core Things you have to get if you want to understand alec: much like taylor, you should take absolutely fucking nothing he says about himself at face value, because--also much like taylor--he is Absolutely Fucking Terrible at understanding himself!

and speaking of taylor, she is also absolutely fucking terrible at understanding alec. nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from taylor’s point of view, and she’s frankly incredibly ungenerous towards him.

her very first thought about his childhood mentally classifies him as not being one of heartbreaker’s victims, and the pity she’s offering him wears out pretty quickly when he doesn’t speak about the abuse in terms she finds palatable--while she does secondarily recognize that living with heartbreaker impacted him on some level, she regards him primarily as someone who does Bad Things because he’s a Bad Coldhearted Person.

she and alec are fairly similar--they’re both people who have been abused, people who are remarkably desensitized to violence because they’ve been abused, they’re both people who have ended up on the same villain team where they regularly commit terrible acts of violence, and they’re both people who are terminally oblivious to their own emotions while they commit those acts of violence. their actions are both similarly horrifying from an outside viewpoint, but by sectioning alec’s actions off in her mind as being horrifying because he’s ontologically a bad person w/ no interiority or justifiable reasoning for his actions, she doesn’t have to face that her own actions are horrifying regardless of how she justifies them to herself. neat little compartmentalization trick! alec stabbed that guy to death with a fork because he’s a Bad Person, but when she used triumph as a bargaining chip by filling his lungs with bugs, it was for Understandable and Interiority-Having reasons, so she’s fine.

what this means is that nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from the perspective of someone who has a very strong psychological incentive to avoid being fair to alec.

much of what taylor thinks about alec is blatantly irrational and wrong, and the fact that he (similarly emotionally oblivious wrt himself + probably entirely unaware she feels this way about him) never directly confronts her misconceptions means that we spend the entire book being told “hey, here are the reasons you should think alec sucks” without any alternate viewpoints to consider. i think that if we saw the worst things pre-undersiders alec did without the repressed way undersider alec describes them or taylor’s biased perspective obscuring what actually happened, most people would feel Really Fucking Bad for him!

even in the very first discussion of his childhood, it’s clear that taylor’s reading of the events is wrong--aside from the fact that she’s not classifying the kids as victims (girl what), there’s these lines from alec:

“[He] pushed my limits, made me do stuff that was dangerous, stuff that was hard on my conscience.”

“I had convinced myself I didn’t care about the people I was hurting or about this guy I’d just killed, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I don’t, still. Dunno.“

taylor’s response to this is:

“He’d been made to do it, he’d been in fucked up circumstances with no real moral compass to go by, still a kid. The way he described it, though, it didn’t sit well with me. Cold blooded murder.“

that is not how he described it. 

1. he outright says that what he was forced to do was “hard on his conscience”

2. he outright says that he “had convinced himself he didn’t care about the people he was hurting,” i.e he was a 10-13yo child being forced into extreme violence by his ridiculously abusive father & he naturally repressed his emotional reaction to it because there’s no other way to feasibly psychologically cope with feeling the full brunt of the emotions that induces. he’s not a Cold Blooded Bitch, he was a kid desperately convincing himself he didn’t care because he couldn’t care if he was going to survive.

3. yeah, he says “maybe i don’t [care], dunno.” this is because the 3+ years he spent learning to cram every emotional response he had to his abuse into a box & then solder-iron that box shut do not magically disappear the second he escapes from his father. it’s not at all unreasonable that taylor (also 15 and horribly emotionally repressed) misses this, but the “maybe” and “dunno” are indicators that he genuinely can’t tell whether or not he cares! as imp points out after he dies, it’s not that his emotions aren’t there at all, it’s that he has no ability to read them--much like taylor, he’s great at convincing himself of things regarding his feelings and then genuinely believing those things. he’s fifteen and has been out of his abusive home for all of 2.5 years--he’s not capable of grasping the full impacts that the abuse had on his psyche, and the way he describes everything from a detached perspective and waffles about on allowing himself interiority is a natural result of that.

if we saw this or any of the other murders alec was forced to commit as they were happening, we would not be feeling less generous towards him, we would be thinking “i want to beat heartbreaker to death with his own bones, because this is an evil thing to do to a child.”

okay, that’s the murder out of the way. now onto the significantly more controversial aspect of what alec did as a 10-13yo.

taylor generally regards alec as a special type of ontologically real & distinct class of person called a rapist. many people in the fandom share her viewpoint on that one. and, like, objectively true--he is a rapist, he raped people. but applying “rapist” as a descriptor meaning “evil piece of shit who sucks, but i guess he gets some leeway since he was a kid, but he still sucks and is bad and probably a sociopath” is massively flattening the circumstances under which he committed sexual violence & severely underestimating how it impacted his psyche.

taylor--and again, most other people in the fandom--tend to unilaterally go “gross and fucked up, he sucks, moving on” during bits where alec discusses that aspect of his childhood. but if we actually pause to read between the lines for the details and then address the actual context (which alec is not capable of doing, because 1. emotional repression to hell and back and 2. it was, as he said, normal to him), it becomes very clear that it’s unjustifiable to slap the “Sucks + Evil Predator” label on him and then move on feeling comforted by the straightforward moral judgement.

“’Sure,’ Alec drawled. In a more normal voice, he said, ‘But what I’m saying is he wouldn’t mind. Now, it’s been a little while, but there was a time when I had someone in my bed every night.’

‘When you were with Heartbreaker,’ I said. From the look of disgust on Aisha’s face, and what I imagined was a similar expression on my own, I suspected we were on the same page. At least on this one thing.

‘Sure. Cape groupies, my dad’s girls, people I used my powers on toward the end.’

There wasn’t even a trace of guilt or shame on his expression, no regret in his tone. He just looked bored.

He went on, ‘What I’m saying is that I’m speaking from experience.  Having someone cuddled up beside you, even if it’s a little bit of a pain in the ass, having that body contact isn’t so bad. Especially when you’ve had a bad day.’”

like, okay. let’s unpack all the implications there.

1. alec is bringing up this whole topic as an attempt at empathy--aisha is effectively saying “i’m pissy at taylor for being intimate w/ brian while he’s experiencing the worst pain of his life” and alec is effectively responding with “i support them, because when i was in similar circumstances, physical intimacy made me feel better.” it is extremely notable that he’s implicitly comparing brian’s “bad day” (getting fucking bonesawed!) to his own “bad day” (living with his dad)!

2. alec grew up in Emotional Neglect & Abuse: The Household. this is established in buzz 7.1--he recounts that there was zero attention paid to him & the other kids except for when heartbreaker was terrifying the shit out of them for either a perceived slight or in an attempt to force a trigger event. he also grew up in Sexual Abuse: The Household. as detailed in one WoG, the heartbroken were a massive group hiding out in significantly less massive houses--6-8 people sharing a room was common. alec was constantly in close quarters to normalized sexual abuse from the ages of zero to thirteen, e.g the memory mentioned in his interlude where he starts crying over not being given the TV remote and a sweaty, wearing-nothing-but-briefs heartbreaker stomps out of the bedroom to terrify alec for interrupting what was, very presumably, a marathon of sexual assault. exposing children to abuse happening in their environment is a form of abuse itself. there’s also the WoG in which this is mentioned:

“Look at it this way - at the age that many boys are raising an eyebrow at boobs, family members were saying 'hey, here are all the boobs you could want...’ Interested in dick? ... Dad's not that into it but a sister can hook you up. At an age when many are just figuring out enough of the world to ask 'what's heroin?' or 'what's weed?' he was given heroin and weed and everything else that was theoretically obtainable and told to only indulge if it was someone else's body. At an age when many are saying 'sex must be awesome' he was given free reign.”

which is sexual abuse! it is in fact exceedingly sexually abusive for alec’s father & older siblings to go “hey, 10-13yo son/little brother, i notice you are Hitting Puberty! here’s a fucking tidal wave of sex and drugs, have at it.” he didn’t magically get the idea to commit acts of physical violence w/o grooming & coercion from his family, and the same goes for the sexual violence. it’s not a hard extrapolation to make that after 10 years of isolation and abuse he leaps on the chance for physical intimacy, for something that actually makes him feel good when good is a feeling he’s never really gotten to have before--and how would he have a frame of reference for this being bad when his childhood was one long march of his own autonomy being violated + constantly seeing other peoples autonomy violated?

alec did not leave the house as a kid. alec Wasn’t Even Thirteen. the people he assaulted were victims, but he’s inarguably not the person with primary culpability for the assault--that would be the family members significantly older than alec who directly groomed him into hypersexual behavior, kidnapped + brainwashed victims also significantly older than alec, shoved them at alec, and said “have at it, buddy.” (which he, considering it to be normal and desperate for any positive attention or emotion, immediately adopted as a coping mechanism.) it would be absurd not to regard alec as a victim in this circumstance as well, and the fact that the way he was victimized led to him hurting people doesn’t change that. he was a chronically abused and manipulated preteen--he couldn’t issue meaningful consent or exercise any real autonomy in his decision-making. his lack of emotional reaction to casually sharing the story isn’t a moral failure, it’s an indicator of how badly the abuse skewed his perception of what’s normal.

and despite All Of That, taylor��s immediate reaction is to judge his lack of guilt, shame, or regret. which isn’t a wholly irrational reaction from her by any means--it makes complete sense given who she is and what information she has. but it does mean that the judgement we’re given on alec in this moment is nearly entirely detached from the material reality of what happened & how that reality should reasonably be regarded.

3. i think i’m literally the only person i’ve ever seen point this out--the first category of person he lists off as having slept with is “cape groupies.” as in, fans of capes. 

what kind of person do we suppose would be a fan of heartbreaker’s cult? what kind of person would have a thing for heartbreaker’s sexual abuse and mind control cult? the fact that he specifically mentions “cape groupies” means these were people who liked the heartbroken and were picked up by it voluntarily--what kind of person would want to sleep with one of heartbreaker’s barely-pubescent superpowered children?

yeah, that one sounds less like alec committing rape and more like heartbreaker providing access to his children to pedophiles w/ a Thing for the powers involved, presumably because it was a fantastic honeypot for people he could drain for money or otherwise use as a resource (which was his primary method of staying undercover & getting by). which alec parses as normal enough to casually slip into a random sentence.

alec’s childhood was not a lengthy tour of him committing sexual violence because he sucked, it was him being sexually abused, and a portion of that abuse included him being groomed to perpetuate it onto others. because that’s one of the Core Things about his character: he was a victim of grooming to perpetuate a cycle of abuse, he ran away from it at an impressively young age, and he spent the rest of his life making stumbling attempts to jerry-rig a distinct system of ethics & decision-making so that he wouldn’t be like his father.

no, the abuse he experienced & the way he responded to it wasn’t straight-forward or palatable. he’s not a stereotypical or idealized Good Victim--none of the traumatized teens in worm are. the specifics of what happened to him & what he did as a result are uncomfortable. he participated in hurting other people very badly. he still doesn’t really understand everything that was wrong with what happened. he doesn’t open himself up for pity or add caveats when discussing it to make it clear that he’s viewing his childhood the Right Way. he doesn’t feel or talk about it the way he’s “supposed” to. he doesn’t understand why or care that it upsets and disgusts people. the abuse left him with low to no empathy, and he’s not ashamed about admitting that.

and absolutely none of that changes that he’s still undeniably a victim, and if we saw any of the things that happened to him from the perspective of anyone involved, if we saw the abuse he experienced without the normalized lens he views it through or the villainizing lens taylor views it through--everyone would probably feel really fucking bad for him.

or in other words: alec vasil is a little boy whose life fucking sucks, and we all have to be nice to him, okay?

[gumjester]

BACK ON THRONECOMING CHAPTER 2 [KILLS FUCKING EVERYONE] i need to be crazy in semi-public for a moment because i have been batting uselessly at this chapter for LIKE. FOUR MONTHS OR FUCKING SOMETHING and i need u peopl to know that this is the scene where briar pricks her finger with the needle in the dorm and falls asleep. i have added like 2 more things that happen in this chaptr but that is the entire scene basically. i have written 4.5k words

[desceros]

I feel like Donnie would be mush for his teeny, itty bitty little baby girl.

someone has been peeking in my google drive again i see....

yeah i think he (rise donnie specifically since that's the papatello i'm working on) would be one of those dads who has a big talk about how he's so strict, about the intense regiment he has his kid on to maximize their development, and he's always the most annoying piece of shit at the PTA meeting. flex brag flex brag

but then his little toddler comes up to him on wobbly legs and puts her hands on his calf, tapping at him for his attention and looks up at him with paint all over her face from where she got into the art supplies at the back of the classroom and made a huge ass mess, and he just melts at her crooked little grin (bc dad is the favorite) and is completely incapable of chastising her in any shape or form

that changes when she grows up and starts to act so much like him that he HAS to be firmer with her. the first time he has to put her in time out they both ugly cry a lot

[jinxedruby]

Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Five

And finally, the conclusion. Man, this is long.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part

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

“This really isn’t necessary, Rancher.”

“You can say that as many times as you want, I’m still not going to let you walk on your own.”

Hyrule heaved a sigh from beside Twilight as they walked but made no further attempt to push away from the rancher. One of his arms wrapped around Twilight’s shoulder while Twilight supported him with an arm around Hyrule’s back. In spite of his insistence that he was fine, Hyrule had stumbled one too many times. Twilight decided to support him the rest of the way despite the traveler’s protests. Hyrule’s hair brushed Twilight’s jaw and he couldn’t help but glance at Hyrule’s head again to make sure the wound wasn’t bleeding. Dried blood matted strands of Hyrule’s brown hair together, darkening the color even further. Hyrule seemed stable, at least. He’d still break into a coughing fit every once in a while and the head wound threw off his sense of balance, but he was coherent and responsive. Twilight glanced away from Hyrule to Wind who walked a few paces ahead of them, constantly throwing concerned glances back at Hyrule.

“How much further, Sailor?” Twilight asked.

“We’re close,” Wind replied. “I recognize this area. There’s another bend or two then we should be there.”

Twilight nodded, readjusting his grip on Hyrule. The three heroes continued making their way upriver, the dull roar of the water accompanying their footsteps. Hyrule started coughing again and Twilight slowed, but the traveler just waved a hand, smiling at him between hacks.

“It’s… it’s just a tickle-“ A cough interrupted him, “-in my throat. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at Twilight’s lips but Hyrule pulled him forward, continuing to walk. They moved on in quiet, Twilight watching Hyrule carefully for any sign of struggling. Twilight’s ears twitched, picking up a faint noise in the distance. He focused past the sound of the river, honing in on the interruptions in its repetition. He recognized the punctuated vibrations and syllables of voices after a moment.

“I hear the others,” he said. Wind looked back at him, eyebrows raised.

“You do?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and listening. “I don’t hear anything.”

Twilight continued focusing on the sound, inner ears prickling. A low, rumbling pitch, answered by a thinner one. He couldn’t pick up any words but he could hear the sharp s’s and t’s that carried across the air. “It’s definitely them. We’re nearly there.”

Wind turned away, grumbling quietly. “No fair you get super hearing.”

Twilight and Hyrule both chuckled at that, the traveler breaking into a few short coughs. It didn’t take long before Wind heard the others as well. His face split into a grin and he bounced with each step. He sped up, remembered Twilight and Hyrule couldn’t speed up with him, slowed down, and sped up again on a loop. They followed a bend in the river and the trees gave way to the old bridge. Wind laughed, running ahead and waving his arms.

“Guys!” he called to the three blond heads visible across the river. They all lifted at his voice, revealed to be Time, Warriors, and Four. The latter two knelt by the river, water dripping from Four’s face while the captain paused in scrubbing his hands as they looked up. Time sat nearby facing away from them, head turned to look at Twilight and the others.

“Sailor!” Warriors stood along with Four, shaking water from his hands. A blood-speckled bandage wrapped around his head while Four’s nose appeared a few shades too purple. “Is Traveler…?”

“He’s right here,” Twilight called as he and Hyrule came to stand by Wind at the bridge.

Warriors stiffened. Even from across the river, Twilight could see how his shoulders raised, hand darting to the sword on his back. Twilight whipped his head around, expecting to see a monster of some kind sneaking up behind him and Hyrule. Nothing was there. He blinked, turning back to call out and ask what was wrong. He froze. Warriors, Four, and Time all stared directly at him, watching him with looks he’d seen them direct at monsters. The hair on the back of Twilight’s neck rose as he looked between the three heroes.

“What… what’s wrong?” he asked.

A long moment passed before Warriors spoke, eyes darting between Twilight and Hyrule. “Rancher?” he called carefully.

“Yeah?” Twilight responded, uncertain.

Warriors hand closed around the hilt of his sword and Twilight tensed, eyes wide. He felt Hyrule stiffen beside him, the traveler reaching for his own weapon only to remember it wasn’t there. Wind’s head whipped back and forth as he looked between the two groups, face scrunched in confusion.

Four stepped past Warriors, hand hovering near his sword. “Last week,” he began, and Twilight’s trepidation turned to confusion, “the cook made a dessert with apples but you didn’t get to eat yours. Why?”

Twilight’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he processed that. Four wore one of the most serious expressions Twilight had ever seen on the smith. He almost laughed at the absurdity of that combined with his question and how Warriors stood ready to draw his weapon at a moment’s notice.

“S-smith, what-“

“Answer the question, Rancher,” Warriors cut him off, voice tight.

Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, staring dumbfounded at the three. The longer he took to answer, the tenser they became. “Epona loves apples,” he began slowly. “I looked away for one second and she ate it right off of my plate.”

A second ticked by, then another. The sound of the river hammered Twilight’s ears, punctuated by his heartbeat. Then Warriors sighed, hand dropping from his sword. Time seemed to relax as well but Four remained stiff a moment longer, gaze boring into Twilight. After another beat, Warriors placed a hand on Four’s shoulder.

“Smith,” he began in a low voice, probably not intended for those across the river to hear. “I think it’s okay.”

Four stared for a moment longer before he relented, nodding slowly and relaxing his posture.

“Traveler, are you alright?” Warriors called.

Twilight blinked at the abrupt topic change while Hyrule huffed a laugh. “You… you can’t just-“

“What was that about?” Wind cried before Hyrule could complete his thought.

“It…” Warriors glanced at Four. “It’s a lot to explain. Sorry for the suspicion, Rancher. We can talk once you guys get over here.”

“Traveler, are you okay to cross?” Four asked. “We’d come to you, but…” He cast a glance at Time and Twilight frowned. Was the old man wounded? Was that why he hadn’t moved at all other than looking over his shoulder?

“I’m fine,” Hyrule responded.

“Great!” Wind all but jumped onto the bridge, the old wood groaning in protest. “Because I want an explanation for what just happened!”

Twilight nodded in agreement, fighting back a wince as Wind ran across the bridge, loud creaks accompanying each step. Twilight and Hyrule followed after him, reaching it just as Wind crossed to the other side, immediately rushing toward Four and peppering him with questions. Just before stepping onto the bridge, Hyrule stopped, pulling Twilight to a halt as well.

“Traveler?” Twilight asked softly, eyeing how Hyrule stared at the bridge. “You okay?”

Hyrule took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that sounded almost exasperated. “I hate bridges.”

Twilight snorted. “Tell me about it.”

“Did you fall off a bridge and nearly drown, too?”

Twilight took a step onto the bridge. “No, but I’ve had several break on me,” he began as he took another step, Hyrule beside him. “Had two separate jousting battles on bridges.” Another step. “One got set on fire while I was on it. Had to jump off into the lake below.”

“Yikes.” Hyrule winced in sympathy as they walked.

Twilight hummed in agreement, nodding. “Two got taken apart by beasts and the pieces were thrown to the other side of Hyrule.”

Hyrule laughed. “What is with your journey and bridges?”

“I’ve asked myself the same thing,” Twilight chuckled. Before he knew it, they crossed the bridge, stepping onto solid ground on the other side. He grinned, looking over at Hyrule. “Hey, we made it!”

Hyrule snorted. “You had doubt?”

“You’re really asking that after everything I just told you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Traveler!” Warriors swiftly stepped in front of Hyrule, examining his head wound. He stood back after a moment with a sigh, gesturing to the ground beside Time. “Sit down, let me take a look.”

“It’s fine, I already healed it,” Hyrule protested, pulling against Twilight as the rancher tried to lead him to sit. “Besides, you’re hurt too.”

Twilight eyed the numerous bandages Warriors sported as the captain moved to Hyrule’s other side and grabbed his arm, firmly guiding him next to Time. “Just a few cuts that the old man already took care of. Sit down and let me take a look at your head.”

Hyrule heaved a sigh but didn’t fight any further, letting the two guide him. Once he was seated, Warriors glanced at Twilight.

“Are you hurt, Rancher?” he asked, eyes darting over Twilight.

“No,” Twilight replied, then gave a crooked grin. “Just muddy.”

Warriors nodded with a half-smirk and Twilight stood back up. He glanced between Time and where Four and Wind stood, the sailor continuing to pelt Four with questions faster than the smith could answer. He wanted to ask about their suspicion of him as well, but first…

“Old man,” he said, moving around Hyrule and Warriors and heading toward Time. “Are you-?”

His words died in his throat. Lying unmoving with his head propped up in Time’s lap, tunic absolutely drenched with blood, was Wild. Twilight gasped sharply, dropping to his knees before Wild’s form, one hand darting to the champion’s head, the other to the tear in his tunic over his chest.

“Champion!” Twilight pressed his hand against Wild’s much too pale forehead, the skin cool beneath his palm. Wild stirred at the touch but didn’t open his eyes, lips parted as he took shallow breaths through his mouth. Brownish tracks of dried blood ran along his collar and the sides of his neck, leading toward bloody mats in his hair.

“He’s alright.”

Twilight’s gaze snapped up to Time as the old man placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“We used a fairy and she took care of his wounds,” Time explained. “But he lost a lot of blood.”

Twilight’s head spun as he looked back down at Wild. Time’s reassurances battled in his mind with the sight of pale, unconscious Wild whose tunic looked closer to a dark purple than blue with how much blood was soaked into it. Wild shivered every so often, brow pinching.

“What…” Twilight swallowed hard against the lump that formed in his throat. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” Four said, suddenly beside Twilight. Twilight glanced over to see Warriors, Hyrule, and Wind close by as well, listening to Four. “By a… shadow.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “Shadow?”

“Not the Shadow, but…” Four lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged between Twilight and the others. He sighed. “I don’t know. I was able to fight him off, but not before he…” His eyes flicked to Wild for a moment.

Not before he almost killed Champion. Twilight finished in his head, wincing at the involuntary thought.

“Did he do that to your face, too?” Wind asked, delicate as always.

To Twilight’s surprise, Four laughed. “No, that was a moblin, actually. It broke my nose but the captain straightened it.” His smile faded as his eyes drifted back to Wild. Twilight found his gaze traveling to the champion as well, fingers absently running through the tangled blond locks. Wild’s breaths came shallow but steady, face still an unhealthy pallor.

“Does what happened with Champion have to do with your suspicion of me?” Twilight asked, not taking his eyes off Wild.

Four shifted as all eyes turned to him. Twilight looked up to see Four’s gaze locked on Wild, lips knotted.

“Yes,” Four said. He chewed on his lip, took a breath. “The shadow, he…” He trailed off and sighed. Then he forced himself to meet Twilight’s gaze. “He disguised as you.”

Twilight’s hand froze in Wild’s hair. The others might have reacted but he didn’t notice, focus tunneling. His eyes widened, heart thudding in his chest. “It…” He couldn’t form one thought, gaze dropping to Wild’s sleeping face. “Did… did you guys know, o-or…”

“We figured it out,” Four quickly said, seeming to understand Twilight’s thought process. “But not right away. We- he knew it wasn’t you by the time the shadow… hurt him.”

Twilight could hardly feel any relief at that. He couldn’t imagine what Wild must’ve felt. What Twilight would feel if he got attacked by something disguising as Time.

“I’m sorry for suspecting you,” Four said, distracting him from his thoughts.

Twilight shook his head. “No, I understand. I’d have done the same if-“

Stirring beneath his hand brought his words to an abrupt halt. Everyone’s heads snapped downward as Wild groaned, slowly bringing a hand to his head. His eyes fluttered and blinked open, squinted as he looked around. His blue eyes landed on Twilight, a haze dimming their brightness. His movements slowed. Then his eyes shot wide open. He gasped, hurling himself to the side and away from Twilight, slamming against Time. Time tried calming the cook, gently grasping his shoulders but Wild wrestled out of his grip. Twilight’s fingers snagged on a knot in Wild’s hair and the champion panicked, thrashing in an attempt to get away. Before Twilight could free his hand, Wild’s flailing connected with his jaw. The force of the blow snapped his head back and he yelped as Wild tore his hair free, lunging away from him and Time.

“Cook! Cook, calm down!” Four yelled, struggling to get Wild’s attention. Wild didn’t seem to hear him, attempting to spring to his feet. His legs failed to support him and he stumbled to one side before collapsing to his hands and knees with a groan. Warriors, Hyrule, and Wind all darted forward at once, eager to help, but Wild only stiffened at their approach, trying and failing to get up and run again.

“Give him space!” Time called, jumping up and grabbing Warriors’ arm, pulling him back. Warriors glanced at him before tugging on Hyrule and Wind, the three of them backing away. Wild continued to gasp, eyes wide and limbs shaking as he struggled to hold himself up and move. Four dropped to a kneel in front of Wild before Time could stop him, trying to get the cook’s attention.

“Cook! Link!”

The use of his real name seemed to finally get through to Wild. He looked up, breathing hard, muscles tensed as much as they could be in his weakened state.

“It’s fine, you’re safe,” Four said in less of a shout than before.

“But-“ Wild began, voice rough, “-th- the shadow-“

“It’s him, Cook, he’s the real rancher. The shadow’s gone.”

Wild stared at Four for a long moment, the smith giving him a reassuring smile as Wild heaved for breath. Wild turned his head, eyeing Twilight warily. “Rancher?”

Twilight did his best to smile. “Hey, cub.”

Wild visibly relaxed as the nickname, head dropping and elbows wobbling. He groaned and crumpled fully to the ground. Twilight and Four both exclaimed in alarm, darting towards Wild.

“’m okay,” Wild mumbled as Twilight carefully turned him onto his back. “Just lightheaded.”

“Any pain?” Twilight asked, gently checking him over for any fresh blood. “Your chest?”

“I’m fine,” Wild responded, weakly batting Twilight’s hands away. “Really. Just dizzy and thirsty.”

“Here.” Twilight glanced around for Wild’s bag and, when he didn’t immediately see it, unhooked his own water skin from his belt and held it out toward Wild. He and Four helped Wild sit up and Twilight held the water skin to Wild’s lips. Wild wrapped a hand around it and tilted it back. He drank slowly at first but was soon gulping it down, drops escaping through the corners of his mouth and trickling along his jaw.

Warriors knelt down before Wild as the champion drained the last of the water skin, lowering it with a gasp. “How’re you doing, Champion?”

“Captain,” Wild said, ignoring Warriors’ question and reaching toward him with his free hand. Warriors took the hand albeit with a bit of confusion. “Thank you.”

Warriors’ face fell into relief and a soft grin. “Don’t thank me. Thank the old man. If he hadn’t found that fairy…”

“And if you two hadn’t kept him alive until I got back,” Time immediately countered, nodding toward Warriors and Four.

Wild laughed lightly, pulling his hand back. “In any case. Thank you.”

Warriors smiled. “Of course.” Four and Time gave murmurs of assent.

“Glad you’re alright, cub,” Twilight said, giving Wild’s shoulder a squeeze.

Wild turned to look at him and his eyes widened. Twilight slowly took his hand away, worried Wild might still be somewhat afraid of him, but then he realized Wild’s gaze was fixed on his jaw. It throbbed slightly where Wild hit it and, judging by the cook’s expression, a bruise was already forming.

“Did…” Wild paused, swallowing thickly. “Did I do that?”

Twilight smiled, trying to appear reassuring. “It’s okay. You were panicking, I don’t blame you given the circumstances.”

“But still, I…” Wild groaned, folding his arms across his knees and lowering his head onto them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Twilight rested a hand on Wild’s shoulder. “It’s alright, really.”

Wild turned his head, peeking an eye out from under his bangs. He stared at Twilight for a moment, eye roving over his face. He must have found whatever he was searching for because he sighed and lifted his head again, propping his chin on his arms. Four held his water flask out toward Wild. When the cook didn’t immediately take it, Four shoved it in his face pointedly.

“Drink,” Four said, continuing to hold out the flask. “You lost a lot of blood, you need to stay hydrated.”

Wild leaned away from the flask. “I’m not taking any more of your guys’ wate-“

His words were cut short as Four shoved the mouth of the flask to Wild’s lips. Wild made a muffled noise of protest and Twilight couldn’t help but laugh as Four forcibly tilted the flask. A gargling sound left Wild’s throat before he snatched the flask and pulled it out of Four’s hand and away from his mouth.

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to drown me!” he exclaimed. He took a drink from the flask, rolling his eyes at Four’s smug expression. He glanced around at the others as he drank. Then he glanced around a second time and pulled the flask away from his mouth with a frown. “Where are Sky and the vet?”

“They’re still not back?” Wind asked as he looked around. The others glanced around as well, Twilight’s frown growing the longer the silence stretched.

“Who saw them last?” Time eventually asked as it quickly became apparent that no one knew where the two heroes were.

“I was by Vet at the start of the battle,” Wind spoke up. “But there were a bunch of those really fast lizards and we got split up.”

“I saw those,” Twilight realized. “Some went after Sky, I think. But that was right around when Traveler fell in the river so I didn’t see what happened after that.”

“Were there four?” Wild directed the question at Wind. The sailor nodded. “I saw those lizalfos in the woods. Took ‘em out. Didn’t see Sky or the vet, though. And I didn’t notice any… any blood.”

“Maybe they got chased off?” Warriors suggested. “They could’ve gone far to shake off the lizalfos. That would explain why they haven’t made their way back yet.”

“Even so, we should search for them,” said Time, turning toward the tree line. “They could be in trouble.”

“I’ll go,” Warriors said immediately, standing up and pointedly ignoring how his injured leg shook.

“No, you’re still hurt.”

“Nearly all of us are hurt. I can still fight.”

Time and Warriors shot back and forth several more times before Hyrule stood with a sigh. “I’m gonna go find my sword and shield,” he announced before setting off toward the river.

“I’ll come with you!” Wind immediately jumped up, jogging after the traveler.

Twilight watched them go before turning toward Warriors and Time, trying to think of a way to settle their argument. He stopped halfway when a distant sound pricked at his ears. He quickly turned back, peering downriver as his ears twitched. Sharp s’s and t’s. A low creaking noise that could have been a groan. He stood up, narrowing his eyes.

“Rancher?” he heard Wild ask but he ignored the champion in favor of listening to the voices.

“They’re back,” he realized. No sooner had the words left his mouth then two figures appeared around the bend in the river, moving toward the bridge slowly. Too slowly. Twilight took off toward the figures at a jog. “They’re back!”

He heard shuffling from behind him followed by a grunt that sounded like Warriors. Time ordered the captain to sit down before hurrying to catch up to Twilight, the two running to meet Sky and Legend.

Sky raised a hand and waved a bit weakly. Then he stumbled slightly, hand darting down to gingerly press against his side. Twilight’s heart jumped into his throat and he put more speed into his steps. As he drew closer, he saw blood speckling the left side of Sky’s tunic, steps hitching as he walked. Mud absolutely coated Legend, only one arm and the left side of his face clear through the muck. Legend looked up blearily, eyes taking a moment too long to focus on Time and Twilight. Then his gaze slid beyond them and his eyes shot wide open.

“Cook!” he shouted, breaking into an unsteady run. Sky did as well, but he stumbled and nearly toppled over, wrapping an arm around his ribs and hissing.

“I’m good,” Wild called, but that didn’t stop Sky and Legend from hurrying over to him. Twilight reached out to support Legend as he brushed past, but the veteran flapped a hand, staggering to a kneel before Wild.

“Goddesses, Cook,” he said breathlessly. “Did you decide to take a bath in blood?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Wild replied as Legend checked him over with slightly trembling hands. “Did you decide to take a bath in mud?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Legend snapped, pulling back after determining Wild was uninjured.

“What ha… wh… what h-“ Sky broke off into a cough, “-happened?”

“Got stabbed but then I got healed,” Wild said quickly. “I’m fine now. Are you guys okay?”

“Stabbed?” Sky wheezed before coughing again.

“Yeah, but I’m fine. All good. What happened to you?”

“I-“ Sky stumbled and tipped over backwards. Twilight yelped and darted forward but Time was already there, catching Sky and gently lowering him to the ground. Sky gasped in a breath before it abruptly cut off with pain, face twisting and arms wrapping around his middle. A shout of worry alerted Twilight to Hyrule and Wind’s return, silver sword hilt gleaming over Hyrule’s shoulder.

“Let me see,” Warriors said. Sky slowly pulled his arms away and Warriors gingerly prodded around Sky’s ribs. Sky winced, biting his lip to stifle a whine. “I think your ribs are fractured. Does anyone have a potion?”

Twilight pulled out his potion but Sky shook his head, carefully withdrawing a half-empty red potion from his own pouch. Warriors investigated Sky’s lightly bleeding side as the Skyloftian struggled to uncork the bottle.

“What happened?” Warriors asked as he gently rolled up Sky’s tunic to reveal the wound. Angry red patches stretched across his skin, blood seeping sluggishly from deeper portions where the skin had stripped away. A deep frown pulled at Warriors’ mouth, eyes darkening in a way that made Twilight think he must have recognized that kind of wound. The captain said nothing, reaching into his pouch to fish out bandages.

“Hinox from my era,” Legend said. Twilight glanced over to see Legend had laid spread eagle out on the ground, Hyrule kneeling down to check him over. Legend swatted the traveler away. “They like throwing people. And bombs.”

“Did you get thrown, too?” Four asked as he hurried over to Sky to help him uncork the potion.

Legend rocked his head from side to side. “No. Was stuck in a mud pit the whole time. I’m not hurt, just overextended my magic. Stamina potion wore off.”

Twilight perked up at that. “Mud pit?”

“Yeah.” Legend rolled onto his side, peering up at Twilight. His eyes widened as he took in Twilight’s mud-splattered state. “Wait, you too?”

Twilight nodded. “I was trying to follow the sailor but we got separated then I heard-“

“Laughing,” Legend finished.

“I didn’t… didn… hear anything,” Sky remarked breathlessly, sipping at the potion as Warriors bandaged his side. “But you… you did, Rancher?”

“Yeah. I tried to find out where it was coming from but I stepped into the sinkhole and it stopped.”

Legend’s eyes widened even further. “Same here.”

“Nobody else heard it?” Twilight asked, glancing around. The others all shook their heads. Legend and Twilight stared at each other for a moment. Twilight found his gaze drifting to the fading pink in Legend’s hair while Legend’s eyes landed on Twilight’s wolf pelt. They were silent for a moment.

“Weird!” Legend exclaimed.

“Yeah, so strange!” Twilight responded.

“Guess we’ll never know why we’re the only two who could hear it!”

“What a mystery!”

The others all eyed the two of them suspiciously, apparently not convinced by their subtlety. Twilight coughed, turning to Sky.

“Anyway, Sky, are you feeling alright? I have a full potion if you need it.”

“No, I think… I think I’m okay now,” Sky said, carefully twisting his torso from side to side and taking a few deep breaths. His chest didn’t hitch anymore and Warriors had rolled his tunic back down, covering the bandages.

“Okay, just keep an eye on it,” Warriors said. “Let us know if that changes.”

Sky nodded and Legend groaned, flopping onto his back once more. “I’m more than ready to clean up and call it a day.”

“I wish we were in the rancher’s Hyrule,” Hyrule sighed. “I could use a soak in one of those Goron hot springs.”

“My era has hot springs, too,” Wild said.

“Yeah, but your hot springs are way up in the mountains and no sane person would travel through all the snow just for that,” Legend replied.

Wild looked mildly offended. “I go up there for them.”

Legend shot him a look. “Like I said.”

Wild scoffed and rolled his eyes while the others laughed.

“And you definitely could use a bath,” Warriors snickered, moving from Sky to Legend to ruffle the veteran’s hair. “This mud color doesn’t really compliment your flowery hair.”

Legend swatted the captain’s hand away with a scowl. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped short, a glint entering his eye and smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe not, but you know what I think it would go great with?”

Warriors arched a brow, planting one hand on his hip. “What-“ He cut himself off with a shriek as Legend suddenly sprang up, mud-caked arms outstretched and a devilish grin on his face. Warriors lunged away, or at least attempted to. His injured leg gave out from under him and sent him sprawling to the ground. He twisted onto his back, holding out both hands as Legend loomed over him.

“Wait, wait, wait, you wouldn’t attack a wounded man!” he cried, waving his hands frantically.

Legend’s grin only grew. “I absolutely would.”

Warriors’ eyes widened but before Legend could descend on him, Wind tackled Legend from the side with a cry of, “Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll save you!” Legend lifted a mud-caked hand and dug his fingers into Wind’s hair, smearing it with mud and eliciting a sharp yelp of laughter from the sailor. Legend rolled as if to pin Wind beneath him but his eyes grew unfocused and he overshot, rolling over and off of Wind. Wind took Legend’s dizziness as an opportunity to pounce, uncaring that that only served to smear more mud onto him. But in rolling, Legend had moved closer to where Warriors was just beginning to stand. His arm shot out and snatched the captain’s elbow, yanking him back down with a yelp as he fell into the muddy heap. Twilight was half-surprised to hear a soft chuckle from beside him, glancing over to see Time’s eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched the scene. Twilight felt a grin tugging at his mouth as he looked back at the three, the others all having similar reactions.

“Now we’re really all going to need to wash up,” Twilight remarked.

“Yeah,” Four said. “We should probably stop those three before they get any dirtier.

“Probably.”

Nobody moved to stop them.

[echoes-lighthouse]

Echo and Toga: The Full Story

Okay, I did a poll for how I should share my selfship stories, and 'text post with illustrations' won the poll, so I'm doing a full four-section post for each of my f/os: Backstory, First Meeting, Getting Together, and Where We're At! They're written to be as understandable as possible for people unfamiliar with the source!

With that said, here's my selfship with Toga! Content warnings for backstory abuse, poly!League of Villains (which has some funky age gaps that aren't commented on here), and canon-typical blood drinking.

Chapter One: Backstories 

Toga and Echo both grew up in a world defined by Quirks: powers that manifest at the age of five or six, when children are usually in Kindergarten. 

Toga’s Quirk was Transform: by drinking someone’s blood, she could transform into them. This Quirk began as a fascination with blood, which disturbed her parents, and they instructed her to stop the behavior. She was obedient and played the dutiful daughter until the age of 15, at which point a classmate was injured around her, and she attacked him to drink his blood. Her parents were horrified and rejected her, at which point Toga left home and became a murderer. 

About a year later, she was recruited to the League of Villains, a group looking for more freedom for villains, and she quickly made personal connections within the team. She is obsessive about love, blood, and looking cute. 

Echo grew up in foster families, was adopted at 12, and their family moved to Japan when they were 14. They ran away the year afterwards, their home life intolerable for multiple reasons: mainly their adoptive father and brother, both of which used their fire quirks to punish Echo. They have a lasting distrust for fire quirk users. Echo’s Quirk is Cat’s Paw, which gives them the ability to transform into a small black and white cat, and also gives them better senses in their ‘human’ form. 

They’ve been on the streets for two years, bouncing in and out of different situations, but tend to spend most of their time as a street cat for the ease of hunting and passing unnoticed. 

Chapter Two: First Meeting 

Echo can’t keep their cat form while sleeping, so they’re always looking for new places to curl up. One day, they find a warehouse full of empty boxes and choose a spot to spend the night. They wake up to Himiko cooing over them, and try to run, but get caught by Dabi while in cat form. 

Turns out the warehouse was a League of Villains meeting location, and the League was a bit confused to find a naked girl sleeping on the floor. They take a few minutes to establish that Echo isn’t a hero agent, and then decide to bring them back to base: their Quirk could be useful, and they’re not keen to have a safehouse compromised. 

Echo ultimately agrees because the League promises them food. 

Once they’re in agreement, Himiko sweeps in and the two of them have an instant connection: a kindred spirit in form and temperament. Echo’s years of hunting have made them well-attuned to blood, and their matching yellow eyes make them look a bit like siblings, whereas they set them both apart from their original families. They’re already bonding on the trip back to base, and they’re besties by the time they get home. 

Chapter Three: Getting Together 

Himiko and Echo share an immediate obsession with each other. After years of unreciprocated affection, having someone who actually liked them back was addictive. While Echo is quite nervous about the other members of the League, that only makes them stick closer to Himiko. The two of them reluctantly split up for the first night, but by the next week, the two of them are sharing a bedroom, unwilling to part ways even for sleeping. 

Echo also gets along quickly with Mr. Compress and Magne. Twice, Spinner, Shigaraki, and Dabi take longer for them to warm up to. They’re nervous around Shigaraki for a long time, aware of his status as the leader and the decision-maker, and they’re very on-edge around Dabi, who is a fire quirk user.

Getting used to Shigaraki is just a matter of time, and eventually Echo and Dabi sit down and have a proper discussion about everything and they end up friends at the end of it, although Dabi will take a little longer to admit it. 

Himiko and Echo getting together basically slams the overall sexual tension in the League through the roof, and eventually everyone figures out their dynamics, with Dabi and Echo forming two different centers of the sexy side of the polycule.

Chapter Four: Where We’re At 

I don’t tend to move this selfship through the BNHA canon, but this selfship starts in the lull between the Forest Training Camp Arc and the Shie Haissaikai arc. I suppose my s/i would probably take part in the Shie Haissaikai part, and saves Magne somehow, but I don’t like doing Big Plots in this selfship, so I don’t want to take it any further than that. 

Anyways, we all live in an apartment together: Twice and Mr. Compress have their own places but spend most of their time with us. Having two people with a civilian persona is useful! The rest of us are kind of recognizable. 

I mostly stay home while the others do villainy stuff: Kurogiri and I work together a lot, but he’s more useful in the field than I am, so I take over a lot of the housework. I’m useful for reconnaissance but not really for fighting. 

When the others are home, we play video games and tease each other and do puzzles and watch TV, all the normal stuff. We do movie marathons and argue about dishes and send Twice out to get ice cream from the corner store at 2am. Me and Himiko are always touching, but the others can come join the cuddle pile. We spend the night in our own room, most times, unless I’m with someone else for the night and then I have to make it up to Toga with a fun date the next day!!! 

Me and Himiko go out clubbing and pick up creepy guys and stab them in alleyways. We order way too many clothes online and have dress up parties and then return them all. We have pillow fights and snowball fights and tickle fights. We joke about running an OnlyFans account for the League. We generally have a lot of fun together!!!!! Every day!! 

[mel-loly]

Dont mind me:3

I- Tsu.. You didn't need to... But.. Yeah, uh... Thanks..😅💛

(no pressure, but if you can read the tags, I'd be happy! and that doesn't just apply to tsu but to everyone)

[pixiishi]

the inner turmoil of “i love these characters dearly and need to keep reading to know what happens” vs “i need to read very slowly because i’m not ready for their quest to end just yet.”

[bookwyrminspiration]

you 🤝 me in forgetting to plan any writing things this November

it’s funny because I have plenty of projects I could work on but no plans and I’m just going “nnnhmmmm arggghggragh I like writing why am I stuck”

good luck Quil we’ll make it through

i've ended up with the words "tiergan" and "alpha male" in the same sentence, I think I need more than luck I think I need an intervention </3

good luck with your works, though!! we will persist 💪💪

[nothinggathers]

Beavering away at my absolutely immense Reverse Big Bang project with @glass-noodle and I reach the first sex scene of the fic...

And I look at my word count....

I am never topping this.

[heyjude19-writing]

What would be a time stamp of “day in the life” of Draco and Harry ncluding, morning routine, workout routine, work, bedtime etc. what would that look like?

🏋️🏋️‍♀️🏋️‍♂️🚿🌧️🛀🧺🍚🍲📚

I started answering this, spiraled, opened a blank doc, and here we are, i just wrote a one-shot to deal with my own questions:

Hope you enjoy anon!

[pochapal]

emails are so fun because they're all about bargaining with things that don't actually exist yet.

[lulu2992]

Ask meme!

I was tagged by @glowwormsmith! Thank you :)

Rules: Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse/OC/pairings, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

My URL isn’t the best for this game because it simply consists of the same two letters twice (I didn’t take the numbers into account), but I still scoured my entire music library to find titles that worked! I chose my OC Taylor Rook, John Seed, and the couple they form in my heart because of course I did. There are four letters in my username so I’m tagging four people: @cassietrn, @laindtt, @simplegenius042, and @strafethesesinners (only if you feel like doing this, of course)!

(Not all the tracks I wanted have lyrics, so I did this a little differently than you did and wrote a little “story” instead):

In Hope County, Taylor really became a “Lurking Danger” [Yoko Shimomura - Final Fantasy XV] and had to walk along many “Unfamiliar Paths” [Cliff Martinez - Far Cry 4]. John kept telling her, “Let The Water Wash Away Your Sins” [Dan Romer - Far Cry 5], but she remained “Untouchable” [Niels Bye Nielsen - HITMAN 2]. As for the Baptist, deep down, he was just a “Lost Child” [Brian Tyler - Far Cry 3], but on the outside, the thing most people noticed and talked about was his “Unsettling Aura” [Yoko Shimomura - Final Fantasy XV]. I wish he had had time to “Learn To Let Go” [Kesha - Rainbow]*, but all he did in the game was try to be “Unstoppable” [Sia - This Is Acting]*. Their story didn’t end well, so in another world, one that only exists in my head, they decide to “Let It Go” [Demi Lovato - Frozen] and stop being “Under The Gun” [Motörhead - Kiss of Death] all the time because I just want them to sing “Love Me Forever” [Motörhead - 1916]* and “Underneath Your Clothes” [Shakira - Laundry Service]* to each other instead!

*actually for these the lyrics also work

[chiropteracupola]

I am desperately hype for werewolf!Sharpe two of my favorite things in the whole wide world

yay and hooray! I too am greatly enjoying this one — here we ask the important question of 'what if Richard Sharpe was a werewolf, and more importantly, what if his daughter was too?'

this fic started out as a joke about Sean Bean's more recent role in the (amazing) film Wolfwalkers, where he plays a single father having a great deal of trouble over his own role as a soldier as well as in raising a daughter who is a werewolf, and in pondering that, I started to goof around about the potential of something similar to the plot of Wolfwalkers as a potential sequel to 'Sharpe's Enemy' and the subsequent films. and then things got out of hand.

“I’ll not raise an Englishman’s bastard pup,” said the old man, his voice made cold with disdain, and shoved Sharpe’s daughter ungently into her father’s arms. Sharpe nearly fumbled the child, all unexpected tangle of paws and tail and mewling mouth that she was. But Harper had a hand under his, and bundled her back into her father’s arms, tucking in the blanket that she’d been wrapped in. “Teresa — Teresa showed me our Antonia. She didn’t—“ “Didn’t look more like a wolf-cub than a little girl half the time? That’s your blood in her, that I know.” Sharpe’s breath caught in his throat — it had been his own damned enemy that had taken Teresa from him, and it was in that same moment that he’d evidently doomed his daughter to the same fate as his own. “Go on, get back to your war. You’ll not touch my family again.” “I can’t raise a baby on the march—“ said Sharpe, his voice a high keen of desperation. “Raise a wolf, then,” said the last man Teresa Moreno had trusted with her daughter, and shut the door in Sharpe’s face.

so it's a tale of having some kind of identity crisis about being a father and a widower and a werewolf all at once, and making that work out because he's really got no choice but to work through it (and also a tale of the Chosen Men being a strange little pack of sort-of-uncles and raising Antonia together!)

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

Any other writers just say fuck it to their really long plot filled fic that definitely needs updating and instead start writing the random crack that’s in their head?