#I am nothing if not enigmatic and when where and how I will strike next is a mystery to even myself. you have been warned

[vnillacone]

Consider this a companion piece to the Roman + Oricorio I posted back in December- yes this is very rapidly becoming a whole au in my head stay tuned for future updates

[fanficflaneuse]

All Of You

Index 

A/N: After a couple of odd weeks, I’m back and I’m really happy to be posting again. Dear freaking god. I’m excited for you to read my first Theo fic ever. I’m really happy for it. 

Also, I saw a mutual celebrating their 100 followers and I realized I never did anything to celebrate my followers. I never expected my blog to have followers lol but now I have 196 and I want to dedicate this fic I love to all of you. Thank you all for bearing with me <3 

Without further ado, let’s do this! 

Theo Nott x reader 

Words: 2679 

Summary: Friends with benefits gone wrong. 

Warnings: mentions of sex (not smut, but still). 

The room exuded fire whiskey and regret as (Y/N) picked her clothes from the floor. The light that filtered through the closed curtains hinted a very sunny day, perfect for the throbbing headache coming her way. Her head pounded with flashbacks from the night before and every time she remembered another detail of the colossal mistake she had committed, she cursed herself.

She slumped on an elegant armchair and considered her options. She could leave unceremoniously and forget all about their encounter, pretend it was a drunken mistake. For a moment, she wished they would’ve had enough alcohol the night before to call this a “drunken mistake”. But they were both more sober than expected as they reached his room, lips connected and hands eager to explore each other.

(Y/N) cursed at herself once again as her gaze found the man on the bed. Theodore Nott looked peaceful as he slept, no trace of sadness clouding his angelic features. His chest raised and fell softly, an arm thrown over his forehead and the other one reaching out to the empty space in bed where she had woken up. Only Merlin knows how long she had fantasized about him, how many times she had wished to kiss his lips and feel him close. She could’ve been happy with everything that had happened the night before, if only that one memory didn’t keep replaying in her head:

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, she was on his lap. His lips made their way from her left shoulder to her ear.

“(Y/N),” he had whispered.

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat. “Whatever is about to happen right now…I-I really can’t do feelings.”

(Y/N) remembered asking herself what could she possibly do with that information. He was the guy she had been ogling at practically since day one at Hogwarts. Not even of four years of not seeing each other had killed whatever they had going on between them. But before she could even think, she sealed the deal.

“No feelings.”

The words slipped from her mouth like a hot knife through butter. If only they were half as easy to digest. She sighed and stood up, determined to leave before Theo woke up.

“Where are you going?” His voice was groggy and almost childlike. It melted (Y/N)’s heart and she turned around in shame.  

Theo and (Y/N) found each other at a bar the night before. It was the first time they met since Sixth year, when they were potions partners and tried desperately to brush each other’s hand as many times as possible. (Y/N) remembered how he’d blush every time they touched, how that blush gave her butterflies as she thought of him as delightfully awkward.

Then the war bulldozed into their lives. Theo dropped out of Hogwarts and stayed in his mansion, not wanting to partake in any of it. His father was a death eater, everyone knew that. And even if he didn’t fight the good fight, (Y/N) was relieved not to see him cross to the dark side like Draco did. She, on the other hand, stayed in the school and opposed Voldemort. They never saw each other again.

Three years later, (Y/N)’s need to escape a terribly dull blind date and Theo’s desire to drown his loneliness with music and fire whiskey had them sitting side by side again. (Y/N) and Theo could probably count the amount of times they had spoken to each other with one hand. And yet, she remembered him as her first Hogwarts friend and he thought of her as a very close one. There was always this energy surrounding them. It made (Y/N)’s head spin and Theo’s convoluted mind turn to putty.  

The kisses in the back of the bar didn’t come as a surprise to either of them. Neither did the question that lead them to his house. And the heavy petting, the intense make out, the fire whiskey consumed after the promise, the lips and hands lingering and traveling…they were all the natural course of something with no name or description that had started the first time they set foot on the Hogwarts express.

...

First years buzzed through the train in excitement. They talked over each other, got high on candy and agitation and walked from one compartment to the next in search of new people to befriend. The general enthusiasm of the first train ride infected even the most knowledgeable purebloods. All but one of them. A lonely first year by the name of Theodore Nott, too shy and self-conscious to engage with the other children, kept to himself in a carriage. He stared out the window, trying to mute the muffled laughter by taking in the scenery.

“Can I seat here? Every other compartment is full.”

Theo’s head snapped as he heard those words. They stared at each other for a minute. The newcomer, a girl who just a few minutes ago had echoed other kids’ laughter, found Theo striking. She liked the single brown curl falling on his forehead and his greenish-blue eyes that seemed to enclose too much sadness for eleven years of age. He looked like a melancholic cherub.

Too curious for her own good, (Y/N) wanted to know absolutely everything about this enigmatic boy that didn’t seem unfazed by the perspective of travelling to a magical school.

He nodded eagerly, prompting more curls to cover his face. She giggled softly as she made her way to the seat in front of him. Theo found her very pretty. He was suddenly very aware of how lame he must’ve seemed. Theo gulped, racking his brain for something to say and finding absolutely nothing. He hadn’t interacted with many kids his age and, to his absolute mortification, it showed.

“I am (Y/N). What is your name?” she asked sweetly.

“Theo,” he muttered so softly she couldn’t quite catch it.

They spent the rest of the train ride in silence. (Y/N) was a bit appalled. She thought about leaving in search of some more boisterous company to share her thrill with. She couldn’t, though. The stillness that engulfed them was enticing. It was certainly awkward, but also comfortable and even safe. It was as though they had built a sense of complicity in a matter of minutes. They sneaked glances at each other until the Hogwarts express reached its destination.

Only during the sorting did (Y/N) recognize her companion as Theodore Nott, a Slytherin and her first Hogwarts friend.

If someone had ever told her that years later she’d be wearing his button-down and nothing else as they giggled on his bed, she probably wouldn’t have understood what they meant. But here she was. A few months into their affair they had fallen into an easy routine. There were no rules and no particular agreements, but they both knew what they were and how people labelled what they had.

Friends with benefits weren’t meant to cuddle with each other after sex. They weren’t meant to be so tender and spend hours talking nonsense and caressing each other. They weren’t meant to have each other for dinner at least once a week or be seen together. And, more importantly, they weren’t meant to fall for each other.

(Y/N) wondered how long this would last as they laid on their sides, staring at each other. Not a sound came from their lips. He was giving her a sweet lopsided grin. The stillness that engulfed them was, once again, enticing. It was not awkward, but still felt comfortable and safe. They are accomplices now. 

...

The Yule Ball was the most awaited event of fourth year. It was the night everyone would talk about for ages. (Y/N) arrived late and left early, as one does. She didn’t particularly enjoy the petty drama her friends were involved in, so she decided to leave the Great Hall in favour of some fresh air.

As she stepped on the courtyard, she expected anything but finding Theo Nott sitting on a bench. She approached without giving it much thought.

“Mind if I sit with you? Every other place is already taken,” she said humorously.

Theo smiled and made space for her. They sat in silence for a while, the complicity from the train somehow still intact. After a while of silence, he gathered all his courage and stood up. (Y/N) had a view of his very expensive looking suit, his hair with its usual curl covering his forehead, his eyes shining dangerously with something else than the usual melancholy.

“Would you dance with me, (Y/N)?” he asked, his voice showing a confidence he didn’t know he had.

(Y/N) was surprised he even knew her name. She stood up as well, flattered and also a bit embarrassed. “Shall we go back inside?”

He shook his head, the impish grin matching that glint in his eyes. “I never said anything about going back inside.”

(Y/N)’s knees buckled as he pulled her to his chest. They danced in the courtyard to the muffled sounds that came from the Great Hall. (Y/N) prided herself in being a decent dancer, but Theo was something else. He twirled her, guided her and taught her with great care. Mesmerized, she held onto him until there was no more music left and he insisted on walking her to her common room.

They walked side by side, his fingers barely touching the small of her back. They were, once again, enveloped in peaceful quietness, only interrupted by the clacking of her heels.

“Where did you learn to dance the mazurka?” she wondered aloud.

(Y/N) noticed how he puffed his chest. She could hear the smile in his voice when he said that his mum had taught him.

“She must be quite the dancer,” (Y/N) complemented, only to see the smile fading immediately.

“She was,” he whispered very softly, eyes fixed in some distant point in the horizon.

(Y/N) wanted to say something else, but nothing seemed appropriate. As they reached the common room, kissed the back of her hand before leaving to his dorm.

“What are you thinking about?” Theo murmured in her ear. She was sitting between his legs, her white sheets pooling around them. Before she could answer, he gently brushed her hair off her shoulder and placed kisses on the sensitive spot behind her ear.

She bit her lip to restrain a moan. This man had learned how to get a reaction from her. He now knew how to get her all worked up in a matter of seconds. She was not complaining one bit.

“I’m just remembering the Yule Ball,” she offered offhandedly.

He hummed pleasantly in response. “You know? Everyone made a fuss about how Hermione Granger looked like a princess that night. But you, darling, you looked like a queen.”

His voice sent shivers down her spine. She cursed every deity in the book because damn, Theodore Nott could be suave if he wanted to. (Y/N) smiled contently as he pulled her back to bed.

...

“So, Theodore,” said Pansy with mocking seriousness. He knew what was coming and was prepared to shrug it off. “When will you introduce us to your girlfriend?”

Blaise chuckled and Draco raised his eyebrows playfully. Theo wanted to roll his eyes playfully, but knew he would never pull it off, especially not after the last few months with (Y/N). He nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“She…she’s not my girlfriend,” he stammered.

“Oh! But there’s a she,” Blaise pointed out.

Theo looked away, wanting to facepalm himself hard. He hadn’t realized they were that obvious. But they were. And for some reason he didn’t care one bit. He just didn’t know how to be a boyfriend and didn’t want to hurt her (or himself…even further).

“What is it then? Are you just shagging?” Daphne said the word as though it burned her mouth.

“You know Daph, friends with benefits. All the advantages and none of the drama,” said Pansy as she put an arm around the blonde, “we should’ve tried that instead.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “As if you didn’t love to be my girlfriend, Pansy Marguerite Parkinson.”

Pansy smiled widely and kissed her girlfriend. Draco pretended to gag.

“Keep pretending that you’re not the biggest sap on the planet, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” teased Blaise.

Theo would’ve laughed at his friends’ antics, if only (Y/N) hadn’t come in to the bar. She was wearing that green dress she knew he adored. Her hair was up and she was wearing more make up than usual. She looked absolutely stunning.

As she took a seat at a nearby table, Theo remembered all those times he sneaked glances at her during their days at Hogwarts. She’d seat across the room, surrounded by people and laughing. And he’d admire her from afar, never daring to talk to her and only dedicating her soft smiles whenever they met in the hallways.

His friends seemed to realize the reason for his abstraction and they all eyed her curiously. (Y/N) suddenly stood up to greet somebody. Theo was taken aback when she hugged one of the Weasley twins, who took her in way too eagerly for his liking and kissed her cheek way too close to her lips. Theo had never considered himself a jealous person. Hell, he seldom showed emotions. But this he absolutely hated and didn’t bother do hide it.

The group of former Slytherins stared in awe as their friend slammed his fist on the table. He muttered a quick “sorry” and left the bar without saying goodbye.

...

“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the surprise and hurt from his voice or demeanour. Theo noticed how she had kept a safe distance between them, preferring to seat on an armchair rather than the by his side on the couch.

“Theo…” she tried to reason.

(Y/N) broke the most basic rule of a situation like theirs. She had completely fallen for him. She knew she was into him since the very first time she had woken up in his bed, but for a while she at least pretended she could enjoy it without getting hurt. Then, the casual hook ups turned into cuddle sessions and those turned into dates. Still, her stubbornness made her continue with the affair. She convinced herself she could live with it.

That was until Theo opened his heart to her. He realized he had found someone he could truly be vulnerable with and he let her into his heart. He told her about his childhood, about how he had seen his father assassinate his mother and the sadness that had never abandoned him afterwards. He told her he was never afraid of dementors because he felt he was always walking with one over his shoulder. They had cried together that night and she decided her heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked in defeat. He mentally kicked himself for being too much and not enough.

“Of course not. It’s not that Theo,” she mended quickly.

“Then what?”

(Y/N)  took a deep breath. “I miss you when I wake up alone. I love cuddling and coddling you. I want you. All of you, Theo. I don’t just want to be your occasional hook up. I can’t do that anymore.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. Theo studied her for a minute, his intense gaze making her self-conscious.

“Don’t you realize I gravitate towards your company like you’re the only other person in the planet, (Y/N)?” he asked, suddenly feeling very dramatic.  

She was frozen in her place. His face softened completely and lunged forward, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands.

“Love,” he whispered, “this stopped being an occasional hook up a long time ago.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Really?”

He nodded, his messy curls falling to his forehead just like he knew she liked it. “And…and I also want you. All of you,” he said triumphantly.

tags: @honeymarvel @rvnsclws @naomi02hook @the-hufflefluffwriter

[gureishi]

Ohhhh, requests? Requests!!!! ❤️

We all know and love SE and the Choi family (Mc, Saeyoung and Saeran living together in the bunker).... But what about. Other way arround?

Saeran after ending, with saeran and saeyoung making amends, and you finally befriending and getting to know the true person behind 707.

Im happy with whatever ideas you have for this, but if you need more guidance... A scene between saeyoung and Mc, talking? Saeyoung thanking mcfor making saeran happy and feeling like he failed as a brother for not protecting him, and mc being all sweet as she is reassuring him that it's OK and that they are happy now and just fluffy??????

Gosh, I wrote a lot, sorry.

Oh wow. I ADORE this request. Thank you for bringing me this sweet idea. ♡

I love envisioning their lives together post-AE, and it was so much for fun me to imagine this tiny little slice of that. 

after

Saeyoung & Reader (platonic); Saeran X Reader (background), G, words: 2355

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Today there’s one of those early-winter snows where the flurries get stuck in your hair but the ground’s not white and beautiful, just cold and damp. The parking lot is nearly empty—apparently no one else wanted to go out today. Personally, you can’t understand why. You love the way the sky’s a bright white and how the biting wind makes the tips of your ears pink.

Saeyoung, who’s been walking a few paces ahead of you, turns around in time to see you stop and catch a snowflake on your tongue. He raises his eyebrows; he’s got his hood up and there’s a light dusting of snow on top of his head, like powdered sugar.

“I was gonna ask if you regretted coming along now that it’s snowing, but I guess I have my answer.” He’s got a complicated look on his face, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to laugh at you or not.

“I have no regrets!” you sing, and then he does laugh, shaking his head indulgently.

“Come on,” he says. “Your shoes are getting wet.”

“Your shoes are getting wet. Also your head. Who goes to the store in just a hoodie in the winter?” But you run to catch up with him, splashing in the little puddles that have collected in the uneven pavement.

“It was the hoodie or the floor-length pink fur coat, so I went for the hoodie,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. 

The automatic doors slide open for you; he grabs a shopping cart from the assortment parked just inside the door. You walk beside him, feeling a little awkward. Grocery store etiquette, you think, is such a personal thing. Saeran, for instance, likes to go slowly through the store, lingering in each area—looking for inspiration, sometimes checking recipes on his phone. You like to move through the store at random, picking out items that strike your fancy. These methods work surprisingly well together—perhaps because Saeran finds it charming when you come running up to him with a strange new fruit in your arms.

Saeyoung, it seems, has neither a list nor a plan. He pushes the shopping cart lazily with one hand, heading vaguely toward the nearest aisle. You’re tempted to guide him in one direction or another, but you also don’t want to be a nuisance. This is his shopping trip—he was the one who announced he was going to the store; you were the one who’d insisted on tagging along.

“Are you sure?” he’d asked then, hesitating, one hand already on the doorknob. “You don’t need to! I can get whatever you—”

“I want to,” you’d said firmly, jumping off the couch where you’d been lying with your feet in Saeran’s lap, reading a book. It wasn’t that you needed anything in particular from the grocery store or that you didn’t trust Saeyoung to find whatever was needed for the house (though, in retrospect, it wasn’t that you did trust him, either). It was just…

In the few precious days that you’d been living in the bunker with the brothers—in a world that was suddenly so peaceful you couldn’t quite believe it—you’d begun to realize something: in spite of the hours of phone conversations and chats you’d shared with the enigmatic and charming 707, you actually hardly knew Saeyoung at all.

“So, uhhh,” he begins, a bit uncomfortably. You glance at him askance; his cheeks are pink. “What do we need, anyway?”

You laugh—you can’t help it. “What were you going to buy if I didn’t come with you?”

Saeyoung shrugs, looking down. He’s definitely blushing. “I was gonna…wing it.”

Maybe it’s his inexplicable shyness with you and maybe it’s your genuine love of grocery shopping, but your confidence is bolstered. You take the cart from him and he relinquishes it gratefully, falling into step behind you.

“First we’re going to get produce,” you tell him, and he nods eagerly, bouncing on his heels. He honestly looks excited that you’ve taken the lead; you make a mental note about this. At home, Saeyoung is often in charge—of little things, like what movie you’ll all watch together—because he is boisterously enthusiastic about everything and you and Saeran are more subdued. But here, without his twin, outside of his domain, he is suddenly much less confident.

You select a few types of squash; he watches somewhat reverently. “How do you know what to get?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Practice, I guess,” you say. “I have in mind a couple of recipes we can make this week, and there are some staples it’s always good to have…” You pause, realizing something, your hands full of squash. “Saeyoung, can I ask you something?”

“What? Yeah!” He responds a little too readily and you know he’s trying to mask his awkwardness. It’s endearing.

“You lived alone for a pretty long time,” you say thoughtfully. You survey the selection of cabbage. “Didn’t you…buy food? To eat?”

He laughs, runs a hand through his already-messy red curls. “God Seven doesn’t need food to live!” he sings, and it’s in the tone of the 707 you’d developed a strange friendship with during those days you were at Mint Eye. You know now that Saeyoung was there, even then, under all that false positivity and diversionary teasing.

“You do, though,” you tell him. You hand him a head of cabbage.

Your firm tone seems to quell him. He looks down at the cabbage. 

“I ate snacks, mostly,” he says, a little more quietly. “Sometimes Vanderwood got frustrated and brought me other things to eat.”

You turn away to hide the look in your eyes from him. These poor, poor boys.

“You two!” you explain in mock-frustration, pushing the cart to the next refrigerated shelf. “So you were living on junk food while he was keeping himself alive with caffeine pills. What am I going to do with you?”

Saeyoung bounces behind you, still holding the cabbage.

“Feed us!” he says. You roll your eyes and tear a plastic bag off the role beside the shelves. 

“Put the cabbage in the bag,” you tell him. He does.

You gather a few more fruits and vegetables and Saeyoung asks about all of them; you’re amused when he doesn’t know what a persimmon is.

“So besides chips and stuff, then, what do you like to eat?” you ask him, pushing the cart into the large, open area where meat and fish sit on ice, row after chilly row.

Saeyoung hums thoughtfully, peering at a particularly large fish, complete with eyeballs and everything. “This is creepy,” he says. “Can we get it?”

“We…can,” you say. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

He walks a little ahead of you, and he looks at each different type of meat with such curiosity. They’re both like this, you think—so full of wonder over basic, mundane things. Saeran was in awe the first night the three of you settled in on Saeyoung’s huge couch to watch TV together. And now here is Saeyoung—who’s had considerably more freedom than his brother—staring at an assortment of different cuts of meat like he’s in a museum.

“I’m not sure,” he says finally, tilting his head to the side. “I love chips, and, you know, fish-shaped buns…”

“But is there a meal you like? Maybe from, I don’t know, the past…?” You regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth.

Saeyoung laughs bitterly. “Not from childhood, if that’s what you mean.”

“Right,” you say. “Yeah. I knew that. I’m sorry.”

He comes back to your side, leans on the cart. “It’s okay,” he tells you. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say. “Sorry.” You steer the cart toward a display of different chicken parts and he pads along beside you—like an obedient dog, you think.

“What’s the difference between…” he bends over, peering at the packages. “Breasts and thighs?”

You giggle. “You tell me.”

You watch as his face turns red, clashing wonderfully with his hair.

“Um, l-let’s get the…thighs, I guess,” he chokes, and you stifle your laughter with your hand.

“Thighs it is.”

He throws the chicken into the cart with his face turned away and you grin. 707 was a tease, but it is easy to fluster Saeyoung. 

You move through the aisle of bottled sauces in companionable silence. You hold up a bottle of bottle of soy sauce and he nods enthusiastically; he does the same for the fish sauce and corn syrup. To test him, you hold up a banana ketchup—which you’ve personally never actually tried—and he gives you the same affirmative head bob.

“Saeyoung, do you know what this is?”

He tilts his head to the side, reads the label.

“Banana ketchup? Yum!”

You sigh. “Fine.” You toss it in the cart; maneuver to the next aisle.

“You didn’t even have soy sauce or salt or anything in your house when we moved in,” you say. “There was literally nothing in the cabinets.”

He strolls along beside you, running a finger along the rows of different kinds of pasta. “It never occurred to me.”

“We were kind of surprised,” you add, tossing a big bag of rice into the cart. “We bought a bunch of stuff, before we…left.” You stumble over the words; gears spin frantically in your brain. The words hang heavily in the air between you. Before we left to find you. Before we found you and then lost you again.

He’s silent for a moment and you know he feels the change in atmosphere, the way time seems to have slowed down.

“Hey,” he says finally. He’s got one arm draped over the side of the cart and his posture is a little stiff. “Did I ever thank you? I mean, properly.”

You bite your lip, keep walking. Your face feels hot. Suddenly, you’re not really looking at what’s on the shelves.

“You did,” you say softly. “But I feel I should be the one thanking you. You’re the reason we’re both alive, you know.”

Saeyoung stops, and you almost crash into him. He spins around, and he’s got a hard, determined look in his face. You’ve seen that look before. 

“No,” he says. “Nuh-uh. You saved us. You protected him. You did what I didn’t…couldn’t—”

Ah. Your heart’s pounding against your ribcage. Of course it’s here, you think—in this narrow aisle, next to hundreds of loaves of bread, that he’s saying this to you.

“Saeyoung, he knows that you would die for him. You tried to.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, walks away from you, lingers at the end of the aisle. The change in him is remarkable. There’s no hint of the awestruck boy, bouncing up and down over the wide selection of steaks, in this morose, bitter man.

“I didn’t succeed, did I?” he says. A mother with a small child seated in the front of her shopping cart comes down the aisle and you back up into the shelves to let them pass. You wonder if they can feel how thick the air is.

“No, you didn’t,” you say. “And thank god, because where would we be if you had?” He finally looks at you then, and you’re taken aback by the wild look in his eyes. It scares you; you take a step toward him. “You fought for him,” you tell him. “And he fought for you.”

His fingers drum a frantic pattern on the metal shelf beside him. He’s got the look of a cornered animal, ready to bolt. You’ve seen this expression before—though on a different Choi brother.

“I was supposed to protect him,” he says, so quietly you can hardly hear him. You take one more step. Another. Finally you’re at his side, and he flinches, but he doesn’t run away.

“You did,” you say. “And he’s safe. All of us are safe.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“We’re going to buy this stuff,” you tell him. “We’re gonna pay for it, and get in the car, and go back home, and he’ll be there. Waiting for you.”

Saeyoung shuts his eyes and takes a long, slow breath. You do it with him. He runs a shaky hand through his hair again and you give him a little nudge with your elbow. Eyes still closed, one side of his mouth twitches upward—a half-smile.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know.”

“I just feel like I owe you…”

“Me too.”

His eyes open; they’re clearer, bright and gold behind his glasses. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, and it sounds like a question.

“I love him,” you say. “So, I think I do.”

Saeyoung shakes his head; the color’s back in his cheeks now, and he grabs the cart, pushing it out of the aisle. You jog to catch up, grab onto the side just as he’d done earlier. Hold on tight.

“You love him a lot, don’t you?” he says. You can see him in your peripheral vision—his eyes are twinkling.

“More than anything in the world,” you reply.

“Me too,” he says, echoing you, and you grin. You picture the look on Saeran’s face if he could hear this conversation—the way his green eyes would soften, the way he’d get that adorable little dusting of pink over his cheeks. 

Saeyoung turns the cart abruptly, maneuvering into the next aisle with an expertise you didn’t expect—you shriek, barely holding on. He cackles.

“We need this!” he says, and you turn to see him pointing at an alarmingly large box of some sort of purple cookie you’ve never seen before.

We don’t, you almost say, but you hesitate, because what’s the harm? 

“Sure,” you say, and you toss them in the cart.

Saeyoung smiles. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. You know he’s not talking about the stupid cookies.

You beam right back at him. “I am too.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[paellaplease]

Balter: BOTW Robbie x Reader

15. balter - to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment

(Robbie x Reader)

Part I of ?

It’s day one of being assigned as an assistant to the Chief of Guardian Research, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“This is a great honour,” your research supervisor—ex-supervisor, said. They smiled at you tearily like a proud parent, fixing the collar of your shirt and patting away the non-existent dirt on your shoulders. Both of you had decided together on an outfit that was functional but boringly business casual, something that screamed ‘This job is serious and I too am seriously serious.’

“Teach,” you say, bending down to look the elderly scholar in the eye. They’ve been frantic the entire morning, packing and repacking your things, double checking your itinerary and quizzing you on random topics for the past five hours (“What is the integral of the absolute sin, x, over the interval 0 to two pi?” “Four, and how is this relevant?”) You try to smile in a way that is both calming and trustworthy. “I’m going to be alright. We’ve gone over all the possibilities together yesterday, everything from A to Z remember?”

Grabbing their cane, they picked up your suitcase, wagging their finger when you reached to take it from their smaller, wrinkly hands. “Yes, yes. But one can never be too careful.” Walking to the exit of the academy, both of you pushed open the double doors, a field of wildflowers greeting you on the other side.

A bright blue sky hung above, cloudless and empty. Your horse was grazing not too far away, ears pricking up at the sound of your approach. Before planting your foot into the stirrup, your supervisor called out your name, prompting you to turn around. Pulling their coat close to them self, they wrapped their short arms around you, enveloping you in a rare hug. “Just, keep your wits about you.”

“Why is that?”

“Doctor Robbie is a little eccentric.”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Teach.” You winked, squeezing them a little tighter. “I’ve worked with you after all.” The air shifts when you spot a cane spinning in the air, the hardwood eventually smacking painfully into your side and making you yelp.

“Stupid child,” the centenarian grins. “I wish you luck and a prosperous future.”

With the Royal Highway in your sights, your thoughts were filled with a whirlwind of excitement at the prospect of working with such a bright mind. Focusing your thesis on the newly excavated Guardian’s design and its sophisticated targeting system had spiraled into a series of meetings with the King’s scientific panel and eventually a position at a lab beyond the imaginations of both you and your Sheikah supervisor.

An hour had sped by and before you knew it, the imposing entrance to the Royal Ancient Tech Lab loomed over you like a giant’s shadow. The secure metal doors were decorated with a pattern of tumultuous swirls and waves, stretching from the edges and across the vast surface like creeping vines on a stone wall. Raising your hand to knock, you were surprised to hear the unmistakable boom of a small explosion on the other side.

Pulling down the handle, the door opened with little resistance, a black cloud of smoke filling your nostrils and making you splutter. “Anyone there?” You called out. Leaving your suitcase at the entrance, you cautiously stepped into the fray, dress shoes squeaking against the floor. Looking around, the first thing you spot are three long stone tables littered with gears and springs of various sizes. The next is the smoking carcass of half a Guardian in the corner.

You stared at the ancient machine, unable to compute.

“Over here!”

Whipping around, your eyes scanned the room.

“Ah, behind the table.” The voice said sheepishly.

Rushing towards it, you quickly vaulted over to the other side, finding a young man on the floor. You blinked, silent as he rubbed his head and groaned, readjusting the metal goggles that sat heavy above his eyes. Taking in his appearance was...overwhelming. He looked, well, rather odd for starters.

His coiffed white hair was combed back and above his forehead in a style you’ve never seen before, fanning out like a peacock’s feathers. It possessed a volume that was miraculously intact despite the blast, making you wonder if he employed some sort of chemical to keep it that way.

The Sheikah uniform that he wore was cream in colour and soot stained from the explosion earlier. You noticed that he’d made a few minor adjustments, rolling his shirt sleeves above the elbows and foregoing the usual navy inner layer completely, giving him a ridiculous V-neck that seemed to go on and on...and oh Goddesses you were staring now. How long have you been staring at him for?

Quick, your brain screamed. Say something, maybe he hasn’t noticed.

You blurted out the first thing in your mind: (well, second. The first was ‘is your hair held up by witchcraft?’ and that probably wouldn’t roll too well.) “Are you okay?”

Reaching out, you offered him a hand up, shocked when he grasped it with no hesitation. His grip was strong but not uncomfortable, and with your help he managed to stand with little trouble.

The grin that he gave in reply was infectious. “I am now, thanks to you.” He had a nice smile. In fact, now that you think about it, his voice was rather nice too. Smooth and—not the time to do this brain!

Releasing your hand, he took a step back, surveying the damage and mess around him. He cleared his throat. “Hm, apologies for the...everything that you see around you right now. I wanted to test a hypothesis regarding the activation of the Guardian’s defense mechanism even whilst inert.” Picking up a fallen gear, he polished it with the edge of his charred shirt and placed it on the table. “Evidently, I got my answer,” he laughed. “So in a way the experiment was a success.”

Oh, he’s a scientist here, you gathered. Great, maybe he could help you find your boss. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew where one of the Directors of this lab was? His name is Doctor Robbie. I’m the new research assistant.” You felt a shock of warmth threatening to creep up your neck, feeling silly at needing to ask a colleague for assistance this early in the day.

His smile widened, your blush rising to your face like mercury in a thermometer. “Know where he is? Why, of course I do.” In the blink of an eye, he stuck his hand in the air, striking a pose that was so charming and silly that you wondered if you’d inhaled too much toxic smoke earlier and was currently hallucinating on the fumes.

“You’re in luck,” he announced. “For the ‘Doctor Robbie’ you’re looking for is none other than I.”

Oh. It was no use, your embarrassment was reaching an all time high and at this point the smartest option was to stop fighting and let the blush takeover and run its course. Trying and failing to hide your shock, you don’t notice the Doctor’s pose wilt at the lack of your response.

Take a deep breath and do it again, your supervisor— ex-supervisor’s voice echoed like an angry phantom that refused to leave your head. Slowly recovering, you bowed low, the seventy degree angle pulling the muscles in your back. “Forgive me, I didn’t know.” You say your name quickly and in one breath. “Pleased to meet you.”

Straightening up, you were relieved at the lack of anger or annoyance in his face. Even with the goggles, it was easy to tell that the Doctor’s expression was relaxed, and if anything, just a tad worried. “The pleasure is all mine. You have nothing to be sorry for, and please, there’s no need to be so formal.”

“Got it. If you show me where the written reports are kept, I can start organising the data as soon as possible.”

“Hmm? Oh, we can worry about that later.” Folding his arms across his chest, Doctor Robbie gracefully spun on his heels, walking towards the Guardian head that tried to set him on fire only minutes ago. “What I need you to do is to grab a crowbar from the table and some gloves.”

“How come?”

Fearlessly knocking on the ancient machine’s temple, he moved to face you, that enigmatic smile back on his face as the gears on his goggles began to turn. “We’re going to see what makes this beauty tick.”

-

:)

[somemanyships]

Rupaul’s DragRace season 13 is almost here and I want to give my opinion on the queens based only on the promos and meet the queens. (Everything I am about to say is just my opinion and doesn’t have to be taken seriously. For no reason I want to discredit the work of any queen because all of them are fierce entertainers that have to be respected by all the public that watches the show). Normally my opinion of the queens based on the promos is not so far from what ends up happening in the show.(I want to apologize if my English is not that good, it is my second language and many times I don't know how to transmit my ideas very well).

I want to start with my top 4. Last season three of the four queens in my top ended up being the final three, only leaving Sakura out of the top. This season my top 4 are:

GottMik, Symone, Utica and Rosé.

I want to start with GottMik and Symone. From my top 4 (if I had to cut it to a top 2) they would be my front runners.

GottMik

GottMik's aesthetic in the promo stands out (which is something that almost all the winners have) she is very high couture mix with fantasy and sci-fi cinematography, his personality is interesting and somewhat enigmatic, his makeup is 100/10 the best in the promo and he is the first trans man to compete (it is important highlight the visibility of our trans brothers and sisters in the LGBT+ community).

Symone

Symone's aesthetic stands out a lot from the other participants (As Nina Bonina Brown said: Symone is serving us black girl high fashion couture). Her personality (in the promos) is one of the brightest among all personalities. With Symone it happens to me (and I don't know if it happens to you when you see someone) that I see her and it is one of those people that I immediately say: This person is a star, she was born to shine. And we also always have to remember the incredible visibility of poc in the LGBT+ community that queens like Symone bring.

Utica Queen

From Utica I also want to highlight her aesthetic (that outfit with the 3 hats gives me life). Her personality (based on the promos) is like a ray of sunshine that illuminates everyone's day. It is seen that she is an interesting and alternative queen with a very strong creative spirit. And always in all seasons these “kooky/weirdos” queens have a special place in my heart.

Rosé

I don't have much to say about Rosé, she gives me this vibe of a new york queen like Bianca Del Rio, Bob The Drag Queen and Aquaria (what I mean is that she gives me a vibe of a queen that is very talented in many areas) and her look is very blondie meets Barbie and the rockers, which is a concept that I am always here for.

Now I want to talk about the queens that are not in my top 4 for some reason but I am sure that they may surprise me and that I think they can do well in the competition, which are:

Tina Burner, Kandy Muse, Tamisha Iman, Lala Ri, Denali and Olivia Lux.

Tina Burner

Tina Burner looks like she's a talented queen, but something doesn't quite convince me. She reminds me a lot of Nina West but I don't feel that warmth and sweetness that Nina exudes. Her look is not one of my favorites (but hey, she said in the meet the queens that her taste is questionable, and I liked that). I think she's going to do very well in the snatch game and in the acting challenges, and also, she have a great personality. I hope to be surprised by Tina this season.

Kandy Muse

One of the hardest things about competing in DragRace is being part of a family that has already participated in the show. Aja (Kandy's mother) is one of the queens with a strong personality that has participated in the most recent seasons. Dahlia (kandy's sister), although she was the first eliminated, appeared in all episodes of the season. Kandy's look is very good, and although I think the judges are going to demand a lot of personality from her (comparing her to Aja) I'm sure that Kandy has personality to spare, I also think that it is very possible that she is part of the top 4 this season. The reason I didn't put her in my top is merely personal taste, normally queens who describe themselves as "loud" are not my personal liking (like Eureka or Silky). But I am sure that Kandy is going to be one of the strongest competitors this season.

Tamisha Iman

The main reason why I didn't put Tamisha in my top is her personality, and don't get me wrong, her promo attitude (a very serious and straightforward personality) I like a lot, I'm sure the narrative that the producers are going to give her it isn’t going to be very flattering. Her outfit looks like a typical pageant queen look (well executed but has nothing that stands out). And above all this, I'm sure the producers are going to put her in the bottom two with Lala Ri to give us this dramatic and heartbreaking mother vs daughter lipsync.

Lala Ri

Lala Ri (judging from the promo) looks like she has a very striking personality, which always helps a lot in the competition. Her promo look, which is a bodysuit (her signature outfit), isn't very strong. And we all know Michelle's opinion of the queens who wear too many bodysuits in the competition. As a second point, something that scares me is that Lala Ri said in meet the queens (I don't fully remember how she said it so I'm going to paraphrase): "I didn't get to this competition to leave because of hot glue" Putting that together with the fact that she said she doesn't know how to sew, gives me to understand that she is going to be eliminated in a design challenge. Another point is, like what is going to happen with Tamisha, is that the producers are going to putting her in the bottom two to give us the mother vs daughter lipsync.

Denali

Denali is one of the queens with one of the most striking and different outfit among all the competitors, which is very good. From everything that she said she seems very talented, and the fact that she is an ice skater is a skill that hardly any queen possesses. A personal point for me here (of why I support her) is her Mexican heritage (and as a queer Mexican person myself, I am proud to see a queen who can give that representation on the show). The main reason I didn't put her in my top 4 is: her personality. Her personality It doesn’t look as flashy as other queens and that always ends up eliminating talented queens who cannot steal the spotlight compared to other contestants (such as Jan in season 12 or Max in season 7).

Olivia Lux

In the case of Olivia I debated a lot if I should put her in this category or in the next category (queens that are going to be eliminated first). In the end I decided to put her in this category because (from what she said) she has a strong personality and I think that can help her a lot in the competition. Her outfit from the promo looks good (but she has nothing that makes her stand out like other queens). Her hairstyle is one of my favorites, the combination of afro with that color between mahogany and carrot, I really loved it. And that's it, I don't have much to say, I just hope Olivia surprises me this season.

And the last category in which I separate the queens is: contestants that I think are going to be eliminated first.

Kahmora Hall, Joey Jay and Elliott with 2TS.

Kahmora Hall

One of the things I always enjoy seeing on DragRace is: representation. I'm glad we have another Asian queen to join the DragRace family. The look Kahmora is using in the promo is very polished and the wig with crystals looks perfect (Did you stone that wig?). Having said that, I really don't think Kahmora will last long in the competition. Her drag daughter Soju (who was one of my favorite queens even before she entered the show) is incredible, but I think the mother is going to repeat the same situation as the daughter and be one of the first to leave. I think the main reason is that her personality can't get across the screen. When queens have trouble to transmit their personality across the screen they also tend to have the problem of not being able to transmit their personality to the judges and end up getting eliminated at first. But I hope that Kahmora manages to excel and advance in the competition. Sidebar: I am very upset that the face mask that Kahmora had planned to use had not ended up appearing in the promo because of the message it transmitted. My boyfriend is Asian and he has suffered a lot of harassment for the issue of the pandemic, where ignorant people accuse him of being the carrier of the virus. It was a very strong message that Kahmora had planned with the face mask and it should have been shown to the public.

Joey Jay

Something very strange happened to me with Joey, although she has an aesthetic that I really enjoy (very punk rock and edgy style) I feel that she does not stand out among all the queens. Her personality looks nice but also very difficult to decipher, something doesn't quite convince me with Joey. And I'm sure Michelle is going to criticize the fact that Joey doesn't normally wear wigs (even from the first episode as Michelle also criticized Crystal's makeup in season 12 or Dusty in season 10) and when Joey decides to change it she runs the risk of being eliminated in that episode (like Max in season 7 or Derrick in season 8). I don't know what it is yet, but something actually tells me that Joey is going to be one of the first eliminated contestants.

Elliott With 2TS

And finally we have Elliott. When I see Elliott’s promo I can only think of James Mansfield from season 9. His personality doesn't stand out much compared to the other queens. Elliott looks like she's nice but I don't feel like she commands attention like other participants. And the two negative points for me are: her name and her outfit. Her name just doesn't resonate in a nice way to say it (like Dax exclamation point from season 8) and her outfit, what do I say? Her outfit was the weakest of the entire promo. But I really hope Elliott can surprise me and advance in the competition.

That's it, just judging by the promo and the meet the queens this are my opinions of how the queens are going to do in the competition. But this is only the beginning, many things can change during the competition. And I want to emphasize again that this is ONLY my opinion, and should not be taken seriously in any way, all participants are talented and deserve to win just for the fact of being selected to participate. I am very excited for this new season of Rupaul's DragRace.

Gentlemen, start your engines, and may the best woman WIN!

[mimiplaysgames]

Terra Week Day 4 (Self/Meetings)

Summary: Terra meets Xemnas... this isn’t what he wanted. | Word Count: 3,153

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 4

You must meet your Self to know your wisdom

Terra sees nothing.

The heart knows what it cannot. How could I have missed that?

“What?”

His voice echoes in fades, quiet then more quiet, slipping away. 

“Who’s there?”

Not a friend.

The other voice, deep and rich like a rumble of distant thunder, makes Terra uneasy. He blinks but still, nothing there.

“Where am I?”

Why are you?

He’s watching for a flash of teeth, a giant, hungry mouth, opening wide to swallow him up. That other voice is coming from the dark. It is the dark. 

“Xehanort?”

Not quite.

“But you’re—”

A familiar face.

It’s now that Terra realizes he doesn’t have hands. He can’t feel anything. He wishes for Earthshaker over and over (and over) again, but it won’t come. 

“Show me.”

As if his hair is gripped in a bundled fist, Terra is forced to lean back to stare up at yellow eyes of his very own. Like a doll’s, plastic and smooth, as though the stranger who shares his face is nose to nose with him. Long white hair cascades over, and if Terra had cheeks, he’d feel it tickle. 

Intensity burns in those glass eyes. A list of what that could mean trickles through Terra as he keeps trying for Earthshaker: rage, desperation, exhaustion, envy. 

“You are finally here,” the voice says, moving through lips and it’s so strange because this is still Terra’s face and everything seems wrong about it. 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Terra whimpers.

The other stays stoic. “How many listless souls have unwittingly received what they’ve wished against?”

The torrent of hair comes off Terra’s (face), and the doll melts away to something more natural. This man is older, more than a head taller, with stronger cheekbones and a broader chest, primed in a neat black cloak zipped all the way to his neck. On him is an expression that is both enigmatic and cynical.

“You’re Xemnas.”

“And here I believed you to be entirely imbecilic.” 

As if shown mercy, Terra is thrusted forward, his hands slamming against glass. They are standing on stained glass, a giant station spreading far with burgundy, rust and gold. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to work, as a cold realization sweeps over him. Terra has gambled and it was a bad draw. His friends will never see him again.

“I’m still in control,” Terra mutters to himself, and somehow Xemnas hears him, chuckling. 

He’s gambled, yes, and if he’s going to continue to play the game, he has to trust where the pieces lie. 

“If I’m here,” Terra says, too weak to stand, “then you know.”

“I know I was more appreciative of the body.” Xemnas flexes his fingers and pulls on his glove. “I was the superior host, a worthy client for its possession.”

He makes it sound like it’s an auction. “You know where her Keyblade is.” Terra jabs a finger at the glass.

“You are unable to stand and summon yours,” Xemnas growls, wrapping his hands behind his back. Terra watches the movement of those wrists carefully in case he has to dodge. “In your own sanctuary, no less.”

“I am fine,” he says, more to himself. “I’m in control.”

“Did you comfort yourself with those words all these years?” Xemnas smirks, and it isn’t pleasant. “I never once encumbered myself with such worries.” 

Terra scoffs, bringing a hand onto his knee so he could bring himself up, the weight of aches anchoring onto his back like he’s been injured. For a sanctuary, he feels nothing else but pain. “It looks like now you do.”

“Conceit.” Xemnas sighed. “What a dastardly quality to burden yourself with.”

Look who’s talking. “You’re going to show me her Keyblade.”

“You were…” Xemnas pauses to choose his words. “Stupid enough to fall into a deep slumber with no failsafe to protect what you hold so dear. All that is here”—he opens his arms into a welcoming gesture and scornfully looks down upon the glass, which casts a soft glow from below and leaves his face shadowed—“is whatever you have left before it cracks out of your foolishness.” 

Terra calls for his Keyblade again. Nothing. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised after all. 

“To think,” Xemnas continues, inspecting his right hand where a red glow sparks, “the person I was molded out of…” He never finishes, striking the ground with waves of electric bursts.

Terra dodges, kicking off into a tired sprint. 

“A dullard,” Xemnas says, a blade of red light growing out of one hand. “A halfwit.” Another comes out of his left. “A cretin.” He crosses his blades in front him, forming an X, before sweeping them open. Terra throws himself onto the ground as waves of light singe his back. “How much of a simpleton can you be”—Xemnas flips forward, landing on his feet before throwing another blow—“to lack strength in your own heart?”

Terra keeps his armored arm up, taking the onslaught as gracefully as a punching bag. I’ve spent twelve years getting hit and turning the other cheek. This pales by comparison. When the chaos is done and spoken for, Xemnas waits with a searching glare, those sabers of red energy pulsing. 

“What can I say?” Terra rolls onto his back. “I’m a ninny.”

Xemnas twitches. He slices at the glass with one of his swords. A dull flash of light combusts. Terra stumbles towards the other direction, tense and tired and achy—but he nearly throws himself off the edge of the stained glass, dropping off to empty space. Xemnas is completely oblivious, stringing attack after attack in a blaze of blind fury at absolutely nothing. Stars, Terra has nowhere to hide.

Once he calms down and realizes it’s futile, Xemnas takes on a wider offense. White hot balls of electricity buzz in a dapple of places all over, charging for a massacre. Terra won’t be able to dodge this. 

But the arena of firepower is a warning, a distraction, for now. Xemnas dismisses one of his swords and builds a burst of negative energy quick enough for Terra to notice too late. It explodes like canonfire.

Stars.

With nothing else, Terra acts on a random thought. A simple, silly, childish thought of redirecting that blast. It’s the only thing that comes to mind, and his arms follow instinctively as if to wave the attack away. Terra realizes it’s dumb the split moment after, but it works. The blast changes direction, deteriorating when it falls off the ledge. He’s a lucky bastard.

But with the relief comes the punishment. Terra yells, falling onto his knees. Whatever he tapped into to redirect the attack was a black hole, sucking away and warping everything that feels familiar. Terra’s felt fear. He felt pride and a rush of primitive excitement since he’s been in (this place), but now there’s nothing except a desperation to feel something, a well that always drains, like searching for the thing that fits, like scratching an itch that never satisfies, and waiting to make it right, yearning to give it meaning, but it never happens. Terra sees reflections of blue and green like chips of glass floating upward, and he waits and waits and waits and still it never comes. He reaches but still he can’t reach, can’t cut himself on the sharp edges or get back to his friends. 

A Nobody’s power.

Xemnas has his hand daintily raised to command the next attack, but he pauses. “Since getting acquainted with you, I’ve learned that the simple-minded truly do lead more pleasant lives: peaceful mornings with the sun greeting the mountains; quiet evenings with the heavens to watch you while you embark yourself on anxious slumbers. Sleep is truly the worst of your days.”

“What are you talking about?” Terra spits, now nervous. Now terrified. At least he’s feeling again.

“You are ignorant, and that promises you bliss.

“You have one companion whom you dance with around trust. You remember the childhood you share, then you remember the betrayal you’ve dealt her. The cycle, the dance, continues for no gain, whether you opt for it or not. 

“Then you have the other whom you never take into consideration, someone who admires you and appeals to be like you. You remember how you’ve dealt him disappointment and therefore you continue to dismiss him.

“You are a fool who must recklessly lose in order to feel the state he is in. Your only true adversary is your mind. You have no real problems.”

Terra gapes. “You watch us?”

Xemnas nods once. “When I want to know what it’s like, I will find myself there.” His lips twitch. “I am yet a void, however. Now the opportunity to change that has come.”

Terra grunts and kicks off on his feet. With no weapon, all he has planned is a tackle, but he’ll make it a damn good one.

This time Xemnas shows teeth when he smiles, and Terra wonders if Eraqus heard a laugh like that when he died. Xemnas flicks his hand down. The white balls of contort into torpedos, striking Terra on his chest, on his stomach, his thighs, his head. He collapses and takes more hits to the back, shocks and stabs in a long assault of beatings and crushing reminders that he’s weak, even in his own heart. That’s why Earthshaker will not come. All he can do now is protect his face under his arms. 

“Pathetic,” Xemnas says. 

The glass underneath them shatters. Terra grabs on to a loose solder, but his weight bends it as everything else falls, turning downward as his knuckles bleach from slipping and keeping himself up on something solid. 

He chokes—a fierce grip seals his lips shut and the solder creaks until it snaps at the joint from the weight of two men, thrashing away. Terra and Xemnas toss and spin, Terra jabbing him with his elbow and Xemnas wrapping both arms in a hold that threatens to snap bones. Terra grunts and reaches for something easier—magic, magic has always been easier than the Keyblade—flexing his shoulders and ricocheting Xemnas off of him with a barrier. 

Flailing his arms as he picks up speed, Terra tries to maneuver himself to a large orange piece. It should be big enough for him to buy him time before gravity does the rest.

His fingertips graze the surface when it shatters from a foreign blast. 

Xemnas straightens himself out. It makes him look like he’s floating instead of freefalling, arms out as if summoning a seance. Stars too bright to be from heaven flash in a circle around them as they continue to drop, like beam lights exposing the most guilty person.

“Stars.” Terra readies another barrier, bringing his fists to his face for the next assault, not sure what else he can do to survive. 

You never know what kind of thoughts will hit you when you think you’ve decided to finish it. At random times.

Before he ever summoned his Keyblade, at fourteen, Terra and the Master trained in the mountains—a short retreat from the monotony at the castle, from the fights Terra’s been picking with Aqua. In a customized class just for him, the Master sought to talk about the things bothering him most about Terra’s progress. He gave Terra the stage to address his deepest worries, his deepest darkness. 

Then came the training. And the mudslide. And the cave in. 

Terra and the Master dug themselves out when they saw the chance: a light through the cracks of solid mountain. They climbed, fingers anchoring deep and taking scratches and blisters, squeezing squeezed through gaps. Earth is unrelenting and unforgiving. Terra choked on dirt, choosing each foot placement carefully as the rock behind him knuckled into his spine. 

He had looked up to find the Master just barely in front of him, with a bloody smile under that mustache. Chin up, son, Eraqus had said, toward the sunlight that marked their freedom.

On a loop, in the middle of Nowhere, when Terra thought to give up on the body that was taken from him, he’d feel strong hands on his shoulders, lifting him up.

Chin up, son.

When he wanted to cry and couldn’t.

Chin up, son.

When he watched his memories for the thousandth time and couldn’t change them.

Chin up, son.

The blasts crackle against Terra’s only little artificial barrier in the middle of (his heart). Deep as the ocean and as bright as the grass that flies in the wind, it fractures, imploding into pieces. He flies backward, vaguely aware that Xemnas is already following. 

“Please,” Terra whispers, “I only wanted to do the right thing.” In his own way, in a way that Robin Hood would take, shouldering everything and sparing his friends from all consequences, all smiles and scars and frizzy hair at the end of the day. To make ridiculous mistakes and overcalculations, to joke about the false king, to thunder sentences on loved ones and innocents, only to amend. Only to amend and bring them freedom again. Robin Hood is a real hero for his soul.

That makes his heart sing. 

Chin up, son. 

Like waking up a grumpy old man, Earthshaker finally responds, giving him a firm handshake before materializing and pulling him back up. All Terra can do for that first second is cry. He thought he was dealt a hand that ended the game. Proved he wasn’t worthy of it. 

But he is. He is worthy of it. 

His Keyblade ignites, brimming a light that reflects off falling glass and blinding Xemnas. Terra swings his Keyblade down as if to smash the ground. Earthshaker responds by shooting torpedoes, straight as arrows, pummeling into Xemnas who is shielding himself with nothing but his arms. 

They land. Xemnas hits the ground on his shoulder, bouncing before thudding. Terra lands on his feet, stumbling on one step before balancing. Underneath them is the same stained glass window as before, a mural of Terra with his Earthshaker and everything he trusts and holds dear: their Wayfinders, his friends. Shattered glass rains no more. 

Earthshaker has a thickness to it, a hearty fill that feels like being home by a hearth with the mountains cast in sunset.

“Thank you,” Terra says. 

Xemnas grumbles when he sits up. Terra prepares for another blow but Xemnas stays still, staring at the glass like a defeated and deflated puppy. 

“We are back here,” he says, his hand to his chest as if his heart is pumping too fast. Not that Nobodies have one, but questioning about it seems to be offensive to the others. “Just when I thought indulging in my rage would have made me stronger.”

That relieves Terra. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. That’s not why he’s here. 

“For years, I had believed humans to be brittle,” Xemnas continues, palming the glass as if to bend it, but it doesn’t. “Fickle and spineless, too swayed by their revolving whims. I had planned, this time, to do the same and allow myself to be carried away. Still...”

Seeing Xemnas there, alone and on his knees… Terra can’t believe he’s sympathizing with a person who has stolen everything from him. “Being human is tricky sometimes.”

“Indeed.”

“I let you monologue enough.” Terra keeps Earthshaker near as he steps towards Xemnas. “I need to find her Keyblade.”

“The heart knows what it cannot.”

“If that’s a funny way of telling me that I have to listen to my heart—”

“That is always the rule of law with Keyblade wielders. Is it not?”

Terra sighs. 

Xemnas takes a moment to study Terra with tired eyes. “Darkness is a numbing of time, a day that isn’t yours, a day you’ve lost questioning the paths you’ve chosen. The allure of it is the fact that it feels so much stronger than the companions you fight to keep.”

“Another speech,” Terra mutters to himself. “You’re a doozy.”

“Keep them by your side.”

“I’ve already learned that lesson.”

Xemnas hums, not clarifying anything but not agreeing either. “It was a pleasure to meet myself.”

“I’m not—” He shouldn’t bother. Who is he kidding. 

“Until next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Continue to take your body for granted and I will be justified in taking it back.” Xemnas smirks, and it’s sad. “What a dance that will be.”

Xemnas asks for Terra’s hand by extending his own. Terra lends it.

Terra wakes up with choked breath as if a pillow’s been plastered on his face, scaring Riku out of his chair and Naminé into dropping her notebook, loose papers fluttering down. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“I’m fine.” Terra rubs his eyes. A white room.

“There was a point where you struggled to breath,” Riku says, leaning over the recliner. “Then you twitched and snored. Nothing else happened really.”

A white room at the end of a hall.

“I need to get to Aqua,” Terra says.

Riku holds him up by the shoulder when Terra stumbles, weak at the knees. 

Naminé gathers her papers into a stack. “I really should break whatever links you’ve made now.” She hugs them close. “Before they start to affect you.”

“I don’t have time.” He pulls from Riku’s grip.

“But that was weird. I don’t understand what happened.”

Terra stops, eyeballing the paper trembling in her hands. Crayons have spilled over the floor. “Can I see?”

On the top of her stack is a crude and rushed figure in black, the color running over the blue underneath as though she started with a different person and couldn’t help herself but cover it up with the truth. Long hair colored in gray reaches the shoulders and smudges the black, all enclosed in a large red circle. 

“Is that supposed to be Xemnas?” Riku asks.

“I don’t know what he looks like,” Naminé says, rolling her lips in. “I only met him once and he had his hood up.”

“It is,” Terra says. 

Riku lets that sink in. “Xemnas is with you?”

Terra holds his hand to his heart. Its beat is elevated with a sense of urgency and fright. Just his rhythm and no one else’s. “He’s Nowhere.”

“Huh. He gave Sora a really hard time.” Riku shakes his head, patting Terra on the back. “Congrats. You’ll probably be dealing with him for a bit, but from my experience, it gets easier every time.” 

Terra doesn’t know if that should make him sick. He feels nauseous already. He’s lost—nothing taught him the layout of the castle and he won’t be able to find himself back at the entrance. “I need help finding Aqua. She’s with Ienzo.”

Naminé sets the stack down, and hands him the only drawing she made for him. Xemnas in a circle of fiery light, carefully drawn so as not to break the line. “I know where he’d take her.”

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xxix. Beauty and Her Beast

@the-pompous-potato​ awwww, your enthusiasm for this story always brightens my day! I am just glowing, feeling so accomplished that I pulled off the big twist, and you enjoyed it so much! ^__^

@bubblesthemonsterartist it made me so excited that you appreciated the sitting in silence! that’s long been one of my favorite scenes for this story, that they’re just...despondent. but together still.

A/N: Once Izana started getting strategic, it required me to check my geography, so I had to make a retroactive edit to the war as described in chapter ii (The Bright Star): Sereg is too far north for the invaders to have bothered; they actually went from Laxdo to the sea port town.

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

Loss is a strand snapped in a web.

A single break leaves some threads sagging, while others buckle and threaten to snap under the strain.

Zen’s death left nothing untouched. Nothing was immune to it; no one in the castle emerged unscathed.

Those closest to Zen reflected the impact most.

In Mitsuhide’s case, it aged him: He became like a man at the end of his life, facing the days to come with no purpose and no motivation. 

In Kiki’s case, it flawed her like a crack in the mirror: She was damaged, but still functioning.

...

As for Izana, it would have been only natural for him to lash out in the wake of his brother’s death. Perhaps he had chosen to take out his anger on those closest to Zen who had failed to protect him, even as Izana himself felt that he had failed to protect him. 

Alternatively, he might have adopted his lost brother’s projects and dreams, taking up Zen’s mantle of adopting and nurturing these unusual souls, rejected from their native soil and adrift in unfamiliar lands. 

It possibly hadn’t involved the most comfortable means for those involved, but that would be understandable, too: It might be explained by shadowy necessities of political intrigue, or by the strained quality of Izana’s personal dealings with those involved, which might have made them wary of accepting direct overtures.

One might even account for it by a quirk of Izana’s character that rendered him enigmatic even in situations where it might perhaps have been unnecessary to be so.

Such a response would have befitted the noble spirit of a prince: to succor these loyal friends and companions in his brother’s place, artfully bringing about the fulfillment of their dreams and happiness.

...

Izana was not so sentimental that he ordered his actions according to his own feelings, however.

...

A prince could not afford to yield to the temptations of sopping a sore heart with posthumous reparations, ultimately meaningless actions in that the intended object of their effects was past any benefit he might have received from them. 

Let the private individual indulge in symbolic expressions of grief -- Izana’s royal duties demanded focus, strategy, efficiency. 

He acted as he did because political events required it: His kingdom and his people had been compromised, and he must eliminate all future possibilities of that threat’s reoccurring.

...

Izana accordingly bent all the powers of his exceptional mind to the task: observing, weighing, analyzing, pinpointing his enemies’ weaknesses and evaluating their strengths. 

The invaders had crossed into Clarines from a state little known to him or his allies. 

There were no formal agreements or treaties between Clarines and its northeastern neighbor, yet all reports indicated it to be a stable, prosperous regime. If not friendly to outsiders, nor has it shown itself militant in the past.

The attackers had used that land, but they did not belong to it.

Their rapid disintegration in the wake of defeat suggested that their forces contained a high proportion of mercenaries, warriors with no allegiance besides their own purses. They cared nothing for their master’s fate, so long as he was alive--and solvent--long enough to honor their contracts.

They would not catch Clarines off-guard again, because Izana would end them before they had another chance.

...

It was the peculiar burden of a prince to blend caution with courage. 

Izana had personally cultivated and honed the presence of mind that detects danger, navigates threats, always balancing on a knife’s edge between sheltering himself - a protection that became a prison when it robbed you of your people’s respect - and exposing himself needlessly to enemy plots. 

Izana had perfected this balancing act.

He passed it on to Zen both in word and deed: by his own example, by repeated reminders, and by exercises that he had personally arranged for his brother when the situation called for intervention.

...

Izana had cautioned Zen, but he had allowed his brother to take risks nonetheless. 

He had watched but he had not forbidden as Zen chose to surround himself with those who could not protect and advance his interests, as Kiki Seiran and Mitsuhide Lowen could. Zen’s unusual companions put him at risk: through their questionable identities, their awkward, outsider roles in court, their murky backgrounds and fraught connections.

Zen had an impetuous and warmhearted nature - double-edged virtues.

Izana had overseen these proclivities run their course through his brother’s childhood. He had presided over them with the distant attention of a hawk that perceives more completely and in finer detail than a dim-eyed neighbor of greater proximity.

...

Izana had allowed that freedom because a young tree needs space to grow and stretch its branches, even in unexpected directions - too tight a space and it will languish, no matter how ornately or healthfully prepared. 

He had given Zen the freedom that his brother needed to flourish.

Their enemies had taken advantage.

...

Like a summer house that throws open its doors to the fresh air and graces its guests with the fragrance of sun and flower...yet the morning wakes to find the sanctuary scarred. 

Rats have crept in during the night.

In an unguarded moment, they had crawled into starlit spaces and wreaked irreparable damage. 

Their foul bodies made their mark on a place not unloved, not unworthy, but vulnerable in its beauty. Their grasping claws have shredded the paper-thin walls that showed no imperfection, only the fragility of grace and nobility. 

They were not worthy to look on its beauty, yet they have destroyed it.

...

After their defeat in pitched battle, the attackers melted away as swiftly as they had appeared. Victory had eluded them, but they in turn had evaded the just desserts of the vanquished.

That was unacceptable.

There was the threat of a renewed attack. The routed army might reform and strike again, emboldened by its prior successes and near victories.

There is also this: His brother is dead.

...

For a man with little in the way of permitted attachments, Zen was the closest someone could be to Izana--and the single person he felt most responsible for. He had owed it to Zen as a brother to care for him, and he had owed it to his country as a ruler to help Zen become great.

Izana can’t resent the sacrifice that Clarines demanded--that would require an internal civil war, an evisceration of the identity he has cultivated since his first breath. 

Clarines is not to blame.

It was the invaders, the vermin who had infested their kingdom, who would answer. 

They had slithered into a deep hole, that much he and Kiki had ascertained on their journey north. It would require a particularly cleverly fashioned instrument to ferret them out. 

Then he would end them: ultimate, complete annihilation, so that even the memory of them died from the earth.

...

For Izana, losing Zen lit the fuse on a bundle of dynamite.

Outwardly, there is little sign except for the hint of something burning. The spark is tiny and travels quickly. 

If those nearby aren’t paying attention, they could easily continue oblivious to time running out, fearless in the face of impending destruction.

...

“Summon Lord Haruka. I have need of him.”

[lady-of-endless]

“Tonight’s Weather Forecast” (Jonathan Joestar x Robert E. O. Speedwagon)

Author’s Note: Fluff. I know it's not great but it's more of a practice to see if I should get back into writing. It might have too many words for a drabble but it feels like one. Thank you for your time and sorry to disappoint.

...

Even sunny weather can change in the blink of an eye. Exactly like one's fate and nature. Maybe you're as quiet as a snowing winter night usually, but if something unexpected happens, suddenly you can get as loud as a brief storm in the middle of a summer day. The weather forecast can be wrong from time to time, just like this evening in which it was not supposed to rain.

The wind was blowing in constantly with tenacity, playing with the long coats Jonathan and Robert were wearing.

"Now I see why you joined the sport's club in college days!" Robert's chest was filled with his hearty laughter, crinkling his eyes as he watched Jonathan who was running after a hat, still maintaining his straight posture.

He and Jonathan were searching for a temporary shelter from the rain when the wind sent Robert's hat rolling away from him on the wet pavement. Galloping onward and finally catching it, Jonathan chuckled because of the brief incident.

Before giving Robert his hat back, he first studied the item for any dirt stains.

"Saving the situation really is in your blood." Robert thanked, retrieving his hat and putting it right back on his head.

Jonathan watched him closely, being allured by Speedwagon's smile when he adjusted his hat with his thumb and looked back at him with warm eyes.

"Anyone would have done it and you know that." The Joestar replied sincerely but still flustered from the previous words.

They intertwined their arms for stability and maybe more as they hurried through the rain towards a yellow warm light that seemed to come from an inn. Two men, a tall one and a shorter one, both with pointed leather shoes were running and huffing on a dark and silent British street in the rain.

To their joy, the light was indeed coming from a cozy-looking inn. The first thing that they both noticed after stepping inside was that the place was oddly peaceful, lacking in guests. This detail was shrugged off easily as the rain got more persistent. After choosing an isolated table and sitting down, Robert took off his damp coat and straightened his wool vest. Jonathan did the same while wondering how even when Robert was a thug he was still dressed elegantly like that. After some minutes wasted on insisting and arguing over whose turn is to pay the drinks, both wanting to, their table was occupied with filled glasses.

This was their usual plan. After a demanding training with Will Zeppeli, all three men would go for a fine glass of wine, terrible mockeries and call it a day. William would often begin a story about the type of wine they were drinking as Jonathan listened carefully and Robert joked about the show off nature of the whole act. Tonight, however, the mentor decided to rest earlier and not join the younger.

Taking off his hat, Robert realized that the annoying weather paired up with his stubbornness to wear that headpiece ruined his image. His hair was a fuzzy mess and he knew it, but it was not what it bothered him. It was how his posture always seemed to be drooping slightly towards Jonathan when staying next to him, enjoying something to drink at night. They could both handle their liquor. Even if their cheeks were rather rosy, it was usually not because of the alcohol.

The ex-leader of the Ogre Street gang would always listen to Jonathan's stories from the frantic Joestar mansion and active college life. In all of those stories, Robert always found a motivated and kind soul. On the other hand, however, reaching the stories that belonged to Robert when he was in that fearful gang was difficult for Jonathan. Being remorseful or melancholic about that past was not a part of Speedwagon's morals but how could he not surrender to those deep ocean eyes that were searching for him?

"Jonathan, dear lord, call me Robert. Just Robert. It's been too long." The blonde would sometimes interfere and correct the other man chuckling. Robert never minded reminding Jonathan about their bond.

"Fine, Robert." Jonathan spelled his name smiling softly, head tilting slightly. "What about your scar?"

Jonathan's worried eyes studied the jagged line across the left cheek of his partner. He could not leave the sight of his face without looking at those candid but somehow weary dark brown eyes.

Robert cleared his throat and looked at the empty glass from in front of him.

"We should get another, right Mister Joestar?" His shoulders always made tiny movements when he talked and his eyebrows were always expressive.

"Call me Jonathan." The young Joestar imitated Robert's words with a quick grin.

Asking so straight forward about such a personal detail was not a characteristic of the gentleman attitude that Jonathan wanted to present. His feelings always pulled him back to his inclinations and sincere way of interacting.

It was not that Jonathan asked for those stories out of etiquette or for the sake of small talk. What he was wishing to hear tonight was how Robert got that one striking scar. However, Speedwagon always seemed to avoid that enigmatic part and some other stories.

Both of them dropped any possible response because of one swift eye contact. Robert did not want to surrender this time but his heart signaled that he has to.

"I was not like this before." He began with a gentle curve on his lips that rapidly faded away. "I got it from the first victim of my acts of thievery. It was the first contact with that gang that took me in shortly after."

Jonathan took a deep breath in, feeling the weight of that memory Robert started. Growing up in a manor was sometimes a hassle but it was clearly not to be compared with life in the worst slums no one could ever imagine. It was something so unknown and distant to him.

"It was a nobleman, like you. He tried to fight back wanting to end me, and I sure did deserve such fate." Robert sighed deeply before raising his glass to his lips. "He died after that, because of me."

As Robert's story went on, his fingers were ever so slightly brushing the borders of the hat placed on the table. That one was nothing like the bowler hat with a built-in sharp saw he had back then. He remembered how he used that old deceiving hat to attack Jonathan as well in the winter night he first met him. Immediately after learning how Jonathan Joestar was living, caring for others, and having enough kindness for everyone, Robert threw away that damned weapon with no regret.

Jonathan could remember how some of his friends and colleagues got into risky problems with the Ogre Street gang. He even often found warnings in the newspaper. However, he could never judge anyone without assuring first.

Speedwagon was indeed a notorious name floating through the grimy and drunken streets of London at night. It was where he grew up and where he got used to hating aristocracy.

Why? Just because he had only seen the bad in those individuals of the upper class?

Betrayed, backstabbed, hustled, Robert was left with a hope to find the place or the right people to be surrounded by trust and loyalty. He was ready to give the same things in return even more than he would ever receive but never had the chance. Those profound wishes were out of reach there in that vicious band under his leadership.

As his name and reputation flew higher in the band, his shadow got bigger and when he realized that he was looking for trust and loyalty in the wrong place, it was too late for him. No exit from that wicked place, no break from the same ruthless routines.

Many times, silently, Speedwagon carried immeasurable guilt in his chest when looking at Jonathan. The example of a true gentleman with pure intentions was always walking in front of him with his back straight. Someone who he could only dream of having close.

Jonathan was born with the naive morality that saved Robert and many others. His rudimental manners, his warm but stern tone, noble spirit, were discovered later. Bravery and honor contained in a gentle heart. Robert smiled at Jonathan and then looked down at his hands. His smile faded away after seeing his old disgraceful scars marking his palms. How could Jonathan trust the hoodlum, knowing about his vicious life? He wanted to trust Robert, and so he did in time.

The ambition Speedwagon has for changing himself is burning so fiercely inside that fumes are always coming out in the form of thoughtful acts.

"You are a righteous man, you always were." Jonathan concluded, covering Robert's scarred palm and putting a hand over his prominent knuckles. "No matter what stories you share with me or keep to yourself. You might sense the bad in people but I can sense the good in them and search for it." Talking about himself was not something he liked but in this case, it was just to prove his statement.

Hating to leave some things unsaid, Jonathan forced himself not to add that Robert was a good man in the wrong place. He knew it would not help. Robert parted his lips upon hearing those words and his eyes could not hide the shock anymore. Eyes in which there was always a concern that could not be seen in the eyes of an enemy.

"I am deeply sorry to let my dreary words bore you but I admire you, more than I expected to." The blonde looked in Jonathan's sky blue eyes as droplets were hitting the window behind him creating a blurry curtain of rainwater. Inside was humid and still too warm. Robert's hair dried up and it looked softer than usual.

Speedwagon was lucky and he knew it, even if his heart was drowning in remorse. Anyone from that gang could be saved so why it had to be him? Instead of asking the moon why over and over again, he decided to start searching a way to cherish this chance of changing.

As much as he wanted to be subtle and build in silence, everything was visible to Jonathan.

"It was impossible not to notice how yesterday you spent more time in the library." Jonathan changed the subject, putting a hand over his star birthmark. A habit of his. Robert was lucky enough to catch a glimpse at that birthmark when Jonathan was training and since then, he kept on thinking about it.

"Ah, please excuse me, it seems that I got carried away." The instant apology was rushed but meaningful as always.

"There must have been something of great interest if it has been able to keep you there for so long." Jonathan Joestar has again clung to his manners and did not ask directly despite the gleam of curiosity from his eyes.

Time could be stopped there and then when they got closer to each other than before. The bar was getting ready for the closing hour and both of the men forgot that they carried a watch. Robert knew how there was a reason why he was enjoying such a night alone with Jonathan and why he met someone like him during such times. He just wanted to honor this chance and the bond between them properly.

"I might have one long term project in mind." He explained trying to hide a playful smile.

The idea behind that project made Speedwagon finally smile again with pure ambition, giving him wings of fulfillment. The sight made Jonathan blush and shift in his seat.

The Joestar stopped his meddling questions and resigned to admire the change of spirit. That one grand objective, was the beginning of a longer story that would help the Joestar family through generations, just how he wished, the Speedwagon will.

"Then, I cannot wait to know more about it, if I have the chance!" Jonathan's voice was full of joy and affection. "I will always believe in you."

Outside it stopped pouring, the clouds disappeared in order to let stars gleam on the night sky. The air was once again crisp and cold. Robert and Jonathan smiled at each other once more before deciding to leave their table and get a kick out of the weather from outside.

Just like the weather, people can always change.

[risingfire17-the-weeb-trash]

The Ones Who Walk Away- Ch 1-Sunday School Shenanigans

Prologue to a YooSeven fic I’m working on. Premise is they met as kids but didn’t remember at first when they meet again as teens. They become best friends who both want something more but Seven’s not going to let the mess he’s caught up in hurt his precious cinnamon roll! Prologue depicts their first meeting, when they are 10 and 11. YooSeven fluff!

~

The first time I met Seven, I was ten years old. He looked about my age, but the similarities ended there. He hopped over the fence of the church play yard and landed right in front of me. I had been shocked, like any normal child would have, but he had just flashed me an excited grin that lit up the golden eyes under his over-sized glasses and slapped his palm over my mouth.

“Shh, I’m playing hide-and seek! Don’t get me caught, kay?” When I could only give him a stunned nod, he smiled even wider and led me into the bushes below the brick wall leading to the main church, the hand that had covered my mouth now holding mine.

I hadn’t played in bushes like this in a long time, and the fact that I was now doing so in my Sunday best with boy I just met…it seemed like it should be bad, but I was excited. I started to giggle. The boy covered my mouth again.

“We have to be quiet, remember? Or we lose!” His face so close to mine and his voice a giddy whisper made me feel excited, like I was part of something cool. I looked into his dancing golden eyes and nodded enthusiastically.

“Good boy.” He returned my smile with one of his own as he ruffled my hair. His praise made me want to do whatever he asked, even if it meant messing up the hair my cousin Rika had spent so long slicking down for church.

“I’m gonna check if the coast is clear.” He slowly poked his head out of the bush and looked in the direction of the main church, and I followed suit. The priest was talking to a group of elderly church members. Rika was talking to a group of church ladies, probably about the upcoming bake sale they had been talking about all month. Two huge men in black suits and sunglasses were approaching Rika’s group. I had never seen them before, but they looked so cool, like something out of a spy movie! I was going to ask my new friend if he wanted to go meet them, but he grabbed my hand and yanked me in the other direction, toward the gate at the back of the church yard. I caught him muttering “she should take care of it.”

I pulled on his hand still gripping mine as we reached the gate. “We’re not supposed to go outside! And besides, the gate is locked, and kids don’t know the code!”

“It’ll be fine, trust me!” he said with a wink. As he said, the gate was unlocked! He hadn’t even put in a code! He slipped out and started to close the gate behind him. “Thanks, that was fun!” Wait. This boy was leaving? Just like that? I was possessed with the need to talk to this enigmatic boy some more, to understand just what had happened!

“Wait! Where are you going? I shoved myself into the gate to stop him closing it and grabbed his wrist. For the first time, he looked shocked. He yanked his arm back so hard I lost my grip, but not before I’d been forced through the gate, which closed behind me. I was outside! How much trouble would I get in?

He looked through the gate, past the empty play yard where adults were starting to file into the main church. He looked back at me with a playful smirk and held out his hand. “Wanna find out?”

~

As we half skipped, half jogged through the streets behind the church, he a pace ahead of me with my hand firmly in his, I stared at his back and wondered just how I had ended up here with someone like him. Like I said, he looked about my age, but other than that, he was nothing like me.

I was a good child, I guess. I studied hard. In fact, I had the best grades in my class. I didn’t boast though. I actually barely talked to anyone. It’s not that I didn’t care for people. I just wasn’t very good at talking to them. So I stuck to studying. Rika had started bringing me to church with her sometimes, hoping I would talk to some of the other kids there. But instead I hid by myself in the play yard until church started, and when the other kids took it over after church, I silently followed Rika until we left. I guess I was a pretty shy child.

I think the other kids thought I didn’t talk to them because I was mean. At least, that’s what they said when they whispered about me. I was too scared to even correct them, so I just let them say it and hid away by myself.

This boy was completely different. Everything about him seemed to glow like he was born to be admired. It wasn’t just the bright red curls or the twinkling golden eyes, though those certainly drew the eye. It was his entire demeanor. The way he stood tall, the light and carefree way he ran, the way he so calmly jumped that fence into my life and pulled me into this game of his. His strong hand that boldly led me through the streets. The way, every time he turned to check on me, his eyes danced like his feet, and his lips curled into a reassuring smirk, like nothing could possibly go wrong in his game. This boy was 100% different from me, brimming with a confidence that I could just not get enough of.

When we finally slowed to a walk, I no longer knew where we were, and my stomach started to tighten a bit. But I reminded myself that my new friend knew what he was doing. Wait. Was he a friend? I didn’t even know his name. Well, I guess it was time to start making a friend.

“What’s your name?”

“Three guesses.”

“Huh”

The boy turned to me, brushing his red curls out of his eyes which now danced with the mirth of a new game. “Three chances to guess my name. Isn’t it fun!”

“And if I don’t get it in three guesses you won’t tell me?”

“Yep!”

“But that’s impossible! That’s not fair!” I may have started to whine a bit, and I swear his smirk softened just a little.

“All right, fine. I’ll give you a hint. It’s in the Bible. Hope you paid attention in Sunday school!” He giggled, and I wondered if it was because I was currently skipping Sunday school.

“There’s a lot of names in the Bible.” I pouted.

“So?”

“Ugh, Old or New Testament?”

“Old.”

“All right…um…Noah?” He looked like the kind of person who would want to be on a boat with an entire zoo.

“Nope! Strike one!” he shouted gleefully. “Two more!”

“Ummmm…” I wracked my brain for a Bible name common among Korean parents. “Um, David?”

“Nope! Strike two! One more!”

I was starting to get really nervous, like the way I did on a test when I didn’t know the answer. I was starting to sweat. He may have noticed and took pity on me, because he gave me another hint. “It’s like the least common name in the Bible, oh and in church they probably told you he’s a bad guy!”

“A bad guy? I know! Jezebel!”

He stared at me for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. “Jezebel’s a woman, silly! Strike three!”

My heart sank and tears threatened my eyes. I had always been a crybaby. But before they could come out, the redhead grabbed my hand again and pulled me toward what looked like a corner store. “Ah, here! Let’s get some snacks!” He pulled some coins from his pocket and forced them into my hand. “Go inside and get us a bag of Honey Buddha Chips!”

“What’s that?”

“Only the best snack known to mankind! I’ve been saving forever for them!”

“Wait. Why aren’t you going in with me?”

“It’s a secret!” He patted my head with his strong hand, and I felt warm inside despite my hesitation. “Don’t worry, I won’t run off while you’re in there! Promise!” He took my hand and wrapped his pinky finger around mine as he flashed me one of those smiles that I was learning would probably get me to do anything.

“O-okay.”

 ~

As I followed this boy to wherever we were going next, we passed the bag of Honey Buddha Chips between us. He was right; these chips were amazing! My parents didn’t let me eat food like that; they said it was bad for me. I did well enough in science to know that they were right, but that didn’t stop me from deciding they were more than welcome in my life! I looked at this strange boy who had jumped the fence to my church in a faded hoodie, tattered jeans, and oversized glasses and convinced me to skip Sunday school and concluded my parents would probably say he’s bad for me too. My stomach tingled with excitement as I decided he was as welcome in my life as those chips.

I noticed he was barely eating, which was odd, seeing how excited he had been for them in the first place. I decided to ask him why.

“Ah…I want to save some!”

“For what?”

His face lit up with one of his huge goofy smiles. “To remember our trip by, of course!”

“What’s the point if they go bad, though?”

“Ummmm…” For once, this strangely confident boy didn’t seem to know what to say.

“Isn’t it better to eat them together before they go bad?”

He stopped and patted my head again. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I’m happy to eat these with you; really I am, but there’s someone else I want to share them with too.”

“Wow! Why didn’t you just tell me? Who is it?”

His toothy grin was back. “Well…it’s my mommy!”

In that moment, I decided this boy couldn’t be too much different from me. He wanted to make his mom happy just like I wanted to do for mine! I was now finding this boy to be really…sweet. Of course I wasn’t going to say that. I wasn’t great at talking to people, but I knew that wasn���t something kids said to each other! Instead I just laughed and told him I hoped his mom like them as much as I did.

He smiled a much softer smile than his previous ones, and it somehow looked even nicer than the others. When he caught me staring up at him, he took my hand again and pulled me around the corner. His face lit up as he pointed to our destination: a park at the end of the road. He started running again, and, my hand still in his, I followed him.

~

We ran around the playground having the time of our lives until we collapsed exhaustedly on the grass. We lay side by side, on our backs, naming the clouds in the sky for common objects and animals. After he found one that looked like a cross, I asked him if he went to church.

“Nah, too much sitting still for me!”

“Then why did you come to my church today?”

“I told you; I was playing hide-and-seek!”

“What happened to the people you were playing with?”

“They…they gave up and went home because I was too good!”

“You mean…you left them? But…wouldn’t they miss you?” I took my eyes from the sky to fix him with a stare that was supposed to be scolding but probably just looked sad. Because if he would ditch the friends he was playing tag with, wouldn’t he ditch me too?

“Nah, they were being mean to me! That’s why I wanted to hide! They weren’t nice like you are!”

I could feel my face grow hot at his compliment. I loved compliments, but I never knew how to respond to them. Instead, I just asked him, “who would be mean to you?”

He flashed me a grin, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. “That’s a secret!” He sure did have a lot of secrets. But at least he told me when he didn’t want to tell me something, instead of just lying about it.

Then he sat up and held out his hand, which I took before even asking him where we were going. I didn’t have to though, because he told me “it’s time to get you back to church before anyone notices you’re gone!”

~

 As I followed him, trusting him to know the way back to my church because I sure didn’t, I tried to wrap my mind around this enigma of a boy. He didn’t go to church, but he had somehow known that the gate that was always locked would be unlocked. He hid from someone just to take a complete stranger to play with him. He’d rather send someone to buy the chips who knew nothing about them than go in himself. He was so calm and confident, loud and carefree, but it seemed almost like he was…hiding from someone? Had he gotten in trouble?

Maybe. He seemed like the type who would get into mischief. Nothing too bad. Maybe a prank gone too far? Or a game that went out of control?

Still, he was a kind boy with a smile that could calm any fear. He seemed not to have much, but he shared what he did have. And if he got someone in trouble, he helped them get out of it. So hence him leading me back to church. This boy was an enigma, for sure, but…I wanted to trust him. I wanted to be his friend.

So when we approached the church, its parishioners still packed inside but communion bells telling they wouldn’t be for long, and the redhead started to walk back the way they had come, I ran after him and grabbed his wrist. He yanked again, this time yanking me into him. He caught me by the shoulders and steadied me before I fell.

“What are you doing?”

“My name is Yoosung! Yoosung Kim! I want to be your friend!” I held out my hand for him to shake. He gave me another one of those soft smiles, but this one looked sad. He shook my hand and then turned away again. Or at least tried to, because I grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Wait!” He turned toward me again. “What’s your name?”

He paused, opened his mouth and then closed it. He grinned, but it didn’t look as happy as the ones before. “Aw, come on, you lost our guessing game, remember? No freebies!”

My voice cracked as I asked, “but how can we be friends if you won’t tell me your name?! This whole time…did you not think of us as friends?” I hung my head so he couldn’t see my tears. My hand started to fall from his hoodie.

Then he slipped his fingers under my chin and propped me up to look at him. I thought he was going to make fun of me, or yell at me, or anything but what he did. He leaned forward, and…touched his mouth to mine.

My body suddenly felt way too warm with the knowledge that what was happening was not supposed to happen. Well, no one had told me that, per se, but it was one of those things everyone knew. Children’s kisses were for the cheeks of mommies and aunties and grannies, oh and little babies. Children didn’t kiss each other on the mouth like that. And this was another boy too! That had to be worse!

But all I could think was how happy I was that this boy didn’t seem to hate me. And how light and fluffy I felt on the inside when he was that close to me. And how I wanted to see him again.

When he pulled away, I stood flush-faced and wide-eyed, unable to take my eyes off him. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you my name. It really is a secret. But I like you, okay? So please don’t cry.” He smoothed my hair into place, his touch and his smile so gentle I couldn’t argue.

The bells were ringing again. Church was out. I had to get back now. He gave me a gentle push toward the church.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“I hope so.” This time he gave me no chance to stop him again as he turned and ran away, leaving the ghost of his warmth on my body, a ghost that would haunt me for a long time.

~

When Miss Eun told Rika I had not been in Sunday school, stealing glares at me as I hid behind my cousin, I fully expected a public lecture. I did not expect for Rika to apologize profusely for forgetting to tell Miss Eun that I was working on a special project for the bake sale and that I wouldn’t be attending Sunday school today. She was lying and I knew it, and going by the scowl on Miss Eun’s face, she didn’t believe it either. But to his relief, she let the issue fall.

Soon after, Rika announced that it was time for her to return me to my parents’ house. As soon as we were in her car, she asked where I’d been. And I couldn’t lie to her. Not to Rika. She was probably the most important person to me other than my parents. She listened to me when I cried, comforted me and told me it was okay to take things at me own pace, and gave me a world through volunteering where even I could make people smile. I couldn’t repay her with lies.

I admitted to meeting that strange red-haired boy who jumped the fence and took me out to play, that strange boy who smiled and played games and shared food but would not say his name. How he had pulled me into a game of hide-and-seek, how he had somehow made the gate open! I left out only the kiss, because that felt too…strange to tell anyone. It wasn’t exactly lying, but it wasn’t telling the whole truth either. My stomach was twisting. If this was what a secret felt like, how could that boy hold so many?

Rika listened while I told her the whole story. When I was done, she sighed and said “Oh, Yoosung. I didn’t think you would lie to me like that.”

I panicked. Did she somehow know about the kiss? How? She should have been in church at the time! But then, I should have too. I hung my head.

“Yoosung, I know you’re afraid to talk to other children, but if it’s so bad you felt like you had to skip Sunday school, you should have told me, not hide and then lie to me about it!”

Wait. Rika…didn’t believe me? But she knows I would never lie to her! But my stomach started to twist again, and I wondered if that was really true. But I wasn’t making this up!

“Yoosung, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yes, Rika! And I’m telling you, there really was a boy!” She stopped the car and looked at me with hardened eyes I had never seen on her before. She spoke in a harsh voice, so unlike her:

“That boy does not exist.”

She started driving again and her voice returned to normal. “Yoosung, it’s not healthy at your age to have imaginary friends. If you can’t talk to other kids, then please talk to me. Please? I promise; you can tell me anything.”

I knew there was no point arguing with her anymore, even if I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Yes, Rika. I’m sorry.”

Rika kissed my forehead and promised she wouldn’t tell my parents about today as long as I forgot about my imaginary friends and worked on making real ones. We never talked about that day again. And she didn’t take me to her church again for a very long time, even when I asked.

I did work hard on making friends. By the time I was finishing middle school, I wasn’t the most popular kid, but I had classmates I got along well with. It took a long time, but I finally buried the memory of that mysterious red-haired boy, and with it, a lot of confusing thoughts.

[anthropologicalhands]

ceg fic: miss do it right

title: miss do it right gift for: @clemdhoffryn for @crazyexvalentine word count: 4,885 summary: Valencia is ready to propose to Beth. The question, however, of when and where requires expert advice. Valencia & Heather, Beth/Valencia. notes: Happy Valentine’s Day!

~

“I need your help,” Valencia announces, breezing into Heather and Hector’s foyer, straight into the living room and perching on the arm of the couch adjacent to Heather’s current seat. “Also you really need to get a gardener—that trellis is leaning over.”

“Hector’s getting around to it,” says Heather, looking up from her magazine. “Hi, welcome back to West Coast, Best Coast or whatever. Didn’t I tell you to start texting if you were gonna come over?”

“I told you I was planning a wedding this weekend,” Valencia says archly, as if the mere statement of fact automatically absolves her of visitor’s etiquette. “Remember? In the group chat?”

“Oh, I remember. I just kind of generally assumed it was in New York. Since you do, you know, live there.”

Valencia pouts. “Come on, aren’t we hashtag gurlgroup4evah? Physical walls are meaningless. And I totally gave you a key to my place. You could do the same exact same thing to me and I wouldn’t mind.”

“That argument worked when you were in East Cameron, not East Coast. When am I ever gonna go to New York?”

“For me, obviously,” says Valencia. “Or for a Home Base conference, I guess.”

“They’re a West Coast chain.”

“So? Weren’t you planning on revolutionizing their corporate headquarters, or something?”

“I was, but that’s like, halfway through my five-year plan that I’m going to start next year.”

“Oh. Are you really not happy to see me?” asks Valencia, and she sounds just a tiny bit deflated, like she’s actually worried that that’s the case. Heather drops her magazine on the side table (occasionally, she marvels at how adulthood came upon her so fast—these have mermaid feet, irony unintended, that make her ridiculously happy).

“I’m happy to see you, Vee, can’t you tell?”

Valencia narrows her eyes. “Usually you’re happier.”

“You literally just walked in when I wasn’t expecting you for three weeks. Let me have a reaction time. And given your stance on Hector is lukewarm at best I’m still surprised to see you here.”

“I follow Hector on Instagram, and I happen to know that he has a surfing competition in Monterey this weekend,” says Valencia knowingly. “And I definitely know that you are always down for adventures, especially if there is just the right amount of drama.” Valencia wiggles her shoulders for emphasis.

Heather leans forward, studying her friend. There’s something surprisingly spiky and Rebecca-like about her energy –not out of whack, not in a bad way, but it’s there.

“Everything all right, Vee?” Heather asks. “You’re weirdly hyped up. Are you on a Guatemalan coffee kick again?”

“Please, you know I’m on a kombucha cleanse right now.”

“Kombucha can do all this?” Heather gestures up and down Valencia, like her “this” is the new “it” and she’s Clara Bow. 

(Heather took a film class for like, three weeks in freshman year before she dropped it for being insanely pretentious.)

Annoyed, Valencia swats Heather’s hand away—all right, she’s not too far gone.

Valencia gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “No, it’s not the kombucha. It’s something way more important.”

There is a very meaningful pause; Heather waits, unsure whether it is done out of Valencia’s natural sense of making an entrance or for Heather’s benefit is a sincere question.

“I’m going to ask Beth to marry me.”

“Oh,” Heather blinks. “Wow.”

It’s not an unexpected announcement and given with Valencia’s usual careless confidence. But there is trepidation there, if one knows how to look for it.

“Does it seem weird? Tell me if it’s weird.”

“Uh, not weird, no,” says Heather carefully. “But given what happened a few months ago, I have to ask…”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking about it,” says Valencia irritably, waving a hand. “We’re on the same page. But I want it to be right, and I need help to make that happen.”

“Okay. And you’re asking me because…”

“Because Rebecca has a lot going on, and while I love the girl, I need someone who won’t let me get carried away with something way out of my budget.”

“That makes sense,” Heather agrees. “What about Paula?”

“She has that big case she’s presenting on Monday, and she doesn’t know Beth as well as you do.”

“True. That afternoon at the Korean spa means we’re bonded for life now, united by a great and terrible event.”

“You loved it. Didn’t you feel all nice and fresh?”

“Only because I had to grow a whole new layer of skin. I’m amazed Beth liked it; she was completely pink.”

“I mean, that happens if she steps out in the sun for five minutes without a hat,” says Valencia fondly. “But I’m not asking you to climb into a sauna, I’m asking you to help me propose to my girlfriend. Will you do it?”

“I mean, obviously. I’m a total romantic, so of course I’ll help.”

Valencia’s forehead wrinkles in a very pointed way. “You got married because of health insurance. I just need someone to tell me if I’m getting out of bounds with like, budget and expectations.”

“Wanting your partner to be healthy for the long run is very romantic.”

“Not enough to try to skip the actual wedding part,” grumbles Valencia.

“Who is asking who for help getting married, again?”

“Fair,” concedes Valencia grudgingly, though her smile undercuts some of her pretense. She kicks herself up and off the couch and gestures imperiously at Heather. “Now come on, we need to get going if we don’t want to be late.”

“Uh, we? Where?”

I have a vineyard in Temecula to make sure it is an ideal venue for my client, remember? We can multitask on the drive up.”

“Uh, now?”

“Why not?” With a flourish, Valencia pulls out a notebook that is already crammed full of post-its and other notes. “You can look at this on the way up. Plus, I can guarantee that we can ask to sample some of their viticultural offerings.”

“Well, when you put it like that.” Heather stands and stretches. “I did have a busy afternoon planned for contemplating my existence, but I’ll move for free wine.”

~

Valencia’s planner, much like her initial dream wedding plans, is elaborately and meticulously tabbed. Leafing through the pages, Heather briefly recognizes one of the strange commonalities between Valencia and Rebecca that reminds her that, as strange as the beginning of that friendship was, there’s a reason that their bond is as strong as it is. Valencia drives. It gives her a weird burst of fondness for them.

“You really thought these out,” says Heather, reading through a meticulous list of what it would take to plan a flash mob in Times Square with a reasonable budget. 

“Right? I mean, I have ideas for days. It’s what I do—dolling up other people’s bad ideas and persuading them that mine are better. I can do this forever.”

“Great. So, why do you need me?”

Valencia’s fingers drum against the wheel of her rental car, clearly annoyed. “Because I’ve been striking out. Like, these are objectively great proposal ideas, right? But I can’t decide which one is actually, like, the best one.”

“I can see that,” says Heather, eyebrows shooting up when she turns a page and sees an elaborate plan for a hot air balloon proposal scribbled out with angry red marker. “What are you looking for, then?”

“Something that speaks to both of us. Like, as awesome as my spacing is for the choreo, I know that Beth wouldn’t want a flash mob in Times Square.”

“Yeah, that seems like a you thing. A pretty specific you thing.” Heather shoots her an inquiring look. “Did you?”

Valencia shifts uncomfortably. “There was a time where I might have mentioned it to Josh.”

“Wow.”

“Hey, Josh is terrible, but if he choreographed a dance proposal, it would have been amazing.”

“Can’t argue with that.” One of the pages just seems to be a froth of white lace paper surrounding a list of names at its center. Heather squints at the neat penmanship, idly wondering if she needs glasses or if Valencia’s handwriting is just really that small. “Is this a guest list?”

“No. I also really always wanted to do it at someone else’s wedding. Preferably Denise Martinez’s—”

“Valencia…”

“But that’s also not Beth’s style,” finishes Valencia slightly irritated. “Like I said, the proposal has to match both of us. I did learn from my mistakes, you know.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” says Heather mildly.

“And that list is out of date anyways. Denise got married last month and I hear that her and her new husband are already fighting.”

“Don’t sound so gleeful.”

“Sorry,” says Valencia almost contritely, merging off the highway. “We have a long history.”

“So I heard. We definitely need to unpack that some time.”

~

“Oh, this is perfect,” Valencia breathes, overlooking the gently rolling hills and the rows of twining grapevines.

“It’s pretty great,” Heather agrees, coming up besides her, hands tucked in her pockets. “It’s practically worth the sticker price.”

“Nothing’s worth the sticker price. I’ll get a better deal.”

“That winery owner guy seemed pretty stodgy.”

“I have my ways,” says Valencia enigmatically, which both impresses and concerns Heather in equal measures. 

“I don’t doubt it.” There’s a pause as they survey the scenery together. 

“Why wouldn’t you propose to Beth here?” 

“Hm?” Valencia turns to look at Heather, the arch of her eyebrows more inquiring than sharp.

“You and Beth. I mean, this place makes a wicked rosé—”

“Since when do you use wicked? That’s an East Coast word.”

“’Cause it’s a great word? And I’m from Michigan, which is kind of East Coast.”

Valencia pulls a face.

Heather rolls her eyes in response. “Whatever. But seriously, this seems ideal. It has a view, it’s romantic—it’s everything you wanted. And you and Beth have family here, so you can have a big party after she says yes.”

“It has a lot,” agrees Valencia wistfully. Then she sighs. “But it won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Josh and I used to come here. Too many memories.”

“Oh.”

“Right? Josh just ruins everything.”

“Okay, it’s been three years, I think you can lay off of Josh.”

“Nah. I’ve dedicated too much time into it. I’m going to be doing this until after we’re both married. Speaking of Josh, you’ve met Rosa, right?”

“Yeah. I like her. I didn’t know that you met her—”

“Oh, yeah. Nice girl,” says Valencia, sounding vaguely surprised. Given Josh’s previous type, Heather can’t entirely blame her. Valencia continues, “But for whatever reason, they work well together. We had a long talk - I warned her about all of his flaws, and she said that she knows and she was positive she could handle it. Then she complimented my earrings.”

Heather has to smile at that. She is the least well-acquainted with Josh of their friends (though she’s probably seen him in far more intimate situations than most people ever have to see their friends), so her personal frustrations with him tended to be from far briefer interactions, over much more quickly. She’s glad to see that Josh seems settled in a way that he hasn’t been since she’s known him.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” admits Valencia, softening a little. “I am actually happy for him. But I have to keep up appearances - we were together way too long.”

“That’s fair.”

~

Once the vineyard has been approved (and Valencia has worn down the owner to her terms), they head back to Heather’s place, open a couple extra bottles of rosé and buckle down.

“Too much hassle,” says Valencia, X-ing out what seems to be a plan for a private yacht.

“Too showy,” agrees Heather, marking off a flashing billboard. She turns the page and squints at a picture of a dark room lit by hundreds of tiny flames.

“Isn’t Beth allergic to those candles?” she asks.

“They would be soy,” Valencia protests, but rather hastily reaches across the page to mark it out. “Still, you have a point.”

“That’s also a fire hazard, right there.”

“I’m not Rebecca,” says Valencia irritably.

 “That’s still a lot of open flames. I’m just saying. Why not just go Big Fish and propose with a bunch of flowers?”

“I can’t. Beth’s allergic to flowers.”

Heather blinks.

“Seriously?”

Valencia shrugs. “Look, there’s a reason she hired me to do certain events that she couldn’t. She’s all about the hands-on activities. Pollen and natural phenomena - not so much.”

“Got it. So Big Fish is totally out?”

“Totally.”

~

Despite what Heather expected and the width and breadth of the notebook, they are burning through the ideas in the planner at an alarming rate. Valencia is clearly panicking too, if the two glasses of rosé are any indication.

“You know what would be great? The Met! Yeah, you could hide behind one of the exhibits to record, we’re surrounded by all this history, I’m sure they have something by Sappho in there, Beth loves her stuff—”

“Okay, just so we’re setting reasonable expectations or whatever, I can tell you right now that I am not going to New York just to help you propose,” Heather warns. “I have like, a household budget, and there’s only so much that I can dip into Hector’s accident fund and still have enough.”

Valencia lets out a little huff that indicates that while she respects Heather’s commitment to her budget, she continues to be less-than-impressed. It reminds Heather to text Hector and tell him that he might need to spend the night out with the guys—just because him and Valencia are no longer on murder terms doesn’t mean she can feel like she can guarantee his personal safety.

“Okay, fine. Skip to page sixty-eight.” At Heather’s disbelieving look, Valencia shrugs defensively. “What? A girl can dream in destinations.”

Heather does as she’s asked without further commentary. It’s not that Heather expected that helping Valencia plan a proposal would be simple. But Valencia knows her tastes—Heather was reasonably certain that her role would be as a yes woman and occasional financial wisdom rather than active decision making.

They aren’t using the couch or even the coffee table anymore—they’ve pulled off all of the cushions and have created a sort of nest on the floor.

“I can propose at a concert!” says Valencia, entirely too brightly.

Heather raises her head off one of the cushions. “You guys like going to concerts?”

“Not really? But everyone proposes at John Legend’s concerts, so it would work.”

“Beth likes John Legend?”

“Kind of? She doesn’t mind him but she loves Chrissy Teigen. And maybe we’d get some good karma from their marriage.”

“Not bad. You might also get drinks spilled on you,” Heather reminds her. “It could be sticky. Plus, other people might propose at same concert and steal your thunder.”

“Ugh, true. Plus, the scheduling doesn’t work out—he won’t be on tour for a good few months.”

Perhaps it is the tiredness, or remembering that she still needs to write up the shift schedules for next month, that prompts her to suggest, “Why not Home Base? I mean, you guys did agree to meet there. So, like, it’s sentimental.”

Valencia somehow looks affronted, disgusted and poorly hiding it, and despairing all at once. Heather would almost be impressed.

“I’ve been going to Home Base longer than you’ve been working there, Heather. I really don’t want to propose marriage at the bar where I used to pick up Elena from softball practice. It doesn’t feel right.”

Heather props herself up on her elbows so that she can look at Valencia properly. “Okay. What doesn’t feel right? It’s not going to be perfect.”

“I’m not going for perfect,” says Valencia irritably. “I gave Rebecca perfect, and look where that landed her. A perfect proposal would mean an island vacation, and dessert for Beth, and possibly sky writing. But it would also mean debt and she would so not be happy about that.”

 “Great. Is that the only thing you’re worried about?”

 Valencia’s hands twist against each other in her lap. Then they untangle and she dives into her purse and pulls out a small black box, which she sets on the table between them. Gone is her haughty event planner bravado, now Valencia just looks lost, more than Heather has ever seen her. 

“This proposal has to feel right because I messed up the first time.”

“The first time?”

“The ultimatum,” says Valencia glumly. “I don’t want it to be too much—it needs to be something that Beth would love to accept. Something that proves that we know each other and can be a part of each other’s lives.”

“Can I see it?” At Valencia’s nod of permission, Heather reaches over and opens the box to look at the ring.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? Moshe has a good collection. I’ve known this is the one for her for ages now. And…I want that feeling about how I propose. Does that make any sense?”

It does. Heather nods, waiting for Valencia to continue.

“It’s just…I made such a big deal about wanting to get married, and I want this proposal to show her that I know her, and it’s not all about me me me.”

“Of course.”

“That’s why I asked you. You might not be the biggest romantic of all of us, but you follow your gut about what feels right. And I want that confidence when I ask her.”

It’s both touching and terrifying to have that much faith in a person. Awkwardly, Heather pats Valencia’s shoulder. Valencia leans into the touch anyways, seeking whatever awkward comfort that Heather tries to give.

“You know, she’s going to love you whatever you do,” says Heather slowly. “And obviously, you know her well enough to know that these insanely awesome proposals are still awesome, just not right. We’ll find something better. And, like, I’m not gonna give up. You’re not going to leave California without a game plan.

Valencia gives her a tiny smile.

“Thank you, Heather,” she says. She looks ready to say more, but then there’s the sound of a very small gong being struck.

Valencia frowns, pulling her phone out of her pocket, scans the screen, and sighs. “I have to go. The client with the vineyard wants to meet now, of all times. I’m gonna go to her place, but when I get back, maybe we can just have a girls’ night in? No more proposal talk?”

“Sure, whatever you want. I can just duck out and like, get some more rosé. Just wines. Ablutions to drown our frustrations.”

Valencia smiles wanly and sees herself out. Heather waits until she’s sure that Valencia’s car has pulled away before hitting her speed dial. Heather is the coolest of her friends, even now that they are all responsible adults, and sometimes that means admitting that you are out of your depth.

~

Still, Heather isn’t lying when she says she needs to go pick up wines. She does.

At Il Cabino. Where Rebecca is waiting at a table for two, astonishingly early.

“You need to help me,” says Heather, not bothering with niceties. As frustrating as Rebecca’s flakiness can be, it is refreshing that she never gets insulted by Heather’s brusqueness.

“Oh, absolutely,” says Rebecca, eyes wide. “I know I haven’t been very good at that in the past, but like, right now I’m all ears.”

“Valencia is going nuts about proposing to Beth—”

Rebecca nods sympathetically. “Oh yeah, I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah. She’s been texting me.”

Heather looks closely at Rebecca and only sees frank interest in the other woman’s gaze, no impression of jealousy or hurt. “Okay…so you know and you don’t feel left out?”

“She made it very clear that I’m not supposed to help, and given my past record for helping Valencia with anything, I figured the least I could do is let her do her thing,” says Rebecca with remarkable understatement. “Anyways, I’m actually crazy busy. My singing lessons are turning my brains to mush.”

“Hm, and I was hoping to hear that you were actually working your pretzel stand so we could swap tips as fellow businesswomen.”

“Nah, I just let AJ take care of it. His rent is less than a hundred bucks, he can manage.”

“Right. Enough about your life, back to my problems.”

“Shutting up now.” Rebecca mimes zipping her lips.

“Thank you. But Valencia is driving me insane with rejecting every single proposal idea I have. And, like, my ideas are good. I’m good at organizing events.”

“Right. You guys are crazy good at that.”

“I suggested Home Base, kind of as a joke, and she nearly bit my head off.”

“I mean, Home Base is not super romantic. I had enough sex in the back room there enough to know.”

“What a coincidence, so did I,” says Heather dryly. “Which means I probably should pay for an extremely thorough cleaning, but that’s besides the point. If Valencia isn’t feeling it, it’s not going work. So I figured, I’ve been striking out, I might as well ask our local romance expert for tips.”

“Aww,” coos Rebecca, placing her hand on her heart. Then her expression shifts from soppy to self-deprecatingly wry. “You guys must really be in a tight spot.”

“Yep. So…what do you have for me?”

Rebecca looks thoughtful, not unfocused like when she goes in her head or is too absorbed in her problems.

“I mean, Beth isn’t a total romantic, but she likes to make things meaningful,” says Rebecca after a pause. “She wouldn’t be in these kinds of events if she didn’t. Maybe for Valencia, she’s asking Beth to spend the rest of their lives together. Ask her about if there’s any specific moment when she knew that she wanted Beth to be in her life forever. Like, I know you are big on how there isn’t one moment of magical epiphany and I totally agree, for the record—but she made the decision that it was gonna be Beth at some point. Maybe asking when and where would give her a few new ideas.”

It's an almost stupefying simple idea. Heather nods slowly. “Right. Like, what do they do together that makes Valencia want to spend every day doing the same thing?”

“Exactly. Like, it’s just about finding resonance, right? Something that reaffirms how they feel, but not in an artificial or contrived way. Just love.”

“Right,” says Heather, starting to smile. “Thanks, Rebecca. That helps a lot.”

Rebecca beams. “Any time. And uh, not to be mercenary or anything, but since I gave good advice, does that mean you can pick up the tab? Music lessons have really tightened up my budget and you did offer to take me out to happy hour, so.”

~

“You’ve been gone a while.” 

There’s a faintly accusatory tone to Valencia’s words when Heather gets back. She’s already sprawled over the couch, reading the magazine that Heather dropped earlier that morning.

“And yet, you still let yourself into my house. How was the meeting?”

“Okay. Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m in a personal crisis right now or I would have never agreed to do their wedding. Ugh, what annoying people. But, I promised, no more wedding talk. Tell me what’s been going on at Home Base. Don’t spare any details—I know you love that drama.”

“I do love drama. But before we get into that, I think I have one more suggestion that might help you with the whole proposal situation. Just one.”

“Okay?”

“I’m not a traditionally romantic person. You know this.”

“I do.”

“And I married Hector when I did because he really needed the health insurance. But I knew that I wanted to spend my life with him before that. He makes me laugh. He makes things light in my life. Even when he does something stupid like almost lose his toe.”

“That’s…surprisingly sweet, Heather.”

“Don’t say it’s wasted on Hector,” Heather warns.

“I’m not, but trust me, it’s hard.”

“Good. But that was a very roundabout, Rebecca-like way of asking: maybe think about when you decided you wanted to marry Beth?”

Valencia exhales noisily, slumping back against the sofa arm. “I’m almost never not thinking about it. When we’re at work together, when we’re talking, whenever I see her when I wake up in the morning with all of the light in her hair—” Valencia abruptly stops speaking, eyes wide.

Heather takes the opening.

“So there is a moment?”

“Yes.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes!”

“So you’re basically saying that she’s your sunshine?”

Valencia is too excited to be annoyed by Heather’s teasing. “Yes, exactly. She’s my sunshine! Which believe me, was sometimes the only thing that got me through this winter. It was cold.”

“I’ll bet,” agrees Heather. “New York isn’t exactly balmy.”

“Yeah, yeah. No, this is perfect.”

“So you know what you’re going to do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you going to tell me? Where will this event take place?”

“Our apartment. That’s our home now. It’s a shoebox and extremely uncomfortable, but it’s also ours. And mine. And that’s the first time I ever had something like that.”

Valencia actually sounds giddy.

“What do you think?” she appeals to Heather.

“That sounds just like both of you.”

“I think so.” Valencia looks conflicted. “But I want to share it with you guys too. Like, I want a little fun, otherwise I’ll just start crying and in the sloppy way, not the movie-style pretty way.”

“Again, I can’t go to New York. Paula’s too busy and Rebecca is equally broke.”

Valencia’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, but what is the best way to visit New York without visiting New York?”

Heather has an inkling of where this is going.

“You’re going to livestream your proposal?”

“Of course not. I’m going to livestream after she says yes.”

“Oooh boy.”

Valencia flutters a hand. “I think she’ll be fine as long as the actual moment itself is private. She’s not like me—she doesn’t want to get a proposal in front of people. So…you think it’s good?”

“It’s perfect. Out of curiosity, why did you want to be proposed to in front of people?”

“I mean, it used to be a social-capital type of thing, but honestly, I don’t want all of West Covina there. I would want you guys, and my family to share the moment. Cause you love us, you love Beth…and it’s still nice to be the center of attention once in a while. But that’s me, not Beth. Now, enough proposal talk. Let’s crack these wine babies open.”

Heather nods, a little distracted, a new idea forming in her head.

~

“The drone was a nice touch,” Paula observes as the three of them crowd around Heather’s laptop in her kitchen a few weeks later.

“Not mine. That was all Valencia.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe Valencia’s engaged!” Rebecca’s squeal is exactly what Valencia seems to want, she just beams all the brighter. From within the camera, Beth seems amusedly resigned, leaning her head on Valencia’s shoulder, admiring the ring.

“Well, since you have your girls on the line…” says Beth, and Heather smirks, the only woman of the lot of them who knows what’s coming, as Beth disappears out of their sight line, and emerges with a small velvet black box of her own.

“Oh my god!” Valencia’s squawk has all three of them jerking away from the laptop, but the general cacophony from Paula and Rebecca more than make up for it.

“A double proposal!” Rebecca’s grin is so wide that Heather’s own face aches in sympathy.

“Valencia, Valencia stop shaking me, I have a whole speech prepared, and I know it’s not a flash mob in Times Square—”

“I don’t care!” Valencia shrieks. “How did you—when—”

Beth laughs, giddy with adrenaline.

“Thank Heather,” she says, her voice clear even over the faint buzzing of the drone. “I called her for advice, and she didn’t give me any details, but she did say that if I wanted to propose, I might want to consider keeping the ring in the apartment. Preferably under the bed.”

“Heather!!” Valencia glares at her across the country, mascara running, but the smile on her face is impossible to repress.

“Told you I’m romantic,” says Heather mildly, but still smiling, pleased.

“I know,” says Valencia. “Thank you.”

She turns back to Beth. “But I thought you wanted a private proposal. Everyone’s watching us right now—”

“I did, and I’m glad I got one. But you’re not me. Valencia, you are a sun, and you draw all of us in your orbit—”

There is more, but Heather can barely hear any of it, between the screamlets coming out of the laptop and the shrieks echoing around Rebecca’s kitchen. Rebecca is punching Heather’s arm and saying something about she knew Heather was secretly a romantic at heart, she just knew it, and Paula is looking misty again, but Heather only has eyes for the two women on the other side of the screen, wearing rings and embracing so tightly it’s like the drone isn’t there at all.

What? She said she’s a romantic.

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper (Chapter 4: Before All the Paperwork Got Signed)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:  

I can draw a straight line Through my mind Right back to the good times Back when all the stars were aligned Before all the paperwork got signed

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away: the mask.

Which… was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons or something than can be healthy and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to Cultural Outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you. He asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and the staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen the receptionist gestured to for him sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.” Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said, pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet? I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[occult-rose]

The Sacrifice Of Sight

Fliers surrounded the town, warning citizens of the threat that remained outside. They suggested a danger that was far too present to ever need the written warnings. Buildings that once shined with  beautiful ivory, accented with red and gold, now sat decrepit on the dead soil. Rotting vines and the general disrepair of war had left the town in shambles. It functioned as a heart, the Blood Elves within still circulating to protect the remainder of their home.

The impending threats of the scourge that inhabited the area functioned as a promising anxiety for the survivors; at any moment they could strike. One such elf, left at his own wits end, was a warlock with a noticeable paled peach skin tone. The sun had long since left his home, no longer shining through the rotting trees that littered the area. He seemed to be seeking something far more sinister than safety.

An enigmatic figure lived not so far out of that settlement, a semi well-kept building residing deep within the mountains. In it lived one Arathos Oathsworn, known as a hermit by some, but to those with an ear to other affairs, he was known as a much more important man. The promise of power and solutions were palpable, the man often came into town for various supplies. Some of the residents seemed to not notice him when he came into town, some even denied ever seeing such an elf.

Zarenthal was one elf who could remember seeing the man however. Every few nights he would stride into the town, meeting with several figures at the nearly destroyed tavern. Those figures always spoke of a great, promised power. It was one that enticed the elf greatly. The next night he came would be the night that the younger elf chose to seek out the man.

It was truly hard to tell when night came and went without the help of the sun, but many elves still managed to count their days enough. On the fourth day he made way to the tavern, one not filled with life, or even much noise. The dread of that constantly threatened solitude did not allow for much comfort.

Several patrons lined the bar however, drinking was one of the few vices they had left with the stench of death flooding the air. One elf seemed much less disturbed by the environment, a hooded figure residing away from the bar. Thick red hair flowed from the leather hood, the glimmering green eyes of the Sin'dorei watching the bar.

Most of the patrons paid little mind to each other. Seeking companionship became a rarity in the little abode, if they were to create new life it would simply become doomed. The sounds of glasses raising and being set back down filled the bar more than anything, meek mutterings of many not breaching a notable wavelength. That wouldn't stop Zaren however, he had to heed that figure in his desire for power. Bending the will of demons and slaughtering the scourge for his own selfish gain required the boldness of approaching another in such a barren setting.

The warlock advanced toward the lone man with a rather outstanding confidence, his own large green eyes glimmering as he looked at the imposing figure. There was a distant fear in the back of his mind, would this man really help him with such a self centered thirst for power? He had to suppress those thoughts, softly swallowing before he spoke.

“I have been told to find you in my search for more.” The phrase was vague, exactly what he had learned to say from stories. Despite following instruction he eyed the figure with unsure eyes, that fear wasn't leaving his brain when he looked at the man.

A rugged smirk lifted the red mustache, the hooded man's head lifting to properly view the doe-eyed elf. “And alas you have, Zarenthal... Correct?” There was a knowing look when he asked, none of the patrons seemed to pay the two many mind as they spoke. They no longer even seemed to be moving.

“Correct, sir.” He gulped, how did he know his name? Had his plans graced another's ears?

“Walk with me, we will discuss your ideals on the way to my home.” As the figure stood, the two began to depart in silence. Not a single eye looking up to watch the two leave.

The dried earth beneath them cracked slowly as the walk began, dead grass making for a mulching crunch when Zarenthal's feet stepped over it. Those big green eyes flicked all around the land. The paranoia that came from the scourge lurking in any corner left him looking like prey as he followed the man.

“Tell me what it is you wish, spare no detail. It helps me in giving you my gifts.” The figure lead the way, not even bothering to look back as he spoke. He had no reason to fear something as mindless as the scourge, his demeanor unwavering, he was not prey to them.

“I am a warlock, I've sought the power of demons to slay my enemies. The scourge outnumber us, and while they serve as a perfect practice.” He gulped nervously before continuing. “It is no secret our home is likely to be over run by them. Arthas has left our lands in shambles.” There was a soft tremble in his voice, but he couldn't stop talking now. “I am looking for a greater ability to conquer these demons. I can drain the remaining souls of the scourge from the villages west if I have the right pawns to control them.” He watched the man for a reaction, curious about his outlook on that plan. “That would allow me the power to thoroughly fight them using my own hands.”

As they approached the well kept tower, Arathos simply smirked. “You are so naive to the world around you, Zarenthal. The conquest for power is an ever-consuming maw, just like this plague we face.” A knowing smirk was on his face, he had plans for those scourge that the young elf spoke about. “The souls of the scourge are far too weak, they are obedient to a master that has left them to slay your kind.”

An old golden-oak door was pushed open by his gloved hand, the room inside dimly lit by a single candle on a desk. Several papers and trophies lined it's walls, a large vulture sleeping inside a cage. Arathos continued to speak as they entered. “You should open your eyes to greater power, those in servitude to Illidan have conquered a whole new sight. They see the world in a way that a man like you would be envious of.”

That promise enamored the young elf, his green eyes widening. “Sight? What do you mean?” He hardly looked around that tower, being lead into it's basement by the smaller man. His judgment had become cloudy at a promise of something far better than simply breaking a few of the scourge.

“I mean you can see things hidden in plain sight, the unknown, demons, spirits.. All sorts of powers for you to play with, my friend.” Arathor spoke warmly as they entered a circular room that rested below the tower. He retrieved a candle tray from the wall, lighting the wick and walking down into the room with it. “You may want to remove  your robe, this room heats up rather fast with two inside..” His twisted grin was hidden from the pale elf, what was this man planning?

The room was made of stone, residing deep within the mountain it was quite cold. In the center rested a small slotted drain, the floor curved just slightly to lead to it. It seemed all well kept, even free from the smell of undeath that had plagued the area. Zarenthal looked around the room as he spoke, not having much to gaze at before he looked back to the other elf. All of those red flags didn't seem to bother Zaren, if he had even noticed them at this point.

“I would do anything for a power like that, I could rid this land of the scourge and rule it..” The words while devious, were completely naive. While the man spoke he stripped away the robes he wore, leaving him in the underclothes he often wore for warmth.

Slowly Arathos crept up to the man, bringing his gloved hand to brush over the pale elf's face. He looked right at those eyes. “Anything?” A sly chuckle left his lips, his fingers slipping over the elf's eyes. “You understand what I have told you, no doubt. I can tell by how your heart is shining through your words, I cannot sway you from this..”

Arathos slowly set the candle beside them, bringing his other hand up to the elf's cheek. Those fingers brushed over the high bones, sliding along as his thumbs glided up the nearly ivory skin. The elf had long nails, ones which dug into the elf's jawline. His thumbs pressed right over the elf's eyes.

A soft hum filled the room, the flame on the candle swaying as Arathos's fingers began to shimmer with a purple light. As it pulsed more vibrantly the fire swayed even more. Silence hung in the air before a bright flash flooded the room, the sounds of crackling immediately being over shadowed by a melting gush. The power that was pushed from the flash causing the candle to burn out.

Those hands left the elf's face as a howl of pain echoed around the room, as if the darkness that surrounded him out stretched beyond those walls. Zarenthal's hands came up to his face when he felt warmth rushing over his cheeks. The smell of iron was heavy in the air,  a warm, damp squish greeting the searching hands.

The gelatinous goo of his eyeballs were left in his hands, blood pouring out from the empty sockets and pooling along the curves of his face. His chest was covered in the blood very quickly, drooling down onto the floor below, where it slowly ran to the grate. Dull foot steps moved towards the door, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Your innocent eyes, they cause you to see the world far too simple, Zarenthal. I sought fit that you were no longer plagued by them. Tell me, what do you see?” The voice didn't seem mocking, the question rung genuine. There was a sinister tone to it, after all the elf had sought to slay Arathos's playthings.

“N-nothing!” He managed to stutter out, nearly choking before he looked around. “It's dark.. Cold.” In his quest for power he had quickly become weakened by the that lust, without his eyes he had no chance of surviving in the lands of the dead. He whimpered softly, his voice nearly choking out as he spoke. “I-I can't fight the scourge like this.”

Arathos shook his head. His fingers lifted before he snapped his fingers. The sound of flesh ripping immediately followed it. The blood of Zaren's eyes began to move on it's own, ripping and reconstructing the flesh of the elf. His hands planted on the stone floor, failing to clutch at anything as the pain caused him to convulse. He coughed and heaved until blood came billowing from his mouth.

“Fight the scourge? You spoke of draining the souls of my playthings. You mettle in affairs that you are far too unprepared for. Do you really think the promise of power comes without a fee? You will never be able to look at this world through your precious little doe eyes again, you'll only see the wrongs people like us make in this world.” Arathos had berated him with a large grin.

The dull footsteps drew closer, one of those gloved hands collecting the elf by his chin before the other produced a scalpel. In swift, practiced motions that blade drug along the skin, drawing runes over the healed flesh that covered the elf's sockets. By now the pain was beginning to numb, that blade only contributing to a state of shock the elf laid in.

“And now, little elf?” The voice was much deeper, filled with fire and brimstone. “Do your eyes see your mistakes?”

The Sin'dorei could finally see something besides darkness. It was fiery and burning a bright green, it surrounded the silhouette of Arathos. The look of recognition on the elf's brow was all he needed as a response, dropping the bloodied elf back to the floor. It caused the elf to whimper, he would no longer be able to conquer the lands around him with his plan.

“My mistakes? You've robbed me!” The elf screamed out, the chamber he sat in seeming to eat up the pain in his voice like a void. “I was going to conquer the scourge! No one would be able to oppose my wishes with them under my thumb!” His words were filled with a venomous anger, his true intentions were bleeding through just like his eyes.

Arathos didn't seem to care, had he known? “Now, I told you this room was built for two.” A hand came to his belt, clutching at a dagger that resided on his belt. He pulled it off and tossed it in front of Zaren. “Only two may leave as well.. Remember that.” The cold stone slowly began to heat around the elf who remained on his hands and knees. His head canted around before he found it's source, one that made the elf's statement make much more sense.

Standing mere feet from the elf remained a new friend Arathos had left him, a ravenous felhound in search of it's next meal. With the room so full of blood, it could not locate the elf so quickly, and given the darkness they resided in, it couldn't see either. The sacrifice of his sight seemed to suggest an advantage, would that elf be able to survive with just a dagger?

[journeysintowebcomics]

Homestuck Liveblog #188

UPDATE 188: Postscript

Last time Dirk had flown out of the planet with Rose, letting Jade wake up and Dead Calliope control the narrative again. Now what? Let’s check out the end of the meat epilogue!

It doesn’t take long for them to start their planning, that night Jade is already home and Roxy is getting leads about where Dirk is. Jake, still heartbroken over the loss of Dirk forever, tells her Dirk has left the planet. Will he join them? Not likely, I’d say. They’re so dedicated to getting leads about where Dirk may have gone Kanaya even decides to call Jane, even though La Presidenta is persona non-grata in this household.

How is it possible a conversation about incest is possibly the longest conversation in this epilogue? Not really much to get from this, except that Dave doesn’t have any shame in showing public displays of affection. I guess now that he has gotten Karkaroni as a boyfriend officially any inhibitions about the matter are gone. Heck, even though Karkaroni protests it’s not like he doesn’t dislike it, I’d say.

ROXY: awwwwwww

ROXY: u boys cute :)

DAVE: hey can you just forget you saw that thanks

ROXY: hehe

ROXY: thank u

DAVE: for what

ROXY: for doin somethin that turned that steaming dogshit fire of an incest conversation into somethin that just made me feel v v happy

ROXY: if only for a fleetin moment in these dark AF times

KARKAT: DON’T MENTION IT

It did turn that mess of a conversation into something else, so yeah, thanks.

So, Jane either doesn’t know where Dirk is going or doesn’t want to tell. I for one am inclined to think she doesn’t know, because Dirk is a cagey person and wouldn’t just go around telling anyone his plans to make it easier for his opponents to stop him. He’ll welcome them getting in his way, but he won’t let it be too easy.

It seems only a couple people knew Terezi was back in Earth and now she’s not picking up the phone. They also wonder where John is, and Dave comments John with the retcon powers would be able to teleport them into Dirk’s spaceship. Maybe that’s why Dirk made Terezi take John’s body, so in the off-chance they manage to revive John he wouldn’t be able to take them to where Dirk is, and now that Terezi is who knows where, they can’t find John’s corpse anyway. Maybe she’s in the spaceship too, right in Dirk’s manipulative claws.

if they ever wish to see john again, be it his cadaver or otherwise, they will need another means of following the ship. a different guide altogether.

Oh, I suppose that means Terezi is in the spaceship after all.

Watching this, Dead Calliope has a change of heart and decides to lend them just a little bit of help, if only to stop the prince from doing anything. All she does is make Jade point in a direction. Ah, there we go! A compass aiming at Dirk, I bet. Now all they have to do is go in that direction – if they decide to follow Jade’s enigmatic finger pointing, that is. There’s a possibility they won’t.

DAVE: oh oh

DAVE: i think i know whats up

DAVE: shes tryin to say theres something important over that way

DAVE: is that right jade

DAVE: can you hear me??

dave walks over and kneels in front of her chair. he looks closely at her. her face, though still expressionless, strikes him as serious and tense.

DAVE: jade is it john?

DAVE: johns that way right

DAVE: you want us to go in that direction to find john

DAVE: is that it jade?

Close enough. If John’s body is up there in the spaceship then yup, he’s right. Boy, it’s going to be awful for everyone to find out John’s rotting inside a wallet.

DAVE: maybe its not john that way maybe its...

DAVE: jade is it...

DAVE: is that where DIRK went?

it’s barely noticeable, but dave picks up on it. her face relaxes slightly.

Bingo! There you go, you have your work set ahead for you. Best of luck, everyone!

Now that she has indicated the general direction of Dirk’s location, Jade returns to her inert state, doing nothing. Thankfully, Dave says they’ll have to bring Jade along, so I guess someone will be in  charge of carrying her around. Karkaroni, fired up, makes Kanaya start calling Jake so they can borrow a spaceship.

they will believe they are on a quest to retrieve a wife and rescue a friend. but they will discover their true mission is of much greater cosmic significance than they imagined. the seer is firmly in the thrall of the prince and will not easily be pried away. and as regards the heir, though resuscitation remains a theoretical possibility for those still striving for it, the truth of his role is it has reached a greater sense of narrative finality than any of his allies will bring themselves to admit. his influence over canon has come to an end, as has this particular story. his ultimate sacrifice was made to put the missing keystone in place and avert the supreme dissipation of all that shall be considered to hold truth, relevance, and essentiality.

Alright, so, reviving John is not impossible, or at least Dead Calliope doesn’t outright say it’s impossible. She does say it’s just a theoretical possibility, though, so maybe...that’s just a fancy way of saying it’s impossible? Oh well. Anyway, the important part of this paragraph is that it’s stating John’s death was a necessary thing for the continuation of existence, which I can believe, really. Honestly, I was very surprised all eight humans managed to go through Homestuck alive, I really thought one or two would die. John dying and that being necessary isn’t really a big surprise.

Maybe in the Candy epilogue he doesn’t go fight and everything is destroyed. Sure would be tragic!

That aside, it seems Dead Calliope is getting ready to leave the narrative alone, because she’s saying goodbye and saying she’ll just keep the power of narrative so Dirk can’t take it back, and give gentle hints whenever the group needs them. Someone in charge of protecting the cosmos shouldn’t get too involved with it, after all. And that’s the end of the page.

Postscript time. The text is black, so the narrative is back to normal, nobody controlling it. Elsewhere, Aradia -- wow, I had completely forgotten she existed. I guess she’s just hanging out in the emptiness nowadays – is with the Jade that fought Lord English and was sucked into a black hole. Her eyes are solid black, which I assume indicates Dead Calliope is handling things. The first order of business is to eat raw meat, because no cherub has ever heard of cooked meat, I guess. Once she’s done, she howls, and opens a hole up there in the sky.

ARADIA: i take it everything went as you hoped

Time works differently here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe by now Dirk is dead. In that case, yes, everything went as Dead Calliope hoped.

Jade looks down at her hands as if they belong to an alien. She can feel it now. Abilities have been awakened inside her that no being has ever commanded before.

The same thing Dirk and Rose were going through, perhaps? She raises her hands in direction of the black hole.

Nearby, a red haze gathers in the air. It condenses into concentric rings and spheres of ruby light. The luminous shape of a man fades into the center of the special effect. When the light subsides, Aradia notices the man is made of polished metal. She recognizes the gear symbol on his chest, identical to her own. She also recognizes the sunglasses the robot is wearing. She knows who this is.

ARADIA: dave?

DAVEBOT: sup

Well this is new. Leave it to Homestuck to introduce a weird variation of a character on the eleventh hour. First the combined sprites, now this. This is a bit concerning, given how Dirk is the robotics professional left in the story, but it also could be a development that happened in the Candy epilogue. Maybe over there instead of messing with Rose he decided to do this to Dave. I’ll find out if I’m right, when I read that epilogue.

Now that Davebot is here, Jade goes flying into the black hole, and Davebot offers to take Aradia along. It’s mentioned Sollux is somewhere, being a grouch. I also completely forgot he existed.

DAVEBOT: so thats a yes then

ARADIA: what

DAVEBOT: youre coming

DAVEBOT: better decide quick i doubt that dank fuckin hell funnel is staying open for much longer

ARADIA: yes i suppose so

ARADIA: thats where all the action is right?

DAVEBOT: all the action that matters yeah

ARADIA: off we go then :)

DAVEBOT: word

I don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on, really, but there they go. Alongside Jade, Dave and Aradia go, leaving everything else behind. The meat epilogue ends with this line:

Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

I think I get it. Through that hole there was everything that’s in the Homestuck universe, where things will happen and life will go on. And here, outside of everything, the reader is left, unaware of what exactly is going on. There’s myriad of possibilities all happening at once in Homestuck, and we as readers won’t ever find out about them anymore. Could be some really tragic events, or maybe everything is going really well now.

Without a narrative we sure aren’t going to find out!

And that’s it. That’s the end of the meat epilogue. So, I have some thoughts to give next time, so I’ll end the update here.

Next time: next update

[sraawrats]

🦇🎃Kana’s Halloween Hangover Rec List🎃🦇

Love Halloween? Not ready for it to be over? No worries! Old and new, these are some of my favorite spooky, suspenseful, and supernatural Kylux reads--perfect for drawing out your favorite month a little longer!

which is 100% why i’m posting this on november 1st, definitely not because i didnt manage to finish it before yesterday. nope, not at all

My Baby’s a Devil in the Bedroom | @callmelyss

- E - 4/5 chapters, 14 645 words - “Oh, obviously.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.”

“Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” Hux smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.”

—

Kylo has an unusual squatter. He's pretty fine with it. -

This fic is seriously amazing. It’s a super fun idea, the dialogue is hilarious, and it perfectly balances the sweetness and humor with angst/intrigue. Plus, I’m absolutely taken with snarky, smug, candy-tasting succubus Hux <3 <3

strange phenomenon | @brawlite, @kyluxtrashcompactor

- E - 8/8 chapters, 65 756 words - Kylo Ren is haunted by recent tragedy. He answers an ad posted by one Armitage Hux for a roommate, and he thinks a fresh start will help him begin to heal. He brings next to nothing with him from the past when he moves in.Or so he thinks. -

This fic is wonderfully suspenseful, and perfect if you’re looking for something to keep you on the edge of your seat. I also had a lot of Han feels when reading this one. Overall it’s just really nicely well-rounded with heartfelt and genuine characterizations, good spooks, and some searing sexual tension.

Something Wicked | @marlonbookcase

- G - 7/7 chapters, 22 514 words -  Kylo and Armitage have been friends since they were kids. Now in university, they run a semi-popular YouTube channel called "London Below" where they investigate all sorts of haunted and paranormal happenings in and around London and try to answer the question, are ghosts real? When they take on the mysterious and tragic case of the Pendle Witches, they come face to face with the spirit world in a way they never have before. Will they make it out of Pendle alive? Are ghosts real? And most importantly, does Armitage return Kylo's affections? -

I love Buzzfeed Unsolved. I love Kylux. I love this fic. A lot. As it says in the description, it’s not an exact Unsolved AU, but it really captured the format/feel of the “paranormal investigator” genre, so if you’re a fan of that, you’ll love this. Bonus points for some mutual pining and sugary fluff 👀👀

Second Spring, First Fall | @huxandthehound

- T - 5/? chapters, 7 018 words -  Nothing brings people together quite like the holidays. Well, maybe not Halloween... After a scare, Hux has to confront his neighbor. Lucky for him, Kylo might be a little sweeter than his tricks let on. -

A cute multi-chap made of Huxloween prompt fills! Lighthearted, but it’s still got that Halloween spirit. Plus I’ve got a soft spot for sweet modern AU Kylo :))

Some Strange and Unnerving Events | @longstoryshortikilledhim

- E - 10/10 chapters, 158 815 words -  As a boy in a dreary school on the moors, Kylo Ren had only one friend, a red-headed boy whose sharp tongue and wit drew Kylo to him. But that friend was taken from him. Now grown, Kylo goes into the service of the master of Stormfield Hall, the enigmatic Lord Arkanis, who is seeking a tutor for his charge. Kylo's past will come rushing back to him, both in his new employer and some unusual circumstances that bring to the fore powers that Kylo thought long-suppressed. -

This fic hit me like a ton of bricks. This fic hit me like TWO tons of bricks. Start this one when you’re ready to be feeling it for a few days afterwards. It’s an incredible historical AU with magic and a great murder mystery--it basically pushes, like, all of my buttons. And it’s /genuinely/ spooky, I had to start keeping a light on while I read it. Oh, and it features definitely my favorite Millicent ever. If you’ve got the time for something long, go for this one.

Reach Out in the Darkness | unicornsandbutane

- E - 2/2 chapters, 9 321 words - Having spent a decent amount of time researching the history and folklore of Arkanis, Cadet Hux strikes out one chilly evening in search of some legendary creature that's supposed to be extremely powerful. If the myths aren't true, all he's wasted is time. But, if they are based in some actual fact, then what a boon such an entity would be to his cause. He doesn't know what he will find, but he is prepared for any (absolutely ANY) eventuality. -

Tentacle monster Kylo. I am unapologetic. It’s really good.

Witchfeather | Whatever21ism

- E - 14/? chapters, 16 015 words - Armitage Hux is a new witch trying to establish himself in a new town. One day he goes out seeking a familiar, particularly a cat, somehow instead he ends up with a raven who is much more than they appear to be. -

A favorite of mine! Apothecary witch Hux & his crow familiar Kylo. There’s some really nice worldbuilding and crow Kylo is super cute. Possibly abandoned, but defs worth checking out what’s there & showing the author some love.

First Order Investigations | @mistresseast

- Unrated - series, 3 works, 58 094 words, incomplete - Hux and Phasma have been running First Order Investigations since high school, and Dr. Snoke's metaphysical research graduate program seemed like the perfect opportunity to pursue their interests under the protective umbrella of academia. Unfortunately, that meant allowing Snoke's personal project, a taciturn medium named Kylo Ren, to join their team. Hux and Kylo mix like oil and water, or, more accurately, like fire and gasoline, and Hux is convinced that working effectively with Kylo is absolutely impossible. They hate each other, and Hux is content to leave it that way.

But then, a case in the sweltering heat of South Carolina begins to change things between them, and Hux finds himself questioning not only Kylo's feelings, but his own as well. -

Paranormal Investigator AU of the highest quality. The detail and thought put into each investigation site is incredible. I love this fic to pieces, and if you like ghost stories, you will too.

Undead | @heyktula, @splinteredscript

- E - series, 2 works, 6 855 words, incomplete - They’ve been circling around each other for years. Kylo Ren, the most powerful vampire in Supreme Leader Snoke’s house, and Armitage Hux, the human liaison between the world of mortals and that of eternal darkness. Baiting, taunting, the cord between them growing ever tighter.Sooner or later, one of them is going to snap. -

A lovely and dark vampire AU~~ Gives off some real classic Kylux vibes, and is an absolute pleasure to read :D

Fixer Upper | @irisparry

- T - 5/7 chapters, 10 034 words - When Armitage Hux starts with First Order estate agents, he thinks the house on Alderaan Drive is an insult, a patronising set of training wheels for the new boy. He is ... not correct. -

Adorable haunted house AU! I love both of their characterizations in this one, especially shy, grumpy ghost Kylo~

Hair of the Dog That Bit You | @theweddingofthefoxes

- M - 9/9 chapters, 21 597 words -  Ren owns a popular tavern, and Armitage is a respected physician in town and the surrounding villages. Their years-long friendship will survive anything -- even the bite of a werewolf. Won't it? -

Full disclosure, I haven’t actually finished this one-- I have a tendency to get distracted unless I finish something in one sitting, rip. But I remember being SUPER stoked about starting it, and anything by weddingofthefoxes is guaranteed to be a treat, so I’m putting it on here anyway :D tbh now that I’m thinking about it again I’ll probably finish it tonight.

The Eldritch Effect | @generallyhuxurious

- E - 17/17 chapters, 67 899 words - For the last three years Major Donal A. Hux, formerly of the British Army's Parachute Regiment, and Kylo Ren, estranged son of US Defence Secretary Leia Organa, have been tooling around North America investigating "weirdness"- and they're plenty weird themselves. Their latest tip off is leading them towards a haunting in rural Alabama. But first they need to make a stop in Trinity, South Carolina... -

A real goofy Paranormal Investigators AU that I super love (but I also need to catch up on rip). It’s an American Gothic AU, but you don’t need to have any knowledge of the show to follow along (I don’t). It also comes with a series of oneshots set in the universe but outside the main plotline, so when you finish the fic and inevitably want more, you’re covered ;)

blackbird, fly | @acroamatica

- M - 19 265 words - One sunny afternoon in the mountains of Washington state, Ben Organa-Solo walked out into the woods.

He never came home.

Six years later, a journalist specialising in missing-persons cold cases decides to follow his footsteps and see where they might lead. -

This is a sad beautiful horror AU that is very close to my heart. The writing is just gorgeous and the suspense is beautifully done. Also, it about doubled the amount of emotions already attached to the song Blackbird for me (I still get a little heart-squeeze every time I hear it)

what’s real or isn’t | @brawlite

- E - 12/12 chapters, 57 398 words - Hux's new house is not haunted. It isn't. -

Super surreal haunted house AU. There’s also monster sex. This is definitely a staple of spooky Kylux fics :D

How to Kill a Living Thing | hedgerowhag

- E - 10/10 chapters, 25 394 words - It starts like any other horror movie: a young man moves into a strange old house full of relics of the past and becomes haunted by some strange entity. However, Ren doesn't find the monster that he expects. -

This one has got some of the most stunning, spooky visuals I’ve ever read. I could picture every scene and character so clearly. Plus, I love Hux’s characterization--he’s kind of a shit, and it’s beautiful.

Twenty-Six Weeks | @vmprsm

- E (eventually) - series, 4 works, 28 539 words, probably complete - Two mature adults need to do two things: live an a house with a stranger for six months, and keep their secrets to themselves. How hard could that be?

Apparently very. -

The author made a point of trying not to give too much away in the summary/tags, so I won’t either :D I’ll just say it’s one of my favorites, and definitely worth a read if you haven’t already~~

The Brief Wondrous Return of Vampire Boy | @hollyhark

- T - 21 190 words - Two days before Halloween, Hux hears a rumor that Ben Solo is back in town. While Hux does not believe the sensational version-- that his estranged childhood friend/enemy escaped from an asylum and is out for revenge --he is left on edge as to how to proceed. -

One of my favorite Halloween fics; it really encompasses the feel of fall/Halloween but also, like, good ol’ ~teenage bullshit~. There’s a lot of creepy Snoke stuff, some dealing with the fallout, and a nice hopeful ending :))

Ghost Encounters of the Hux Kind | carefulren

- T - 9/9 chapters, 25 610 words - Kylo purchases an old, abandoned house in order to get away from his family. He just wants the chance to be alone for a while, and he considers this house as the start of his new, isolated freedom.

Everything is going as smoothly as possible, until it's not.

Perhaps, Kylo isn't living alone after all.-

A sweet and soft ghost  story AU. I adore the ending <3 <3 

Spookylux Huxloween 2018 | @nofootprintsinsalt

- T - series, 31 works, 36 896 words, complete - Huxloween 2018 - 31 benarmie fics in 31 days -

A series of benarmie fluff/horror for the Huxloween prompts this year! These were so so fun to read throughout the month and I adore the little universe that develops as they go on :))

Of Our Time | @ezlebe

- E - 15 297 words - “Do you know how many people would think it’s weird you walk around in the day?”

Hux grits his teeth in vain against an uncanny sensation, his own words digging and clawing up his throat to leave behind the taste of blood and bitterness thick on his tongue. “I could care less. I was made this way before there were movies – before fucking Stroker. Call me a demon if it makes you feel better.” -

I only read this really recently, and I was BLOWN AWAY. Seriously, this packs so much into 15k--it’s got feels, it’s got lore, it’s got steamy smut. What more could one ask for?

Shiver The Whole Night Through | @theweddingofthefoxes

- T- 5/5 chapters, 7 977 words - Ren's always loved hunting, so when he's told his paid time off won't roll over into the next year, he decides to take a week, get his gun and rent a cabin in the woods. But it takes no time at all for the hunter to become the hunted. -

This one’s very accurately tagged “Mind Games,” which really made it stand out to me--I do love a good spooky woods story~~

The Ghost Under My Bed | @longstoryshortikilledhim

- E - 19 525 words - Amateur witch, aspiring actor and full-time family fuckup Ben Solo discovers that his house is being haunted. Best part? His very own poltergeist, Armitage Hux, is kinda cute. Worst part? Well. He's dead. -

THIS IS THE SWEETEST GHOST STORY. I love it so so much. The sweetness of their relationship set against the sad backdrop of both of their histories gives this one a really unique feel. And the ending is guaranteed to give you the warm fuzzies <3

--

aaaand that’s all, folks! Lord, this post turned into a behemoth lmao. I just. really love supernatural stuff. (on that note, if anyone has read/written anything even tangentially spooky/supernatural, feel free to send it my way. I will happily give it a read ;)))

Happy reading! ^_^

[doctortreklock]

I’ve Been a Fool and I Have Been Blind - February 20, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Phil goes on five dates...and marries the man of his dreams (summary of x - title x)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Words: 3665

"You need to get out more," Nick informed him flatly.

Phil scowled. A little. With a twitch of his right eyebrow. "Just because I leave the office before 8 once or twice a quarter does not mean I have time to date," he told his best friend flatly.

Nick blinked his eye once, attempting to make it look casual, but Phil knew he was surprised. "When was the last time you got laid, Cheese?"

Phil's entire face scowled this time. "None of your damn business, Marcus."

Fury whistled. "A while then."

Phil huffed out a breath and settled back into the chair across from the Director's desk. "I need a drink," he admitted, loosening the knot of his tie an imperceptible amount. He paused, then loosened it several inches more.

Nick frowned in concern and pulled a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses out of the bottom right drawer of his desk. He poured them both a finger, then - when Phil's eyebrow glared balefully at him - added two more to the senior agent's glass. He slid it across the desk towards Phil. "You need a date," he countered.

Phil snorted and snatched the glass from the edge of the desk before draining half of it in one go and sighing deeply as he relaxed further into the recesses of the chair. "And where do you suppose I go about finding one of those?" he asked. His tone was flippant and casual, but he kept his gaze fixed on the amber liquid he swirled in the glass.

Nick retreated back into his own chair and sipped his scotch before humming in consideration. "You could go somewhere new and see who you find there," he offered.

Phil's mouth twisted. "And where am I going to find the time to go to new places?" he snapped. "Barton and I have a mission in Chile tomorrow."

Fury smiled enigmatically. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he drawled.

--

The "new places" thing Nick had come up with had absolutely not worked.

Phil had ventured to a new coffee shop the next morning and had doggedly attempted to "see who he found there." What he'd found were co-eds, failed screenwriters, and a hoard of busy businesspeople, none of whom gave more than a passing glance to a balding, middle-aged man in a suit.

There had been one woman there who had given him the half-interested once-over that had defined his social life to date. His dating history skewed male, but he had dated one or two women before (he considered himself a solid Kinsey 5), so that wasn't necessarily a deal-breaker. He had smiled and she had blinked, then returned it. He had flirted and she had responded and he had asked if she wanted to get a drink sometime. She had looked at him appraisingly and had agreed and they had set a time for drinks three days later. Phil had made his excuses and hurried back to HQ so he could get on a plane to South America.

Evac had been scheduled for thirty-six hours after they arrived in Chile. Phil's drinks date with Susan had been scheduled for seventy-four hours after they arrived in Chile.

Thirty-nine hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil successfully rescued himself and his bleeding sniper from the clutches of the local cartel. Forty-three hours after they arrived in Chile, they finally made it to the secondary evac point. At fifty-seven hours, Clint was safely ensconced in medical. At fifty-eight hours, Phil settled himself, his work tablet, and his book next to his agent's bedside for the long-haul. At fifty-nine hours, Phil started enumerating to his unconscious agent all the reasons why a, Phil had never been to South America, and b, why Phil would never go to South America again, complete with addendum c, why Clint would never be allowed to return to South America on his watch. At sixty-one hours, Clint woke up from his medically drugged sleep and shot a sleepy smile at his handler before falling unconscious again. At sixty-five hours, Clint woke up again and told Phil that he needed to go lay down before he fell down and get some honest-to-god sleep. At sixty-six hours, Phil flopped down on the couch in his office and fell instantly asleep.

Seventy-eight hours after they arrived in Chile, Phil blinked himself awake, yawned drowsily, checked the time on his phone, groaned in realization, and gave up on the whole date as a bad idea.

--

But now that Nick had gotten the idea of dating stuck in his head again, Phil found it was remarkably difficult to shake loose. Every time he thought about it, though, it got more and more terrifying.

"Do you know how many people there are in New York?" Phil demanded. "How are you supposed to find someone it might work out with from a pool of 8.6 million? And that's just limiting it to one city! There is a literal world of possibilities."

Jasper ignored him and poked around in his cheesy fries for the one with the most bacon on it.

"I'm serious," Phil told him, kicking him lightly under the table. "Jasper."

His friend sighed and abandoned his quest. "Phil, most of the people in New York are too old, too young, seriously taken, or not attracted to your gender," he explained flatly. "Your eligible dating pool is much smaller than you think."

Phil groaned and buried his face in his hands. Jasper selected the nearest fry with at least two pieces of bacon on it. With the rate Phil was going, they would all be cold before he got a chance to finish if he persisted in sorting through them.

Before his friend could have the uncharacteristic meltdown that Jasper could see brewing (and that would subsequently ruin his chances for even semi-warm fries), he tossed out a suggestion. "Try finding someone you have something in common with and start there."

"Maybe," Phil said, his voice muffled by his hands. Jasper shrugged and ate another fry.

--

His name was Marco, and he owned a complete run of 1975-78 "Captain America's Howling Commandos" kids magazines, complete with tear-out trading cards.

They had met once briefly at a convention in '07 and had frequented the same forums for a decade. Phil had first noticed Marco when he had written a long, well-annotated post about Peggy Carter's role in the formation of modern intelligence agencies and had cited three of Phil's own posts on the subject. One comment led to another and the two had kept up an amicable, if casual, relationship since. It wasn't more than a half-dozen conversations a year about collectibles that popped up on the market and the rudeness of some of the new Cap fans, but it was some form of human interaction outside of work.

Phil had carefully considered Jasper's words, and had brought up the idea of coffee with Marco. The other man had seemed open to the idea, so the conversation had proceeded to planning. Marco consistently had time Tuesday mornings and Thursday evenings, but Phil was usually on the practice range with Clint Tuesday mornings and they usually watched new episodes of Dog Cops Thursday nights. Marco had some time next week, but Strike Team Delta was going to be in Pakistan. Phil could have an evening two weeks after that, but Marco had a work conference.

After two months of conflicting schedules and last-minute cancellations, they quietly and mutually agreed that it was best to just ignore the whole thing.

--

Melinda had no patience for any of Phil's whining today.

She rarely had patience for complaints from anyone except, on occasion, her boyfriend, but dear gods in heaven Phil Coulson was not usually this irritating.

After the fourth time she put him flat on the mat in fifteen minutes, she gave up on any hope of a good workout today.

"Try dating someone with a schedule as weird as yours," she snapped as she stalked out of the room, leaving Phil wincing on the mat behind her.

--

Chris was an FBI agent.

Phil's work was focused on international threats, with the occasional homegrown mad scientist. The FBI's jurisdiction was strictly domestic, which meant there wasn't much chance of conflict there. Between their schedules, the pair had only been on three dates in five months, but Phil still thought it was going well. Chris knew how to handle a firearm and one of their dates had been at a gun range, where Phil had shown off his aim with a sniper rifle and his date had shot increasingly tighter clusters of bullet holes into paper targets.

Chris was just beginning to break in a new promotion when Phil got called in to take care of an 084 in South Dakota. Chris had the same instructions and Phil didn't hesitate to go toe-to-toe with his datemate and ruthlessly exclude them and their team from the site with nothing more than a coolly raised eyebrow and a smug smirk.

Phil didn't hear from Chris again after that.

--

"Well," Maria said thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "I think I know where you went wrong there."

"Please tell me," Phil said, staring morosely at his coffee mug. "I thought it was going well."

Maria snorted at that. "C'mon, Phil. Just because it hadn't been a train wreck didn't mean it was going well."

"I was having fun. I thought they were having fun." The coffee was still vaguely steaming. Phil wondered how hot it was.

She shook her head and pursed her lips at him. "How many dates did the two of you even go on?"

"Three," he said defiantly. It was more consecutive dates than he'd had with anyone since college. "One dinner, one movie, and one trip to a gun range."

"A gun range," she echoed.

"Yeah. Clint was showing me the--"

"I'm going to stop you right there," she interrupted him. "Did Chris actually want to go shooting?"

Phil frowned. "They weren't opposed to the idea."

She sighed. "Phil...maybe you need to be looking a little closer to home."

Now he was just confused. "Where? Like Manhattan?"

"Like SHIELD," she said pointedly.

Phil considered the idea. "Maybe. I'm pretty sure inter-agency cooperation is a myth, anyway."

He sipped his coffee. It was cold.

--

Phil carefully considered Maria's advice.

The problem with dating inside of SHIELD was that he was a senior agent with level 7 security clearance. There were perhaps a dozen people he could date without there being any potential for conflicts of interest or coercion. Noah Petersen was the head of SHIELD's financial division, overseeing budgeting, HR, and office management.

He was also gay.

It was late on a Friday when he knocked on Petersen's office door.

Petersen took one look at him and said "You better be here about next quarter's projected budgetary deficit, Coulson."

"Actually," Phil started smoothly, "I'm here to ask you to dinner."

"No," he said flatly, then went back to reading through the open file on his desk again.

Phil blinked. "May I ask why not?"

Petersen looked at Phil, sighed heavily, and rubbed the bridge of his nose before waving Phil in. "Let me explain something to you, Coulson. I have worked too hard to get where I am to play second fiddle to anyone. I won't date someone who's hung up on someone else, and trust me," he leveled a knowing look at Phil over his glasses, "you don't actually want me anyway."

"Chris and I weren't--"

But Petersen was waving off his excuse. "I'm not talking about you screwing so-and-so at the FBI," he said.

Phil was lost. "Then I have no idea what you're talking about."

Petersen just looked at him with pity. "You really don't, do you. You poor bastard." He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Unfortunately for you, I really don’t have time for this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the next eighteen months of SHIELD's budget to completely overhaul. Again."

As Phil neared the door, Petersen glanced at him again. "Call if you magically find 3.8 billion dollars."

Phil just nodded and left.

--

Phil was still very confused when he arrived back at his own office.

When he unlocked his door, he found Natasha standing in the middle of his office next to his desk, her arms casually crossed. "That didn't go well," she told him, as if he didn't already know that.

Phil didn't bother asking how she knew what had happened in Petersen's office. She always knew. Though usually when she turned up in his office with obscure knowledge that could only have been gathered by eavesdropping in ventilation ducts, she had Clint in tow. The archer was nowhere to be seen now. Phil frowned slightly at that. He hadn't seen Clint in a while, actually.

"I am aware of that," he told her tersely as he walked around her to sit at his desk, beginning to mentally sort through the files he could take home for the weekend's entertainment.

She didn't reply and he looked up to find her appraising him with one manicured eyebrow slightly raised.

"What?" he asked her defensively.

She put her palms flat on the edge of his desk and leaned down so her face was six inches from her own. She stared coolly at him. He stared blankly back at her.

"Maybe you should try looking closer to home," she told him pointedly, pushing herself vertical again and turning to slink out that door.

"Maria already suggested that," he told her quickly.

Natasha looked back with a sly smile. "Hence Noah Petersen, I take it." She tilted her head, then turned to look him fully in the eye. "Find someone who knows you, Phil. Someone who makes you laugh and knows you inside and out, all the good parts and bad."

Her eyebrows seemed to be trying to communicate some idea to him, but he had absolutely no clue what it could be. He felt like Natasha's meaning was going so far over his head she might as well be having a conversation with the ceiling, but then he usually felt like that when talking to her.

She was searching his face for something, and she must have found it, because she smiled her enigmatic Black Widow smile and vanished through the door.

--

Clint and Jasper were having a late dinner in the caf when Phil found them. He'd spent half an hour staring at the narrow strip of wall above his door and wracking his brains for what Natasha's eyebrows had been trying to tell him. He thought he might have some semblance of an idea.

"Hey, Phil," Clint brightened when he saw him, putting his fork down on his near-empty dessert plate.

"Hey, Clint," Phil replied warmly. "Hey, Jas." He took a seat next to Clint, their shoulders bumping companionably. "What are you guys up to?"

"Barton's telling me about Brussels."

Phil smiled at the memory. "With or without the lemur?"

"Without," Clint said. "We'd be here til next week if I included the lemur."

Phil hummed in agreement, then turned his attention to why he was here. "Jasper, would you--"

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully, standing up with his tray. "I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy."

Phil frowned blankly at him. "Why would I want you to do that? I wanted to ask if you'd consider going on a date with me."

Next to him, Clint froze in the stillness that only a sniper can reach.

Jasper gaped at him. "If I would-- Okay, even if Melinda wouldn't kill me, the answer's still probably not."

Phil squinted at him in confusion. "Melinda?"

"Yes," Jasper said slowly. "Melinda May, my girlfriend."

"When did you start dating Melinda?" Clint rasped next to him in a poor facsimile of his usual energy.

"Seven months ago," Jasper said, but Phil wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Clint in concern, noting the paleness of his face.

"Are you alright, Clint?" he asked in an undertone.

Clint nodded. "I'm fine," he said quietly.

"Phil." Jasper eyed him shrewdly. "Why did you ask me out?"

"I--" Phil reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn away from Clint. "Everyone's been giving me dating advice. Natasha just told me to find someone who knows me well, and you've been one of my closest friends since Academy."

He could almost see Jasper internally rolling his eyes and letting out a huge sigh. As it was, the other agent closed his eyes for a brief moment before zeroing in on Phil. "Let me tell you something, Phil Coulson," Jasper began, slamming his tray back down on the table and looming in Phil's direction, an unconscious mimicry of Natasha's pose less than an hour before. "You are an idiot."

At this point, Phil was convinced he had absolutely no evidence to the contrary.

"You are," Jasper continued, "without a doubt the most stupid man I have ever had the pleasure to watch sabotage his own love life."

Phil thought that might be going a little far.

"Finding someone to date isn't actually that hard. All you do is look at the people you know. Find someone who knows you so well, they can pick up on your signals from three-quarters of a mile away in the rain."

"Jasper," Clint said softly.

Jasper ignored him. "Find someone who makes you laugh so hard you start chuckling over live comms."

"Jasper," Clint warned louder.

Phil watched Jasper with wide eyes, his brain kicking into high gear as he tried to parse what his friend was telling him.

"Find someone who can do one little thing and make you so happy the junior agents get nervous."

"Please," Clint said.

Phil thought about perfectly completed files in his inbox after every mission, no matter how bad it had been. He thought about waking in medical to a friendly face every time he was injured. He thought about spending the whole day whistling and sending baby agents fleeing before him when Clint first called him "Sir."

"Find someone who you love spending time with so much that they fill up all the blank spots in your calendar before you even noticed they were there."

Phil thought about lessons with sniper rifles and nights watching Dog Cops. He thought about lazy afternoons in his office talking about everything and nothing. He thought about downtime on missions spent wandering foreign cities and staring at cloudless night skies.

"I can't--" Clint broke off.

"Find someone who's so beautiful that when you look at them, you feel like you're staring at the sun."

"Jas," Clint tried again.

Phil thought about strong hands with knobby knuckles and long graceful fingers. He thought about lean athleticism better suited to gymnastics than brawling, but brilliant at both. He thought about the poetry of an archery shot that never missed.

"Find someone who trusts you enough to give you the most painful parts of themselves."

Phil thought about stories of lion tamers and elephants. About orphans and foster homes. About the way seeing a child's face through a sniper scope can change a life forever.

"Don't," Clint told Jasper, almost pleading.

Jasper wasn't swayed. He stared at Phil. "Find someone who cares enough to let you go."

Phil thought about flying to Chile and telling Clint he was thinking about dating again. He thought about never finding Clint when he wanted dating advice. He thought about all the people he'd tried to connect with and how none of them worked out and how Clint seemed to be a common factor in all of them.

"Please," Clint breathed. Phil wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore.

"Find someone who loves you exactly as you are, idiot and all."

"Oh," Phil whispered in sudden, breathtaking realization, and thought about love.

He thought about grey-hazel-blue-green eyes and fresh cups of coffee on his desk. He thought about blood on the floor of a cartel's cell and the subsequent blood that had stained his hands. He thought about trusting an archer enough to feel fletching on his cheek from a half-mile shot.

He thought about three years of tracking and six months of training and seven years of working together. He thought about "trust me" and fifteen hours of silence and a Russian assassin brought in from the cold. He thought about the possibility of someone else asking before he did and the immediate, fierce jealousy that bubbled up.

In short, Phil thought about Clint.

The sniper next to him was still and quiet. Not the heartbreaking stillness of before, right after Phil had asked Jasper out - oh Jasper was right, Phil was such an idiot - but an inward quiet with hunched shoulders and a dipped head, his hands loose in his lap.

He was still breathtaking.

Phil's hands were trembling, but he reached one out and gently touched Clint's arm. The muscles twitched under his fingers, but Clint didn't pull way. Phil slowly trailed his fingers down Clint's arm until he reached his hand. He carefully slipped his fingers across Clint's palm, holding his hand. The archer's hand tightened quickly around his own and Phil could feel Clint take in a deep, shuttering breath.

He squeezed Clint's fingers a little tighter, and Clint leaned into his shoulder.

"Clint." Phil's mouth was dry. "Clint, will you--"

"Yes," Clint rasped.

"My work here is done," Jasper said, brushing his hands off. His loud voice was a jarring contrast to the thin, fragile moment that had built between them. "Ciao!" He picked up his tray again and sauntered away from the table, one hand raised in a jaunty farewell.

Neither man watched him go, both focused on the ball of warmth in the pit of their stomach and the feel of a hand in their own.

[william-blackwell]

The Hat Man: Guardian Angel or Devil?

Who is the Hat Man? A guardian angel or the devil in disguise?

According to numerous reports, he’s a mysterious spirit entity who often visits people in their bedrooms at night. Sometimes he terrifies them. Other times he leaves them with a sense of peace and calm.

What does he look like? He’s a black, shadowy apparition, darkly cloaked, wearing a wide-rimmed black hat resembling a fedora.

What does the Hat Man want? To some he’s the devil in disguise, a grim reaper of sorts, and a harvester of souls.

Some believe he preys on fear, striking you when your defenses are low and you’re down and out.

Many people report seeing him in their waking lives. Some even claim he’s trashed their houses and tried to strangle them to death in the middle of the night.

According to Heidi Hollis, author of The Hat Man, The True Story of Evil Encounters, he’s not only real, but he is the devil. She writes, “Victims worldwide have reported seeing this man peering into their homes, their bedrooms, their baby cribs, their cars and even—their souls.”

Some have been able to defeat him by calling out the name of Jesus, or having their homes blessed, while others, according to reports, just beat the crap out of him. Some simply order him out of their homes.

But others claim the Hat Man is a guardian angel, whose purpose is to protect them from harm.

The Hat Man is often seen with his band of followers, the Shadow People.

Where did the Hat Man come from? Where did the Shadow People come from?

According to Wikipedia, shadowy entities are “the perception of a patch of shadow as a living, humanoid figure, particularly as interpreted by believers in the paranormal or supernatural as the presence of a spirit of other entity.”

Some researchers claim shadowy entities date as far back as 300 AD. Wikipedia says, “A number of religions, legends, and belief systems describe shadowy spiritual beings or supernatural entities such as shades of the underworld, and various shadowy creatures have long been a staple of folklore and ghost stories.”

There are other theories about the origins of the Hat Man and the Shadow People.

A neurological theory: Shadow People and Hat Man images occur during sleep paralysis, a mysterious sleeping disorder occurring in that transitional stage between waking and falling asleep during which a person becomes completely immobilized and often sees frightening images. According to the neurological theory, these shadowy entities are merely the manifestation of a sleeping disorder and by extension nothing more than a product of the subconscious mind.

A religious theory: Shadow People are the evil minions of the devil, sent to snatch our souls and drag us down into the bowels of hell.

Another religious theory: Shadow People are guardian angels, sent from heaven to protect our souls and shield us from evil.

The scientific theory: Some physicists believe that unexplained forces are causing other dimensions to merge with ours. This merging of different dimensions would explain why we can only see the Shadow People and the Hat Man as shadowy figures who have the ability to transcend our laws of gravity, float through walls, fly, and change shapes at random.

According to this theory, the Hat Man and the Shadow People are the extra-dimensional inhabitants of another universe or another dimension. That’s why they can disappear and reappear in the drop of a hat. Or maybe in the drop of the Hat Man.

Regardless of what theory you subscribe to, one thing is certain. The Hat Man and the Shadow people drive terror and fear into the hearts of some, and peace and joy into the hearts of others.

Doing research recently on my soon-to-be-released supernatural thriller, The Dark Menace, I posted a blog asking people to tell me their experiences with the Hat Man and the Shadow People.

Needless to say, I received a lot of responses—some terrifying, others heartwarming. Here are some excerpts:

 1.)    Rather frightening:

When I was around four, I think at the time my parents were going through a divorce. I was sleeping on my mom’s bed one night and had to go to the bathroom, so I got up and went to use the bathroom and she was still sleeping. I came back and fell back to sleep. I woke up to a pitch black shadow of a man staring at me at the edge of the bed. It felt like an eternity, he was staring. My whole body was frozen with fear. He started growing in height, almost reaching the ceiling. At this point I turned my body and fell back to sleep. The next night I woke up and felt the urge to walk to the living room. I walked to the living room to see a shadow man at my front door. My dad was sleeping on the couch. I tried waking him up. I tried pushing at him, and to no avail. He wasn’t waking up. I walked back to my mom’s room to sleep, hoping it would go away. I looked back to see the shadow person staring at my dad.

 2.)    On a more positive note:

The Hat Man visits me nearly every week in lucid dreaming. And I have only good experiences with him. We just talk normally and I often ask him questions. For example, I ask how he comes to my dreams, who he is, and so on. Once he showed me his tarot cards. That was funny. I always try to look in his face, and he looks like an Arabian type of man. But I want to mention, that he’s not the only Hat Man. He has a brother, too. They are very different.

 3.)    Somewhere in that mysterious twilight zone between black and white:

Hey, I have seen the Hat Man. He was on the left side of my bed but when I awoke and saw him. I did feel an intense sense of fear. I began to think that fear was created by myself over time. I was sleeping next to my partner and we were going through a troubling time, when I saw the Hat Man I saw it wasn’t me he had interest in but my partner. It’s very strange because I couldn’t see his eyes but I knew he was looking at him. He was there until I managed to panic and turned on the light. I have never seen him again but on occasion I think about him and wonder if he will reappear and why he did. I was scared at first but now I feel he is of some good. I am unsure. This was in maybe 2011. I was sexually attacked by a man that year. I put him behind bars for seven years but I felt strong, like I knew I could do it, but then suffered a year with anxiety and depression. Did he cause this? Or was it a warning? I am unsure. I am mentioning this due to other related aftermaths.

 4.)    Now that’s downright chilling:

He’s from the Void/VALE of DARKNESS. I saw the hooded man/grim reaper. I saw two of them when I was 6 years old and I was shaking and heard whispers and voices and I had a severe high fever. I was hallucinating with nightmares and night terrors. This happened back in 2004 and after that the next day I was blacking out in the morning. I had to go to the doctor. I almost died in that experience.

 5.)    And on the flipside:

I’ve seen the Hat Man four times in my life. The first time I was about 6 years old, and the sighting snapped me awake from a dead sleep. The next two visits followed that night closely (maybe within 4-7 days apart from the first visit). Seeing him the first time, the tall, dark shadow figure, wearing a fancy top hat, absolutely petrified me. The next two times he woke me from a dead sleep, dressed the same (trench coat, top hat, beard, kind features) and wasn’t in shadow form. I wasn’t afraid of him at all, and actually rather drawn to him. I felt like he was an old friend in this form. I won’t go into much detail but these two accounts are drilled into my memory as something spiritual and friendly. Now, the fourth time I saw him was a few days ago (some 30 years later), back in shadow form, just watching me sleep. I wasn’t afraid and felt oddly comforted. My research the past few days has been really surprising because I’m not finding any other stories of people with good experiences with the Hat Man. Surely, I can’t be the only one?

 No, you’re not. Researching the strange Hat Man phenomenon for The Dark Menace, two things became abundantly clear. Some view him as evil, others as good.

I certainly don’t have all the answers, but have you ever thought about this: Maybe it depends on your perspective. Are you glass half full? Or glass half empty?

In The Dark Menace, I take a deep dive into these questions and many more. The culmination of over six months of research, this supernatural thriller endeavors to find answers to a strange and mysterious real-life phenomenon that has haunted and terrorized thousands of people around the world for centuries.

The Dark Menace short synopsis:

Mysterious and terrifying attacks by the Shadow People and the Hat Man lead a nightmare-plagued man to suspect an enigmatic doctor has accidentally opened a portal to Hell.