#I will accept that play as canon when hell freezes over

[casterintherye]

My hot take of the day is that Scorpius is not a loser. He had a bad reputation at the beginning of school but he's just so chill no one can hate him. He's friends with basically everyone in his classes and helps people on their homework which helps even more. He'd on the Quidditch team, gets invited to partied, and everyone he interacts with is accused of being his secret girlfriend.

ALBUS however, is a certified loser. That boy would never touch grass if Scorpius didn't force him to

[ghostly-penumbra]

I posted 602 times in 2022

24 posts created (4%)

578 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks

@ii-zi

@ave-aria

@ectoentity

@dp-marvel94

I tagged 146 of my posts in 2022

#danny phantom - 23 posts

#danny fenton - 20 posts

#cool art - 14 posts

#alex talks - 13 posts

#not dp - 13 posts

#ghostly-scrypts - 11 posts

#sam manson - 8 posts

#dannymay - 8 posts

#tucker foley - 7 posts

#dannymay2022 - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#listen. i know there is basis for it in canon and it's a valid argument that danny's parents wouldn't accept him if they found out

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

How are we doing in this fine night?

See the full post

124 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

#4

DannyMay 2022. Day Two

"No One Knows AU"

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Danny has been acting weird. Tucker wants his friend back.

- - -

Tucker jogged to catch up with Danny, panting as he yelled out his childhood's friend's name. "Danny! C'mon, man, wait up!"

Shoulders hunched, hair a rat's nest, and dark bags under his eyes, Danny half turned to look back at him over his shoulder.

"Hey, Tuck." He offered with a weak smile that somehow did reach his icy blue eyes.

"Woah, you look like death warmed over." Tucker cursed himself and barely stopped before facepalming when he saw his friend flinch and look down. Way to go, Tuck. "Sorry, man, but you look like you haven't slept in weeks!"

"Oh, uh, yeah, heh. I- I have been having some trouble with it… I think I'm developing insomnia…" He fumbled with his words, and even though he was finally facing him, his gaze flickered all over the place, as if expecting an attack.

(Dash had been getting rougher with him, Tucker had noticed.)

"Oh, that sucks, buddy." Tucker almost went for a gentle slap on the shoulder as commiseration, but having Danny's eyes fall on his approaching arm with laser intensity had him hesitate, and lower it down again. "Hey, do you wanna hang out at my house? I just saw the new expansion on DOOMED and need my gaming buddy to go after the best ques!"

He paid attention, and so he noticed the shift in Danny's face, he could read the sudden yearning shining through his eyes. Danny wanted to hang out, to be with his friend and play dumb games unyil they fell asleep on the floor with their controllers still in hand.

(Then why didn't he just do it? What was stopping him?)

"You can stay the night! I'm sure my parents won't mind. You won't have to deal with the portal."

"What."

It was just the one word, but suddenly there was a lump in Tucker's throat.

Danny's eyes had finally snapped up to meet his, and they were cold, piercing, searching in a way that left his soul feeling bare, leaving it cold and unprotected.

With great effort, Tucker fought back the need desire to rub at his arms to get rid of the freezing sensation that left him rooted to the spot.

"What do you mean by that." Danny demanded asked, with an eerie echo to his voice that Tucker must have imagined and that did not scare him nor drove him away from his friend since diapers.

"I mean, like," he began, trying to go for casual even as he stopped his teeth from chattering, "it must be hard living with a freaking door to Hell in your basement. I'm sure you've run into ghosts at least a few times. Must be really annoying by night. It probably is what doesn't let you sleep."

Slowly, Danny's posture relaxed again as much as it could, and he gave him a small (resigned?), tired smile that came off as a grimace on Tucker's eyes.

"Yeah, it's… something, heh."

They stood in silence for an awkward moment, until Tuck spoke again–

"So, wanna come ov-?"

"I don't think so, no."

–only to be interrupted mid-question.

Danny was looking down at their feet, scuffing his toe on the floor.

"Look, man, I- I'm kinda behind on a few subjects, and I gotta catch up on past homeworks so- sorry, but I can't."

Danny turned to leave, but Tucker held him by the wrist.

See the full post

125 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

#3

DannyMay 2022. Day Three

"College Years"

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Team Phantom move into their first apartment!

- - -

"Aaand these are the last ones." Danny announced, as he used the hand truck to carry four big, non-fragile boxes plus one (1) Tucker on top of then.

"Do we really need so much furniture?"

"We do if we want to be the hosts of the wildest parties!" Tucker answered, not looking up from his laptop as he jumped from his high perch and landed with a roll, with the device unbothered by this.

(Danny wasn't the only one who had to learn how to move and not die to protect Amity Park, these years.)

"Tucker, we don't." Sam droned from her spot on the floor while she sorted other boxes. "We want a passable sleep schedule and good enough grades.

"Five hours of sleep a night do sound like a dream." Danny chimed in as he unloaded the crates as if they weighed nothing. For him, they didn't.

"But- but college parties!" Tucker insisted with an exaggerated whine.

"Pff, you know my parents will throw a fit if they find out we're using their 'money invested in housing' to throw wild parties." Here, she looked up, raising an eyebrow. "They're not even keen on me living with two guys. They only agreed 'cause they think you're gay for each other."

That had both of them looking at her, processing the information.

Finally, Tucker asked, "Babe, do your parents still not know what polyam is?"

"Nope," the goth replied with a smirk, "and before either of you says anything, no, I'm not hiding it either; I'm just, not saying it to their faces." She shrugged. "If they realize, good for them, if they don't, well, it won't be the first time."

Her two boyfriends looked at each other for a moment, but shrugged as well in the end.

"Fair enough."

206 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

#2

why do the ghosts keep Danny's identity a secret even though they are part of his rogues gallery?

because dead men tell no tales

214 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I see all of your "Danny runs away after a reveal gone wrong, ends up in Gotham and is eventually adopted into the BatFam (or BatPham, if you will)" and raise you:

a newly (half) resurrected Jason Todd ends up wandering the Ghost Zone until Danny finds him and takes him home with his loving and understanding parents after a reveal gone right, to help him deal with being a halfa and his new powers in a place where ghosts are such a common sight he won't really stand out and gain unwanted attention, with people that already have experience in this kind of situation and only want the best for him, where he has access to the Zone and enough ambient ectoplasm anyway to help him purge the rotten lazarus water out of his core and purify the ectoplasm in his body

and maybe the Fentons aren't perfect, but they do try, because they couldn't be there for Danny when his powers had just started showing and he had to learn on his own, hurt, stressed and about to collapse every day, and they won't be making the same mistake twice, when there is a boy that needs help and a stable home; they'll do better

and Jason still finds out about Joker being alive, about the new Robin that joined Batman, and he still is angry and heartbroken, but there is no Pit Madness to make him take The Worst Possible Choices, he doesn't beat Tim, doesn't become a crimelord, he doesn't kill. he faces his mentor, his father, and still tells him "I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt", and there is so much baggage, so many "should have", "could have", "would have"s for them to be on good terms right now, to be a family again

but Jason is not alone (he never was, in either reality, not really anyway. he could have gone home in both worlds, his family missed him, but only in this one he knows he has a home, even if he doesn't really believe he could have two), and when he goes back to where he feels safe and welcome, where he knows for a fact a new addition is not a replacement (Danielle is there, after all), in that building with a giant sign and a space ship on top (no matter what Danny says, that's what he still calls the OPS center), he is welcome back with open arms and his favourite chilli dogs waiting for him

he has a family in Amity too

and he knows, deep down, that if someone tried to really hurt him again, this set of parents will not hesitate to go for the kill

244 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kulemii]

can you do ALL the OC asks for kenjiro hara. If you wanna !

most certainly pal! sorry it took me forever- i suddenly forgot everything i ever knew about my own oc and then life happened and then i forgot how to answer questions and th-

art by @cookiescr

How would your character react to one of the canonical protagonists stepping in to protect them? It depends on the type of protection they offered him. He’s the type of person to dedicate his everything to someone when he’s grateful to someone. So, if that protagonist has saved his life, he’s going to show his gratitude in some…grand way or offer his assistance at any time for the remainder of the life that they just paid him. However, if it was just back up in a fight, I think it would heavily depend on who the canonical protag is- Kenji might be a little too prideful to accept help sometimes. Not all the time though. Maybe if it were someone he would feel threatened by, I could imagine him being a little annoyed and muttering something about “could’ve handled it muhself, but thanks,” - however, if the help came from none other than Goro Majima, hell would freeze over before a thanks would leave his mouth. If Hiro helped, that's a completely different story. He’d be singing his praises lol– kissass

How does your character react when they see a fight starting in the street? Do they intervene? Cheer on the side? Join in? If the brawl suddenly happens in his path (so it’s like, in his way) but has nothing to do with him or the people he cares about, he’d more than likely just mutter out a “tsk, what a pain…” and brush through the crowd to keep on to do what he’s gotta do. But, if he’s got time and it looks like it might be a good one, he’d light a cigarette, place a mental bet and watch it go down. 

Does your character fight? Under what circumstances? What sort of fighting style do they use? Kenjiro absolutely fights! It used to be under any circumstance. Disrupt the peace at his club, he’ll fight you. Bother his boss, he’ll fight you. Piss him off, he’ll fight you. Look at his boss’ foreign wife funny, he will wanna fight you but she wont let him but Godddd did he wanna fight you. He’s much better now - he used to be such a firecracker. He would’ve fought at the drop of a hat. He’s learned to weigh his options. So, he’s learned to strengthen his glare so that he doesn’t necessarily need to throw his fists. He’ll still fight though. He fights with his fists. He prefers his fists because they never run out of ammo- however, Itou training teaches their men to learn how to use any and everything as a weapon. And I do mean everything.

Could your character win a fight against any of the canonical protagonists? Which one(s)? LMAO, yeah! Kenji would decimate Shinada, Tanimura, Akiyama, Yagami. He’d so lose against Saejima (respecc). Kiryu is up for debate because of his stupid plot armor but I’d like to say that they’d have a close fight! (I want him to beat Kiryu up so badly, i’m sorry) In the fic that he lives in, Kenji fights Majima on multiple occasions and it’s been back and forth wins, losses and ties.

If your character got to be a protagonist or main character in a canonical game, what city would the story be set in? We don’t have any games with a Kyoto map, aside from Ishin? That’s pretty much where Kenji thrives lol but other than that mmm, I guess I’d say Sotenbori since it’s still Kansai.

If your character got to be a protagonist or main character in a canonical game, when would the story be set? Yakuza 0 & Kiwami 1, I think.

What would your character be like if they appeared in Ishin (or Kenzan)? I haven’t played yet- can’t say.

What would your character be like if they appeared in Dead Souls, or a Dead Souls spinoff? Also haven’t played yet so I can’t really say, but it’s zombies, yeah? I’d say… guy who’s way too eager to be killin’ them zom’s and gets eated prolly. 

If your character’s only canonical role was to appear in one substory, what would that substory be? Dude feels really inadequate about his life decisions and doesn’t think that the man that took him in would be proud of the decisions he made with the family business if he could see him now. The protagonist (I got Kiryu in mind for some reason) feels a sense of kinship with the guy and assumes the guy's dad is dead and gives him life advice and how to deal with grieving a loved one and tells him that he’s probably doing a great job.

Previous question, but make the substory wackier !!! The guy is yakuza. The man is his patriarch, who isn’t dead, but in jail and the guy had ruined the family’s legacy and he came to Kiryu for advice because he knows that he’s famous for ruining the Tojo Clan’s legacy :) (who got beef? i’m lookin for somethin to eat)

What’s your character’s favourite canonical restaurant? Which canonical restaurant do they eat at most often? Which canonical restaurant is their least favourite? Kenji- my guy- he loves sushi, but he saves that for when he’s indulging someone. His favorite thing is ramen! Imma go with Kinryu Ramen! He has ramen shops near his apartment but when Arika invited him to this one he hasn’t been the same since.

What is your character most likely to purchase at the pawn shop? what are they most likely to pawn off? Now that he’s a lil bougie I don’t see him spending much money in a pawn shop unless it’s rare weapons. However, I could see him sending randoms to pawn off some valuables he’s… stumbled upon and distributing their earnings as a percentage. but then again, not really because he knows fences personally that might offer him more. :) he’s a shady lad!

What sort of canon gear would your character equip? One of those military grade bullet proof vests for sure because Kenji knows a mf that’s a little tooooo trigger happy and it makes him paranoid. lol

What does/would your character like to do on a night out in Kamurocho? Oh, people watch for sure! Network for business. If he does visit clubs, it’s usually to do his homework on them- sure, he’ll try to have some fun too but he’s just trying to see what people get up to let loose. He doesn’t usually find personal enjoyment from that kind of stuff anymore though. He’s usually thinking about the next step. If he’s just wandering around town, he might be thinking about expansion. If he sees families he doesn’t recognize, he might start thinking about plants and then how he could bring it up to Hiro. Unless he was with someone and they were making him have fun with them, he’s just… thinking about Itou.

Your character finds themselves snowed in at the mountain village from y5. What do they do? “How the hell did I get to a mountain village?!” He’s not built for snow or being stuck in a single place against his will (snow be damned) for too long– he’d get antsy. So antsy. He’d rather shovel the snow away with his bare hands than get stuck. He’d be so annoying. (I would toss him out in the cold, personally.)

Would your character sing karaoke? If they had to sing one of the canonical karaoke songs, which would they choose? Oh, Kenji loves karaoke! He gets so into it– but, only in his car or at The Place. In any other circumstance, he will pass the mic so fast. Canonically speaking, ‘Judgment' is one of his favorite songs!

Would your character be good at disco dancing? Has to be! He runs a discotheque after all <3 His hips make people fall in love. True story.

Which canon character would/does your character get along best with? Why? Most of the hostesses and anyone that hates Majima. Lmao, totally kidding! By default, I feel like I have to say Saejima but that’s because Saejima can manage to get along with just about anybody. Other than that, I’m not sure!! This is a good question though, really good! There’s just no one else in canon that Kenji interacts with in the project- overall eh, idk.. I’ll have to come back to that! Thanks for the opportunity!

Which canon character is/would be your character’s worst enemy? Sagawa and Shimano– you didn’t ask why but I’ll still answer, their fucking with Majima bled into Itou family business and it became his responsibility to deal with. Easily a big part of why he doesn’t like Majima. He doesn’t like how Majima dealt with the situation and blames him for the bloodshed. 

What random bit-character would your character be buds with? No one comes to mind because I seem to have forgotten everyone but I will say this: Although Kenji puts up a really tough front, this mf has mommy and daddy issues- any character that shows him some sort of maternal or paternal love, he will latch onto and pretend it’s not happening. 

Your character sees Majima being mean to Nishida. What would they do? It’s a reason to argue and fight with Majima- he’s absolutely gonna defend Nishino. (not a typo)

What’s the most important canonical event your character witnesses/is involved with? The purchase of The Empty Lot- I say no more.

What sort of weird stuff you pick up off the ground is your character most excited to find? The only thing I see him picking up off the ground is money if I’m honest. Unless he just beat someone’s ass and they dropped a gnarly weapon. Then, that.

What would happen if your character met ono michio? Freeze. “...the hell’s that thing?” Then he walks off in the opposite direction. (Secretly mildly sketched out by mascots- he knows it's just a dude in a costume. He still hates it. Ever since he was a kid. Won't ever tell a soul that though.)

ASK GAME

[kunimikat]

Hi-!! Can I get Kenma HCs? 👉👈

Okay so I wasn’t sure if you meant general ‘Kenma just being Kenma’ HCs or relationship HCs so I did both I also added a lil imagine at the end 😺 (this isn’t fully proof read but there should be small mistakes only)

Requests are open!

When you and Kenma first got together, he was genuinely surprised how little you cared about how other people felt about you guys together

He’d always feel insecure when the sly remarks like ‘Wow Y/N and Kenma? I never imagined.’ Or ‘Y/N is probably just with him out of pity.’ would be whispered around him

Just every jab someone could get out they said it loud enough for him to hear it.

But by the time he’d try to ignore what they’re saying and think about it later, your either cussing them out, ignoring them, or ignoring them and kissing him instead

And Kenma wasn’t complaining

He wasn’t a fan of PDA other then holding hands but there are acceptions (ahem^) But most of the time he’s only hugging you when he as small anxiety attacks in public

Kenma has mostly oversized hoodies and tends to pick at his sleeves when he gets nervous so just know when you steal his hoodies be careful

If you get one of the loose strings caught on something that hoodie is becoming threads in seconds.

He really likes it if you play with his hands of fingers, or when he’s gaming if you wrap your legs from behind him and just be there together he really enjoys it

But don’t lay in his lap because he will bonk you on the head on accident if he rages

Without even realizing it Kenma sometimes goes on about you to Kuroo or Hinata, but by the time he realizes it he blushes at the smug looks on their faces

One time you face planted and Kenma laughed so hard he lost his voice, but I kind of ended up good because he cuddled with you the entire healing time

When you want to go outside with him it’s either shopping, looking for new games, or talking while bumping a volleyball over to each other

Sometimes you’d catch Kenma randomly scrunching his nose up while you’re about to sleep to in class while you guys are doing your work

You didn’t know why he did it until he told you that he’d think about something he regretted and he just:

Kenma regularly FaceTimes you, Kuroo, or Hinata or all of you at once to talk about a game release he’s really excited for

When he teaches you how to play a game he will either sit next to you or have his arms wrapped around you. Softly telling what buttons to press and what to do.

And once you get the hang of a game, one day he’ll just wake up and choose violence, deciding to troll the hell out of you just to get a reaction (silent cackling Kenma intestifies)

You and Kenma made a discord server together for the Nekoma team so you guys could talk regularly or just schedule hangouts

Ok but I feel like Kenma would be with someone who radiates the same energy as Hinata or Kuroo. Or someone who has both. Orrr on the other side of the spectrum where he’s with someone that’s just like ‘Whatever happens, happens.’

I mean, of course not exactly like them but Kenma is friends with both of them for a reason-

I feel like it’s canon the Kenma just glares at Lev from time to time for Lev just being...Lev, but when he gets with you it happens more often because Lev always makes it his goal to see you laugh or talk to you constantly

In which Kenma gets jealous and silently tells Yaku he slacking off

This mans is a silent menace to society and he does not care

Ok I also feel like sometimes he’d take you to a new cafe that just opened, get the most sweetest or most bitter thing there, and let you have it just to mess with you.

His way to ask you for affection is when he’d just kind of stand there next to you like ‘🧍😺’ Or just kind of expects you to initiate it in general

But when you start to do it less and less, Kenma feels like you both are starting to feel more like friends than lovers

So when you kind of leave him alone suddenly, he thinks he did something wrong and tries to make it up himself

Your eyes we’re getting tired of the flashing screen. The vibrant colors clashing and moving quickly. You blink, getting out of the trance the TV screen pulled you in. You were starting to see why Kenma got so addicted to this game. You felt your stomach rumble. You groaned a little, not wanting to leave the warm blanket wrapped around you, but feeling your stomach rumble again, you sigh and unwinded yourself from the heat, and made your way to the kitchen. Kenma felt movement but ignored it, thinking it was just you getting comfortable. But when he didn’t hear your small cheers or nudges when he won the round he looked back to see you’re not there. Slight panic rose in him. He shrugged it off at first. Though his thoughts started to get to him. Were you getting bored of him? Did you feel ignored? Wait...did you leave?

Kenma paused the game, and was out of the room in seconds. He made his way downstairs in a hurry, but instead he breathed a sigh of relief. You were rummaging through the fridge. Probably looking for something quick, but his parents haven’t went shopping so he knew it was nothing there. An idea came to his head, covering half of his face with his hand. He pursed his lips and hoped he didn’t embarrass himself.

As you were raiding looking through the fridge, you heard a small ‘fuck it’ and felt arms wrap around your waist. You looked back in shock, essentially freezing on the spot as you looked at him dumbfounded. And to be fair Kenma almost never initiated physical contact. So you just kind of looked at him. You were kind of taking in this moment. Kenma stopped breathing, his face flushed. It turning red, going down his neck.

“I-I’m sorry, that was stupid, you probably hated that. I-“

Kenma grimanced and hid his face, rushing back up to his room. You called out to him but the door was already closed when you did. You sighed in annoyance at yourself. Quickly making your way up not that long after him. You placed a hand over your heart when the door wasn’t locked. You looked into the room lit by the bright TV screen to see a hump under the fluffy cat themed blanket on the bed. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. Instead you crawl onto the bed, stopping right by him. Rubbing his back, he jumped at your touch then seemingly sinking further into the mattress.

“Ken? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not respond, it’s just you usually don’t start a hug I got so surprised.”

A moment of silence passed, you hear a huff, he scooted away from you. You couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto your face, you took out your phone, snapping a picture. You laugh into your hand but go back to rubbing his back.

“Aww c’mon Ken don’t be like this, I’m sor-“

“I should be saying sorry, it’s not your fault. You probably didn’t like my scrawny arms around you anyway...I’ve also not been talking to you as much as I should and you probably hate me.”

You deadpanned at him, then yanked the blanket off him. You swore your heard a small squeal but decided to ignore it. “Y’know, you said a lot of ‘probables’. Stop assuming things without talking to me, you know I love you. I won’t ever judge you like that Kenma. Plus I expected you to be like this when we got into it in the first place. I wouldn’t get with someone I’m not attracted to Ken. So stop all that insecure stuff before I kiss it out of you.” Kenma face heated up at that, he looked anywhere but you, flustered that you said it with such confidence. You placed a hand onto his cheek. He looked shocked at first, but it was replaced by a small smile adorning his pretty features, he gently caressed your hand.

But you ultimately decided to ruin the moment when you flicked his forehead as you got up.

“Alright get your dorito dust headass up cause we’re gonna order takeout.”

Kenma held his forehead, giving you a playful glare, pouting afterwards. He got up off the bed, grabbing his phone and heading downstairs. “Whatever get your hungry ass down here so we can order something.”

“Kenma you- ugh”

Kenma felt a smile tug at his lips as you continued to bicker throughout the time you were ordering.

Hey 😺. Seriously, I enjoyed this request so I’d love to do more of these. The dorito dust insult came from a friend who just started Haikyuu and that’s what she said and it had me cackling so there you go. But enjoy some cute Kenma HCs. I was gonna make it angsty but I forgot to do Valentines so🤸 Also I did more HCs to make up for bad 3am imagine but 🤠

[dreamsclock]

enough fun here's the ANGST - tommy discovering the infinite potion/heart/etc options and freaking out a bit bc this means dream kind of chose death, and not just in the prison, but also when he let tommy take two canon lives. what does it meeeeean.

[ ghosts in the basement au! ]

heavy tw for suicide / suicide ideation / suicidal talk etc !! warnings also for torture mentions and general death / murder, as well as c!dream being a bit of a dick when a sensitive topic is brought up lmao

“...You could’ve survived.”

Dream freezes, hunched over a translucent cigarette. In the dim lantern light of his room, he almost looks solid. “Hello to you too, Tommy.”

“Cut the bullshit.” There’s a strange quality to Tommy’s voice; Dream isn’t sure he’s in the right headspace to analyse it. “That- That day you died. When you lost your final life. You could’ve lived.”

“Well.” Dream plays dumb deliberately. “A sword through the heart. Who can live with that?”

“An admin,” Tommy snaps, and when Dream finally turns to face him, he realises, with some surprise, that his eyes are red and angry, “I found the regen options. You could’ve drank any one of those potions to save you. You could have flown away. You could’ve fuckin’ done anything to save yourself. And you didn’t.”

Dream lets his face morph into something more genuine: the beginnings of a sneer curling his lips, almost mocking, if it hadn’t been approving. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you actually kept up training when I’m busy. I thought you sat around and... I don’t know. Did child things.”

But Tommy doesn’t rise to the bait like he normally does. He’s clutching his coat tight in his arms, eyes fixed on Dream, and- shit, he’s not getting away from this one, is he?

“Why?” Tommy asks again, when Dream’s silence stretches damningly. “Why do any of that? Fucking hell, why even let me take lives? You could have- Back in the final disk war, you could have killed us with a single thought or struck us with lightning or just used the infinite fucking supplies your powers gave you to beat us. Why did you let yourself die?”

“Because you deserved a win,” Dream says finally, voice low, temper rising, “and because so did I.”

Tommy splutters. “What?”

And Dream’s eyes flash dark the way they only do nowadays when he’s lost in nightmares or memories, recalling with ease the bunker he’d made with everyone’s attachments and the desperate, frantic need for victory Tommy had fought with. “I could have won,” he agrees, “but I was never going to kill you. And I was never going to kill Tubbo.”

When Tommy can’t speak, Dream smiles. It’s an unpleasant, exhausted look.

“Punz didn’t betray me, Tommy. They did exactly as I wanted them to. And he stood by and let you kill me, twice, which was what I wanted too.” He laughs at the sinking, incredulous look on Tommy’s face. “What kind of story would it have been if the villain didn’t lose?”

“...You’re fucking insane.”

Dream winces at the horror in Tommy’s tone. “I mean,” he says, trying to cram his voice into something more acceptable, “I was. I don’t think that way anymore.”

“And yet you let yourself die again five fucking weeks ago.” Tommy crosses his arms, eyeing Dream with apprehensive distaste. “Don’t think you’ve changed that much.”

“Like I said,” Dream says, sinking back against his bed and closing his eyes, “that was for me. That... was because I wanted a win.”

And no matter how much Tommy presses him, Dream clams up, refusing to speak anymore than one word, clipped answers. The younger, moodily, eventually gets the message and leaves him alone. Dream cracks open one eye, watches him leave with a faint smile. Because it’s true - he’d won when he’d died, some part of him had won, anyway. Because Quackity and Sam couldn’t hurt him anymore. They couldn’t torture him. They couldn’t find him. For now, he’d won.

And the feeling of Sapnap’s blade sinking into his chest, the look of devastation on his best friend’s face, had been the closest Dream had ever come to victory.

[xhanisai]

List of my fics that have Marichat in it cos it’s Marichat May!

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

2019 - Five times he got flustered and one time she did 

"Cool? Yes. Handsome? Correct. Hot? Most definitely. But CUTE? No. No way! Not at all!"

Chat Noir doesn't like being called cute. She and the world took advantage of that.

Adrien Agreste doesn't like being called cute. She and the world took advantage of that.

As for her...?

(Humour, comedy, tooth rotting fluff and romance- perfect for readers who like to see Adrien be simultaneously appreciated and embarassed by his loved ones.)

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

2019 - Disconsolate

She never really saw the colour white and blue the same way again.

She never wanted to see those colours again.

(Angst, hurt and comfort, happy ending, romance, minor PTSD- a meal for readers who absolutely loved the episode Chat Blanc and are eager for a happier ending between Adrien and Marinette.)

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

2019 - Selfish Touch

Everyone's soulmarks are completely unique. Some have markings on their skin, some have telepathy, some even have the red string tied around their little finger. The weirdest ones stray from tasting whatever your soulmate's eating to seeing their reflection in the mirror instead of yours. No two pairs are the same.

However, Marinette and Adrien are fated with a bittersweet destiny instead. After all, every time they touch, they end up in excruciating pain.

(Slight angst in the beginning, romance, some humour, fluff, AU- quite a change from your usual soulmate AUs but still incorporating canon’s events and the lovesquare has already sailed.)

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

2020 - Only idiots try to woo those who are already in love with them

"So...Marinette Dupain-Cheng Noir, huh?"

Oooh, Adrien wasn't going to let her get away with that so easily. His lady seems to have a crush on him, Chat Noir him! And there's no way in hell he's going to let that go. However, he has a plan and he refuses to go off tangent.

"Personally, I think Marinette Agreste has a nicer ring to it, don't you think?"

(Comedy, humourous, romance, slight angst and blood- a feast for fans who enjoy Adrien bringing out his inner Chat Noir after figuring out who exactly his Lady is.)

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

2020 - Wo Ai Ni!

Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell.

.

He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her.

(Comedy, humour, fluff, tooth rotting fluff and romance- those hungry for hot mess Adrien, smug little Marinette and their class playing cupid, come get yo food.)

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

2020 - Without you, what is the point?

The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..."

.

"Who the hell was that white monster?"

( One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was...

Here.)

(Angst, hurt and comfort, romance, emotional and happy ending- perfect for the masochists who enjoy reading the endless possibilities for if Adrien were to find out about Chat Blanc.)

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

2020 (Ongoing) - Blanc Noise

It first began with the feeling of being watched and the flicker of shadows.

Then along came missing items being returned in the most odd places.

Soon it was the glimpses of blue eyes in the darkness and a silhouette of white that haunted her.

Marinette thought she saved him, that she saved her Chat Noir from the dystopian timeline.

She was wrong...oh so wrong...

(Horror, suspense, supernatural, romance, angst, mutual pining, hurt and comfort and emotional- readers with a love for horror and Chat Blanc will find this ongoing feast both filling and terrifying~)

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

202(?) - Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other

Thunder roared in the background one last time and the rain intensified, slapping the surface of the umbrella like stones and soaking their feet. The nearby lamp posts that illuminated the streets gave the scene a golden hue, one in particular behind Marinette gave her a celestial glow whilst the rain looked like exquisite diamonds in the background. A moment worth photographing and exhibiting at a famous museum. However, Chat Noir chose to be selfish and instead branded the scene into his mind only for his eyes to see over and over again. 'Mon Dieu...I’m in love...'

(Romance, fluff and rain- let’s be honest here, Chat Noir falling in love with Marinette all over again under the rain. It’s a meal!)

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

202(?) -  And maybe it's true I'm caught up on you, Maybe there's a chance you're stuck on me too

"I’ve been waiting hours upon hours, days after days, weeks after weeks, wondering where on Earth you have been." The hero pretended to faint like an overdramatic lady during the medieval times, the back of his hand against his forehead whilst the other clutched his heart. "You had me so worried! I was THIS close in scouring the city for you, Marinette!"

As the cogs started to turn in her head, Marinette finally understood her mistake and she smiled sheepishly which only egged the vigilant on.

(Humour, fluff, romance, sweetness- aren’t we all the equivalent of flustered damsels in England from five centuries ago when it comes to Chat Noir being a silly, clingy boy with Marinette~?)

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

202(?) -  Baby I'll tell you all my secrets that I'm keepin', you can come inside

The shrill screams from the fleeing civilians and the furious rants from the raging akuma a few streets away snapped the duo apart in an instant, waking them up to the harsh reality.

That’s right...

Chat Noir was the first to arrive at the scene beforehand, quick to save Marinette from the line of fire heroically. Before he knew it, the smirking, devious girl grabbed him by the bell and pressed her lips against his with a softness that he's never, ever felt in his entire lifetime, pooling his entire body with a warmth that turned his insides into goo.

(Romance, slight comedy, cheeky and sauciness- kISS KISS FALL IN LOVE!)

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

And that is all I have so far~ I hope you enjoy lads!

[ginwhitlock]

summary: JASPER/ BELLA. set in eclipse (but is so far from canon honestly all you need to know is that victoria is after bella). When Jasper snatches Bella away to Texas to escape a vampire’s hunt for the girl who killed her lover, Bella comes clean about her hearts unfaithfulness on an unsettling summer morning, in front of God and everybody.

fic type: oneshot, no explicit scenes

warnings: religious guilt, Bella’s weird brand of horny, cheating on Edward, oh and Alice just doesn’t exist— don’t think about it too hard

There was this openness in the air, something stirring from the west, saturating the cotton fields. A yellow eyed barn cat stood still in the morning light, it’s black coat shifting with the bite of ghostly mice. Whiskers twitching. 

It was watching her, she was sure of it, like the pecan trees and the paddock mud and the mosquitoes. All beady-eyed and searching the brown haired girl, the one with crooked ankles and misaligned bangs that just barely kissed her cheeks in the late summer sun. She looked home grown. Wheat wild. A child of desert planes. And most importantly, she looked lost. 

“I thought you’d still be sleeping by now.” A hushed baritone slipped from the screen door, it’s owner donned in dark royal denim and loose leather. 

If it had been just months before, Bella would’ve rolled her eyes. 

But she was different now. As different as Washington was to Texas. As different as evergreens were to red oak. She swore even the sweat didn’t smell right. 

“Wanted to catch the sunrise.” There was a softness to her front teeth, the round of her molars quiet against one another. To whose ears she was catering to she didn’t know. And to be honest, she didn’t quite care anymore. 

Bella made out a lazy nod from her peripheral, the shaggy haired man seemingly relaxed out here on the front porch of her judgement day, all tan and tall and scented like rolled tobacco. 

Shut up, stupid girl. 

Jasper murmured out a response, something about humans needing sleep and southern sunrises being worthy enough to diminish the former from its place on his immortal pedestal. There was a creak and a groan from the haint green floorboards underneath her before she found herself shoulder to shoulder with the two hundred year old soldier; a stray wind had blown through the shaved baby blond hair lining his chin in the slightest of ways. There was a caution light screaming out from his stature and the brunette girl had the painful urge to swallow it under her teeth and tongue. Soak it in holy water and hide it in her skin for him to find. Or rather, Him, if this stay was going to end like she thought it ought to. 

He couldn’t feel that… could he? Stupid, stupid—

“The marigolds should be blooming about now, just west of the barn. They’re quite a bit prettier than Peter’s fields.” There was something off in the lit of his tongue, the way it flipped and rolled off his teeth. It came out… wrong. Forced. Like he was trying to be overtly kind. The way you talk to a frightened rabbit you clipped with the lawn mower. 

Bella frowned something deep and turned nose at Jasper. “Why did you bring me here, Hale?” 

With the question came a wince to his brow, a noticeable blow to his stature. He seemed to fold ever so slightly towards the young girl. 

“Don’t— don’t call me that.” 

Silence filled the unwalled prison of the porch like nothing else, the birds and wind seemingly gone to rest whenever the two entered into each other's space. Like worldly magnets, chess pieces that threw blows instead of diagonals. The quiet held them both. It held them together. 

Bella Swan blinked slowly in an unknown apology before settling back on the blond with the stone facade. She waited for him to continue. 

He sighed. “It’s safer here. Victoria wouldn’t come this far south without encountering things far worse than the likes of Emmett or Rose.” 

“But this wasn’t Edward’s plan, was it?” Bella’s lashes were like rodeo announcers with their back and forth turns to the outlook of western Texas. 

Jasper looked every bit of his one hundred fifty years as he laid a freezing hand on hers, their knuckles slotting together with unpracticed ease. “No. But it’s mine. And you’re gonna have to accept that.” 

She refused to nod at the man with the thigh clenching, hard work mending, touch, for more than a second. She was far from the type of girl that would lay down and let the boys run out their wildest stupidities on her seemingly catastrophic life, but she felt almost resigned in Jasper's hands. There was a calmness between them she couldn’t place as artificial or not, the soft wool of contentedness slowly covering the surveyor-ship she felt stepping outside this morning. The stares of the flora and fauna turned internal. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach, on the nape of her neck, across the fragile skin of her cheeks where freckles started to show, and mostly, on the warming flesh of her hand where their hands met gently. 

Maybe it was Edward looking onto them from a frozen forest hundreds of miles from here as he hunted a scarlet monster, discovering the hidden plumpness swirling around in his lover's chest for the brother he always worried about, but for all the wrong reasons. 

Or maybe… 

“Jasper, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes were like serpents, glowing yellow under the copper wind chimes above them. 

“Whatever you wish, Isabella.” 

Swallow. Breathe. “When you were human… did you believe in God?” 

A pause sliced the air in two. The cotton plants seemed to stop swaying. The feline vanished. A golden eyebrow fell to his browbone. 

“Yes, Isabella. Yes I did.” His face was drawn, distant, like an old time movie screen was playing out on his stone eyelids. 

Bella’s lips pulled at themselves with her front teeth. “Do you think He’s vengeful?” 

Their eye contact sealed itself, his hand moving on its own accord up her hand to her wrist, cradling the small, delicate bones that allowed her to touch him— but not now. Not ever again. 

“When I was a boy, my mama took me to church every Sunday at seven A.M sharp, and sent me to Sunday school after the service. I was the oldest, even then, and I had more responsibilities than just listening to the preacher ramble on about divinity and charity and sacrifice.”

Jasper's face was taught with memory. 

“I had two baby sisters by the time I turned seven and they were the number one priority, you have to understand, Isabella. Ada and Caroline couldn’t have been older than three when the Leroy boy died sitting in the pew behind us… poor child got heatstroke in his wool britches and after that I started dressing the girls in the lightest things I could find and never waited long after the sermon to get back.” 

Bella turned stormy under the weight of the seemingly young man's words, her eyes dropping from his own to study the way his fingers wrapped around her skin like a life jacket, one part caregiver and one part destroyer. Jasper's own hands seemed to start to tremor just slightly under her stare, or maybe it was from the wash of his own words. 

He took a breath he didn’t need. “But. I started listening when my mother got sick, before the girls finished schooling. Started praying. A part of me was guilty that I hadn’t started before I needed something, that the reason I spoke to Him was for a favor, and a big one at that. I was making up for lost time, I thought. I was begging on my knees for anything. And I didn’t get it.

“They buried an empty coffin with my name on it under a white wooden cross after the army said I went missing. Caroline would plant violets around it in the spring, weed out the planters and start again in the fall. She’d leave me communion wafers in our family pew and have Ada try to talk with me through the minister.” 

“I’m so sorry.” A true sadness settled in her bones, her seemingly selfish desire to have the question answered sat like a heavy stone in the out of her stomach. Her heart held out a warm woolen space for him and she silently begged he would sit in it, for his own sake. 

He waved her off and took on a slight smile, something she had never seen from Jasper. Not in any capacity before that very moment. 

She decided she would try to see it every chance she got for as long as he’d let her. 

“I wasn’t a man of religious structure, Isabella, but. I was a man of faith. The small times I was allowed to watch over my sisters only reminded me of that, no matter how far down to hell I had reached, I still had faith in redemption.” 

His teeth clicked together not unpleasantly. “But I haven’t answered your question have I?” There was a knowing-ness in his voice box and Bella wanted to drink it down like communion wine. She smiled back slightly. 

He was beautiful when he sighed. 

“I’ve done horrible things. Killed innocent people. Slaughtered children and mothers and lambs of God. I have worn blood on my hands like a second skin and not once during any of it did I feel remorse. But darlin,” his lashes fluttered like leaves, “not once did I think God wanted me to hate myself for what I had done. I think… He forgave me a long time ago, before I ever forgave myself. So no. I don’t believe in my brother’s vengeful punisher. Not today. Not in this lifetime.“ She’d never hear the ‘not with you’ fragment he had stuck in his mind.  

She had to step back from him then, the vampire who had become all consuming to her chest and her heart and her fingers. The air was warmer in the space behind him but it almost didn’t matter, the warmth layering her skin was enough to burn through an air conditioning unit anyway. Bella’s hands found clumsy solace in her back pockets as she stared ahead at the rows of painful cotton buds waiting to be harvested. The blood almost pulled to her fingertips. 

Teeth and lips found each other. “I don’t think I’m not going to get punished for this.”

Her words were concrete. Cement. Blacktop on a Kansas back road. They could’ve cut glass if she wanted them to. They almost did as he looked at her. 

“For what, Isabella?” 

Knowing bastard. Always. Knowing. 

No trembling allowed now. 

“For wanting you when Edwards away. When he’s in the same room as us. When he’s hunting the woman who's trying to kill me and you’re just standing there telling me not to be afraid of my own horrible heart… for betraying everything I’ve begged for since me and your brother met. I deserve to get punished for this, don’t I? Don’t you think?” 

She was sweating now, cold droplets running down her back to her the soft slope of her ass. Her knuckles were popping against each other like fireworks and she thought she might faint right then and there, MONSTER written across her forehead in a bruise from the impact. 

A scarred hand felt itself into its place under Bella’s chin and forced her rocking skull to finally glimpse the face she had been thinking of every moment she pulled her eyes away. Jasper Hal— Whitlock? And his clear midnight pupils branding her soul in a sinner’s blush. His lips formed a wonderful crook as he slowly pushed her flat against the ancient siding of the old farmhouse belonging to his long standing brother who looked like everything Jasper was except for his spirit. 

She could die this way and she would face God with a smile. 

“What I feel for you deserves no punishment darlin, but if you insist, I think I’d rather do the punishing than any divine power.” 

His lips were light rosy steel against Bella’s own as the clouds started to stretch out infinitely behind his back, unnoticed by the interlocked couple in their wake. A soft moan escaped as felt the soft chill of a crucifix digging into her neck. 

Maybe God would forgive her for this. Just once.

[southslates]

loving you is a losing game

@kanejweek day three: adventure (outer space) / kanej / pre-canon - one-shot - rated T / read on ao3! / 2076 words

Kaz doesn’t understand himself, his own convictions and the way his heart changes its beat next to Inej. Or rather, he does understand. He’s Dirtyhands, and that’s why he can never let his emotions slide out of the corner of his mind he keeps them hidden in and find a home in his mouth. There is no salvation left to spare for him; not in this life, not in the next. He doesn’t want salvation, anyway.

It's so hard to convince himself that’s true in moments like this. Inej is on her stomach next to him, her arm an inch away from his. Despite the way he finds air rising out of his lungs when his gaze loiters on her for too long, her skin disgusts him as much as any other. There are no exceptions to his special kind of hell. He would do so much to beat this illness of the mind, but there is nothing left for him to do.

“You said he’d be here by now,” he growls at her, keeping his face turned away from her hooded features, staring at the street and breathing in, and then out, keeping his mind and body at ease. He has a job to do—a vase to lift—and he cannot be distracted, he cannot be distracted, he cannot—

Kaz grits his teeth. He will not look at Inej and see the stars above illuminate her features in the most dangerous of ways, like a temptation. He cannot do this, he cannot do this, he remembers Imogen. He is Kaz Brekker and he has done so much to make himself a myth but this he cannot do. He has acknowledged this as his weakness.

And if it is his weakness, she is too, by extension. 

“Stoepker has been on time every day for the past week,” she says quietly. “It would just be unlucky. We should go back to the Slat, it’s too late now, anyway.”

Unlucky, it’s unlucky. Kaz had looked into the Emerald Palace through the roof while he and Inej had scaled the rooftops to lead them to the Stoepker residence and seen Petjer Stoepker playing at the tables, light in his eyes and a brunette on his arm. He’d known the man wouldn’t be here—he had downed far too many drinks to even fathom walking the stretch to his mansion in the dark. He and Inej needed Stoepker to come home so they could sneak into his upstairs safe in the moment in took him to deactivate the trip wires around his garden. The job wasn’t supposed to be hard.

They could have gone back to the Slat two hours ago, when the sun had just dipped below the wintery horizon. He could have sat at his desk and kept on going through the reports fucking Per Haskell kept delegating to him while Inej went down to spend time with Jesper or sat silently at his window.

But he hadn’t. He’d known Stoepker wouldn’t come back and yet he’d forced her to stay like this next to him, just a hand’s width apart on a freezing rooftop, silent, just so he could feel her presence next to him, just so he could be next to her and tempt himself, so he could turn to her and not his paperwork. He feels distinctly stupid, and something else blossoms in his chest. He sighs and slides off the roof. Inej follows, lithe and agile with her good legs.

“Back to the Slat,” she questions, and he nods. What else is there to do? There’s always more work. Not that he doesn’t enjoy his work, the brick-by-brick. He wants something more, but he doesn’t even know what that is.

He slides till the end of the roof and then grabs his cane next to him. He doesn’t trust himself to scale Ketterdam’s roof in the pitch-dark, especially the day after a snow. Kaz doesn’t need to break his other leg. Though Inej doesn’t have to, she joins him, feet touching the ground without noise to the ear. He can feel her steps reverberate through his chest. And then something else.

He turns to her in the dark, and he can feel the blush rise to her cheeks. “I’m a bit hungry,” she admits. “Nina said we could get waffles in the middle of night. I’m late to meet her, but Jesper has probably already told her we’re out.”

Of course he’s the monster, the boy with hands caked with blood who takes her away from her good friends—the sassy heartrender who can pull her close, the flirty sharpshooter who can kiss her cheek. Kaz is jealous of Nina and Jesper, and he knows why. He can and will have everything but what they have with Inej.

He doesn’t mean to say it. He means to let her go, to tell her to meet Nina, to erase his chapter in her night. It’s what he would do if he was a better man. Instead he says, “The Finch Inn serves hutspot into the night,” and gestures for her to follow him with a glare.

Kaz Brekker is a terrible man. He can give Inej nothing, but he wants to take so much regardless. It’s a strange sort of weakness that has him lead her to the first place he ate in Ketterdam, treasure to a newly minted orphan. Perhaps a small part of him wants to erase those memories he had with Jordie, write her smile and laugh and goodness into that crevice of his mind. He is such a terrible man.

/

Kaz takes kruge out of his pocket and accepts two bowls of hutspot, placing one in Inej’s hand. She winces when the bowl touches her with a small huff of air he wants to spend the rest of his life daydreaming about, and he takes it back. He can’t feel the heat through his gloves.

They walk outside of the inn. Kaz means to walk back to the Slat with her, but Inej side-eyes their surroundings closely before nodding him towards a small alley. He follows her—he follows nobody, he is his own person, not some sort of obedient dog—he follows her onto a rickety fire escape on the side of the building. Inej scales to the top and reaches to grab the bowls from his hand so he can regrip his cane properly.

She looks into his eyes for a moment, and keeps his face straight, cruel, he’s good at that. She is never disparaged from even his worse glares, and he makes the step up.

The roof of the Inn is a bit clunky, but he navigates himself upon it well enough. Inej is seated near the chimney, as though it is warm, and he drags himself on the other side of it. This is good. There are feet between them, and their hands do not touch as she passes him her bowl.

“Thank you,” she says to him as she takes a bite, stares into the distance of the sky. She is watching the Kerch stars, shining in this dark winter night, and he is watching her. He cannot stare at the heavens, lest he be reminded that the distance between the stars is the same as the space between him and everything he wants and can never have. Her.

Kaz says nothing, just takes a bite of his own hutspot. It’s warm, a nice contrast to the chill that he is now feeling keenly in his bad leg. He refuses to groan, simply stays silent as Inej stares off into the distance. He will not ask her to start a conversation, he cannot.

“My mother used to show me constellations,” she begins, his little Suli idealist, this girl with all her hope and her stories. She reminds him of a little boy who loved omelet stands, who didn’t understand the true evil of this city of greed. “They were clearer in Ravka, when the caravans stopped in the woods. They’re so hard to see here.”

He wants more. He wishes she would laugh, he doesn’t know why. “Ravka is heavily under-industrialized. It’s why in the long-term they’ll lose the war.”

She turns to glare at him, but he can tell it’s lacking severity. He knows when Inej is truly angry at him. He’s seen the look in her eyes when he raises his voice or kills too quickly. She knows he always has his reasons, so he doesn’t understand why she acts shocked every time. She cannot still have faith in him like her precious Suli constellations.

“You’re so grim, Kaz,” she complains. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re lights in the sky,” he says, looking at her. “Made of small amounts of metal and gases. They are terrifying.”

“How do you know all these things?” Inej asks him. “You haven’t gone to university. You know about the stars and you do maths.”

“I learn myself,” he shrugs, gives her a truthful answer. “It comes easy.”

“You are infuriating. You and the way your mind works. Shevrati,” she calls him. He hopes that is affection under her voice. He has no idea where he stands with Inej, just that even he cannot fathom the depths of himself. The depths of his desire—

That is not a thought he will finish. It is not. “I could say the same about you and your saints,” he says.

Inej shifts up against the roof. “My mother once said the stars would lead me home.”

Something cruel wants to bite its way up through Kaz’s throat. The stars watched as you were taken on a slaver’s ship and at the Menagerie. Stop having faith in these stars, in these pretty words. They are meaningless, Inej. There is just you on your feet and your knives and your vengeance. That is all. He bites it down. Inej is not him, Inej is better than him. He cannot be anything for her, but he can be better than Dirtyhands.

“Keep your eyes on the stars, then,” he says, his mouth closing around his last bite, setting the plate next to him on the roof. “Perhaps they, of all things in this world, will be unpredictable.” His words bite with sarcasm, but they are not cruel.

Inej sets her own bowl down too. “Thank you,” she repeats again, and then turns to face him, that gaze which had been observing galaxies. “Do you know much about the stars?”

“I know they’re balls of gas. They’re nothing mythical, like your sun summoners and shadow summoners would have you think. If we got close, I’d think durasts could have their fun with them.”

“It’s nice to pretend,” she says with a flush of her cheeks. “You could pretend, Kaz.”

“Pretend what, Inej?” he doesn’t need to say her name but he does, hoping she doesn’t catch the way his mouth shapes her name, like a benediction. “Pretend like your prayers go to some mythical powers beyond the sky? There is nobody watching over me.”

“You’re wrong,” Inej says. “You could pretend that balls of light floating in the sky are sacred. What’s stopping you?”

“Presence of mind.”

“Sometimes I hate you,” Inej says, absentmindedly. He knows she is joking and he doesn’t know why that still stings. He cannot say the same back. He cannot even press a lie that Inej is not important to him to his lips. He is ridiculous.

“I paid for your dinner, Ghafa,” he says. She giggles a bit at that, laying against the chimney, and then fades off. He dares to look at her again and sees her leaning against the heat, her eyes half-closed in a strange smile.

“That you did, Kaz.” She says his name so often when he speaks. He’s not sure why—perhaps it’s something she does in Suli, and she is unused to Kerch language. He thinks about teaching her how to read on his floor almost a year ago, and he wants to kill into silence and cut himself out of this sky. He’s Kaz Brekker, he needs to be better than this.

They should go. He has work to do, she should meet Nina and Jesper. They should go, but they don’t. They sit on the Inn and stare at the stars in the distance together until the sun carves itself over the horizon and reminds Kaz that this cannot be his story.

[sir-crisis]

So I was just listening this song (Sunkissed by khai dreams) and like its so s o f t and of course I couldn’t help but imagine some of the Haikyuu ships singing it to each other so then I had to write one shots/ideas for all of them and this happened:

DaiSuga: literally the softest ship in the show there no way I couldn’t think of them. Like it could go some many ways but like my favorite would be if like Daichi plays/sings for him as a confession (cause we all know that man is talented as hell) and maybe it’s like after they graduate or the team sets it up or something and like halfway through Suga starts tearing up and when Daichis done Sugas like ‘You’re such a sap’ and accepts/confesses back with something cheesy like ‘But that’s why I love you too’. And like they’re both tears eyed and I-they’re just so soft and sweet and I’d die for them so fast.

BokuAka: I couldn’t not think of the practically canon power couple that it Akaashi and Bokuto. Like I can’t help but imagine at lunch or something Bokuto finds Akaashi singing this to himself and like just quietly stands there for a while with like this cute fond smile on his face before approaching and sitting with him, and at first Akaashi internally freaks out like ‘shit! how much of that did he hear???’ But then Bokuto doesn’t bring it up so he just lets it go. bUT later at practice stuffs going normal before Bokuto just randomly asks ‘have you guys ever heard Akaashi sing?’ And they’re like ‘Ughhh Bokuto can we please just focus on practicing’ (Cause we all know this man talks about Akaashi to everyone constantly) but then they all look over at Akaashi who’s frozen in shock with like a light blush and Konohas like ‘Nvm practice I wanna hear this man sing’ and that’s how Akaashi ends up singing infront of the whole Fukurodani team while bright red and Bokuto recording the whole thing and sending it to Kuro being like ‘Guess what bro I have the best boyfriend of all time’.

IwaOi: Dont even get me started on how cute these two are. I totally imagine this as like either a confession or a proposal or something. Obviously Iwaizumi would sing it cause he’s definitely the sappier between the two, but like Iwaizumi would totally lead him to like a secluded area and the whole way Oikawa would make sarcastic comments like ‘Are you finally going to murder me Iwa-Chan?’ And when they stop it’s like by a bunch of flowers or under a pretty tree (cause Iwaizumi would) and before Oikawa can say anything Iwaizumi starts singing playing the song with like a small blush on the tip of his cheeks while alternating between looking at Oikawa and anything but Oikawa. And like the whole time Oikawa has this slight agape and starry eyed look on his face with like a blush. And then when he’s done they just stand staring at each other for like a whole minute both blushing and Iwaizumi getting more and more nervous before Oikawa finally just step forward with a quiet ‘Iwa-Chan’ (or maybe ‘Hajime’) and pull him into a kiss, but I also like to think Oikawa would be a little shit (cause that’s why we love him) and do a 180 by throwing his hands up like ‘Idiot you finally told me!’ before jumping him and they both fall to the ground while Oikawa aggressively kisses all over Iwaizumis face who is trying and failing to not laugh. I also love to imagine that later Oikawa begs Iwazumi to let him record and post him singing cause ‘Everyone needs hear my amazing boyfriend singing Iwa-chan’ and when he posts it everyone’s like ‘omg Oikawa this is so good your singing is so nice’ and ‘Oikawa-senpai this is so good I love your voice!’ and Oikawas ‘like no you idiot that’s Iwa-Chan, duh’ and that’s how Iwaizumi gets known throughout Aoba Johsai as an amazing singer and Oikawas Torus boyfriend.

KuroKen: I couldn’t help but think of these two. Like I imagine it as like Kuro confessing to Kenma. Like maybe it’s after their last game together or after they’ve graduated or something and like the whole day Kuros has this bright look in his eyes so when he pulls Kenma away to go and talk somewhere Kenma 100% expects for him to joke around and try to give some cheesy sort of speech so when Kuro stops and turns to him with that look in his eyes Kenma can’t help but roll his eyes before Kuro suddenly starts singing and Kenma freezes ‘cause like Kuro wtf’ before the meaning of everything falls into place and he’s like ‘Kuro no no stop Kuro’ but Kuro just grins at him and keeps going while Kenna’s face gets redder and redder. Like halfway through Kuro drops to one knee (cause he’s an over dramatic idiot and I love him) and Kenma try’s to cover his face to stop how he flush’s even more. When he’s done I love to imagine Kuro making some dumb video game reference or maybe an inside joke that has Kenma laughing and pulling his hands away to look at Kuro who has the same bright look in his eyes and Kenma just gives him a small smile before quietly returning his confession. I also love the imagine that when they get back to the team Kuro just gives Yaku a small thumbs up when no ones looking (cause we all know Kuro would rant/rehearse with Yaku for a whole week before doing it) and Yaku returns the gesture before Levs just like ‘Yaku-San why are making weird hand gestures with Kuro? Are you in a gang? Yaku-San are you and Kuro in a gang?!’ And Yaku just gives a defeated sigh.

Matsuhana: You know I could never forget the beloved meme team of Aoba Johsai. I imagine they would totally do something like this before and after confessing but I love to imagine them casually sitting with (probably on) each other before Matsukawas just like ‘oh yeah bro lemme sing this song for you it reminds me of you’ and maybe it leads to a confession or maybe they’re already dating but either way he sings it and the whole time he just gently smiles at Makki while Makki stares back with his usual smirk but his eyes are kinda starry and maybe halfway through Makki starts humming along or something cute like that. When he’s done though Makki would totally be his usual self and be like ‘Well I can do you one better’ and starts playing the music to despacito on his phone before standing up and doing a somewhat coordinated dance routine while singing along and looking playfully at Matsukawa the whole time who is full on laughing between comments of ‘Makki oh my god how are so bad at dancing’ and ‘how is this better we literally don’t know a single word you’re saying’.

KyoHaba: Continuing on my love for Aoba Johsai I couldnt forget these two. I 100% believe that Kyotani crush’s first, like maybe it’s after they’re game with Karasuno and for a whole week Kyoutani can’t stop thinking about it so he’s goes up to Iwazumi like ‘Um Senpai is it weird if you want someone else to pin to a wall?’ And before Iwazumi can say anything Makkis just like ‘Nah bro that’s just kinky’ and Iwazumi just sighs before trying to help Kyoutani both better explain and also help with his issue (we all know Iwazumi cares about Kyoutani) Which is how all the third years find out about Kyoutanis crush on Yahaba. I love to imagine that through the rest of the year Kyoutani try’s small romantic gestures like flowers, notes and small things but never actually confesses and lets be honest, Yahaba would be completely clueless but can’t help but admit that they’ve grown closer ‘cause duh, of course the captain and ace need to be close I-Watari why are you laughing at me?’. I feel like Kyoutani would probably do it after a bad game as third years, maybe it was just a practice match or maybe they lost in spring high but either way everyone can tell Yahaba’s slowly getting panicked and lost in himself and maybe he does it right when he gets back or maybe a few days later but he walks in on Yahaba late at practice after everyone’s left and Kyoutani grumbles something about ‘idiot tiring himself out’ or something before marching over and dragging a tired but feisty Yahaba to the locker room to clean up. Yahaba would totally refuse and somewhere along the line they would probably start arguing and maybe Kyoutanis trying to to get his point across and repeats something cheesy he said in one of his notes and they both just freeze with Kyouanti thinking ‘fuck fuck fuck’. Then probably in a panic Kyotani just goes for it and starts singing. The whole time I imagine Yahaba is still frozen but slowly a blush starts to rise on his cheeks while Kyoutanis standing there bright red and avoiding eye contact besides to check if Yahaba’s still breathing. When he’s done Yahaba would still be frozen and Kyoutani would just frantically keep looking between him and the floor before Yahaba suddenly moved and kisses him, and at first Kyoutani would probably just stand there in shock before he slowly started to return the kiss and maybeee they just end up making out in the locker room who knows. Tomorrow at morning practice Watari would definitely pick up on the hickeys on Yahaba’s neck but before he can say anything he spots the blush running up Kyoutanis neck and just stops for a second before full on cackling at both Kyoutani and Yahaba’s matching blushes. That’s how the whole team of Aoba Johsai find out that their current Ace and captain are dating just as their previous had. (I’m so sorry this 100% turned into a long oneshot but I couldn’t stop it once it started)

EnnoTana: Another amazing ace/captain duo (in their third year) who I absolutely would die for. For some reason I kept imaging this as if the song were an apology, mainly Tanaka trying to apologize for an argument to a stubborn Ennoshita after he’s exhausted all his options. Tanaka would also totally be a sap about it like probably have flowers and candles and everything, Ennoshita being himself would totally have some sort of bored but smug look on his face when Tanaka starts singing (let’s be honest Tanaka would sing for him no matter how cheesy the song) and maybe after a certain line hits him Ennoshitas smugness dies away to a soft smile and starry eyes returned by Tanakas love struck expression. Maybe Tanaka pulls him over and starts dancing with him (I know cheesy, but Tanakas would be so cheesy). Maybe after Ennoshita would lean in to whisper ‘I wasn’t still mad you idiot’ against his lips before leaning back and laughing at pouting Tanaka who’s whining along the lines of ‘Chikaraaa you ruined the moment’.

Oh my god that was so much I’m so sorry I just HAD to rant to somebody/something about how cute this song is (I totally recommend it) and how cute these volleyball dorks are. I know my writing wasn’t really one-shot style but I just had to get it out. Also I hope I got all of them in character and I’m sorry if I somehow didn’t.

[katsitting]

"Audacity"?

AN: So, we’ve got another one that I ran with.  I hope you enjoy, and that this is along the lines of what you had in mind :) All typos are mine

Ships: Tomarry

Rating: T

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern, Canon Divergence, Professor Tom Riddle, Sexual Tension, Student/Teacher Dynamic, Tom Riddle is a Dark Lord but Harry doesn’t know this, POV Third Person Limited, Not Beta-Read

You can read it on AO3 here.

_______________________________________________________________

“That’s total bollocks” Harry said, aware that he was playing a dangerous game, but unwilling to anyway. To do anything else would be to admit defeat, and Harry, even when acquiescence was the safest option in his toolbox, would sooner kiss a Mandrake than do as much.

To hell with that.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed into his ear, with what Harry could imagine was an ashen and horrified look on her face. Harry didn’t turn to face her, though, not when Professor Riddle was standing in front of him with a look of absolute contempt on his face.

“This is insane, Harry. You’re going to get detention, or worse, expelled.” Hermione was buzzing with nervous energy at his side, while Ron, the more terrified of the two, remained silent. It was as if Ron had absorbed all the fear and good sense Harry had because what Harry said, was going to continue to say, wasn’t sensible in the least. “Harry, please, see sense.”

Harry couldn’t, not over the loud rush of anger, of bitterness in his ears. It was a writhing, living mass in the centre of his chest, a poison slowly spreading through his veins.

Stopping wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

“No matter how you slice it, it’s wrong. You can’t just say that the Unforgivables have their moments where they—the total bloody opposite of what the word unforgivable even means—are forgivable.”

Professor Riddle’s expression darkened, his contempt growing into something that resembled loathing.  The murmurs in the classroom had all but vanished; Harry doubted there was even an intake of breath. Still, Harry couldn’t find it within himself to care, to be concerned. He only had room for fury in his heart.

Because how fucking dare he?

A dark wizard had murdered Harry’s parents using an Unforgivable.

A dark witch had tortured Neville’s parents until they’d gone mad using an Unforgivable.

There was no justification, no reason for the use of dark magic. Even if Professor Riddle was brilliant, one of the most talented young wizards to grace this school, he was wrong.

The gall, the bloody nerve, to say that they could somehow be justified.

Harry’s fingers were shaking to the point that he couldn’t keep his pencil in his grip.

“Mr. Potter—“ Riddle began, but Harry didn’t let him finish.  He was on his feet before he realised what he’d done, hands clenched into fists at his hands. His shaking had spread from his fingers to the rest of him.

“No, don’t say another word.”

The room went still. Everyone did. Even Riddle had paused, his expression freezing into one of disbelief.

Harry drank the look in, taking that moment to give Riddle the most disgusted look he could muster, before turning away and beginning to gather his things.  He wasn’t going to stay a second longer.

What would be the point? He was angry, no, furious. Staying in this classroom, with his pissant of a professor, would only invite another argument, would only cost his House more points.

It was such bullshit. Such horseshit.

Harry tried not to think about his anger, tried not to focus on the nervous glances Ron and Hermione cast his way in the hopes he’d face them and sit back down, but that anger—

It was all he could focus on, all he could taste in the back of his tongue as he shoved his books into his bag. He was so furious that he couldn’t stand it, that he couldn’t breathe through his it.

How could someone so brilliant be so blind? How could someone so young be so heartless? It was maddening. It didn’t make any bloody sense!

His head still rung with Riddle’s cavalier discussion of dark magic, of what a fascinating history they had, Riddle had said. He couldn’t get the words out of his head, couldn’t erase the look of fascination in Riddle’s dark eyes as he spoke about the subject to his class.

It was disgusting, so fucking—

Harry shot the thought down before he riled himself up any further.  If he let himself just run with this, there was no telling what else he might do, might say.  Dumbledore could cover for him, but not even he could protect him if Harry took things too far.

“Mr. Potter—“

Harry’s fingers stilled, his head snapping up to look at Riddle without meaning to. Riddle’s expression had grown icier in the time Harry had spent gathering his things. It was like all the colour had been drained out of him, his humanity gone.

Harry didn’t let that intimidate him. Squaring his shoulders, Harry levelled him with a fierce expression of his own.

“Sit down.”

Harry didn’t. He refused to be cowed, to be silenced for his legitimate position. No one got a pass at saying that dark magic was justifiable, not even the professors.

No, especially not the professors.

Riddle had been alright for a Slytherin, even if he was some of the harsher professors when it came to his lessons, but now, Harry was certain that he was worse than all the rubbish in Slytherins he knew.

The Slytherins he knew at least were forthright with their noxious beliefs, but no, not Professor Riddle.  Riddle was the worst kind of Slytherin, the most heinous of all, he was a bloody liar. A terrible person pretending to be kind, to be good. He was—

A dark wizard through and through.

“Mr. Potter, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Still, Harry refused to back down. The room grew chillier still, the tension among the other seventh-year students enough to make everyone rigid in their seats. Harry wanted to feel bad for putting everyone through this, but he didn’t. Harry felt no guilt.

“Class dismissed. Mr. Potter, you stay.”

Riddle’s voice was a whisper; no louder than the flutter of a page turning. With how everyone reacted, it might as well been a Bombarda. Everyone scrambled to gather their things, to rush out of the room and escape from the mounting conflict with between them.

Harry paid them no mind, still not standing down even as Hermione and Ron lingered on the outer perimeter of his sight. They should have left with everyone else, but Harry understood their reservations, their hesitance. A Harry that was alone was a Harry that could get himself into deeper trouble.

Calling Professor a fucking  dark wizard would do precisely that, and the temptation to shout that off the top of his lungs, was growing stronger by the seconds.

“Granger and Weasley, I believe I said that class was dismissed.”

From Harry’s peripheral, he could make out Hermione freezing in place, her hand falling away from where she had tried to reach for the outer edge of his robes. Her face was expressionless, but by the state of her hair, Harry knew she was flustered and on the verge of panicking. Harry almost winced at the look on Ron’s face.  He fared no better than Hermione; he looked faint, his face a shade of pale green.

Hermione was short of having a panic attack, and Ron, by the look of things, was in the middle of one.

Harry did feel a twinge of guilt then.

Harry turned to Hermione with a smile on his face that he meant to be comforting, but Hermione’s expression didn’t look convinced. Her hair was still frizzed up, as if the strands were sucking up the tension in the room.  

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

Hermione hesitated, unwilling to leave him alone but also equally as unwilling to disobey a direct instruction from their professor. The tension radiating from Riddle was growing worse by the second, it was only a matter of time before he directed his ire on Harry’s friends if they didn’t move fast enough.

Harry didn’t want to drag him into his mess.

“Go.”

Hermione gave a subtle nod, and then, with a fierce expression on her face, managed to undo whatever spell of panic Ron was in and lead him out of the classroom.

Harry didn’t watch them as they left, not with Riddle watching him as closely as he was. It was like he was trying to see beneath Harry’s skin, to uncover some sort of secret that he didn’t know.

What he was trying to find, to uncover, Harry didn’t know nor care.

Riddle could look all he fucking liked.

“Mr. Potter—“ Riddle began, voice so soft that Harry struggled to catch it. It wasn’t angry or upset. It wasn’t much of anything. It was empty, but it was still eerie enough to make the hair’s on the nape of Harry’s neck stand on end.

“While I admire your passion on the subject, what you have said and done today, is—“

Harry couldn’t help his smirk when Riddle stopped talking, lifting his chin a little to stare at Riddle from beneath his nose. A gesture that said, no, screamed—

I dare you.

I bloody dare you.

Whatever the circumstances, Harry was not afraid. Nothing Riddle said could scare him, nothing that he did could make him take his words back. Riddle had lost all of his respect, his goodwill. There was nothing Riddle could possibly do to him now that would make a bloody difference.

Detention?

Expulsion?

While detention was definitely a tool in Riddle’s arsenal, Harry’s behaviour wasn’t enough to justify expulsion. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it, and in fact, Harry was certain, Dumbledore might even praise him for his defiance.

“The audacity Mr. Potter, to accuse me of being accepting of dark magic, to derail my class with your ridiculous tantrum—“

Harry laughed, unable to help it when Riddle’s expression turned lethal, when Riddle crossed the room to loom over Harry like some sort of angry ghost from across his desk. Harry had never considered Riddle the type to throw fists, but with the look he was sporting, Harry had half a mind to prepare himself for an all-out brawl.

“If given the chance, I’d do it again,” Harry said, and Riddle froze, all the anger draining out of him leaving behind an expressionless mask. “Hogwarts has no place for dark wizards…sir.”

It was miraculous just how fast Professor Riddle switched from one emotion to the next. It made one wonder just how sane he was, if one could even call Riddle sane at all for spouting the nonsense he’d had in class.

“Seventy-five points from Gryffindor and a month’s detention, Potter.”

Harry didn’t flinch, already expecting that. His entire house was going to kill him, but it couldn’t be helped. Actions had consequences, and although he would have preferred getting out of this unscathed, that was not going to be possible after what he’d said.

Oh well.

Riddle didn’t say anything more for some time, his gaze burning into Harry’s eyes.  It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but Harry did not blink. He didn’t want to miss a thing even though his eyes were starting to water.

“Listen well, Harry—

The sound of his name coming from that mouth was enough to make Harry’s skin crawl.

“For someone that is so quick to accuse others of being a dark wizard, I find it curious that you would choose to submit yourself to detention with the very wizard you are accusing of condoning dark magic.”

Harry’s blood ran cold, shock enough to drain away all the burning righteous indignation swimming in his gut. Riddle’s lips had into a saccharine smile and—

Those eyes.

They were lit with something Harry couldn’t identify, something he couldn’t place. All that he knew was that it was wrong somehow, that it was—

No, Harry tried to shake off the unease. He’s only trying to scare you.

Harry squared his shoulders, fighting down the wave of unease murmuring in the back of his mind to turn away and run.

“It’s not very intelligent of you, Harry,” Riddle purred and Harry blanched, unsure of how to respond when Riddle’s face changed again, something mischievous now gracing his features. “But I suppose, that is what others find so endearing about you. This recklessness.”

Harry’s throat caught, a burn he didn’t want to acknowledge blooming across his cheeks. How did he even begin responding to that?

“I’d be careful if I were you. Someone might just find you too endearing, and—“ Riddle’s lips were curled into a strange smile, one Harry had never seen on his professor’s face before. Harry tried to swallow down his discomfort, to not take a step back when Riddle tilted his head to one side, observing him from beneath his lashes.

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

“Never you mind, Harry. You’re free to go.”

Riddle waved his hand, and it was like Harry could breathe again, had been snapped out of his unwanted and unexpected stupor for a moment to take a step back and reach for his moleskin bag.

The moment was over as quickly as it had come.

What the fuck was that all about?

Harry couldn’t even begin to answer that question, to sort through this own confusing thoughts. Even after he’d left the classroom, rushing through the halls all the way to Gryffindor Tower at a much faster pace than he would have liked, he was at a loss.

It was obvious Riddle had been upset. That couldn’t have been more clear, but—

But I suppose, that is what others find so endearing about you. This recklessness.

It was almost as though he were paying Harry a compliment, and that was wrong on so many levels that Harry didn’t even want to consider it. Riddle didn’t pay compliments like that. Especially not after what Harry had said, had done, in the middle of class.

What the fuck?

Harry wasn’t looking forward to detention.

[lotusthekat]

Can you hear me, Major Tom?

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: G

Relationships: Lars & Steven; MINOR - Lars & Off Colors

Characters: Lars Barriga, Steven Quartz Universe; MINOR - Off Colors; MENTIONED - Martha and Dante Barriga

Summary: Lars never minded fireworks. They were always beautiful and maybe even the hope of a better year.

But never was he aware just how... loud they really are.

Word count: 1.728

AO3

A/N: It’s time for Lars Suffering :) (but don’t take this as torture or anything)

TRIGGER WARNINGS - flashback, PTSD, implied canonical character death, panic attack and fear of death

--

It’s finally the end of that chaotic year. Lars never imagined he’d make it in time.

The beach is filled with plenty of gems – those who were… uncorrupted, according to Steven. Most had been gone for thousands of years, and only now could they see the light of day again. Lars can’t imagine how confused they must be, though many seem excited for the fireworks tonight.

There are far more people at the beach this year, as not many folks tend to show up. Lars himself hasn’t been there since he was, like… 12. When he wasn’t ashamed of showing at the beach as his true self, alongside his parents.

And today, Lars is with Mom, Dad and his new gem friends. His parents were the ones who suggested the Off Colors could go along with them, and while it’s not really a surprise, Lars is glad they’re so welcoming of the gems… and himself.

After everything that happened, Lars is just grateful he’s home again. He’s glad he can share this moment with the Off Colors – his family –, to celebrate their freedom and more hopeful times, now that the Diamonds and Steven have chosen to work together to reconstruct everything.

“… you just gotta count with everyone else, okay?” Lars explains to his friends.

“That’s how we activate the ‘fireworks’?” Rhodonite asks.

Lars snorts, “It’s not a voice command, Rhodonite. People organize them.”

“Who does it, then?” Rutile wonders.

The pink boy opens his mouth but pauses for a few seconds. “The mayor, I think. But that doesn’t matter now – you just follow my lead, alright?”

“Yes, Lars!” The gems respond in unison, not calling him ‘captain’ this time. At least they’ve been getting it, now that they’re not in outer space anymore.

The countdown begins. The Off Colors are still a little lost, but they repeat the same numbers as he does, and eventually do it themselves (well, except for Padparadscha, but she’s excited, nonetheless).

“… Three!”

“Two!”

“One…!”

The cheers and hugs commence, and the show of bright lights and loud pops fill the sky. Humans and gems alike celebrate.

But for some reason, they’re… suddenly so far away from him.

Because eventually, there’s only the fireworks obfuscating the night sky.

It’s colorful and acute, and immense – as immense as the black outer space and the sea.

It’s so flashing.

And then

it all fades into nothing.

Loudly, and then… quietly.

And it happens all over again.

It explodes and fades away, but the noises are sudden.

Like bombs,

or killing robots.

 Lars stares back.

He doesn’t cry, nor does he run away.

He listens as if he’s being forced to.

The colors hurt his eyes, yet he doesn’t look away at all.

Until one particular bomb is too close, and so his eyes rush over his friends.

There’s nobody.

Are they…?

Kaboom!

Lars cowers in the ground, putting his arms over his head. What can he do? Run? Fight back? He should save the others!

How? How? How?

He shakes his head repeatedly, hands over his ears so he doesn’t hear the noises. Useless. Useless.

He’s a coward again.

It doesn’t end.

It will never end.

The explosions only feel closer, and they’re going to get him.

Please, no, no, no

I’m sorry

Stop

Stop

Please

Please

 He hears… something else, though. Somehow.

Amid the battlefield he’s trapped in, there’s someone approaching. Slowly. Calmly. Something about them… he senses as much as the explosive noises.

Lars does have enough in him to look up a bit.

It’s a familiar black curly hair, shaped like a star and also a rose. That together form one uniqueness you could never forget.

Steven doesn’t try to talk. Not that Lars could hear him, though.

The younger boy approaches with something in his hand…

Headphones?

Not those you listen to music with, no.

Lars tentatively gazes back at Steven, words not coming to him right now. Lars has so much he wants to say, but his mouth won’t open, not with the awful taste in his throat. It tastes like metal.

Steven seems to get it. He makes a gesture at the headphones. Lars hesitates for a moment, yet he eventually nods.

He soon uncovers his ears, but it’s not too long until they’re enveloped by absolute silence.

Then he’s…

Lars is back.

The pink teenager is at the beach with everyone else. Except his parents and the Off Colors stand far from him, whereas Steven is the only one close. They’re all worried and scared for him. Lars can tell the fireworks are still happening in the distance, but it’s the least of his concerns now.

He feels awful. Stupid.

Lars never once minded the fireworks. Okay, maybe when he was very little, but he eventually grew out of it.

And he was ready this time. He was so excited for this new year to come. Yet here he is, trembling like crazy in front of everyone.

There is a quiet touch.

Steven’s hand has reached his shoulder, but it’s ready to release it if necessary. Steven doesn’t look terrified at all. If anything… he looks sympathetic, a gaze that’s way too knowing for someone so young.

Even so, the fourteen-year-old smiles sadly and makes another gesture. It’s very simple, but Lars understands its suggestion.

While unsure and embarrassed, Lars accepts it again.

Steven talks to everyone else, words unbeknownst to the pink boy. Lars is taken far from the beach, far from the battle, the cracks and kabooms that would brighten the sky still.

They walk away, until that light no longer reaches them.

The boys have reached a small public square, the same one Lars used to play so long ago, when nothing would concern him. It’s, admittedly, a place he feels safe in. The fireworks are nowhere to be found.

They sit by the concrete surrounding the trees, cold as the breeze of the winter. Lars has his hands buried in his pockets, no longer needing to protect himself. Steven has a supporting hand soothing one of his arms, velvet glove contrasting the certain roughness of Lars’ coat.

They stay away for long, longer than Lars could really count.

It’s then that Steven taps him and says without words that the fireworks have finally stopped, which allows Lars to listen to the world around him again.

He takes off the headphones, flinching as he subconsciously expects the explosion to catch him… but that’s not what happens.

Lars sighs in relief and shame, though he returns the object to Steven.

“Thanks, man,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

Lars nods but doesn’t meet Steven’s eyes for now. Steven sits by his side, not pushing him to spit it out. Lars thinks about the other’s readiness to help without words, and to bring him to a quiet place, probably having to interrupt his precious time with his own family… not to mention the familiarity Steven shows in this entire situation.

At the same time it worries Lars in some sense – because a fourteen-year-old kid knowing all too well how to handle someone under a panic attack is enough of a warning sign –, the pink teenager also feels some comfort. It’s probably not fair to Steven, but now that they’ve come this far…

“I don’t know what came over me,” Lars speaks lowly, “When the fireworks began, I was…”

He replays the entire episode in his head, as bothersome as it was. He wasn’t at the beach at all. He was…

“… I was there,” Lars resumes, “fighting.”

Steven inhales deeply.

“And I didn’t know what to do. It was all so- so loud and bright, I couldn’t see anything. Or anyone.” Lars stares at his own hands, which might be shaking still, and clenches them into fists. “I thought I was going to… to…”

His tense hands are soothed by the same soft velvet ones. The contact almost scares him.

Steven looks at him back, eyes shining like the sky above, but not in hope. Instead, with the knowledge of the stars.

Lars sighs again. “I wish you hadn’t seen that.”

“Lars…”

The older boy squeezes Steven’s hand back. “I’m sure I scared the hell out of you, huh?”

Steven swallows. “Well, that’s not important right now. You’re the one who fought back there.”

Lars doesn’t object.

“I wish I hadn’t,” he whispers.

Steven’s hands freeze for a moment, until they hold Lars’ a little too tight.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, buddy.”

Silence.

“I probably freaked everyone else, too, right?”

“Maybe.”

Lars gulps. “I know I should talk to them, but…”

“It’s okay. You can take your time.”

Their hands are warm against one another. Even if Lars’ are always a little colder, there’s the hint of his internal heat with Steven beside him.

“Is this helping?” The younger boy wonders.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

They pause again, except there’s one question wandering in Lars’ head.

“Those are yours, right?” He points at the headphones sitting by Steven’s other side.

Steven nods. “I’ve had them for a while now.” His head lowers as he mumbles, “Fireworks aren’t really my thing anymore.”

Lars already suspected, but he still frowns. “Didn’t you need them?”

“I think you needed more.”

“Steven.”

“Don’t worry, I was fine. But I could tell you weren’t.”

Lars wants to protest because this kid, he swears to God, but he knows it won’t go anywhere. So, he complies and in the very least holds Steven’s hand with the same care; to let Steven know he can count on Lars, too.

They watch the stars from there, the sky a lot more peaceful.

“Do you want me to stay longer?” Steven asks.

Lars would have said yes, only to shut his mouth at the regretting realization. “You probably want to spend more time with your family, right?”

The other boy hums. “Well… you’re my family too, Lars.”

Lars can’t help the weird snot catching up in his throat, so he makes an incomprehensible noise and mutters, “o-okay”.

Steven lies his body against the taller boy’s, smiling even if sadly. Lars’ head is supported by Steven’s, their bodies perfectly fit. They warm themselves in the cold night, protecting each other from the explosions and the scary flashes.

It’s not what Lars planned to spend his New Year’s Eve, but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

[amandlas]

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

*

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

*

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

*

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

*

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

*

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

*

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

*

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

*

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

*

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

*

her exile hits the half year.

*

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

*

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

*

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

*

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

he

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

*

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles.  “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

*

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

*

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

*

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

*

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

*

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

*

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

*

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

*

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

*

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

*

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

*

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

*

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

*

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

*

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

*

“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

*

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

*

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

*

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

*

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

*

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 37

Trigger Warning: Accidental Self Harm.  You can read until the ***** and then skip until after then next **** as you should still be able to understand the story without it being too jarring.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 37: You Want Out

You woke up, something was wrong. You didn’t have time to run to your bathroom so you made your way into Kylo’s.

You vomited.

Something was wrong, but you don’t know what.

Something had happened, but you don’t know where.

Someone had died, but you don’t know who.

All you knew was Kylo was somehow involved. You checked your wrist, Ben Solo’s name was still there, faint, but still there. So he wasn’t dead, yet.

You knew it involved a bunch of colors, red and blue. You knew that an ocean was somehow involved, but didn’t know where. A million questions were swirling in your mind but you had no complete answers. No work to show for the problems. You couldn’t turn the homework in yet. Your brain was not going to let this go.

You rinsed your mouth out in the sink. Glancing up in the mirror the girl looking back at you was not someone you recognized, she was hollow. Her face was gaunt, her hair was a mess, she looked dead in her eyes. In your eyes.

You had to get out.

You had to get out now.

You needed to get her out.

You marched out of the bathroom, you went to your room and you grabbed your coat. You stormed out of your chambers and headed down the hall. You passed by stormtroopers and officers. All knowing where they were going, but you realized quickly that you were lost. You were on a ship full of people, a ship you had been living on for more than a week and you were lost. You had been escorted everywhere, and now in a rage of passion, you had no idea where you were going, or where you were.

By some luck of fate, you ran into Hux. “M’lady I was just on my way to come get you.”

“I’m not going to dinner I need out of here. I need to get off of this damn ship.”

“M’lady?”

“You said Phasma could escort me? She is on the list to escort me? Well, I need to go.” “Need to go where m’lady?”

“Anywhere but here, anywhere normal. Anywhere where I am allowed to think for myself without everyone either questioning me or putting words in my mouth. I need out.” You were yelling now, anyone else that was in the hall had now disappeared.

“Right. If you will hold on a moment m’lady.” He then removed one of those little speaking devices from his pocket.

“No, you will take me to the hangar and I will wait there.”

He looked at you for a second, a mix of confused and angry, you didn’t care. You wanted out. He then lead you down the hallway to the hangar. You didn’t normally tap your foot out of frustration, like in those old cartoons, but you were doing it now. You wanted out.

Within minutes you saw your chrome-plated ticket to freedom with here white armored little ducklings. You would be free in minutes. “Where are we off to,” she asked you but seemed to more or less asking Hux.

“I want off this damn ship and I want to be away from people, so where ever that may be that is where I want to be. All I need is you for an escort, no one else. I want to be alone, but apparently, I can’t do that without being babysat every five minutes.”

You couldn’t see what her reaction was under her helmet, you didn’t want to know. You wanted out.

She signaled to the ‘troopers behind her who backed up and turned away. The general looked like he wanted to argue but you had already turned to march yourself on board the shuttle. Phasma followed. It was just you, Phasma, and the pilot now, the pilot was sealed away in his cockpit. Neither of you spoke, but you could tell she was staring at you with the way her head was cocked. You didn’t care, you wanted out.

Within a few minutes, you landed and the exit ramp lowered. You were on a beach somewhere, you didn’t care. You were getting out. You exited the shuttle, your silver guard staying several paces behind you. It looked like there was no one for miles.

You were out.

Phasma stayed a considerable distance behind you, on guard. You shoved her to the back of your mind. You listened to the waves and the breeze. You listened to the sound of the sand crunching under your feet. You breathed in the cold salty air. You kept walking. For the first time in the last week, you felt like you again, if only for a moment.

You made your way over to a boulder and sat down. Tears began to fall from your face. You wrapped your arms around yourself. Closing your eyes you saw the lights again. The damn lights that you had no idea what they meant. They wouldn’t leave you alone.

You hunched over and threw up again. Phasma started walking forward towards you before you yelled, “Stop, just leave me alone.” Your voice was broken and harsh. You could hear your sadness in your voice. She stopped.

You brought your knees to your chest, you were crying before but now you were sobbing. Loud heartbroken lonely sobs, the ones poets dream about when they write of heartache.

But why were you heartbroken?

Your heart broke for the girl you use to know, for the girl you use to be only a week and a half ago. She was gone--and was slowly being replaced by someone you didn’t know. Someone whose soul you didn’t know.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw the lights. You saw those damn lights.

What did they mean?

What did this all mean?

You didn’t know, but what you did know is that your heart was broken for the girl you used to know and for what? Some stupid spaceman? A man who couldn’t even properly talk to you? A man who cowardly hid behind telling others to tell you what to do? What to say? What to think?

Why didn’t the fairytales ever tell you that your match could be like this? Would be like this? No. All they knew was happily ever after. A prince who sweeps his match off her feet and rides off into the sunset. How realistic is that? Why did we tell little girls that? Why did you still believe that?

Yes, on the surface you knew it wouldn’t be that way, but deep down a part of you was still holding on to that childish naive thought that your match and you would ride off into the sunset somewhere and live happily ever after. He did come from a space ship, like some sort of space prince. He was a knight but wasn’t by any means a knight in shining armor.  Hell, he hid behind a mask to everyone.

While you were childish and naive for thinking that you would end up in a fairytale at least you weren’t playing dress-up. You weren’t a child in a mask pretending to be a man.

Well, you would have to play dress-up soon. In all of those clothes, you bought, rather that he bought. One thing was for sure, you were sick and tired of being told what to do and you were sick and tired of not knowing anything. You wiped your tears on your sleeve.

*****************************************************************************************************

You got up from the rock and walked towards the water. You took off your shoes and crept in. It was cold, almost ice cold but you ignored it. It was one of your few moments of freedom and you weren’t going to spoil it. You had already cried enough.

You closed your eyes once more, you saw the lights. You moved further into the freezing water, the lights dimmed. You kept going until they were but a tiny flicker.

You felt a hand pull you out of the water, you hadn’t realized you were now neck-deep, without your coat. Phasma was hauling you out of the water if you weren’t so delirious you would have marveled at her strength. She was hauling you back to shore. You had dropped your coat there. With one hand still hauling your arm, her other swiftly grabbed the coat before pulling you to the shuttle.

You were cold, but you felt less hollow. She didn’t speak to you, she just threw your jacket around your shoulders. The shuttle took off. You were back to your cage. Back to being the pretty songbird once again. Back to singing on command for crackers.

If you thought she was staring at you when you were going to the beach, she was definitely staring now. This time the flight felt longer. It might have been because you were cold, but it most certainly was because you were dreading heading back to your prison.

You felt the shuttle dock and you heard the ramp lower, but you weren’t as quick to get up this time. Before you could move your own two feet there were two men in medical uniforms hauling you up and practically carrying you out of the shuttle.

You tried to struggle, you tried to thrash. You had no idea what was going on. You had no idea where they were taking you. Actually, you had some idea, but that thought scared you. Why were they hauling you away? You didn’t do anything wrong.

No one was answering the million questions coming out of your mouth. Everything on the ship seemed too bright. You smelled where you were going before you arrived. The chemical sterile smell. You were in the medical bay.

You were being stapped down to a bed before Dr. Dabrini came into the room Phasma following behind. “You are being placed on suicide watch,” said the doctor.

“Suicide watch? But I didn’t do anything,” you were exasperated. Suicide?

“The Captain says she witnessed you trying to drown yourself.”

“Drown myself? All I did was walk into the water.”

“Chest deep, in freezing water. Why did you do this?”

“All I wanted to do was stop the lights.”

“The lights? What lights?” Both the doctor and Phasma tilted their heads out of confusion.

“The lights I see every damn time I close my eyes.”

“What do these lights look like? What do they do?” You could tell he was concerned but curious.

“They were red and blue. They seemed to be fighting each other. I don’t know all I know is I want them to stop. I haven’t been able to sleep well. I either see them when I sleep, odd nightmares that I can’t remember or blackness. All I know is that for the last few days every time I have tried to rest, I haven’t been able to. I wake up feeling worse than I already have.”

The doctor looked at the captain before answering you, “you will stay here tonight, under watch. I will give you something that will help you sleep.”

“Can I have the straps taken off, I promise that I wasn’t actually trying to hurt myself, all I wanted is for the stupid lights to stop.”

“I believe I can do that.” He then moved to take them off of you. He left the room and a nurse came in with some pills and a glass of water. You took them, but she stayed. You thought she would have left but she moved to a chair in the corner of the room. You supposed she was your ‘watch’.

Even though the door was shut and the large glass-windowed wall was frosted over you could see Hux and Phasma having an argument outside your room. You strained to see if you could hear them.

“She was under your watch, the Supreme Leader won’t be happy,” said Hux.

“She was, but how was I supposed to know that she was going to try and drown herself?

*****************************************************************************************************

And she is under your care, you let me take her alone,” accused Phasma.

“So now this is my fault. He won’t be happy,” said Hux.

“No, he won’t but you will still have to try and reach him anyway.”

“Is that really the best course of action? You and I know that he can be unpredictable at the best times,” reasoned Hux.

“Yes and suppose we wait and tell him and he finds out you failed to inform him as soon as possible,” corrected Phasma.

“You’re right, I hate when you are right.”

“No, you hate when you are wrong, there is a difference,” there was a bit of smugness in her voice.

“Hmm, I suppose.”

“We really should try and get this over with. Let’s go to your office and try and contact him. See if we even get through. See if he is done with you know who.”

Before you could even begin to form questions, the pill kicked in and you drifted off into a dreamless medicated sleep.

[argylemnwrites]

Fight or Flight - Chapter 2: Priorities

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~2900

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Ninety minutes since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note:  A series that follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist, linked here.

Drake glanced over at his daughter sleeping soundly against his shoulder, her fists clutching tightly to the collar of his old denim shirt. The rocking of the car had lulled her to sleep within 20 minutes, before they’d even passed Applewood Orchards. Combine that with the fact that this was around her usual nap time, and she was out for the count. It was a blessing, he supposed, that she was so easily calmed in a car. This whole situation was stressful enough without a screaming 10 month old on top of everything. Plus, she hadn’t really noticed Riley’s utter breakdown.

When Drake had found Riley and Bridget out on the drive, he’d not even been a little bit prepared for what was about to happen. Obviously, he’d known Riley would be raging about Barthelemy’s plan. That was a given. And he wasn’t exactly surprised that the conversation she’d had with Olivia had been about a plan to get Bridget out of there. Riley had been acting cagey and weird, but when Olivia had pulled him aside not even a minute after Riley had left the room, pointed at a tube of diaper ointment on the floor, and told him to get to her driver and head to Lythikos, he’d assumed that nerves over getting caught by Barthelemy and his allies had been why she hadn’t even looked him in the eye before she left the room.

But it was a much bigger mess than that. He’d known something was up when Riley didn’t hand Bridget over when she called and reached for him. Bridget seemed to like being with Drake more at the palace, probably because he held her more at balls and galas while Riley worked the room. For Riley to insist on keeping Bridget in her arms was odd. And then, the truth came spilling out. That Riley had planned to just… up and leave Cordonia. With his daughter. Without telling him a damn thing.

At first, all he’d felt was a swell of anger. But rapidly, a million other feelings had flooded his mind. Pain. Confusion. Guilt. Sadness. Longing. Concern. Protectiveness. And those were just the ones he’d noticed as he’d scrambled to follow her pleas and desperation. Even now that the initial shock was starting to wear off for him, he wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling. Too many things were competing in his mind.

All he knew was that he had to stick with his wife and kid. That had to be his number one priority. And so when Riley told him that she was leaving the country and taking Bridget, he knew he was going too. Even if he couldn’t fully understand her thought process at the moment, he knew she was just trying to protect their kid in the best way she could think of. So, he shoved the storm of emotions down and tried to be solid and steady, since it seemed like she was crumbling to pieces before his eyes.

Seeing her like that had been so strange. Even before, when Riley had cried about something in front of him, she’d never seemed out of control or desperate. Tears of righteous anger? Sure. Fear and anxiety? He’d seen that a few times as well. Even pure hormones during her pregnancy and postpartum period. But never had he seen her just panicking, her eyes wild and out of control, her whole body trembling just slightly. He’d never really seen anything like it before.

The closest comparison he could make was to the time he’d snuck out of bed when he was seven years old to grab a cookie and had stumbled on his parents fighting. It was the first time he’d ever seen them so much as disagree, and he’d been unable to go back to sleep that night, convinced his parents were going to split up. His mother had been in tears, begging his father not to take the promotion. The next morning, he and Savannah had learned that Dad had a new, more important job, so they would be living at the palace a lot going forward. At the time, Drake had thought his mother was just dumb. Moving in with Liam while Dad got a cool new job had seemed like a no-brainer as a child. Now, as an adult, he could look back on that moment and understand his mother’s fears and concerns. But watching his wife, who had been through so fucking much in her life, lost, unsure, and out of control had made him feel a bit like an unsettled and worried seven year old all over again.

Of course, he was now a grown ass adult, and he should not have been so thrown by his wife needing stability and support from him after the news they’d just faced. Hell, he should have known that the threat of having her child taken from her would hit her harshly, given the number of times her own mother lost custody of her. Riley was always so insistent she would be nothing like her mother, and it hadn’t even occurred to Drake that what Barthelemy was discussing would feel a little too similar for comfort. It should have, though. She had trusted him with the entire story of her childhood - her father’s abandonment, her mother’s addiction, her time in foster care - and he couldn’t even be bothered to think about how that might affect her when some asshole was threatening to take custody of their kid. 

He’d been worried about the big picture, what the goals of this fucking coup really were. What this meant for everyone. Meanwhile, he’d left his panicking, traumatized wife to worry first and foremost about their kid. And that’s why she hadn’t been planning to tell him until she already had Bridget somewhere safe, wasn’t it? Because she’d sensed that he wasn’t as solely focused on protecting their child, no matter the cost.

When had he become numb to the toxicities of court? When did that fucking happen? It seemed like it wasn’t that long ago he was telling Riley that court was going to chew her up and spit out her remains. But somewhere along the way, he got complacent. He’d found a few good people mixed in with the shitty ones, and suddenly it was all fine? He should have seen this coming a kilometer away. Someone is always scheming, plotting, maneuvering. Always. How had Riley absorbed all his early lessons while he somehow forgot everything he knew? He’d let them play him like a fool, standing there as they voted to take Bridget away from him and Riley and the crown away from Liam. Blindsided and sputtering, caught off guard. Like an idiot.

To be fair, there were still a few people he trusted at court. Liam, of course. Hana. Maxwell too, as his father’s actions had clearly caught him off guard. Besides, Maxwell had always been too earnest and accepting of everyone to have any desire to get caught up in something like this. And Olivia, oddly enough. She was clearly loyal as hell to Liam. And she’d worked with Riley to create a plan to keep Bridget with them. A plan that probably would have been a lost simpler than the shitshow they were about to face. 

Drake honestly had no idea how bad things were about to get, and based on the state Riley had been in out on the palace drive, she hadn’t given it any thought beyond feeling that having her daughter by her side was worth any price. But shit, this was probably gonna be a disaster. Their only destination was “Greece,” but it’s not like they had a place to go when they got there. Flying to Texas to hide out with Mom was out of the question since they didn’t have their passports and were therefore bound to the EU. Taking money from the accounts tied to their titles was morally questionable at this point, and it might not even be an option anymore, depending on who was running Cordonia at the moment and if they’d already moved to freeze the Valtorian accounts. Hell, his personal account, which didn’t hold that much, might be frozen, too. Their only funds that the government couldn’t touch was if Riley still had an American bank account, but something told Drake that a former waitress from a very expensive city wasn’t sitting on tens of thousands of dollars. And that didn’t even touch the fact that technically, Bridget was legally under Liam’s custody as a child in direct line for the throne.

Hell, even simple things. They didn’t have toothbrushes or toothpaste. Riley’s glasses or contact solution. A change of clothes. More than the dozen or so diapers that were left in the bag. Baby food. A pack n play or crib or even car seat. Shit, they literally couldn’t let Bridget out of one of their arms. They were going to have to figure out a way to buy some basics. And at the moment, Drake knew he needed to take care of some planning for Riley and him. She had already panicked enough without being confronted with the reality of her decision.

He glanced down at Riley, her head resting on his knee as she also slept. Within a half hour of being on the road, Riley had gotten very shaky, pale, and lightheaded, presumably dealing with the after effects of her adrenaline rush. Drake had encouraged her to lie down and take some deep breaths, and before long, she was lightly snoring. Given how broken and frantic she’d seemed, he wanted to let her get a little bit of rest before they dealt with the practical shit they were gonna need to address. But at this point, they probably needed to actually talk. Things weren’t going to get magically better, and he needed to get a sense of what she was thinking.

Shifting slightly, trying not to disturb Bridget, he settled his left hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze as he whispered, “Riley.” After several seconds, her muscles tensed, and her eyes blinked open.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Drake whispered, “but we gotta talk about some stuff.”

Riley stretched slightly before sitting up. “How long was I out for?” she asked as she rubbed her eyes.

“About an hour.”

“So we’re still in Cordonia?” she cast him a wary look at that.

“For the next 45 minutes or so, yeah.” Drake had been hoping to get some clarity from her on why Olivia’s Lythikos hideout plan was not an option for her, but based on the way she was looking at him, that topic was going to have to wait. He couldn’t have her panicking again. “That’s not what I wanted to discuss, though. I was just wondering if you had a destination in mind in Greece.”

Riley gave him a small smile as her shoulders visibly relaxed, but shook her head gently. “Not really. I thought maybe we could just head to the closest American consulate? There has to be a closer option than Athens, right?” she asked as she pulled out her phone and moved to open her map app.

“No, Riley!” Drake cried out, ignoring the little squawk Bridget gave out as he lunged for Riley’s phone. She looked at him with clear confusion, so he continued, “You need to turn off location services. Otherwise they will be able to track our location.” Since his little outburst had already woken up Bridget, he leaned to the side and tugged his phone out of his back pocket, turning off location services on his phone as well before rubbing his hand along the back of Bridget’s head, hoping to lull her back to sleep. After several minutes of murmuring soothing words to her, he could feel her getting heavier in his arms, and soon enough, her little eyes fluttered shut.

Once Bridget was asleep, Drake turned his head toward Riley. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I just didn’t want this all to be for nothing by giving them our exact location.”

Riley nodded, looking at a page of search results on her phone. “There’s a consulate in Thessaloniki, which is still a haul, but at least isn’t as far as Athens. How does that sound?”

Drake shook his head, “You had to renounce your American citizenship to be named duchess, remember? They aren’t going to be able to do anything for us.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed out a rough sigh. “Fuck,” she muttered, “That was my only plan.”

Sensing she was about to go back to that panicked state, Drake reached over, squeezing her knee in a manner he hoped was reassuring. “It’ll be okay. Ioannina is not too far from the border. We’ll be able to get a hotel there and lay low while we figure out next steps, okay?”

Although her eyes remained shut, she nodded, but a few stray tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes. Drake reached up and swiped them away with his thumb. This prompted Riley to open her eyes and turn more towards him, her lips pressed together tightly.

“Shhhh, we can take this one step at a time, Riley. This was never gonna go perfectly with how much that asshole fucking blindsided us,” Drake said, trying to be reassuring as he beckoned Riley to scoot closer and throwing his arm around her shoulders when she leaned up against his side.

“I just thought…” she began, but quickly trailed off when her voice started to quiver.

“I know. But we didn’t have much time to think it all through, did we?”

He felt her shaking her head against his side, so he decided to soldier on. “The way I see it, the first thing we’re gonna need to do is try and withdraw as much cash as we can from our accounts. That will prevent them from tracking our location, and if our accounts get frozen, we won’t be completely screwed.”

“Makes sense,” she whispered.

“After that, we need to stock up on some basic supplies. Diapers, toiletries, a change of clothes, some baby food, that sort of thing. We should also probably pick up a baby carrier so that we have a way to contain her but keep her with us. After that, we can find a cheap hotel, someplace where there’s little chance that someone is going to recognize a foreign duke or duchess. I think that’s a good enough start, don’t you?”

Riley just nodded, so Drake tightened his arm around her, trying to provide some comfort. “We’ll figure it out, Riley. We just gotta take it one step at a time.”

She let out a little chuckle. “When you met me, I had no problem traveling to a foreign country on a moment’s notice, not sure where I’d be staying, how long I’d be gone for, anything. It didn’t faze me in the slightest. But now, with her… I just… I’m worried, Drake. I know it’s impossible, but I want more of a plan.”

“I know. But I think this is as good as we’re going to get for now, alright?”

Before Riley could respond, Drake’s phone started buzzing and lit up on his lap. The name “Liam” flashed across the screen in white letters. Drake jerked his head around to look at Riley, her eyes wide as she reached for his phone. When he didn’t stop her or say anything, she grabbed it and swiped the red circle. But seconds later, the phone lit up again. She ignored that call as well.

“He’s not gonna give up, Riley,” Drake sighed, “It was only a matter of time before he was one hundred percent sure that we’d left the palace.”

“I know, I know. But please, can we wait to answer until we’ve crossed the border?”

“What difference is that going to make?”

She let out a big sigh before she spoke again, “He won’t be able to talk you out of doing it.”

Her words were like a punch to the gut. Again, she didn’t trust him. Again, she saw them as divided, with similar, but not the same priorities. He had to make her understand that if they were going to do this, they had to be in it together.

“Riley. If this is what you think we need to do for Bridget, this is what we are going to do, okay? Liam doesn’t get a say here. She’s our kid, not his. But we need to talk to him at some point, if only to figure out who is acting as king at the moment.”

“I know we do, but... please. Can we wait until we aren’t in Cordonia anymore?”

Drake knew they both had a lot to talk about here. This issue of her lack of trust in him wasn’t going away, and if they were fleeing the country and hiding out with basically nothing to their name, they needed to feel like they could rely on one another. But now was not the time for that discussion. So he just nodded and said, “Okay. We’ll wait,” before switching his phone to silent. Hopefully, that concession would allow her to trust him enough… for the moment.

Permatag:  @walkerswhiskeygirl   @riley--walker  @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5  @mfackenthal  @thequeenofcronuts  

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria  @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs  @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr​

[thrillsxchills]

{TW} Orion is obviously one of my more demented children and his whole life is a trigger warning, so please avoid reading this if your triggers contain the following -- depression, abandonment, hallucinations, drugs, violence, substances abuse, blood, abuse/mental & physical, bullying, self harm+un-alive thoughts, dissociating. (That’s a lot & i’m sorry but Orion has a HISTORY.)

Orion is my first and oldest baby I’ve had. He’s developed A LOT over the years, but for the new members I’m going to start all the way from the beginning so enjoy this looong ride. People like Z and Ali remember big bad old orion, that was something 😅

(tw; about death)Orion was an odd kid growing up, he had an usual obsession with death and creepy things. Cemetery's, bugs, and the supernatural. It was hard to make friends with other kids because of his unusual interests and the fact that his family was high class and his father wouldn’t let Orion associate himself with ‘poor people’.

(tw: family abuse) Orion hated and still hates his father with a passion. Nothing Orion ever did impressed his father. He rarely took interest in his one and only son. He only seemed to show up to physically abuse Orion over the smallest things. Orion’s only friend as a child was his mother, she was literally his saving grace.

{tw: abandonment/dissociating) Orion’s mother Cora is sweet and angelic like. However from his father's abuse she became numb and seemed to dissociate often. But Orion still took comfort in his mother's arms. Until one day his mother couldn’t take it anymore. While she wanted to take her son with her, she couldn’t. Orion’s dad’s family was the one with all the money. Cora had nothing to her name. If she took Orion he wouldn’t have a home or all the opportunities that money offered. So she left and it took everything she had left to do it.

(tw: abuse) Once Cora left the picture Orion’s fathers abuse only became worse. Taking out his wifes disappearance out on Orion. Screaming at the top of the lungs asking where Cora was. Orion didn’t know, he was just as clueless as his father but he didn’t believe him.

(tw: substance abuse) that’s when Orion started using drinking and smoking as a coping mechanism from a young age. He’d smoke any chance he got hiding the buds in his dresser drawer and his whiskey bottles in the boxes of his old shoes. It was his only escape from his shitty reality and his father.

(tw: reason for living) that all changed when Jakob Skellington came into the picture. They met at school and formed a quick lasting bond. Orion confided all his secrets and hobbies within Jakob and the boy never judged him. Orion finally found a best friend and a reason for staying alive at that point in time. Problem was their families had a long lasting feud over something stupid. So the two were banned from seeing each other. That didn’t stop them however. The two would sneak to each others house in the middle of the night or sneak off to hang out at Hallow Falls cemetery.

(tw: abandonment/bullying) however the friendship didn’t last long as intended. Because Jack was Orion’s only friend he became possessive over their relationship. Especially when Serena & Zeke entered the picture. They were getting to close to Jakob and Orion hated it. He began to loathe the two. So Orion did the only thing he knew how to do which is what he learned from his father. He began to bully Serena and Zeke to the point that Jack had to step in and defend Zeke and Serena. This felt like a betrayal to Orion. So Orion made an ultimatum. It was him or the two friends Jack barely knew. Jack chose them and Orion has held a resentment ever since. Quickly turning to the Teague's and using them to bully Zeke and Serena through them.

(tw: violence/blood/ suicidal thoughts) now entering his high school years Orion felt abandoned. He had no one but himself. Sure he had the Teagues but he felt that friendship was only extended because they did his bidding in exchange for things. Orion began skipping school more, starting fights for the hell of it. A couple of those fights he almost couldn’t walk away from him. Leaving his body beaten and bloodied in the back ally. Tiffani & Hallie nursed him back to health. But that didn’t stop him. He continued to get black out drunk and start fights. He wanted to feel something/and nothing all at the same time. He wanted to die.

(tw: substance abuse /hallucinations) Orion really thought he was going to die, he was drinking so much that he barely hanging onto his acceptance into Walt by a thread. His father kept bribing the school with money to keep him enrolled. He was known to students as the boogie man/feared by most people except a girl named Hallie. She tried to get him to be a better person. Which it didn’t happen all at once, it was slow. But once Orion realized all the people who had been hurt by his actions. his reality soon came crashing down. He began hearing things. like actual voices talking him. telling him that he was worthless, that he couldn’t be anything more than a monster. he could barely sleep without drinking himself to sleep. he even sought out a pastor to see if his soul was worth redeeming. Here is a self para about that time [SELF PARA HERE] Here is another self para about reuniting with his mother and standing up to his father. [READ HERE] read at viewers own discretion.!

(tw: trauma) It took time but he began to heal from his trauma. Does that mean he’s a better man now? Not exactly, but he knows how to control his temper and not to completely act on his impulsive anger issues that were handed down from his father. He’s not bad, but he’s not good either. He’s reunited with his mother and already forgiven her. He didn’t hesitate that was his mom after all. Him and his father only meet up if they have too after having their showdown a couple of years ago, which is how Orion prefers it anyway. Certain things still trigger Orion but for the most part he’s charming as hell but still intimidating as fuck. He only gets his  hands dirty when he needs too.

OKAY! So that’s a lot and that’s the best I can summarize about my boys development over the last six years! Now for some light hearted head canons,yeah? I think I need therapy from writing all that.

(tw: smoking) you will never see Orion without a cigarette in his hand/mouth. from a young age smoking became a comfort. he doesn’t need it as much as he did back then but its more of a security thing now.

he has a lucky lighter he won from a bar fight. it’s a red zippo lighter in the shape of two pieces of dice. Snake eye’s to be exact.

because of his interest in bugs and reptiles he has a black snake tattoo the looks like its wrapped around his forearm. looks something like this [IMAGE HERE] 

Older Orion has a small tattoo on each of his fingers representing his children. A bat for Axel, Nova is a star, Sage for Sage (but looks more like a flower), and the moon for Draco.

Orion enjoys being isolated/alone that’s when he feels most like himself. despite his background Orion does quite  well in social situations. he adapts to new environments easily and can be quite charming if you’re on his good side.

Orion prefers the more expensive liquor since that's what he grew up with but his favorite and comfort drink is whiskey with ice.

When Orion is alone he enjoys reading/learning about new topics. He’s well educated but most people don’t experience that side of him.

he hates the holidays, for obvious reasons. doesn’t mind Halloween though.

he has a hate/love relationship with the Teague siblings. Logan annoys the hell outta of him, Beckham is stand-offish and Sadie is the only one he truly gets along with. But deep down their Orion’s only friends and he appreciates them. Will he tell them that? Not until hell freezes over.

Orion’s zodiac sign is Sagittarius

Orion doesn’t keep up with his casino daily- the assets yes, but the actual place no. However he does show up every once in awhile to cheat people out of their money. What can i say he’s a gamblin man.

.Spoken Word/Singing is Orion’s favorite music genre. he’ll go to the grave denying that but he relates to a lot of the bands like la dispute, hobo johnson, front porch step. But he enjoys most kind of music. His most recently played song is Self Care by Mac Miller. [LISTEN HERE]

Now when it comes to Sadie Teague things are different. She’s the only person that really challenges him. He admires her perseverance and her will to do things on her own. Their relationship is complicated. Friends? Friends with Benefits? But his feelings are starting to get intertwined, but how to express feelings he’s never felt before?

favorite color is red

Vitani also intrigues him/she’s not annoying like regular happy go lucky people. He enjoys her company, maybe he’ll ask if she needs a job at the casino.

[sandalaris]

20, 35 for aLiN, 50 and 54 for the writer asks!

Thanks! XD

I answered 54 here!

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Completely unedited, but a snippet from the Kate-centric, post season 3 fic. (although this has been edited for here because it holds some potential spoilers for later on in the fic and at least one misleading line)

“You need to find a way to reclaim your body for yourself,” Kisa continues as if Richie had never spoken.

“Is that what you did?” Her voice sounds lost and she doesn’t like it, but she can’t stop herself from clinging to the thought that she won’t always be like this, the hope that she can get better.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I had sex with Richard.”

Seth chokes on his drink, coughing loudly into the suddenly silent kitchen. Kate can’t see Richie’s face, can’t take her own stunned gaze from the woman before her, but he must be doing something because Kisa looks past her with a softened eyes and parted lips, before returning her attention firmly back to Kate, effectively ignoring both brothers.

“I cared for him and wanted him. But most importantly I trusted him. Physical connection with someone you trust can be a very powerful thing.”

“I don’t trust a lot of people,” Kate blurts out, clinging to the last part like a lifeline as her cheeks burn.  

“Now hold on,” Seth cuts in, words spilling forth in a rush to take control of the conversation. “Let’s just take a fucking breath before we make any rash decisions here.”  

“Kate?” Richie says quietly, a warning and a question and a promise all at once. And Kate knows, has seen the darkest depths and bright, blinding edges of Richard’s tortured soul, has the taste of it etched into her very existence. 

Kisa must hear it too, because she almost freezes, thoughts shuttering behind her dark eyes as she carefully holds her body in a practiced state of relaxation. Seth’s protests grow louder.

“I don’t think sex is what I need,” Kate says slowly, and the room goes quiet, Seth tapering off from where he’s been holding a one-side argument against the whole conversation with the room at large.

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________.

Let’s see, who have I not given background details on yet? And that won’t also give away future spoilers....

Scott still sets a party with his lacrosse team in this, but since Kate shows up a day later in this fic than in canon, it happened before she gets to Bethel. Under all that desire for revenge (a lot of which is misplaced anger from being a kept chained up at Narciso’s feet for three months) the core of what Scott wants is acceptance so the party goes a bit different. Scott leaves, for starters, when his hunger starts to threaten his control, snagging a neighbor’s pet and then hiding from the sun at home. So while Scott hasn’t killed quite so many people that Kate personally knows/knows about, he’s still the angry little murder bean he is in canon.

Mild-ish spoilers: Kate’s return to Seth has had positive ripples (Seth doesn’t keep Sonja around, Richie is forced to take off his blinders and see how actions affect other people, Kate has someone else backing her for her confrontation with Scott), because Kate is observant and sees the good in people. But a less-than-positive result is that Freddie’s still all alone in his own journey and will be worse off for it.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Hmm, gotta think about that.

Probably my weirdest-yet-serious fic is a body swap BtVS fic with the whole scooby gang. I actually wrote a good chunk of it out before I lost it all in a computer death and decided not to rewrite it. It got weird in how I decided it was more of a conscious swap over a soul/body swap and so Xander (who was in Willow) had to figure out how to do the spell to get them back to normal, and Dawn (who was in Spike) had to deal with not having a soul, or rather everyone else had to deal with her not having a soul, etc. I’m sure I’ve probably had weirder ideas, but if I can’t write something for whatever reason (like it being too weird) I typically just leave it be.

I did write a The World Ends TBBT fic, which I suppose can be seen as weird, but I think that has more to do with my love of post-apocalyptic stories. (I’ve written a lot of them, lol)

Less serious, but I don’t know how “weird” it is vs plotless and cliche and an utterly self-indulgent FDtD “fic” (it’s more of an exploration in What If) involving time travel that I’ve never written a single word of, letting it exist entirely in my head, but will also happily ramble away about because, like I said, its a very self-indulgent story and I’ve thought about it a lot.

Happy rambily mess that just skims over it while still being really long:

Post-series!Seth and Kate find themselves at the Dew Drop Inn inside the RV moments before a very human Richie comes in with a very human Scott at gun point. Confusion abounds all around and all seven of them, including past!Seth and past!Kate, end up traveling into Mexico with bickering and arguments and everyone’s confusion over how comfortable and familiar future!Seth and Kate are with each other, but Richie’s the one that notices his brother’s new tattoo and puts two and two together, which leads him to decide that he’s Making That Happen. Future!Seth immediately declares they are not going to the Twister and past!Seth does NOT react well to having anyone, even himself, barging in and trying to take charge and becomes a stubborn irrational bastard over it (they may come close to blows on several occasions). Richie and Scott have a bit of geek out over timelines and alternate realities, and future!Kate decides they still need to go to the Twister but she is going to do everything she can to protect her family.

Once at the Titty Twister they find future!Scott and future!Richie (because my brain went humans at the Inn and culebras at the Twister for semi-justifiable reasons), and a big debate begins on who is going in and who is staying in the RV, which is an entire scene that reveals a lot all around. (Jacob notices future!Kate and Scott’s reaction to seeing him and realize what it means that there’s no future him popping up.)

Before all hell breaks loose, things go a little different, with future!Seth sticking by Jacob’s side and past!Richie still playing matchmaker with his time’s Seth and Kate (no Richie and Kate kiss here, which I actually don’t mind in the show, but for some reason do end up getting rid of a lot in season one AUs. But it just makes sense that a Richie that’s trying to hook a girl up with his brother would not kiss said girl), etc. Once the culebras come out, things go much the same as they did the first time, only this time future!Scott rats out Tanner for being on Carlos’s payrole and future!Kate lets slip that he tried to sacrifice her after past!Kate says that he hit on her, and future!Seth decides the future doesn’t really need him anyways and shoots him.

Future!Seth insists he’s the one who’s going to go into the heart of the labyrinth after past!Richie (who still gets shot and bit, but he expects it this time) since he knows how to handle that shit, and since they don’t need to find Scott this time, the Fullers, Freddie, and past!Seth all end up in a different area that still shows them moments of truth/their past, but makes everyone else witness it too (because self-indulgence!) which gives a nice glimpse of the future and insights.

Meanwhile, future!Freddie left the Dew Drop Inn and is with his family trying to explain what’s about to happen to Margaret and fix his marriage before his past self fucks it up. Because Freddie/Margaret have my heart.