#I'm not crying i'm just... i'm just filling up the pacific ocean...

[dragonnon]

I-I-iT'S THE SAME SPRITEEEEE

[possibilistfanfiction]

prompt: touch

[@unicyclehippo here u go]

//

touch

you think maybe you have always been meant to come back to the ocean.

this is one you've never been to before, in a place you know mostly from movies. there's a pier in the distance and the rest is just blue: the water, the sky, the hazy horizon line in the middle. a calm late morning, after you'd woken up in a big soft white bed with beatrice curled against you, your arm around her waist and your forehead pressed between her shoulder blades; she was still asleep. the vast, devastating nothingness of the other realm fades away when you feel her breathe beneath you, deeply and at peace. you feel the heat of her, the softness of her skin where her shirt rides up from her sleep shorts. you're greedy for it; greedy for everything: tacos and what it was like to kiss her again without death looming over you like a shadow, grief already sitting rotten in your mouths.

you still don't quite believe in a divine order but you do believe in this: she shifts, eventually, as light pours in through the gossamer curtains and bathes her face in gold. she sighs and turns around toward you and there's a wonder in her eyes — gold, too, and more beautiful than you can even remember — as she looks at you, disbelief and joy and awe. you remember the first morning you woke up after you got the halo, how you had been so scared to fall asleep because what if it was a dream, what if it would end — but you had stared at your hand, moving like you'd thought you'd only get to do after you died, in the sun. she looks at you like that; tears fill her eyes and you hadn't missed it, yesterday, the ink on her wrist — in this life — and the sorrow. she had been afraid to fall asleep.

she brings her hand, shaky, to touch your cheek, to rest there in the light.

'i'm still here,' you say, a benediction. 'i'm right here.'

her eyes fill with tears and you kiss her. eventually you get up; she would be content to stay in bed all day but you have missed the world, its pain and joy, its bad smells and traffic jams and the softness of a dog's fur — you have missed the world. you want the world with her.

you dress in soft clothes she'd bought for you — an admission she'd made with a blush that had made your heart ache in fondness — and let her take your hand and lead you to the sea. it's her ocean, you realize, in the way that nothing is but matters all the same. it's her ocean where she prayed to you, and longed for you, and found moments of solace. the sand hasn't warmed up to the day quite yet, and the water is cooler than you expect, when she steps in with you and it laps at your ankles.

'i thought california was supposed to be hot,' you say, but you think you're choked up, crying: you feel it all: her warm palm and the bright winter sun and the pacific, small, harmless shells underfoot — coquina clams, she explains later — and then she laughs. you feel it more than anything, right in your chest. you've witnessed miracles before, have been one yourself, but that — that — is a fucking miracle.

'i love you,' she says, and kisses you while the tide goes out, and you feel that too.

/

sight

you allow yourself to look in the mirror later, an elegant full-length one with a gold rim in beatrice's big closet. yours, now, too, you suppose. you let yourself look in the mirror and take a deep breath: beatrice has seen you for days, now, has looked gently and greedily, wide-eyed when you'd straddled her. you have saved the world, you remind yourself — you have saved the earth, and heaven, and realms between with no name.

but still, gnosis, you have found, can't fix everything: your back hurts when the sun sinks below the horizon, and your ribs and hips press against your skin more than they had before you had gone through the portal. you had trimmed the hair between your legs and shaved under your arms and along the skin of your calves, your shins, the tender inside of your thighs. you had showered and allowed yourself to look at your body, its failings and imperfections and resilience. you washed yourself gently: the birthmark near your seventh rib, the dip in your collarbones, the softness of your breasts. you have let yourself look, but not like this.

you have scars all over from the divinium. they're angry and red and you had thought, maybe, while you were lying in nothingness and pain, in and out of consciousness, for an amount of time that you will never know how to translate into years on earth, the simple blessing of a planet spinning around the sun — day and night. god saw it was good, you guess. you try not to care: the halo imbedded in your back, a perfect circle; the shrapnel scars on your thighs, into your side, a small one along your collarbone. you have lived eternities; you have looked gods in their eyes — but you're still a person. you're twenty-one here, a birthday having passed while you were gone. you like the way your boobs like in this one red bra beatrice definitely brought for you, and she had taken you to a fancy salon yesterday so you could get a haircut like you'd wanted; you'd gone shopping for makeup and shoes and new underwear. you're just a person and you want to look beautiful. you want to look pretty.

but your scars aren't, you think. you know, they're not.

but then beatrice walks in, her airpods in, her eyes on her phone, her hakama high over her hips, her abs dripping with sweat, her hair up in a bun. you had told her that you want to have a life with her, which means she needs to do the things that had brought her comfort and joy; it made you smile when she took you to watch her surf, and when she showed you her dojo.

it takes her a few moments to even notice you standing there — another time, you would tease her for losing her edge — but there's definitely not enough time to pretend that you were doing anything other than staring at yourself naked in the mirror. she stills, and then takes her airpods out and tucks both them and her phone into her pocket. you don't have to say anything: you fought a war together. you died for her. she made herself a life that immediately had a place for you in it, in this house by the sea, bright fruit in a bowl and lavender lotion and a tv that sits above a fireplace. she walks toward you efficiently, measured, and then tucks her body around yours, like she's shielding you from a blast, or loving you in the sweep of the afternoon breeze. her skin is warm and her hand runs along your spine until it stills between your shoulder blades.

the halo hums and aches toward her palm.

eventually she turns your body gently and tucks her chin over your shoulder so you can look in the mirror again. she meets your eyes and then closes hers, leans down and kisses beneath your ear. you had seen the red lines left on her shoulders from her chest binder yesterday, had kissed them and massaged her tight, sore muscles. you had seen her; she had let you see. her fingertips touch the worst of the divinium scars, just once, and she has seen you too.

'you're so gorgeous,' she says, low and sincere. she looks at you and she means it.

finally, it feels like you can breathe.

/

proprioception

'okay,' beatrice says, patient and happy, even though you are failing spectacularly, 'so you hold the second chopstick right here.' she places it between your thumb and forefinger, like she already has a few times before.

you try valiantly, as hard as you tried to learn to walk on water, or block a punch, to pick up the very expensive, incredible piece of sushi. beatrice has taught you how to swim, how to hold a pencil properly, how to cut meat with a knife. she's eaten with chopsticks her entire life, she'd told you one day when she'd ordered chinese food for dinner and tried to teach you then, enviably and quickly scooping fried rice into her mouth without spilling any. you haven't felt embarrassed at all, because, like, how the fuck were you supposed to know these things; you were paralyzed and abused and then very, very busy, so it's always been something you'd felt peace with. plus, beatrice has never faulted you for it, or looked down on you. she compliments you easily, genuinely, all the time.

you drop the entire piece of sushi into the small dish filled with soy sauce and you sigh. beatrice just plucks it out and eats it herself with a smile, although you're sure she's screaming inside that the flavor profile is now off because the fish — the star of the show — has been overpowered.

'there's gonna be none left for me,' you pout, and she shrugs.

'we can order more on the pope's dime. we can order as much as we want.'

she shows you how to hold the chopsticks again, and then it's like something clicks, and you clumsily manage to grasp the sushi and then hold onto it enough to dip it in the soy sauce and then bring it to your mouth. it's so, so good — made even better by the fact that you did something that had been hard. the stakes are lower than learning how to phase through twenty feet of concrete or heal from a thirteen story fall that had exploded every organ in your body, but that's not a life. that's staving off death, a losing battle, a war that's bigger than you ever were.

but you sit across from the handsome woman you love on a patio in a city named after angels, a heater nearby warming your shoulders, flavor bursting on your tongue. your fingers are clumsy, like you sometimes feel with your love. but beatrice feeds you a piece eventually, grinning, and you eat edamame with your hands, and the sake makes your head feel light. this is life.

/

smell

the desert at night smells unlike anything you could've ever imagined. beatrice takes a hit from the joint she'd picked up from her favorite dispensary before the drive here. the joshua trees are spiky and bizarre and stunning; you've been to realms beyond comprehension but this is like another planet, rich and alive. there's rain in the distance and beatrice passes the joint with a low laugh at nothing.

you lie with her in a hammock and look up at the stars, clouds the color of a bottle of red wine on the horizon, rolling lazily over the mountains. you'd driven past the wind turbines and through the hills tinged red, orange poppies bursting on the green of the hillside and the sky so blue your eyes can't quite see it, specks of color floating through your vision when you look up.

there's agave and yucca and desert lily; sprouts of plants you had been both pleased and surprised to find were onions. you'd seen quail and small lizards with blue tails; rabbits so fast they're skittering away in the blink of an eye. there's the smell of the weed, heady and lush. there's your shared laundry detergent when you press your nose into beatrice's chest; there's her crisp cologne, all spice and musk; there's her skin, warm and heaven.

the sumac grows thick, stems and leaves offering themselves up even in the dark of night. you think everything here longs for the sun.

beatrice's hair, long and loose, just the two of you, smells like lavender and mint. the stars outnumber the wonders you've seen everywhere else other than the freckles you map on her skin. this world is astounding in its vastness, in its texture and overwhelm. but then there's her, and the small of her body: her elbows and the scar on her thigh that you kiss in the morning light sometimes, the way she folds your underwear unnecessarily when she does the laundry and the candles she lights when you watch silly tv before bed. creosote and sage. the smoke from blown-out birthday candles. the shed snake-skin and rattle somewhere that poses no danger. wishes and prayers and consecrate.

the rain grows closer. you stay warm in her arms.

/

sound

the bass is overwhelming in the best way. you feel it in your lungs, like every time you breathe the beat fills you up. beatrice had steadfastly driven to the greek, calmly following directions but her knuckles were white around the steering wheel when she'd had to merge onto three separate freeways. there's kinds of love you're always going to be learning: beatrice's safe driving, even in los angeles; the way she presses her body against yours from behind, her hands eager along your hips, your ribs, once, even, the inside of your thigh; her bright laugh when you turn around and tug her face to face because a song you'd wanted to see live since the moment you'd first heard it is next on the set list. there's whiskey on her lips from the shots you'd done earlier; you sneak a hand under her t-shirt and rest it along the waistband against her spine.

'let's ride!' you scream along with the crowd, overwhelmed by it all: the pulse and the sweat and the worship of it all. you turn to bea and even she's swept up in it, grinning, bouncing up and down. you tug the elastic out of her hair and kiss her and then sing along. it's so, so loud, this close to the stage, filling your entire body. and there's a reverence in it that you haven't ever felt before: fun. you fell in love with music like this because of its excess, because of its truth, because of its joy.

'i think my ears are still ringing,' beatrice says, a little loud, after you get back to your car, exhausted and sated and so beautiful.

you grin. 'that was heaven.'

she looks at you with a smile. 'you had a good time?'

you take her hand, ignore the honk from the car behind you, just for a moment, and kiss her. i've never felt so real, so alive, you want to say, but that seems to sentimental, too dramatic, for a night where you had gotten to sing all my life, i've been waiting for a good time, a good time — 'can we go to another show soon?'

she shifts the car into drive and then squeezes your knee before she puts her hands faithfully at ten and two. 'we can go to any shows you want, although i might need to invest in some earplugs.'

you laugh. 'i can live with that.'

/

taste

you've done this a few times before, but never quite like this. you press beatrice against the wall in your bedroom, shared now: the side of her bed, nearest the door, with two books on it placed neatly, an elegant charging dock for her phone, airpods, and watch, and a minimalist lamp on her nightstand; yours with a stack of six books that you're reading concurrently, haphazard, and three charging cables, one for your favorite vibrator included.

she moans into your mouth, your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging like she likes. you tug her shirt over her head and, delightfully, she isn't wearing a binder or a bra. still, 'do you feel comfortable with this?' you ask, because you love her more than anything, and when she nods, a little frantic, and then says a clear yes, god yes, you bring your mouth to one of her dark nipples, pinch the other between your fingers. her skin is soft and tastes just faintly of her lotion and the ocean — flowers and salt.

and then, like everything you've ever done has led you here, you kneel before her. you've met gods; you've known heaven and hell; you've died, a few times over. you kneel before her and you pray in a language only the two of you know. you'd read yesterday that if you took a human's dna and stretched it, stacked it end on end, it would stretch all the way to jupiter and back ten times over. there are the stars and the sea and the desert and this city of angels, with its haze and its gods. and there's this house, with its whitewashed walls and soft blankets. you're young, your bodies full of scars, your bodies filled with afternoon light. you take her clit into your mouth and her knees buckle and she tastes perfect, sun and salt and an endlessness that is so full, that is so much the opposite of nothingness you remember less and less every day. the black hair between her legs is soft against your chin and you drag a tongue through her folds. her hands, reserved, steady, usually, find their way into your hair and pull, desperate. you have died so many times to no funerals, no pyres: you bury yourself now, time and again, in the holiest place you know. the only communion you have ever cared for — you take her body into yours.

she tastes like heaven. she tastes like the ocean. she tastes like home. you tally the miracles again, another infinity as she arches into your mouth.

[guppygiggles]

Hidden Depths

What: Exposition with a dash of hurt/comfort.

Word count: ~3k

Universe: Sea & Sky AU

Who: Avery, Casper, Finnegan

Description: Finnegan finally opens up about where he's from. There is a lot of crying, cuddling, and emotional tenderness in this. Brief mention of illness. No tickling, sorry, but I will probably follow this up with some tickling in the near future.

I knocked gently on the bathroom door. 

“Finn, are you in there?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I come in?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I have to pee, and we only have one bathroom, dude.” 

“...Okay, fine.” 

I opened the bathroom door. Finnegan was in the bathtub, anchor-print curtain drawn closed. Beyond the curtain, an open springline window filled the tiny room with morning sunlight and fresh air that carried the promise of fall. It was still too warm for Finnegan to swim in the ocean, so a cool, daily bath was necessary to keep his scales moistened and gills healthy. I was used to hearing him splashing and enjoying himself, but today he was quiet. Only the curtain separated us as I sat down on the toilet seat. 

The faucet dripped.

My toes flexed against the bath mat. 

A seagull squawked as it passed the window. 

I sighed, craning my arm to turn the sink on and drown out the silence. Finally, relief. I finished up quickly, not wanting to invade Finn's privacy any further, but a small voice stopped me as my hand touched the doorknob. 

“Casper?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you stay with me…?” 

I paused. Turning around, I could barely make out Finn's silhouette through the thin curtain; he was sitting with his arms and tail wrapped around his legs, head lowered to his knees.

“Yeah, I can stay... Are you alright?” 

I lowered the wooden toilet lid and sat down on it. Finn took a while to answer. 

“I dunno.” His voice carried an uncharacteristic distance. 

“Do you want to talk about it…?” 

“I don't know right now.”

“Ah… Well, that's okay, you don't have to. Do you want me to just chill in here? It's my day off, so I can stay as long as you want.” 

“Yeah. I just don't wanna be alone.”

At least this was normal. Contrary to Avery and I, Finnegan didn't even like to do solo activities by himself; everything for him was improved with company… Apparently, even bathing. I had a feeling that he did want to talk about what was bothering him, but I wasn't going to push. I pulled out my phone. Quietly enjoying someone's company was normally a non-issue for me, but, well… it was a bit different in the bathroom. 

“Do you want me to put some music on?” 

“Yeah. Can you play that one song I like?”

I opened my music app. Finnegan's playlist was pinned to the top of my feed – I played the first song, then opened Pokemon Go. 

As Caribbean Blue by Enya filled the tiny bathroom, I heard water sloshing as Finn readjusted, laying back in the tub and resting his head on the sloped side. He was quiet. Swirling a pokeball in a circle with my finger, I tried in vain to catch a Shelder. 

“Are there video games where you're from, Finn?” 

“Not really. We had games but not electronic stuff.” 

“What did you do for fun?” 

He was quiet again, for a long time. I wondered if he'd heard me. I looked over at his silhouette again; still and somber, head tilted down. I could've sworn I heard a wet sniff, but I wasn't certain. 

“Finny…?”

“I didn't have a lot of fun there.” 

I winced. In my effort to make smalltalk, I'd forgotten that Finn usually avoided talking about his life before he met us. 

“Oh… I'm sorry.” 

“It's okay.” 

The next song on Finn's list played – Pacific Ave by Pearl and the Oysters. The breezy, poppy track contrasted harshly with the tone of our conversation… or lack thereof. I tried to focus on catching Pokemon. I wished Finn would just talk to me; what was he so worried about? 

An answer came sooner than I expected. 

“I lied to you.”

“What…?”

“I lied to you and Avery about what really happened. When you found me, I told you that I was traveling and I got lost during that hurricane… that’s kinda true… but it's not the whole truth.” He exhaled deeply. Water moved in the tub as he shifted again, his tail peeking through the curtain as he turned away from me. 

I waited with bated breath for him to go on. 

Finn had been living with us for six months. When he’d washed up on the rocky shore of Avery's lighthouse, he was in bad shape; cuts and bruises all over, barely conscious, and sick with an illness Avery had called “septicemia.” He'd made a cloud bed for Finn right next to ours, tending to him around the clock for over a week before he finally came to. At first, he was shy and exceedingly polite… but as he grew more comfortable and we grew closer, an inquisitive and playful side emerged. He said he didn't have anywhere to return to, so we said he could stay as long as he liked; we set up the spare bedroom for him. He spent most of his time diving for treasure and catching fish, and I had to admit… between mine and Avery's busy schedules, the extra income and fresh seafood were both more than welcome in our home. I could concede to being a little naïve at times, but dishonesty was not something I expected from someone like Finn. 

He continued, “I'm from Merrobridge.” 

My eyebrows raised in recognition. I didn't know a lot about merfolk – they were not a populous race, and what was known about them tended to be shrouded in mystery given that the majority of their civilization existed deep underwater – but Merrobridge was a vast coastal hub, partially on land and partially beneath the sea, where nearly all merfolk trade took place. I hadn't considered it before, but it made sense that rainbow trout like Finn would make their home there, considering they were an amphidromous* species. 

“I didn't tell you ‘cause I was afraid you would make me go back.” 

My brows furrowed. 

“I mean… why would we make you go back? You're an adult, you can decide if you want to live there or not.” 

Another deep sigh from the other side of the curtain, followed by more silence. I paused the music. 

“Finnegan… listen. I'm not mad that you lied to me, okay? Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Like… I'm not forcing you to tell me, but if you're going to tell me… I need you to tell me everything.” 

A tiny whimper from the other side of the curtain wrenched my heart; he was definitely starting to cry. I was tempted to pull it back, but my respect for his privacy stayed my hand… and in this state, I wasn't sure how he'd react. I'd never seen him like this before.

He spoke so quietly, then, I strained to hear him. “The two empresses who live in Merrobridge and rule over the entire merfolk kingdom… They're my moms.” 

My heart skipped a beat. Stunlocked on the toilet lid, my fingers rose to my lips as realization crept through my veins like frost. 

“Finn…”

“I couldn't live that life, Casper!” He cried, his small voice reedy and choked, “I knew the hurricane was coming… I planned for weeks. I left a note saying for them not to look for me, that I'd come back one day, you know? I didn't want them to think I died or anything… I just wanted the hurricane to make it hard for them to follow me… but I timed it wrong, and got caught in it. I thought I was going to die!” 

Then, he really cried; Finnegan cried like someone who'd been waiting months to cry, like someone who'd forgotten how. 

I couldn't stand it any longer. The curtain rod screeched as I pushed the fabric back. As he cried into his hands, I put my arms around Finnegan's trembling, wet shoulders. 

“Oh, god… Finny…” God dammit, I was starting to cry, too. I did my best to keep my voice steady so he wouldn't hear. “Finn, honey, it'll be okay. We'll figure this out, okay?” 

“I miss my moms - choke - and my s-sister! Wh- what if they think I'm d-dead?!” 

I couldn't refute this concern; it was a real possibility, given how long he'd been gone. I didn't know his family or the dynamics of normal relationships among merfolk, though, so I couldn't say. Any human mother would be worried to bits… well. Not mine, but I wasn't going down that road right then. 

“Can we call them? Or send them a letter or something, just so they know you're okay?” I offered, rubbing his back. 

“I can't be e-emperor! I can't sit there and study and work and read and talk to people all day like they want me to, I'm just… I can't!” He wailed, deep sobs echoing off the white and blue tiled walls. 

“Shhh, shhh…” He was too hysterical to listen to me; I would have to wait until he calmed down. I had no idea how we would even get in touch with his family – I was aware of the existence of land-sea communication stations, but I had no idea how they worked, or even where to find one. 

There was a soft knock on the door. 

“Casper? Finnegan? Is everything okay in there…?” Avery’s gentle, concerned voice asked from the other side.

I wanted to shout back “no!”, but I figured that would only freak Finn out more. 

“Can Avery come in?” I whispered, tucking a few strands of wet hair behind his finned ear. 

“I-I guess…”

“Come in!” 

Even with the window open, I hadn't realized how stuffy the bathroom had become until Avery opened the door – the cool draft on my face, much like his presence, was a massive relief. 

“Oh, goodness… what's going on in here?” Avery asked, standing over me as I knelt at the side of the tub, arms still around Finn... who turned away from Avery, hiding his face. The lighthouse bathroom was definitely not built to be occupied by three people at once; I couldn't blame Finn for feeling crowded and self conscious. 

“Um, well… Actually, Avery, why don't you and I talk in the living room? Finny, do you want to meet us there when you're ready?”

He nodded, sniffling. I kissed the top of his head, then closed the curtain.

+++

“He's… a prince?” 

Avery sat on the edge of his reading chair, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together. His brow creased as he chewed his lip with his delicate teeth, something he typically did when working on complex research. 

I flopped onto the oversized sectional, propping my bare feet on the armrest. My back hurt from leaning over the tub. “Yeah, basically. He said his moms are the two empresses of the merfolk kingdom. He has a sister, too.”

“Why did he leave…?” 

“He didn't really say. He pretty much just said he couldn't live that life, and like… I mean, you've met him. Can you imagine Finn as an emperor? I can't really blame him, either, that sounds exhausting.”  

Avery sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. In that moment, his posture and contemplative expression were reminiscent of the way I imagined Atticus Finch. It was a long while until he spoke again. 

“What does he want to do?” 

I sighed, lifting my hands in a shrug. “I don't know. He says he misses them, but he doesn't want to go back. I think he's mostly just worried they think he's dead.” 

The sound of Finn's heavy tail thumping down the stairs brought our conversation to a halt. He appeared on the landing wearing black gym shorts and my favorite navy t-shirt, which featured a great white shark biting a surfboard made of binary data in half, underlined by jagged font proudly summarizing the scene: “Mega Byte.” His eyes were puffy from crying, and his cheeks and fins were flushed a deep green. I normally would have teased him for stealing my clothes, but I decided to save it. 

“Awww, Finny… come here.” I patted my chest. 

Finn sauntered over and collapsed onto me, nuzzling under my chin as his wet hair seeped into the collar of my shirt. Though he was shorter than me by a couple of inches, Finn was heavier, mostly due to his thick tail which spilled over the edge of the couch. The pressure of his warm body against mine was pleasant. I rubbed his back as he turned his head to face the couch. It seemed that he still didn't want to look at Avery – perhaps he was still embarrassed. 

“Finny… why don't you want to go back home? Are you not allowed to say you don't want to be emperor one day?” 

He shifted uncomfortably and sniffled. I was worried he would start crying again, but thankfully he kept it together. 

“My moms raised me to be prepared for this… I'm the oldest, so I'm supposed to inherit the throne, but that life isn't for me. Luney would be much better at it… she's serious and smart and she even likes studying and meeting with all those stuffy ambassadors and going to events and stuff. I just want to swim and fish and look for treasure! And I want cuddles, too,” his arms tightened around me, hands clutching my shirt, “merfolk don't cuddle… touching is frowned on, especially in public.” 

I stroked my fingers through his wet hair, listening. Avery listened, too, watching quietly behind his folded hands. I guessed he could relate to this, in a sense; cloud people did cuddle, but it wasn't like human touch, which he obviously enjoyed. 

Finnegan didn't say it, but we all knew there was another reason; we were close. As he rested against my body and we discussed the prospect of him going back home, my stomach was tying in knots – that was the last thing I wanted, but ultimately, I couldn't allow myself to be motivated by self-interest. If I could truly say I loved him, I had to do what was best for him. My throat tightened as I wondered if this might be the last time I cuddled on the couch with him – I quickly compartmentalized that thought. 

“Did you tell your parents you felt this way, Finn?” Avery asked. 

“I tried… but when I did, they just dismissed it or acted like I was being ridiculous. I know they love me, but I don't think they knew how serious I was about not being emperor… it's supposed to be my duty, but… I should be able to choose how I live, it's my life! I didn't ask to be born royalty…” 

A thought occurred to me, then, that made my stomach drop. My chest felt tight; I was almost afraid to ask the question.  

“I know you said you left a note, but… do you think your parents would try to bring you back? A prince disappearing is something I would expect to see in the news, or whatever… I mean, are Avery and I in danger…?” 

I glanced at Avery, and the look on his face told me he was already considering this. Finn finally turned to meet Avery's gaze.

“Merfolk are secretive, especially the higher classes… the last thing they would want to do is alarm anyone, or show incompetence by telling the world their prince is missing, even if it makes it harder to find me. The citizens probably just think I'm away on business, meeting with dignitaries and establishing relationships with other countries or something… I did have to do that, sometimes… but Jelly and Mina probably sent a private search party for me.” 

Incompetence. Dignitaries. Establishing. These were not words that Finn used in normal conversation, and I blushed a little at my surprise that he knew them. I’d never believed him to be stupid, but he'd clearly had a more advanced education than he let on. It also struck me to hear the illustrious empresses Nigella and Wilhelmina referred to as “Jelly and Mina,” but I supposed if you had two moms, it would be important to differentiate them somehow. 

What a revealing few hours it had been; I was starting to feel overwhelmed, and as he opened his mouth in a sharp, toothy yawn, I could tell that Finn was, too. He must have been exhausted from all that crying. 

Avery was not the reactive type; his method of working through problems, no matter how pressing or emotional for those around him, was to absorb information and ask questions when appropriate. He was great at comforting, too, but Finn seemed more receptive to that from me at the moment. I surmised he was afraid of disappointing Avery; not that Avery had ever shown disappointment in him. I wondered if this spoke to Finn's upbringing, too. 

As the elemental spoke again, I knew that the information-gathering phase of his process had reached its conclusion. 

“I think we should send a letter to your parents, Finn… Just so they know you're alright. It may help if I write one, too, so they can be reassured that you're in the care of a doctor. I have some research to finish today, but I can help you with it tomorrow. Besides, I want you to rest after that confession.” He stood up, walking over to where the two of us laid together on the couch and kneeling beside us. His cool, soft hand cupped Finn's warm cheek, his thumb rubbing gently along his scales. “That was very brave of you, Finnegan, thank you for telling us. I know it's hard, but we'll get through this together, okay? I'm so proud of you.” 

Finn's lips warbled, his hand raising to hide his fresh tears. Avery smiled gently, leaning down to place a tender kiss on my lips. 

“I have to get back to my research, now… will you two be alright?” 

“We'll be just peachy. I'll make sure he takes a nap… I think we both need one, honestly.” 

The tall elemental straightened, then, taking a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over us. As he started up the stairs, I called after him – quietly, as I could already feel Finn's breath falling into a sleepy rhythm, “Don't work yourself to death, cloudman… there are people who love you, y’know.” 

His bashful chuckle echoed down the stairwell, and I drifted off slowly to the memory of his laugh. 

+++

*An amphidromous fish is a type of diadromous fish which migrates between fresh and saltwater.  Unlike anadromous and catadromous fish, which migrate explicitly for the purposes of breeding, amphidromous fish migrate for other purposes. Source

[blindrapture]

THURSDAY JULY 28TH, 2011 (Synecdoche)

9:40 AM WOMP WOMP diddle liddle WOMP WOMP WOMP w-WOMP WOMP dooooo wackadadackada WOMP WOMP I'm awake, I'm awake. What. Sounds like Legsteps.

9:41 AM Donnie's got the grumpiest expression. "I never even liked dubstep." I'm going out to the street.

9:42 AM Well, it is Legsteps. Those black legs from yesterday have woken up, and the speakers have appeared. They look like boomboxes rocking above the skyscrapers, on comically long stilts. Then there's smaller Legsteps on street corners, some even down this way. And the fires from yesterday have spread even further, with black smoke filling the sky in every direction, but not in San Francisco itself? Smack-dab in the center of the city, there's some kind of trippy teal-colored.. rising pillar of teal fire instead. I can hear screams now. I think there must have been a population that didn't want anything to do with the RAF, and they stayed indoors yesterday. Or I guess it could be the Indisen who were left? I don't see anyone from standing here, there's just.. noise. Screams and dubstep. The soundtrack to the end of San Francisco. Frankly, this is a mockery. The future of this city was already dead. The Archangel saw to that quite thoroughly.

9:44 AM Donnie's coming out. "Oh my god…" Yeah, I know. ..oh, she's looking at Tiger, lifeless on the curb. Yeah… "He.. he didn't want to see what was coming. He didn't need to see this." No. He didn't need to see this. "God." she's crying. holding her hand.

9:47 AM "It's.. it's time for us to leave this place. Long past time." Agreed. We need a Door.

9:49 AM Gathering whatever supplies we can from the house. Got bags. How are we gonna find a Door? "There's plenty of buildings here, there's got to be a Door in one of them." Yeah, but, searching every building? We've been here for five days and I never found a Door. Did you? "No… and I'd rather we didn't split up to search." Exactly. This is a tall fucking order. "Can't we leave the city? Search for Doors out in the rest of the, er, state? Like the bikers?" There's smoke and glow in all directions. I think we're circled in by fires. "Okay, well, you think, you don't know. That's what we should try first."

10:18 AM Took the car. Didn't take that long to run into the southern fires. They cover every street, laterally. We're still not done checking, maybe there's an opening..?

10:33 AM No. No such thing. And we already know the only way out to the north was the Golden Gate. The east had a bridge too, but Donnie's not optimistic about our prospects. (Then the west is all Pacific Ocean. Even if there was a miraculous way across, we're not going to end another month riding on an even longer ferry.) These fires blocking us cut through the buildings, like they're ethereally placed. They're spreading real fires from them, but it's clear we're just not allowed to leave. If there is a way out of this deathtrap, it's by finding a Door.

11:00 AM "ONE HOUR" that stopped us in our tracks. it came from the sky, I think from where the teal fire's going. maybe it was just part of the music… We're still going door by door, looking through the houses that aren't locked. Donnie, this is way too slow. We'd be better off trying some big department stores or something. "But those are going to be up there, closer to where the green fire thing is!" Well, it's either that, or still be doing this when an hour's up! "Please don't yell at me!" I'm not, I'm-- look, just. We should look for offices, apartments, workplaces, malls. They offer more doors, more chances for Doors.

11:10 AM How about this one? This one's pretty far from the center. Stonestown Galleria.

11:14 AM I realize we can't be that thorough, but god, I'm just seeing regular abandoned and ruined shops. God, please, please, give us a sight of another sky, another world… Please...!

11:21 AM Hobby Lobby Checkers Nordstrom Foot Locker Office Depot Barnes and Noble American Eagle Bad Bambi San Francisco dies, piece by piece

11:34 AM We've left the mall and are on the search again The sky in the center of the city is an increasing whirl of spinning dark clouds We're seeing people now, glimpses of panic inside the windows of their houses Corpses fallen out of front doors Scattered on the streets Some are on rooftops, some are half hidden in manholes Some with bubbling skin Some with frostbitten limbs Some with slit throats Some with maggot-infested coats San Francisco dies, piece by piece

11:39 AM "There!" What! "In front of that window! Behind that van!" What! What! "That's not a zombie! Is it an Indisen? Wave at it!" What? "Wave at it!" It saw us, then ran away, cracking its broken foot on the floor again and again. Then it got grabbed by a blonde woman in dungarees, both hands around its throat, and she saw us and stared at us. Now she's coming this way, dragging the body in staggered steps.

11:40 AM The one who had run from us is unconscious now, carried on the dungaree woman's shoulder. And now that she's closer to us, I'm realizing, by the dead look in her eyes (and living human body), that this is a Camper. "Why are you still here?" Um. Hi, Salmacis. Was that an Indisen? donnie "I'd hoped it was a Camper." "Well, you've found one all the same. Now, why are you still here? I thought your plan was to leave this city last night." We.. decided to sleep instead. "That was foolish. Now you cannot leave." We, uh. We've noticed. We were looking for a rabbit hole. "That will be your only chance, yes, but with eyes all over the city, I have seen no evidence of one." Then! Then what? We're fucked, then? "...I will not allow you to die. Not here. Wait here while I decide what to do with the Indisen, and I will send more Camper to protect you." IloveyouEAT. the camper walks away, saying "I told you: Call me Salmacis."

11:42 AM Approaching sound of a lot of feet BIG HORDE OF CAMPER turned the corner on the street ahead. Some have wings of flesh, some have growths on their neck that vaguely resemble attempts at second heads, some have extra arms. They're passing us now. One has stepped out of the crowd and onto the sidewalk with us. It is a dorky pencil-pusher with thinning hair and office shirt. donnie "nice." meh. I prefer the girls. salmacis "I know. But this is what you're getting. Now come, we will stick near the mass for safety in numbers." walking! Are these the Camper that were on their way before? "Yes." So they got here okay. donnie "Did they meet any resistance?" "The undead to the south, the Indisen to the north. The Fears within the city know not to pick off my bodies; the undead are the Archangel's pawns, but they still have autonomy and are driven by hunger." Wait, Fears within the cities? "They are gathering." Which ones? "All of them." o_o "Something big is about to happen here, something from Xanadu itself, and they wish to see it for themselves." So that's why the Legsteps are here? "The stereo sirens? Yes. It is also why the Indisen have gathered, according to interrogations I have made. Answers are predictably vague, but the Rapture is moving into its next stage."

11:45 AM Salmacis is taking us to a location it believes to be safe, though there really is no telling what's going to happen at noon. It will send a squad of 25 Camper to do the rabbit hole search for us.

11:52 AM Grassy hill. Fancy modern building, with some damage, atop the hill. There's big windows on the front, letting us see the center of San Francisco. Or, I mean. We can see some skyline, and we can make out the teal pillar. I can see the Legsteps stepping back and forth, having established their perimeters. They're moving in a pattern. Like a ballet that towers over the city.

11:53 AM The dorky Camper will wait here with us. It would also like to see what's about to happen.

11:55 AM camper "Now what are they doing?" What? Huh. Flocks, land-darkening flocks, of birds coming in from all sides. They're all the same type, and Are those the Morphs? "Yes." They're entering a formation, moving as one, spinning with the clouds. Like the clouds, they're increasing in speed.

11:56 AM Sheets of paper, crumbling flyers, abandoned hats, fly from the streets and into the air as the Morphs whip up a tremendous wind. They're forming a tornado. And they're still going faster and faster.

11:57 AM The Legsteps are starting to pump less and less music and more and more.. sounds. Old-school sirens, shrieking glitches, sweeping noises like a sea of violin strings in a combine harvester. It's hurting our ears, but we can't look away. Donnie and I are transfixed with morbid fascination. And Salmacis is engaged.

11:58 AM The roads are swirling up, forming corkscrew mountains of tarmac and pavement. The buildings are inverting, flipping, floating. The smoke clouds overhead are gathering thicker. The Legsteps aren’t even playing music at this point. They’re echoing back the sounds of the Morphs’ destruction. Speaking of, I think the Morphs are starting to form specific structures out of their carnage. o_o; It looks like they’re forming a giant… …courtroom in the sky.

11:59 AM They’re done, they stopped on a dime. All sounds abruptly cease, and all life has stopped to watch. Extra Legsteps drop out of the clouds from above. These ones don't have stereos. They have cameras. Do we have a TV in here? Quick, turn it on. … All channels are displaying the feed. I suspect the whole earth is allowed to watch this. “Judgement begins in one minute.”

12:00 PM "Let the Judgement of San Francisco commence." The “jury box” made of debris and tarmac contains at least five-hundred Indisen. Some of them look like they’re trying to run for their lives, but they quickly flinch and sit still. In the defendant’s chair is a terrified man. There is no defense. In the prosecution’s chair is the Archangel, looking slightly surprised to be there.

12:03 PM The clouds overhead are parting, forming a cir SCREAM WHAT Oh my god the Camper’s eyeballs sizzle sockets Donnie. Donnie, don't look at what Salmacis looked at. Whatever you do. Look at anything but that circle in the clouds. I'm sorry, I would have warned you if I'd have realized. ._. camper "I should have known. It's the Judge."

12:04 PM The voice from the clouds booms, "The Judge has been watching from the sun all this time. The Judge is here to give the city its final judgement. Court is now in session."

12:07 PM The defendant is floating in mid-air and screaming out of terror. "ELON MUSK. YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED IN REPRESENTATION OF THE POPULATION OF SAN FRANCISCO. YOUR JUDGEMENT HAS COME." Elon is saying he doesn't even live here. He's asking what he did wrong. "YOU ARE BLINDED BY YOUR HUNGER. YOU RIDE OUT THE WAVE, CONTENT TO FEED ON THE MACHINE. YOU BLEED AMERICA TO DEATH." Elon is begging for clarification. Now for forgiveness. Now for anything. "ONLY THE PROSECUTION SHALL DECIDE ANY MERCY YOU RECEIVE." The Archangel stands up, composure regained. "Trap him in a car. Throw the car off a cliff." ..Elon’s being dragged away by Indisen, kicking and screaming. …he’s gone now. "As for the rest of this miserable shithole, with its insubordinate uppity young fucks, throw it all in the Rapture!" …what. O_O "THE PROSECUTION IS ONLY HERE TO SUBMIT THE SENTENCE FOR THE DEFENDANT. I WILL DECIDE THE FATE OF THIS CITY, AND LIKEWISE THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE." "Of course, Your Honor. I got ahead of myself." "FURTHERMORE, I AM ALSO TASKED WITH DECIDING YOUR FATE, ECCLESIARCHWAY. YOU WERE THE PROSECUTION FOR THE PRIOR CASE. NOW YOU ARE THE DEFENDANT, REPRESENTATIVE OF THE EARTH'S PANTHEON OF FEARS." "Come again?" "AND I AM INCLINED TO GIVE YOU THE SAME SENTENCE THAT I GIVE TO SAN FRANCISCO." "You what?" "YOU ARE HARDLY WITHOUT GUILT IN THIS. THE HUMANS HAD TO FOLLOW EXAMPLES, AND YOU IN PARTICULAR HAD YOUR FINGERS IN THE POT." "Hang on a moment, I'm on your side in this!" "I DO NOT BELIEVE YOU ARE. I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT ANYONE BELIEVES YOU ARE." "Well! What about the Fears as a whole? Surely you're not going to give me a severe sentence-- I mean, give them a severe sentence-- just on my actions alone! You're a Fear too! Remember me? Remember the good times, Osiris?" "YOU RAISE A GOOD POINT. THE FEARS, AS A WHOLE, WERE NOT ALWAYS ON BOARD WITH YOUR PLANS. SOME OF THEM NEVER WERE. WE WERE THE GODS. YOU WERE JUST A CHILD THAT WE PICKED UP ALONG THE WAY." "How dare you!" "THIS MATTER CLEARLY REQUIRES MORE THOUGHT. I WILL CONSULT WITH THE POWERS ABOVE." "Powers above???" (Yeah, powers above??? o__o) "IN THE MEANTIME, I MUST DELIVER THE SENTENCE FOR SAN FRANCISCO, AS THAT IS THE MATTER ALLOCATED FOR JULY 28TH. THE PROSECUTION WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEFENDANT'S SENTENCE, AND THAT HAS BEEN HANDED DOWN. THE COURT CONCURS WITH IT AS SYNECDOCHE." loud bang. a gavel? "AS BELOW, SO ABOVE. SAN FRANCISCO, YOU WILL BE GIVEN TO THE RAPTURE. LET IT BE DONE." roaaaaaars and screams The sky is turning purple. We have to get out of here, we have to get out of here now.

12:12 PM The now-blind Camper is ushering us to the exit of this house. "My Camper have found a Door; I will do my best to lead you there. Don't look back. Don't look up. Don't ever turn around. Just follow me."

12:24 PM been one long run. salmacis has allowed us to pause for breath. we're not looking around, even though we hear no screams anymore. what I hear is something far stranger. a rising pitch. a vortex of rising pitches. snapping strings. warping sirens. like the intersection of a thousand mutually exclusive worlds, and our world of sense is not the one that will survive. we don't want to see it. as much as we’ve been wondering ever since May, we do not want to see Rapture. we want to know what it is, but we don’t want to see it.

12:37 PM we pass a flood of little children they’re holding decapitated arms above their heads, the individual fingers burning as human candles. make a wish?

12:40 PM The Legsteps have begun womping again. They’re pumping Conker’s Bad Fur Day— wait, A Clockwork Orange— dubstep out there. I seem to recall this piece wasn’t originally A Clockwork Orange. I think it was a funeral piece from centuries ago. Queen Mary the first? It’s… kinda fitting. Vaguely. Depressing, for sure. Awfully surreal. I grew up with this piece, though from Conker, not the original two sources. And now I watch a western Babylon be thrown into the fires of Rapture set to this. San Francisco’s funeral, the fires of the Archangel, the flames of the Judge.

12:54 PM "We are nearly there! The Door is in a department store just up here." Goddammit, we were searching big stores and malls! We just didn't get that far!

1:06 PM Chase Center. God, my heart is pounding. The ground is rumbling. Salmacis says the Door is in a manager's office at the far end.

1:10 PM It's in the back of this shop! Gotta get through Old Navy! Gotta get past the...Mannequins. Why’d it have to be mannequins. I fully expect them to yep They’re moving.

1:11 PM They’re reaching for Donnie. Tiger Stripes, let’s teach them to keep their hands to themselves, shall we? HEEEYAH WHACK Stupid piece of plastic.

1:13 PM They’re coming back to life. HACK SLASH KAPOW KASLASH KAHACK There's flesh inside of them.

1:15 PM More are migrating over from other stores. Surrounding us. And more Camper are coming in to help us, but the mannequins are pushing furniture over to block the doors. Why the fuck do they have strategy? Do these ones not want to die?! "We want company…" EAAAH

a voice speaks to me... 1:20 PM the mannequins grabbed donnie and left me here I've got to go after them I can't fail again the musicians are watching me. not now, you fucking spectators. do you want to see?

1:26 PM they run fast for meat dressed up like fake people through the streets oh god don’t look up. it's so bright up there.

1:30 PM spidercats falling from the sky.

1:45 PM It’s getting dark awfully early. my fucking chest... so much running… where are all the camper?

1:53 PM to the park Twin Peaks what significance is there to this

2:05 PM This was one of the pieces of land carried wholesale by the Morphs. It's an entire mass of dirt and grass slapped on top of this part of the city. HEY, DONNIE WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE IS ANYBODY? I definitely saw them go here Didn't I?

2:06 PM It’s getting darker. Darker and darker. Can't see much more than ten feet in front of me. Noises. So many noises. Some of them so low I can feel them in my body… Rustling. Sounded like someone said "Hmm?" or a comfortable yawn. just walking. walking. walking into the dark MANNEQUIN, THERE YOU AREN’T HELLO YOU're... you're Ace Man. or, no, what was it. The Beacon. Wearing a shroud of white this time, a tall thin ghost with a featureless beak where the face should be. Silently standing there. Facing me. ..raising an arm to reach for me

(This page has gross stains on it.)

2:23 PM ..I've been.. throwing up… at his feet… Every time I think I'm done, I breathe in and smell vomit and more of it comes pouring out. thrusting out. forcing out. I think I even passed out after a while but I woke up to vomit more I need to.. I need to go... I need to stop.. I need to… god, it's. it's the beacon. he smells like. death. he smells like centuries of rot. he smells like

2:31 PM no I need to get up all my fault This sickness is all in my head. The Beacon wants me to give up. This is how he gets you.

2:35 PM god it’s so hard to want to get up

2:40 PM Legsteps pumping my head I can’t

2:43 PM the spell is broken because someone jumped the beacon someone grabbed its shrouded shoulders and brought it down to the ground someone in a combat suit with red hair Donnie!!! "GET HIM NOW!" OKAY TIGER STRIPES SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!! Smashed his beak mask. Let’s take this fucker off.

2:44 PM betty boop eyes dot for a mouth no nose okay you can have your mask back

3:20 PM a lot happened. we're in the rabbit hole now. let me.. tell it. After I gave the Beacon its mask back, to cover that swollen and deformed cartoon-in-real-life face (shudder!!!), I saw myself in a longgg rotten hallway, castle walls slimy and damp black brick. cold barred prison cells spaced unevenly apart on both sides, with unspeakable smells. they contained mannequins. I could not see all the way down the hallway due to a smoky hazy smoke collecting in the distance. But I had to do something, so I started.. walking down the hall. Someone was coughing past the haze. Where I was going. Then I was back in the park, in San Francisco. Donnie was standing over the empty robe of the Beacon as black smoke sizzled, from it, upwards into the sky. An unrecognized voice said "From the Mechro to the Flood you go." Donnie and I looked at each other. We didn't feel threatened by that voice, but we knew there was no time to ask questions. So we got the hell out of there. As we ran, we heard the Legsteps emit hideous metal screeches as the music progressed into atonal electronic noise, and the Morphs swirled hurricanes out of the clouds that sucked the tallest buildings from the city into the sky brick by brick. I don't know how long we ran for. I mean, evidently not much more than 30 minutes? God, my legs hate the apocalypse, but at least I'm getting a good workout every day. We found Salmacis's rabbit hole, with no resistance this time, no mannequin army. We ducked in.

3:24 PM Sitting on a well-trodden dirt path surrounding a pit that a waterfall drains into. Smells like nature. No sound but rushing water. This world is peace. Donnie's hugging me while I write. She doesn't understand the last few hours. I can't say I do either, but it must have been a Fear free-for-all. Pick the bones of the city in its last moments before… God. It didn't deserve that. "Nobody deserved…" No. "This is all such senseless violence. Using people as fodder. Even when we're all against the apocalypse, even when we're trying, we can't... help each other. The things we saw... the things we were a part of… the things we couldn't stop…" >__< This is the end. This is the end of the world. Like, the end of the very real world that we call "human." Everything I thought I knew… "Judged, rejected, condemned without appeal." I think that made the Fears panic. I think we saw the Fears panic. "Oh god, we're all going to die." There's.. going to be more bloodshed before October, yeah. "You don't think we're all dead?" I don't know. I think San Francisco was always going to die. I think that was just... done, that was decided, even before we got there many days ago. I think... the blue sky did its job; it fooled everyone into letting the RAF fuck around, because the RAF were just people, and we're used to a world run by people. 'The rich.' Pah. It was the damn people. A world run by people. As we've been seeing, our world had a lot more in it than just people. We invited unrest on ourselves, not by using money, but by thinking that it was as simple as money, that money was as simple as 'money,' some thing we invented. But maybe we didn't invent money. Maybe we didn't invent the world. Maybe we forgot to shut up and listen to the world. "...you're on one of your rambles." Sorry. "No, I'm just realizing. You want someone who can keep up." Well. ...can't you?

..she's pondering. finger on her chin. "......if money wasn't something we invented, then are you suggesting inequality is innate?" No. I'm saying inequality is one of many results of us thinking we invented and control the world. The behavior of the rich was a problem in the world, exactly as big of a problem as people said it was, but it's not something that can be fixed by just killing all the rich people, or even by systematically killing those who make financial transactions. Because you'd have to be insanely powerful to be able to do any of that. "And then you'd be proving that there was something more fundamental, a power dichotomy, under it all. And you'd have just advertised that you're on the top of that." Exactly. Archie was able to manipulate masses of people using, what did he call it? Populism? He didn't need money to do that. He, in fact, needed.. not money. He, intentionally or not, exposed some of the deeper levers of power that made our old world work. Something about speech... something about community. "Community is important. We'd die without it." We're not born as groups of people, we're born alone. We don't dream together; my dreams are in my brain, as your dreams are in yours. My saying that shouldn't threaten the values of community, because I'm speaking literal universal truths, and what good is a community that is threatened by universal truths? Community needs to account for the individuals in us all. Everyone has an "I." And Everyone is, at the end of the day, a far larger community than any other group. The days where a lack of community would kill us are irrelevant. The world was already set up so that none of us could go without community, no matter how hard we tried, no matter how much we rejected it or it rejected us. But we talked like it was still a possibility, still a threat. We barked at the shadows forming on our comfortable walls. The truth is, community was killing us just the same as it was saving us. Just the same as money was killing us, and saving us. "So, if there's a line being drawn here, aren't you falling into a trap by claiming that community was the problem? Just like those who say money was the problem." If I went around trying to dismantle all instances of community just by virtue of them being communities, then yes. And there were people like that in the world. Plenty of them on the internet. It's what 4chan was known for. What I'm doing here is. Well, I'm rambling. But in particular, I'm outlining systems here. And I'm trying to process the shit we've been seeing, in my own way. "Archie led thousands to their death. And you're saying he preyed on our need for community, because the way we relied on community was innately flawed." Yes. Yes! "And. You don't think that's evidence that we're all going to die." I think he pulled the trigger too soon if he had wanted to kill all of us. I think he's just exposed the flaws for us, so we know what to watch out for now. "You think he helped us?" I don't think he meant to. He saw an opportunity for short-term gain and jumped to it. "Huh."

3:30 PM resting my head in donnie's lap. :3 "Do you think he's the god of death?" Well, he's. His name is Death. I think. And he has power over all the dead. "Do you think he's good at representing death?" Oh god. Are we allowed to form opinions on that? "We're in Xanadu. No birds are reading your journal. Word's not gonna get back to him. So, do you think he's scary enough to be the Grim Reaper? Or do you think he's full of it?" Honestly, I don't know. I never had the strongest opinions on death as it was? I never understood how I could. Death is the greatest mystery, Door to a world we can't come back from. No word has come back from there. We don't know how it works. So we don't even know if it's scary. But, for what it's worth, I think Archie is plenty scary. He's scary like a mafia boss. Or what I always assumed a mafia boss to be like. "What, you never watched The Godfather?" Nope. "I thought your parents were film buffs." They were. I wasn't! "It's so good. A little slow, but the best films always are. Shall I tell you about it?" Uh "So, it starts with this wedding party..."

11:00 PM edvard grieg morgenstimmung playing on a legstep who's walking past us on his way

11:01 PM I guess I fell asleep in donnie's lap. God I need a piss. Is it. Is it okay if I piss in that pool? "yeah.. I did it before we slept…" oh, you're awake. "just enjoying the rest, baby..."

11:02 PM I wonder where that Legstep's even going. "It was beautiful. One of those things playing a different genre?" Maybe it's. Based on their mood? "What if we followed it? Do you think it'll lead us to people?" Well, it raises the question of a Legstep without anyone to hear it, yes. "Or maybe it'll lead us to another world." Ooh! The wonders of Xanadu! Immaculate nature, a universe of sense! :D "You're in a good mood today." What can I say? I got to talk it out before we slept. I needed that. "Mm, and what we did after." >w< "C'mon. I'm up. You're up. The music's fading. Let's chase it."

11:05 PM Legstep walked into a Door made of feathers. o:

11:06 PM A city in the clouds! The buildings are stitched out of feathers. Little gingerbread men walk to and fro. Every one of them looks at us funny.

11:08 PM There's a giant muffin in the skies floating this way.

11:15 PM WE’RE RIDING IN THE GIANT MUFFIN! :D

11:20 PM The muffin travels back and forth between two cloud-islands. A sky-ferry! We rode it across and are taking a look at a local map. We’re outside the “Chocolate Geography Center.” o:

11:25 PM The planet below these clouds, as indicated by slides on the walls inside the windows of this Geography Center, slides pointed at with candy cane pointers by gingerbread men in suits, addressed to rooms full of more gingerbread men in suits, is made of chocolate. Donnie wonders if these clouds are actually cotton candy. This place is making me so hungry.

11:44 PM After more walking, down shortbread streets, past candy cigarette lightposts and lollipop street signs, watching the brownie cars drive by, greeting gingerbread families walking their gummi bear pets on leashes, we found a market serving free food. What do candy men eat?

11:45 PM Flesh cookies. Liver bread. Blood drinks, human crackling and fat rinds. Human eyeballs in bowls made of bone, and they eat the bone too (it's like rock candy to them). Everyone is still eyeing us. We’re just gonna… stroll on out of here inconspicuously. ^^;;

11:48 PM WHERE RABBIT HOLE

11:50 PM gingerbread people with almond harpoons and nougat nets are behind us. I think they're trying not to be noticed. we did not come this far to be hunted down by candy.

11:54 PM ONTO THE MUFFIN, QUICK! FIND THE CONTROLS GO GO GO DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE FLY TO THAT HUMONGOUS TOWER OF STRAWBERRY IT LOOKS IMPORTANT

(Attached: “Elon Musk in a sweet tan suit, hoarding blues from his old coot, bears witness to red fate, pairs fitness to dead weight. Tell me sell me tell me elm, he asks this to the trees: What's the birds say? Tweet tweet! Green fires in the sky, children shouting 'FATHER WHY,' it's a veritable unforgettable the likes of which you'll never see again, not in your lifetime, not on your number line, if you ask I'm fine, I'm verifiably veritable, absolutely administrable, preposterously prophetic, pathetic like the skyscraper. Nay, I am the skyscraper. That one's for you, now I'm for the birds.”)

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baguio breakup curse

grammatical errors

those people around you already know how much you love traveling, especially when you're with gun.

it was majestic whenever you're with him, traveling the world with him, exploring the beauty of the nature you both adored.

here and there, both of you travelled the world with smile plastered on both faces. smiles than no one can describe how happy you are, smiles that show how the both of you love each other.

every country you visited, expect a fantastic date with gun. in an expensive restaurant where you can see the eiffel tower? even it's not a date, just the two of you in front of the colosseum in the city of rome, italy? or the white beach of boracay?

god, everything, everywhere it is fantastic to be with gun.

but you never thought that the curse is a hundred percent real. here you are, standing in the middle of burnham park, baguio.

can't proceed what he just said, his words continuously repeat on your head like broke record.

eyes widened and you can't even feel the coldness of the city anymore, all you can feel is your heart falling in the deepest part of pacific ocean.

gun remained unfazed and emotionless, after everything you both went through. after the never-ending travels with hands intertwined together, those fights and reconciliation.

gun decided to end everything as if it's nothing to him.

"i'm sorry, what?" you voice quivered, hoping it's because of the cold air but you already know why.

"let's break up." god, he's naive. how can he said that with those eyes? those eyes that used to look at you with love and adoration now eyes filled with nothing but regret.

your eyes starts to stink as you felt a tear trail down to your cheeks to the scarf he gave to you.

"d-did i do something wrong? did i make you mad? then, i-i'm sorr-" you don't even know what you're apologizing right now but all you want, is for gun to take back his words.

"no, you did nothing wrong. i just fell out of the love, i don't even know if that was love." is he serious right now? as in right now? you froze, until this time... he wasn't sure if it was love?

oh.

how dumb of you.

do you really think a killing machine like him would like - no, love, someone like you? hecl you don't even know if he can feel your pain right now.

you let him go, you let him turn his back to ypu without saying a thing because you don't even know what will happen once you opened your mouth and all you can do is cry in the middle of the night, in the center of burnham park.

the same place where you got together and the same place where everything ended.

you should listen to them.

when they told you not to bring your lover at this city.

no matter how beautiful this city is, the curse will lift.

just like what you heard.

[bnha-mha-imagines]

Uhm, can i have a little story where the reader is an exchange student from america and misses home, so she's up late one night cooking some american food bc she misses home and like cries while eating it but todo or kiri find them and help them feel better? I'm sorry if i worded this weird, I'm still a little new to requesting things. thank you! ˶⚈Ɛ⚈˵

Haha, don’t worry, it wasn’t weird! I picked Todoroki, hopefully this fits what you wanted! :)

Todoroki x Reader

Word Count: 2283

Warnings: Verrry light angst, author being stupid with how Japanese schools work, fluff at the end, potentially ooc Todoroki? Ugh im inexperienced with him

Summary: (Y/n) is a foreign U.S. student at UA. One night she feels very homesick while making nostalgic American food, and Todoroki finds her crying…

UA was elite, and served not only as a distinguished school in Japan, but also on a global scale. When you sent in your application, you had little hope of moving on to the written and practical exam portion, especially with you being from America. So imagine your surprise when you actually received a letter in the mail informing you that you had been invited to Japan, expenses paid on top of that! 

Within a week, you and your parents rushed to pack your things into three suitcases and sent you over to Japan on a flight across the Pacific ocean. The whole experience filled you with a mixture of emotions. Of course you were ecstatic to have a chance at attending UA! Surely this was the best school to get you ahead on your hero career. But you couldn't deny the fear that this news struck within you. 

It was your first time flying alone, and to a foreign country at that. You were leaving your entire life behind in America without much time to say goodbye to your friends and family. While you could speak Japanese, you were far from fluent by native standards. And, on top of all that, you still had to check into your hotel and take the exams before you were actually admitted into UA. What if you had come all this way just to be sent back? 

By the time you arrive in Japan and retrieve your bags from the baggage claim, it was already 1 in the morning. Exhausted, you waited at the pick up line, looking for the person from UA who should be waiting for you. Eyes tired and heavy, you saw a tall man with spiky blond hair holding a sign with your name on it. He was quite the character, and feeling intimidated, you hesitantly introduce yourself with your amateur Japanese. 

The man, who introduced himself as one of the teachers at UA and pro-hero Present Mic, was actually very friendly! Despite how weary you felt, you forced a smile, hoping everyone here was as nice as he was. Once you were settled into your hotel, Mic informed you to rest well, for the exams were early the next morning! Leaving you to your room, you leapt into the bed the moment he closed the door.

Without even bothering to change out of your clothes, you fell asleep within seconds, but not before setting an alarm for 7am. As you slept, you weren’t aware that within the next 24 hours you would not only be admitted into the UA hero program, but in the top 1-A hero class.

After two weeks into school, you learned a number of things. First, that being from America instantly made you a class celebrity. Every student in class already knew you the moment you first entered the room, and you were unprepared for how many questions you were bombarded with. Though overwhelming, you had to admit that it was a good ice-breaker for making friends!

Second, not every teacher was as kind as Present Mic. Mr. Aizawa was border-line sadistic, and on top of that you got off to a rocky start. Who would have known your newfound fame would also have Aizawa target you for being a distraction. Unfortunately for you, you had to work two times as hard to prove to him you were serious about your education.

Third, life in Japan was significantly different from America. It was a huge culture shock, and you struggled with the social differences between both countries. Despite your frequent mistakes, your classmates were very forgiving, and gave you helpful tips on how to act appropriately in Japan. Though, you found yourself in quite a few embarrassing situations…

Despite the difficulties, you wore a large smile as time went on. You could feel yourself growing stronger and adapting to life here. You became fast friends with your classmates, especially with Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida. Uraraka even took you under her wing and helped improve your Japanese! Eventually people began to no longer associate you with America. Instead of ‘the American’, they viewed you as they did any other hardworking classmate. 

Even Todoroki, who initially deemed you a distraction, had opened up to you. Much to your surprise, he was actually rather fun to be around despite his cool and intimidating exterior. After Midoriya had introduced you both, you found it much easier to talk to him. Soon your mutual admiration had morphed into a friendship, and you really appreciated his company. While he never showed much interest in where you came from, you appreciated it. It made you feel less like an oddity, like you belonged here. 

By the time the first semester finals arrived, life in Japan had become routine and normal. Of course you missed some things about home in America, but you were always having so much fun and were so busy that you rarely had time to feel down about it! At least...that’s what you thought. 

At night, when you were alone with your own thoughts, you couldn’t ignore the waves of home-sickness that overwhelmed you. Sure you had made friends; you would even say Todoroki and Uraraka had become your best friends. But, you still felt hollow when you remembered all of the people you had left behind. The food, the weather, the brands… everything was different from what you were used to, and you find yourself missing things as little as a can of coke or some good ol’ Kraft mac n’ cheese. 

During one of your bi-weekly phone calls, you relayed to your mom that you were beginning to miss home. As much as you loved everyone here, it was hard to talk to them about home when they could never really understand where you were coming from. Your mother, however, understood completely. The moment you told her you were homesick, she sent you a small care package in the mail of all of your favorite things! It was packed to the brim with American foods and snacks, and your mouth watered just looking at them all!

You pushed the box under your bed, afraid that your friends may try to steal some of them when you clearly needed it more than them. Your supplies were limited after all. It didn’t hurt what they didn’t know!

Now, during the nights when you feel homesick and lonely, you would pop out one of your American snacks. You would close your eyes and imagine you were back home in the states, and for a little bit you would feel better...before you had to open your eyes again and clean up the empty trash. 

It was on one of these nights that you decided to make some Kraft mac n’ cheese. You had been saving the box for a particularly hard night, and this one...this one took the cake. Aizawa had put you all through one of the most excruciating training sessions of the month, and on top of that you hadn’t done so hot on one of your quizzes. By now it was too late to call your mom for comfort, and you felt very, very alone. 

You were tired, but you couldn’t sleep. So, grabbing the box of Kraft, you quietly snuck out from your dorm to the common room so you could make your food. The common room usually buzzed with activity, but now with most people retired to their rooms, it was quiet. You leaned on the counter, watching the pot for the water to boil. 

Time seemed to slow as you absent-mindedly drained the noodles. The moment you ripped open the cheese pouch and got a whiff of that smell, you felt your lip tremble a little. You felt awful. 

Making yourself a bowl, you sat down at the table and stared into the food you had made. Your mouth watered as you lifted a spoonful to your mouth, closing your eyes as you ate. Like those many nights before, you tried to imagine you were sitting at your kitchen table back home in America...but you couldn’t escape. 

When you opened your eyes your vision was blurred with tears. Sniffling, you forced another spoonful into your mouth desperately hoping it could fill the void in your stomach. It didn’t. Setting the spoon back into the bowl, you rubbed your eyes with your sleeve, little sobs retching out of you. All this time you had refused to cry. All this time you had refused to show anyone how lonely you were. Finally, months of repressed emotion came pouring out.

Overwhelmed, you almost didn’t hear the voice from behind you. “(Y/n)?” You couldn’t respond, trying to quiet your sobs as the person approached you. Looking up, you saw Todoroki take a seat in front of you, concern written all over his usually emotionless face. Your tear-stained face felt hot with embarrassment. You had hoped everyone was asleep by now, but here you were, caught, sobbing over your food. You tried to hide your face, feeling pathetic.  

“(Y/n),” Todoroki said more firmly, placing his hands on your forearms to reveal your face. Forced to look him in the eye, you felt your body shake and you laughed pitifully.

“I’m pathetic aren’t I?” you asked him, your voice congested with tears. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” you cried. Todoroki didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes piercing. 

With his hands still holding you gently, he asked you in a very serious tone. “Did someone hurt you?” You were already shaking your head, sniffling. He left out a relieved sigh, his eyes softening immensely as he looked at you. “Why are you so distraught?”

Again, you felt yourself laugh sadly. “It’s stupid, it’s…” Todorki shook his head at this, causing your lip to tremble as more tears spilled from your eyes. “I-I just really miss everything. My home, my family,” you looked as your bowl of still steaming mac and cheese, “the food…everything.” Surprising you, Todoroki lifted a hand to gently brush away a stray tear. Never since you met him had he been so tender with you.

“You’re homesick,” he mumbled more to himself than you. Hearing it aloud was enough to send tremors through you, another wave of emotion overtaking you. Letting you cry it out, you felt his hand take and squeeze your own. The pressure was reassuring. As you finished, you heard him speak softly to you. “Tell me about it.” 

You blinked, a surprised look crossing your teary eyes. “About America?” Ever since you met, Todoroki had never expressed interest in the United States. That was one of the reasons you liked hanging out with him at first. Seeing him ask about it now was unexpected to say the least. 

Todoroki shook his head. “Not about America, about your home.” You blinked. His request was so much different than everyone else’s. People were usually only interested in the school system, or the politics, or the culture. His eyes were so serious, you couldn’t help but feel a little flattered that he actually wanted to hear about your past. 

You sniffed, wiping your eyes. “Well,” you began, “I had this one friend…” you began to tell him about your past-life, from your friendships, to your family, to your favorite places to go in your home-town. It was the first time you had spoken about it to anyone at UA, and seeing how intently Todoroki listened to you made you feel as if every word you said was important. The whole while you spoke his hands encased yours, letting you know in a tangible language that he was there. You talked until your voice ran dry and your food was cold. 

You finished talking, and your eyes felt heavy. You were exhausted from crying, and by now it was very late. Todoroki was already helping you to your feet when you yawned. “I’ll clean this up for you,” he said, looking into your face. “You should get to bed. Can you walk?” 

You felt your heart flutter at his concern for you. “Yes,” you said, voice tired. Todoroki looked at you for a few seconds before shaking his head, unconvinced. Silently, he reached out and lifted you into his arms effortlessly. Feeling heat rise to your face, you went silent, wrapping your arms around him to better balance yourself. 

As if you were as light as a feather, he carried you back to your dorm, using one hand to carefully open your door without dropping you. Once he made it to the side of your bed, he gently sat you down. “I’m going to go clean up,” he spoke, his eyes running over your form. “Will you be alright on your own?” You nodded, still flustered from your ride.

Todoroki seemed assured, turning to leave. In a moment of panic, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. “W-Wait,” you began, eyes wide as he pauses to look back at you. “Thank you...for staying up with me and for listening.” You looked down, shy. Feeling a slight pressure on your forehead, you glance back up to see Todoroki pulling away.

“You’re welcome, (Y/n),” he said softly, a fond look in his eyes. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow. For now you should get some rest. Sweet dreams.” Quietly, he left the room and shut the door, leaving you wondering if he had even been there at all. 

Rolling over in your bed, you felt a fuzzy feeling in your chest as you remembered how he kissed your forehead just a minute ago. Suddenly, you didn’t feel quite so alone. 

[privilege-archives]

TOBAS HARPER ➝ FOURTH SIBLING

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

❖ FULL NAME: Tobias James Harper. ❖ PRONOUNS: He/Him. ❖ AGE: 18. (May 3rd). ❖ BIRTH ORDER: Fourth. Adopted. ❖ GRADE: Freshman. ❖ MAJOR: English Teaching, with a minor in Vocal Performance. ❖ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Undecided. ❖ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Undecided. ❖ FACECLAIM: Dan Smith.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

Marlene and Jacob Hawkins weren’t great people, really. They could plaster on a smile, and play their suburban part, but their life behind the door of their home was pretty different to what you might assume. Drug riddled, most of Jacob’s money came from laundering, and while you might think Marlene wasa typical house wife, she was busy fucking the pool boy, and taking heroin all day. When she felt pregnant, they didn’t want the baby, but they found out past the date they could get rid of it, and so Tobias James came into the world.

Born addicted to heroin, he was a fussy baby, but given little attention, and let on his own more often that he ought to have been. He was a three year old who played on the lawn by himself while his Mother lay unconscious, wearing sunglasses on a sunbed on the porch. He clambered into the fridge to get his own drinks and snacks, knowing he’d go without otherwise. He wasn’t sent to kindergarten when he should have been, instead he was kept at home, watching cartoons and playing with toys.

One morning, age 6, he came into the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal, only to find both of his parents, overdosed, dead on the living room floor. Crying, shaking, he went to the next house, who called the cops, to discover the awful life and awful house he lived in.

Tobias was taken away from the area in Ocean Side and placed into a foster home for 2 months until the Harper family came along. Looking for more reason to be in the spotlight, they adopted him, nicknaming him Toby in an effort to help him move on from his old life and begin his new one as part of their family.

He fit in easily. Though it was a struggle at first, having to start school a little late, and was plagued with nightmares of what he witnessed, it didn’t last forever.As he got older, he forgot his memories of being a young child, as his mind got older, those memories were replaced with new ones. He knew he was adopted, and he knew what had happened in his past, but without a physical memory of it,the nightmares faded away until they didn’t keep him up anymore.

He was advanced in school, skipping a year in high school putting him back in the grade he should have been in. He was in the debate club, and with much persuasion from his parents, joined the ice hockey team too. And his personality was somewhat unique, too. Being shy, he was very passive and happy to go along with whatever everyone else wanted. He never argued with his siblings, instead agreeing and going along with them in order to avoid conflict, and he usually would.

A lover of things a-typical for a boy of his age. Photos hung from his walls with string lights threaded between them and snaking across his ceiling, one wall all bookcase, filled with books he could read over and over again, and a battered record playing sat atop his chest of drawers, the top one filled with bottle caps he had been collecting since the age of 8. No one ever joined him in there. His bedroom is the place where he can exist, and just exist. Where he can drink his fruity teas or peppermint hot chocolate, or lay on his bed sketching with pencils or drawing with oil pastels. Buying things he doesn’t need. Existing.

Come graduation, he left his high school in the top 5 of his class, and could have attended Princeton like he wanted to; but he couldn’t leave his siblings. He was attached the family, even if his parents hadn’t shown as much care to the kids as they did their careers. They had given him a much better life that he had before them, and he decided to attend Pacific State with his siblings. Though he wanted to major in Vocal Performance, his parents, surprisingly pushed him into majoring in English Teaching instead, studying literature and language to one day become an English professor. They wanted him to do something with his intelligence, but he wanted to do something he enjoyed instead. Singing, maybe even art or photography, or fashion. But he went along with what they said, because he always did.

BABY, THERE'S NO OTHER SUPERSTAR

Toby always wears his hair quiffed up, and always has glasses perched on his nose. His style is quite ‘hipster’, with skinny jeans and button-up shirts and jumpers/sweaters/cardigans. He has no tattoos or piercings and is 6"1’.

YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE YOUR PAPARAZZI

Michael and Mary (nee, Martinez) were quite famous in their day. Some would say they could rival Brangelina, both career wise and romantically. The two famous actors met while working on a movie, where they fell in love and shortly started a family. The pair stopped working to raise their family. Now, with their kids off to college, they’re starring in movies once again.